Mappila Muslim Culture: How a Historic Muslim Community in India Has Blended Tradition and Modernity 1438456018, 9781438456010

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
A Note on Foreign Terms and Style
Part I The Becoming of Mappila Muslim Culture: A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope
1 The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting
Mappila Identity
The Malayalam Culture Setting
The Islamic Cultural Setting
Religious Conviction: Life Has a Godward Direction
The Forming Attitude
The Mappila Attitude: A Special Case
The Practical Muslim Approach to Culture
A Legal Basis for Cultural Flexibility
Cultural Decision-Making: The Principle of Free and Equal
2 The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture
The Historical Shaping
The Community’s Origin and Rise, 622–1498
The Community’s Decline and Fall: 1498–1921
Mappila Society Declines as Europeans Arrive
A Note on the Colonial Cultural Contributions
The Final Fall: The Mappila Rebellion, 1921
The Revival of the Mappilas: From 1921 to the Present
The Cultural Legacy
The Here and There Legacy
The “Then Not Now” and “Some Not Others” Legacies
The Double, Contrasting Cultural Vision
3 The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on Mappila Culture
Two Language Worlds
Developmental Contrasts and Sporadic Culture Contacts
North Indian Muslims to 1526: Diverse Cultural Roads
Rare Mughul Connections: 1526–1857
Indo-Muslim Cultural Adaptation and Sufi Contacts with Mappilas
The European Cultural Intrusion and Its Connecting Role
The English Takeover and Indo-Muslim Sense of Loss
A New Wave of Indian Muslim Thinking
Some Positive Responses to the Challenge of Modern Culture
The Idea of Community Uplift through Political Action
Indo-Muslim Influence on the Mappilas: A Summary
4 The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism
The Pillar of Arabic
The Pillar of the Qur’ān
Traditionalist Religious Education
Traditionalist Clergy and Their Training
The Types of Religious Workers
The Source of the Traditionalist Clergy Style
The Dars System of Clergy Training
The “College” System of Clergy Training
The Results of the Traditionalist Clergy Training
5 The Great Transition in Mappila Culture: Four Change Factors
Theological Reform
The Language of Reform
The Founding Figures
The Advance of Theological Reform
The Sunni Response to the Reform Challenge
The Impact of Communism
Modern Secular Education
The Impact of Gulf Money and Gulf Custom
The Phenomenon of Gulf Wealth
Its Origin
The Gulf Rush from India
Mappila Participation in Gulf Employment
The New Influence of Gulf Conservatism
Conclusion
6 Mappila Character and Personality Today
Mythical Elements in the Mappila Image
The Myth of Generic Fanaticism
The Myth of Communalism
The Myth of Backwardness
The Mappila Character and Personality
The Sense of Being Mappila
Part II The Being of Mappila Muslim Culture: A Profile of Changing Customs and Notable Achievements
7 Key Life Moments: Birth, Marriage, Death
Pregnancy, Birth, and Early Childhood
Family Planning
Marriage
The Marriage Arrangement
The Age of Marriage
Mahr and Dowry
Mahr
Dowry
The Betrothal and the Wedding
Nikah
Kaliyanum
A Note on Polygamy
Divorce: The Practice and the Problem
Old Age and Death
The Elderly Period of Life
Death and Its Ceremonies
8 Family Custom: Home Life, Interrelationships, Inheritance
The Mappila Home and Its Rhythm of Life
The Mappila House and Home
Family Values
Family Life: Daily Routines and High/Low Moments
Mutual Interrelations within the Family
Mappila Gender Relations and the Position of Women
Relations between Husband and Wife
Parent-ChiIdren Relations
Kinship Relations
The Role of the Mother-in-Law
The Mappila Inheritance Pattern
The Sources of the Orthodox Inheritance Principles
Applying the Principles of Distribution
The Question of Special Bequests and Wills
The Marumakkathayam or Matrilineal Tradition
The Tarawad or Ancestral Home16
Matrilineal Property and Inheritance
Life in the Matrilineal Home
The Mappila Muslim Involvement with Marumakkathayam
9 Aspects of Personal Behavior
Mappila Occupations
Mappila Dress and Ornamentation
Female Dress
Male Dress
Ornamentation and Hairstyle
Mappila Food
Food Consumption
Types of Food
Food Preparation
Cleanliness, Pollution, and Sanitation
Personal Cleanliness and Ritual Washing
Sanitation
Tabus: Stimulants and Extramarital Behavior
Stimulants
Forbidden Sexual Behavior
Pleasures and Role Models
The Pleasure of Relaxation with Friends
Avenues for Amusement
Role Models and Popular Idols
10 The Landscape of Mappila Social Behavior: Group Distinctions, Educational Variety, Political Alignments, Theological Factions, Decision Making
Group Distinctions: Arab Descent, Caste-Like Clans, Class Features
The Factor of Arab Descent
Caste-Like Groups
Class Distinctions
Urban-Rural-Coastal Differences
The Rich and Poor Divergence
Current Educational Profile
Traditionalist Education
The Persistent Madrasa Tradition
The Arabic Colleges
Modern Education
Conclusion: An Educational Dichotomy
Mappila Political Alignments
The Mappila Theological Factions
The Community’s Decision-Making Process
photo gallery
11 Social Behavior (cont’d): Leadership and Some Selected Leaders, Community Service, Community Relations
Mappila Leadership Resources and Representative Leaders
A Rich Store of Leadership
Selected Mappila Leaders
P. P. Hassan Koya (1913–1988)
C. H. Muhammad Koya (1927–1983)
C. N. Ahmed Moulavi (1905–1993)
K. A. Jaleel (1922–2012)
P. Abdul Ghafoor (1930–1984)
Female Leadership
Syed Mohammadali Shihab Tangal (1936–2009)
Mappila Social Service and Trusts
Personal Charity
Large-Scale Social Service Organizations
Charitable Trusts or Wakf
Mappila Relations with Non-Muslims
12 Religious Rituals and Festivals: Saints and Superstition
The Prescribed Rituals
The Confession of Faith
Mappila Prayer
Mappila Fasting
Mappila Alms-Giving
Mappilas and the Pilgrimage to Mecca
Major and Minor Festivals
The “Walia Perunāl” or Baqr-‘Īd
The “Cheria Perunal” or ‘Īd al-Fitr
Minor Festivals
MilĀd al-Nabi
Lailat al-Qadr
Lailat al-Mir‘Āj
Other Holidays
The Mappila Respect for Saints
The Source of Mappila Saint Veneration
The Various Categories of Mappila Saints
The Prophet Muhammad and Other Heroes
The Descendants of the Prophet: Sayyids and Tangals
Globally Revered Muslims Who Are Mappila Saints
Local Mappila Saints
The Celebration of the Saints
The Nercha Festivals
The Malappuram Nercha
Other Nerchas, Shrines, and Shrine Visitation
Mawluds
Superstition and Magic
The Issue of Superstition: Defenders and Critics
Magical Practice among Mappilas
Simple Magic
Magical Practice Related to Belief in Spirits
Black Magic or Sorcery
13 Mappila Artistic Expression: Mosque Architecture, Embellished Houses, the Material Arts, Song, and Dance
Mosque Architecture
The Traditional Mosque
The New Architectural Wave
The Hybrid Development
Mosque Types and Numbers
Embellished Homes
The Material Arts
Mappila Music: Songs, Instruments, and Dance
The Mappila Songs
Garlands for Saints and Prayers for Their Help
Romantic and Heroic Songs
A Medley of Songs: Wedding, Instructional, Modern
Musical Instruments
Mappila Dance
14 Mappila Literature
Malayalam Literature Is Born: Mappilas Remain Aloof
Arabic Literature and the Mappilas: An Unfulfilled Vision
Arabic-Malayalam Literature: A Synthetic Medium
The Development of Arabic-Malayalam Literature
The Arabic-Malayalam Songwriters
Arabic-Malayalam Prose Literature
Mappila Literature in Malayalam Enters the Cultural Scene
Mappila Malayalam Literature Begins
Mappila Journals and Newspapers
The Mappila Journals
Mappila Newspapers
Mappila Novelists in Malayalam: A Cultural Wave
A Literary Icon: Vaikom Muhammad Basheer (1908–1994)
Three Other Premier Writers
N. P. Muhammad
K. T. Muhammad
Moidu Padiyath
Other Fiction Writers and a Concluding Thought
Mappila Nonfiction Writers
Mappila Poetry
Conclusion: The Significance of Mappila Culture
A Resource for Wider Cultural Understanding
The Implication That a Cultural Renaissance Is Possible
The Importance of Determined Behavioral Change
Appendix A: Islamic and Malayalam Terms for Culture
Appendix B: The Ali Raja Kingdom in Kannur
Appendix C: The Origins of Traditionalism in the Islamic Heartlands and Its Structure
Appendix D: The Nizamiyya Syllabus
Appendix E: Mappila Culture on the Laccadive Islands (Lakshwadeep)
Notes
Glossary
Arabic Terms
Malayalam Terms
Composite Arabic-Malayalam and Other Terms
Bibliography
Books
Reference Works
Articles
Major Encyclopedia Articles
Book Chapters
Articles in Journals and Annuals
Other Materials
Periodicals
Newspapers
Index

Citation preview

Mappila Muslim Culture

SUNY series in Religious Studies —————— Harold Coward, editor

Mappila Muslim Culture How a Historic Muslim Community in India Has Blended Tradition and Modernity

Roland E. Miller

Published by State University of New York Press, Albany © 2015 State University of New York All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY www.sunypress.edu Production, Eileen Nizer Marketing, Michael Campochiaro Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Miller, Roland E.   Mappila Muslim culture : how a historic Muslim community in India has blended tradition and modernity / Roland E. Miller.     pages cm. — (SUNY series in religious studies)   Includes bibliographical references and index.   ISBN 978-1-4384-5601-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)   ISBN 978-1-4384-5602-7 (e-book)   1. Moplahs—History.  2. Kerala (India)—History.  I. Title.   DS432.M65M538 2015  305.6'97095483—dc23

2014027725 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my Mappila friends,

with respect and gratitude . . .

Contents Preface A Note on Foreign Terms and Style

xi xiii

Part I The Becoming of Mappila Muslim Culture: A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope 1 The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting Mappila Identity The Malayalam Cultural Setting The Islamic Cultural Setting

3 3 5 13

2 The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture The Historical Shaping The Cultural Legacy

25 25 41

3 The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on Mappila Culture Two Language Worlds Developmental Contrasts and Sporadic Culture   Contacts The European Cultural Intrusion and Its   Connecting Role Indo-Muslim Influences on the Mappilas: A Summary

60 70

4 The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism The Pillar of Arabic The Pillar of the Qurʾan Traditionalist Religious Education Traditionalist Clergy and Their Training

73 75 79 81 85

49 49 51

viii

Contents

5 The Great Transition in Mappila Culture: Four Change Factors Theological Reform The Impact of Communism Modern Secular Education The Impact of Gulf Money and Gulf Custom Conclusion

93 94 103 109 117 125

6 Mappila Character and Personality Today Mythical Elements in the Mappila Image The Mappila Character and Personality The Sense of Being Mappila

127 128 133 134

A Profile

Part II The Being of Mappila Muslim Culture: of Changing Customs and Notable Achievements

7 Key Life Moments: Birth, Marriage, Death Pregnancy, Birth, and Early Childhood Family Planning Marriage Divorce: The Practices and the Problem Old Age and Death

139 140 143 146 154 156

8 Family Custom: Home Life, Interrelationships, Inheritance The Mappila Home and Its Rhythm of Life Mutual Interrelations within the Family The Mappila Inheritance Pattern The Marumakkathāyam or Matrilineal Tradition

161 161 167 173 177

9 Aspects of Personal Behavior Mappila Occupations Mappila Dress and Ornamentation Mappila Food Cleanliness, Pollution, and Sanitation Tabus: Stimulants and Extramarital Behavior Pleasures and Role Models

183 184 187 191 195 197 201

10 The Landscape of Mappila Social Behavior: Group Distinctions, Educational Variety, Political Alignments, Theological Factions, Decision Making Group Distinctions: Arab Descent, Caste-Like   Clans, Class Features

207 208

Contents



Current Educational Profile Mappila Political Alignments The Mappila Theological Factions The Community’s Decision-Making Process

ix 212 220 223 229

photo gallery follows page 232

11 Social Behavior (cont’d): Leadership and Some Selected Leaders, Community Service, Community Relations Mappila Leadership Resources and Representative  Leaders Mappila Social Service and Trusts Mappila Relations with Non-Muslims

233 233 242 246

12 Religious Rituals and Festivals: Saints and Superstition The Prescribed Rituals Major and Minor Festivals The Mappila Respect for Saints The Celebration of the Saints Superstition and Magic

253 253 259 262 272 280

13 Mappila Artistic Expression: Mosque Architecture, Embellished Houses, the Material Arts, Song, and Dance Mosque Architecture Embellished Homes The Material Arts Mappila Music: Song, Instruments, and Dance

291 291 298 300 303

14 Mappila Literature 315 Malayalam Literature Is Born: Mappilas Remain Aloof 315 Arabic Literature and the Mappilas: An Unfulfilled  Vision 319 Arabic-Malayalam Literature: A Synthetic Medium 322 Literature in Malayalam Enters the Cultural Scene 327 Mappila Journals and Newspapers 329 Mappila Novelists in Malayalam: A Cultural Wave 333 Mappila Nonfiction Writers 344 Mappila Poetry 345 Conclusion: The Significance of Mappila Culture A Resource for Wider Cultural Understanding The Implication That a Cultural Renaissance   Is Possible The Importance of Determined Behavioral Change

349 349 351 352

x

Contents

Appendix A: Islamic and Malayalam Terms for Culture

355

Appendix B: The Ali Raja Kingdom in Kannur

357

Appendix C: The Origins of Traditionalism in the Islamic Heartlands and Its Structure

361

Appendix D: The Nizamiyya Syllabus

365

Appendix E: Mappila Culture on the Laccadive Islands (Lakshwadeep) 367 Notes

369

Glossary 397 Bibliography 405 Index

419

Preface This book examines the thinking and acting of the Mappila Muslims of Kerala within their religious and social context. In an earlier study of Mappila history and theology1 I could only give passing attention to this intriguing community’s cultural phenomena. I hope that this volume will serve to make up that deficiency. Certain cultural achievements rise like mountains out of the plains. The considerable size of the Mappila community and its distinctive social experience are enough to make it inherently important, but its cultural implications go farther. Whether it be their adaptive spirit, their capacity to change behavior patterns, or their refreshing attitude toward interreligious harmony, Mappilas and their culture have a significance beyond their boundaries. They have struggled through serious difficulties to make a successful social adaptation. It needs no saying that such symbols of cultural progress have a special importance in our contemporary world. There are many definitions of “culture.” I take it in the broad sense of learned and cultivated behavior. In that perspective, few societies have had such a long and radical experience with culture change as the Mappilas, and in describing their ideas and practices I will emphasize that aspect of their story. Two scholarly opinions are relevant to this approach. The noted French Muslim philosopher, Muhammad Arkoun, maintains that in dealing with the wide range of Muslim societies we need “a reflective history of culture” in addition to purely descriptive studies.2 In a similar vein, from his social science point of view, G. O. Lang writes:3 Older views in the study of culture change tended to focus on cultural elements themselves. The emphasis has shifted to the study of changing relationships between elements, change between groups of individuals sharing a common or different culture, change between elements of a society

xi

xii

Preface

and adjustments of individual personalities to their changing cultures. In this work I deal with Mappila culture in two major parts which I call the Becoming and the Being of the Mappilas. The first six chapters outline how they arrived at the present moment. What accounts for their quite striking cultural blend? In the succeeding eight chapters I describe the current customs and accomplishments of the Mappilas in key areas; in almost all of them the factor of change has become a crucial element. Bearing in mind the length and breadth of the Mappila experience I have used the tradition of clear divisions to make the material easily usable, but at the same time I have also attempted to personalize the description as much as possible. No writer on a people’s culture can feel completely satisfied with his or her presentation. The topic is inherently broad and perceptions vary widely among individual members of the Mappila community. Moreover, there are also many academic disciplines and methodologies dedicated to the task of investigating religio-social cultures in their various aspects, and each has a role to play in the full study of Muslim societies grounded on the principle of a unified life under divine guidance. In addition to the methods of Islamic studies and religious studies I am also indebted to the approach of social sciences. In what follows I have tried to present Mappila culture with reasonable accuracy, some understanding and relative completeness, but I must beg the forbearance of my Mappila friends where they feel undue lack in the materials or any unintended misrepresentation. I could not have reached this goal without the support of many individuals. They include the Mappila advisors mentioned in the text and notes, and countless other friends too numerous to mention—the happy result of many years spent in Malabar. Fellow scholars and students have remained warm in their encouragement over a long period. My wife Mary Helen gave me steady companionship and aid; she and my son Michael also provided helpful photos. The editors and staff at SUNY Press, and their reviewers, gave valuable assistance. I sincerely thank all of them. To God I am very grateful for the strength and time to complete this formidable but personally satisfying task. Roland E. Miller Ottawa, Canada 2014

A Note on Foreign Terms and Style This volume is prepared for the general public, but a limited number of Malayalam and Arabic terms have been introduced where necessary. Arabic terms are part and parcel of customary Mappila usage, while Malayalam terms arise naturally from the culture context. Each term is explained the first time used, and its meaning is later repeated in the glossary. Both the terms Malayalam and Malayali may be used as nouns or as adjectives; Malayalam applies to the area and language, and Malayali to the people. The transliteration schemes for the Arabic and Malayalam words are those used in the writer’s The Mappila Muslims of Kerala. For both languages long vowels are indicated by a dash over the letters. In the case of Arabic the letters ain and hamza, for which there are no English equivalents, are indicated by the marks ʿ and ʾ respectively. The words sharia and madrasa, now common in English, are used as equivalents of sharīʿa and madrasa, but Qurʾān is maintained in that form. Some arbitrary decisions are inevitable in the use of diacritical marks with names. The names of places and modern individuals are unpointed, while names from the classical age are pointed. In the text itself palatal Malayalam consonants are not singled out in book titles by the sign of a dot placed under the letter, but they are in the notes and in the bibliography. The translation of Malayalam materials, unless otherwise indicated, are by the writer. Qurʾān quotations are generally taken from Marmaduke Pickthall’s English translation but Yusuf Ali’s text is also used. In regard to footnote abbreviations EI 2 refers to the second edition of the Encyclopedia of Islam. In the notes the second and subsequent appearance of a source is noted by the use of a shortened title, with publication data deleted. The bibliography is a list of works consulted; for further sources see the writer’s entry on “Mappilas” in

xiii

xiv

A Note on Foreign Terms and Style

El2. General works on Kerala and Indian Islam are voluminous and no effort is made to include those that are not directly relevant. For reasons of convenience the common Western dates are used rather than either the Malayalam or Muslim calendars.

Part I

The Becoming of Mappila Muslim Culture A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope

1

The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting

Who are the Mappilas? Where are they located? How was their culture formed? Our study of Mappila Muslim culture begins with these basic questions. It is possible to answer the questions in a simple, straightforward manner. The Mappilas are the Malayali Muslims of southwest India, where they constitute a large and distinct community of more than eight million members. Their culture is the offshoot of a successful marriage between the Malayalam and the Islamic cultural traditions. Their way of life has developed over more than thirteen centuries as the oldest Muslim community in South Asia. Yet simplicity conceals as well as reveals. The Mappilas are not stick figures, but flesh and blood. They are living people in motion. Their culture is not an abstract time-bound collection of habits and customs. It is, rather, the ongoing behavioral reflection of a dynamic human development. At a deeper level, therefore, our answers to the questions raised above require a journey into the life and spirit of a people. In a sense, they require a personal meeting, one that brings both learning and pleasure. The primary purpose of this opening chapter is to point to and to delineate the twofold source of Mappila culture. It flows from both the Malayalam and Islamic worlds, and both stream into the living culture of the Mappilas down to the present. Before beginning that story we will look more closely at Mappila identity through a visit with Abdulla and Amina.

Mappila Identity I had traveled along the road to Malappuram many times, but its liveliness never seemed to lessen or to become dull. The road teems with 3

4

Mappila Muslim Culture

people and activity. On both sides pedestrians walk briskly, dodging one another and the endless stream of cycles, three-wheelers, cars, buses, and lorries. The goats, “brake-testing” water buffalo, and oxcarts that once occupied much of the road space are no longer visible. People move in and out of the open-front shops that line the streets—general provision stores, cloth and clothing establishments, pharmacies, hardware suppliers, restaurants and tea-shops, and many more. Behind them stretches an open area, the town playing-field or maidan, where football teams are active. Next to it is the site of the weekly market, where everything from brinjals to books are on sale. It is evening, and from the nearby educational institutions children and youth pour out in huge numbers. Evening is also the going-out and visiting time in Mappila culture. I am on my way to see old family friends. Abdulla and Amina are expecting me. They live in a house that overlooks this busy scene. This is their space, their town, in their state called Kerala. A quarter of the state population are Mappila Muslims who live in towns like this, alongside Hindu and Christian neighbors, interacting harmoniously. Their name “Mappila” is an honorific title meaning “great child” that goes back to their origins.1 It was quite respectfully given to them by Hindus when they first came to Kerala. The name carries intimations of their double-streamed Arab–Malayalam cultural background. Many centuries have passed by since then, and now Mappilas are experiencing tremendous change. Abdulla’s family is an example of that phenomenon. His parents were very poor, but he went to school, became a lawyer, and worked hard to pull himself up on the economic scale. Amina also went against the trend and managed to become a teacher. Now they have a nice home, proudly cared for. As I arrived I was greeted with great warmth by all the members of the family. For a time we talked happily together in Malayalam, the common language of the region, sharing family news. I was then led to a sumptuous meal, with special Mappila ingredients. It was not only a culinary feast but also a friendship-fest, especially meaningful because of our differing backgrounds. Abdulla brought in my taxi driver, a stranger to both of us, and seated him also at the table. The time flew by all too quickly. As I returned to my destination through the now darkened streets of this emotional center of Mappila culture, I reflected on the remarkable story of this society and pondered its future. Abdulla’s family represents a community that goes back to the earliest days of Islam experiencing a long period of peaceful intercultural growth, then passed through terrible and testing times, but is now developing

The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting

5

a behavioral synthesis. The saga has cultural significance, heaped up and overflowing. It begs for wider recognition and fuller description. The Mappila Muslims are better known now than they once were, but still labor under a shadow of concealment. The course of historical events, especially in the Malabar2 region of northern Kerala, conspired to put the Mappilas into a defined image box. There is an old Malabar proverb, however, that declares: “If you put anything inside, it will surely be known outside.”3 It is time, and for good reasons high time, for the Mappilas to be better known outside.4 One of those good reasons is the sheer size of the Mappila Muslim population. In their numbers they make up a major social group both within the Indian nation and within the global Islamic profile. The estimated Muslim population (2014) in Kerala State is over 8,900,0005: this is a figure that is larger in size than 22 out of the 44 Muslim majority countries in the world. There are other substantial reasons, however, for making Mappila culture more widely known. They represent a significant example of successful Muslim cultural adaptation, one that points to possibility for contemporary Muslims engaged in cultural interrelationships. The Mappilas are a notable example of self-change, moving from a negative to a positive cultural image. Finally, the culture content of Mappila life has unique customary aspects that make up a fascinating chapter in the wider story of human cultural development. The Mappila Muslims have both a clear identity and social significance. The rich complexity of their learned behavior cannot be appreciated, however, without examining its two forming streams. The Mappilas are Malayali Muslims. They draw on their Malayalam heritage for their everyday life and at the same time on their Islamic heritage for their faith, religious ethos, and many customs. We turn first to the Malayalam culture stream.

The Malayalam Culture Setting The task of making Mappila culture better known takes us to a lively society in southwest India set amidst a lush tropical splendor. The home of the Mappilas stretches from Cape Comorin to Mangalore but for our purposes we will confine ourselves to the state of Kerala where the overwhelming majority reside. Its culture and language are called Malayalam, and the people are Malayalis.6 Generally quick of mind and independent in outlook, they have produced a distinct culture that constantly draws on external influences but never loses

6

Mappila Muslim Culture

its traditional core ethos. The Mappila Muslims are contributing members of that vibrant culture. Some of its informing factors that we will consider are the state’s natural endowments, the extreme population pressure, the enterprising spirit of the people, the paradoxical factors of social diversity and solidarity, and the mobility of the society. The word Malayalam means “the place between the mountains and the sea.” It refers to Kerala’s geographical setting as a coastal strip of land bordered on one side by the Arabian Sea (=the Indian Ocean) and on the other by the Western Ghat mountains. It is only 576 kilometers (360 miles) north and south and never exceeds 112 kilometers (70 miles) east and west. The first impression it gives is that of an extended garden. The terrain is alternately hilly, the tops often crowned with coconut palm trees, or it is flat, well-watered alluvial fields that produce rice and other crops. Almost countless homes cluster under the trees, alongside the rice paddy fields, or near the rivers and canals that run down to the sea. The tropical scene is the product of two annual monsoons that bring an average of 320 centimeters (160 inches) of rain a year to the area. If the beauty of nature is the first impression one has of Kerala, its productivity is even more important. While the state has the hustle and bustle associated with modernity, with high technology one of its major new industrial developments, statistically and at heart the Malayalis are still heavily involved with agriculture. The state produces 92 percent of India’s rubber, 70 percent of its coconuts, 60 percent of its tapioca, and large amounts of coffee, tea, and bananas.7 Many of the spices that were so important in Mappila history continue to be raised, especially pepper and ginger. Paddy fields still remain despite the steady encroachment of the growing population and the intrusive development of crops other than rice. They stretch out in undulating flow, glowing with their delicate shades of green. Could there be any shadow on such a lovely scene? Alas, its beauty cannot hide the tensions in Mappila history that revolved around the ownership of the fields. At a very early stage in Kerala history, a complicated land tenure system had evolved that was marked by echelons of ownership and management. The system gave Mappilas and other tenants and poor laborers no ready access to land ownership. Therefore, when the Marxist government in 1969 decreed that the maximum holding of the most productive rice fields would be ten acres and the remainder would have to be distributed among the landless, agricultural workers from all backgrounds breathed a sigh of relief. Through modest payments tenant farmers could now

The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting

7

become the absolute owners of the land they tilled. It was one of the most radical property decisions ever taken in a free society.8 The coconut plantations contend with the rice paddies for Malayali affection. By some the word Kerala is said to signify “land of the coconut.” Others derive the term from Chera, the name of a prominent ruling dynasty. Whatever the fact may be, Malayalis regard the coconut as a divine gift. It thrives almost everywhere, in lowlying, well-watered areas, on the roadside, in the yards of homes, and on hill plantations. All of its parts are useful—the leaves for the roof; the fruit fiber for ropes, baskets and mats; the pulp for food and for the extraction of oil; and the juice of the tender fruit for a refreshing drink on a hot day. When, after fifty years or so, the tree dies, its decay-resistant wood is used for building. Only a Malayali who has lost his soul will cut down a tree before that time. And, if necessary, he will even let it grow through his roof! The mountains and the sea also contribute their share to Kerala’s productive beauty. In the mountains grow great hardwood trees. Although declining in number, they are still hauled by elephants from inaccessible jungles and are either floated down rivers or placed on lorries to be taken to lumberyards. The great groves of multipurpose bamboo, however, are now virtually exhausted. The sea too is bounteous with the fish that mean so much both for the diet of Malayalis and for the economy of the state. It has made its fierce power so clearly evident that granite rock protecting walls have been constructed along Kerala’s coast to prevent its shore from disappearing under the waves. Without exception Malayalis are united in their affection for their home. If beauty reigns in southwest India, density is her consort. If nature’s grandeur impresses, humanity’s mass overwhelms. There are two important things that must be said about Kerala’s population. The first is that it is massive considering the space. The second is that it is unusually balanced in its religious makeup. The state is one of the most crowded places in the world. It contains 33,406,061 people (2011 census) within an area of 38,863 square kilometers (15,175 square miles). The ratio of 859 per sq.km. (or 2199 per sq.m.) is extraordinarily high, and can be matched by only a very few other global regions. In fact, Kerala is simply one big village. A low infant mortality rate of 16 per 1,000 and an average life expectancy of 70.3 ironically contribute to the population pressure that is the state’s major problem. Family planning awareness is strong and the annual growth rate is now below one percent. This achievement is remarkable, but its full

8

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effect will not be felt for another generation. In the meantime, the demographic reality has major implications for domiciliary decisions, for employment possibilities, for human relations, and for lifestyles in general. Equally remarkable is the relatively balanced nature of Kerala’s religious population. Its people are 56.2 percent Hindu, 24.7 percent Muslim, and 19.1 percent Christian. This ratio has no parallel elsewhere. The relative equilibrium points to three critical factors in the state’s history. The first is the cultural spaciousness of the host Hindu society that was open to the development of both Christianity and Islam. The second is the centuries-long interreligious harmony within this trialogical situation that made possible the development of new faith communities.9 The third is the cultural interaction inevitably involved. No one who has observed children pouring out of the state’s elementary schools can be insensitive to the various levels of interaction entailed by this unusual religious profile. A final comment on Kerala’s religious population is that the Muslim share is steadily increasing. Fifty years ago the comparative percentages were 61.6 for Hindus, 17.5 for Muslims, and 20.8 for Christians. The increase is not unique since it parallels the national statistics.10 The number of Mappilas is particularly high in the northern region of the state, where 34 percent are Muslims. The statistics underline what the traveler discovers, namely, that Malayalis live in an intermingled manner. Mappilas are dispersed throughout the southwest coastal region; there are areas where more Mappilas reside than elsewhere, but there are few places where only Mappilas live. Behind that reality lies practical necessity related to the availability and cost of living space. The price of land is almost unbelievable high in comparison with personal income. Many people cannot afford to purchase their own home and must live with relatives or rent space. When they do get a chance to obtain a house and compound, it is the cost rather than the makeup of the neighborhood that is the main factor. In sum, Malayalis make their choices as to where to live based on practical rather than on religious grounds. Hindus, Muslims, and Christians commonly live together. It is not religious ghettoism but another kind of cultural dream that is visible in the Malayali living pattern, and that is the deep desire for some separation and independence. While nature is a beneficent self-giving friend, one’s fellow human beings are inevitably competitors. They crowd in on you, and compete for the good things of life. The partial answer is a place of your own. There you can include a portion of kindly nature, however small, and to a degree exclude

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an ever-present humanity. So you build a compound wall, or even a thorn fence, around your little space. That also serves to keep out the omnipresent and voracious goat! Within that guarded space is your home, a little garden, always some flowers, a coconut tree, perhaps even a papaya tree. From its privacy and serenity the Malayali develops the accommodating spirit that makes possible a neighborhood culture within the turbulence of a highly compressed society. A journey through Kerala, from Kasaragode District to the north to Trivandrum District in the south, is therefore a journey through a village of homely compounds interspersed by commercial areas. The density of Kerala’s population affects not only its home life, but also its economy. It creates the great search for jobs that characterizes the society. The search for jobs!—it is the dominant drive in all of India where more than three million new jobs are created annually but fifteen million new babies are born. Yet nowhere is the pressure more deeply felt than in Kerala where the male unemployment is calculated by some to be 25 percent, including many educated and qualified individuals. The rate among women is even higher. The perpetual problem has many social and political repercussions. On the one hand, it has forced Malayalis into a global diaspora and family disruption. On the other hand, within the state, economic disappointment was a major factor that gave rise to the communist movement which swept past social and religious defenses to capture the hearts of many Malayalis. Not only did this result in long years of governance by the Communist Party–Marxist, but it also produced one of the most volatile sociopolitical scenes in the nation. Fed by the burning desire for social justice Kerala began to be known as a culture of protest. The powerful labor unions refined its instruments: the strike, the gherāo, and the jātha. The gherāo is a forced sit-in. The jātha is street march of protesters. No cause is too slight to attract a procession, especially by those who felt oppressed. The sight is sobering; the sound disturbing. The leader, often a professional, declares the cause and the single-file procession responds with slogans shouted in unison. Kerala society has passed through decades of protest. As conditions improve, it is now emerging from that activity, but heated remonstrance continues to be a social reality. Malayali survival and the current economic advance have not come from protest, however, but from sheer determination. Productive nature and population density are two shaping factors in Malayalam culture, but to them we now add a third element, namely, personal enterprise. Here is where the generally resolute Malayali personality comes into play. Much has been written and said

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of the Malayali initiative, creative energy, and venturesome disposition. They are at work in the forces re-shaping the society, including the development of an industrial base, the commitment to education, and the enthusiastic involvement in democratic political debate. The current commercial and industrial surge in Kerala is challenging agriculture as the state’s lifeblood. The commercial habit has been in the Malayali blood for centuries. However, the current age has added a new and vibrant interest in technological development. The billboards along the roads entice observers to the full range of high-tech consumer goods. Within Kerala today their manufacture is under way. The state’s culture has always had a great range of folk arts and crafts, but industry is now surpassing them in its forward march. It includes the processing of food and textiles, the production of chemicals, fertilizers, aluminum and titanium, electrical equipment, and even ships and rockets. The factories are drawing Malayalis into an urban-industrial mode with its culture-leveling modalities. In that process the new leaders are the producers of computer and electronic hardware in the busy cities of the central region. As the economy surges forward there is more capacity to buy the advertised consumer goods, and there are new smiles on many faces. No description of Malayalam culture is complete without highlighting its commitment to education. Fundamentally, it stems from the well-known Malayali intellectual ability and love for the things of the mind. The latter manifests itself not only in formal schooling but also in the general interest in public discourse and in the unusual skill in rational debate. The commitment has made Kerala the most educated state in India, and one of the most literate populations in the world. The overall literacy rate in 2011 was 94 percent (males 94.2; females 87.9). Almost everyone goes to school, schools and colleges dot the landscape, and the seven crowded universities pour out graduates (many of whom leave Kerala) in every conceivable field. It may be said that the state’s greatest product and largest export is educated people. The educational development in Kerala, the most literate state in India, benefited from various stimuli that played on the innate intellectualism of its citizens. Interest in Western education was aroused already in the early 1800s by Christian missions and later by colonial administrators, but the modern stimulations have come from the need for jobs. Malayalis surged ever higher on the scale of educational degrees to get employment. They recognized that the knowledge of English was a key factor in getting jobs outside the state, and as a result its study became a cottage industry. Its continued flourishing

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is attested to by the upsurge of English medium schools. While the need for employment in a highly competitive environment became the most powerful factor in the educational drive of Malayalam society, a supplementary motivation flowed from the highly developed dowry system that, in varying degrees, affects all Malayalis. It was partly to avoid extortionist demands that parents encouraged the education of their daughters, so much so that the state claims the second highest percentage of female university graduates in the world. We will leave until later the Mappila struggle with modern education; it was all the more trying for many in view of the fact that Mappilas share the basic Malayali abilities. Much of what we have said so far points to the fourth element in Malayalam culture that we will highlight, namely, its combined characteristic of diversity–solidarity. This is a quality of many states in India, but in Kerala it has a special intensity related to its small size. Diversity within population compression easily leads to turbulence. No visitor in the state can fail to be struck by the great variation that exists in a small area. Some of the differences are related to wealth and class. A large home and a small hut stand side by side. Toyotas flash along the roads, but the buses groan with their overloads. Within a small radius a temple, a church, and a mosque may meet the eye. They represent differing views on life, dissimilar customs, and varied festivals. Siva Ratri, Christmas, and Bakr-Id each have their particular qualities. The common language, especially the religious language, has dialectical variations. The educated and the uneducated travel different roads. At a deeper level, there are varying opinions about the meaning of life and questions of right and wrong. Political differences are often acute, whether the issues are local, national, or international The enthusiastic Malayali participation in the political process testifies to the society’s diversity as well as to its energetic commitment to the democratic principle itself. Issues are debated, voting participation is high, parties proliferate, newspapers highlight political reports, and politicians are everywhere. But the phenomenon is marked by a paradox—the side-by-side existence of individualism and groupism. They are like an alternating current. On the one hand, groupism is powerful. The caste system of the Hindus—be they Brahmin, Nayar, Ezhuvar, or—is legendary in the influence it exercises. Syrian Christians are often referred to as a virtual caste, and there are other contending groups. Muslims have major divisions despite the concept of a single unified community. The factionalism is a powerful factor in the political process affecting alignments and realignments,

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in the process producing a constant flux. On the other hand, the proverbial Malayali individualism is equally powerful. Individuals go on making up their own minds despite group pressures. They cannot be driven but must be persuaded. The unpredictable interplay between groupism and individualism, and the mutual accommodations arising from and essential to it, are important elements in the society’s cultural development and its communal harmony. What saves the society from fragmentation or unmanageable turbulence is the remarkable fact of Malayali solidarity. The diversity is a diversity within fellow-feeling, a diversity in oneness. Malayalis are sometimes charged with being clannish. That spirit is forged in the heat of experience. They have had to learn to give and take, to hold on to that which they consider crucial for their personal existence, and at the same time to give the same privilege to others, avoiding contention. The experience has created an emotional bond that underlies intra-Malayali relations. It is strengthened by a common pride in their Kerala home. That is why, wherever there are Malayalis in the world, they sooner or later create a Malayala samaj or association. To others that emotional bond appears as proud clannishness, but to the Malayalis themselves it is their sense of solidarity that holds them together against high odds. The Mappilas contribute to the diversity and participate in the solidarity. For the final characteristic in Malayalam culture we point to its mobility. Malayalis give the appearance of being a people on the move. Mobility runs deeper than physical movement, but that alone is impressive. Every means of transportation is used and is crowded. Join me as I stand on a railway platform in the evening. The Mangalore Mail is due to arrive any moment. Hundreds of people are poised for the struggle ahead, the effort to find a seat. They come from every social and economic class, but their common purpose causes them to crowd together. Unity within diversity! The hawkers are ready to run up and down beside the train to sell their wares, while the porters tie up their turbans and get ready for business. The train arrives and disgorges a host of passengers. As they get down from the passenger bogies they meet those getting up. Confusion prevails! With only ten minutes for the process, how will it end? A women’s compartment is opposite to where I am standing and watching. There is huge pressure as the women strive to climb into the compartment and find a seat, but there is also an inherent decency and understanding. They have learned to deal with the problem of mobility. But where are they all going?

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The employment market, the educational system, and political activity are all factors in the embracive mobility. It is accentuated by the practice of the government, Kerala’s major employer, to transfer its staff every three years. The mobility, however, also takes Malayalis far from their home soil. They themselves joke about “the Malabar hotels” found everywhere in the nation, and some say, even on the moon! Long before it was fashionable to take advantage of job opportunities in the Gulf states, Christian nurses from Kerala were already staffing many of the hospitals in the Middle East. Malayali businessmen, teachers, and health professionals have gone to every shore. The incessant traveling causes family strains and financial burdens, but certainly within Kerala it draws people together. It is easy to see that on the train. Once the passengers are seated they begin conversing with each other as though they were old friends. Productive nature, population pressure, an enterprising spirit, diversity–solidarity, and constant movement are some of the main elements in Malayalam culture. There are many other characteristics that could be cited. The Mappilas share them as Malayalis, and their behavior accords with that reality. Hence, we must view their image through the Malayalam lens. As resident citizens of the Malayalam village and full participants in its life they are the co-creators of the Malayalam culture as well as its heirs and benefactors. Yet that is only half the story. The Mappilas are Muslims as well as Malayalis. We therefore turn next to Islamic culture, the second stream in the shaping of their society.

The Islamic Cultural Setting Into the Malayalam world came Muslims from South Arabia. They came early, but not overnight. When they came, they brought Islam with them in their cultural dress, in turn adopting Malayalam ways. In the next chapter we will examine in greater detail who the South Arabs were, how they came, and the reception they received. Here we restrict ourselves to a basic and critical question. In Islam, and hence in an Islam-based culture, what are the principles that help Muslims who are in a trans-cultural movement, whether they are Bangladeshis coming to Canada in modern times, or South Arabs coming to Kerala in yesterday’s world? From the Islamic perspective, what enabled Mappilas to be part of the remarkable intercultural development that followed their arrival in southwest India?

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In examining that important issue we must first consider what is meant by the phrase “Islamic culture.” Is it simply a collective term meaning the sum of all individual Muslim cultures in the world? Or does it have a core content of its own? Muslim believers would say it is the latter. There is indeed a core that is common to all individual Muslim cultures. That core is the classical Muslim faith as it was worked out in the first Islamic century, which concentrated on the teaching of the Qurʾān and the life pattern of the Prophet Muhammad. What builds on that in Muslim societies is culture, but it is Islamic culture because it is permeated by the spirit and ideals of the core. The relation of the two—core of faith and behavioral buildup— is understood differently by various Muslims. Two Muslim nations demonstrate that difference: Saudi Arabia virtually identifying the two and Turkey sharply distinguishing between them. Muslims, in short, do not have a worked-out, agreed theory of culture.11 There is a blurring of distinction between religion and culture, complicating change and development.12 Reflecting that reality, the Islamic terminology used for culture is also imprecise and varied (see Appendix A). Nevertheless, if we take Islamic religion in the narrow sense to refer to the basic revealed truths about faith and life, and Islamic culture to signify the Muslim community’s general learned behavior, we may say that Islam has provided at least four clear ways to deal with cultural matters. Even though they have not always been referred to or evenly applied, they have enabled Muslims to respond to, to sift, to absorb, to tolerate, or to decline aspects of another culture. They naturally constitute the Mappila resource for their engagement with Malayalam culture. The four elements are:





1. Religious conviction: Islam inculcates a Godward direction and frame of reference for all of life. Mappila religious conviction is legendary for its intensity. 2. Practicality: Islam allows an accepting attitude toward various facets of human culture as long as they do not violate God’s will. Mappilas are pragmatic in relation to culture.

3. Legal Flexibility: Islam provides a basis in law for dealing with human folkways. While remaining loyal to Muslim personal and cultic law, Mappilas have been culturally accommodating. 4. Equality: Islam teaches the importance of personal responsibility, and allows individual freedom in behav-

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ioral practice. Mappilas honor tradition and respect clergy, but they espouse the right to culture change. In one way or another Mappilas have drawn on these principles of Islamic culture. In their early tradition they may have done so intuitively; in the middle period the principles were overlaid and smothered by a blanket of traditionalism; but in the present period Mappilas are consciously raising up and discussing culture theory as they contend with modernity. In the remainder of this section we will consider in greater detail each of these crucial principles: religious conviction, practicality, legal flexibility, and equality.

Religious Conviction: Life Has a Godward Direction The Forming Attitude Muslim life and culture are informed by the religious conviction that life has a Godward direction. During the Prophet Muhammad’s lifetime a qibla or direction was established for prayer. The earliest Muslims prayed toward Jerusalem, but that was changed to Mecca. There is an indentation in mosque walls that marks the direction. As some theologians have put it, this is a symbol of a fundamental truth. To live in the Godward direction includes everything we think, say, or do. Of course, there are certain specific religious duties, each having their own significance, but they too are reminders that our whole life should be turned toward God and conducted in the awareness of God. The idea of life direction is therefore associated with the concept of life unity or tawhīd. A believer is not to think that he or she lives in two separate worlds—the one sacred and the other non-sacred. There is nothing non-sacred because God created it all and rules it all. He is “the Lord of the Worlds” and “the Best of all Creators.” My life, therefore, is to be a unitive life, a tawhīd life. Physically, mentally, and spiritually, all of it is to have its direction toward God. There are some areas of life that are non-prescribed, as we shall see, but the entire world of culture is to be infused by the conviction that life is sacred and is to be entirely surrendered to God. This means that in the undelineated areas of culture, the divinely commanded ethics of goodness and righteousness, justice and kindness, and respect for all of God’s creation, are to be reflected through personal and community behavior.

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This fundamental attitudinal approach sets the relation of religion and culture for Muslims, and gives them a reference point for both cultural growth and cultural criticism. As to cultural growth, Muslims are free to express themselves, in good conscience, through all of God’s forms. The Qurʾān, the basic authority of Islam, makes that clear. God “hath made of service to you whatsoever is in the heavens and whatsoever is in the earth: it is all from Him  .  .  .  portents for people who reflect” (45:13). And again, “All that is in the heavens and all that is in the earth glorifies Allah” (64:1). This applies then to the treasures of Malayalam culture (to which Mappilas adapted) as much as to Arab culture, to Indonesian culture as much as to Persian culture. It may be a lute or sitar or gamelan, a pagoda or a dome, all good things that are in the world are potential means to build a culture if those who utilize them do so in the spirit of awe and gratitude. Since Muslims are to consider the forms and values of culture from a spiritual center, that is also their basic guide for cultural criticism. Does something, in general, pass the test of loyalty to God’s will? If it does, it is certainly acceptable. If it does not, it should be reformed or abandoned. The will of God is the clear reference point.13 Muslim life in this world is God-referenced. The practical issues are not dealt with as though God has nothing to do with them. That cannot be imagined! . . . Muslims want to do what God wants them to do. The Mappila Attitude: A Special Case Mappila religious conviction also informs Mappila life and culture, but its intensity is proverbial and makes it a special case. All Malayalis are aware of the characteristic, and many commentators have noted it. Mappila religious emotion runs deep and imbues societal affairs. But what are its marks? The answer is not so obvious as might be expected if a statistically high performance of prescribed religious duty is taken as the criterion for measuring strength of conviction. The basic Islamic beliefs called imān are faith in God, in God’s angels, in prophets, in sacred books, and in the resurrection and the day of judgment. Mappilas accept these as all other Muslims do. The fundamental religious duties, called dīn, are the confession of faith, the fivefold prayer, fasting during Ramadan, alms-giving, and the pilgrimage to Mecca. These too are routine for Mappilas. All together, the beliefs and practices constitute islām, one’s surrendering to God, or ibādat, one’s service to God. Are Mappilas in any way noteworthy

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in their performance of these constitutive religious duties? That would be hard to prove. The confession of faith, “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the apostle of God,” is pronounced in Arabic, but that is common in the Muslim world. In regard to the required prayers, Mappilas are relatively relaxed in their observance. Although many pray five times daily, some who have busy days do not. Mosque attendance at the Friday noon congregational prayer has been increasing, but it does not include an especially high percentage of the eligible male worshippers. As to fasting, the percentage of those who observe the requirements is also unquestionably on the rise, and the Ramadan night lectures are well attended, but quite a few are lax in their performance. While Mappila generosity is a common characteristic, the standard of alms-giving does not exceed that of comparative Muslim societies. Only in the attendance at the pilgrimage do Mappilas exceed the average, but often other factors than piety are involved. Except for the ever-present nominal adherents, Mappilas in general do strive to be faithful in the performance of their religious duties, but that is true of many Muslims. We must look elsewhere then for specific marks of the singular Mappila religious conviction. We find them in two characteristics—the attribute of personal commitment and the readiness to give public expression to religious concerns. We take first the factor of quiet commitment. Mappilas on the whole are deeply devoted to their faith. They do not, as it were, wear it on their sleeve. It is reserved rather than ostentatious. There is a serenity in it that is stronger than mere contentment. In this context the Islamic expression “to be satisfied with their faith” comes to mind. Yet Mappila inner devoutness tends to transcend satisfaction. It is a feeling that they are on the path of those who receive God’s blessing and guidance, protection and sustenance. Mappilas not only feel sustained by what they believe, they are strongly dedicated to the honor of God. The latter explains why under certain conditions Mappilas can become aroused, even enflamed, despite their general reserve, when they believe that elements of their faith are being impugned or threatened. All this describes the personal inward side of Mappila religious conviction that is not open to statistical measurement but fundamentally conditions cultural understanding. The second decisive element in the Mappila religious conviction is a paradoxical contrast to the quality of quiet commitment. Not football, not the price of food, not even politics can attract Mappila public expression and controversy as much as religious issues. The intensity

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of those expressions defies description. Public meetings focusing on religious matters are massively attended, the open critiques are vehement and biting, and the faithful are eloquently exhorted to move in one direction or another. This is not a form of communalism for most of the issues argued are internal to the Muslim community—whether it be the role of saints, the method of zakāt payment, the place of secular education in the community’s priorities, or the relative merits and demerits of certain religious leaders. The basic Malayali spirit is evident in this debating interest, but that is not the whole story. The phenomenon declares that Mappilas are people who believe that religious truth is determinative for life, and that religious concerns are worth attending to.

The Practical Muslim Approach to Culture The second element in Islamic cultural theory is pragmatism. Muslims take some pride in viewing their religion as a quite practical approach to life. They regard Islam as “the middle way,” a path that conforms to natural capacities. From this it is a very easy jump to an accepting attitude in regard to the habits and customs of others, as long as they are not specifically un-Islamic. The approach developed when Islam spread, since no other attitude is functional for a global religion. However, the tilt to workability has been present in Islam from its very inception when it was still a peninsular faith. This fact is clearly evident from the practical behavior of the first Muslim believers in regard to their cultural environment. The early Muslims were committed to the elimination of anything that conflicted with the unity of God or threatened the welfare of the believing community but in other respects they were very down to earth on cultural matters. They certainly did not reject everything in their pre-Islamic tradition. Its values were dear to them, including honor, loyalty, hospitality, endurance, self-control, love of story, and ballad. Its customs were cherished, and they did not believe that by becoming Muslims they would have to give all of them up. In taking that approach they simply followed the pattern of the Prophet Muhammad and the Qurʾān. The Prophet, for example, retained many aspects of the pre-Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca, eliminating only its idolatrous aspects. This is a fact of critical importance for worldwide Muslims as they deal with cultural issues. It implies a general principle of respect for local traditions, even admiration and free choice. Using that approach the first believers created what we might call the western Arabian Muslim cultural model.14 Its profile is derived

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mainly from the culture of Medina where the Prophet lived his last ten years. Mecca, the original home of Muhammad, saw the beginning of various rituals associated with the basic religious duties, but it was from Medina that the pattern for everyday community living emerged, the Prophet himself being the model. Its social ideals were that of a new fellowship based on common faith rather than tribal kinship, but its context was Arabian culture. That affected everything. Prescribed Muslim behavior comes from two primary sacred sources. The first is the Arabic Qurʾān, the Word of God for Muslim believers. It calls them to the straight path and describes it. Although the amount of specific behavioral legislation in the Qurʾān is only about three percent of the total material, the legislative verses deal with significant areas of life. They include the performance of religious duties and such key family matters as marriage and inheritance. In addition, ethical instructions are given for general behavior. Beyond the relevant Quranic passages there is a second source for Muslim manners and customs. That is the life and custom of Muhammad whose conduct or sunna is recorded in hallowed stories called Hadīth. In these traditions the narrators set forth a life pattern that Muslims regard as divinely guided. Nevertheless, since the Prophet was an Arab and lived in Arabia, the Hadīth also reflect that cultural environment. Thus, both by sacred Word and by respected life, the Arabian cultural stream entered the life of all Muslims wherever they might be in the world. In the case of Mappilas the influence of that cultural idiom is especially strong because of their direct and ongoing linkage with southern Arabia. While the influence of Arabian culture through the sacred language, through specific instructions, and through the behavioral model is undeniable, nevertheless it is also a limited one. Non-Arab Muslims do not for a moment believe that they must become Arabian in culture in order to be Muslims. They are aware that there is a distinction between being Muslim and being Arabian. They remember the practical approach of the first Muslims to their culture, and in that same pragmatic and respectful spirit they deal with their own customary traditions. As Islam moved out of the Arabian Peninsula into the Palestinian, Persian, Syrian, and Turkish worlds, the spirit of cultural pragmatism and love for their personal heritage guided new Muslim believers. It is true that Arab Muslims always regarded their Arabian culture as superior and for a time even required new Muslims to take associate membership in an Arab tribe through a patron, so becoming known as clients (mawālī). This placed the new non-Arab Muslims into a position of dependency that at times came close to

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enslavement.15 The unequal status ended in 750 CE with the fall of the Arabian Ummayad dynasty and the rise of the Persian Abbasids. Even the very idea of Arab cultural superiority went into decline and was replaced by the principle of practicality in cultural relations. Inevitably the Muslim world became what it is today, a kaleidoscope of varied Muslim cultures. Within that panoply the Mappilas have an honored place as pioneers in adaptation.

A Legal Basis for Cultural Flexibility We turn next to the role of law in Muslim behavior. The sharia, the code of law in Islam, tends toward the detailed prescription of Muslim behavior, but it also draws some flexibility from three legal principles that modify its rigidity. They are the right of personal interpretation, the recognition of unregulated areas in personal behavior, and the acknowledgement of supplementary sources of law to deal with nonMuslim customs. These principles have been accepted by most legal scholars, though sometimes grudgingly and with differing interpretations. They undergird the Muslim ability to deal with varying cultural situations and to integrate their lives accordingly. Many contemporary Muslims, and especially Muslims in minority situations, regard them as essential for a workable modern Islamic approach to culture. These enabling provisions have special significance for Muslim communities who by choice or necessity live without the full scope of the traditional religious law. That includes Muslims in India who never had the full sharia during many long periods of Muslim rule and do not have it today. Modern India is a democratic nation with a secular constitution. It does not recognize religious law except for ritual and family law. The latter provision allows religious communities, including Mappilas, to enjoy their personal law, but otherwise they are obligated to observe the law of the national state. It is significant that this cultural flexibility was inherent in the Muslim attitude from the earliest Islamic times and long before the sharia was formulated. The history of that attitude is enlightening. The Arabic term sharīʿa means “clear road to the watering place.” We may define it as the defined path along which the believer travels under the guidance of God. At first only the matters that the Qurʾān takes up were regulated. In their conceptual eagerness, however, most Muslim legal scholars gradually extended the idea to incorporate all human actions. They argued two things: first that the Creator Lord is the Master of His creation and nothing is outside His sovereignty, and second that the whole of a believer’s life is to be surrendered to God in righteous living. From these two primary motifs they made a

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quantum leap to the conclusion that, in principle, all actions should be regulated. They also assumed that because of their training they were the ones to decide on the regulations! Not only was it a self-important assumption, but it also left them with a virtually impossible task. The problem is that the Qurʾān does not offer a list of rules for every human action and every cultural decision. It provides instruction for the essential duties that give form to Muslim behavior, but beyond that it presents principles for general application rather than regulations. The scholars, however, wanted specific rules. They therefore turned to the model or custom (sunna) of the Prophet Muhammad. They drew guidance from Hadīth, the stories of what he said and did. Nevertheless, there remained many aspects of life regarding which both the Qurʾān and the Hadīth were silent. So the scholars went on to develop the ideas of analogy and community consensus as further sources of law. Out of the process came the first legal ground for flexibility, namely, the right of private interpretation (ijtihād). To draw an analogy someone must apply their reasoning power. To have consensus there must be an accumulation of opinion. The admission of rational judgment and opinion meant cultural movement rather than rigid tradition. The second ground for flexibility came when scholars realized that it is quite impossible to have a regulation for every human action. The best that can be done is to identify those actions that are obligatory or recommended, and those that are forbidden or discouraged. The bulk of human actions, it was agreed, fall into the intermediate zone of “neutral” for which there is no regulation and no reward or punishment. It does not matter what football team you like, or what kind of tea you prefer! Some essentially neutral actions like watching television may, for certain reasons, move into the discouraged category. Contrariwise, a discouraged action may become neutral or even recommended. An illustration of the latter comes from the 1930s in Saudi Arabia. Sheikh Abdullah ibn Hassan, then the chief religious judge (qādī), had quite violently opposed radio as the work of the devil. One day he was with King Ibn Saud in Riyadh. The king, who was distressed, made the judge listen to the call of prayer being delivered in Mecca, a full 1,280 km. away. “Is this wrong?” he asked. The jurist changed his view and radio migrated to the recommended category!16 The recognition that there is a large sphere of unregulated behavior, and that movement within categories is possible, helps to ensure a measure of legal flexibility. A third legal factor entered the picture with the unofficial recognition that non-Muslim cultures can also be considered a legitimate source of allowed practice. This was a forced development.

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Mappila Muslim Culture

The s­cholars had to contend with the fact that many people were not prepared to give up their cherished customs when they became Muslims. They brought their traditions with them into Islam. This was taking place before the sharīʿa was fully formed. The influx of Greek culture was instrumental in the development of what has been called “the Golden Age of Islam.” Other cultures brought valuable gifts. The legal scholars were compelled to find a place in their system for indigenous custom. While the traditional Muslim jurists never formally admitted local culture as an official source of law, they gave it de facto unofficial recognition. The technical terms they used for customary behavior are ʿurf and ʿādat. They coined a third term, qanūn, for acceptable nonMuslim administrative practice. Despite their unofficial status ʿurf and ʿādat have a high level of importance in the Muslim world.17 An Indian Muslim legal scholar Asaf Fyzee, even refers to them as a “material source” of law.18 Those Mappilas who follow the matriarchal system of inheritance, which we will later examine in detail, are benefactors of this legal permissiveness. An Indonesian Muslim who is the chief editor of a journal of Muslim culture renders his opinion that this cultural tolerance strengthens rather than weakens Islam:19 . . . Islam demonstrates distinctive dynamics in its encounter with local cultures. The dynamics primarily occur since culture develops systems of symbols, where Islam is being negotiated creatively, and given new meanings. In the light of this legal flexibility we may conclude that in the Mappila adaptation to the local Kerala culture the community was operating within the frame of reference of Muslim legal principles.

Cultural Decision-Making: The Principle of Free and Equal As the final element in our consideration of Islamic cultural theory we will consider the connected principles of freedom and equality. Who has the right to make cultural decisions? In effect, every Muslim has the right since all believers are created spiritually equal. This is seemingly straightforward. However, the principle runs hard up against the development of clergy authority and the tyranny of rulers. Out of authoritarianism came strong differences of opinion and culture controversies. As Muslims engage with modern cultural developments these have become more heated. Lay believers are contending with clergy for the recovery of their freedom to make appropriate cultural decisions.

The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting

23

Islamic teaching is in their favor. The principle of human equality and individual responsibility undergirds its approach to authority. The idea of personal responsibility runs through the Qurʾān, reaching its climax in the graphic admonitions related to the day of judgment. Then all human beings will appear before God “solitary” (6:95) and fully responsible for what they have done (82:19). “A soul will know what it has sent before it.” The basic Islamic affirmations leave no room for a priestly principle. Not only is every believer individually responsible for his or her destiny, each one approaches God directly in prayer with no intermediary required. The pilgrimage events reinforce the sense of equality as well as the sense of oneness. King and peasant stand side by side, and together move around the Kaʿba There is also no room for a teaching magisterium. The Qurʾān and the guided Prophet are all sufficient. If there is to be any competition among you, the Prophet Muhammad said, let it be in piety. That is the leadership standard! Doctrinal issues, then, belong to the whole community which operates by consensus. There is no council with powers beyond consensusbuilding. As for individual teachers, their power rests not on their position, whatever it may be, but on the merit of the opinion they have to offer. We have already noted that every individual Muslim has a similar right to offer an opinion.20 Over the years Muslim practice has varied considerably from this theory. The early Muslims had no religious workers except Qurʾān readers and those who gave the call to prayer. But as time passed and as the believing community grew and developed other needs arose. There was a need for someone to lead the congregational prayers and conduct the Friday preaching in the mosque, for teaching in the religious schools, for conducting marriage and burial functions, and for interpreting the law. Such needs constituted an irresistible pressure for the development of clergy. Once that happened the clergy very quickly became influential. As jurisprudence became more complex and detailed, the need for special knowledge and training was felt even more, and this in turn led to increased clergy power and authority. That was further enhanced by their association with religious trusts (waqfs) that provided economic strength to their system. Finally, the authority of some of the clergy grew to great heights because of their association with sacred shrines, some of them receiving recognition as saints. How could it happen! Clericalism in Islam grew almost exponentially, and eventually overshadowed the foundational theory of free responsible action. Hence, Sir Muhammad Iqbal cried out to the Muslim world, putting it in poetic language: “Rechisel then thine ancient frame, and create a new thing!”21

24

Mappila Muslim Culture

Most Muslims today accept the validity of the clergy vocation. They recognize the need for their services and value them. They know that they cannot carry out the clerical functions. Neither are they scholars of religion. Their behavioral decision making is habitual or intuitive rather than studied out, and is based on their inherited sense of the Muslim way of life. Therefore, they maintain genuine respect for learned religious teachers, welcome their guidance, and support them financially. The members of the Muslim community also realize that it is the clerical function to raise good questions regarding Islamic loyalty and to give good opinions about the truths of the faith. Yet, there has also been a dismal side in the Muslim experience. Despite the numberless ʿulamāʾ who undoubtedly carried out their functions earnestly and well, in general throughout the Muslim world the role of the clergy has been controversial because they have appeared to be guardians of traditionalism rather than supporters of progress. This, we will see, was very much the plight of the Mappilas. In their case in the past century a combination of daring theological reformers and educated lay leaders has resulted in their laying fresh hold on the principles of spiritual equality and discretionary freedom, and they have produced a cultural transformation. • Abdulla is on his way to the market to purchase rice. Rice is the staple Malayali food. Abdulla will only buy the unboiled rice that Amina prefers. He enjoys her cooking, and is already looking forward to the next meal. Today Abdulla will not eat the rice until after sunset because it is the month of Ramadan when Muslims fast. To eat like all Malayalis and to fast like all Muslims—the dual approach symbolizes Abdulla’s composite cultural setting and background. Two cultures came together. An Islam-based cultural stream with its defined religious commitment but practical approach joined the dynamic and free-flowing Malayalam river of life. As they came together there were overlapping areas which made the union possible, and distinctive areas which made it mutually enriching, but above all there was a process of cultural interpenetration. It produced a new and unique form of Muslim, and at the same time a new and unique form of Malayali, the Malayali Muslim and the Muslim Malayali, the Mappila. A double flower—Abdulla and Amina—had emerged to enhance the garden of humanity. How did this happen? We turn to Chapter 2 and the blossoming of Mappila culture.

2

The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture

Two cultural traditions met and coalesced, leaving many petals on the Mappila flower. In this chapter we will review how this twofold cultural interpenetration took place, and we will note the uneven legacy that it left. There was no artificiality in the sociohistorical process. People did not sit around a table and discuss how the Malayalam and Muslim cultures could be brought together. A group of courageous men boarded little Arab dhows and sailed them across the dangerous sea to Kerala’s shores, and the rest of the story follows from that. The interaction of two societal traditions passed through a centurieslong time period, gradually shaping a new people and giving them their cultural being. It is hardly surprising that the heritage today is a composite one. We will point out its variations. It has a “here and there” aspect, that is, cultural phenomena may differ from place to place depending on where Mappilas live. It has a “then and now” feature, that is, what was true only a short time back is no longer so. This leaves a “some not others” character in Mappila culture that challenges and conditions its accurate description.

The Historical Shaping How does one deal with a society that has experienced so much and for so long? In what follows we will limit ourselves to the highlights of its history that relate directly to the cultural developments.1

The Community’s Origin and Rise, 622–1498 Kerala’s location on the sea coast made it open to international wayfarers. From time immemorial the trading vessels came both from the east and the west. In early days the region was famed for its 25

26

Mappila Muslim Culture

teak, ivory, pearls, and spices. It was the spices that were the biggest drawing-card. Facilitated by the tropical climate it was, and is, the natural home of almost every spice that can be named. By the time that European explorers came into the picture, trade had been going on for more than 2,500 years. Phoenicians, Romans, Chinese, Arabs, Persians, and others came to Kerala’s port towns and exchanged their goods. It was a peaceful enterprise, controlled by mutual commercial advantage. Arabs from southern Arabia where frankincense resin is tapped knew the value of spices. Already in the pre-Islamic era they had been drawn to southwest India by the pepper and the irresistible lure of its promised wealth. For long centuries they controlled the trade on the Arabian Sea, collaborating with Malayali producers and middlemen, and then trans-shipping the goods to other societies, often with the help of Viennese merchants. They came to Kollam on the southern coast, to Muziris near Cochin on the central coast, and later to Calicut on the Malabar coast. The Zamorin or “Sea-Lord,” a Brahmin ruler of Calicut and his Nayar sub-chiefs, as well as the Kolattiri Rajas at Kannur to the north particularly welcomed the traders and their buying power. In this business-based interaction we situate the genesis of Mappila Muslim culture. To clarify that point we must go to the beginnings of Islam itself. Historic Islam was born during the lifetime of the Prophet Muhammad (570–632 CE), and by the time of his death the Arabian Peninsula was Muslim in faith. The Arab traders were polytheists in pre-Islamic times.2 After the Prophet Muhammad’s successful preaching they came to Kerala’s shores as the followers of Islam. Their faith had changed, but not much else, and the previous amicable relations continued as usual. Not only did the Arab Muslim traders remain the commercial partners of the region’s Hindus, some of them also married indigenous women and took up residence in the area. When they did so, they received the hospitable name “Mappila,” which we introduced earlier. The term is a combination of two Malayalam words: “great” (maha) and “child” (pilla). The phrase “great child” was a respectful synonym for son-in-law, and is still so utilized in contemporary colloquial Malayalam. Its usage by friendly Hindus was their way of giving the hand of welcome to the new Arab members of their families. Out of such settlement patterns and marriage unions the Mappila Muslims received their origin. Conversion was also a factor in early Mappila growth, but we are unable to judge its extent. There is a report that the Zamorin of

The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture

27

Calicut looked benevolently on conversion to Islam.3 More significant is the recurrent tradition that an important Kerala ruler turned to the faith. The Perumāls were the Chera rulers of the middle region of Kerala, and were its most important dynasty. The last in line of these rulers was Cheraman Perumāl. One persistent rumor maintains that he accepted Islam sometime in the ninth century CE. In the Mappila version of the story, however, the event occurred at Mecca during the lifetime of the Prophet Muhammad. After his conversion Cheraman Perumāl is said to have engaged in a disciplined effort to establish Islam in his homeland. The missionary work was led by his companion, a Mālik ibn Dīnār, who founded several mosques.4 Although the historicity of this event is shrouded in the past and may never be clarified, the fact of the tradition is a testimony to the growing impact of Mappila Islam. If true, it also points to the possible influence of Malayalam high culture on the Mappila development at its beginning stages. We may now estimate how the early Mappilas approached the intercultural engagement in terms of the Islamic cultural theory sketched in the previous chapter. Of the four elements that we suggested, three were almost certainly present in the early Mappila development period. The factors of religious conviction and practicality must have dominated. If it had not been for the sincerity of their faith, they would have been rapidly assimilated and lost to sight. Practicality was the other main factor. Far from home they simply accepted what was possible in their new environment. As to their personal right to do so, they would not have questioned that. Both formal clergy and religious law were undeveloped at this time. These were pre-sharia, first-stage, proto-believers dedicated to their surrender to God and obedience to His will. To grasp what that implied for daily life in their new home, they trusted to the memory of what the Qurʾān said and their common sense. Thus, we may say that in general the first Mappilas adhered to the nascent Islamic cultural principles as they engaged with the still unformed Malayalam culture. When we assert that the Mappila emerged from a fusion of two cultures, it is well to remember that the latter were both in their plastic stage. Hence, the development as it took place could not have been predicted and its details cannot be discerned. The Mappilas are a cultural surprise. The language that the Arab traders met was coastal Malayalam, then in its own earliest period of development. It is possible that some staff members of local rulers or a few indigenous business people learned the southern Arabic dialect but the opposite is more likely,

28

Mappila Muslim Culture

namely, that the Arab traders learned Malayalam to carry on their business. However, they would not have had the same interest in the local writing since, for them, Arabic had a sacred quality. That basic feeling has stayed with Mappilas all through their history, accounting for the formation of the hybrid Arabic-Malayalam form of writing that we will consider later. But Malayalam became their spoken language, certainly in the case of those who intermarried and took up permanent residence. The decision was critical. It opened the door to Malayalam culture and assured that the Mappilas would be Malayali Muslims. In turn, the new citizens contributed to the development of the Malayalam language through the introduction of various Arabic terms that eventually filtered into the vocabulary. Long before the evolution of Urdu as the dominant Muslim language of North India, the Mappilas had made Malayalam the first functioning Muslim language of India. The Urdu language, as we shall see, has played only a minor role in Mappila life.5 The Malayalam culture that was opened up to the Mappilas by this linguistic development was pluralist in nature. Hindu culture included a vast range of religious phenomena. The rulers were tolerant toward different points of view. Though both Jainism and Buddhism were in decline by the time that the Mappilas arrived on the scene, their cultural marks were present. The old Dravidian deities were maintained but at the same time Vaisnavism and Saivism were being introduced—a Hindu tradition holds that the Cheraman Perumāl became a convert to Saivism and an activist for its cause! The influence of Brahminism, descending from the north, became strong in the eighth century CE, changing both the religious and the social structure of Kerala society. The monistic philosophy of Sankaracarya (d. 820), the noted Hindu thinker, became a powerful influence in the development of Vedanta, and Kalady in central Kerala is his shrine today; some wonder about his possible awareness of Muslim thought. Christians had for a long time been interrelating with their environment. They traced their origin to the visit of the apostle St. Thomas, but historical evidence begins with the arrival of Thomas of Cana, an East Syrian trader in 345, soon to be followed by others.6 They too settled and intermarried, were even called “Mappila,” and founded the strong Syrian Christian community that has played a vital role in Kerala history. The Jews cannot be forgotten. They had been trading with southwest India from the days of Solomon. The clear evidence of a settled Jewish presence at Cochin comes from the close of the tenth century, but it is entirely probable that some Jews took refuge

The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture

29

there as early as the first-century Roman persecution in Palestine. They settled at several centers in the Cochin area and attracted some adherents to their faith. We can only surmise the exact progress of the Mappila adaptation process within this multicultural flux. The complex religious milieu must have appeared baffling to them, and their new Islamic faith forbade close involvement. At the same time, the advantages— indeed, the necessity—of social cooperation must also have seemed obvious to them. Interreligious living was part and parcel of their situation, and we do not have any sense that it was a problem for them. In their own way they became active participants in the larger cultural development. The austere Arabian element surely remained a steady factor in their makeup, and continues to the present day, but this did not visibly disturb the non-Muslim Malayalis who were led by hospitable people like the Zamorin of Calicut. We do not know of any negative rivalries. The immigrants were welcomed as they were. Some of the local residents may even have been interested in the new ideas of Islam when they came to know about them. These remarkable relationships were held together by the glue of common commercial interest. That glue can give way, as we shall see, but for the next eight centuries it had a powerful binding effect, and things went well for the new Mappila culture family. Nevertheless, we must look deeper than commerce for a dynamic that enabled such a harmony to prevail. It may have been influenced by concepts such as maryāda. Krishna Ayyar takes this Malayalam idea to mean a common code of conduct based on chivalry, tolerance, and a careful regard for the rights of others.7 Dictionary entries add words like manners, propriety, respect, decency, and civility to the meaning of the term that Brahmins took from their sastras. Commercial glue would not have stuck without some sort of maryāda element in Malayali psychology and behavior. Sustained and peaceful cultural interaction readily yields some transformation. During that long period Mappilas grew and developed, not only numerically but also as an integrating community. There are hints that by the end of the fifteenth century they may have accounted for ten percent of the Malabar population.8 Their cultural integration is typified by their adoption of Malayalam architecture for their mosques. As we consider how Hindus, Christians, and Muslim co-existed within their pluralist context we may conclude that this is possibly the longest era of relative interreligious harmony known to human history. We can only view the fact with some sense of astonishment and seek to understand its meaning for our time.

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Mappila Muslim Culture

The Community’s Decline and Fall: 1498–1921 Mappila Society Declines

as

Europeans Arrive

It is said that all good things must come to an end, and fortunes will change, but not all endings are as traumatic as the Mappila experience after the fifteenth century. It was not only Mappila misfortune but the misfortune of the entire Malayalam culture, for the old harmony suddenly fell by the wayside. What brought about the change was the advent of the Europeans. They had long been looking for a direct link to the spice coast that bypassed the Arab-controlled Middle Eastern trade routes. Their particular interest was the pepper that the Portuguese leader Afonso Albuquerque called “the greatest thing made in India.”9 At about US$75.00 or Indian Rs.3500 per pound (today’s equivalent) only the upper classes in Europe could afford it, but the profits were great. Portuguese and Spanish explorers were further encouraged by a papal charter called the padroado (“ecclesiastical patronage”) that added the objectives of colonization and religious propagation to the commercial interest.10 The Portuguese then found the bypass they sought around the Cape of Good Hope. With the help of a Muslim pilot, Vasco da Gama made his way across the Arabian Sea to Kerala’s shore, landing on May 17, 1498, at Kappad, nine kilometers north of Calicut. There is no bay there, and barely an indentation on the shore where two black rocks edge out into the ocean. Did the winds drive them ashore? The small neglected monument at Kappad commemorates the event but gives no clue to its huge significance. Da Gama’s arrival ushered in the colonial era that would end up in Western preeminence. Not only he, but also his successor Albuquerque, amply demonstrated that this would be a cruel age. The latter murdered the Zamorin in Calicut in 1510 for siding with the Arab traders and committed other atrocities at Goa. The Portuguese were followed by the Dutch, English, and French competitors, all of whom formed trading companies to exploit the new possibilities. Cultural influencing accompanied their activities, although their national policies differed. It is summarized below. The Mappilas were in the way of this development. Their support of Middle East connections and the Arab traders put them on the wrong side of the equation. For a short time their traditional Hindu friends stood by them against the Europeans, but the economic realities forced a reconfiguration of the relationships. When the spice trade came under European control, Hindu landowners and producers went

The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture

31

with the stronger power. The Mappilas were the losers in the struggle. It was no consolation to them that the Malayali Christians were also badly affected—they were sadly divided as the result of the attempts to impose papal authority over their church that had other affiliations. These difficulties could not be compared with the disaster that befell the Mappilas. They attempted to retrieve their situation by militant resistance led by naval warriors called the Kunhali Marakkars, but the efforts failed. They lost their economic base, their friendship with Hindus, and their ability to respond creatively to the new situation. Islamic cultural theory provided no answer to the problem of defeat until much later in Indian Muslim history. The broad and gentle cultural stream along which the Mappila development had traveled was now virtually blocked and it entered a dark and narrow channel. The Mappilas in the main became a community of poor laborers, fishermen, shopkeepers and religious workers. Deep poverty became the general pattern, although there were exceptions in the coastal cities where businessmen were located. The land tenure system gave no entry to Mappilas, making it impossible to replace trade with agriculture. Defense and survival were the key words, not cultural progress. Mappilas generally wanted nothing to do with the newly dominant Western culture and did not differentiate between its varied shades. The Portuguese power was broken when the Dutch seized Cannanore (Kannur) in 1556 and Cochin (Kochi) in 1663, while the English took Tellicherry in 1663 and Calicut in 1666, the French settling for Mahe in 1725. The Mappilas regarded them all as their enemies and what they brought culturally as anathema (haram). Their religion served as a kind of final defense, its practice becoming as static as a fortress wall. The free-flowing cultural movement of the past turned into a protective customary behavior. Emotionally, Mappilas were devastated and forlorn. In the future it would take only the right sparks to ignite their bitterness into violent reactions against the seemingly hopeless situation. A deceptive ray of hope and a momentary period of respite came when two Muslim rulers, Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan—father and son—advanced in turn into Malabar from their nearby base in Mysore. From 1757 to 1799 they held sway almost as far south as Cochin. They brought Mappilas the flavor of another kind of Muslim culture, but were essentially imperialist in style and self-serving. They helped Mappilas to an extent materially, but also left negative marks; Mappila numbers increased and they gained a few other practical advantages, but the negative effects cannot be discounted. In particular, the experience enhanced their already well-developed

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Mappila Muslim Culture

f­ eelings that the answer to their problems lay in militancy. Moreover, the Mysorean rulers, especially Tipu, are generally considered to have been aggressive in their religious policy.11 Their abrasiveness rubbed off on the Mappilas, further influencing an already embittered psychology. Some Mappilas used the opportunity to take revenge on the Nayars, whom they considered to be their oppressors. What seemed like a recovery was really a bad time in Muslim-Hindu relations as vindictiveness overcame charity. These forty-two years were the first and last time in their fourteen centuries of history that the Mappilas lived under Muslim rule. A Note

on the

Colonial Cultural Contributions

Before proceeding to the final steep downhill slope in the Mappila decline, we will pause to examine some cultural results from the European “outsider” presence in Mappila society. They are significant even though they do not offset its negative effect on the Mappila condition and psyche. Their presence affected Mappila customs, but more significantly it opened the door to another whole stream of influence on Mappila culture that joined the Malayalam and South Arabian streams. The Mappilas now became additionally engaged with the Western culture of modernity. This third stream not only made some behavioral contributions, but it also introduced a fundamental approach in which improvement and change are constant elements. In this section, however, we will limit ourselves to noting some of the specific contributions of each of the colonial powers, adding some negative factors. For the sake of completeness we will also include the Mysorean legacy. The Portuguese.  The Portuguese were present among the Mappilas for over one and a half centuries but their influence on local custom was confined to port cities. On a broader level they left an imprint on the Malayalam vocabulary, and in the arts their architectural impact is visible in the bungalow style of house construction and in the forms of church architecture. In agriculture they introduced fruits such as pineapples, papayas, guava, and custard apples. They probably also brought in potatoes and tapioca. New strains of coconuts were developed, tobacco was introduced, and cashew nut cultivation was started. We may well ask, what would the Mappila festival dish of biriyāni be without cashew nuts? They also set up the first printing press in Kerala in 1577, publishing the first book, a study of Christian teaching. The coir industry was developed, and its products were

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33

exported. Socially, the Portuguese accepted and practiced intermarriage, but their religious policy was controlled by a fierce animus against Muslims. They were also rigorous in their treatment of Hindus at Goa, and took negative steps against the ancient Syrian Christian community in central Kerala. On the moral side, in their later stages, the Portuguese presented a deteriorating picture that must have had a negative influence. Corruption and nepotism were rampant. The combination of indolence and riotous living took their toll. In 1522, when a desperate Portuguese official wrote to the King of Portugal that the only objective of the Goan Portuguese was social gatherings, he couched his appeal in these sad words: “Help us, Senhor, for we are sinking.”12 The Dutch.  The Portuguese were sinking indeed, but the Dutch were ready to step in. The defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588 had opened the door for the Dutch and the English to follow the Spanish and Portuguese on their colonial way. Dutch trading ships first visited Calicut in 1604, and their first settlement was set up at Purakkad in 1642, but it was Cochin that became their chief base. They were as interested as the other Europeans in controlling the pepper, cardamom and ginger trade, and to that end they vigorously participated in the shifting coalitions of the various rajas. Their religious approach was relatively balanced, and they were not anti-Muslim in spirit; yet there is no evidence that the Mappilas noticeably benefited from that tolerance. The Dutch were laid back in their approach and their century of dominance left only a somewhat shadowed cultural imprint. They encouraged new ways of textile dyeing and coconut production, as well as indigo cultivation and salt-farming. Their groundbreaking and still appreciated contribution was a great multivolume botanical work, Hortus Malabaricus (1678–1703) that described the medicinal properties of Kerala plants, and they also established a leprosy care center at Pallipuram. Their most important act, but one that had only marginal impact on Mappilas, was to re-open the once flourishing Indian trade with the Indonesian Archipelago. From their Pulical factory on the Tamil Coromandel coast they traded their gold for cotton, then took the cotton to Indonesia where they re-traded it for spices. It was there in Southeast Asia that their real interest lay, and in 1795 they surrendered Cochin to the English and withdrew to the east. The French.  The French contended with the Mughuls and the English for control of India, but little of that struggle manifested itself in

34

Mappila Muslim Culture

the Mappila area. The latter was not a crucial region for the French and their cultural contribution was proportionately weak. From their base in Mahe in North Malabar they supported the Mysorean rulers against the English and tried to extend their own trading influence north to Nilesvaram and south to Tanur. From 1760 to 1819 Mahe changed hands four times until it was finally attached to the French territory of Pondicherry. The French excelled at the intricacies of pepper politics. It cannot be said that their skill exceeded that of the Rajas of North Malabar with their conflicting interests and intrigues, but from their Mahe base they wove their webs that took in the English at Tellicherry, the Dutch at Kannur, the Ali Raja of Dharmapattanum, and the Hindu suppliers of the spices. In the process the French language became intermittently known. Less ennobling was the spread of French weaponry and their steady supply of alcohol, still attested to in the markets of Mahe. The Mysoreans.  The Mysore rulers fall into a different category than the Europeans since they were Muslims, but at the same time they were cultural outsiders. Although they were present in North and Central Kerala for a short time only, their culture trail affected the Mappilas, including their policy of power through military action with a religious flavor, which we have noted above. Their impact on custom is revealed in Malabar place names, from Sultan Battery to Feroke (Farukkabad) where Tipu set up his capital in 1788, and in some administrative terms. They built roads and established trade centers. In the interest of centralized taxation they made improvements in the land ownership system and revenue collection, much of which was later retained by the English. Reflecting his ethical position, Tipu Sultan attempted to ban certain Hindu social customs such as polyandry and dress habits that left the upper body bare. In 1792 he ceded Malabar to the English. The English.  The English were in control of Kerala longer than any other outside power, and their cultural impact is accordingly deeper. Nevertheless, the impact on Mappilas was not full scale because by the time the English entered the scene the Mappilas had already developed strong resistance against external cultural pressures. What can be said of the English influence is that it established a firm basis for the Mappila engagements with modern culture that took place in force after 1947, particularly in framing a new linguistic and educational environment.

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35

During the first half of the 1600s the English could only do some probing along the southwestern coast from their base in Surat. What Calicut was to the southwest, Surat in Gujarat was to the northwest. It was a rich trading seaport from which textiles and jewelry were shipped to the Middle East and beyond. Receiving the usual firman or permit from the local Muslim authority the English had settled there as the Portuguese and Dutch had done before them. From there in 1615 English ships captained by James Keeling traveled to the southwest coast, touching on Calicut, Ponnani, Kodungalur, and Cochin. But the time was not yet ripe for the English. In 1634 they made a treaty with the tired Portuguese, giving the English access to all Portuguese-held ports. As a result, their first export of pepper went out from Cochin in 1636. Since Malabar and Cochin were overcrowded, the English chose to establish factories at Vizhinjam (1644) and Anjengo (1684) in the south. Anjengo, a narrow spit of land between Trivandrum and Kollam, was deeded to them by the Queen of Attingal. Later (in 1699) they established another base at Tellicherry to serve as the center of their Malabar operations. For the next century they were only one of the external “players” on the Kerala scene, but in the end the English outdid their competitors. The English were the representatives of the English East India Company, and their cultural contribution was framed by their twofold economic purpose: commerce and land revenue. They had discovered that, of the two, land revenue was more lucrative, but this required territorial control. Hence, they abandoned the general practice of the Europeans to stay in fortified trade centers on the coast, and instead they followed the Mysorean pattern of territorial domain. Thereby, they came into direct, long-term contact with the Mappilas. Through a series of imperial commissions following the defeat of Tipu Sultan they instituted their design, declared pepper to be a monopoly of the Company, and in 1800 made Malabar an administrative district of the Madras Presidency. The control of Cochin soon followed, and in 1805 the Raja of Travancore accepted British protection and agreed to abide by English advice in internal administrative affairs, the counsel to be given by an English “Resident.” The stage was set for nearly 150 years of intense cultural influence. The English cultural influence on Malayali life was far-reaching. Three of its elements have a primary status. The first, and one frequently mentioned in public speeches, was the sense of order that they brought and implemented. It corresponded with the ideals of the populace and brought relief after three centuries of turbulence.

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The second was the principle of equal justice under law, effected by a relatively impartial court system. The third was the introduction of “Western” education that opened new worlds for Malayalis. The first English school was founded in Trivandrum in 1834, in Ernakulam in 1837, and in Calicut in 1848, but modern educational ideas were also reflected in teacher training centers and in Malayalam schools. The cultural influence also came through a lifestyle pattern that affected male dress, recreation, and home furnishings. It did not touch everyone but was attractive to many. Some economic and material benefits were visible. The English introduced coffee, tea, and rubber in that order into the plantation industry, providing some employment. Other jobs became available to the public through the civil service and police requirements. The diet was enhanced by the introduction of new vegetables and other products. The first public hospital was built in Calicut in 1857 and by 1931 there were thirteen such institutions, but the general health care and sanitation needs of the populace were barely touched. In their religious policies the English attempted to be even-handed, but were not perceived to be so. The macro-contributions of the English are well-known. To facilitate the accomplishment of their economic and political goals they constructed roads, improved port facilities, introduced railway services, and set up communications systems. The major duty of a tightly managed administrative system was revenue control, and accordingly the chief district officer was called the “Collector.” The English accepted and reinforced the complex land ownership system with its different levels of agrarian rights13 and utilized it to help collect taxes. Thereby, they added to the alienation of the landless tenants that included many Mappilas. Although the English contribution, taken in total, was a formidable one, much of it passed by the Mappilas. They did not feel the same way about English culture as they had about Malayalam culture, and the majority did not take to it happily. They had considered other Malayalis, even though non-Muslims, to be their wider family, neighbors, and often friends. Even in the stressful interreligious conditions that prevailed after 1498, this inherent Malayali neighborliness asserted itself at local levels. The English, however, including the thoughtful among them, did not ordinarily fall into the category of neighbor. Rather, they were a colonial occupying power, everywhere visible and dominant with their administrators, military personnel, and cantonments. The Mappilas also continued to feel marginalized as the English tilted toward the land-owning elites. Because the English monopolized the pepper trade and operated a revenue system that

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favored the wealthy, they appeared to be in direct continuity with the Portuguese. They were an alien and oppressive presence, with an unappreciated set of social and religious ideals. Mappilas used the English trains and went to the English post office, but on the whole they were not open to the English culture. They maintained a defensive posture against its influence. To their credit some British administrators showed their regard for the Mappilas and sought to create a positive relation with them. They had sympathy for their social problems and tried to alleviate some of the worst conditions. All the English administrators were anxious that peace prevail, and they believed that Mappila education was an important element in making that possible. From time to time they took earnest steps to promote it. Some Mappilas responded in kind and showed interest in the new thinking and techniques that had come their way. B. Poker Sahib of Kannur (d. 1965) just prior to World War I became the first Mappila to take a BA degree, and then followed it with a distinguished legal and political career. There were other trailblazers who sought some sort of rapprochement with British/Western/modern culture, but they represented a minor tone. The major tone was cultural resistance led by determined religious leaders, and the English were not able to materially modify it. That failure was a factor in the traumatic events that finally culminated in 1921. The Final Fall: The Mappila Rebellion, 1921 After the forces of the English East India Company defeated Tipu Sultan, a series of militant Mappila reactions took place.14 One outbreak after the other occurred in the nineteenth century—a total of 57—as the Mappilas lashed out against the British, against their Hindu allies, and against their own depressed and hopeless conditions. We must understand how desperate those conditions were. Mappilas lived on very meagre incomes. Women planted rice and carried headloads to help put rice on the table. Very frequently there was no rice. Health was at a low level. Sickness, malnutrition, and anemia were constant, and it was not until the last third of the twentieth century that killer diseases began to be contained. The life expectancy was abysmally low. Mappilas worked hard and died young. They did not lose their faith, for that was all they had to sustain themselves, but they could not see signs of hope. This situation continued until finally culminating and ending in the ill-fated Mappila Rebellion of 1921. Today some regard it as a war of liberation in relation to India’s freedom movement. If it

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was that, it caused greater suffering than any other single event in the history of that movement, barring the Partition itself. Its sorrows were an outcome for which Mappilas must take responsibility, but not only they. Their opposition to the British had received the rousing encouragement of representatives of the freedom movement, including Mahatma Gandhi and Shawkat Ali. The two addressed a Calicut meeting August 18, 1920, exhorting joint action against the British raj. The national leaders were apparently unaware of the volatile nature of the local context. The Rebellion was spontaneous rather than planned, an emotional statement of grievance rather than a designed participation in the swaraj movement. It started quite unexpectedly out of a minor Khilafat incident and an ill-advised British response. From 1916 to 1924 the Khilafat Movement in wider India had drawn Hindus and Muslims together; in Malabar it had little strength, yet it became the occasion for the initial outbreak of the Rebellion that was led by a respected religious leader, Ali Musaliar.15 Ali Musaliar (1854–1921) had achieved a venerated status among some Mappilas. He had studied at the Ponnani madrasa and then for seven years at Mecca. There he met the well-known North Indian Muslim leaders, Mahmud Hasan and Husain Ahmad Madani. From Mecca he went to Kavaratti in the Laccadive Islands where he spent eight years in teaching and writing. He returned to Malabar in 1896 when he heard of the loss of an elder brother in fighting against the British. Interested in the struggle for freedom, he enlisted his own efforts in the Khilafat cause and began organizing volunteers in the Tirurangadi area of South Malabar. On August 19, 1921, the British arrested three Khilafat workers at Tirurangadi and Ali Musaliar led the protest against that decision. Other Malabar leaders of the freedom movement like K. P. Kesava Menon, Muhammad Abdurrahiman, and E. Moidu Moulavi counselled restraint in the spirit of noncooperation and nonviolence and urged him to seek peace. But a day later the British conducted a surprise attack to arrest 24 more Khilafat workers. This was the spark that lit the Mappila tinderbox. Opposing the action, Ali Musaliar and his colleagues took refuge in the ancient mosque at Tirurangadi that still stands, but were surrounded and surrendered. Ali Musaliar was charged with sedition and later executed at Coimbatore. Instead of suppressing the opposition, the British raid ignited an uprising that spread throughout Malabar. Its rapid advance would not have occurred, however, if it had not been for the fundamental Mappila sense of alienation.

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It is widely agreed that the primary causes of the outbreak were the severe economic distress of the Mappila community and the feeling that there was no way out. Religion also came into play, but mainly to motivate the response. Pockets of poorly armed Mappilas, especially in the interior areas, rose up in violent protest. They were ready to be martyrs (shahīds) for the faith. Hindu landowners became a target of some of the violence, injecting a communal tone, but often local friendships prevailed over animosity. That fact, combined with the spotty outbursts, gave a strange aura to the Rebellion. In the end the struggle was largely an exercise in futility since it did not take long for the British and their superior weapons to overcome their opponents. The losses were large—in damage to the Mappila image, in the decline of Hindu-Muslim relations, and above all in the human suffering and sacrifice.16 The Mappila image that had already been deteriorating for a century took a serious blow. The events projected a national impression of a violent and religiously fanatic culture. In Malabar Hindu– Muslim relations suffered greatly. Hindus counted their losses in the number of the dead, the refugees, the damaged or polluted temples, and in the 200 to 250 persons forcibly converted. At the all-India level the understanding relationships fostered by the Khilafat Movement suffered a serious setback. The human suffering and sacrifice were considerable. The British military forces had many casualties. The major losses, however, belonged to the Mappilas themselves. Up to 10,000 died, of which 252 were in British court-ordered executions; 502 were sentenced to life imprisonment; and thousands more were jailed in special prisons in India and as far away as the Andaman Islands.17 The Mappilas themselves felt deeply betrayed because they had been led to believe that if they revolted, all of India would rise up with them against the British. They were now in shambles, and daily they had to look at the special police force that was set up to keep the community in check. The culturally confident Mappilas of the past were a distant memory, and their community’s psychology had suffered a seemingly fatal blow.

The Revival of the Mappilas: From 1921 to the Present Is there any merit in a dead end? Only if it is seen as opportunity. In such a dire situation as that which faced the Mappila community after 1921, the opportunity to start over needs to be seized. There must be someone to create a path up and over the events of the past, a path that leads to a new plateau of possibility. Fortunately for the

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Mappilas, there were such people. A remarkable group of reformers stepped forward, determined that their community would now set out on a new road and a new direction. It was a dramatic decision that led to renewal and eventually to new heights in Mappila cultural development, but it did not take place overnight. It took time and incredible effort to pierce the pall of gloom that had descended on the Mappila community. The recovery took two stages—from 1921 to 1947 when foundational figures prepared the ground, and the years after 1947 when the momentum for change took over. In the end it appeared as if the inherent Malayali energy and enterprise came to the rescue of the recumbent Mappilas. Since the details of this cultural revival and renewal are the subject of a coming chapter, at this point we will content ourselves with a brief summary. Within the complex recovery story there were two key elements: the first, theological reform; and the second, the acceptance of modern education. The first factor in the revival was a fresh interpretation of the Qurʾān. A group of theologians broke out of the traditionalist mold and at the same time young, educated Mappilas began to demand more enlightened religious leaders. All desired a fresh, learned, and dynamic interpretation of the Qurʾān; lay Mappilas sought after and found scriptural support for the social changes they deemed appropriate. They also wanted some changes in the community’s behavior. Many of the accumulated customs that had come to define Mappila culture came under their critical attack. Describing them as examples of ignorant and un-Islamic, even shameful conduct, they tried to set aside such practices. The reformers believed that the reputation of Islam was at stake in the struggle for a rational exegesis and ethic. At the same time, educators believed that the reputation of Mappila society was involved in the struggle for modern education. The community as a whole had taken a position against it, but the post-Rebellion Mappila intellectual leaders now felt that they had the evidence to show that such opposition was disastrous in its effects. In the next chapter we shall see how Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan had issued the same call for change after the cataclysm of the Indian “Mutiny” in 1867. Now in southwest India, after the calamity of 1921, history was repeating itself. New Mappila leaders arose who believed that it is Islamically correct to accept a culture of progress. No longer should everything modern and Western be regarded as inherently wrong and threatening. Utilizing modernity’s possibilities we can become “an honourable Muslim community.”18

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What happened next constitutes one of the greatest stories of cultural renaissance and change to take place within a traditional Muslim community. With the changes has come some loss of traditional customs. Recently a Mappila leader put it simply, and a little regretfully, when he said, “There has been a cultural mingling.”19 He means that Mappilas have lost some of their colorful traits and habits that made them stand out. Yet contemporary Mappilas are generally proud of their new culture, and its wheel has not yet stopped turning.

The Cultural Legacy The legacy that Mappila history has left behind has a threefold aspect:

• a “here and there” quality;



• a “then not now” and “some not others” quality; and



• a double and contrasting cultural vision.

We will deal with each of these three aspects in turn.

The Here and There Legacy The historical process of Mappila becoming has left some differentiation among Muslims in the three major regions of Kerala—southern, central, and northern. It goes without saying that there are also variations within the regions, mainly related to urban–rural differences. The respective population statistics in the three regions provide an introduction to the variation. Of the total Muslim population in the state about 69 percent is in the northern region, while the central region has 15 percent and the southern region 16 percent of the total. The same approximate proportion carries over to the relation of Muslim population to the general population in each region. Thus, in the southern region about 10 percent of the general population is Muslim, and in the central region it is 9 percent. In the northern region, however, the figure is 36 percent. The difference in the ratios affect the cultural development. Where a minority is relatively small it must take special care to be cooperative in practical affairs, but at the same time it may become quite protective in matters of personal identity. A strong minority is able to develop a distinct cultural profile of its own, and to become a social force. We shall deal briefly with

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the regional differences in cultural development, taking special note of the major cities, namely, Quilon (Kollam), Cochin (Kochi), Calicut (Kozhikode), and Cannanore (Kannur). In the southern region the Muslim development is mainly coastal. Islam did not penetrate inland to a significant degree. It had its start in the same way as the northern area through the Arab traders who brought their faith with them to Kollam and to Barace (Purakkad) near Alleppey. Hindu culture was very strong. It was hospitable, but there was no overwhelming patronage to match that of the Zamorin in Calicut. Christian culture was firmly established in the interior, and Muslims largely remained in the port cities. In Alleppey District, for example, over 17 percent of the urban population is Muslim, but it is only 3 to 4 percent in rural areas. Muslim history in the southern region centers on the city of Kollam, which was known as Kaulam to the Arab geographers.20 It is the southernmost of the three major Kerala trading emporia that also include Muziris and Calicut, Kollam reached its height in the ninth century CE when it became the capital city of the kingdom of Venad, and epigraphic evidence reveals the presence of Muslims there at that time.21 Kollam also welcomed the ships of China that exchanged silk and other goods with traders from the West in its busy harbor. Marco Polo, who accompanied a Mongol fleet to Kollam in 1290 to 1292, noted the city’s thriving commerce. The China connection continued up to the Ming dynasty in the fifteenth century, its lasting mark being houses with curved roofs in the pattern of Chinese junks, as well as Chinese fishing nets. Kollam suffered from the repeated invasions of the Tamil Chola forces and was burned down in 1096, but it recovered and through its door Muslim presence spread northward along the coast. South of Kollam in the Trivandrum area, Malayalam culture interfaced with Tamil culture, and the presence of some Tamil Muslims (Labbais) there cannot be considered surprising. A major modern symbol of southern Muslim culture came from the village of Wakkom in Trivandrum District where the influential Muhammad Abdul Khader Maulavi emerged to initiate the contemporary Mappila theological revival; his seminal reform movement eventually moved northward through Kodungalur to Malabar. North of Kollam the Alleppey area included Muslims interested in modern education. Many of them were businessmen. It is reported that an administrator named Kesava Das brought Rawthar Muslims from Tamil country to Alleppey to offset the Dutch trade control of Cochin, and they played a leading role in the commercial Alleppey culture.22

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In the central region that has Cochin (Kochi) as its traditional capital the development of Islam flowed from Muziris, now the port of Kodungalur (Cranganore). Muziris is a name that is no longer used since the harbor that is situated at the mouth of the great Periyar River silted up in 1341. Until then it ranked as one of the major ports of the ancient world and is frequently noted in the accounts of travelers and geographers. It traded with the Chinese to the East and with the Phoenicians and Romans to the West. The Romans came there in force, stationing two cohorts and building a temple of Augustus. Pepper, ginger, turmeric, gems, and silks went out in the Roman trade, and gold and minerals came in. At a very early stage Jews and Christians came along with the tide of commerce. After the fall of the Western Roman Empire, the Arabs took over the sea trade with Muziris. Along with Persians they had participated in it pre-Islamic times, but after the advent of Islam they not only became dominant in the trade but also brought Islam with them into that powerful Hindu region. Kodungalur was the famed center of the Chera kingdom and the Perumāl rulers whom we have previously mentioned. It was also known as Mahodayapuram or Tiruvanchikulam (Vanchi). From its site in the basin of the Periyar River its influence spread in every direction and continued until finally defeated by the Tamil Cholas in 1102 CE. It was a cultural melting-pot. Christians at Kodungalur today cherish a presumed relic of St. Thomas, and a few Jews are scattered through the area. Muslims there proudly welcome visitors to what they consider to be the oldest mosque in Kerala. It was the vital Hindu culture, however, that dominated the area. While Christians were well imbedded and had set up their own flourishing pepper gardens, they were subject to the Chera rajas. When the Portuguese and Dutch entered the scene and took over the Kochi trade, they favored the Christians in their trading policy. The Kochi raja and lesser rajas, who feared the rise of Calicut, saw their hope in the Christian alignment, and Muslims received little attention or support. They experienced only a modest development in the central region, similar to the south. The exception was at Kodungalur, and to a lesser extent, in the city of Kochi. At Kodungalur, Muslims developed a special culture that ultimately included a strong economic base and a high respect for education. In modern times the area became the base and instrument of the Mappila intellectual reform as the home of the Aikya Sankhum Society, founded in 1922. Apart from its tilt to education in the central region, Muslim culture was marked by generally harmonious communal relations. That fact is appropriately reflected in the title of a

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current English-language journal issued from Cochin and entitled alHarmony,23 a publication on Islamic thought and ethics that does not hesitate to include Hindu, Christian and Jewish writers. The northern region, also called Malabar, contains the bulk of the Mappilas and hence is the source of much of the material in this volume. It has four culture areas: the coastal area, the North Malabar section, the interior of South Malabar, and the fisher-folk. Overall, the northern region exhibits a combination of religious loyalty and cultural adaptability. Calicut is the center of the coastal culture and the commercial headquarters for the entire region. It is the third of the three ancient trading ports of Kerala, even though its poor harbor makes it an improbable location for such a distinction. It grew to that level under the enterprising leadership of the Zamorin, especially as Muziris fell back. Lying nearest to the Arabian Peninsuala, it became the natural gateway for Islam. The trade between Calicut and Hadramaut on the southern Arabian coast became very active. Even today at Beypore near Calicut, a few wooden dhows are still being made by hand in the old manner. Many Calicut Mappilas continue to take pride in their Arab descent and connection, and this reality informs their marriage arrangements. In the past the relationship provided the base for Mappila economic strength, and in recent times that has been vigorously renewed. In the social sphere Calicut became and remained a practical laboratory for Hindu–Muslim cooperation. In North Malabar the Mappila cultural development centered on the coastal city of Kannur. There the growth of Islam was marked by intermarriage with and the conversion of Nayars and other higher caste Hindu classes. The cultural profile that evolved was therefore much more than of an integrated community, freely adapting to its environment. Its chief mark was the retention of the old matrilineal system of inheritance that continued in many Muslim families. This phenomenon is not visible elsewhere in global Islamic culture except among the Minangkabau Muslims of Indonesia and the Tuaregs of North Africa. As in Calicut, local rajas and Nayar sub-chiefs welcomed the Arab Muslim traders, but the development took another twist when one Nayar convert took the name Ali Raja and developed the only indigenous Mappila kingdom that ever existed. Although only a small principality located in a Kannur suburb, it played a vital role in events during the European era. It fashioned its own cultural history including the periodic admission of female rulers (Bibis)! (See Appendix B.) The royal family played a decisive role in keeping most North Malabar Muslims out of the Mappila Rebellion.

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But Malabar Islam did not stay on the coast and in the cities. It also penetrated into the interior of South Malabar. There lower castes of Hindu society, and especially outcastes, began to turn to Islam. Undoubtedly, the desire for social and economic betterment was a major factor in the development. A surge of accessions to Islam came during the reigns of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan. After becoming Muslim new converts typically retained many of their old habits and sentiments. We do not know of any formal teaching process dedicated to helping new Muslims in their understanding of the faith, although after 1900 a center for the instruction of converts, the Maunat-ul-Islam Sabha, was established at Ponnani. There seems to have been little or no grounding of new believers in the great Islamic intellectual and cultural traditions. As a result, the marks of the interior Mappila became simple faith, sterling loyalty, and an untutored outlook. Since, in the course of time, they became the bulk of the Mappila community in Kerala, these traits tended to define the term “Mappila” in wider India. It was their culture that especially British writers reported as Mappila culture, and the events of 1921 undergirded that reputation. At the same time, it is here that the engagement with modernity has produced the most striking cultural transformation. For the fourth culture area we go to the sea itself and draw brief attention to the Mappila fisher-folk, a distinct social group with many unique customs. Some of them will be reported on later in this work. Similar subcultures are to be found elsewhere in India and in the Muslim world. In speaking of Kurdish culture, Philip Kreyenbroek draws out a general truth: “Ancient traditions persist in local forms of Islam in many areas, and the divergences between the religions of the village and the urban academy can be found in most parts of the world.”24 This holds true among Mappilas for whom local traditions and pride are frequently involved in their social phenomena. No other group, however, displays more idiosyncratic characteristics than the fisher-folk. From Mangalore in the north to Cochin in the south they made Islam their faith, and poised between land and sea they have followed their own cultural path.

The “Then Not Now” and “Some Not Others” Legacies Abdulla and two friends were entertaining a visitor. They had gone to the city to attend a meeting of the working committee of their party. Abdulla enjoyed rising early and going for a walk on the promenade. There they met a visitor and together looked out to sea. The waves came thundering in, pounding against the granite rocks. “The beach

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used to be very wide,” they said, “but now it is like this.” Then they took the visitor to a hotel (cafe) and ate bajis (fritters) together. “It used to be like this, but now it is like this.” Again and again a Mappila may be heard speaking those words. He is referring to the mobility of their culture. The waves of change have come crashing in on the Mappila shore and have eroded the tradition. Some behavioral elements associated with the Mappilas belong to the past and are no longer seen today. The rapidity of contemporary change has accentuated the process bringing uneasiness. “Then it was like that, but now it is like this,” is a frequent Mappila comment. A simple custom that illustrates this point is the male hair style. Until fifty years ago Mappila men could be distinguished by their clean-shaven heads. The original reason for the practice is unknown. It continued moderately into the last quarter of the twentieth century and still lingers on today among a few of the elderly. In effect it has virtually disappeared so that Mappila hair styling today does not differ from that of other communities. “Here and there” plus “then and now” equals “some not others,” a common equation in human cultures. Some Mappilas hold certain opinions, others think differently; some act in certain ways, others behave differently. The number of the “some” and the “others” is in constant flux. Although the range of new habits among Mappilas is constantly widening, the strength of the past traditions ensures an intermingling. A custom that illustrates these elements is the nercha, a Mappila religious festival that celebrates the merits of a saint. This controversial subject will be discussed in detail later. For now it is sufficient to note that the nerchas have disappeared in some places, where they once flourished, as the result of vehement criticisms by reformminded Mappilas. In those places they have taken on the appearance of a country fair. Yet saints continue to be venerated, several nerchas are still observed, and the great shrine at Mambram has been only mildly affected by the criticism. In summary, the “some not others” factor must be an understood background to any description of contemporary Mappila culture.

The Double, Contrasting Cultural Vision One vision emanates from the first culture period, another contrasting one from the second period. A legacy leaves specific phenomena, but also embraces a vision. Mappilas have two cultural visions. The fact that they are still contending with each other gives the culture both a lively and a schizophrenic appearance. The fact that they are blending

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is a testimony to the Malayalam tradition of accommodation and the Muslim tradition of consensus-buiIding. We may sum up the first period from 622 to 1498 as one marked by a practical and open orientation, by pleasant interreligious relations, and by an informal process of customary adaptation. In regard to the adaptation, next to the acceptance of the Malayalam language the key integrating Mappila custom was intermarriage. Arab Muslim men married Malayali Hindu women. The women, as mothers do, passed on aspects of their own Malayalam cultural tradition to their children. Thereby, a process of natural adaptation was set in motion. That custom is long gone. Intermarriage between Mappilas and members of other communities is now a rarity, a practice that belongs to the “then not the now.” Other forms of adaptation, however, were carried forward. They ranged from dress to food, from architectural forms to agricultural methods, from weddings to recreation. Mappilas adopted the everyday living habits of Malayalis, and they became a natural part of their own behavior. However, the chief legacy of the first period is its vision, its informing spirit, rather than a group of specific habits. That is the vision and spirit of cultural openness and harmonious inter-living. These represent the great abiding heritage of the first eight centuries, and remarkably the vision is alive and belongs to the Mappila now. For four centuries the idea of cultural progress had become a casualty of various events, but it has experienced a rebirth in the modern period. That, in turn, has led to new cultural adaptations, not this time to traditional Malayalam culture, but rather to the new technological culture that has been embraced by virtually all Malayalis. With reference to the factor of pleasant communal relations, this vision too is alive. While there have been tensions and isolated incidents, since 1947 there have been no major communal upsets in Kerala like those of the nineteenth century. In sum, what still influences Mappilas today is the legacy of cultural hospitality and the good memory of Pax Malayala. The contrasting vision stems from the second major period in Mappila history, the period of European dominance and Mappila resistance. We have summed up its spirit as one of defensiveness. That expressed itself in the rejection of any further adaptation and in the development of traditionalism. There is no doubt that the feeling of threat stifles cultural progress. The felt need is watchful safeguarding—the important thing is to survive, not to adapt. From this experience a set of simple customs emerged in the Mappila community as the visible demonstration of heroic and unchanging faith. They

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became the pillars for the medieval structure of Mappila culture, and its preservation in that form became the community’s chief cultural goal. Since we will discuss Mappila traditionalism in detail in Chapter 4, here we will simply note that many of the basic customs generated in that period continue into the present day. Some members of the community cherish them and observe them, while others disavow them or try to alter them. There is a positive contribution for contemporary Muslims in this legacy from the second period. Under extreme duress Mappilas resolutely reaffirmed the first element in Islamic cultural theory, namely, the importance of genuine religious conviction. This vision they passed on to the present as an endowment from those difficult years. It is the Mappilas of the current age who have recaptured the other three elements of Islamic cultural theory that we have cited— practicality, flexibility, and equality. Yet the message of oppressed Mappilas that culture cannot replace faith and still be Islamic, and their willingness to endure trials for the sake of their conviction, constitutes a powerful contemporary vision. The blending of two cultural visions challenges Mappila society today. We have touched on the role of the Malayalam, South Arabian Islamic, and European cultures in the formation of Mappila culture. We now ask whether North Indian Muslims had anything to do with the Mappila formation, and if so, what? That is our next chapter.

3

The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on Mappila Culture

Mappilas represent only 6 percent of India’s large Muslim population which numbers 138 million people (2001) and makes up 13.4 percent of the nation. It was less than that if one considers the figures for the pre-Partition era. The question of a possible Indo-Muslim cultural influence on the Mappila development is therefore a natural one. However, the phrase “Indian Islam” is itself a collective one that disguises the cultural variety in a vast mosaic of Muslims from Bengal to Kashmir to Kerala. For centuries the Urdu language and IndoPersian culture provided a kind of unity to Muslims in the northern and central areas of the subcontinent. If there was cultural influence it would most naturally have come from that area. The conventional wisdom is that there was little impact, and the opinion has a strong basis. As distant as Calicut is from Delhi, so culturally separate have they been over past years, Mappilas developed earlier than North Indian Muslims and went their own way. Professor M. Mujeeb has expressed their lack of connections in these words: “The settlements in South India with which their history begins had no continuous or living contact with centres of culture in the north.  .  .  .”1 If Mappilas had little contact with the north, the north also gave them almost no attention. Nevertheless, it is our purpose in this chapter to probe more deeply into the question of possible interaction and influence. We will do so in three sections—the two language worlds, the developmental contrasts and sporadic contacts, and the differing calendars for modernization. We close with the query: What cultural elements if any have Mappilas received from other Indian Muslims?

Two Language Worlds Abdulla is talking to Rashid’s teacher in the schoolyard. The topic of conversation is Rashid’s language option. In elementary school 49

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Malayalam begins in the first grade, English is added in the second grade, and Hindi enters the program in the fourth or fifth grade. The curriculum follows the national three-language formula. However, Arabic can be substituted for one Malayalam paper. Abdulla addresses the teacher: “Let Rashid take Arabic also.” Abdulla knows that Arabic will be easy for Rashid because of his madrasa studies. The possibility of Urdu never enters the discussion. It fleetingly passes through the teacher’s mind, but he does not raise the subject. Abdulla makes his way home. Without realizing it, his choice tells the tale of two cultures. Mappila culture is informed by three languages—Malayalam, Arabic, and English. Urdu has never found a home in Mappila society, although a few adults have learned it. Among Muslims in North and Central India, however, Urdu became the binding element. Language and culture are sister and brother and cannot be separated. The linguistic divisions are a major factor in the cultural distinctions that exist among Indian Muslims from Kashmir to Bengal to Kerala. Certainly this factor has deeply affected the possibility of cultural interaction between Mappilas and North Indian Muslims. Persian was the court language of the Muslim rulers in North India. When Persian, together with Turkish and Arabic, began to play on the vernacular dialects (Prakrit), Urdu was born in the form of a working market language, the development taking place sometime in the twelfth through fourteenth centuries. The root meaning of the term Urdu, namely “royal encampment,” refers to the fact that the new language was the lingua franca of the royal bazaar.2 Its script is a Persianized form of Arabic, further modified to include other sounds. Much later the new language also received the name Hindustani. (Daud Rahbar notes that it was John Gilchrist of Calcutta (d. 1841) who invented that term.) The British utilized Urdu as a working administrative language after the day of Persian ended in 1837. By an alteration in vocabulary, drawing on Sanskrit words and utilizing the Devanagiri script, the language became modern Hindi.3 Not only Muslims but many Hindus used Urdu, and especially after 1500 it became a rich, bridging literary vehicle. However, there was no channel for the language or its literature into Mappila life. After 1947 the position of Urdu in India deteriorated. It was listed as a recognized official language in the constitution of India, but the fact that it was not a state language and the fact that Hindi has come forward as the national language has practically reduced its standing. This has caused great anguish among North and Central Indian Muslims. Mappilas are aware of that sorrow but have not had to share it

The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on Mappila Culture 51

personally because in Kerala Urdu never advanced beyond being a course in state schools. That being the case, it was English, not Urdu, which became the linguistic channel for the converse between Mappilas and other Indian Muslims.

Developmental Contrasts and Sporadic Culture Contacts The developmental contrasts between Mappilas and North Indian Muslims are striking, but an occasional connecting rivulet appeared.

North Indian Muslims to 1526: Diverse Cultural Roads The two Muslim developments traveled diverse roads. In terms of their external connection, the Mappilas were related to Arab culture. On the other hand, North Indian Muslims in particular, but also to an extent Central Indian Muslims, were related to Afghan, Persian, and Turkish customs. In terms of their origin in India, the Mappilas represent a peaceful commerce-related movement. Northern and Central Indian Muslims reflect a conquest-related entry. These and other early differences are startling and continued into the later cultural histories. Significant Muslim influence in North India began with Mahmud of Ghazna (d. 1030), although an Arab general named Muhammad ibn Qasim had invaded Sind already in 711 CE. The town of Ghazni, as it is now called, lies about 150 kilometers southwest of Kabul in Afghanistan. From that base Mahmud, whose father had been a Turkish slave, established an empire that eventually included much of Iran and northwest India. Between 1001 and 1026 he marched into India seventeen times in search of booty. He especially targeted Hindu temples, the most notable being the great temple of Somnath in Gujarat in 1026. Thereby, he set a rough pattern for other Turco-Afghan military adventurers. Their entry opened a stream of influence that sowed many seeds in the fertile Indian cultural soil, but at the same time their militant methodology also negatively affected their interaction with its indigenous societies and left bad memories. The invaders were generally greedy and rapacious warriors, and nothing can mitigate that reality. However, some of them were also patrons of the arts; they gathered the greatest known scholars and craftsmen around them and sponsored their work. This had a two-way effect. Aspects of India’s high culture and learning became known in the Abbasid Empire to the West and, conversely, at least a few representatives of the Islamic Golden Age made their way to

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India. The most prominent example of that interchange may be alBīrūnī (973–1048), a Persian who had been brought to Ghazna by Mahmud. He was a peerless scholar in the fields of mathematics and astronomy, natural science, geography and history, and even Sanskrit. The author of over one hundred works, his “Description of India” (Kitāb Tahʾrik al-Hind), which he presented in 1030, stands as a work of enduring value. He has been rightly extolled as “the impartial observer of customs and creeds.”4 The contrast between Mahmud and al-Bīrūnī could not be greater; they represent the two sides of the next eight centuries of Muslim court history. Mappila history in the southwest region of the subcontinent was already in its fifth century, but it had not been marked by either tyranny or scholarship of such magnitude. The Ghaznavids ruled much of what is now Pakistan and the Indian Punjab until 1186 when a Perso-Afghan dynasty called the Ghurids replaced them. They were named after their town near Herat in Afghanistan. Muizz-ud-Din, their leader, defeated a large Hindu army at Peshawar and annexed Lahore. The Ghurid technique was to place their outposts under the charge of Turkish slaves, giving rise to the name “Slave Dynasty.” These ambitious individuals were anything but slavish, and they further extended Muslim rule as far as Bengal. Because one of them, Iltumish, made Delhi their capital in 1210, the subsequent period of Muslim rule is called the Delhi Sultanate (1210–1526) which experienced five dynasties. Through them aspects of Persian, Afghan, and Turkish culture began to blend into North Indian Muslim culture, at least at court and administrative levels. Cultural development, however, was not their first interest. They engaged in interminable warfare and were as cruel to each other as to the general populace. An injection of Muslim learning came as the result of traumatic developments north of India. From 1219 Genghis Khan (d. 1227) began the mighty Mongol invasions that swept across Central Asia, the Middle East, and Eastern Europe. In 1258 they captured and devastated Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate and the center of Muslim culture. Before and after the event scholars and artisans began to flee in different directions, and some of the refugees found a home in North India. We can only imagine what a boon Mappilas would have experienced in their great developmental years if the wave of refugee culture had somehow reached them, but they had no direct connection with these events. It was the short-lived Khilji Dynasty of the Delhi Sultanate (1290–1320) that brought about the first North Indian Muslim relation-

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ship with the south. It, too, reflected the Turkish culture stream. The harsh ʿAlā-ud-Dīn (d. 1315), whom Mujeeb calls “the first effective Indian Muslim ruler,”5 is its chief figure. He assumed ownership of the land, set up a centralized administration, and established a revenue system that subsequently filtered down through Tipu Sultan’s policies into Malabar and Mappila life. ʿAlā-ud-Dīn extended his rule to much of India, but in many places that simply meant recognizing existing Hindu authorities if they pledged loyalty. One of his generals, Malik Kafur, conducted two military expeditions (1311–1313) as far south as Madura in today’s Tamilnad, having been invited in by a local Pandyan ruler. Thereby, North Indian Muslim forces entered what some early geographers called the Maʾbar (not to be confused with Malabar).6 It lay within 150 kilometers of the Mappilas and their “black gold” (pepper), yet there is no evidence that Malik Kafur was aware of it or tempted by it. In any event, he had enough booty which included 612 elephants, 20,000 horses, 95,000 maunds of gold, and boxes full of jewelry.7 He left behind a small unstable sultanate at Madura that became independent under Jalal-ud-Din Shāh in 1335, but which lasted only until 1378.8 It is arguably fortunate that relations between the Mappilas and the northern Muslims did not get closer at this time for the fourteenth century was a high level point in Hindu-Muslim relations in Kerala, while in much of wider India they had plummeted to a new low. The Tughluk dynasty that succeeded the Khiljis could not hold their new empire together. Their practice of appointing foreign nobility to be governors of subordinate kingdoms fostered internecine rivalries and increased their remoteness from local cultures. The policies of Firuz Shah (d. 1338) aggravated the Hindu–Muslim estrangement. He was aggressive in his treatment of Hindus in a way that went considerably beyond the imposition of the jizya, a special tax imposed on non-Muslim subjects in lieu of military service. The weakness of the Tughluks made it easy for the savage Timur (Tamerlane) to launch an invasion from Samarqand in what is now Uzbekistan, in 1398. Using the excuse that previous rulers had been too tolerant toward Hindus, he ruthlessly destroyed Delhi. When he left—and fortunately he did so soon—everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It was said that after his fearsome raid the sound of a bird could not be heard for two months! Timur (d. 1405) left behind an anarchic situation. Ironically, the chaos led to a more positive intercultural situation in Central India. The Sayyids ruled briefly (1414–1451), followed by an Afghan dynasty called the Lodis (1451–1526), who moved their capital to Agra. They were the final dynasty in the Delhi Sultanate, and their sovereignty

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had a very limited range. As Delhi’s power decreased, the process of decentralization accelerated. Two strong and independent realms arose in the south central region of India called the Deccan Plateau. They competed with each other, creating a bulwark across Central India that northern forces and influences could not traverse. One of the domains was Hindu, the great Vijayanagar Empire (1336–1556). Its capital city, Vijayanagar, situated 250 kilometers inland from Goa, was 96 kilometers in circumference and was surrounded by seven huge circular walls. The ruins are one of the marvels of India today. Its equally great competitor was the Muslim Bahmani Sultanate. The Bahmani Sultanate (1347–1518), named after its founder, had its capital at Gulbarga (later Bidar), about 150 kilometers north of Vijayanagar and 100 kilometers west of Hyderabad. Although it was in frequent conflict with surrounding Hindu kingdoms, it was not culturally aloof, and in its time various elements fused together in Deccan culture. Moreover, like Vijayanagar it had a relationship with the west coast and was involved in the same Arab trade as the Mappilas were. We do not have evidence of direct commercial relations, but it is not beyond the bounds of possibility. Between 1490 and 1518 the Sultanate dissolved into five small successor Muslim states, the two major ones being Bijaypur (1489–1686) in the west and Golconda (1512–1687) in the east. Bijaypur, which lies in present-day Karnataka State, is only 300 kilometers from the border of Kerala, and was the closest of the Deccan dynasties to the Mappila area, but direct intercultural contacts would have to wait until the short-lived reigns of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan. K. M. Panikkar sees evidence of “a synthesis of culture” in Bijaypur, and “the interpenetration of Hindu and Muslim culture.” The most visible patterns of adaptation are among Sufi mystics, partially Islamicized castes, and Muslims involved in certain vocations and arts such as music.9

Rare Mughul Connections: 1526–1857 The Mughul Empire was the greatest of the Indian Muslim empires and the most formative influence on Muslim culture in much of India. Mughul is Arabic for Mongol; thus the Mongol influence came into India three centuries after the conquest of Central Asia, but in hybrid form. The Mongols who came were now Islamicized and Persianized. The individual who started it off was Zuhr al-Din Muhammad Babur (1483–1530). He was a descendant of Timur on his father’s side and Genghis Khan on his mother’s, bearing the heritage of both the Tatar Turks and the Mongols. Thus, he personally symbolized

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culture streams that flowed into the “Mughul” being. Babur was the ruler of Kabul in Afghanistan. In 1526 he invaded India, crushing the power of the Lodis and other sub-rulers, and laid the foundation of the Mughul state. Babur’s grandson Akbar (1542–1605), rightly called “the Great,” was the noblest Muslim ruler of India and the builder of the national state. With his military and administrative skills he consolidated Muslim power north of the Deccan. In this he did not differ materially from other conquerors. What distinguished him was his religiously spacious and culturally creative approach. He appointed Hindus to senior positions in government, and removed the jizya tax. Not only did he model tolerance in his administrative policies, but he was also personally curious and sought to understand other points of view. His court was the scene of a constant exchange of religious ideas. Not only philosophy, but also the arts interested Akbar, in particular architecture. His magnificent structures at Agra and Fathepur Sikri are stunning testimonies to that interest. Akbar created a powerful resource for cultural interaction through his conciliatory policy of sulh-i kull, universal toleration. As far as we know Mappilas did not hear of it, although that had been their policy for centuries. While Akbar was welcoming the Portuguese Jesuits to his court, their colonial administrators in Kerala were busy supplanting tolerance with a contrary spirit. The death of Akbar the Great left a great void although Jehangir, his son, and Shah Jahan, his grandson, continued many of his policies. Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal, a love poem to his queen, Mumtaz Mahal, the entire structure being completed in 1649. It was designed by an intercultural council of Muslim architects. However, the stream of Akbar’s irenic approach ran dry after the death of its final representative, Dara Shukoh (1615–1659), who was Shah Jahan’s son. He led a movement of rapprochement with Hindu culture. A learned literary figure, he traced the common elements between Sufism and Vedanta philosophy, and in 1657 translated the Upanishads into Persian. But he never made it to the position of Emperor. The competition was won by his younger brother, Aurangzeb, who allowed Dara Shukoh to be executed. Aurangzeb (1618–1707) was a towering ruler who extended the Mughul Empire to its farthest reach, taking its influence to the deep south of India. His administration was characterized by both efficiency and ruthlessness; many consider him to have been the ablest of the Indian monarchs. Yet he also adopted a controversial religious policy. Thoroughly orthodox, he was personally interested in

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­traditional ­Sunni law and theology, and publicly interested in Islamicizing society as much as possible. He was therefore unsympathetic toward his Hindu subjects and their culture. He restored the jizya, discontinued Hindu court customs such as music and dance, replaced Hindu administrative officers with Muslims, destroyed new Hindu temples, and appointed censors for public morals in major cities. Aurangzeb planted the seed of a development in orthodox religious education which was to become the most important Indian Muslim influence on the Mappilas. In the 1690s he donated a property and a pension to a well-known family of scholars in Lucknow to finance their study center, the Faranji Mahal. A scion of the family, Mulla Muhammad Nizam al-Din (d. 1748), using his own and his father’s ideas, developed a syllabus that received the name dars-iNizamiyya. It is narrowly focused on the reading of respected Islamic authorities under the guidance of a trained scholar who strictly controls the educational process. It eventually became the leading curriculum in South Asia for the training of Muslim religious workers, although various institutions made their own adaptations from time to time (cf. Appendix D for the Deoband example). The syllabus is a primary guide for Mappila religious education in its protective mode. The contrast between the approaches of Akbar and Aurangzeb illustrates the range of opinion among North Indian Muslims on questions of religion and culture, and religion and state. If Akbar leaned to the establishment of a national state, Aurangzeb tilted toward the idea of some sort of Islamic state. As Shaikh Ikram puts it: “He was deeply committed to the ordering of his government according to Muslim law.”10 Except for him, however, Muslim rulers never moved seriously in the direction of forming a classic Islamic state, and they seldom exercised compulsion in regard to religious affiliation. In general, they subordinated religious concerns to the practical policies required for the conduct of their administration. The “practicality” in Islamic cultural theory helps account for the fact that the majority of India’s populace remained steadfastly Hindu despite centuries of Muslim rule. The chief problem that Aurangzeb faced during his reign was the independently minded and turbulent Deccan area. He spent years of his life there, both as Viceroy and as Emperor, in pacification efforts. The rising Mahratta Hindu powers under the dynamic leadership of Shivaji Raja and his son Sambhuji could not be suppressed; however, he did manage to force the Muslim kingdoms of Bijaypur and Golconda to their knees.

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Farther south, the most visible result of his empire-building was the kingdom of Arcot that lay between Bangalore and Madras. In 1690 Aurangzeb appointed Zulfiqar Ali Khan as the Nawāb or governor of the Carnaitic region (the northern and eastern portions of Tamilnad, including the coastal area). The governor established his headquarters at Arcot, being responsible to Nizam-ul-Mulk, who was Aurangzeb’s Viceroy at Hyderabad, but after Aurangzeb’s death he and his successors became independent. At its peak the Arcot rule extended to the south beyond Tanjore and Trichinopoly to Tinnevelly at the bottom of the subcontinent, only a short distance from Trivandrum, but its forces did not enter southern Kerala. In the period between 1710 and 1740 when Deccan stability was shaken, a large number of Muslim scholars and artisans entered Arcot and thereby introduced Deccan Muslim culture into Tamilnad.11 The educational institutions that eventually developed from this movement, especially the madrasas at Vellore and Umarabad, were taken advantage of by Mappilas for the training of clergy. The Arcot kingdom, however, did not remain strong. It became a British vassal in 1781, and by 1875 the line of twelve Nawābs came to an end.11 For the Mughuls, it was all downhill after Aurangzeb died in 1707. They rapidly descended into the shadows of their one-time greatness, dividing and subdividing into subsidiary powers. As far as the south is concerned, their bright spot was the rise of Hyderabad, the capital of the former kingdom of Golconda. Asaf Jah Nizam-ulMulk, the Mughul Viceroy in the Deccan, declared independence in 1724. Hyderabad flourished on its own. It became known as a place of relative Muslim–Hindu amity, and its architecture became a blend of Muslim and Hindu styles. This leads us to a brief discussion of the grassroots cultural realities of this period and their relation to the Mappila development.

Indo-Muslim Cultural Adaptation and Sufi Contacts with Mappilas No Indian Muslim rulers opened formal political connections with Kerala, and therefore relations with Mappilas could only have been indirect and casual, if they existed at all. However, Indo-Islam was passing through its own process of cultural adaptation. In that light we may ask two questions. The first is whether this process is in any way similar to the earlier Mappila adaptation, and the second is whether through informal channels some of that later influence may have reached the Mappilas.

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What happens with rulers and courts is one thing. What happens on the ground among ordinary people may be another. The political story of North Indian Islam gives the impression of a heavy imprint from Central Asian and Middle Eastern cultures. The grassroots developments reveal another development. Two scholarly Muslim authorities emphasize different sides of this picture. Ishtiaq H. Qureshi, a historian, thinks of Indian Muslim culture as a tree onto which other branches are grafted. The tree is the original culture that Muslims brought with them from Islamic lands. That was maintained but “some Indian elements were added.” He says: 12 “The Muslims of the sub-continent were no longer Arabs, Turks, Afghans or Iranians; they had developed a distinct character. This trend is present in almost every aspect of life. In some the Indian element is weak; in others it is strong, but it has left its impress everywhere.” S. M. Ikram, another historian, thinks of the relationship between foreign Muslim culture and indigenous Indian culture as a more intimate process, a kind of amalgam in which the indigenous element is much stronger than is usually recognized. Confining himself to the period of Muslim rule in India, he sees four strands in the Indo-Muslim culture that emerged: the Islamic, the Turkish, the Persian, and the indigenous in which he includes the Afghan element. He contends that the indigenous element must be given more weight considering the fact that the vast majority of Muslims were of Indian origin. He declares that the “Indian element is in their very blood, and shows itself not only in numerous usages and practices carried over from their ancestral Hindu society, but even in unconscious reactions and the basic mental makeup.” He adds, however, that the Turkish rulers contributed most in the realms of government, law, dress, and food; the Persians most in the spheres of literature, the fine arts, mysticism, and philosophy; while Islam was the comprehensive base. Ikram believes that the tension between the two heterogeneous elements, Indian and foreign, was resolved by a “middle of the road” approach that is in the normal Muslim tradition.13 The Mappila experience supports this analysis. The “resolving” of the tensions, however, is not always automatic or easy. Murray Titus has outlined some of the usages of Hindu culture carried over by Muslim groups at grassroots levels. They include saint veneration, sacred sites, idolatrous practices, participation in non-Muslim festivals and observances, caste distinctions, and others.14 Similarly, in four multi-authored volumes their editor, Imtiaz Ahmed, a social scientist, has documented the wide variations that cultural interaction has left behind in its wake.15 S. A. A. Rizvi is therefore of the following opinion: “Islam in the context of the

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Indian sub-continent developed along lines quite different from other west Asian regions, evolving a culture which was broadly Islamic but whose principal characteristics were indigenous.”16 The realities expressed in this scholarly opinion lead us to conclude that the Mappilas were not on a lonely road in their cultural adaptation, apart from their role as pioneers. What was unique about their adaptation was not its fact but its Malayalam-Arab form. We must still ask the question whether any of the Indo-Muslim adaptation became known to Mappilas and influential among them, possibly through informal channels. The probable answer is “very few” since the social intercourse necessary for that to happen was not present. Moreover, the indigenization taking place among various Muslim groups in different parts of India was related to local conditions, and cultural portability could not easily take place. The exception was Sufism and its connected saint veneration where there was cultural movement. Between 1200 and 1650 CE the following major Sufi orders were introduced into India: the Chishti, Qadiri, Shattiri, Naqshabandi, Suhrawardi, Kubrawi, Kalandari, and Aydarusi.17 Each one had some distinguishing features in its teaching along with a core scripture. Each venerated their leaders. Each was prominent in specific regions, and each developed offshoots. The Chishti, Qadiri, and Naqshabandi orders came closest to having an all-India influence. Their representatives certainly moved deeper and with greater tenacity into India’s southlands than the Muslim armies could do. Of the influence of the Persian Sufi, Muʿīnuddīn Chishtī (d. 1226) who settled at Ajmer it is said:18 His dwelling place soon became a nucleus for the Islamicization of central and southern India. The Chishti order spread rapidly and conversions in India during that period were due mainly to the untiring activity of the Chishti saints whose simple and unsophisticated preaching and practice of the love of God impressed many Hindus.  .  .  .  Yet the influence was sporadic rather than sustained. After a thorough search Professor V. Kunhali has uncovered the tracks of eleven orders in the State of Kerala, but he also notes that “none of these facts establish any vital influence of Sufism in Malabar from other parts of the country.”19 The Malayali and Indo-Muslim cultural developments ran on different tracks. There was commonality in the basic religious beliefs and practices to be sure. Thereafter the tracks switched and separated.

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The Mappila development was confined by space, long in history, and concentrated in one language and culture context. The wider Indian Muslim development covered much of India, was shorter in time, and dealt with an array of cultures and subcultures. Mappilas developed from below without political power, while North and Central Indian Muslims developed from above, led by political rulers. Significantly, the tracks parted ways, and there was no mechanism in place to draw them together for a common journey. In Bengal where, in Aziz Ahmad’s words, “culture was eclectically a synthesis of Hindu and Muslim elements,”20 the developmental track ran parallel in many ways to the Mappila one, but there was no mutual contact. It was only with the advent of British predominance over a disunited India that Mappilas and other Indian Muslims began to be drawn together by common political dilemmas and an alien bridging culture.

The European Cultural Intrusion and Its Connecting Role The English Takeover and Indo-Muslim Sense of Loss Da Gama started the colonial movement into India at the same time that Babur introduced Mughul rule. For two centuries the movements overlapped. After Aurangzeb’s death the Mughuls fell back and the English advanced. By 1868 they claimed sovereignty and the so-called British Raj began. It had two effects on Mappila culture. Directly, it introduced wider facets of European culture, and indirectly it helped channel a partially modernized Indian Muslim culture pattern. Elements of both found their way into the integrated Arab–Malayalam ethos, enlarging and enriching that cultural profile. Among the European colonial powers in contact with Muslims in north and central India it was the French who offered some competition to the English in their influence, but it was a rather modest one. The French were present for a short time only and had too limited resources to make an enduring impact.21 Pondicherry on the Tamil coast became their main base. By 1706 it had 40,000 residents compared to Calcutta’s 22,000,22 and it became an enduring center for French culture. In the Deccan area the talented French leader Joseph Dupleix (d. 1763) developed a design to build a French empire. The method was to forge early alliances with local Muslim aspirants for power, supporting them financially as well as militarily, and when those princes succeeded in gaining control the French would become their court advisors. The princes not only appreciated the French

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assistance, but felt that it gave them a buffer against the rising English power. The Hyderabad and Mysore rulers were drawn into the European rivalry. Hyder Ali desired “ultimate contact with French power in India.”23 This rather blatantly corrupting system must have involved an element of cultural interchange, but it was expensive and soon exhausted the French exchequer. Dupleix was recalled in 1754. In 1789, at the dawn of the French Revolution, the French company ended its activity in India. The political and cultural fields were left to the English, and they did not hesitate to take advantage. It is through them that the Indian Muslim engagement with Western culture took place in depth. The English East India Company was formed in 1600. In ever-increasing cooperation with the British Government, it fended off other Europeans, won over or subjected Indian rulers, and assumed hegemony in India. The venture was as effective as it was high-handed. Bombay, now Mumbai, illustrates how blithely imperious was the European attitude. The city was presented to England as part of a dowry given by John IV of Portugal to Charles II of England on behalf of his daughter, Catherine of Braganza! Although the west coast was for centuries the important one, it was the east coast, especially Bengal, which became the prime venue for the English political power and cultural influence. In 1698 the English were granted three villages that became the base for Calcutta. There they established Fort William, which eventually became the center of English administration. But what was there to administrate? Was not the English East India Company a commercial enterprise? That is certainly the way it was envisioned in London, and also by the first traders in India. But we have already seen how, in Malabar, the Company adopted a policy of territorial rule to accompany their commercial activity. When they experienced a hard time because of the seafaring attacks of the Mappila Kunjali Marakkars and the Hindi Mahrattas, the Bombay Governor, then the administrator of Malabar, recommended managing commerce “with a sword in your hands.” And, in 1687, the Company directors themselves instructed its staff “to establish such a politie of civil and military power, and create and secure such a large revenue to secure both  .  .  .  as may be the foundation of a large well grounded, secure English dominion in India for all time to come.”24 It couldn’t be said more clearly. In 1688 Sir John Child, whose brother was behind the policy change, tried to test it out by blocking the Mughul trade along the west coast. He was defeated and had to appeal to Emperor Aurangzeb for pardon, which was granted. Aurangzeb had led the way in welcoming commerce with the English and in 1715 a successor,

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Farrukhsiyar, gave the Company special trading privileges throughout the Empire. Had the Mughuls known about the new Company policy, they might have thought twice. In the dark tumult of the 1700s, Mughul power faded. On the western side of India the powerful Mahratta kingdom held sway, and it was gradually moving northward toward Delhi. There the Mughuls reeled under the invasion of Emperor Nadir Shah of Persia in 1739. A kind of Timur number two, he sacked Delhi and carried off its riches, including Shah Jahan’s gold-enameled and. jewel-encrusted Peacock throne. The northwest of India beyond the Indus River had been effectively lost by the Mughuls. In the east, where Bengal was nominally under Mughul Viceroys, there was turmoil. Political intrigue ruled the day. Robert Clive’s victory over the weakened Nawāb Sirāj-udDawlah at Plassey in 1757 paved the way for the conquest of the entire region. In the south the French loss had encouraged the Nizam of Hyderabad to place himself under the protection of the Company in 1768, and on May 4, 1799, two English armies met and overcame Tipu Sultan at his Seringapatam fort near Mysore City, affirming the Company’s authority in southwest India. The Company’s rapid move into territorial rule caused some consternation in London and admonitions against political intervention were sent out, but events in India passed them by. William Hastings, the first governor-general of Bengal, led the forward charge to full English control during the years from 1758 to1785. The Mughul emperor could no longer offer serious opposition, and in 1803 he too came under British “protection.” Although he was allowed to keep his title and maintain the pretense of Muslim rule, his authority for all intents and purposes had ended. He was given a lavish annual grant that enabled him to continue to live a comfortable life. Some of the well-entrenched regional kingdoms presented another story. They included the Muslim kingdom at Oudh, the Sikh kingdom in the Punjab, the Rajputs of Rajasthan, the Mahratta Confederacy, and others. Their resistance was stronger. The Company dealt with them by a variety of means, however, from diplomacy to military conquest. By the time they defeated the Mahrattas in 1818, it could be said that the Company’s takeover of India was more or less complete, even though about half of its territory was still held by the more than 350 princely states. Its quite astonishing and seemingly inexorable forward march had ended in success, and English culture became a universal factor in Indian life. In the subsequent decades in England there was increasing dissatisfaction with the Company’s activities. It revealed a lively human

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rights conscience that developed from a variety of sources—the French and American revolutions, the influence of utilitarian philosophers, and the voice of evangelical Christians. British government administrators had also become quite critical of the affairs of the “Honourable Company.” None of this displeasure could begin to match the Indian anger and resentment. That led to a combined Muslim–Hindu revolt in 1857—the Indian “Mutiny” that was marked by heroism and cruelty on both sides and that brought major repercussions. Ending the charade of Muslim rule, the British sent into exile Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughul Emperor, to Rangoon, Burma. This was followed in England by the passage of the India Act of 1858, by which the Crown assumed the direct control of India’s affairs. It ended one anamoly— a commercial firm running a country—by creating another one: the sight of a small European nation assuming control over a vast Asian land! What did this mean for Muslims? I. H. Qureshi sums up their feeling of despair: “The Muslim community in the sub-continent had reached a dead end.”25

A New Wave of Indian Muslim Thinking It was certainly the dead end of Muslim rule, but it also marked a beginning, the commencement of a struggle to find a new way of doing things. The European culture was no longer on the perimeter of India in the port cities. It was in the seat of power. It now reached out in education as well as commerce, in law as well as politics. Muslims had to engage with it or be irrelevant. In Kerala traditionalist Muslims had said, “We can’t engage with it; we have to defend against it.” Among North Indian and Bengali Muslims there were also many who had the same opinion, but others struggled to find some sort of compromise. Out of that struggle came two major North Indian Muslim contributions to Mappila culture: a new intellectual approach and a new political approach. Some Positive Responses

to the

Challenge

of

Modern Culture

The partial collapse of important elements in traditional Indian Muslim culture had started earlier than 1857, two of the main factors being a decline in leadership quality and a waning of common grassroots piety. A great strength of Indo-Muslim culture had been the synthesis of respected leadership and faithful behavior. Evidently respect for leaders had diminished in the years after Aurangzeb. Esteemed scholars like Shāh Walī-Allāh (1703–1762) pinned their hopes for the

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Muslim community on the rise of a new sharia-minded ruler, but that did not happen. His son. Shāh Abdul Aziz (1726–1784) issued a fatwā, a religio-legal opinion, in which he scathingly attacked despotic Muslim sultans, declaring: “This domination of immorality and injustice is a curse for the community and the people  .  .  .  Men who are wise and upright keep as far away as possible from the sultans of our time.”26 Common morality had also been weakened. This is evident from the rise of a series of charismatic revivalists who called for the end of superstitious practices and immoral living. In brief, traditional Muslim society was not in a strong position to deal with the powerful new cultural elements that were represented by the English outsiders. A logical source for the new leadership required by the Muslim community was its clergy, but they were not, as a whole, equipped for the task. Some of them judged the English Christians to be kāfir and declared that Muslims were in a state of war (dār al-harb) against them. A few even called for emigration from India. The bulk of the clergy did not take this position, but neither did they offer a mindset to ordinary Muslims that would help them deal with the forces of modernization. As Professor Mujeeb puts it: “The theological outlook prevented the old Muslim concept of life from yielding to the pressure of new circumstances, and extending into and assembling to itself new intellectual and emotional experiences.”27 The situation was not entirely hopeless. There had been some positive developments even before 1867. An example of that was the appearance of the Delhi College. Founded in 1792 as a language school, it became a semi-Westernized, Urdu-based college in 1824. By 1831, 300 students were also studying English under its auspices. It began the task of translating English scientific works into Urdu. Some of Sir Sayyid’s later colleagues received their training there, and Aziz Ahmad affirms that “the humanism of the nineteenth century north Indian Muslim elite is traceable in large part to the Delhi College.”28 Unfortunately, the College became one of the casualties of the Indian Mutiny. The need for a fresh style of Indo-Muslim leadership became abundantly clear when a new policy favoring English education was introduced by William Bentinck, governor-general of India (1827– 1835), partly resulting from the influence of T. B. Macaulay. The fateful decision made knowledge of the English language the linchpin of colonial policy. It ordered that henceforth all government funding for education would be given to English-medium educational institutions. In 1837 English also replaced Persian as the language of the courts. Thereby, the prime vehicle of Muslim culture and also the medium

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for the meeting of Muslim and Hindu cultures in North India, was set aside, opening the way for the permeation of Western civilizational emphases into Indian society. A decade later it was decreed that for employment in public offices preference would be given to those with a knowledge of English. And in 1854 a dispatch of Charles Wood, chairman of the Company Board, outlined a complete structure for a universal educational system and ordered that in its institutions “the education conveyed in them should be exclusively secular.”29 Hindus dealt with the new development better than Muslims. They felt less hesitation in letting the new wave wash over their lives. Some sensed its potential for their revival, and Hindu reform movements like the progressive Brahmo Samaj arose and encouraged modern education. For the Muslim, such modernization seemed like the approving and institutionalizing of the victor’s culture, and another terrible setback. But amidst this bewilderment and resentment a new figure arose with a surprising message. Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817–1898) is known far and wide for his effort to calm Muslim fears in regard to English culture. He urged his fellow Muslims, “Let us not fear the new culture, but rather let us make its good things our own.” He chose progress over tradition, cultural openness over fossilization, and in effect made the Islamic cultural principles of practicality, flexibility, and personal freedom elements in his approach. Among the good things he saw in English culture he gave the highest place to Western education. Sir Sayyid was the first and most vibrant figure in the intellectual renaissance that emerged, but he was not the only Indian Muslim to espouse the merits of modernity. In Calcutta, Sayyid Amir Ali (1849–1928) wrote the Spirit of Islam (1891), presenting Islam as a modern adaptable religion interested in intellectual liberty; in Hyderabad, Chiragh Ali (1844–1895) called for the revamping of Muslim social laws in the light of modern needs and conditions; and in Bombay, Badr al-Din Tyabji (1844–1906), another High Court judge, became a leader of the Indian National Congress. They represented a small but influential group of educated, liberal Muslims who gave powerful leadership to a community in great need.30 Sir Sayyid had taken employment in the Company’s civil service and had engaged in scholarly pursuits. After the Mutiny he became a bridge between the Muslims and the British. He pleaded with his fellow Muslims to adopt a post-Mutiny policy of loyalty to the British and progress in modern education. It was certainly a daring proposal, but there was also logic in it if Muslims were to recover and take their rightful place in society. He saw the need for a new Islamic kalām, that

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is, a new synthesis of Islamic thought with modern scientific thought, like other fusions that had taken place in the Islamic past. He argued for a full openness to scientific knowledge, contending that Muslims have two revelatory books to read, the book of the Qurʾān and the book of nature. In the latter we see God’s works, so there is no conflict between what science discovers in nature and what faith finds in the Qurʾān. In fact, it may even be said that Islam is nature, and nature is Islam. He did not concede that his approach might undermine faith, as some critics charged. Again and again he affirmed his own religious conviction and said, “Of all the innumerable wonders of the universe, the most marvellous is religion.  .  .  .”31 His was a bold position and a mighty call to learning. To put his views into effect, in the years between 1875 and 1878 Sir Sayyid established the Muhammadan Anglo-Oriental College at Aligarh in Uttar Pradesh. It was a remarkable achievement entailing much personal sacrifice. His model was Cambridge University in England. The College, which later became Aligarh University, was the source of many of the educated Muslim leaders who later joined with Hindus in the freedom movement. To help soften orthodox criticism Sir Sayyid placed a conservative and independent theological institution in the center of the new College. As part of his wide-ranging views, the reformer also held that Muslim conduct and behavior are subject to the test of rationality, and he smiled at the pretentious effort of some opponents to create a new sin called “resembling an infidel.” At the heart of all he did was his concern for the uplift of his community. It drove his policies in regard to Muslim–British, and Muslim–Hindu relations. After the Indian National Congress got going, he worried that the Muslim community would lose out if it did not develop strong community organizations of its own and to that end he established the Muhammadan Educational Conference in 1886, which became the All-India Muslim League in 1906. There is some disagreement as to what happened next among grassroots North Indian Muslims. S. Abid Husain, a prominent twentieth-century Indian Muslim thinker, represents the common view that despite the sterling efforts of Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan and his successors, the new cultural influences made little impact on ordinary Muslims, and in fact they were resisted by many. He says: “The Muslims of the North had profound dislike for the British Government as well as for Western learning and culture. So their attitude to the new age, which was now overtaking them, was entirely hostile.” For the middle class, the British cultural edifice constituted “forced submission,” while the masses and the religious teachers view it “with bitter

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resentment.” The religious teachers “regarded the English, in spite of all their claims to religious impartiality, as the enemies of Islam and the patrons of Christianity.” Not only was English education “a danger to religion,” but that applied to Western culture in general. Abid Husain concludes: Its secular character they regarded as irreligious. Its higher standard of living, they condemned as wasteful. The easier social relations between men and women appeared to be immoral; the male European dress divested of dignity and the female dress lacking in modesty.32 Some Muslim commentators regard such analyses as overstatements. S. Rizvi, for example, suggests that “the myth of initial dissociation from British rule is unfounded.”33 Yet the evidence of the Muslim backlash against the new culture is strong. Peter Hardy holds the view that the resistance developed because “outside the collaborating classes, religious passion among Muslims had grown since 1857.”34 Certainly British authorities felt the problem, and they were concerned enough to strive to redress the situation. This, in turn, led to the Government of India Resolutions of August 7, 1871, and June 13, 1873, to encourage Muslim education; the 1882 Hunter Educational Commission which dealt with the causes and proposed solutions; and the July 15, 1885 Government of India resolution endorsing specific measures to bring about improvements. In sum, the North Indian Muslim engagement with European culture had at least two forms: the appreciation of the educated class and the disapproval of clergy and commoners. We cannot be sure when and how an awareness of this striking North Indian involvement with English culture reached the Mappilas. It was almost certainly after the lifetime of Sir Sayyid. Abdul Khader Wakkom Maulavi reported on the proceedings of the All India Muhammadan Educational Conference in his journal Swadeshabhimani (“The Patriot”), founded in 1906. Promoters of the Aligarh College came to the Kerala area before the First World War, and from 1911 forward educational associations were formed, particularly in Cochin State. Sheikh Muhmmad Hamadani Tangal advocated a form of education that integrated the religious and secular spheres. After a personal visit to the Muhammadan Anglo-Oriental College in Aligarh, he resolved to construct a similar institution at Alwaye, utilizing Egyptian teachers, but the combination of orthodox opposition and the advent of war in 1914 aborted the plan.35 Occasionally Malayali

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­ uslim students attended northern schools, including Aligarh, but M not so many that it resulted in a steady stream of influence into Kerala. The awareness of the North Indian Muslim intellectual movement was present among Mappilas, but as an aura rather than as a clear set of ideas. Some materials were translated into Malayalam36 but the amount was quite limited. On the whole, what the North Indian Muslim intellectual experience provided the Mappilas was an encouraging background for what they, in the end, had to do for themselves. Political influences, however, had a more direct impact. The Idea

of

Community Uplift

through

Political Action

The desire of Sir Sayyid and his colleagues for educational improvement was directly related to their concern for the welfare of Muslim society. They observed how the majority Hindu community and other communities were forging ahead economically and socially. The question was how the Muslim community could play catch-up and obtain a fair share in the progress of Indian society. Modern education was one way to achieve that goal, but Muslim thinking also moved into the direction of political action. The impulse for that thinking arose from Muslim participation in the freedom struggle. Some saw it as a cooperative effort with other communities, while others viewed it as a separate endeavor. The idea that a community can save itself through politics is not groundbreaking, but in India it became a radical notion when it was linked with the theory that Muslims and Hindus are two distinct peoples rather than two cultural entities within one people. The Indian National Congress was the primary vehicle of the freedom movement and it included many leading Muslims. While concerns for the welfare of the Muslim family had led to the formation of the Muslim League in 1906, it was not intended to be a political rival of the Congress. Its stated purpose was to represent Muslim needs to the British government. When the government, in 1909, for the first time allowed separate electorates, the action gave some credence to the concept of distinct peoplehood. However, that idea did not gather force, and for the next decade the Congress and the League worked closely together. Their cooperative relationship became even stronger when the fate of the Caliph of Islam in Istanbul became a concern of pan-Islamically inclined Indian Muslims. An anti-British Khilafat movement (1919–1924) evolved and drew together Hindus and Muslims around this rallying point, but the Movement dwindled away when Kemal Ataturk in Turkey abolished the caliphate. The

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Mappila Rebellion that we have considered also negatively affected cooperative activities. As the ties between Hindus and Muslims weakened the Muslim League idea of “a nation within a nation” began to draw more attention. In the 1930s Muslim support of that concept became stronger under the eloquent advocacy of Muhammad Ali Jinnah (1876–1948), a one-time Congress stalwart. In 1940 he put forth his argument that Muslims cherish different philosophies and customs, and as a distinct people they therefore require a separate nation. Only in this way, he averred, can we Muslims think “in consonance with our own ideals and according to the genius of our people.”37 In Jinnah’s provocative thesis Indian Muslim culture was abstracted from its integrated existence and politicized. He was enunciating a position that made nonsense out of long centuries of Mappila coexistence in Kerala. Nevertheless, in the heated atmosphere of the freedom struggle it gained a hearing. Some ordinary Muslims were moved by the message, and some intellectuals, especially in the Aligarh Movement, found it appealing. Other Muslims saw it differently, but events were moving swiftly. Vainly nationalist Muslims argued that India is one nation with different cultures, and Muslims are an intrinsic part of its multicultural reality. Vainly Muslim religious leaders, who resented the Aligarh intellectuals, argued that it was not the Hindus but the British who were the Muslim opponents. Vainly the Indian National Congress leaders contended that a secular democracy meant equal treatment for all and this would be sustained in free India. Vainly esteemed Muslim leaders like Abul Kalam Azad (1888–1958) put themselves on the line for a united India. The mass of North Indian Muslims chose to follow Jinnah and the League, the British acquiesced, and on August 15, 1947, India was divided. So also was the Indian Muslim family that represented about 25 percent of the undivided nation’s population. About 14 percent wound up in Pakistan and 11 percent in free India, each segment facing a new and distinct cultural task. The freedom movement brought Mappilas and North Indian Muslims together more than any other factor. Mappilas had been struggling against the European occupation since 1498, but the twentieth-century passage through the Khilafat, Non-Cooperation, Civil Disobedience, and Quit India movements had put them together with others engaged in the same struggle. Not only did Gandhiji and Shawkat Ali come to Calicut, but Jawaharlal Nehru in 1928 and Liaquat Ali Khan in 1944 also came to Malabar. Two Mappila Congress leaders, Muhammad Abdurrahiman and E. Moidu Moulavi, established the journal Al-Amin in 1924 to encourage Mappila

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­ articipation in the freedom movement. After 1934 the majority of p Mappilas chose to be involved through the Muslim League, but most did not accept the cultural argument for two nations that was being voiced. As Malayali Muslims they had survived by another principle, the idea of plural cultures in harmony. A few Mappilas, however, thought that Malabar might possibly become a “Moplastan” within the boundaries of free India, but in the end that vision received little support.38 Although similar thoughts were being floated in different parts of India before the Partition, in the case of the Mappilas the suggestion was really an appeal for recognition. Mappilas who put the idea forward were saying, “We too are here. Please notice us.”39 When the Partition did come in 1947 only a few Mappilas emigrated to the new nation of Pakistan. What that traumatic event did for them, however, was to make them more conscious of their fellow Muslims elsewhere in India and more sensitive to their hopes and fears. Also, it opened for them the idea of “salvation by politics” that has been playing out from the birth of modern Kerala in 1956 to the present.

Indo-Muslim Influence on the Mappilas: A Summary The North and Central Indian Muslim influence on the Mappilas was accidental and modest, rather than deliberate and ongoing. Nevertheless to that extent it has some significance. It is true that up to 1900 the physical contacts and cultural intersections were rare. When the Khiljis and the Mughuls made military forays into the southern region, even setting up small kingdoms, they did come near the southwest coastal area but never penetrated its environs. Thus the much earlier flow of Arab Muslims was not matched by a later entry by North or Central Indian Muslims. We may even doubt the extent of the northern Muslim awareness of the Mappila existence. It is true that Ibn Battūta, the peripatetic medieval Muslim traveler, was in Delhi from 1333 to 1342, en route to Malabar and thè Maldive Islands, but few may have heeded his reports about the Muslims in those regions. In a similar vein it is also true that the Calicut Zamorin’s fame had spread as far as the Persian court of Timur’s son and successor, Shah Rukh (d. 1447). Consistent with that ruler’s policy to send embassies to known powers he had had also dispatched his envoy, the historian ʿAbd al-Razzāk, to Calicut between 1441 and 1444; he reported favorably about the standard of life and the well-being of the Muslims there. Such visits lead to the conclusion that the trad-

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ing Mappilas were probably better known among Muslims beyond India than within its boundaries. The colonial naval dominance and the British unification of India brought change to that situation but the Mappilas turned inward in their outlook, rather than northward. Under the British rule there were various administrative linkages but no encouragement to other Indian Muslims to establish direct relations with the restless Mappilas. Some Indo-Muslim cultural influence did reach them through the southward movement of the Nizamiyya educational syllabus and the occasional visitation of itinerant Sufis and teachers. However, it was not until after 1900 when the northern engagement with modern culture began to be known among Malayali Muslims that the contact became significant. The Aligarh-led IndoMuslim intellectual renaissance had a late but inspirational effect on some Mappila reformers, and the all-India Muslim political involvements made an important impact on the Mappilas from 1921 to 1947. Of themselves, these influences were not strong enough or steady enough to stimulate decisive change among Mappilas. The unique and very powerful Mappila traditionalism was too culturally dominating to yield to them. Other factors would have to enter in to enable such change. Our next chapter deals with the reality of that traditionalism which continues to affect key areas of the community’s customary behavior.

4

The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism

The Mappilas entered the 1950s with a large majority in the traditionalist mode of thinking and acting. Thereafter the community experienced a cultural transformation that affected many of its members. In this chapter we consider the traditionalism, in the next chapter the transformation and its excitement. Mappila traditionalism has four mighty pillars in its structure— the Arabic language, the Holy Qurʾān, religious education, and its clergy. We will take up each of them in turn. These fundamentals are important for all Muslims, but traditionalism maintains a particular approach to each one. In the past the approach was so tightly woven, so carefully nourished, and so dominating that on the whole it shaped and controlled Mappila behavior. It created the Mappila public image. It made Mappila culture imitative and static, and virtually unable to move with the times. The cultural story of the past sixty years is the effort of contemporary Mappilas to overcome rigid traditionalism and to create a new being. That does not imply a denial of the importance of tradition. Like the vast majority of Malayalis, Mappilas too respect the good things of the past, and seek to retain them and pass them on to their children. In that sense they are traditional. This attitude is illustrated by a common Malayali practice. When a male office worker or other employee comes home, he likes to remove the conventional trousers and put on a mundu, a long cloth wrapped around the waist. He finds the garment comfortable and relaxing. Mappilas like Abdulla and Amina are traditional in that manner—they appreciate many of their old customs and do not give them up lightly—but they also know that some changes are necessary. Traditionalism goes much farther than appreciation of one’s heritage. It is against culture change, except in quite insignificant matters. It implies being locked in the past. In its approach the term has special reference to religion. A dictionary defines it as “especially excessive

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reverence for the religious past.”1 The phrase “excessive reverence” implies virtual idolizing. Traditionalism ignores historical factors and contexts, unquestioningly accepts whatever comes from the religious past and tries to make it the standard for the present. It holds that the past was somehow pure and that nothing can change. In fact, traditionalism fears change, resists it, and is quick to condemn what is new and different; to that extent it is culturally fossilizing. On the part of its leaders, it may become an ideology and a philosophy of control. On the part of its followers, it is the way to keep the faith and to remain secure. In discussing the difference between being traditional and traditionalist, Jaroslav Pelikan suggests that it is like the difference between life and death. He summarizes the distinction in this epigram:2 Tradition is the living faith of the dead; traditionalism is the dead faith of the living. The epigram suggests that to be traditional is to respect and to utilize the wisdom of our forefathers, but also to realize that we now have a new environment and we must be alert to its own realities. In short, it means being alive to both past and present, seeking to creatively integrate the two. To be traditionalist is to regard the behavior of the dead as authoritative in every respect, ignoring current conditions. In sum, it means being alive to the past, but striving to faithfully imitate it in the present. The two views are both visible in the contemporary Mappila cultural experience. Their distinction becomes evident when we follow Abdulla and Amina to meetings with their traditionalist friends, Ahmad and Zaynaba. Abdulla and Amina are going in different directions. Amina is at the hospital, and Abdulla is walking with his friend. We follow Amina first. Amina’s cousin Zaynaba has been visiting her. She lives in an interior place and cannot see Amina very often. Amina notices that Zaynaba is anemic and not feeling well. She is worried and has decided to take Zaynaba to the nearby mission hospital. Its woman doctor is famous for her care. They sit patiently on the benches with the other women until they are called. The doctor decides that Zaynaba needs an injection. As the doctor uncovers her upper arm she sees a cord tied around it with a little box attached. It is an amulet. Mischievously the doctor asks Zaynaba, “What is that?” Zaynaba giggles nervously. She soon realizes that the doctor is having fun, and then

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they both laugh. Amina smiles from the background. Her upper arm is clear. Although her personal attire is quite customary, she does not believe in charms. Zaynaba keeps the amulet on her arm. It makes her feel safer. It is later in the evening now, and Abdulla is walking down the street with his friend Ahmad. Their work is finished for the day. They are headed for the bus-stand because Ahmad also lives in an interior place. The buses come rushing down the road with their blaring horns, racing each other as they carry their overloads, narrowly missing pedestrians who are stretching out their arms to try to get them to stop. Nevertheless, Abdulla and Ahmad are able to have a conversation as they walk carefully along the edge of the road. The next day is Friday, and both will attend their mosque for the noon prayer. In Abdulla’s mosque the speaker will give the sermon in Malayalam. Where Ahmad is going the khātib will read an Arabic homily from a 200-year-old collection of sermons. Abdulla asks him, “Aren’t you tired of listening to something you can’t follow? Anyway, it is out of date.” Ahmad is not offended because they are friends. He replies, “I’m used to it, and it is our custom.” This chapter is about the Ahmads and the Zaynabas of Mappila culture. To understand them we will consider the pillars of traditionalist Mappilas—the way they approach the study of Arabic, their method of Quranic study and interpretation, the type of religious education espoused and practiced, and the training of religious workers who are the guardians of the approach.

The Pillar of Arabic It is often said that regulatory law called the sharia is the single most important unitive factor in Muslim culture. It would be easy to make the same claim for the Arabic language, especially in the case of the Mappilas. Its impact on them has been both continuing and vital. It is the language of their land of origin and their sacred scripture, both sufficient reasons for their esteem. Without dismissing the Mappila love for Malayalam, their mother tongue, their regard for Arabic is a kind of wonder. Arguably, very few Muslim societies outside of the Arab world can match the Mappila experience with Arabic. The stature it holds has great emotional, linguistic, religious, and educational implications. The emotional element underlies all else. We may sum it up with the phrase “an undying respect.” Actually, very few Mappilas today

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are fluent in Arabic apart from those who have spent some time in Saudi Arabia or Egypt, but all share a warm conviction of its inherent nobility. That feeling is evidenced by the many Arabic terms in colloquial Malayalam, through their willingness to let Arabic be the centerpiece of early education, and by the esteem given to those who master its intricacies. But, above all, the Mappila regard for Arabic is expressed in the repetition of sacred phrases. Listen to their sound! The fundamental instinct of surrender to the Almighty is powerfully represented by the repetition of Allāhu akbar!, “God is greater.” The everyday phrase “Praise God!” is not expressed by the Malayalam devatinnu stōthrum!, but rather by the Arabic al-hamdu lilāh! The magnifying of God comes in the phrase subhana llāhu, “glory be to God!” And the acceptance of the divine will is expressed by the common in shā Allāh, “if God wills.” At the beginning of a public meeting, the opening, called the bismilla, is recited in Arabic: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate” (bismillāhi rahmāni rahīmi). When a Muslim formally confesses his or her faith, it is in the Arabic words: la ilāha illa lāh wa Muhammadu rasūl lāhi, “There is no deity but God, and Muhammad is his messenger.” Ideally, those words should also be whispered into the ears of a dying person, and the phrase has therefore been called “the passport of the soul.”3 The content of these phrases is important, but the key is the sound. Nothing elevates Arabic more effectively to the level of sacred sound than the call to prayer (adhān). With its rhythmic chants it serenades and summons the believer five times daily with these words: Allah is most great [four times] I bear witness that there is no god but Allah I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah Come to prayer! Come to prayer! Come to salvation! Come to salvation! There is no god but Allah! [The call to the dawn prayer adds: “Prayer is better than sleep.” The call to the Friday noon prayer closes with the words: “The prayer is now instituted.”] The mosque service itself resounds with Arabic since the prayer of individual worshippers (the salāt) contains various Arabic formulae

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and petitions that are learned from youth. Everywhere Mappila piety is reinforced by the Sacred Sound. The emphasis on Arabic stems from the belief that it is the vehicle of God’s final revelation. In the development of Mappila culture this tended to preclude its use as a literary language except for the production of some religious materials, usually in a very simple format. Other factors are involved, however. The first is that those who brought the language to Kerala’s shores were sailors and traders, not teachers or writers. Second, the place from which the language first came was not a region of high literary culture. The first Mappilas probably came from the Hadramaut area of Southern Arabia; it is an extended valley (wādī) between Yemen at one end and Western Uman at the other, remote from the centers of Arabic literary culture. Yemen had its own ancient civilization centered in the valleys that were watered by the great Marib dam, but it was an agricultural, not a literary, culture. Similarly, the Hadramis were engaged in agrarian and commercial vocations, and were not the promoters of literature and the arts. Since many Mappilas trace their descent to the Hadramaut, we may enlarge on its cultural emphases. From pre-Roman times it was a center for frankincense production and trade from Europe to the East. Over the centuries the travel-loving Hadramis ranged from Malabar to Indonesia.4 The Mappila cultural development was informed by this steady linguistic flow, especially the religious language. The Hadramis were pious, and their language was the vehicle of faith. After the coming of Islam Tarim, the capital of Hadramaut, became known as “a stronghold of religion” and as “the city of religion par excellence.”5 While it was also called the city of learning, this was a learning related to the religious sciences. It was for this reason that an early eighth-century al-Taʿīf poet named Yazīd ibn Maqsam gave it praise:6 Greetings Hadhramaut! The followers of tradition, research and study know thee Distinguished by judgment amid Barbarian and Arab In days of Ignorance and Islam. Such South Arabian influences ensured that Arabic would become the dominant religious language of the Mappilas, and, indeed, no other outcome would have been possible. The situation differs when it comes to conversational and literary Arabic. In Kerala Arabic could only be maintained as a ­conversational

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tongue for the first generation of Mappilas. Thereafter, its use as a speaking language faded in favor of Malayalam. Where a language is unspoken it cannot develop a body of literary works, except in restricted circles. Hence, in Mappila culture Arabic has functioned mainly as a religious language, and only in recent years has it emerged from that narrow perspective. The Arabic language, however, did play a role in the development of Malayalam itself, in particular for the Mappila usage in Malabar where it became a dialect called “Mappila Malayalam.” This added to the range of distinctive dialects that exist in spoken Malayalam. In the Mappila case there are various idiomatic nuances. For example, instead of the standard Malayalam “yeniku manasilākunilla” (“I don’t understand”), an uneducated interior Malabar Mappila might say, “icciku piṭi ilia” (“I don’t have a handle on it”). However, what gives Mappila Malayalam its special quality is not its occasional patois, but rather its Arabic content, particularly in its religious language. Thus, the following might be a conversation between a Mappila and a non-Muslim Malayali. The non-Muslim might ask, “Ningl yewidē pōyi?” that is, “Where did you go?” The Mappila might reply, “Nyān khutbakku pōyi,” that is, “I attended the Friday noon congregational service at the mosque.” The non-Muslim conversation partner, however, might very well be totally mystified and walk away without any idea as to what was said in view of the fact that the word khutba is pure Arabic. The final aspect of the Mappila regard for Arabic is the development of the hybrid Arabic–Malayalam literary form. It parallels a similar development in other indigenous Indian Muslim languages such as Mussalmani Bengali, Musselmani Gujerati, and Musselmani Tamil. Behind all of them lies the veneration of Arabic. In the case of Malayalam, the letters of Arabic are attached to Malayalam alphabetic sounds, with additional orthography artificially made to cover phonetics not found in Arabic. Its reader reads the Arabic script and understands it because the sound coming from the reading is Malayalam! The self-deception is a tribute to both the power of Arabic and the piety of the believer. For five centuries, from the 1300s to the 1900s, Arabic–Malayalam became a vehicle for the production of simple religious materials and Mappila stories and songs; it was especially used by Mappila women who during those years were educationally blocked. Arabic–Malayalam is now fast fading from use in Mappila society. In our later chapter on Mappila literature we will take up some of its chief literary productions.

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The Pillar of the Qurʾān Summary: The traditionalist approach to the Qurʾān is to emphasize its recitation and memorization. Its position as God’s revealed Word undergirds the concept of sacred script and sound. As to the study and interpretation of the Qurʾān, the approach is to accept the teaching of the past as mediated by the clergy. • The Qurʾān belongs to all Muslims, and all love it deeply. For Muslim believers it is the God-given link between the divine and the human. It is not the property of traditionalists or progressives, Sunnis or Shīʾas, Indians or Arabs, young or old. It is God’s property. God is the Author, and it is therefore holy. So treat it with respect! Let it guide you on the straight path! Don’t carry it below your waist! Wrap it carefully! The question for Mappilas has been how it should be unwrapped, that is, used? How should its guidance be accessed? How is it to be read, interpreted, understood, and taught? No questions are more important for Muslims in general. In the case of the Mappilas they have dominated community discussion for the past three generations, and there is no doubt that the Mappila future depends heavily on how they are answered. For the traditionalists there is no problem with these questions. They should be answered in the same way that they always have been over the past centuries. The essence of their approach is reverence rather than comprehension, and the reverence cannot be overstated. Is this not God’s Word? Its combination of sacred sound and content and its standing as God’s ultimate gift to humanity imply the greatest possible esteem. Above we have discussed the importance of Arabic in the Mappila culture. The basic reason is certainly clear. It is the vehicle of the Quranic miracle. The language, therefore, also has the quality of a miracle. The two go together in traditionalist thinking. The Qurʾān must, in the first place, be memorized and recited. Traditionalists are not opposed to comprehension and the interpretation of the Qurʾān (tafsīr) is an honored religious science. But they have three things to say about comprehension:

• it holds second place to reverence;



• the literal meaning of the text must be respected; and

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• the interpretations of the great teachers of the past are authoritative.

With these affirmations we have come to the core of the traditionalist attitude. When Mappila traditionalist clergy uphold the miraculous quality (iʿjāz) of the Quranic language, they stand within the orthodox theological heritage of Islam. The classical teachers did not actually say that God speaks Arabic, but so high was their esteem that they seemed to be saying it. The theologians taught that among His qualities God has the attribute of Speech. Starting at that point, some took the idea farther and identified the Arabic Qurʾān with God’s attribute of Speech! What saved Islam from an apparent idolatry of language was another theory that developed. According to it, God has spoken all the messages He intended for humanity into a “heavenly book” (Qurʾān 85:21f.) From time to time God’s angel of revelation would deliver portions of this heavenly depository to various societies, each in their own tongues. Then at last God gave the concluding revelation through Prophet Muhammad in his native Arabic language. It is God’s final message to humanity in a miraculous form. Holding to these positions, orthodox teachers then reached the conclusion that the Qurʾān is untranslatable. Since the language is part of the miracle, when you take it away and substitute another language you no longer have the real Qurʾān. In Kerala traditionalist Mappilas firmly adhered to this position and resisted all efforts to translate the Qurʾān into Malayalam. It was not until the 1950s that the intrepid Mappila reformer and scholar, C. N. Ahmed Maulavi, completed and published the first Malayalam translation.7 Since few Mappilas were literate in Arabic, the insistence on using the original language encouraged sound-centeredness rather than meaning-focus. The sacred scripture was memorized and recited rather than read and understood. Few were able to study it as a text or to utilize it as a spiritual guide. As Mappila reformers contended, the Qurʾān was effectively a closed book used to inculcate loyalty and piety rather than to seek the divine intention for the present day. There were two other results. First, the reverential memorization degenerated into forms of near magic, a problem that we will consider later. Second, the approach empowered traditionalist clergy, enabling them to maintain a rigid hold on religious practice and cultural behavior. While that power has been shaken in recent years, it has not disappeared and that fact helps to account for the “some not others” character of the community’s culture today.

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That this “by heart” and ritual use of the Qurʾān represents the soul of traditionalism is readily visible in the mosque service and the elementary religious school curriculum, but it is also obvious in Mappila everyday life. The weekly markets and bookshops demonstrate that reality. In Malayalam society there are two ways to go shopping. One way is to go to a store; although there are general stores, a shop is often dedicated to a specialty item like cloth, hardware, or books; in the Muslim bookshops the Arabic Qurʾān has the prominent place. The other way to shop is to visit the weekly market on a normal day. The visitor can see an array of products for sale, including the sacred scriptures, spread out on coconut mats. There are Qurʾān copies of all styles and shapes, often with gold lettering and covers, and almost always in Arabic. Every Mappila family will try to obtain a beautiful copy and keep it in a prominent place in the home. Its physical presence symbolizes that the family wishes to have God’s Word at the center of life. The feeling is reinforced by occasional home visits of lower clergy called mullas for oral Qurʾān readings; the practice enables the Holy Book to be read through within a certain period of time.

Traditionalist Religious Education Summary: The traditionalist approach to religious education is to concentrate on the madrasa training of young children utilizing rote learning. Its philosophy leans to the ideas of indoctrination and passive acceptance. Some youth attend Arabic colleges. Adults utilize the Ramadan period for special meetings. • “Rashid, you forgot your slate,” his mother calls out. Her little son dashes back to pick it up and hurries to catch up with his friends. It is already late and they must reach their religious school by 8:00 a.m. Only after that will they go on to the regular public school. The cars and buses pass them very carefully—no one wants an accident! When they reach the madrasa that is located in the mosque compound the teacher first asks them to recite al-Fātiha, the much-admired opening chapter of the Qurʾān. On his command they launch out into the recitation: “bismillāhi rahmāni rahīmi  .  .  .  al-hamdu lilāhi rabbul alamīn.” The chorus of sacred sound echoes throughout the neighborhood. Rashid and his companions are attending one of the thousands of Mappila elementary religious schools in Kerala. Mappilas usually

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call them madrasas, “place of meeting,” rather than the older term maktabs, “place of the book.” Early in their history they also used the Malayalam term ōthapalli, “place of recitation,” but it has gone out of use. In other Muslim contexts the word madrasa usually designates upper-level institutions for professional religious education, but Mappilas utilize the terms dars or Arabic college for such establishments. Mappila religious education concentrates on the young. The sight of little boys and girls passing up and down the streets with their slates in hand is a familiar one the length and breadth of the state, and the shrill sound of their chanting voices echoes across its space. It is an extraordinary marvel of religious dedication. There is nothing grand, however, in the appearance or functioning of the institution itself. The madrasa is generally located in a building near the mosque. It is a single one-room structure with a tiled roof, often left partially open on the sides for ventilation, and very simply equipped with a blackboard and benches. The school’s affairs are managed by a committee of local citizens and is largely financed by contributions. The syllabus is narrow and the pedagogy rather primitive, concentrating on memorization and recitation. In recent years, under pressure from reformers, the syllabus has been modified to include beginning Arabic language instruction, the life of the Prophet emphasizing his miraculous deeds, basic religious duties, and a few stories of Muslim heroes; but in traditionalist madrasas the primary focus remains virtually unchanged. To establish the origin of this popular system we cannot look to the educational insights of early Mappilas. They were commercially and agriculturally engaged, and education was not likely to have been a high priority. Nor can we look to the possible influence of Mappila rulers who would endow educational institutions in the manner of Indian Muslim emperors8; that did not happen in Maladar. We must rather find the answer in the basic Mappila religious spirit. From its beginning the “professed goal” of Islam was “to produce a true believer,”9 and Mappilas shared that characteristic and goal. The madrasa became the instrument of that purpose dictating its location in or near the mosque; the content of instruction, the Arabic Qurʾan; and the choice of a teacher, a religiously knowledgeable individual. For the rote teaching style of the madrasa, the twin cultural streams that had shaped the Mappilas provided two models. One was the traditional Hindu pattern in which an eligible student somewhere between the ages of eight and twelve joined a guru in a temple or in a home to embark on the study of the Vedas. The other was the

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classic Islamic pattern of a study center in a mosque or in the home of a learned person who tutored students. Both traditions involved a scriptural base, a long period of imitative study, a personal relationship between teacher and student, and help with physical needs. As we have seen, some of these characteristics are evident in the madrasa ethos, so it is fairly safe to assume that Mappilas may have felt the influence of both styles. Yet for the crystallizing of the rote style and certainly for its persistence we must go to the tenor of the strong traditionalism that formed in Mappila culture—it both fed on and hardened the rote tendency. The same phenomenon is also reflected in Muslim religious education elsewhere in India. Kaur states:10 Madrasas and maktabs have been one of the manifestations of traditionalism in the Muslim community. It is a classic example of how a community, passing through the traditional phase from medievalism to modernism can continue to cling to the traditional method of education without relating it to the social and economic progress of the community. Whatever its beginnings, traditionalist religious education became increasingly fossilized in the European period when the madrasas also became the Mappila community’s line of defense. The Europeans could take over their trade and commerce, could isolate them from Hindus and Christians, could coerce them in other ways, but they could not take away the faith commitment expressed through their mosque schools and the spirit they engendered; and behind that wall, it was believed, faith could be preserved. Religious education became a means for community survival. This also meant resisting every British effort to change the style of education. When the British took control of the region, they believed that they had the administrative duty to encourage modern education for the Mappilas. Their motive was basically utilitarian. A British Collector once wrote:11 “It has long been recognized that in the long run the best safeguard against the recurrence of Mappila outbreaks will be the spread of education.” Mappilas did not take kindly to this educational agenda. Resenting the British as foreign rulers and as agents of alien philosophies, they regarded both their language and their education as harām!, anathema! English was dubbed as the language of hell and Western education as the passport to hell.12 In a side effect the defensiveness ran even to the Malayalam language itself. It was regarded as the vehicle of the Hindu religion, and its study was discouraged.

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We have earlier stated that traditionalism is both a set of habits and a state of mind. The anti-Malayalam stance fully illustrates the state of mind—in saying no to their own language traditionalists were saying no to their own selfhood. The British attempted to overcome traditionalist Mappila opposition to their educational plans by using a variety of stratagems which they applied especially in the Malabar area. They had come to the conclusion that by attaching secular education to the Mappila religious education system in some way they might establish the right credentials and achieve their goal. They had some success, but a very limited one. Following were some of the attempts that were made:

• After 1871 British administrators tried to induce madrasa teachers to add Malayalam and mathematics to their curriculum, in exchange for financial reimbursements.



• They set up special elementary schools for Mappila children utilizing among others mosque teachers, permitting Qurʾān instruction, and allowing lower educational standards.



• They tried making monetary payments to schools for each Mappila child in attendance.



• They set up teacher training schools in Mappila areas in 1890; at the Malappuram training school they sought to train mullas, the madrasa teachers, for combined secular and religious education programs.



• After 1894 they recognized the Mappilas of interior Malabar as a backward class, eligible for larger school grants and free education for the children.



• After 1924 they attempted to introduce compulsory education in selected areas, and from 1926 on they appointed special educational officers to advance Mappila learning.

Statistics gathered by Professor Mohammed Ali show that these efforts had some success, especially in the training of Mappila teachers.13 Yet the number of pupils decreased the higher the grade level attained, and the percentage of female students was very low. In general, the Mappila community maintained what the British called “supreme indifference” to their educational programs. What was behind both the indifference and opposition was the traditionalist mood that had virtually become the Mappila mood. Par-

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ents not only failed to see any practical benefits in the new education, but they were also content with their familiar madrasa that was linked with spiritual well-being. K. Muhammad, a Mappila Educational Officer in Malabar, pinpointed two problems that would have to be solved if there was to be any improvement. He said, “I would say that real progress can be achieved only if the community realizes the need for secular education with [within, ed.] the best traditions of Islam.”14 His comment couples the awareness of need and Islamic validity as the chief factors. Mappila traditionalist clergy, however, were not interested in raising a sense of need for something they considered reprehensible, and they had declared modern education to be un-Islamic. The madrasa held its ground as the chief instrument for Mappila education in general, as well as religious education. It was not until the new educational policies of the government of free India came into effect in 1947, and until an educational revolution was introduced by Mappila reformers in the 1960s, that this solid pillar was shaken. The three pillars we have examined would not have sustained the edifice of Mappila traditionalism without the critical fourth. That is the Mappila clergy who hold the other elements together. A parable of that reality is demonstrated in the night meetings in the fasting month of Ramadan. On those occasions a stage is erected in an open space along with temporary lighting and a loudspeaker system. Large crowds, including women, gather in front of the stage or stand at the perimeter. They listen loyally and quietly for hours as a respected cleric expounds on the meaning of the Qurʾān with a heavy use of Arabic phrases, interpreting their significance for true Muslim behavior. The speaker more often than not represents the traditionalist mood. The whole scene is an intriguing expression of Mappila grassroots culture, but it also raises the question of who this learned person is and what has produced his particular orientation. To find out we turn to the fourth pillar.

Traditionalist Clergy and Their Training Summary: The faithful Mappila traditionalist clergy did not invent traditionalism. It was part of their larger history to which they added their distinct contribution. Their training centers and syllabi educate them to imitate the past and retain it to the present. By their control of Arabic instruction, Quranic interpretation, and the religious education of children, they shaped the community’s culture and gave it a rigid, change-resistant form that altered its earlier adaptability.

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The Types of Religious Workers The general Islamic term for a learned person is ʿalīm (pl. ʾulamā). Various Muslim cultures have their own terms, some general and some related to mosque functions. In Mappila culture the category of a religiously trained worker is covered by three terms. The first is musaliar (“elder”). It refers to a person who has completed the older style of traditionalist training. The second and more commonly used term today is maulavi. It designates someone who has taken a standard training course for clergy, orthodox or progressive, and who is frequently known for his learning. The third title, mulla, is at the low end of the spectrum, and indicates someone who has received only preliminary training and performs minor functions. There are also several other terms related to specific mosque functions, although some of the duties may be performed by one of the above-mentioned personnel. An imām is the prayer leader at the Friday congregational worship service, while the khatīb is the person who delivers the sermon. The muezzīn, in Malayalam the mukri, gives the call to prayer and performs other caretaker services. Juridical or theological functions are carried out by a senior maulavi. A mufti is a person who renders a learned opinion (fatwā); it may be on any conceivable religious or cultural issue. The qādī is a judge for the purpose of decisions related to the sharia, the Muslim law. Finally there is a special Mappila category related to an inherited religious quality that is said to be possessed by individuals called tangals, roughly equivalent to sayyids.15 Of these dignitaries the musaliars and maulavis are most important in Mappila society serving as religious savants, cultural arbiters, and community leaders. They provide the interpreters and guardians of the traditionalist approach, but not all of them represent that point of view.

The Source of the Traditionalist Clergy Style The primary factors alluded to in relation to the first three pillars also apply to the development of the Mappila clergy and their training. We may, however, never unravel the interplay of the factors that produced a solid majority for the traditionalist approach. We can note three of the most important influences. They are the narrow type of service required in early Islam, the conservative heritage from the South Arabian culture stream and, above all, the defensive stance arising from the colonial experience.

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The first influence goes back to the beginning of Islam when Muslim believers memorized and repeated the Prophet’s message. As this age group became reduced in numbers there was an urgent need for the training of literate adults who could teach the Qurʾān in the maktabs. Since Arabic was the local vernacular the Quranic study was also the concurrent medium for teaching reading and writing. As Islam spread and administrative needs increased the subject of arithmetic was added to the syllabus, but little more. The origin of the clergy and their type of training arose out of this fundamental function.16 Eventually the basic curriculum and teaching style arrived on Kerala’s coast where Mappila clergy-teachers utilized it, although arithmetic appears to have dropped off. A second influence was the conservative heritage of the South Arabian culture area. We have already noted that Mappilas missed out on the great intellectual developments in Islam that came about after the Muslim engagement with Syrian and Greek culture. That had been facilitated by the translation of Greek scientific and philosophic works into Arabic and the Muslim acceptance of the principle of rational inquiry. The excitement of learning stimulated a remarkable intellectual flowering in the centers of Islam from Damascus to Baghdad. It lasted from about 750 to 1258 CE when Bagdhad, the capital of the Abbasid Dynasty, was destroyed by Mongols from the East. During that period the intellectual movements generally failed to reach far-off South Arabia and when they did they were resisted by that conservative society. Moreover, after the Mongol debacle a protective clergy-led conservationism became the overriding characteristic of Muslim society in the Middle East (see Appendix C). Not only did the Golden Age of the Muslim Enlightenment fail to reach the Mappilas, what did reach them was a new spirit of defensive traditionalism that was represented in Malabar by migrant scholars like the Ponnani Makhdums. The third and most important influence has already been noted. When the colonial powers came in and were perceived as a threat to the Islamic faith and the Mappila community’s values, protectiveness became the basic unwritten duty of the Mappila clergy and hesitation to change a characteristic of the society. The widely accepted function of the clergy was to point out the dangers, to teach dīn, religion, in unquestioning continuity with the past, and to hold the line against new learning and social change. In technical Islamic terminology the basic spirit of the traditionalist position is often summed up in the term taqlīd. which signifies the principle of handing-on or imitating

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the past. The training system for Mappila musaliars and maulavis emerged from that orientation and has helped to perpetuate it. We therefore turn next to that system and its more recent “college” mutation which does not materially differ from the historical approach.

The Dars System of Clergy Training The word dars means study center and refers to clergy training that takes place in a mosque. Let us travel to one such institution which is located in a busy town in Malappuram District. Near the entrance of the roadside mosque stairs lead to the building’s second floor that serves both as a school room and as a lodge for about twenty students and one teacher. The students start at an early age, after elementary education, and remain there for ten to fifteen years under the tutelage of a single musaliar, the institution’s teacher-warden. During his own training the musaliar has imbibed the orthodox respect for taqlīd. In his view the learning of the early scholars is to be cherished, repeated, and handed on to the students. He therefore introduces them to their writings, supervises their readings, and provides explanations where needed. The materials are in Arabic but he may translate portions into Malayalam. With their great powers of memory the students labor to retain the substance of the writings. As the years of training unfold, a wider range of materials is gradually introduced, but the pedagogical approach remains unchanged. During their course of studies the students also learn practical skills related to the duties of a musaliar. The second-floor room of the mosque also serves as the student living quarters. Acting as the warden, the musaliar supervises the arrangements for their maintenance and care, which depend on charitable contributions. The main recreation of the students is walking. When they go out into the streets in groups, they are easily recognized by their white garments and turbans that are kept meticulously clean. Their long intimate learning experience under stringent economic restraints creates a kind of dars-ethos characterized by pious obedience and unquestioning acceptance. The great dars model was the Ponnani School on the coast of South Malabar about 60 kilometers south of Calicut, which until modern times produced the bulk of the Mappila clergy. Credit for its founding goes to the revered Sheikh Zein-ud-Dīn (1467–1521) who is said to have constructed the large mosque in 1510,17 although its beginning may have been earlier in the history of this ancient Mappila town. The mosque itself will be described in Chapter 13. Shaikh Zein-

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ud-Dīn and his scholarly grandson, Sheikh Ahmad Zein-ud-Dīn (d. 1581), who are respectively referred to as the Senior and Junior Makhdums, are certainly the ones who made it famous. They followed the personal style of an authoritative teacher giving instruction to attentive students for an indefinite number of years. The curriculum was simple including Arabic grammar, Quranic interpretation, Hadīth, law, some theology, ethics, and mysticism. Few textbooks were used, among them some works prepared by the Makhdums themselves. The best students were honored by being “called to the light,” that is, to the central platform where the master sat, and they were then eligible to help other students. The graduates of the program were called “musaliars.” There are many dars schools still in operation, although the system has weakened. In 1991 the number was 1,074, with over 1,100 teachers and 31,000 students,18 but by that time the emphasis in traditionalist clergy training had shifted. There was growing dissatisfaction with the simple dars style. Some aspiring students had begun to go outside Kerala for their training. Their favorite venue was the al-Baqiyyat-us-Salihat College in Vellore, Tamilnad, but a few also attended the Dar-ul-Uloom at Deoband in Uttar Pradesh. In these institutions they came into direct contact with the Dars-i-Nizamiyya syllabus (see Appendix D). The outward flow of students compelled Mappila traditionalist leaders to initiate similar clergy training centers in Kerala.

The “College” System of Clergy Training The new stage in traditionalist clergy training began in the 1940s with the development of “Arabic Colleges.” We will examine the larger scale of this development in Chapter 10, here restricting ourselves to new clergy training institutions that were also called “colleges.” They are essentially expansions of the dars model, upgraded in the number of teachers and curricular offerings adapted from the Nizami syllabus. Utilizing their own buildings they produced graduates called maulavis rather than musaliars; they could sit privately for the publicly recognized afzal al-ulama credential, which qualified them to serve as Arabic lecturers in government educational institutions. The new training centers have largely won the day. Even the famed old dars at Ponnani made the transition in 1959, becoming the Maunat ul-lslam Arabic College. The institution that we have chosen as a typical example of this genre is the Jāmiʿa Nuriyya College at Pattikad in South Malabar.

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Launched in 1963 and serving about 300 students, it is now a premier Sunni institution for the training of traditionalist clergy.19 The time required for the completion of a student’s program depends on his educational background. A typical training period covering all segments is fifteen years—five in an elementary school, five in a dars, and five in the Arabic College. Several lecturers may be associated with the College, their expenses together with student costs being covered by voluntary subscriptions. The curriculum used at Pattikad is a version of the Dars-i-Nizamiyya utilized at the Vellore Baqiyyat, with some local alterations. The syllabus includes Arabic, the Qurʾān, Hadīth (Bukharī, Muslim, and Tirmidhī), tafsīr, law and theology, and some history. Shafīʿī law is substituted for Hanafī law, and Urdu is partially replaced by an Urdu–English combination, while some of the medieval sciences are also omitted. The theological authorities include al-Ghazālī, especially portions of his Ihyā; al-Baidāwī (d. 1286), a well-known compiler of past learning; and the Egyptian fifteenth-century Qurʾān interpretation known as the Jalālaini.20 The sixteenth-century productions of the Zein-ud-Dins, Malabari scholars whom we have met, are not neglected, including the Junior Makhdum’s Fathul Muīn, a study of Muslim law. Sharp discipline is exercised over other reading materials that are not included in the prescribed syllabus. As in the dars, studies related to the functions of a maulavi are also incorporated into the curriculum. Both the pedagogical and learning styles at the Jāmiʿa Nuriyya and similar institutions are not markedly different from that of the dars. They represent the spirit of piously transmitting, quietly accepting, imitating, committing to memory, and reverently handing on again. The pride and glory of the Mappila traditionalist clergy is their loyalty to the faith received and to its perpetuation. The writer has been with students in a Jāmi ʿa Nuriyya classroom as an observer. The students sat in semi-darkness with no materials before them for note-taking. They were listening intently to the teacher who was shrouded in a shawl as befits a scholar, and who while seated was reading from a classical text. As he did so, the students were striving to commit some of the material to memory with the intent of handing it on unchanged to their generation. Their thought world comprises the fourth pillar of Mappila traditionalism.

The Results of the Traditionalist Clergy Training The powerful stream of traditionalist clergy training in its various forms produced both positive and negative effects.

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On the positive side:

• The focused training over a long period of time creates a range of skills that enable a graduate to carry out preaching and teaching functions in the mosques and schools.



• The training produces sincerity, loyalty, piety and an example of dedication.



• The training makes its graduates symbols of continuity and preserves community traditions.



• The training helps maintain the centrality of the Qurʾān in Mappila culture and promotes “the habits of the heart.”

On the negative side:

• The training includes little general knowledge; this leaves the clergy in ignorance, makes them defensive, and prevents them from meeting the needs of educated laity.



• The training does not equip its graduates to explore new Islamic applications relevant to the modern age and the contemporary explosion of knowledge.



• The training tempts clergy to authoritarianism and exhibitions of power on the grounds that they are best qualified to understand what the Qurʾān intends, what the sharia demands, and what is best for the community.



• The training tends to make details more important than principles, and opens the door for frequent disagreements among clergy, including public disputes.



• The training makes clergy insecure about secular education, “suspicious of its purpose, critical of its result, and negative towards its progress.”21



• Finally, the training encourages cultural stasis and inhibits the progress of the faithful community in the modern world.

A Mappila religious scholar trained in the traditional style at Vellore, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, sees only the negative side of this picture. He writes scathingly of the ignorant and rigid clerical attitudes, tabulating their objections to anything new and modern:22 “To study science

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would shake one’s faith, English is the language of hell, drawing pictures and taking photographs are taboo.  .  .  .  One cannot keep dogs, girls should not be educated, and hair should not be long—so goes the long list of should nots!” With equal firmness, although less vividly, a modern Mappila educator, K. Muhammad, declares: “It is not possible for inept teachers to carry out their responsibilities to lead an ignorant people to freedom.”23 The latter comment brings us to a summation of the influence of traditionalism. We may safely conclude that it belongs to both the “Then” and the “Now” of Mappila culture. Its manifestations can still be seen today even though they are no longer dominant. And traditionalist leaders continue to exercise a watchdog function over the whole pattern of Mappila culture, ranging from personal lifestyles to community affairs. It is not only they who harbor a dislike of change. That feeling also belongs to the mood of many ordinary members of the community who in good faith, and poignantly, want their culture to be what it always was. Yet Mappila traditionalism too is in the process of becoming and its authority has been seriously weakened. Contemporary Mappila change-makers have successfully made the case that their community cannot ignore the need for improvement, the human capacity for error, the legitimate desires to grow and keep pace with health developments, and the fact that the Qurʾān itself (13:12) calls upon Muslims to change their condition. By remaining stagnant for so long in a changing world Mappila culture became a culture in crisis. It made the community’s cultural movement, when it did finally come, a painful and at times a tumultuous process. We have named that movement “the Great Transition.” It took Mappila culture from a static and blind allegiance to the past into a dynamic engagement with the present and a hope for further transformation in the future. We turn next to that final and explosive stage in the Mappila cultural becoming.

5

The Great Transition in Mappila Culture Four Change Factors

As the twentieth century progressed the question of the destiny of Mappila culture could not be easily answered. What happened next could not have been anticipated. The change came with suddenness, so that it was in the form of an upheaval rather than a development. The story of the Mappila cultural becoming ends with a kind of Big Bang. The four critical change factors were: Theological Reform, Communism, Modern Education, and Gulf Money. They combined in their influence, and in combination could not be denied, producing what we have named “the Great Transition.” It could not have happened, however, without an element of readiness in the community. The distance between Mappila traditionalist habit and the community’s modern development was not empty space. It was filled with a mass of ordinary Muslims who were restive and uneasy in spirit. They were what in other contexts might be called the silent majority. They were in the mainstream of their cultural tradition, many traditional rather than traditionalist, not party-affiliated but attached to their heritage. Their lifestyle and habits were generally established and monitored by traditionalist clergy, but they also maintained a personal independence that gave them perspective. And they were worried. They knew that something was missing; something was wrong with their society. They felt that and wanted improvement. They wanted to be proud of themselves, their community and their religion. But they were not analytic and tended to sublimate their concerns rather than to articulate them. What caused those concerns? Certainly winds of change were blowing from every direction, and they had their effect. Mappilas were somewhat isolated, but they were not in seclusion. They were not immune to what they saw in the lifestyles of their non-Muslim neighbors, what they read in the newspapers, what they heard from their few educated members, and what they learned at the pilgrimage; 93

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they knew about the changes in India. Yet all this was reinforced from a deeper source. It came from the second of the two cultural streams that flowed into the Mappila becoming and which was once again making its influence felt in Mappila life—the Malayalam stream. The Islamic cultural springs had been virtually cut off, and only a trickle of water passed through the guarded canals. The mosques were seriously unattended because there was little freshness present and the community’s concerns were not well addressed. Not so for the Malayalam stream whose effervescent creative energy was gathering power and surfacing in various ways in Malayalam society. It was also, as it were, running below the Mappila cultural surface awaiting release. Who knows what would have happened if some heavy influences had not dropped on the seemingly calm surface that concealed the Mappila unease? The habitual traditionalist cover had to be penetrated. Nevertheless, if the restlessness of the silent majority had not been a reality and had not generated cultural receptivity, no outside influence could have caused the Mappila transition. The influences did come—four of them, each in its own way critical—and they opened ways for fresh waters to surface and flow through Mappila life. We begin with the all-important theological reform.

Theological Reform A quite crucial element in “the Great Transition” was the movement of theological reform. It was a precise theological view that gave traditionalism its power, and further cultural developments depended on theological change. It did take place, but it was heavy going and entailed controversy and pain. Mappilas commonly use the word “reform” to describe what happened, but there are also other terms employed.

The Language of Reform The Malayalam language is rich in terminology for change. The richness is a product of the society’s social diversity and its rapid change in recent years. English adds to it another pool of words that describe aspects of the Mappila cultural transformation: awakening and reviving, purifying and reconstructing, renewing and reforming, revitalizing and modernizing. It is not uncommon for current Mappila leaders to refer to the movement as a renaissance, a word of French origin that means rebirth, but since that term is utilized especially for intellectual change we will somewhat arbitrarily reserve its use for our section on educational modernization.

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The ideas of revival and reform have a solid basis in Islamic tradition with reference to theological change. In wider Islam the idea of renewal is expressed by the Arabic term tajdīd, while the idea of reform is covered by islāh. Tajdīd, however, is utilized particularly in the Arab Middle East to describe a return to its noble civilization of the past in contrast to adopting Western ways. Islāh is a broader term that signifies improvement based on first principles. Those first principles are the teachings of the Qurʾān and the custom of the Prophet Muhammad as contrasted with undue regard for the opinions of later Muslim scholars. Islāh scholars stand squarely in opposition to taqlīd and in full support of ijtihād. Because these first principles are regarded as those accepted by the early pious Muslim forefathers (salaf al-sālih) the islāh reformers are also sometimes called salafī or salafīyya. The Mappila theological reformers used all of these terms rather lightly, preferring their own designation of mujāhid, “one who strives.” Mujahids continues to be the popular term in Kerala to describe the followers of theological reform in contrast to traditionalist Mappilas, who in common speech are usually called Sunnis. Other Mappilas who are interested in reform have preferred to ignore all such designations and their divisive implications, content to be simply Muslims working for the improvement of their society. In what follows we will ordinarily use the English term “reform” because it signifies to amend what is considered unsatisfactory and to recover a religious direction that is said to more truly reflect the original vision. The twentieth-century Mappila attention to the community’s theology reflected a broad pattern in the Muslim world, one that J. Jansen describes as “a pattern of cyclical reform,” a repeated return to “High Islam” and a “Higher Culture.”1 What was unique in the experience for Malayali Muslims was that it represented the first theological reform in their history, and the connected reality that it came about at the same time as the advent of a new and powerful modern culture. The Mappila theological reform had four clear foci:

1. The elimination of customary practices that were regarded as un-Islamic;



2. The recovery of the primacy of the Qurʾān and direct access to its teaching;



3. The reform of religious education to make that possible; and



4. The social uplift of the community.

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The reform was in no sense a kind of “reconstruction of religious thought in Islam,” to use Sir Muhammad Iqbal’s book title. It did not call for a synthesis of Quranic teachings with contemporary philosophy. Its scope was narrower. Its priority was the purifying of Mappila cultural practices and a return to the Qurʾān. The practices the reformers opposed included many that had given a distinct flavor to Mappila folk culture.

The Founding Figures The dynamic period of Mappila theological reform came after 1921, but there were precursors from the late 1800s. The greater forces for change came from the central and southern regions, outside the northern bastion of traditionalism in Malabar. The first founding figures were strong but isolated personalities rather than leaders of a movement, trailblazers rather than representative persons. This was certainly true of the fire-eating Sayyid S. Makti Tangal (d. 1912) from Ponnani, whose activity ranged across Kerala. He issued strong denunciations of what he considered to be superstitious Muslim practices, and he was also unsparing toward nonMuslims. Makti Tangal’s criticisms of the Muslim conditions helped to establish the agenda of the Mappila theological reform. Chalilakattu Kunyahamed Haji (d.ca. 1919) of Tirur was a pioneer in the educational realm and will be considered later in this chapter. He was representative in the sense that he was a mixture of both progressive and reform tendencies. Sheikh Muhammad Hamadani (d. 1922) from Ernakulam District was a unique and ironic figure. We met him earlier as a Mappila link with Aligarh. He followed the Sufi Order of Sayyid Ali Hamadhani (d. 1385), a Central Asian mystic of the Kubrawiyya tradition who settled in Kashmir. This is ironic because it was exactly the “saint” practices that came under the attack of most theological reformers. The thread that joined these quite different individuals was their common concern for improved religious education. The founding figure who stands out amongst all others and whose place as the father of Mappila theological reform is secure is Muhammad Abdul Khader Maulavi (1873–1932), He is commonly known as Wakkom Maulavi after his birthplace near Varkkala in Trivandrum District. As years go by he rises steadily in the Mappila community’s memory as a fountainhead of reform and as one who popularized its fundamental motifs. He did not produce a large body of theological works but with daring and persistence gave leadership to movements of change in politics, education, and Quranic interpre-

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tation. He was essentially a journalist rather than a trained theologian, but it was that vocation that enabled him to make contact with the new thinking in the Egyptian reform movement. From Cairo, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (1839–1897) had issued a wake-up call to the Muslim world that made him widely known. But it was from Al-Afghani’s younger colleague, Muhammad Abduh (1845– 1905), that Wakkom Maulavi drew his inspiration. By the time the latter had reached the first stage in his activist career Muhammad Abduh had achieved eminence in the entire Muslim world as its outstanding progressive-conservative theological reformer. He had attained that stature because he advocated a moderate reform that reinterpreted hallowed traditions in a way that the believing community could understand and accept. In the course of Kerala developments it was this approach rather than the more radical neo-Muʿtazilite intellectualism of Aligarh that entered the Mappila consciousness. Muhammad Abduh had studied at Al-Azhar in Cairo, the leading center for learning in Sunni Islam. At the time that Abduh attended, Al-Azhar was in the grip of post-medieval traditionalism that emphasized learning by heart from manuals and commentaries. The young Abduh was very dissatisfied with the approach and despaired of learning it. He only recovered his determination to persevere in his studies when a Sufi advisor, Shaikh Darwish, said to him: “The true student will not fail to find what he is looking for no matter where he is.”2 Later, as Grand Mufti of Egypt and a member of Al-Azhar’s Council, Abduh became its guide and sought its reform. Abduh understood the orthodox mind and could address it with empathy and perception. But he was convinced that orthodoxy and traditionalism must break out of their chains, and the path to that freedom, in his opinion, ran through the Qurʾān. Abduh viewed the Qurʾān as a book of spiritual guidance that interprets itself. It may be engaged directly by any believer, using a rational approach, for reason is a person’s inner light, his or her furqan3 or criterion “by which man discerns between truth and falsehood.”4 Abduh sharply opposed superstition that he believed conflicted with God’s sovereignty and unity. He criticized the use of weak Hadīth as proofs in theology and law, objected to dependence on past religious teachers and called for new laws relevant to today’s world. He encouraged education for all, including women, and appreciated secular education. Here in a nutshell are agenda items of the Mappila theological reform! Muhammad Abduh traveled widely, including Europe, and even addressed—and captivated—the House of Commons in London.

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Among Muslims his reception was mixed, many clergy speaking in opposition. “His real disciples were found among the laymen.”4 Had it not been for the efforts of his disciple, Rashid Rida (1865–1935), a Lebanese Syrian, Abduh’s viewpoints might never have touched the Mappilas, nor many other Muslims. Although he lacked his hero’s catholicity of spirit, Rida too was interested in reform, along with panIslamism and pan-Arabism. In 1898 he established a journal Al-Manār (“The Beacon”) in Cairo, which continued until 1940, and through it he loyally disseminated Abduh’s principles. Especially effective was his publication of Abduh’s reform Qurʾān commentary that went up to 4:125, which he himself then continued to the end of chapter 12. Al-Manār, with its news and commentary, became known throughout the Muslim world as far as Indonesia, and through it Abduh’s reform emphases spread widely. Through Al-Manār the principles of the Egyptian reform also reached Wakkom Maulavi,5 and he made it his personal cause to propagate them through Malayalam, Arabic, and Arabic–Malayalam publications, almost entirely journals. Because of his heavy involvement in the freedom struggle in Travancore he was limited in his time, but nevertheless launched four journals that affected the development of theological reform. He was indefatigable in forming Muslim associations dedicated to his community’s educational improvement, and engaged in a broad variety of other islāhi activities. But his basic concern was to establish the independent authority of the Qurʾān in Mappila life, apart from the opinion of past commentators, and along with that its free rational interpretation in the light of modern needs. He said:6 With great intentionality Islam teaches that we should both examine and consider this universe and its principles, moreover it praises those who think in this way . . . “Do they not consider all the realities that God has created in the heavens and the earth?” (Sura 7:85). To that end, Wakkom Maulavi called upon Muslims in Kerala to recognize the validity of human reason and its pious reflections. He declared:7 Islam is a religion that is compatible with reason; that is, it has no principles that contradict reason. The detailed matters of a bygone era that are improbable and difficult to interpret rationally will be judged by reason to be invalid. The basic approach of the religion is this: If one perceives in the Qurʾan and the Hadith some words with an appar-

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ent meaning that appear unlikely, one must conclude that another interpretation is intended, an interpretation that does not contradict reason. From its southern regional home Wakkom Maulavi’s influence moved northward in Kerala, touching the different areas of his composite reform: political, social, and theological. It was mediated by other significant Mappila leaders who agreed with the validity of his position, but also added their own insights. Through the notable K. M. Seethi Sahib (1898–1960), who had held discussions with Wakkom Maulavi at the Trivandrum Law College, the latter’s reform principles moved more deeply into the social and political realms. Through well-known clergy like Khatib Muhammad (“K. M.”) Maulavi of Tirurangadi (1886–1964) and E. K. Maulavi (1879–1974) his views penetrated into theological orthodoxy in Malabar. It is doubtful, however, if the nascent Mappila reform would have progressed as it did if not for the activity of a remarkable society that emerged from Kodungalur, that ancient venue of Kerala culture in the central region. That society was called the Kerala Muslim Aikya Sankhum, “The United Muslim Society.” Formed in 1922 to overcome social disunity among Muslims, it was headed by two local leaders, Seethi Muhammad and Manapat Kunyu Muhammad; but Hamdani Tangal, who had settled there, and Wakkom Maulavi both lent their support.8 As the Mappila Rebellion came to a close, political conditions compelled other religious scholars, including K. M. Maulavi and E. K. Maulavi to relocate to Kodungalur. The goals of the Aikya Sankhum gradually broadened to include the main aspects of the reform agenda. From Kodungalur the “Islahi Movement” began to make its influence widely felt in the Mappila community. By lectures and seminars, through literature, and by large annual anniversary gatherings that featured noted Muslims, the message went out. A group of maulavis formed the Kerala Jamʿiyyatul ʿUlama organization of clergy to help sustain the effort. The Aikya Sankhum itself disbanded in 1934, in 1950 delivering its assets to the newly opened arts and science college at Feroke in Malabar. In its short lifetime the Sankhum not only stimulated reforms, but it laid a foundation for the emergence of the Mappila intelligentsia, particularly in the educational and political fields.

The Advance of Theological Reform A new association called the Mujahid movement inherited the mantle of the Aikya Sankhum and carried forward religious reform efforts, par-

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ticularly in the northern region. Organized in 1950 and officially named the Kerala Nadvatul Mujahideen, it included both laity and clergy in its members. The Mujahids made a special target of practices associated with saint veneration. On the constructive side, their efforts were directed to making the Qurʾān and Quranic instruction available in Malayalam and to improving the status of the community’s education. Behind the effort was their basic philosophy that the Qurʾān is intended to be understood and to be used by all believers as an open book. The Mujahids did not disagree with the traditionalist belief that the language of the Qurʾān is extraordinary and matchless. However, they held that the principle of understanding must accompany the admiration. The fact that before God sent down a final confirming scripture in Arabic He had already given His revelations to various people in their own languages underlines the point that God wants to be understood. The Qurʾān itself, they said, again and again witnesses to that principle. “We have sent it down as an Arabic Qurʾān, in order that ye may learn wisdom” (12:2; Yusuf Ali). It is “in plain Arabic speech” (26:195), “a confirming scripture in the Arabic language” (46:12), in order “that you may be able to understand” (43:3). The passages make it clear that the prime purpose of the Arabic revelation was to enable Arabs, in the first place, to know God’s will, not to make pleasing sounds; that intention, the reformers maintained, holds true for everyone in the world. Therefore, wherever it goes the Qurʾān must be translated into the language of the people. So Mujahids applauded when C. N. Ahmed Moulavi (1905–1993) set out to make the first Malayalam translation of the Qurʾān. He was a turbulent and controversial figure, but when the first volume of his six-volume translation appeared in 1951, it was an epic, groundbreaking moment in Mappila theological development.9 “C. N.” was the last in the long train of founding Mappila theological reformers that had commenced with Wakkom Maulavi. It was a stirring group with outstanding abilities and a good deal of personal courage. Inspired by those pioneers the Mujahids went on with their combined theological-linguistic revolution. On the one hand, they encouraged the use of Malayalam as the sermon medium in the mosque. On the other hand, in their new Arabic colleges that they tried to link with the university system, they introduced the modern study of the Arabic language and literature. In addition, they steadily lifted up the values of secular education and advocated wide Mappila participation in it. Their controversial positions provoked opposition, and in the end the Mujahids were compelled to establish their own mosques and schools.

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The Sunni Response to the Reform Challenge Mappilas use the term Sunni in an unusual way. Sunni is derived from sunna which means the custom and practice of the Prophet Muhammad and his early followers. The majority of Muslims designate themselves as “the people of the sunna and the community,” that is, as Sunnis. This is in contrast to the “party of the family of the Prophet,” that is, the Shīʿas. Almost all Mappilas are therefore Sunnis in that basic sense. However, a “disease of language” set in, to use Max Müller’s phrase. As other names, such as Mujahids, began to be applied to the members of theological reform movements, the term Sunni took on a more restricted meaning in popular Mappila usage. It now signifies those who stand for the traditionalist approach, the guardians of the pre-modern Mappila religio-cultural heritage. The Sunni Mappila leaders could not ignore the theological reform movement. Ordinary Sunnis, without fully agreeing with the reformers or joining their organizations, could see some cogency in the reform criticisms of rote religion. The appeal that the Qurʾān is primary in Islam and should be understood caught the popular imagination. Moreover, modernity in the practical affairs of life was under way. Mappilas were discovering that not everything that is modern is wrong. The call to update religious institutions therefore fell on newly fertile soil. The traditionalist clergy sensed the danger and initially reacted very emotionally. They were sincere in their belief that nothing was wrong in their basic approach. They were not at all ready to concede that the Mujahids were closer to understanding true Islam than they themselves were. To them the theological and legal traditions of the past remained sacred, and they resisted the opinion that laity enjoyed a right to the personal interpretation of Qurʾān, Hadīth and sharia, a privilege that could only be earned by special learning. Their measured response to the reform pressures were twofold—they went on the attack against the reformers, and at the same time made some superficial improvements. The Sunni religious leaders had organized themselves into the Samastha Kerala Jamiat-ul-Ulama organization, and as early as 1930 had formally severed relationships with the Mujahids.10 The Samastha declared them to be heretical, instructed Sunnis not pray behind Mujahid imāms, and even forbade passing the peace, salaam aleikum! The fierce theological acrimony among Mappilas sometimes degenerated into public disturbances. Youth organizations engaged in vehement controversies. Name-calling was common. Because Mujahids criticized saint veneration, Sunnis dismissed them as “Wahhabis,” not deserving the attention of orthodox believers.11

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Nevertheless the waters of change began to seep over the dykes of resistance. Sunni change was sparked by a venerable traditionalist leader, Syed Abdurrahiman Bafaki Tangal (d. 1973), a respected and powerful Calicut businessman and political leader. He signaled that the time had come for Sunnis to look at the condition of their primary religious education institutions. His lay status points to a key phenomenon in the Mappila cultural becoming, and that is that the initiatives for cultural change came largely from laity, while clergy tended to favor unwavering continuity with the past. Wakkom Maulavi himself, despite his title, was a home-taught layperson rather than a professional ʿalīm. Before he began reading Al-Manār he had already worked for a decade in the public arena as a press owner and as a promoter of education. K. M. Seethi Sahib, a prominent lawyer and the eloquent advocate of the Mappila community’s welfare and progress, whom we mentioned above, combined the progressive and traditional streams and became in the sociopolitical realm “the chief architect of the Muslim revival.”12 These were not radical anarchists seeking to upset the Muslim community, or seeking change for the sake of change. These were Muslim loyalists who desired theo-cultural progress, and they stood at the head of a long chain of illustrious lay reformers who followed in their wake. The traditionalist clergy could not remain deaf to these respectable lay voices. They had to make some accommodations to the times, and they did. Although as late as 1965 they still heatedly debated the merits and demerits of using loudspeakers in the mosque, gradually their diatribes against “scientism” lessened and modern technological improvements began to be accepted. The changes, however, were restricted to non-fundamental areas. At heart Sunni religious leaders were determined to remain in strict continuity with the past, and there was nothing in their training to encourage them to do otherwise. E. K. Abu Bekr Musaliar, the dean of orthodox religious leaders, argued that the wisdom of their approach is proven by the variety of interpretations found among the Mujahids. Tradition is safer than reason! Writing in a Pattikad publication E. E. Abdul Qadir Musaliar stated that one cannot sweep away the past like dry leaves. Nor can one do away with the scholarly consensus forged by the noble al-Shafīʿī. Ijtihād is not a principle meaning “only what they believe.” Its meaning is restricted to the learned effort to gain knowledge about the basic duties prescribed by Islamic law. With its words “ask those who know,” the Qurʾān supports the principle of religious authority. Abdul

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Qadir concludes: “Except for the mujtahids [legal scholars, ed.], the people of the sunna believe that taqlid is necessary for everyone.”13 It is hard to imagine a more thorough-going resistance to theological and social reform, but that also occurred with the rise of a new Sunni development in North Malabar. There another Abu Bekr, this time A. P. Abu Bekr Musaliar, established a massive center at Karanthur, which among its several institutions included a rival traditionalist training school, the Daʿwa College. The “A. P.” approach varied from the “E. K.” position in its firm stance against any change whatever, its emphasis on law, its rejection of Malayalam education for Muslim girls, and its opposition to religiously based participation in democratic politics. With this approach the Karanthur group staked its claim to Sunni loyalty, and in the 1980s and 1990s waged a fierce struggle with the older Pattikad traditionalists.14 To most ordinary Mappilas the discussion was bewildering in its intensity, and many began to look to other leaders who upheld the core of the community’s tradition but were at the same time forward-looking and noncontroversial. The most outstanding of these centrist leaders, whom we shall meet later, was Shihab Tangal of Pannakad in South Malabar (d. 2009), who ranks as the most important Mappila leader of the present era. Theological reform was the cornerstone of the Great Transition in Mappila culture. It could not have happened otherwise. The religiously minded Mappilas required a religiously based demonstration of the need for and the possibility of healthy change. Yet, even though theological reform shook the traditionalist structure, of itself it would not have produced a populist surge without the other change factors. So we turn to the most revolutionary of these, the unpredictable impact of communism on Mappila culture.

The Impact of Communism Communism in India as a whole presented a powerful message that attracted a significant following in certain regions. One of the areas where its influence was most deeply felt was Kerala. There communism became a change agent that affected all the communities in the state including Muslims. Its impact on the Mappilas can only be described as extraordinary. The old adage that Islam is automatically a bulwark against this kind of ideology had to be laid aside in the light of the Mappila experience.

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The roots of what happened are to be found in the Kerala political development. After its foundation in Kerala in 1906, the Indian National Congress continued as a unified body until the mid-1930s. It was very active in the Mappila areas. Its members, however, fell into two distinct groups—on one side were the moderates who abided by the nonviolent theory and strategy of M. K. Gandhi; and on the other were those on the left who regarded that approach as unrealistic. In 1934 the leftist group organized themselves as a unit of the Socialist Party, but still within the Congress. One of its leaders was E. M. S. Namboodiripad from South Malabar who later became the leader of the State Communist Party. Also working within the ambit of the Congress was a nationalist Muslim group led by Muhammad Abdurrahiman. Thus, at an early stage socialist-minded Hindus and Muslims were learning to walk together in a common cause, experience that bore later fruit in the Communist Party. The coalition that this represented did not hold together in the final stressful decade of the freedom movement’s activity leading up to 1945. When World War II started both the National Congress and the Muslim League refused to endorse the Indian participation to which the British government had unilaterally committed the nation. These two major national parties wanted a guarantee on the freedom of India in return for their participation, but the British were loathe to offer it. It was a standoff. The freedom struggle went on, even as two million Indian soldiers joined the allied forces on a volunteer basis and made major contributions on various fronts. In Kerala the leftist members of the Kerala Congress mounted a violent “anti-imperialist” agitation against the war that was quelled by British forces. The Indian National Congress suspended the Kerala branch for this action, whereupon the leftists broke away, and by 1940 they emerged as the independent Communist Party of Kerala. After 1941 when the Soviet Union entered the global conflict, the Communist Party set aside its protest against the war, but not its opposition to British rule. After the war ended, in the short period from 1949 to 1956, the three separate political regions within the boundary of the ancient society of Kerala, namely Travancore in the south, Cochin in the center, and Malabar in the north, coalesced into the current state of Kerala. The Communist Party strongly participated in that development. It had been gaining speed since 1940, proclaiming itself not only as the advocate of a united Kerala but also as the anti-corruption party and as the voice of social justice. Its violent 1941 agitations against the Government of Travancore and its British-appointed Resident, in its stronghold of Alleppey District helped to bring about the integra-

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tion of Travancore and Cochin into one political unit in 1949. Then it joined with the Congress and other parties in a nonviolent agitation for a united Kerala that finally was formed on November 1, 1956, as a result of the Central Government’s decision to establish linguistic states. All Malayalis rejoiced as they ushered in a new day. The formation of Kerala liberated the burning political instincts of its citizens, and political action became hot and heavy. The Communists moved very quickly. In 1957 in the first state elections, the results were so surprising that they attracted national and global attention. In that ballot, winning 35.3 percent of the votes, the Communists and their supporters captured 65 out of the 126 seats in the Legislature and were able to form a government. As M. R. Masani states: “This was the first instance of its kind all over the world when Communists were able to secure power on the basis of free and fair elections.”15 Among the Communist voters were many Mappila Muslims. Communist influence had swept into Mappila society. It is not possible to accurately number the Mappilas who voted Communist then or in subsequent elections, but some estimates go as high as 25 percent of the eligible voters. Perhaps more significant is the visible impact of communist ideology on the thinking of traditionalist Mappilas and their behavior. Such an astonishing development requires explanation. We point to three decisive factors. In the first place communism slipped into the Mappila consciousness through the political loophole, not as an anti-religious philosophy or even as a competing religion. On Islamic grounds Mappilas know how to relate to other religions. Christians are ahl-kitāb, “people of the book,” with whom Muslims have a specially defined relationship. As for Hindus, a practical understanding had emerged in India—they could tacitly be included under the same Quranic provisions as Jews, Christians, Zoroastrians, and Sabaeans, that is, as people with whom co-existence is possible under normal conditions. Thus Islamic law provided guidance for intercultural relationships. The same could not be said for communists. Communism did not come as a religion, and it could not be dismissed as a failed or false philosophy on that count. To make it more difficult, in Kerala communism also softened its classical criticisms of religion as “the opiate of the people.” Rather, it came as a social message that penetrated Mappila psychology, and Muslim defenses were not adequate to resist the influence. This was true of other religious communities as well as Muslims. The second and crucial factor in the communist impact on the Mappilas was the communist message of social justice. That spoke volumes to the depressed and hurting sections of Mappila society. The

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large majority of Mappilas in many areas were abysmally poor. The communist message came to them as an announcement of hope in this world. It would not be necessary to wait for the Paradise above in order to share in a better life. That prospect was available now. All that was needed was to give support to the Communist Party! The loudspeakers said it all. We will do away with the inequities that are causing your suffering. We will redistribute the land. We will raise the salaries and living standards. We will make jobs available. We will give women full equality. We will overcome the darkness—the darkness of communalism, of religious feudalism, of corruption and oppression. We will overcome them all on your behalf! The message resonated with needy Mappilas. This was not abstruse theology for the few. It was good news for the masses. The poor and the young, the teachers and workers, and many women responded. Ayesha was one. She led the Communist parades down the street, raising the red flag and leading the cry: “Communist Party, Zindabad!” It was a political slogan, but also a cry of hope. There was more than one Ayesha. Religious traditionalists had few answers. Vainly religious leaders of the Mappila community took up the cudgels and declared: “Communism is a false religion!” and pronounced fatwās against it. Many Christian leaders took a similar position against what they considered godlessness and materialism, but to no avail for the Communists simply changed their approach. When they saw that religious adherents were upset about direct attacks on religion, instead of outrightly denouncing it and promoting atheism, they now declared faith in God to be a private matter. It has no place in the public realm or in politics. Thus they hoped to bypass the religious opposition by compartmentalizing its sphere of influence and thereby taking it out of the discussion. While the tactics did not really deceive most Keralites, for the time being it satisfied the common citizens. They could now vote Communist and still keep their religion without a sense of conflict, whether Muslim, Hindu, or Christian. Many Mappilas did not and still do not hesitate to give their votes to Communist parties, quietly ignoring the worried proclamations of the mosque. The third factor that furthered communist influence among Mappilas was the willingness of other political parties to cooperate with Communist parties, in particular the Muslim League. The role of the Muslim League had ceased elsewhere in India after Partition, but the party survived and gathered energy in Kerala. Although not all Mappilas supported it, the majority stood up for the League. To maintain that status and to contend with the social challenges put forward by other parties, the League leaders had to deliver practical

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results. How could the League do so as a permanently minority party with a limited number of seats, never exceeding 15 percent in total? It had no recourse but to engage in coalition politics, and that involved the Communist parties. Choosing the practical approach and ignoring basic differences, Muslim League leaders resolved on a policy of working with Communists if that seemed in the best interests of the Muslim community. It was a definitive cultural phenomenon when politically Mappila Muslims cooperated with those whom they religiously denounced. What made the decision even more striking was the fact that the Muslim League did not hesitate to collaborate with the most radical Communist group—its Marxist wing. Political parties in Kerala have always had difficulty holding together, and every major party has experienced a split.16 In 1964 the Communist Party divided into the Communist Party of India (Right) and the Communist Party of India (Marxist). The former lined up with the Congress Party and was loyal to the Soviet Union, but the Communist Party (Marxist) was by far the most important in Kerala.17 Its leader, E. M. S. Namboodiripad, minced no words in regard to its policies. Namboodiripad had been a wealthy Malabari Brahmin from Perintelmana where he had given away his family possessions in devotion to communist principles and had burned his sacred thread. He took Marxist theory seriously. His view of the democratic system was purely utilitarian. The Marxists would make use of it for their purposes but not be beholden to it. He declared:18 The CPI(M) has no illusions of peaceful transformation through the parliamentary path. It adheres to the MarxistLeninist approach to the problems of social transformation . . . In mobilizing and preparing the masses for revolutionary action, however, the party attaches great importance to the struggle in the parliamentary arena. As to working with religiously based parties, the same principle applied. He would work with them, but at the root level he remained completely committed to “uncompromising secularism” and was the advocate of “a merciless struggle against all the manifestations of obscurantism.”19 This was well-known, and in 1959 Namboodiripad had been declared an enemy of the faith by Mappila religious leaders. Nevertheless, the Muslim League chose to associate with the CPI(M), joining in its first coalition government in 1967. The fortress walls of Mappila traditionalism were thereby being breached. The

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constant need to make political accommodations, to agree with what was less than Islamically perfect, and to change from time to time, was bringing a modifying element into Mappila culture. More important was the impact on the rank and file of the community. Ordinary Mappilas could hardly be faulted for concluding that if one can cooperate with a communist party, one could also heed its point of view and vote for it at will. Through such channels, then, the communist approach to life affected Mappilas in a variety of ways and with unexpected strength. It also brought a stirring challenge to the Muslim community—there are things that need to be changed! The biting Marxist social critique was now being raised within the Mappila family. Whether card-holding Communist Party members, voters, sympathizers or observers, they made social change a conversation topic for Mappilas, and the most radical ideas received a hearing. Values and priorities at grassroots levels were under examination. The Malayalam stream of cultural influence was once again running strongly into the life of the Muslim community, which was forced to consider new adaptations. It would not be surprising if some traditionalist clergy thought that the end of the world was near! In the following points we will try to sum up the main practical effects of the communist movement on Mappila thinking and behavior:

a. It opened the door wider for freedom of thought and expression, including the right to be critical of existing conditions;



b. It highlighted the need for Mappila leaders to be socially concerned, and among clergy it stimulated thinking about Islamic socialism;



c. It gave support to the struggle against religious communalism;



d. It underscored the theological critiques of ignorant and superstitious practice;



e. It radicalized sections of the Muslim youth, often provoking turbulence and disrespect of traditional authority in both society and family;



f. Through such governmental legislation as the Kerala Reform Acts (1969, 1971) it alleviated some of the most pressing Mappila disabilities;

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g. It made labor unions, which included Mappilas, powerful instruments of change for the worker class;



h. It elevated the status of women, a development symbolized by the appointment of a Mappila woman, Ayesha Bai, as the Deputy Speaker of the state assembly in the first Marxist government;



i. Through a linguistic policy of simple pungent Malayalam stripped of its Sanskrit ornamentations, it contributed to the development of realistic Mappila literature; and



j. It produced some modification of traditionalist religion, some diminuation of regular involvement in religious affairs, and in a few cases acceptance of the materialist critique of religion.

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Time has not overtaken an observation that we first made a quarter century ago; “There has been no greater impact on the Mappila community than the communist one, and no lesser impact would have shocked the community into wakefulness.”20 While theological reform modified Mappila attitudes from the religious point of view and communist critiques shook them from a social perspective, it was modern education that provided a practical channel for change. We turn next to this vital element in the Mappila cultural transition.

Modern Secular Education The arch over the gateway is impressive. Through it you can see the broad drive that leads to a central multistoried building. Students, male and female, are walking along the drive, engaged in energetic discussion. Surely there is nothing special in this sight—after all, colleges have been visible in education-minded Kerala since the 1870s! Yet look again. The great archway is built in Indo-Saracenic style with turrets. It is a college under Mappila auspices. It could not have been seen before the mid-twentieth century. Behind the sight lies a remarkable tale of a sudden outburst of modern secular education in the Mappila community, bringing significant culture changes in its wake. By modern secular education we mean the kind that is now routine in Indian government schools. “Modern” means up-to-date

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in the learning offered, from the humanities to the sciences, together with a free and rational pursuit of knowledge. “Secular” implies having to do with the temporal world; it excludes any specific religious base or bias, but in the Indian usage it includes a concern for ideals, commending respect for the rights of all religious traditions. “Modern” and “secular” were not easy ideas for Mappilas to absorb in the light of the community’s rooted traditionalist training. Educational pioneers had to face stiff opposition and needed to be both courageous and creative in introducing the concept. The theological reformers, by raising the right of independent thought, helped greatly. The communist demand for free thinking, especially on social issues, was an important stimulus. Nevertheless, this was not an easy road for Mappilas to travel. The national education policy in free India after 1947 created an opening for Mappila educational change, but it took two decades and some heroic effort to take advantage of it. The resistance to modern secular education was deeply engrained in the traditionalist Mappila psychology. The national policy of universal education at lower primary levels did require traditionalists to modify their opposition and they adjusted the madrasa system to the timetable of government schools, allowing children to attend; but they maintained their opposition to higher levels of education, especially the college level. The first and major problem of the educational reformers was to convince their community that modern higher education was crucial for its welfare and not contrary or dangerous to Muslim faith. It was not at all guaranteed that they would be successful, but in the end the bulk of the members of the community simply got tired of being considered backward and swung the course of events. The Mappila educational reformers had yet another question to deal with, however, and that was the Muslim principle of unity (tawhīd). They were not interested in or supportive of the negative Marxist form of secularism that arbitrarily separated material and spiritual concerns. They did not want their advocacy of modern secular education to be misconstrued as an abandonment of the spiritual dimension in the educational process. This concern was a common one in India, not confined to Muslims. It had produced many thoughtful ideas that reflected the particular Indian understanding of the term “secular” with its emphasis on tolerance, mutual respect, and communal harmony. India’s national leaders had agreed that in the pluralist state of India there could not be any real alternative to secular education. That was the principle embedded in the Constitution, and that was

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certainly also the view of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, the first Minister of Education in free India. A loyal Muslim and a great Quranic scholar, he knew that there was tension in the situation for Muslims who maintain a holistic view of life, but he believed that it was a creative one that could lead to positive solutions. In a public Convocation Address at the Muslim University of Aligarh in 1949 he declared:21 I think you will agree that the educational set-up for a secular and democratic State must be secular. It should provide for all citizens of the State the same type of education without any distinction. It should have its own intellectual flavour and its own national character. It should have as its aim the ideal of human progress and prosperity. At the same time, the Maulana also held strong views about the importance of religious education, and he believed that there is a place for it within the secular system. Azad affirmed that although we have no alternative to secular education, “in India we cannot have an intellectual mould without religion.”22 He recognized the difficulties in achieving this inclusive educational goal, especially since he was disinclined to reduce religious education to moral education,23 but he was confident that a solution would be found. He accepted that there would always be scope for separate institutions with “a special type of learning,” but he firmly believed that the task of religious education should not be left in the hands of private parties consumed with “over-religiosity” and “bigotry.” The West has the problem of “over-rationality” but the Indian problem is the reverse. If we want to overcome the abuse of religious education, “the salvation lies not in rejecting religious instruction in elementary stages, but in imparting sound and healthy religious education under our direct super-vision so that misguided creedalism might not affect children in their plastic age.” Reflecting this opinion, basic education in Kerala State for a time included selected readings from various sacred scriptures. Although that practice has largely passed by, the strong concern for spiritual education remains a constant factor in Malayali society. The views of some leading Mappila educational thinkers bore some similarity to those of Abul Kalam Azad. For them, neither the traditionalist desire to exclude secular learning nor the Marxist wish to exclude the spiritual element reflected the Islamic ideal. Prof. V. Muhammad of Feroke College enlarged on the desire for unitive education:24

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One more step forward is to be put on the path of the educational progress of the Moplahs. They should have a unified scheme of education. The present dichotomy of education into “religious” and “secular” which is unreal and unnatural should go. The religion of the Moplahs, Islam, doesn’t divide education into worldly and other worldly compartments. Education is an act of piety. It is not a means of earning livelihood alone, nor is it meant to make of man a mere bundle of information only. It is intended to make him a full man, and to prepare him for a successful life both in this world and the Hereafter. This fact has been realized by educational thinkers and attempts are afoot to put it into practice. This general perspective is shared by sincere members of other religious communities in Malayalam society, but the secular principle means that the idea of holism is limited in its possible applications. In Kerala a system of management schools has been developed that under certain conditions allows for the appointment of selected teachers, certain curricular emphases, and the intentional development of a spiritual atmosphere. With this as our background, we now address the stirring events of the Mappila educational transformation. A growing number of lay leaders and some clergy simply wanted progress and did not fear it. They were not alarmed by traditionalist cries of “Islam is in danger!” They were aware that in the Islamic Golden Age all fields of knowledge had been open to Muslims. Nor did they mind that the impetus for modern secular education had originally come through European influence because their priority was to do that which was practically best for the welfare of their community. They saw the Christian and Hindu communities moving forward by leaps and bounds in economic and social affairs, and were convinced that education had a lot to do with that success. They yearned for more respect for their community’s cultural standards. The North Indian Muslim educator, S. Abid Husain, did not speak for them, but his words expressed their thinking: It will be generally conceded that all Muslims, and especially the Muslims of India, must adjust themselves to the various trends of the modern age to the extent to which they are not in conflict with their fundamental philosophies of life.25

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He then went on to add: Without higher education Indian Muslims cannot tackle the difficult task on which depends not only their progress but their very existence, namely that of an enlightened interpretation and application of the old eternal values to the new changing conditons.26 Throughout Mappila society sentiments similar to these were being expressed in one way or another—Mappilas had reached a cultural divide. As far back as the pre-World War I period a “South India Mohamedan Association” had been formed in Madras to promote Western education for Muslims. Since Malabar was a district of the Madras Presidency, it was natural for a few Mappila students to take advantage of this program which included free hostel accommodation. It was not in Malabar, however, that the lamp of Mappila learning was lit. It was Muslims in southern and central Kerala, then called Travancore and Cochin, residing in close proximity to their progressive neighbors, who took the initiative. It was first expressed in the high school movement. In 1915 Alleppey Muslims aroused by Wakkom Maulavi founded the Lajnathul Mohammediya Society that eventually established an English High School for Muslims (1918). The high school had received permission to teach Arabic; in the opinion of Wakkom Maulavi and others that would attract otherwise reluctant Muslims to secular education. In Cochin State in 1919, the Muslim Education Association was formed and the Munnivirul Islam High School was set up in Ernakulam. The Aikya Sankhum that followed in 1922 became a seminal force for modern education. In the same year in Calicut the Himayathul Islam Sabha founded a high school that combined secular education with Arabic and Islamic studies. It was the first formal entry into modern education by Malabar Muslims, but the real breakthrough would still take more decades. The high schools were important, but it was the college movement that was most significant in making modern education a living reality and force for Mappilas. From time to time some Mappilas had attended the available post-secondary institutions in Malabar and had understood their significance. They included the Zamorin College in Calicut, which became an affiliated college of Madras University in 1879; the Victoria College in Palghat, begun as a locally funded college in 1888,

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was also assumed by the government in 1919; the Brennan College in Tellicherry, which arose in 1890 from a school endowed by Edward Brennan, a Master Attendant of the Tellicherry Port; and the Malabar Christian College in Calicut, sponsored in 1907 by the Basel Evangelical Mission. Mappilas appreciated these institutions but longed for a similar one under Muslim management, hoping that thereby more Mappilas would be challenged to seek higher education. The situation did not become ripe for that development before the 1940s. Then, a symbolically dramatic event took place through the formation of Farook College at Feroke, near Calicut. Ahmad Ali Abussabah (1906–1971), a graduate of Al-Azhar University, was the catalyst for the development that in a small way did for the Mappilas what Sir Sayyid’s Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental College did for North Indian Muslims, eight decades earlier. At Feroke a Muslim philanthropist encouraged by Maulavi Abussabah donated 28 acres of land for an educational enterprise. There the Maulavi established the Rowzathul Uloom Association that sponsored an Arabic College, which still goes by that name. That was only the beginning, however. In 1948 the Association established the first Muslim-sponsored arts and sciences college, encouraged by a provisional affiliation granted by the University of Madras. Muslim leaders of note united to provide the needed endowment. Syed Moideen Shah, the first principal, grasped the helm and started the voyage of the new residential college with 5 faculty and 32 students. His successor, K. A. Jaleel,27 for a span of 22 years led the institution forward to its present standing as the premier Mappila effort at modern secular education in an Islamic context. The institution, now affiliated with the University of Calicut, has thousands of students studying in numerous academic streams, a significant percentage of them being women. From its halls have passed out a stream of intellectually alerted students who have perceived no conflict between true learning and true faith, who think for themselves, and who have emerged as leaders of the Mappila cultural becoming.28 The Mappila forward progress into modern education was now irresistible. Had Feroke been only an isolated development, the conservative reluctance might have offset its influence, but it was followed by other similar efforts. In Kollam, led by A. Tangal Kunyu Musaliar (1887–1966) a College of Engineering was established in 1958, later to be followed by an arts and sciences college and an institute of management. In 1965, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi spearheaded the establishment of a college similar to Feroke at Mampad in the heart of interior South Malabar. At Tirurangadi Muslims led by M. K. Haji had opened

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an orphanage, following the 1943 cholera epidemic. Subsequently, the Orphanage Committee founded various other educational institutions including, in 1968, an arts and sciences college named the Poker Sahib Memorial Orphanage College. Various other educational associations sprang up, but nothing exceeded the stimulus of the Muslim Education Society whose contribution to the Mappila cultural development well deserves the frequent accolade of “epoch-making.” It was a charismatic professor of medicine at the Calicut Medical College, Dr. P.,K.,Abdul Ghafoor (1931–1964) who led the way to the formation of that dynamic lay movement. Together with other young Muslim professionals, many of them doctors, they formed the Muslim Education Society (MES) in 1965. Its stated purpose was to further the progress of the Muslim community in the intellectual, social, and economic fields. The founders themselves had experienced the benefits of scientific education and their personal horizons had broadened. When they said that modern education is a good thing, they spoke from personal experience and carried conviction. Loudly and clearly they called for revolutionary change. Everywhere in the state aroused Muslims rose to their support. It was as though a lid had been removed and long-suppressed desires were bursting forth. Unquestionably, a thrilling moment in Mappila cultural history! By 1967 the MES leaders had laid the foundation for a new arts and sciences college at Mannarghat—for which the revered Sunni religious leader, Pukkoya Tangal, conducted the opening prayers! Two years later they laid the foundation for their first hospital. In the next two decades the creative burst of energy did not wane until it had produced 6 colleges, 14 hospitals, and 98 other social institutions. The latter included parallel colleges, student hostels, lower schools, orphanages, industrial training centers, commercial institutes, adult education centree, and the list goes on.29 The upsurge of activity attracted all-India attention. As one result, in 1970 the All India Muslim Education Conference met for the first time in Kerala at Feroke. The Great Transition was being noticed by other Indian Muslims. Traditionalist opposition to what has happening was greatly subdued by the MES success. It became vocal again when MES leaders suggested using zakāt contributions, that is, prescribed alms for the poor, to help found job training centers. Cries of bidʿa (innovation) arose, and the MES leaders were called kāfir (unbelievers)! Outwardly, the reformers paid little attention to the concerted attacks. They knew that they were not skilled in the technical religious sciences. Their approach to Quranic directives was intuitive and selective rather than

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learned; they did not, and could not develop an Islamic theology of social concern. But they believed that what they were doing was in the spirit of Islam, and in the main the general community was on their side. Inwardly, however, the reformers were shocked by the “un-lslamic!” charges hurled at them. In their distress they became more openly critical of what they deemed to be clergy ignorance, backwardness, and close-mindedness. Believing in the legitimacy of their approach they persevered in their effort to finance institutions with the help of zakāt donations. The MES leader, Dr. Ghafoor, put it simply: “The MES is going forward to create a revolution of the mind.” And this they and many others, by their combined efforts, succeeded in doing. We will not follow the progress of modern education further at this point, leaving to Chapter 11 the description of its contemporary profile and the traditionalist response through a series of Arabic colleges. The educational renaissance did produce a major change among Mappila youth. The existence of Mappila-managed colleges reassured parents regarding the validity of secular education. Mappila parents now saw hope for their children beyond early marriage and the relentless search for menial employment. Within a half century the Mappila community moved from the position of having no post-secondary institutions to operating 28 arts and sciences colleges and 12 professional colleges!29 Rapid progress was also being made in staffing the new institutions with Muslim personnel. Everywhere Mappila young people began going to college where they met the world of ideas, critical research, analytic problem-solving methodologies, and unfamiliar technologies, all leading to opportunities for better jobs. It was new terrain and clearly the journey was culturally affecting Mappila youth. Yet the silent majority of traditional Mappilas could not help but be proud. The achievements at the post-secondary level also stimulated educational reform at lower levels. With a kind of tsunami effect the educational explosion validated the culture of modernity, producing waves of influence on Mappila behavior beyond the college campus.30 The following observations summarize some of the main consequences of the educational development:

a. Higher secular education reinforced the rational element in the Mappila approach that had been introduced by the theological reformers.



b. The educated Mappila laity now assumed a stronger role. A new wave of potential leaders arose from the college ranks.

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c. The number of Mappila college graduates increased greatly, and their job prospects improved. The educational system itself provided new employment opportunities.



d. Student attitudes toward certain community-habits became both disdainful and critical. At the same time modern customs became part of their behavior—even female students attended rock concerts!



e. Women’s liberation received a boost. In some institutions female students equaled or exceeded male students in number.



f. Clergy leadership was still respected, but the respect would now have to be earned rather than taken for granted.



g. Mappilas stepped out of their isolation and became open once again to fresh cultural engagements. The concept of culture change based on the welfare of the community was validated.



h. The expectation for the material benefits of modem culture increased.

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The last point brings us to the final factor in the Great Transition, the enabling influence of Gulf money. It is universal experience that higher expectations which cannot be realized create frustration and unrest. The Mappila community was partially saved from that sad fate by the unexpected injection of new financial resources from outside its boundaries that enabled progress in material culture. We now take up that factor, with its positive and negative effects.

The Impact of Gulf Money and Gulf Custom With self-assurance he descends from the taxi that has brought him from the airport. His huge cardboard boxes and other luggage are perilously perched on the roof and protrude from the rear of the vehicle. He is dressed in an expensive shirt and trousers, and a costly watch glitters on his wrist. His hair is carefully groomed. When he puts on his dark glasses he becomes complete and steps forward confidently. He is the Gulf Returned Man, a new Mappila. He is quite unaware of his cultural symbolism. Only a high school graduate, he bears the

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aura of new wealth. His family crowds around him, and he is very glad to be home again. What produced the Gulf Returned Man? What is “Gulf money?” We will first look at their origin.

The Phenomenon of Gulf Wealth Its Origin Before and after the advent of Islam, Arabs came across the Arabian Sea seeking the black gold or pepper, and the movement gave birth to the Mappilas. Many centuries later Mappilas have made the same trip but in reverse, this time seeking for “white gold,” that is, Arabian silver in the form of salary checks for foreign labor. They do not travel on dhows or even on modern ships, but by plane from Calicut, Cochin, or Mumbai, joining a seemingly endless stream of foreign workers to the Arabian Peninsula or Persian Gulf states. There they earn the wealth that enables new lifestyles and gives their families the opportunity to participate in the material benefits of modern culture. What produced the development was the discovery of oil which was first found in quantity in Iran in 1914, in Bahrein in 1932, in Kuwait in 1938, and in Iraq in 1939. The discoveries in these areas had little effect on the populace along India’s western coastal region. From Bahrein, however, geologists looked across the water to the shores of Arabia and were sure that the same conditions existed there. The British had received a concession for oil exploration in 1923 but had not taken advantage of it. Abdul Aziz ibn Saʿud, master of Arabia, was desperate for funds in the midst of the international depression. The king declared to Colonel Biscoe, a British diplomat: “I swear by God as a Muslim that I have no money for my children, for my family, and I know not if they will have money for food and clothing.”31 He invited Standard Oil of California to make a search for oil, for which he received a welcome $35,000. Out of such humble beginnings came a mega-economic boom. After five years of effort the American engineers decided to deepen Well #7, which they had earlier dug into the Damman Dome near Dhahran. When they did so, on March 16, 1938, they tapped into an enormous flow of oil.32 By May 1939, the first oil tanker left Ras Tamra port for the world market. Well #7 was only the beginning of a series of oil discoveries along the western side of the peninsula. A number of small independent states lay along this coast, which had earned the name “the Pirate Coast.” In the nineteenth century these

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tiny sultanates fell under the influence of the British who brought an end to the piratical activity. From 1873 to 1947 they were administered from British India, and because of the treaties made then they became known as “the Trucial Coast.” Seven independent sultanates joined together to create the United Arab Emirates in 1971, covering an area of about 77,700 sq. kms. along the southwestern side of the Persian Gulf. Abu Dhabi holds 90 percent of the area, the other states being Dubai, Ajman, Ash-Shariqah, Umm al-Qaywan, Ra’s al-Khaimah, and al-Fujayrah. Oil was found in Abu Dhabi in 1939. Just north of the Emirates lies Qatar, which is only one-quarter the size of the Emirates, but it preferred to remain independent. Oil was discovered there in 1940. The Emirates and Qatar received many migrant Mappila workers. To their south and east lies Oman, 940 kilometers north and south and 350 kilometers east and west, having Muscat as its capital. Oil was located there in 1964. All together these so-called “Gulf States” hold an estimated 10 percent of the world’s known oil reserves, while Saudi Arabia holds 25 percent. These oil discoveries, far from Kerala, created a new economic situation for the Mappilas. The Gulf Rush

from

India

The oil discoveries were followed by massive modernization and industrialization throughout the region. The trained and educated labor resources required to service the developments, however, were not locally available. The oil technicians came mainly from the U.S.A., but who would meet the need for managers and electricians and other personnel? Saudi Arabia did not at first look to Malayalis for help but rather to the Middle Eastern countries, in particular to Yemenis, Egyptians, Palestinians, and Iraqis. Not only did the needs exceed the supply of skilled labor from those areas, but political considerations also played a part in causing the Saudis to look elsewhere for workers. In the end, they opened the door wide to other nationalities and by the 1960s a flood of Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Indians, Sri Lankans, Koreans, Filipinos, and others joined the stream of foreign workers. By the 1970s a full 80 to 90 percent of the labor force were foreigners. However, the Saudis and Gulf Arabs gradually became aware of the difficulties involved in such overdependence on outside labor. Moreover, their own educational programs were producing a larger supply of trained personnel. As a result, by the 1990s the jobs and visas were becoming harder to obtain, but by then a large number of Indian citizens had taken abundant advantage of the great economic opportunity. The number appears to have reached at least 4 million.33

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Although the flow of workers was somewhat reduced, it did not end. In 2003 a total of 143,804 Indians emigrated to the Gulf States with 121,431 of these going to Saudi Arabia, 36,816 to Oman, and 24,778 to Bahrein.34 As for the United Arab Emirates, after 2003 an immense building boom developed in its member states, especially in Dubai, bringing a fresh demand for construction workers. In 2007 the total of such workers was 1.2 million. This increased the number of foreign laborers in the Emirates to 4.5 million as compared with only 800,000 national citizens. The foreign population thus made up an astonishing 85 percent of the Emirate population, whereas in Saudi Arabia and Oman the number held at 25 percent, while Kuwait had 50 percent.35 The majority of the new construction workers came from South Asia. Their working conditions exemplify the trials of the manual laborers in the Gulf States. They live in desert camps in two- or threestoried concrete buildings with as many as twelve to a dormitory room. Tied to their specific employers, they cannot change jobs without permission. They work long hours and endure harsh working conditions for the sake of the income. For ordinary workers that averages Rs.8000 per month. Since personal expenses are low, this amount enables them to give significant help to their families at home. When the Gulf worker returns home again, he casts off the mantle of indentured labor, forgets its tribulations, and becomes a person of status.

Mappila Participation in Gulf Employment It is estimated that about two-thirds of the Indian employees in Saudi Arabia and the other Gulf States were Malayalis.36 That migration began with the provision of health professionals by the Kerala Christian community. Mappilas had a natural advantage as Muslims and they soon took advantage of it, entering the migration in staggering numbers. Based on an estimate of 2 million Kerala workers in the Gulf area and on the Mappila proportion of the state’s population, we may assume that as many as 400,000 Mappilas may have joined the Gulf trek.37 The figure represents a significant proportion of the Mappila work force. It is said that it is the rare Mappila extended family that does not have at least one of its members in the Gulf. This widespread Mappila participation in the Gulf Rush produced great economic benefits for the community, but it also brought about some serious social problems. Despite the fact that their historic relationship with the Gulf gave the Mappilas advantages, they faced two immediate difficulties. The reality is that they were largely unqualified for the better jobs.

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They were backward in the technical and financial trades that were needed; as a result they generally had to be content with the manual occupations ranging from construction work to menial employment. The Mappila poor swallowed their pride and took what was available. Compared to the low wages at home, what the Gulf offered seemed like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They also had to contend with a second disadvantage—their lack of initial financing required for visa charges, broker fees, and air fares. On their arrival, even though they were Muslims, they faced many of the problems common to foreign employees in general. Arab citizenship was out of reach for them, so they had to accept the situation. In 2007, 4,000 Dubai workers went on strike protesting their isolated barrack-style housing, the sad fact that labor recruiters did not stick to their agreements and withheld wages, and the prohibition of union activity.38 Yet the level of remuneration made it all worthwhile. In most cases the remittances that flowed back to Mappila families in Kerala lifted them from the swamps of poverty. Three illustrations from a decade ago show the tremendous effects of the funds that were sent home.39 Bashir, who was a fisherman before going to Dubai, received Rs.10,000 monthly. With that he was able to build a house in his home place, sent his children to an English-medium school, and provided Rs.10,000 for his sister’s dowry. Abdurrahiman is a Mappila engineer in Qatar. He received 500 rials per month in salary, lived on one-fifth of that amount, and either saved or sent home about Rs.10,000 each month. Syed Alavi is a retired teacher in Malabar who worked very hard to sustain his family with a salary that never exceeded Rs.500 per month. His son is now a businessman in Jidda in Saudi Arabia, but he is only one of fourteen extended family members who are in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States. The son earned 3000 rials per month, of which he required 500 rials for his personal expenses. The rest he saved or sent home, but he never failed to remit to his father at least Rs.5,000 per month. What a boon for that poor family! It is no wonder that as the teacher talked about his family’s new prosperity he looked rested and content. His happy story could be repeated many times over. We may summarize the positive effects of Gulf money on the Mappila community in the following points;

a. The income level and quality of life of Mappilas improved on the average. Consumer goods could be purchased and a taste for them was created. While some even became well-to-do, others were left out of the new prosperity.

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b. The Mappila community as a whole grew in self-confidence and was able to embark on various social uplift activities. The new sense of hope was tangible.



c. Health conditions improved, especially in maternal and child care. The family diet was better. Muslim medical institutions sprang up on the back of investments of Gulf money.



d. Salaries and working conditions of the poorly paid religious workers became greatly improved.



e. Mappila mosques, many in a deteriorated condition, could now be materially refurbished. Many new mosques were built with gifts from Arab donors. As an example, the new Uphill Mosque at Malappuram was rumored to have received a one million rupee gift from a Saudi shaikh.



f. New Arabic Colleges could be constructed. Also at Malappuram a new Girls Arabic College was established and received a Rs.200,000 monthly grant from the Qatar External Affairs Department.

The negative aspects of the Gulf largesse may also be stated. It must be remembered that the new money came into the hands of many who were inexperienced in wealth management, and the image of the Gulf Returned Man often became that of a careless spender. Some of the adverse effects were considerably more serious, and we note the following consequences for Mappila culture which greatly disturb the minds of Mappila leaders. The phenomenon of ostentatious consumption stands out. It arose as Mappila returnees from the Gulf spent large sums to construct enormous homes, bringing with them electronic and other material goods to furnish and equip the mansions. The phenomenon was particularly evident in Malabar villages. It was accompanied by a tilt to visible acquisitions, and the growing materialism threatens the traditional simplicity and piety of Mappila life. Less attention was paid to investments that would provide long-term income after the Gulf boom came to an end. Family disruption became a serious problem. As we have noted earlier that has been a constant factor in Indian social life since governments move their employees about. In this case the problem is felt more deeply. Husbands and fathers were separated from their normal responsibilities, sometimes for years at a time. The full bur-

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den of family management and decision making from day to day fell upon Mappila women who were not accustomed to it and felt heavily burdened. Physicians noted an increase in stress and other psychological problems among married women, not only when the husband was gone, but also on his return. Moral problems developed at both ends of the separation. Among some men there was an increase in the consumption of liquor, and even the use of narcotics was noted. The Mappila thrust to higher education was severely undermined. Mappilas without even high school completion certificates received much higher pay in the Gulf than those who took graduate degrees and remained in Kerala. Why bother with education became the growing feeling of many Mappila youth . . . It is wiser to go the Gulf as early as possible! The great effort of the Mappila community to move ahead in higher and technical education thereby received a frustrating setback. A 2006 study revealed that of the Muslim youth in Kerala in the 18 to 25 age group only 8.1 percent were in college.40 This compared poorly with the 18.1 percentage of the Hindu youth and the 20.5 percentage of Christians, and undoubtedly the Gulf movement was an important factor in the contrast. Religious leaders became involved in disputes over the procurement and the management of funds coming from the Gulf. Some individuals and groups were more successful than others in obtaining the grants and utilizing them for their projects, and the disparity produced envy and sometimes outright acrimony. Leaving aside that very human factor, we will give fuller treatment to a much larger question—the new influence of Gulf conservatism.

The New Influence of Gulf Conservatism Gulf money helped make possible the Mappila transition to cultural modernism. However, some of those who provided the salaries in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf Emirates were not favorable to many of the basic principles of modernism even though they accepted its technological products. This set up a kind of contradiction to which Mappilas had to relate in some way. The Arabian employers of the Mappilas lived in the Wahhabioriented world of Arab traditionalism. They were basically distant from Mappila progressive developments, and rather encouraged a conservative approach in theology, politics, architecture, dress, and social behavior, and general attitudes. It is true that whether in Bahrain with its majority of Shiʾas, or in Qatar which introduced secular courts alongside sharia courts, or in the Emirates with their trading

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cultures, the Gulf States were less austere in their approach than Saudi Arabia. Yet everywhere Mappilas went in their search for employment they met conservatism and were under some obligation to it. To appreciate the strain that this involved for Mappilas we have to briefly consider the approach of al-Wahhāb and his successor movement in Saudi Arabia. Muhammad ibn ʿAbd al-Wahhāb (1703–1792) was a seminal Arabian reformer whose ideas traveled in contrasting directions. On the one hand, they helped produce the most conservative Muslim society in the contemporary world, in Arabia. On the other hand, they also helped to produce a series of “back-to-the-Qurʾān” reform movements loosely called Wahhabi in different parts of the Muslim world. From his interior home in the Arabian Nejd, al-Wahhāb traveled widely in the Middle East and became very disappointed by the ignorance, corruption, and moral decadence he encountered. He returned to inner Arabia and began a local reform movement. He had been influenced by one of the legal fathers of Islam, the stern Ibn Hanbal (d. 855). Abd al-Wahhāb’s father was a judge of the Hanbalī law school, but his son was even more rigorous in his views. Al-Wahhāb called for a return to strict tawhīd, the unity of God, that is, rejecting the practice of saint veneration and intercessory prayer, and other objectionable customs that he considered to be shirk, idolatry. He also called for a return to the Qurʾān and Hadīth, to the simple pious faith of early Muslims, setting aside the later constructs of the Islamic law schools and scholastic theologians. In that spirit he denounced taqlīd, imitation, and called for a renewal of ijtihād, private judgment. But his understanding of ijtihād was far from the rational approach of modern education and science. What he meant by it was the personal freedom to receive the literal teaching of the Qurʾān and Hadīth, but not to allow inferences (qiyas) and interpretation. Anything beyond their literal teaching was unnecessary knowledge and, in fact, sinful innovation. His approach was militant as well as puritanical, like the Kharidjites of old, and he demanded that all error and misbehavior be forcefully rooted out. If Muslims do not attend the mosque regularly on their own, they should be compelled to do so! Thus, al-Wahhāb presented a double-dimensional approach, accounting for the two quite different directions that flowed from his influence—the first, puritan conservatism, and the second, reason-based reform. The first dimension is visible in Saudi Arabia. There al-Wahhāb made an alliance with the Muhammad b. Suʿūd family of Darʿiyya in 1747. It was a powerful union combining like-minded religion and politics. After many trials the Saudis became the rulers of Arabia with

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Wahhabism as their philosophy. What that meant became clear in 1805 when they conquered Medina. Immediately they destroyed the cupolas that had been built over the tombs of the Prophet Muhammad, ʿAbu Bekr, ʿAlī, and Khadīja, on the grounds that they were signs of idolatry. The modern Saudi kingdom that was established in 1902 by King Ibn Saʿūd (d. 1953) continues today in a modified combination of social conservatism, oil wealth, and family power.41 In the meantime, the second dimension of al-Wahhāb’s influence is visible in various reform movements in the Muslim world that stress Quranic authority and purification of behavior, which Professor Fazlur Rahman refers to as the generic “Wahhabi Idea.”42 Wahhābi influence did not touch the Mappilas either through direct contact with al-Wahhāb himself nor through any of the Wahhabist reform movements, but rather through contemporary Saudi Wahhabism impacting on Mappila workers. While the Mappila theological reformers accepted the principles of a return to the Qurʾān, the recovery of independent judgment, and the rejection of superstitious practice, they received their stimulus from Abduh and Rida, not from al-Wahhāb. Al-Wahhāb’s basic work, Kitāb al-Tawhīd (“The Book of Unity”) was never circulated among Mappilas. The contemporary form of Al-Wahhāb’s compulsory conservatism, however, became part of the Mappila experience in Arabia and the Gulf States through the employment process. That ideology does not match with the Malayali independence of spirit and love of freedom, but the Mappila workers had no choice but to live under the prevailing Wahhabi restrictions and their rigorous enforcement. Some were influenced by the ideas and took them home. A stronger ideological transfer came from the financial donations made by interested Gulf donors to Mappila institutions. Money talks, and there is evidence of some Mappila accommodation to the conservative Wahhabi point of view. When a mosque is constructed in a certain style, or when an Arabic college stresses the importance of the full sharia, or when black replaces the traditional whites and greens of the Mappila head scarves, one can feel the breeze blowing from the ʿUyayna oasis in the Nejd.

Conclusion In concluding our treatment of the Great Transition, we return to the symbolic image of a cultural fortress representing the traditionalist-controlled Mappila society. The theological reformers breached the wall. The communist radicals shook up the perceptions of those

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­ ithin the walls. The educational leaders opened their minds to the w new world. As Mappilas emerged from their defensive posture, Gulf funds enabled them to take advantage of material progress in a normal way. The Great Transition has been made from a controlling traditionalist approach to a combined modern and traditional profile, marking a genuine cultural transformation. • Cultural transformation also involves character development. Outdated portrayals of a people’s character, however, have a habit of hanging on. To wrap-up our discussion of the Mappila becoming, therefore, we next consider the current contours of the Mappila character and personality. This reflection will also serve as our transition to Part II, The Being of Mappila Culture.

6

Mappila Character and Personality Today

When we meet Abdulla and Amina we can describe them. As we get to know them their character and personalities become ever clearer. Can we say the same of Mappilas as a whole? What are they like? Do they have a set of distinctive qualities common to most members of the community? It is hazardous, and indeed to some extent presumptuous, to generalize about large groups since their individual members differ. The very large Mappila community includes many Abdulla and Aminas, each with their unique natures. Nevertheless, two factors move us to examine the wider contours of the Mappila character and personality. The first is that in the past Mappila character was freely and publicly assessed, all too often in simplistic and negative terms. Since such stereotypical opinions have their own life, our first section deals with some tenacious mythical elements in the community’s image. The second factor is that character affects behavior. There is an old riddle that asks: what comes first—the egg or the chicken? We may also ask: what comes first—a people’s character or its culture? We are on safe ground when we recognize that the two are interactive. This section of the chapter therefore seeks to outline some overall distinguishing features of the Mappila character that affect cultural behavior to some degree. Any current description of the Mappila character and personality will differ from the traditional profile. Mappila character today is affected by change and is more elusive than it appeared to be in the past. We have seen how the Islamic and Malayalam culture streams met and merged to form Mappila culture, but as time passed, due to various circumstances that vital synthesis tended to become stagnant. People could say, and did say, sometimes dismissively, “There are the Mappilas. We know what they are like!” Into those still waters entered a third culture stream: the rushing and assertive forces of modernity. The outcome, as we have seen, is that the river of Mappila culture is 127

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now “in spate,” surging out to new boundaries. A lively new Mappila adab samskārum,1 a new pattern of conduct is being formed. Its vitality is in the personal dimension—Mappilas are no longer predictable but are looking at the world in new ways. The forces of change have stimulated the potential in the Mappila personality, have brought forth new elements, and have produced a people in motion, with new visions and new responses. To that extent the general description of Mappila character has been made more difficult. The answer to the question of what Mappilas are like must therefore be located in the realm of subjective experience and relationships rather than in the norms of impersonal description. Despite the new cultural variety and the many differences of opinion Mappilas hold together, and the third section of the chapter therefore considers the community’s emotional sense of “being Mappila.” It is a strong feeling, and it constitutes the binding continuous element that informs Mappila character and personality. We begin by examining two differing points of view in regard to the name “Mappila.”

Mythical Elements in the Mappila Image The contemporary tones of the Mappila character are partly obscured by the heritage of accumulated myths. In using the term “myth” we do not intend to imply pure legend but rather “distorted reality.” A kernel of truth is layered over with outdated or prejudicial opinion. The myth develops from elevating partial truths into generalizations and by taking time-bound elements from the past and raising them to the level of permanent significance. The memories of past events continue to inform opinion long after the time when circumstances have changed, and the generalizations persist even though they lose their basis and validity. The Mappila community has suffered from this kind of myth-making that has resulted in a caricature of reality rather than its true image. Mythical elements are involved in the following three expressions: “Mappilas are religious fanatics.” “Mappilas are communalists.” “Mappilas are ignorant and backward.” In actuality such expressions are more common outside Kerala than within it. Malayalis today know that the older descriptions of the

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Mappila condition and behavior, even then only partially true, are now generally out-of-date. But in view of the fact that the reputation of the past has a habit of living on, it is necessary to examine each of these expressions in turn, in the context of the current realities.

The Myth of Generic Fanaticism It is a fact that most Mappilas have a strong religious faith. It is also a fact that some have engaged in violent actions in the past in the name of religion. The attribute of generic fanaticism is not, however, a fact. The myth came from the nineteenth-century outbreaks by some Mappilas and from the culminating events of the Mappila Rebellion in 1921. Central and southern region Muslims did not participate, nor did most coastal area Muslims in the northern region. Nevertheless, the partial reality was raised to the level of general truth. In the light of these events various Indian leaders spoke broadly of “Moplah madness.” North Indian Muslim leaders were on the defensive in that regard. Hakim Ajmal Khan (d. 1928), an admired Muslim leader who was a member of both the League and the Congress, typically chose the middle ground. On the one hand, he blamed the British for the problems and sympathized with the Mappilas. In his 1921 presidential address to the Congress Assembly at Ahmedabad he spoke of “the prolonged agonies of our unfortunate Moplah brethren.” On the other hand, he firmly condemned the forced conversion of some Hindu landowners. “There will be no Muslim worthy of the name who will not condemn the entire un-Islamic act in the strongest possible terms.”2 Mahatma Gandhi, with his usual care, spoke only of “the madness of some of our Moplah brethren.”3 Yet even he occasionally gave way to the temptation to paint with a broad brush, suggesting: “The Moplahs have sinned against God and have suffered grievously for it.” He quickly added: “Let the Hindus also remember that they have not allowed the opportunity for revenge to pass by.”4 The Mahatma did not believe that the Mappila revolt would spoil Hindu–Muslim cooperation. He preferred to deal with it as an isolated occurrence involving a unique society.5 Other comments were more intemperate. British writers had already laid the groundwork for the far-reaching Mappila reputation for “excessive” religiosity and “intractable” behavior. Their writings were filled with phrases like “incorrigible” and “fanatic,” with reference to Mappilas. The same opinion became commonplace among some Malayalis who could be heard to declare; “The Mappilas are hopeless!” The phrase carried a touch of fear.

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We may illustrate that opinion with a brief story. A Malayali Christian, whom we shall leave un-named, migrated from the southern region to a Malabar town in 1954. He had brought his wife with him. On leaving his rented quarters he routinely locked the door with his wife inside in order to protect her from imagined danger! The old stories of the Mappilas had filled them with fear. He continued the offensive behavior for some time but eventually light dawned, and he was embarrassed by what he had done. He discovered that the myth, which he had accepted and which had governed his action, did not correspond with reality. In the course of time, emerging from their former hesitations, he and his wife became very close friends with their Mappila neighbors. Their learning is now routine. Malayalis know that Mappilas take their faith seriously, but they no longer equate that conviction with extremism. They realize that whatever religious intolerance continues in the community is now confined to a small number, and they are also aware that other religious communities have similar problems.

The Myth of Communalism An associated myth suggests that Mappilas are communally minded. It is a powerful contemporary myth based on Mappila political behavior. While the myth of religious fanaticism has been largely dispelled, the same is not true for communalism since Mappilas support a religious political party. The terms communal, communalism, and communalist are well understood in India, although less widely used in other parts of the English-speaking world. They have a strongly negative connotation signifying unhealthy groupism, putting the welfare of oneself first in such a way that it is hurtful to others as well as being undemocratic. “Religious communalism” is an extension of the meaning to religious groups that seek their own advantage. It is usually used critically. And, finally, we have the sad phrase “communal incident” that sends shivers down the spine of Indian citizens. It refers to actual fighting between religious groups. In the political realm the phrase “communal party” refers to organizations representing religious groups.6 In India’s twentieth century that development started in 1906 when Indian Muslims formed the Indian Union Muslim League. After 1947, following the formation of Pakistan, the organization became dormant in India. When the majority of Mappilas came to the conclusion that their post-Independence hopes rested on democratic political action, they decided to revitalize the Muslim League and eventually made it a strong political

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force in Kerala. Mappilas were criticized for doing so, not only by the secular and pluralist Congress Party but also by Marxists who vigorously opposed the influence of religion in public affairs. Moreover, some Mappila leaders themselves opposed the development on the grounds that it was keeping communalism alive. In May 1983, the writer asked the noted Dr. Abdul Ghafoor, “What is the greatest problem facing Mappilas?” Without hesitation he instantly answered: “Communalism!” In the Indian social context charges of communalism must be taken seriously, but with regard to Mappilas does the criticism have mythical elements? The answer is affirmative when the possibility of different types of political communalism is considered. If voter support for a religiously constituted political party equates negative communalism, then the charge of Mappila communalism is factual. However, if supporting a religious political party as a way of advancing the social welfare of a minority depressed community without bias against others, it may be considered by some as a permissible form of positive communalism. This is how the respected K. M. Seethi Sahib viewed it. He recognized that, strictly speaking, a political party which represents a minority group is communal, but it is not necessarily a negative phenomenon. He said: “It is not only not wrong for a community organization to take part in politics, it is its duty.”7 Seethi Sahib’s opinion was highly influential. As the writer noted earlier:8 “Mappilas after him distinguished between the communalism that signifies the organization of a religious community to further its legitimate interests, and the communalism that implies hating and working against another religious community.” In considering this partial myth we must take into account the fact that Mappilas have no other overt marks of negative communalism. They do not reside in ghettos, but live intermingled with Hindus and Christians, engaging in normal human relationships. They regularly work together with members of other castes and communities at micro and macro levels in the interest of the common good. They attend Hindu and Christian weddings and other celebrations. As we shall see, some pay annual respects at a Sashta temple near the Muslim Vavar shrine at Erumeli, the first station on the road to the Hindu shrine at Sabarimala. At the political level, a large number of Mappilas give their votes to Congress, Marxist, and other parties. In the 2006 state elections the Muslim League actually lost several of its “safe” seats when Mappila voters exercised their franchise against League candidates. Similarly, in a recent election for the national parliament a Muslim Marxist candidate captured the Ponnani seat, an ancient

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Mappila emotional center and a constituency with a long record of returning League candidates. Clearly, the powerful Malayali spirit of independence also flows through Mappila blood, providing an antidote to negative communalism. In that light the criticism that Mappilas are communalist expresses a partial political truth rather than a fundamental social reality.

The Myth of Backwardness The final mythological characterization of Mappilas is that they are ignorant and backward. This description certainly had a strong basis in fact at one time, but it has now to a considerable degree been rendered invalid as the result of the startling Mappila educational and economic progress. The two descriptions “ignorant” and “backward” were complementary, related to the lack of education and economic depression. In both areas Mappila inertia was an accepted fact. While the ignorance and backwardness of the interior South Malabar Mappilas was particularly storied, resistance to education and endemic poverty ran through the entire Muslim community in the state. There were noble exceptions that rose above the disabilities, but they were the few rather than the many. This was not myth, but reality. The old description, however, becomes mythic when it no longer captures the new realities that result from the changed conditions in the Mappila community. The problems of ignorance and poverty have not been fully solved, but they have been partially redressed. Many Mappilas have been able to climb from the depths of poverty, and a significant number have become educated. Today when we inquire of Mappilas: “Is it well with you?” the answer frequently is, “Yes, praise God, it is well.” Yet the description “backward” hangs on tenaciously. To a certain extent it is sustained by the Central Government designation of certain social groups as officially “backward.” That technical designation includes Mappilas and makes them eligible for special reservations in professional schools and government employment. Frequent studies consistently reveal that the percentage of Muslim employees in the government services does not come near to equating the actual percentage of Muslim population.9 Muslims are naturally reluctant to give up a designation that assists their developmental efforts, and Mappilas have fought hard to retain the designation. Moreover, they have argued that it applies to all Muslims in Kerala, not only to Malabar Mappilas, as intended in the original legislation. The official sanction of backwardness, however, cannot hide the community’s steady

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advance that gives hope to those who are still unfortunately living in the grip of poverty, or lack educational attainments.

The Mappila Character and Personality The twin terms character and personality are used almost interchangeably in ordinary speech. The word character has a tilt to moral values, while personality emphasizes relations. The nature of a people involves both, and we will not distinguish sharply between them in the following effort to describe the Mappila nature. It is important to remember that any generalizations in this area have a tentative quality. When we take stereotypes out of the picture we find that Mappilas are ordinary people with attractive qualities. Their capacity for hard work is legendary. They have an earned reputation of being sincere and honest. Goods may be left in front of a home without theft, and a spoken word is sufficient to seal an agreement. They are cautious in initiating relationships, but their friendship, once tendered, is whole-hearted and loyal to an extreme. Their homes, small or large, are havens of hospitality to their friends. The fortitude of Mappilas in the face of personal difficulty or disaster is noteworthy, and their courage is hard to match. They are normally “laid back,” but when deeply disturbed they can become tense and openly reactive, especially when religious matters are involved. Their religiosity is sincere. They strive to follow the daily and yearly routines of the faith, but they are conciliatory toward those who do not. Mappila women add particular elements to the profile with their spontaneous cheerfulness, inquisitive natures, family concern, and the readiness to attribute whatever happens to the will of God. One cannot disentangle the influences that have gone into the formation of the Mappila personality. From where, for example, does the concern for personal honor and face-saving derive? Does it come from the Malayali context in which it plays a great role, or from as far back as pre-Islamic culture that passed it on to Arabian Muslims? Or where does respect for the aged originate, given the fact that it can be found in both the Malayali and Islamic traditions? Yet the Mappilas are Malayali Muslims, and it is only natural that the Malayali traits described in Chapter 1 predominate, with the exception that the current cultural excitement of the Mappilas tends to exceed that of the general society. Inspired by their dynamic transition, they are no longer governed by survival consciousness. There is a stir in the

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air. The majority of Mappilas feel animated and look forward to the future with hope. For their ethical ideals and character formation Mappilas draw upon the classical Islamic virtues that are commended in the Qurʾan as piety (taqwa). These include goodness and mercy, kindness and generosity, and the hospitality and endurance that have been mentioned. In medieval Islamic tradition that had also received the influence of Greek ethics, high respect was given to four cardinal virtues—wisdom, justice, temperance, and valor—and it may not be entirely coincidental that these values are held so high in Mappila thinking.”10 At ordinary levels the concern for acceptable moral behavior is still the norm in Mappila life, although Mappilas are quick to recognize that shortcomings exist; they also face the erosive effects of modern materialism, and the community is now visibly struggling with these challenges to the traditional Mappila character.

The Sense of Being Mappila The sense of being Mappila has always been a powerful emotion, and now it is linked with self-respect. The feeling is a matter of the heart, personal and individual, but it is not illusive. Its elements and effects can be described: the conviction that one has a large supportive family, the sentiment of sharing a common heritage and a practical culture that frames a safe passage through life, the feeling of an ultimate destiny that is in God’s keeping, and a more recently developed glow of pride in the community’s achievements. These are dominating characteristics in the Mappila personality. The family feeling, however, brings up the debated question of the name “Mappila.” Not all Muslims in southwest India are equally comfortable with the term Mappila. The hesitation is partly the effect of the specific and often negative usage of the word in the colonial period. In addition, regional disparities exist in Muslim history in Kerala, and the name Mappila tended to be used more regularly of Muslims in Malabar, while those in the southern region had a more generalized relation to the term. Moreover, in the central region the term was also used in the Christian community, though sparingly. Hence, some Muslims find the phrase “Kerala Muslims” more appealing, with its accepted and embracive quality. The majority of Kerala Muslims do not appear to take this view. Although they recognize the preeminence of the term Muslim, they also like the name Mappila.

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This majority view was reinforced in the period from 1980 to 2000 as an outcome of the Central Government Mandal Commission report. Its task was to examine the reserved privileges (“reservations”) maintained by the government on behalf of backward communities including Mappilas. The Commission followed the previous colonial administration’s position that only Muslims living in northern Kerala in the old district called Malabar were Mappilas. Kerala Muslims objected vehemently, insisting that the term Mappila could not be arbitrarily restricted in this way and that in its essence it applies to all indigenous Muslims in the state. They had solid historical grounds for maintaining this point of view and in the end it received wide support in public opinion, in scholarly writing,11 and in the government’s administrative policy and decisions. As a result “Mappila” is now widely accepted as the appropriate term for the Malayali Muslim community’s social identity. “Being Mappila,” however, implies more than this—it is now regarded as a satisfying designation as well as a classifying one; that is, it gives pride as well as identity. Apart from kinship relations Mappilas share four primary relationship circles. One is their Malayalam heritage and their associations with fellow Malayalis. Another is their nationality, their sense of belonging to a great nation whose citizens together sing “Jaya, jaya, hē.” A third circle is their connection with global Muslim believers that they experience most powerfully at the Meccan pilgrimage. The fourth is their special relation with fellow Indian Muslims. However, Mappilas cannot be defined as the sum of these relationships and influences; rather they have formed their own distinct identity in a blended Muslim culture, with a normal sense of self-esteem and dignity. In 1978, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and his collaborator M. M. Abdul Karim produced a Malayalam study of the Mappila literary tradition. In his introduction “C. N.” describes the significance of the Mappilas, but then notes what he regards as a crucial failure: “They don’t know who they are.”12 He was referring to the low Mappila self-image, for which he blames British writers. A generation has since passed. While all self-doubt has not vanished from the scene, most members of the community now display a confident and spirited “sense of being Mappila,” a people who are not only on the straight path but also on an upward journey. The new pride in their identity leads to a stronger feeling of solidarity and common purpose. Mappilas are generally pleased with their leaders and are ever ready to celebrate new accomplishments by community members. They may disagree on certain issues, and

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sometimes publicly and vehemently call each other down; but they do so knowing that they have an underlying connection that continues through the time of disagreement, and that can be returned to when the storm of controversy is over. Outsiders who assume the same right to make denunciations learn that Mappilas quickly rise to each other’s defense. The solidarity feeling extends to practical assistance, and when the chips are down many try to help each other. In sum, Mappila personality is an interesting amalgam of community consciousness and personal independence, which produces a combination of cultural steadiness and variety. • In the final stages of its remarkable development since 1947, Mappila Muslim culture has become a surprising symbol of progressive change and hope. It is the community’s customary behavior and habits, leadership, and various accomplishments, however, that reveal in greater detail how it has blended tradition and modernity. For that description we turn next to Part II: The Being of Mappila Culture.

Part II

The Being of Mappila Muslim Culture A Profile of Changing Customs and Notable Achievements

7

Key Life Moments Birth, Marriage, Death

Khadija has come on a visit to the home of her mother-in-law, Amina. The two are conversing in low tones in the bedroom. They are deeply involved in the core events of the Mappila family—birth, marriage, and death. Khadija has not come casually, but with a definite purpose in mind. She wants to discuss the delicate subject of birth control with her mother-in-law. She and Ashraf, Amina’s son, already have two children. She knows that small families have some advantages, and she is also aware of the national policy that encourages them. She is wondering what to do and asks Amina’s opinion. While they are talking Khadija also asks whether any plans have been made for the marriage of Ashraf’s young sister Fatima, who is still in high school. Amina tells her daughter-in-law of the hopes that she and Abdulla have for their daughter. They would like Fatima to attend a college and become a doctor. Khadija, who likes weddings and has a more traditional background, says, “But she can do that as a married woman!” Amina replies, “Not so easily,” and Khadija is silent. Both women look up as grandfather Abu’s shadow passes across the door. He is moving toward the veranda and laboriously makes his way to his favorite chair. Khadija asks her mother-in-law, “Is he sick?” Ayesha answers her gravely and with quiet resignation, “No, but he is getting very old.” Both women remain silent as they contemplate the meaning of those words. Birth, marriage, death—the women have been discussing the key moments in the Mappila lifestyle. The customs and rites associated with them give structure to the Mappila cultural being, and hence they are the first among the Mappila habits that we will consider in our Part II. We start with pregnancy, birth, and early childhood, also 139

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dealing with the Mappila attitude toward family planning. This is followed by a description of marriage practices, including the age of the couple and the way they are selected, the dowry practices, the betrothal rite, and the wedding festivities. We add a footnote on the Mappila attitude toward polygamy. We will complete the section on marriage by describing divorce proceedings; among the many issues in contemporary Mappila culture this has been a quite contentious one. Death is the third key point in the Mappila life cycle. Along with practices involved in that sad event, we also deal with the period of old age that ordinarily precedes it, as well as the various ceremonies that follow it. The customs attached to birth, marriage–divorce, and death are all basically informed by Islamic law, but Malayalam culture also plays a significant role in the wedding ceremonies.

Pregnancy, Birth, and Early Childhood In Mappila society children are viewed as the gift of God, and God is therefore praised for a woman’s pregnancy. Family joy and pride is especially high at the time of the first conception. Prospective fathers customarily hope for the possible birth of a son, but Mappila women, who are frequently quite young, are shy and do not usually express a strong preference. That feeling may come later if too many children of one sex have been born. Behind the attitude of acceptance is the belief that God’s will determines the matter . . . “Blessed be God, the Lord of the Worlds!” During her pregnancy a woman may carry on normal activities including the prescribed prayers, and in an ordinary home she does not have much choice about the daily work. However, there is a feeling that she should restrict her movements, especially in the evening, lest she become frightened or have some other experience that produces a negative reaction. Among strongly traditionalist Mappilas the physical taking in of Quranic verses is a form of preparation for delivery. The Arabic verses will have been written on paper with special pen and ink, ideally by a mulla, and then will be dissolved in pure water, possibly even Zem Zem water from Mecca, and finally will be swallowed. This procedure (oraku) may take place in the seventh month of pregnancy, shortly before the delivery, or even periodically. Where should the child be born? For the first delivery Malayalam custom takes a pregnant woman to her own family home, and that custom is also observed among Mappilas. On her homeward journey that takes place at least a month prior to the time of the

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delivery the prospective mother will wear a new dress, preferably white, which has been received from the husband’s family. The representatives of the husband’s family will also visit her if possible and present token sweets (wallakānal). In another practice, some amount of money will have been given in advance to her husband’s family, and near the time of delivery it will be returned doubly to help defray the expenses. These special arrangements apply only to the first birth and are not repeated for later pregnancies. In the case of subsequent children, improving economic conditions and increased education account for the fact that many Mappila women now have their delivery in a hospital. If a family makes this choice, a male and female relative routinely go with the woman to keep her company and to attend to some of her needs. The traditional place for a child’s birth, however, continues to be the home, and certainly in the case of poor people—they have no other choice. In the past the delivery would usually be conducted by the local midwife who was usually the barber’s wife and was called the osāthi (from ossān, barber). The system was medically precarious and was one of the factors in the infant mortality rate that, as late as the 1950s, reached the high figure of 250 per thousand in interior Malabar. It was also an old custom that the umbilical cord would be cut after ten minutes, sometimes with a non-sterile instrument, and later would be buried in an earthen pot. In recent years, however, learned medical personnel have become available for home deliveries and have received acceptance, thereby greatly improving the rate of successful deliveries. After the delivery all attention is given to the new child. The first word that the newborn should hear is the Name of God. Therefore, after the child has been bathed a member of the family, or a mulla if available, will whisper the call to prayer, the Arabic adhān, into the child’s ear. Thereafter, a touch of date juice or honey may be placed on the child’s tongue. Although the naming of the child and the hair-cutting ceremony (ʿaqīqa) take place on the seventh day in general Islamic practice, it is the Mappila custom in the case of the first delivery to await the mother’s return to her married home. This occurs not later than ninety days after the birth, but often earlier. For later children the 14th, 21st, or 28th days after delivery are also popular days for these events. The child-naming does not constitute an official ceremony, but it nevertheless has a sacred quality. When the child is grown up, common to Malayali custom, the given name will ordinarily be qualified by the family name and the father’s name, using their first initials. But the

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child’s own name must be given. It is chosen by the husband’s side and is normally selected from the list of prophetic names, from the rank of Muslim heroes, or from the ninety-nine Beautiful Names of God. Thus there are numerous Muhammads, Ibrahims, Umars, and Alis. Before an appellation given to God the word ʿabd or servant is often added, and so there are also many Abdurrahmans and Abdulmajids. In the case of women the range of choice is narrower and hence Khadijas, Aminas, and Fatimas abound. In recent times there has been some branching out into new names. The hair-cutting ceremony takes place at the same time. It has a religious significance since it recalls the occasion of the near sacrifice of Ibrahim’s (Abraham’s) son. If the family is well off, an amount in gold or silver equivalent to the weight of the shorn hair may be given to charity. The meat for the special meal will ideally be divided into three parts—one for the consumption of the family, the second for visitors, and the third for the poor. The hair-cutting will be done by the barber whose spouse served as the midwife, and they will then receive payment for their services in cash, clothing, or rice. The child will be breast fed for a period of about 1½ to 2½ years. Suckling up to four years was known, which was a form of birth control, but it is now accepted that the shorter period is healthier. The process of weaning, however, may begin as early as four to six months. During the period of early childhood parents attempt to instill in their children a sense of that which is forbidden (harām) and that which is permitted (halāl). It is after that distinction is understood by the child that the period of total freedom ends, and the child will be punished for doing wrong. It is believed that children cannot be regarded as sinners until they have the awareness of right and wrong, and before that God will not punish them. Parents, however, may chastise the children in some way in order to teach them. Although both parents have the right to give religious instruction to their children and do so, Mappilas consider this to be the special province of the madrasa. The passage from early childhood to puberty involves discovery about oneself, and awareness of the male-female differentiation. It is customary for boys and girls to play together as small children, but at a fairly early stage there is a withdrawal from that practice. This also applies to relations between brothers and sisters. They may have slept together to the age of seven or eight, but after that another arrangement is made in the home. In smaller houses that may be very difficult, but certainly by the time of puberty there must be a functioning separation.

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For the male children, circumcision is considered essential. It is referred to as “sunnat,” that which is recommended by religious law even though the Qurʾān itself does not mention the practice. Male circumcision is regarded as a necessary rite for participation in mosque prayers. It is also viewed as having valuable health benefits. The time of circumcision varies and may take place on the seventh day after birth, prior to attending the madrasa, in the seventh year, but certainly before the thirteenth year. It is now most commonly carried out in very early childhood. Mappila tradition gave special sanctity for the conduct of circumcision at “the little Mecca” of Ponnani, but today the normal place is in the home or hospital. At one time this function was also carried out by the barber, but the great preference now is for the service of a physician. The bismilla, the recitation of “in the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” takes place during the ceremony, but otherwise there is no other religious function. On the day of circumcision relatives are invited to the home for a special meal. For girls the first menstruation marks the coming of age and the beginning of deliberate separation from males. There will be no ceremonies on that day, but the girl will receive special nourishment and will be encouraged to take rest. Menstruation is regarded as a natural element in God’s creative order, but it also has implications for a girl’s religious practice—prayer, fasting, and Qurʾān reading are not permitted at that time. There is no prohibition, however, relative to food preparation. The first experience of menstruation gives the young woman a sense of maturity and, in fact, it makes her eligible for marriage discussions. On the occasion she proudly puts on adult female clothing for the first time.

Family Planning Qualifying the subject of birth is the contemporary issue of family planning. In pre-modern India large families were the norm. Not only a love for children but also strong social and economic reasons lay behind that reality. Kerala did not differ in that regard, and within the Mappila community the desirability of large families was taken for granted. In the case of Muslim society, however, a particular customary factor and a religious consideration came into play. The customary factor was early marriage, which increased the time span of a woman’s fertility. The religious consideration was the t­heological

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view that whatever happened during that period of fertility was the will of God. Thus it was common for Mappila women to have a large number of pregnancies, starting at an early age. New patterns began to develop in free India, however, that challenged the bias for large families. The issue of overpopulation was a concern in India from the time of Independence. In the 1950s during the first two Five-Year Plans there was an emphasis on the nation’s “wealth of manpower” that must be better utilized. In the 1960s the awareness of the need for population management emerged more clearly, and the movement toward family planning programs got under way. From the 1970s forward the nation’s burgeoning population became a burning topic at the all-India level. India’s leaders realized that if the rapid rise in population was not brought under control, the nation’s efforts to improve the quality of life would be in vain. The Central Government therefore launched an all-out effort at control through family planning. Leaders knew that poverty and illiteracy were deeply involved in the problem, but without neglecting these underlying issues the government focused on the effort to reduce the actual rate of population growth through a variety of means.1 Sanjay Gandhi’s ill-fated sterilization campaign in 1975 to 1977 drew attention to the methodological limits acceptable to the Indian public, as well as contributing to Indira Gandhi’s election loss in 1977,2 but it did not fundamentally blunt the widely held conviction that India’s future depended on getting a hold on the population problem before it was too late. Across the nation the pictorial representation of “Two is Enough!” was painted on walls, the sides of buildings, and even on tree trunks. Hardly any Indian family could remain unaware of this advice. This was certainly true in Kerala where the response was positive and the birth-rate was reduced to the lowest percentage in the nation, a startling 9.4 percent in the decade between 1991 and 2001! The message of family planning also reached the Mappilas and gradually resulted in a change of attitude. They had been strongly opposed to the practice, convinced that any interference with conception would conflict with God’s domain. The change did not come easily or totally. The writer recalls frequent theological conversations during that period with Mappila males who were attempting to understand how the people of faith in other religious traditions were dealing with the issues. While they did not yield in their faith that God is the sole Author of Life, they found support for change in a set of other Quranic ideals, including the ideas that God wants humans to care for His creation, that He wants His creatures to experience

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ease of life, and especially that He wants them to have good health. Various Hadīth admonishing attention to the maintenance of health were also cited. Thus a case was built for the admissibility of family planning on the basis of scriptural authority and some Mappila males accepted vasectomies. Muslim women too were shifting in their thinking. They knew that it was their health that was most directly at stake in the issue. Their distress, especially in some poverty-stricken Malabar regions, was palpable. Many were unable to maintain the dietary requirements of a normal pregnancy, and pernicious anemia and eclampsia were constant hazards. Their position was a near-tragic one, and for them the possibility of accepting a tubectomy after the fifth or sixth pregnancy seemed to be a life or death matter rather than a mere option. In that light, Dr. A. Mohammed, the Mappila Director of a government family planning project in Malappuram District developed the idea of putting this opinion into a modern form of the classic Mappila songs that are so appealing to women. One such song was entitled “The Message.”3 It first poses a question: “Why did Ayesha stop her second birth? Why did her husband agree? . . . Were not Adam’s descendants to increase? Was this not the original approach of the Lord of the Worlds?” Then the song states the difficulty of raising many children, and also points out God’s concern for our health. It asks: “Were not Adam’s descendants to be well? Should we not obey the Lord of the Worlds?” That theological imperative demanding obedience forces a conclusion, and so the song ends: “Then I too shall cease being pregnant!” The movement toward the acceptance of family planning is a laboratory of the ongoing Mappila cultural adaptation. Involved in it are the elements of necessity, common sense, leadership, scriptural interpretation, and community consensus. Haltingly, but increasingly, the Mappila community has become convinced that that practice can be rationally and scripturally sustained, and is not contrary to the faith.

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There are different levels of agreement, and some traditionalists continue to oppose the idea outrightly. The uneasy process by which a new consensus is being built up is illustrated in the following statement of a Mappila woman: “It is harām, but it is practical!” Although general opinion now favors some form of family planning, it is noteworthy that in practice Mappilas continue to have, on the average, larger families than do other Malayali communities. This fact is borne out by the relative increase of the Mappila population in the state. In the half century from 1951 to 2001 the Muslim share of the Kerala population grew by 7.2 percent; and from 1971, when the family planning drive began in force, the Muslim share of the state’s population rose from 19.5 to 24.7 percent. The fertility rate in the Muslim-majority Malappuram District was 2.4 against the state figure of 1.7. While the state average household size in 2001 was 4.7, in Malappuram District the size was 6.0. Although Mappilas participated in the dramatic reduction of Kerala’s birthrate, their involvement came later and at a less intensive level than that of other communities. In reversing their own tide of opinion Malayali Muslims have anticipated developments in the wider Muslim community in the nation. That is indicated by a recent exchange on the subject in Luck­ now. In September 2004, Syed Kalbe Sadiq, the Vice-President of the All India Muslim Personal Law Board, suggested that Muslims adopt the goal of a small family and concentrate on educating their children. President Maulana Rabe Hasan Nadvi, however, rejected the idea, stating that it is “un-Islamic and cannot be accepted.” Mahmoodi Madani, a leader of the Jamaʾat-ul-Ulama Hind, chimed in, asserting that “there is no religious sanction for family planning.” Ms. Sughra Manhidi of the All India Muslim Woman’s Forum came to Sadiq’s defense arguing that as long as there is not a coercive element “there is nothing un-Islamic about going in for a small family.”4 Her opinion expresses what an ever-increasing number of Kerala Muslims today hold to be true.

Marriage Marriage is the second high point in the Mappila life cycle. It is high in anticipation, in effort, and in pleasure. In Mappila culture it exemplifies the two streams that have given it shape: Islamic culture and Malayalam culture. The marriage contract itself falls under the personal law of Islam. Malayalam culture plays a role in nonprescrip-

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tive areas where the community’s marriage festivities developed in unique patterns. In all cultures marriage has a rich tapestry that has many shades of color and design. That is also true of Mappila marriage customs. Moreover, they bear the complicating characteristics of “here and there” and “then and now.” For example, in interior Malabar, it was the practice to have the main wedding festivities at night, including exuberant processions with torches and drums. In North Malabar matrilinealism affects its customs. In coastal Malabar among some families the marriage extended three days—the first included the practice of staining the bride’s hand with a design, the second was reserved for the contract signing, while on the third day the bride would go to the bridegroom’s house. In the southern region of the state it was customary to use the tāli, a necklace placed on the bride by the bridegroom, a common Malayalam tradition derived from Hindu culture. While elements of these and other older customs remain, in what follows we describe the common threads in today’s tapestry— the marriage arrangement, the age of the couple, the combination of mahr and dowry, the contract, and the wedding reception.

The Marriage Arrangement Marriage is considered to be an alliance between families; the marriages are therefore arranged by parents, and the children will ordinarily accept their decision. Family elders make the arrangement, observing such criteria as the social standing of the family, the amount of dowry, and the possible prohibitions. Except in some modern homes the young man and young woman have a minor role. It is not even necessary that they see each other prior to the betrothal, although among educated families it is now common for them to have briefly met before the marriage event. Certain blood restrictions must be observed in the selection process. Cousins may marry, but they must be children of the father’s brother with children of the mother’s brother or sister. Children who have been wet-nursed are regarded as a brother or sister of the family and may not be married into it. Mappilas of Arab blood descent may prefer to seek alliances within their group, but there is no bar to their marrying full-blooded Malayalis. Marriages arranged by the couple themselves, called “love marriages,” are quite infrequent, young people fearing the disapproval of their relatives and the community. When such a personally arranged marriage between Muslims occurs, the parents will reluctantly make

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the best of it. When the individual arrangement runs across religious lines, however, it falls under the prescribed law. The Qurʾān and Muslim personal law allow a Muslim male to marry a Christian or Jewish female, although they discourage it, but the reverse is not permitted. Behind the ruling is the cultural assumption that a wife will eventually follow the religious inclination of her husband. Even though this legal permission exists within religious law, when a Muslim male does marry a Christian female there is usually a great hullabaloo. Knowing this, the young couple may elope, thus increasing the scandal. They will have to raise their children without any help from home. The situation becomes even more delicate in the case of Muslim–Hindu love marriages for which there is no provision in the sharia. In summary, arranged marriages continue as the normal Mappila custom.

The Age of Marriage Marriageable Mappila men are generally above the age of eighteen. In the past it was routine for women to be married at an earlier age, often between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and sometimes immediately after puberty. The practice of early marriage for females developed in part out of concern for the honor of the family and the girl. The girl might receive adverse comment if she remained unmarried too long, and the family itself might be criticized for its failure to take the necessary steps. There was also the fear that she might be “spoiled” by even harmless contact with young men, and the result would be that no other family would be interested in an alliance. The early age syndrome reached its extreme through a practice of omana kaliyānum, literally “child marriage,” by which an arrangement could be made for the future marriage of two small children, a practice now declared illegal. Countervailing forces have come into play as the result of the community’s cultural transition—the marriage age for Mappila women is steadily rising, and men are accepting the new pattern. Among those forces the trend toward modern educational development has provided the main incentive for change. Mappilas have become committed to the principle of women’s education. They no longer welcome a practice that blocks out the high school and college years. Traditionalists seek various compromises to overcome the perceived dilemma—for example, sometimes marriages are arranged but not consummated, thereby freeing up women for their studies. Modern Mappilas simply insist that the dilemma is a false one. Let women be educated, after which marriages may be arranged! Their voice has

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been heard, and Muslim women everywhere are now involved in professional education, postponing marriage until their mid-twenties.

Mahr and Dowry Before the formal betrothal of a couple can take place the marriage “committee” must discuss the issues of mahr and dowry. Mahr is an Islamic practice and dowry is an all-India and Malayali custom. They have come together in contemporary Mappila behavior. Mahr Mahr is a voluntary gift presented by the bridegroom to the bride at the time of the marriage contract. The custom of a bride-gift, a practice in Arab culture, was validated by the Qurʾān: “And give unto the women (whom ye marry free gift of their marriage portions” (4:3). The amount varies widely, depending on the economic and social status of the bridegroom, but it is never large and does not constitute a burden for the giver. Among Mappilas it is usually gold in the form of a bangle, chain, or ring, but it may also be cash. It is a symbol of the relationship, and also serves as a modest form of security for the woman. She may keep it, sell it, or exchange it, and the husband may not take it from her even if there is a divorce. Dowry Dowry in Indian culture is a payment made by the bride’s family to the bridegroom or his family, either in cash or in kind. Differing from the mahr it ordinarily involves large amounts of money, gold, and/ or property. It generally entails great hardship for the parents of girls and is widely regarded as a societal curse. Strong efforts have been made in the nation to eliminate dowry either by the means of public criticism or through formal legislation, notably the Dowry Act of 1961 and its several amendments. Indu Prakash Singh’s conclusion that all this “has signally failed to achieve its purpose” is undoubtedly correct.5 It has almost been the case of one step forward and two steps back. Dowry remains firmly entrenched and is certainly pervasive in Malayalam culture. In Malayalam culture the asking and giving of dowry is routine in the Hindu and Christian communities. The amount is set in negotiations, and while it is intended to reflect the economic status of the family and the educational achievement of the bride, it

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is ­ steadily increasing to exorbitant levels.6 Through the process of cultural absorption dowry has now also become a common element in the Muslim community, creating what one informant describes as “a huge problem.” For example, to conclude a marriage arrangement with a lower division clerk in an office, the bride’s family must produce Rs.25,000, plus an equal equivalent in gold, approximately the clerk’s salary for a year or more. This is the low end of the scale. The cries against dowry are loud but generally ineffective. A Mappila religious leader states that reformers are striving to get families to reject dowry agreements “in the Name of God.”7

The Betrothal and the Wedding Mappilas differentiate between the betrothal or nikah (Ar.) and the wedding or kaliyānum (Mal.). The nikah is the legal contract between the two parties and is formally equivalent to marriage in the Islamic tradition. The kaliyānum is the festivity that follows the nikah, and it is influenced by Malayalam customs. Nikah The nikah is conducted at a time convenient to the parties involved, normally without reference to astrologers; some Mappilas, however, prefer Thursdays and Sundays for this function. Its essential core is the signing of the marriage contract. While Muslim law regards this as a legal procedure rather than a sacred act, participants tend to look upon it as a religious ceremony, given its overtones. The betrothal takes place at the bride’s house. Minimally, the assembled group includes the local qādī or religious judge, the bridegroom and his father, the bride’s father or guardian (walī), and two witnesses. Other family representatives and friends may attend the nikah, but the bride herself is usually in a nearby room. After the group assembles the officiating cleric recites the first chapter of the Qurʾān (al-Fatiha), and other appropriate verses. This can suffice. He may, however, choose to add a comment on the successful marriages of the prophets who serve as models. A classical admonition is the following: O ye people, make your Lord your shelter, Who created you out of one soul, and created out of it kind spouses, and thus multiplied men and women; and fear Allah with Whose

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name you beseech Him, and be mindful of the rights of the relations of the womb. Verily God is watching over you.8 The guardian of the bride than goes to her and asks whether she agrees to the marriage. In the rare cases where she is present at the nikah, she is asked three times whether she agrees. The maulavi then asks the bridegroom whether he will accept the woman as his bride. The amounts of mahr and dowry that have been stipulated are announced, and the contract is signed. Although two witnesses are technically sufficient, as many as four from each side may affix their names to the registry book that is kept in the mosque; in a traditional wedding the bride is not expected to sign but may do so. The ceremony concludes when the mahr is handed over to the bride through the father, and the dowry is similarly paid—fully or in part—if that has been previously arranged. Kaliyānum When the prescribed nikah is completed the kaliyānum or wedding festivities begin. Joy is a common factor, but otherwise there is a great variation in the wedding customs related to regional differences; the immediate proximity of the two families involved; the age of the bride and bridegroom; the level of education; and above all the economic means of the participants. Ibrahim Kunju sums it up: “Marriage customs among the Mappilas vary considerable from region to region and section to section.”9 In the following description the customs are drawn mainly from the practices of interior Mappilas in South Malabar, which make up only one strand in the kaliyānum cord. One important factor in the festivities is the need for a backand-forth movement between the homes of the bride and bridegroom, impacting both the time frame and the cost. As to the time frame, if the homes are near to each other it is possible to include one of the unique night processions along the village streets with flickering lights, songs, women carrying umbrellas, and much commotion. These are becoming rarer as vehicular travel takes over. As to the cost, Mappila hospitality is both expansive and expensive. Even though the general trend is toward the simplification of wedding celebrations and the reduction of time to one day, the financial burden remains heavy. This is especially true for the bridal parents who must assume the cost of the wedding feast as well as the dowry. It is a time for generosity, however, and lavish biriyāni meals are served to enthusiastic guests

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beginning with the males who are seated on coconut mats in an open space. While the expense creates anxiety, the families are determined to do whatever is possible to create a happy occasion even though it may entail taking out a loan. In one typical function the wedding ceremonies begin at the bride’s house. A small group from her home has gone to the bridegroom’s house to invite his party. The latter arrives for the nikah, which is followed by the wedding feast. While this is in progress, the female members of the groom’s party are busy dressing the bride in the new clothes that they have brought, either a traditional blouse and skirt or a colorful sari. A Mappila physician tells of how her sister cried when the bridegroom’s party “compelled” her to put on an unaccustomed blouse with long sleeves! Then decorative henna is applied to the bride’s hands and toes while female friends seated in a circle sing a variety of wedding songs and clap their hands. The bride often sheds some tears, depending on her age. At this point the practices may diverge. One tradition involves completing the ceremony at the bride’s house, while the second and common one requires the wedding parties to go to the bridegroom’s house. In the latter case males precede and share in another meal, the women following after they have had a chance to eat at the bride’s home. In either case the core of the kaliyānum ceremony is reached when the bride and bridegroom meet in a separate room that has been decorated and prepared for the occasion, often in an upper story. The groom and witnesses enter the room where the bride and her attendants are waiting. In traditional culture the bride is to get her first glimpse of her new husband in a hand mirror! Then a ceremony takes place to cement the relation, including the sharing of small gifts. Among the well-to-do the ceremony is more elaborate. Below is an observer’s description of one such scene more than a half century ago:10 The room was packed with women and children and the air, heavy with the scent of jasmine flower festoons lopped prettily around the room was stifling  .  .  .  The bride, completely hidden by her sari, was seated on the decorated bridal bed. Just in front of us two chairs were placed facing each other. The bride was brought over and placed on one of the chairs, and a garland of roses and jasmine was put around her neck by the bridegroom, who was then seated opposite her  . . . A man brought a tali, in this case a beautiful golden necklace with many gold pendants, and

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the groom fastened it around the neck of his bride  .  .  .  Now the right hands of the couple were joined and covered with a silk cloth . . . Then two satin-covered pillows and a silken bed covering were brought and put on the bed, and the bride was taken back to the bed while the groom joined the group of men. The marriage may be consummated the first day; others however prefer the second day in order “to have good communication and sharing of ideas,” as one Mappila woman put it. If the ceremony has taken place at the bride’s house, the groom remains there for a few days before returning to his home. If it has been the bridegroom’s house, he and his new bride remain there for up to four days, then return to the bride’s house where another formal meal will have been arranged. While the details of the kaliyānum are variable, the basic elements that are to inform the spirit of a Mappila marriage come from the Qurʾān, and these are considered to be obligatory. The first is the principle of procreation, for it is expected that a marriage will result in children and a family life. Respect for God’s will is taken for granted and it is hoped that this will lead to pious behavior as the Qurʾān admonishes: “Reverence God through whom ye demand mutual rights” (4:11; Yusuf Ali). The sharing of tasks and finances is expected. Ideally also affection will develop, but as Mappila women point out, the reverse pattern also occurs. At the marriage ceremony itself no one wants to think of that possibility as the two families happily intermingle. With satisfaction and relief the bride’s mother declares, “Kettichu!,” that is, “The knot is tied!”

A Note on Polygamy Polygamy is permitted under Muslim law to a maximum of four wives at one time, the restriction being that a husband must be able to treat all wives equally. But among Mappilas monogamy is the preferred practice, and the percentage of polygamous marriages is relatively low and getting lower. It was certainly never at the exaggerated level of reports such as the following by E. Thurston in 1909: “Polygamy is the rule, and it is estimated that in South Malabar 80 per cent of the husbands have two wives or more, and 20 per cent three or four.”11 In general, the practice of polygamy among Indian Muslims tends to be overstated. Current census reports reveal that the percentage hovers at a little over 5 percent. Kareem suggests that among Mappilas it is largely confined to the monied class and musaliars “who work

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part-time in more than one district,”12 but he also declares that “now the system is dying out amongst them also.”13 Where a polygamous marriage does exist, there is a division of household duties, but that is not always successful in preventing internal disagreements. The practice of serial marriages has been much more common among Mappilas than that of plural wives. The phrase “serial marriage” is used to describe the practice of frequent divorce and re-marriage. A Mappila woman, Nafeesa, has this to say about the frequency of the two customs: “This [polygamy] is not practiced much. If a man loses interest in his wife, he divorces her and gets married with another lady.” It is the divorce rate that represents the chief Mappila problem in marriage relations, and we turn to that issue next.

Divorce: The Practice and the Problem The divorce patterns of the Mappilas are liberal in regard to male freedom and restricted in terms of women’s rights. As to the actual causes of divorce, Mappila women cite a variety of reasons why a husband may divorce a woman, including the following:

• The dowry was insufficient



• There is suspicion of the wife’s character



• She is sterile



• She is disobedient



• The parents-in-law do not like her



• The husband does not like her

The final listed cause is really the important one. In fact, traditionalist culture gives a Mappila husband the broadest possible freedom to initiate a separation, and that permissiveness has been drawn upon to the extreme. Whatever the reason, the husband may indicate to his wife in a number of ways that he is disinclined to continue the marriage. He may give a private verbal signal. He may ask his wife to remain at her home when she visits there, and not come to see her. He may let his wife’s father or brother know, and return the dowry. He may even inform the mosque authority in writing. In the actual legal execution of the divorce Mappila husbands have commonly used a method

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that is frowned upon in Islamic law. The legally preferred method of divorce (talāq al-hasān) requires a statement, “I divorce you,” once a month over a three-month period (ʿiddat) as recommended by the Qurʾān. The irregular mode is to say “I divorce you” thrice running on one occasion (talāq al-bidʿa).14 In Mappila custom the irregular became the regular, and Mappila women were unceremoniously dismissed. A Mappila woman can divorce her husband, although it is understood that her husband should agree. If he does not and if she wishes to pursue the matter, her alternative is to appeal to the courts with justifiable reasons and good witnesses. The Quranically acceptable reasons are cruelty and abandonment, the latter understood as at least a seven-year period, while Muslim law also adds inadequate support and impotence to the list. In fact, Mappila women rarely have the confidence to advance their case in any way even though they may have been mistreated. Because some Mappila males have taken notorious advantage of the community’s cultural permissiveness that allows them to quickly and easily annual a marriage contract, the divorce rate among Mappilas is high indeed, particularly among the poor and uneducated. Severe social problems face the divorced women and their children whom they must take care of to the age of seven, and often for much longer. A divorced woman may re-marry, but her prospects for all practical purposes are restricted to marriage with a widower or as a second wife, and even these options are not commonly available. In theory she can and should return to her own home, or seek refuge with relatives. If she is older, that may not be possible. Often she will not have a place to go and must rent a small house for herself and her children. Unskilled, as she is likely to be, she must find a simple job or exist on the charity of others. There are few places in Mappila society where some divorced women and children are not living in penury, even though the rest of the community is economically advancing. The problem has had a cumulative impact and is the chief blight in Mappila culture although the same conditions do not prevail in all sections of the community Progressive community leaders, including female leaders, are increasingly distressed and aroused by the situation are seeking remedies. They have taken up the cudgels against talāq al-bidʿa, not only because it is destructive to family life, but also because it brings down the reputation of the community and its faith. Representing that view, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi declares; “Some ignorant people think that the woman’s future hinges on the tongue of the man and that the whole relationship rests on his will and pleasure. Such a belief is insulting

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to Islam. The feeling has arisen because people do not bother to study the religion.”15 Under pressure of the reformers the rate of divorce has been somewhat reduced in the last quarter century.

Old Age and Death The Elderly Period of Life Mappila behavior reflects the general Indian value system regarding older people which includes respect for elders and the commitment to take care of them as long as necessary. These well-established principles are under pressure for two reasons—the increasing length of age and the mobility of society. The retirement age in various Indian employment services is relatively young, ranging from 55 to 58. At the same time, life expectancy has increased as the result of better food and health care. The average “seniority” period has lengthened. In addition, with the advent of intensified industrialization Indian society has become increasingly mobile, making family conditions unstable. But neither all-Indian nor Kerala culture has taken up the “senior citizen home” practice that is found in many Western societies; the thought of giving the family’s aged members into the care of strangers is, on the whole, a distasteful idea for Malayalis. Although older people will try to remain active and on their own as long as they can, as soon as necessary the children of parents must step in and do what is needful. For Mappilas the Indian value system is reinforced by the exhortation of the Qurʾān that declares: “Thy Lord hath decreed . . . that ye be kind to parents, whether one or both of them attain old age in thy life. Say not to them a word of contempt, but address them in words of honour” (3:23; Yusuf Ali). In Mappila custom the obligation to care for elders belongs first to sons and daughters-in-law. If there is no son, the duty falls on the shoulders of the son-in-law. Given ordinary living conditions, it is not an easy responsibility to assume. Houses are small and finances generally meagre. As one informant stated: “Most sons and daughters-inlaw think of it as a burden and also an unavoidable responsibility.” Because of the practical problems there may be tension in the situation, and even open disagreement. Due deference must be paid to elders, but at the same time the children must make their own decisions. Elders pass their time in different ways. Some are still involved in societal affairs to some extent and move about in that connection. The majority have little to do. Sitting on verandas has its limitation,

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and they are loathe to stay in the small home more than necessary. It is an ordinary sight in Mappila localities to see older persons walking slowly along the street or sitting with friends on a bench. If the senior person has been a businessman he may continue to go to his establishment for one or two hours, where he is paid due respect. If he is a professional man of some distinction, he will receive invitations to public events where he will be given a place of honor. An older woman stays at home, content with inter-family visits and conversations with female neighbors, but on special occasions she will go out. Her family is her main concern. To whatever extent possible she gives assistance to her daughter or daughter-in-law in caring for children or in the preparation of food.

Death and Its Ceremonies The universal nature of death and its common painfulness draw Malayalis together even though in ritual matters Hindus, Muslims, and Christians deal with this reality quite differently. Death is visible in Malayalam culture, and its sorrow is shared by the community. The market goes silent as the body is carried down the street. For Mappilas the attitudes toward death are formed by the Qurʾān and their rituals reflect Islamic tradition. The fifteenth chapter of the Qurʾān is named Al-Hajr, which has been translated as “The Rocky Tract.” The title refers to the mountainous region north of Medina in western Arabia, while the chapter itself speaks of death. The title lends itself to metaphorical use for death is “a rocky place” for all humanity. The chapter verses refer to the One “Who gives death” (v.23), to “the Day of the Appointed Time” (v.38), to “the most grievous Chastisement” (v.50), and to “the Hour surely coming” (v.85). The final verse (99) summarizes the matter: “And serve thy Lord until there comes unto thee the Hour that is certain.” For corporate humanity the Hour is the Day of Judgment, but for individuals it is also the moment of death. “Every soul shall have a taste of death, and only on the Day of Judgment shall you be paid your full recompense” (3:185). Though death is unavoidable, Muslims believe that it too falls under God’s will. The Qurʾān declares that it comes at a stated time when God decides to take a soul to Himself (39:43). Some believe that it is the angel Izraʿīl who takes the spirit of the dead person to God. Therefore, when someone dies, a family’s sorrow should be controlled. The death of a loved one is a sorrowful occasion, and there is a natural human inclination to weeping. Nevertheless, Mappilas

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are counselled to practice fortitude. When one hears of a death, one should say: “We all belong to God, and we will all return to Him.” Behind the saying is the sense of a better and more lasting life to come. When someone’s expiry is anticipated the family and friends, and a mulla if possible, will gather at the scene. The dying person should recite the confession of faith (shahāda), but if he or she cannot do so a family member may recite it instead. When the person has passed away, the eyes should be closed, the head and chin tied with a cloth, so also the two feet, the hands folded across the breast, and the body covered. Some may recite a Quranic verse at that time, whether al-Fatiha or another of the shorter suras, while others may join in a prayer, women also participating. Following general Islamic custom embalming is not done, and it is necessary to conduct the burial within twenty-four hours of death. The family therefore hastens to inform relatives and friends. Shortly before the time of burial the body is washed with soap and water, males performing the function for males, and females for females. Camphor, a kind of aromatic compound, is sprinkled seven times. After cotton is placed in the nose and ears, the body is clothed. Both males and females are dressed in the same manner as they would be for prayer. A man’s body is therefore laid on a clean cloth, preferably three pieces, two of which are new, the body is covered and the ends of the covering at the head and feet are tied. Perfume or rose water may also be sprinkled on the body. This is the time for further recitation of Quranic verses. Someone may recite portions of the 36th chapter called Ya Sin: “Verily, We shall give life to the dead” (v.12).  .  .  .” “All, without exception will be brought before Us (v.32).  .  .  .” “The word from a Merciful Lord (for those who merit Paradise) is Peace!” (v.57). Then the body is placed on a bier and is first taken to the mosque. The women say farewell at home and do not accompany the procession. At the mosque a special form of the prayer takes place. It begins with a takbir, declaring God great, followed by the recitation of the al-Fatiha, then another takbir. After that comes a regular cycle of prayer (salāt), another takbir, and a prayer for the expired person. Following is an example of a typical prayer:16 O God, forgive our sins, the sins of those of us who are living and those who are dead, those who are present as well as those who are away, of the small among us as well as the big; the males as well as the females. O God, when

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you make one of us live, enable him to live as a Muslim, and when you make him die, make him die as a believer. O God, do not deny us the reward for praying for him. After him, do not put us to trial. From the mosque the bier is carried through the streets in single file. Muslims stand as the procession passes by. Participants either solemnly intone the word “Allah . . . Allah!” as Sunnis do, or walk silently as non-Sunnis do. The grave will have been excavated in advance, in the north-south direction, and five- to six-feet deep. It is dug wide at the top and narrow at the bottom. While the body is being lowered those in attendance may join in saying, “In the Name of God, and on the way of the apostle of God” (bismillāhi, wa ʿala millati rasūl illāhi). Once again Quranic passages may be read. Then the body is carefully placed on its right side on the narrow bottom—no box is used—and the head is carefully turned in the direction of the holy shrine in Mecca. The lower section is covered with stones (preferably nine) to prevent earth from falling on the body. The grave is then filled with loose soil, the mourner casting in three handfuls. A marker may be set up with the particulars of the dead person, but most are content with a plain stone at the head, or the head and foot of the grave. In a traditionalist ceremony the maulavi may stand at the northwest and/ or southwest corner of the grave and repeat questions that the angel is expected to ask the expired person, at the same time providing the appropriate answers: “Who is your God?” “Allah.” Who is your Prophet?” “Muhammad.” What is your religion?” “Islam.” “Who is your Imam?” The Qurʾān.” So the soul of the departed is sent forward in hope. The ceremonies are now over, gifts may be given to the poor around the grave, and the mourners disperse. At the graveside one further optional practice remains that is controversial and is observed less and less frequently. Those who have financial ability to do so may engage a mulla to remain in the vicinity of the grave for a period of time, even seven or thirteen days, to read and recite Quranic passages. Ordinary believers may also perform the function. The difference of opinion relates to prayers of intercession on behalf of the expired person. Traditionalists hold that this has Prophetic authority, through various Hadīth, and “our sheet-anchor (safeguard) is to believe what the Prophet has said.”17 Reform Mappilas believe that the practice of intercessory prayer is wrong. However, the idea of reading sacred verses, or visiting the grave at a later time, is generally accepted. Women also participate

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in this activity. The immediate mourners have returned home. There will be no cooking done in the home, but with the help of others a way will be found to provide food for the family and friends. Some additional matters will be attended to. The inheritance pattern is prescribed, and will be treated in the next chapter, but the personal possessions of the expired person must be disbursed according to that individual’s previously declared wish. Jewelry may be given to the mosque, while personal dress and vessels may go to the relatives or to the poor. Before that happens, however, the dead person’s debts, if any remain, should be cleared. After matters such as these have been taken care of, the sense of personal loss inevitably takes hold. No personal fortitude can prevent it. If a husband has died, a woman is to remain relatively secluded and in mourning for forty days. The mourning period is ended with a meal when the confession of faith is recited 101 times. Intervening ceremonies may have taken place, subject to financial ability. On the third day after the funeral a mulla may conduct a memorial event with voluntary prayers. On this occasion the lā ilāha illa lāh should ideally be repeated up to 70,000 times, but the mulla has to decide how that tradition is to be practically fulfilled considering the people present. Taking into account the need to pay the cleric and the practice of providing food along with these ceremonies, the trend is toward the simplification of the death rites in the same way as the marriage function. These are the critical moments, but most of life is spent on a more ordinary plane. We turn now to the Mappila family and home.

8

Family Custom Home Life, Interrelationships, Inheritance

Although the concept of “extended family” is still alive, the basic unit in Mappila society is now the nuclear family, consisting of parents and children. It is within their common life that ordinary Muslim culture is both practiced and developed. In this chapter we will consider a representative home—its rhythm of life, the personal relationships within the family, and its inheritance patterns.

The Mappila Home and Its Rhythm of Life Abdulla and Amina lead our representative family. Only Abdulla’s father Abu is staying with them, since Amina’s aged parents live with her older brother. The family is a progressive one. As a teacher, Amina must move about in many ways her mother did not. Abdulla accepts that. As a lawyer he understands that personal and community habits should sometimes change like laws. Abdulla and Amina take pride in their tradition but they are selective about old customs, keeping those that seem appropriate to their faith and life but ignoring those that do not. They are not controlled by the past. The family life of the two parents has reached an exciting stage because their children are maturing. Ashraf is already settled with his own business and family but often visits his parents. Rashid is full of energy and heavily involved in student affairs. He is still undecided about his future career. Fatima is completing high school. Amina knows that her own parents favor an early betrothal for their granddaughter, but she is determined that Fatima will enjoy the same educational opportunity as her sons. Abdulla fully agrees. Fatima, too, wants to become a medical doctor, but the family knows that will take years of study and cost a great deal. Abdulla and Amina have decided 161

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to face the difficulties as they arise, trusting in God. There is another matter, however, that preoccupies Abdulla. Rashid has become very involved in student union politics. He is excited about the coming elections and is already planning a campaign at his college. Abdulla cautions him: “Do not forget your studies.” When he says that, Rashid is silent, for his father has spoken. In the meantime life must go on. Abdulla has a heavy court load. He salutes his father and hurries to the office. Amina, a teacher, looks around at all the work she has to do in her home. It is a holiday at her school, but not a free day for her. What does her house look like?

The Mappila House and Home Mappila house architecture varies according to local style and economic ability. At one extreme are the small huts of the poor—still to be seen, but less and less frequently. Their walls are made of packed clay mixed with straw. The floors are of mud, pounded smooth. The roof is made of coconut palm leaves laid over bamboo slats. There are two rooms, an inner space and a kitchen. The house has no sanitary facilities and is not electrified. At the other extreme are the houses built with Gulf money. Two-story and bulky, with large rooms, they are constructed with costly materials and in modern style. They rise like giants from the paddy fields they occupy. Neither extreme represents the pattern of most Mappila habitations. In between them are two intermediate types of housing used by the majority, a narrow two-storied laterite construction or a reinforced concrete bungalow. The first of these is the basic house of the lower middle class. It is in the shape of a narrow rectangle of one story, or two narrow rectangles one set on top of the other to create two stories. It is built of red porous laterite rock, which is a leached feldspar. The walls are sometimes covered with lime or cement plaster, but are often left unplastered because of the cost. The roof, sharply pitched to drain off the heavy monsoon rains, has roofing tiles laid over wooden slats called reepers. The ceiling, if present, may be wood or asbestos sheets. The floors are covered with clay tiles or polished cement. There are three small rooms in the rectangle. The middle room is all-purpose, used for dining and other needs. The two side rooms are usually bedrooms. If there is a second story the staircase will ascend from one of the interior rooms or will be attached to an outside wall. The upper story contains small bedrooms with tiny windows. The windows everywhere have bars of some kind to prevent entry and shutters that can be closed. Running along the front of the house is a narrow

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veranda, sometimes partially enclosed, while a kitchen extends from the rear. There is a well nearby. The simple sanitary facility (kakoose) is set back as far as possible on the small lot. Abdulla’s childhood was spent in a house of this type, and he especially remembers two things about it—the cramped living style and the difficulties in the rainy season. The close quarters did affect him, but as a boy he spent most of his time outside the home. The family had a small table and chair in the center room where he used to study. There was almost no other furniture. The members of the family slept on coconut mats that were unrolled at night. Privacy was achieved with the greatest difficulty. The rainy season greatly increased the problems. Getting the clothes to dry after washing them took days, and they hung everywhere on ropes stretched across the bedrooms or on the little veranda. On it were two benches where time could be passed until a drenching outpour eased its force. Abdulla is grateful for his improved situation today. He and his family live in the second of the intermediate types of houses now favored by the middle class, the type made of reinforced concrete. This is a less costly construction than the traditional pitchedroof house. The laterite rock used for those houses was cut from the ground with heavy axes. If the laterite rock was especially hard, a single laborer could cut only about twenty blocks a day. Workers willing to engage in such back-breaking labor are now very scarce. Similarly the wood needed for the rafters and ceilings, particularly the hard woods needed to resist white ants, is now also very scarce and hence much more costly. The reinforced concrete house with straight lines and a flat roof is the Malayali answer to the contemporary housebuilding need, but it lacks the heat and rain resistance of the older model, and it does not readily absorb noise. Its great advantages are cost and adaptability. The ordinary reinforced concrete home is single-storied, but there are also numerous two-story versions. In some cases the receiving veranda is placed inside the house, and is entered from a small porch where sandals and umbrellas may be left. Occupying the center of the house is a family and dining room, and behind it is the kitchen. From the narrow front room a staircase goes up to the second floor that contains two or three bedrooms and a bathroom. This basic design has many variations, and a wealthier home will have more space and a carport attached. Some house owners prefer a hybrid style, putting a pitched tile roof above the concrete roof to ward off leaks and reduce heat. They may also decide to retain the open outside veranda in the old manner. The house is customarily surrounded with a compound

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wall to give privacy and to keep out the ever-present goats. Inside the walls the yard is beautified with bougainvillea, hibiscus, cosmos, and other flowers, as well as fruit trees. In general, the Mappila habitations are steadily improving, a reflection of the community’s advancing economic conditions.

Family Values Mappila family values flow naturally from both of their forming culture streams. From the Malayalam stream they draw on the spirit of mutual tolerance and pride in family achievement, and from the Islamic stream the commitment to piety (taqwā) and right behavior (birr). But they also reflect the Mappila historical experience with the conditions of poverty. That has produced strong emphases that are reflected in attitudes and behavior within the family. In Abdulla’s mind the contrast of his current living condition with his parental home is often in the foreground of his thoughts. The memory causes him to adopt an attitude of hamd, praise to the Almighty, and gives him the determination that his family will be one that remembers its blessings. His father Abu owned a tiny shop on the roadside of his village. He stocked a few items that were in common demand—matches, soap, paper, and oranges when in season. The people walked past the shop with their long strides, but occasionally someone would stop and make a small purchase. Abu had to work late, otherwise there would be nothing to take home. There were—and still are—hundreds of similar shops along the streets of Mappila areas that compete with one another, but in a friendly way. The poor are generally friendly, understanding the struggle for existence, and sympathize with others who face the same problems. Abdulla remembers sad days when his father made few sales. That evening it would be very quiet in their little house, and his mother could serve only the simplest food. Abdulla’s mother, he remembers, usually arrived home before his father. She worked in the rice fields at certain times of the year to augment the family income. The owner had fertile land, so she could be employed for two rice-plantings and two harvests annually. In the planting season she would stand in the water and would carefully plant the seedlings by hand in the wet ground, making sure that they were the right distance from each other. It was back-breaking work. At harvest time she would help in plucking and gathering the ripened grain. Then she would go home, tend the children who had returned from school, and prepare the food. Very frequently she cooked tapi-

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oca instead of rice because of low funds. She and her husband were often tired, sometimes irritated, and frequently in despair. Yet Abdulla recalls how they kept a lamp with costly kerosene where he could study, and encouraged him in his efforts. They wanted Abdulla to be educated and to lift up the family. Their family meant everything to them. It was their richness. The powerful role of the family in Mappila culture, and some of the Mappila family values, developed under such circumstances. Abdulla and Amina are happy that their children do not have to repeat their hard experiences, but they also strive to pass on to them the values that they gained from it—most notably mutual consideration, the readiness to sacrifice, the need for hard work, the recognition that life does not consist only of possessions, and a hanging on to patient trust in God. Abu’s presence in their home is a reminder to them that even though new developments have ameliorated the conditions of the past, the values arising from that experience represent enduring ideals for the Mappila family.

Family Life: Daily Routines and High/Low Moments Mappila family life is an oscillation between routine living and special times of joy or sorrow. The average family has a rhythm that is marked by four movements which, in one way or another, affect all Mappilas—the common functions of everyday life; the rites of passage, from birth to death; ritual religious practices; and the calendar of festivals—national, Malayali, and Islamic. In this section we will deal with ordinary life functions that keep very busy a family with growing children and both parents employed. Abdulla’s family provides an example of a typical daily schedule. Needless to say, there are many variations, family to family, within the general behavioral pattern. For both Abdulla and Amina, indeed for all Mappila families, it is prayer that starts the day. It comes at the break of dawn. After that the family becomes quickly active. Abdulla begins with his morning bath; ignoring the shower, he reverts to the old dip-and-pour style. He emerges to a glass of morning coffee that Amina has already prepared; he drinks it without milk, for the milk delivery comes later. Abdulla has some technical matters to get ready before leaving for the office, and he applies himself to them. Amina is hurrying about with breakfast preparation and getting the children ready for school. It will be a complicated day because her oldest son, Ashraf, and his family are coming for an evening visit. Her second son, Rashid, takes care of

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himself, and soon starts out for the college. Fatima needs a little more help from her mother. By 8:30 the breakfast and other preparations are complete, and Amina now has a little time to get ready for her classes. The bus for her elementary school leaves at 9:30. Each family member handles the noon lunch in his or her own way. It is common to take it in a tiffin carrier, but Abdulla prefers to go to a cafe near his office. By four or five in the evening all of the family members have returned home except for Abdulla who has to take care of some shopping. Rashid usually rushes out at this time to enjoy a football game with college classmates. Fatima begins her homework. Amina has plenty to do since Ashraf and his family have arrived. Ashraf waits anxiously for his father. He wants his advice in regard to a Gulf job offer he has received, one related to his computer skills. It will be a great blow to the family solidarity if he goes. At the same time, what a blessing the income will be to help with Fatima’s expenses! It will be a very difficult decision. Wearily Abdulla returns from work, salutes his father Abu, takes his bath, and dons more comfortable clothing. He observes his wife’s fatigue and so before meeting with Ashraf he has a question for Amina. Will she agree, despite their financial restraints, to look for a household helper who can bear part of her heavy load? The family has their evening meal at nine, and then there is an hour for quiet togetherness. By ten, after the late prayer, the house is silent. This is the routine, but the routine gives way to the uncommon and extraordinary moments of joy and sorrow that come upon all families. They disrupt the normal schedules and call for a family response. These high/low moments are not experienced alone for nearby families “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” The joys may include a family marriage; promotion to a higher position; the birth of a child, especially the first male child; a son or daughter’s success in an examination; the settlement of children in permanent jobs; the purchase of a house; recovery from an illness; participation in the pilgrimage to Mecca; the celebration of the breaking of the fast at the end of Ramadan; or the visit of an old friend. Not only one-time events, but positive conditions may bring satisfaction—continued good health, steady and permanent employment, or the possession of friends. The sorrows that beset a family are, in some cases, the direct opposite of the joys. They include having no children, or no male offspring; the high cost of a dowry; a child’s failure to pass high school matriculation; a son’s inability to get a job; the incursion of a major debt; the onslaught of disease; the suffering of fellow Muslims; and

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above all, the occasion of a death, within the family or among friends. Like joys, the sorrows too may be related to ongoing states such as a low inadequate income, not having one’s own home, or someone’s ongoing unforgiving hostility. The fact that many of these joys and sorrows are common human experiences underlines the point that Mappilas are, in the first place, normal people who belong to the commonality of society and whose culture reflects that reality.

Mutual Interrelations within the Family We will consider the primary intra-familial relationships of husband and wife, parents and children. Behind the former lies the community’s behavioral tradition in regard to male and female relations.

Mappila Gender Relations and the Position of Women Male-female relations reflect the twin Mappila cultural background which we have already described. The Malayalam tradition regarding the position of women and its commitment to women’s education and employment led to generally free-flowing forms of converse and communication. The Islamic legal forms that spelled out and circumscribed male-female relationships represented a more structured and restrictive approach that became the pattern of Mappila society. These two influences have interacted and contended with each other in modern times. In the past the restrictive approach was visibly the stronger one in Mappila custom, and the patriarchal Mappila traditionalism was negative toward change in women’s roles or in gender relations. That approach has come under severe criticism of progressive Mappilas in recent years, as well as being shaken by wider social influences. Nevertheless, the two approaches, libertarian and restrictive, have a converging point in two common principles—respect and discretion. All Malayalis of whatever persuasion regard these two elements as crucial in gender relations. Males on their part must show respect toward females and be discreet in their behavior; females on their part must be respectful toward males and be careful in their behavior. It is from this ideal base that various cultural communities develop their contemporary interpretation of the fundamental malefemale relationship and in that light pass on to their children their under­standing of appropriate behavior.

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In Mappila society the new developments in gender relations have been sudden and striking rather than gradual, representing the dramatic changes of the Great Transition. The causes are many, including film and television, but special attention must be drawn to the impact of education and employment. With alacrity Muslim women have seized the new opportunity for higher education. As one recognized educator said to the writer: “Fifty years ago Mappila women were not allowed to write. Now more than half of the students at Feroke College are women!”1 Equally strong is the linkage with female employment. Although they may prefer some professions to others, Mappila women are now much more visible in the job market, and they are required to move about in that connection. While these two influences are the strongest, we need to add the powerful effect of the national social commitment to female equality and the rise of many women to positions of leadership. To summarize the current situation in Mappila society, on the one hand, there is the pressure of modernization that urges greater freedom and wider roles for women; on the other hand, there is also the pressure of religious neo-legalism that calls for the maintenance of conservative positions. As Mappilas consider the conflicting views, the trend is a growing recognition that some changes are needed and right, and this advance in perception is not likely to be rolled back. Some Mappila women, however, believe that the actual changes in their condition must come more rapidly and decisively so that equality may join respect and discretion as the basis for gender relations. They are impatient to redress their problems. In November 2005, a group of prominent Mappila women made a representation to the Central Government Commission inquiring into the conditions of women. Included in the group were Khamarunisssa Anwar, Chairperson of the State Welfare Board, Noorbina Rasheed, a Calicut advocate, T. K. Habiba Husain, S. A. Jifriya, and others. They reported such difficulties as the demands for dowry, discrimination against divorced women, inadequate representation in higher education, high drop-out rates, and the need for the rehabilitation of Gulf returnees.2 A discerning Muslim woman who is a college Professor of English speaks of two broad segments among Muslim women who seek change. The first group is made up of those who are educated or who are in the process of attending a college. The second consists of those who go to higher secondary levels but then stop attending school for practical reasons or because they are discouraged by their husband or family. They also want change but do not know how to bring it about. She also notes in this regard that there are shades of difference in the sta-

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tus of Muslim women in the southern, central, and northern regions of the state. She is of the opinion that Muslim women in the south are more ready to assume leadership positions than are women in the north. She herself represents a growing number of progressive Mappila women who are destined to bring material improvement to the status of women in their community, at the same time maintaining due deference to the requirements of the faith.3 In regard to the specific area of husband-wife relations it is safe to say that they still tend toward the traditional style. That tradition, however, gave women more freedom and a stronger role within the home than is generally recognized.4 We turn next to that subject.

Relations between Husband and Wife The widely accepted view of the relationship between husband and wife is that of a partnership within which there are recognized functions. The husband has the primary responsibility for earning the family living and for duties external to the home, while the wife has the mothering and homemaking roles. The basic understanding within the partnership is that the wife should respect the husband as the family head and obey him. At the same time, the husband is to care for his wife and children in both meanings of the word care, that is, to love and to tend. Between them the spirit of mutual understanding should prevail. There are countless examples where this indeed is the case, even though the partners may have been strangers to each other before the marriage. There are also many examples of the opposite, and this constitutes a problem for the community. That happens when the husband regards his wife as a disposable piece of property, or when he provides inadequate support, or when he gives unreasonable orders, or when he abuses her. In the past Mappila society has had more than its share of such male oppressions, and it is seeking to overcome the aberrant behavior. Mappila women agree that in practice they do not have equality with men in the family and in the outside world, but they are not united on the implications of that fact. Some take the position that their status is to be accepted while others hope for improvement. As we have noted above, most regard education as an important factor in their progress. A female doctor informant states that “she feels more freedom than her mother because of education and improvement, step by step, in the Muslim community as a whole.” Mappila women have never been in purdah, but traditionally there is some restriction to women’s movements in public society.

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An unmarried woman is under the protection of her parents, and normally does not go out without their permission, but school and college activities are now taken for granted. A married woman, who is under her husband’s protection, moves about with greater freedom, but always enters public places with a clear purpose. The restrictions for working women are tenuous. It is an irony that poor women are, in fact, freer than the rich! Also, widows and divorced women who must more or less manage on their own and who are maintaining their children go about virtually as freely as males. The mobility of Mappila women is particularly visible in urban areas where they walk together for business or shopping. Those who are involved in higher education move about freely, whether taking a bus or going to the library. In rural and village areas it is still possible to observe the older custom of Mappila women walking in groups along the road while holding open umbrellas for modesty. For visiting each other, women prefer the back lanes to the open road and its heavy traffic. In Mappila culture the overall principle that governs the public movement of females is discretion rather than seclusion. The social expectations that a husband has of a wife is illustrated by what happens when a male friend or friends come to see him at his home. The arrangements are such that the husband is seen to have precedence, and the wife is viewed as protected. If the husband is not home when the visitors come, the wife will not invite them in, except for exceptional circumstances. When the husband is home, the situation differs. Even then, in small homes, the ever-present veranda serves the men as the place for tea and conversation. The wife will not walk in front of the males unnecessarily, and the male visitors will not go into the interior quarters unless invited for a reason, such as a special meal. In a larger home where there is a separate receiving room: it becomes the place for visiting, and the wife will be present for only a few remarks when she brings refreshments. For her it is most enjoyable when females accompany the guests. The wife immediately whisks them off into an interior room where fellowship and conversations go on with high energy. Modern homes give more opportunity for mutual conversation. Authority relations between the husband and the wife, though formally laid out, are in fact somewhat deceptive. While the public face establishes the husband as the C.E.O. in the partnership, in private the wife is very much a co-manager. This is implicit in the fact that she must make many practical decisions in regard to the care of the home and the children. Also, in other important matters,

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the husband will routinely share with his wife and take her counsel, the prerogative of the final decision being the husband’s. In exercising practical managerial functions the wife must be very careful to remain within the accepted parameters since the husband in Mappila traditional custom has near-absolute powers of divorce. In husband-wife relations the position in regard to financial matters is clear. The husband is obligated to provide support for his wife, and if he cannot do so his family should come to the rescue. The wife is not obligated to work outside the home, but if the family is financially embarrassed she may choose to do so. Both husband and wife may keep the family funds, but it is customary for the husband to do so. This applies also to the wife’s earnings. Spending follows the same pattern. The husband routinely does the food shopping where much of the income goes, but he does so according to lists provided by the wife. There are quite a few exceptions to this generality, however, and it is no longer unusual to see a Mappila woman shopping. This is always the case when she needs clothing for herself, and she is under no constraint to give account to her husband for that expenditure. Mappila women may own their own property, particularly what is received from their parents (ōhari). When a woman passes it on to her children, she will give only half to her daughters of what she gives to her son(s), since the daughters will receive a dowry (mahr) and gifts at the marriage. A wife controls her own dowry and her jewelry, but it is common to allow the husband to use the jewelry as security for a loan.

Parent-ChiIdren Relations In Mappila custom the authority of parents over children remains firm. Behind its continuance, despite various strains of modern life, lies the profound respect of children for those who have brought them up and cared for them. Hence, Mappila children, in an emotional sense, always remain dependent on their parents. As children grow older they begin participating in practical decision making. Many school decisions must be taken by children, but a youth’s opinion becomes strongest at the college level. The “generation gap” is becoming ever wider for college students, and in both ideas and behavior they often occupy another world from that of their parents. When it comes to marriage, however, it is the wish of the parents that holds firm. Full independence in day-to-day life becomes a right for children when they obtain jobs. If someone is married but

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jobless and the couple are financially dependent on parents, they must also abide by parental decisions. Once employed a son or daughter has the right to spend his or her earnings as they please; even then, however, they will feel constrained to consider the advice of the parents and the needs of the family. After her marriage a daughter is expected to obey her husband rather than the wishes of her own parents, for example, in matters of dress and food. In the previous chapter we have discussed the widely accepted responsibility of caring for parents in old age.

Kinship Relations Although the old ideal of the extended family is under pressure from modern conditions, it remains an emotional reality. The concept is illustrated by the Malayalam terms for brother and sister, sahōdaran and sahōdari, which apply as well to cousins. Mappila culture still shares the tradition that believes a family circle is wider than parents and children, and in Mappila dialect pet names exist for relatives up and down the kinship scale. This inclusive view still finds expression in practical ways. Uncles, especially those from the father’s side, and most particularly the father’s elder brother, have great family influence. Mutual consultation among brothers is common in business matters, and the elder brother is routinely consulted in marriage arrangements. The practical implications extend to financial assistance for kinfolk. In that regard guiding principles come into play to prevent disastrous financial situations. Within a patrilineal family the emphasis is on helping relatives of the husband. If need arises, a man must take care of his brothers and sisters. This is true especially if a brother has no job or a sister is unmarried and has no home. The brother may invite the sister to come into his house. Cousins who are the children of the father’s brothers and sisters must also be helped. If they are experiencing insoluble problems, they may come and stay in the home for a period of time, despite the difficulties this creates for space and food. They may enter the interior rooms of the family home. As for the wife’s relatives, with the agreement of the husband a wife can assist her sister and her sister’s children, especially when there are no sons. It is common for a family to foster the child of a relative, although outright adoption is relatively unknown. Conditions differ for families that follow the matrilineal tradition. Called the marumakkathāyam system, it is dealt with below.

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The Role of the Mother-in-Law The special position of the mother-in-law in Mappila culture must be recognized. If a mother for some reason is living with her married son, she assumes a significant role in the affairs of the house. Good working relations are common, but if her daughter-in-law is newly married the mother-in-law may not hesitate to wield authority over her and even give her duties to carry out. The daughter-in-law must routinely stand before her mother-in-law, and should inform her when she goes out. Although the daughter-in-law may feel oppressed and look to her husband for help, the son is obligated to obey his mother. The situation may reach the stage of unbearable tension and force some kind of separation.

The Mappila Inheritance Pattern Most Mappila families adhere to the inheritance law of Sunni Islam. In the Islamic past nothing captured the attention of Muslim legal scholars more than inheritance issues. They appeared to be fascinated by the topic and spelled out everything in the greatest detail. They considered not only normal situations, but also every possible exception. As a result of this meticulous legal attention inheritance law became very complex. Its basic principles, drawn from the Qurʾān, are apparently simple, but their interpretation and application took the scholars down different roads. Basic to the system is the patrilineal approach, but Mappilas also have the Malayalam stream in their makeup which has a strong matrilineal tradition. It led to the marumakkathāyam system that passes property along through the female line of succession. The patrilineal approach, however, is reflected in all the orthodox law schools, including the Shāfi’ī school5 followed by Mappilas. According to this approach, property is handed on through the male line. The interaction of these two approaches is one of the unique aspects of Mappila Muslim culture.6

The Sources of the Orthodox Inheritance Principles The chief sources of orthodox Muslim inheritance law are twofold: Arab tribal culture and Quranic revelation. Muslim legal scholars agree that the instructions of the Qurʾān in regard to inheritance are a correction of and an addition to pre-Islamic Arab inheritance practices.

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The pre-Islamic approach was absolutely patriarchal, with inheritance based purely on male linkages. These linkages called “agnates” are the male relatives of the father. Women are ignored. The Qurʾān therefore engages in what might be called cultural adaptation—it does not set aside the male right but it amends the tradition so that women and married persons are not overlooked. N. J. Coulson puts the matter this way:7 The obvious intention, then of the Qurʾānic rules is not to sweep away the agnatic system entirely but merely to modify it, with the particular objective of improving the position of female relatives, by superimposing upon the male agnates an additional class of new heirs. Once again the legislation is by way of a supplement to, not a substitute for, the existing customary law. A. A. Fyzee, a distinguished Indian Muslim legal scholar, also takes the view that Islam reformed but did not abandon Arab inheritance practices. He says:8 The main reforms introduced by Islam may be stated briefly as follows:

1. The husband or wife was made an heir.



2. Females and cognates were made competent to inherit.



3. Parents and ascendants were given the right to inherit even when there were no male descendants.



4. As a general rule, a female was given one half the share of a male.

Against this background we may consider the specific Quranic instruction, utilizing Yusuf Ali’s translation. The key passage is 4:11– 12, which we will cite in full: 4:11 God (thus) directs you as regards your children’s (inheritance):      To the male, a portion equal to that of two females;    If only daughters, two or more, their share is two    thirds of the inheritance;    If only one, her share is a half.

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   For parents, a sixth share of the inheritance to each, if     the deceased left children;    If no children, and the parents are the (only) heirs, the     mother has a third;    If the deceased left brothers (or sisters) the mother has    a sixth.    (The distribution in all cases is) after the payment of legacies and debts . . .  4:12 In what your wives leave, your share is a half if they leave no child,      But if they leave a child, ye get a fourth, after      payment of legacies and debts.    In what you leave, their share is a fourth, if ye leave    no child;    But if ye leave a child, they get an eighth, after     payment of legacies and debts. If a man or woman whose inheritance is in question has left neither ascendants or descendants, but he has left a brother or a sister, each one of the two gets a sixth; but if more than two, they share in a third, after payment of legacies and debts, so that no loss is caused (to any one). Thus it is ordained by God  .  .  .9

Applying the Principles of Distribution Muslim jurists took the commands of the Qurʾān and the Arab tribal culture heritage and welded them together into a full legal scheme that can meet the needs of most situations. A Hadīth attributed to the Prophet Muhammad says; “Learn the laws of inheritance and teach them to the people, for they are one-half of useful knowledge.”10 They took it seriously and did their job so well that any local Mappila religious judge (qadī) might easily guide someone: “Start with the Qurʾān and follow its instructions. First distribute the fixed portions to the sharers it lists.” Those shares will cover only part of the whole estate. There will be a remainder. Therefore the qadī will add: “Now you must deal with the other heirs.” Those are the traditional heirs that are taken for granted by the Qurʾān since they were known to the people, that is, near male relatives on the father’s side. They will

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receive the residue of the estate after the distribution of the reserved shares. In practice, this may even be the largest portion, and Fyzee makes that point:11 The son, the father (in certain cases), the brother, the paternal uncle, the nephew are all in this important class, and in a majority of the cases the residue forms the bulk of the estate . . . [These] were the principal heirs before Islam; they continue to remain in Sunnite law the principal heirs, provided always that the claims of near relations mentioned in the Koran, the Koranic Heirs, are satisfied. The four major Sunni law schools have some differences of interpretation among them in the application of inheritance principles. For example, in considering who should receive a Quranically assigned share Shāfiʾī and Hanafī law list four men and eight women, but Mālikī law includes ten males and seven females. Al-Shāfiʾī included the following heirs in his list, serving as the Mappila legal summary: father, grandfather, uterine [same mother] brother, husband, wife, daughter, daughter of the son; sister by the same father and mother; half-sister on the father’s side; uterine sister; mother, and grandmother.12 To this list must be added the major figures covered by traditional law: the son, the full brother, the paternal uncle, and the nephew. We have given a detailed summary of the Mappila inheritance tradition and practice to make the point that in certain key personal areas the formal Islamic cultural stream dominates the Mappila behavioral pattern.

The Question of Special Bequests and Wills In view of the fact that heirs are clearly defined in Muslim law there seems to be little room for special bequests and hence little need for a will. However, Muslim scholars point out that the Qurʾān actually allows for that possibility. The guiding passage is 2:180 which says: “It is prescribed for you, when one of you approacheth death, if he leave wealth, that he bequeath unto parents and near relatives in kindness.” On the basis of this single citation C. N. Ahmed Moulavi endorses the advantage of drawing up a will, particularly for those who have financial means and wish to make special bequests.13 Jurists considered how this Quranic provision could be handled without doing violence to the other arrangements set down for the distribution of

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an inheritance. They concluded that the maximum an individual may distribute through a bequest is one-third of his or her wealth, after the payment of funeral expenses, mortgages, and debts.

The Marumakkathāyam or Matrilineal Tradition The most common among the translations of the Malayalam term marumakkathāyam are “female line,” “mother right,” or simply “matrilineal inheritance.” The term embraces a kinship relation, a property inheritance pattern and a living arrangement. A Mappila scholar describes it as his community’s “most significant adaptation of Hindu social custom.”14 It is noteworthy that among major Muslim societies in the world only the Minangkabau Muslims of Sumatra and the Tuareg Muslims of the inner Sahara region share the practice. Among Mappilas themselves the practice has a “here and there” quality being largely confined to the North Malabar and Calicut areas with pockets elsewhere.15 It also reflects a “now and then” quality, having been more prominent in the past than in the present. Both orthodox disapproval and some modern legal developments have made severe inroads on the custom. We begin our summary of the practice with the joint family living arrangement. It is the practice whereby the eldest female and certain descendants live together in a large sprawling home called a tarawād. Although this provision is not essential to the matrilineal idea, it was coupled with the system in Malayalam society.

The Tarawād or Ancestral Home 16 The concept of a kinship unit whose property cannot be divided was well-known in Hindu society in Kerala. In the case of the Nambutiri Brahmins, a powerful social group, such a unit was called an illam. It was sustained by the fact that only the eldest son could marry and only he inherited the property. The eldest son and the male line lived together in the illam and shared the undivided property. This was the patrilineal or makkathāyam system. The matrilineal approach based on the female line entered Mappila society by another route, the conversion of some members of the Nayar (Nair) caste. The Nayars, an important group in Malayalam society, observed the matrilineal approach. Primarily known as a warrior group, among them there were also many chiefs and subchiefs who were large landowners; their kinship living unit was called

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a tarawād, which originally signified a “foundation” or upper-class home. A tarawad-type habitation held a joint family living together, all of its members being the direct descendants of the eldest sister. In addition to this sister-mother, the direct descendants living in the tarawād included her own children, the children of her daughters, her own brothers and sisters, her sister’s children, and her sister’s grandchildren born of daughters. The husband lives elsewhere in his own tarawād and goes to his wife’s to see her.

Matrilineal Property and Inheritance The tarawād property is held jointly by all members of the household, each one receiving maintenance from it. However, the respective members cannot take or sell their portions. The female members of the tarawād pass on their permanent interest in the female line, from daughter to daughter. This mode of inheritance, in its Malayali form, appears to have been made necessary by the very informal marriage arrangements that prevailed for centuries, making it difficult to identify exactly who was the male parent. The practice called sambandhum (“joining”) allowed a Nayar woman to have several alliances at will. A Nayar man, in turn, could relate to several women. A Brahmin male also had the right to visit a Nayar female. This combination of polyandry and polygamy made the matrilineal approach essential to ensure the true bloodline.17 The position of males in the pure marumakkathāyam system is not a favorable one. First of all, brothers living in the tarawād did not have a permanent claim on its property but only a lifetime right. Their children’s inheritance was through their mother’s tarawad. A man retained the right to his earnings during his lifetime, but if he did not dispose of them they accrued to the tarawad. One male who did have a position of authority was called the karnavan or karnavar (pl.), the oldest male member living in the house. It was his task to oversee the administration of the complex property matters of the tarawad, possessing absolute managerial authority except for land sales. This led to the possibility of corruption, which has now been checked by legal reforms.18

Life in the Matrilineal Home Imagine a huge multi-storied house with many small dark rooms and labyrinthine passages occupied by a variety of relatives and you have a picture of tarawād living. With as many as two hundred

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residents, social pressures of various kinds are inevitable. To relieve them the tradition allowed for a kind of partition—when the tarawād became over-populated, it could sub­ divide into branches with the senior resident woman becoming its head. Nevertheless, that has not been sufficient to assuage widespread dissatisfaction among members and modern criticism of the system. It focused on the position of the karnavan, but also reflected the desire of members who wanted their own share of the property in order to establish an independent home and nuclear family life. The demands for change led to the Nair Acts of 1912 and 1925 in Travancore, 1920 and 1938 in Cochin, and 1933 in Malabar; the Act allowed members of a tarawād to request individual partition, made the wife and children legal heirs of the husband-father, and outlawed polygamy. The reforms brought major modifications into the Hindu marumakkathāyam system as it was classically known.

The Mappila Muslim Involvement with Marumakkathāyam The involvement of some Mappilas in the matrilineal approach, as we have noted above, probably originated in the conversion of scattered members of the Nayar community, especially in North Malabar. This conversion process took place frequently in the 1700s in the days of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan, but it began earlier. We have already noted the prominent example of the ruling Arakkal House of Kannur (cf. Appendix B).19 In 1955 D’Souza even suggested that “almost all sections of Moplahs in North Malabar have the mother-right social organization and especially among the richer sections the husband resides in the wife’s tharavad.”20 Because the Nayar movement into Islam was always a limited one, however, the percentage of Mappilas observing the practice of marumakkathāyam may never have been as high as this estimate, and many did not follow it in its pure form. There were always modifying influences from the Islamic tradition among those Mappilas who did observe the custom of marumakkathāyam. The first of these resulted in the joining of the traditional partilineal inheritance principle with the practice of common living based on the matrilineal ideal. This is known as the matrilocal approach. The second influence was the inclination toward a closer family style. This desire was partially satisfied by another alternative that allowed a husband to live in his wife’s tarawād. The choice of opting out of the system entirely to set up a separate home meant that the wife would forfeit her tarawād equity. A third influence stemmed from traditional Muslim marriage restrictions. The children of sisters

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cannot marry, but the marriage of the children of two brothers or a sister and brother across two tarawāds is permitted. It may also be noted that there are distinctions of status in Mappila tarawāds. A woman may not marry into a lower group, although a male may do so. As to self-acquired property of an individual, that property becomes subject to the patrilineal Islamic system of inheritance.21 The critique of the matrilineal system from within the Mappila community has gone on for over a century. It came as early as Sayyid S. Makti Tangal (d. 1912) who wrote an Arabic–Malayalam tract against the practice. He was later joined by Wakkom Maulavi, writing in his journal, the Deepika, and others. Some of the criticisms resembled those raised by the Nayars themselves, including objection to the role of the karnavar. In the end, two Madras Presidency Acts dealt with the unique Mappila situation. The Mappila Succession Act of 1918 ensured that self-acquired wealth could be passed on according to Islamic inheritance laws, as noted above, while the Mappila Marumakkathayam Act of 1939 permitted the division of a joint family estate.22 The criticisms had effect and a steady reduction in the practice of Marumakkathāyam could be observed. Shortly thereafter, in 1950, Adrian Mayer noted that only a handful of wealthy Mappila family tarawads in Kottayam taluk (sub-district) in North Malabar, remained undivided.23 In 1961 Kathleen Gough observed:24 “The general trend among Mappilas as among Nayars and Tiyyars has been a general disintegration of matrilinear groups, implied with the emergence of the elementary family as a residential and economic unity.” That trend has continued in the succeeding decades, but has not eliminated the practice entirely, especially in its matrilocal forms. A significant example of that form is to be found in the important Mappila enclave of Kuttichira in Calicut. It features a series of large tarawāds that combine matrilocal living with patrilineal inheritance, the latter however excluding the home, which remains common property. The husband in this case may reside in his wife’s tarawād and contributes to the maintenance of his wife and children. Barbara Riedel, a scholar of modern Muslim society, has noted the extremely crowded conditions of the large sixty-member Kuttichira tarawād that she examined. Many of the rooms were quite gloomy. It was filled with women and children, males being conspicuous by their absence. She notes that a husband and father will frequently try to remove his family from this restricted environment as soon as finances permit. Those who must remain do so with some discontent, but at the same time they maintain pride in their tarawād tradition.25 It is that

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sense of participatory pride that will likely ensure the continuation of marumakkathāyam among at least some Mappilas in the foreseeable future. Out of that experience have emerged values related to femaleoriented leadership within a traditionally patriarchal society and skill in the art of cooperative living in close collectives. Both constitute special contributions to Mappila culture.

9

Aspects of Personal Behavior

In a Muslim society both the community (umma) and the family hold a central place. What is left for the individual? Do individual persons and their rights disappear from view? This is not the case since there is another pressure that plays on Muslims and that is the fact of their individual moral responsibility. It is a fundamental belief in Islam that each person is responsible before God for his or her actions. In the final judgment everyone will appear before God and will have “only that for which he taketh effort” (53:39). This reality establishes the importance of personal behavior and its free exercise creates a balance among individuals, family, and community. In this light the Mappila community cannot be regarded as a kind of hereditary caste with a tight set of rules governing personal behavior. Muslim culture does provide Mappilas with a calendar-governed rhythm of ritual duties, which we will consider in the next chapter, but Muslim law does not try to control the details of a person’s life. They are considered to be neutral and indifferent (mubah) or permissible (halāl). You can choose any kind of toothpaste that you wish, and you can vote for any party that you prefer. Personal habits may differ and there are many behavioral styles among Mappilas. Nevertheless, in the overall Mappila way of life there are also habitual elements that are more or less common to all. When taken together they form a pattern of personal culture that is fairly consistent despite the individual highlights and shadows. In this chapter we will take up characteristic Mappila personal behavior in regard to occupations, dress, food, cleanliness and sanitation, amusements, and heroes. We will also take up common tabus related to stimulants and sexual behavior outside of marriage. We begin with Mappila occupations.

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Mappila Occupations Mappila occupations have been influenced by four factors that narrowed the range of job opportunities. The most obvious one was the lack of education that precluded professional training and employment. An occasional Mappila broke through that impasse, and the achievement was duly celebrated, but it was not until the contemporary educational revolution that Mappilas could move with strength into the intellectual fields. The second and related factor was the governmental tendency to appoint only a relatively low percentage of Muslims to its educational force. This all-India phenomenon has often been noted and statistically demonstrated.1 In Kerala also the problem was present. Two decades ago the Muslim percentage of employees in the state government services was only 5.25, in contrast to the 21.25 Muslim percentage in the total population.2 The same disparity could be observed in municipal and panchayat appointments, as well as in government-controlled industries and government-aided companies. The fault may be partly laid at the door of the Mappila community itself that failed to take up even the 12 percent of posts reserved for them in government services. The third restraining factor was the old land tenure system that prevented Mappilas from becoming privileged landowners. The Malabar land tenure system was undoubtedly one of the most complex in the world with a stratification that effectively preserved land control in the Hindu community.3 The ultimate owner, the traditional jenmi, possessed the land by hereditary rights. The jenmis passed on the actual agricultural operations to two intermediate levels of managers (kanumdār and verumpattamdār), who in turn could employ tenants and landless laborers to do the actual cultivation. Mappilas, with few exceptions, only entered the picture at the last level. The final restraining factor on employment was that many fields of artisanship, ranging from pottery-making to metalwork were controlled by Hindu craft guilds or castes. With these restraints affecting them, many Mappilas naturally turned to their original calling, the life of business. Expertise in commerce belonged to their tradition, especially in the coastal areas, and they utilized it in every way possible. The Portuguese and other colonial powers may have displaced the Mappila trading monopoly but not the Mappila trading instincts. They are fully visible today. Large Mappila-conducted businesses, especially import-export firms, are thriving, and many members of the Mappila community are in their employ. Current Mappila Gulf involvement provides a further

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impetus and resource for commercial activities. From this higher level of commerce the tilt to business vocations also moved downward to the “petty trader” level of activity. By this we refer to the small shops that line the streets and roads of the towns and villages, many of them family-owned and operated. While commercial activities provided some occupational options, the mass of ordinary Mappilas were left with the vocations that called for hard physical labor. In describing that fact, the Muslim Service Society said: “A vast majority of Muslim men and women eke out their livelihood by manual and physical labor, working for others.”4 Mappilas took on many of the demanding physical tasks that general society required. They became famed for their ability to engage in hard sustained work, despite garnering low wages, and despite a poor diet and long hours. In their perseverance was born the legend of “the muscular Mappila”—strong, tireless, and loyal to employers. It is he who often handles the rough plow behind the water buffalo in the muddy rice field; it may be his wife who plants the seedlings. It is he who chops the laterite stones out of the solid rock with a simple axe; it may be his wife who carries them on her head at the work site. It is he who pours the hot asphalt on the roads in frenzied effort; it may be his wife who breaks the rocks on the roadside with a small hammer. It is he who pulls and pushes heavy-laden, twowheeled carts through the city streets. And it is he who levers the heavy logs that float down the rivers to mills and ports. The strong, hard-working Mappila is not a legend but a reality.5 Other manual jobs that Mappilas take require dexterity and tenacity rather than great strength. The coir workers labor long hours twisting coconut fibers into rope. The beedi workers who used to gather on verandas in groups of eight or ten, rolling tobacco into dry leaves, many of them coughing endlessly with the tuberculosis that was their occupational hazard, are now a passing tradition. Social progress has almost eliminated this sad vocation. The tailors hunched over their manually operated machines toil away at producing garments for their customers. The auto rickshaw drivers receive a pittance as they move about in search of fares, trying to maintain their vehicles as well as their families. And in the “hotels” the myriad restaurant workers pursue their calling. These ordinary jobs require not only tenacity, but the willingness to work hard for low wages. The fisherfolk combine the primary vocational characteristics of strength, skill, and determination. They are the Mukkuvars, the seafarers, whose occupation goes back to the earliest times. While in the south and central regions of the state many adopted Christianity, in

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the northern region the bulk of fisherfolk became Muslim. It is likely that they were among the first Mappilas. In dhows made by hand in places like Beypore the trading sailors made their way across the high seas to Arabia. The fisherfolk stayed closer home. In their long boats made of local woods that carried a crew of five to eight they ventured out fifteen kilometers or more in search of mackerel and sole, seer and pomfret, sardines and shrimp, and many other kinds of fish. They continue to do so today, now with the help of motors. The large-scale motorized fishing fleets threaten their vocation, but they have not yet replaced it. Both the factors of physical strength and skill are apparent when the fishermen launch their boats into the waves and bring them to shore again on the swell of the tide. Once out to sea, the same qualities are required in the handling of the large nylon nets. With patience and determination they carry out their specialized and dangerous task, adding their own version of two other important characteristics to the profile of the Mappila worker. The first is their natural acumen. Speaking of the Tanur fisherfolk, P. R. G. Mathur observes that though many are illiterate, who could claim to match their expertise “in detecting fish shoals  .  .  .  knowledge of fish species, their food and breeding seasons, and migration patterns?”6 The second is their spirit of cooperation. This applies not only to the actual fishing but also to the preparation for it. “. . . Particularly at times of crisis, whether it be life or economy . . . [their] cooperative spirit is the striking characteristic and feature of the Mappila fisherfolk  .  .  .  The implements that constitute the capital are owned collectively as well as individually.”7 Cooperation is needed especially during the hard days of the heavy monsoons when they have no income and must live on loans. Within the fishing boat, the long hours of togetherness between tropical sun and threatening wave have nurtured a Mappila subculture with its own dialect and customs that we will refer to at length in our discussion of saints and superstition. We have said that the lack of education blocked Mappilas from taking up professional callings. The main exception was the teaching vocation. That role was in the Mappila blood through the instructional programs in mosque and madrasa. It is true that for centuries this was not professionally qualified teaching. At an early stage in their regime, however, the British tried to introduce such training, and some Mappilas entered the teaching ranks. When the tide of modern elementary education swept over the Mappila community, many young Mappilas enrolled in teacher training schools, obtained their certification, and serviced the new government secular schools and the Mappila management schools that sprang up everywhere.8 They

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too worked for low pay, and became the natural target of communist propaganda. At the same time, through their teachers’ unions, they were a channel for the groundbreaking social changes that helped to alter the wider course of Mappila culture. Similarly, we cannot fail to mention the category of religious workers that provides employment for many Mappila males. There is no accurate count of the number of religious workers, but extrapolating from the number of mosques and madrasas the figure reaches many thousands. As many Irish Catholic families took pride in sending one of their sons into the priesthood, so many Mappila families are represented in the ranks of the religious workers. All these vocations carry over to the present day. However, the Great Transition in Mappila culture and the movement of the times have opened up new occupational careers for Mappilas. In some areas they are still playing catch-up, but the movement is well in progress and is most visible in such professional fields as engineering and technology, management, and the medical sphere. The latter has attracted much attention. In the Islamic cultural tradition medicine has always been an important profession. More and more Mappila males were successful in gaining admission to Kerala’s medical colleges, but the reluctance of Muslim women to be medically treated by males also provided an open door and a challenge to Mappila women. They responded and, as a result, there is now a surprisingly high number of Mappila female doctors, whose achievement has become a model for Muslim women in general. In summary, Mappila occupations now range across the spectrum of labor, skilled and unskilled, and the community is gradually moving toward a vocational equilibrium in Malayalam society. The industrialization of society has greatly broadened vocational opportunities, and Mappilas are not backward in taking advantage of them. Nevertheless, the Mappila unemployment rate is still unacceptably high.

Mappila Dress and Ornamentation Nothing more clearly illustrates the “now and then” nature of Mappila culture than the community’s dress and ornamentation habits. A chronicler of Mappila culture, C. K. Kareem makes this general comment in his Gazeteer report on Malappuram District:9 With the disappearance of the old social and economic order, new patterns in the mode of dress, ornaments and matrimonial alliances is taking place . . . Thus the district

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is also under the influence of the new progressive waves that sweep over Kerala. We add the observation that the new and old go on side by side. The old will eventually give way, since it is especially associated with the senior age group. Clergy play a continuing role with conservative elements favoring the traditional dress code, while regional factors are also present since interior areas are less subject to change.

Female Dress The traditional Mappila female costume is very distinctive, the woman wearing a combination of the mundu and kuppai. The mundu is a rectangular piece of cloth about two meters long that is wrapped around the waist and held up by a silver belt. The mundu may be of any color but is usually white or black, and is bordered with a blending stripe—blue, green, black, or gold. The mundu falls to the ankles. A blouse or kuppai is tight-fitting to the neck and fully sleeved. It is sewn in a unique fashion from four squares of cloth, with some decorative material at the neck. The long sleeves are considered a critical factor in the old tradition. A Mappila informant reports that her insistence on wearing short sleeves was instrumental in her failure to receive a marriage proposal until the age of nineteen. The head covering is a distinguishing mark. A white or green headscarf is thrown over the head and then folded back on itself, covering the hair but not the face, and falling loosely over the shoulder. Sandals are worn on the feet. There are two current trends in favor of modern Malayali dress. The first is the adoption of the sari-blouse combination, a movement now very common among professional women. The adoption of short sleeves for the blouse has also advanced. In this costume the sari is used to cover the head. The second form of modern dress is called the chowildar or “Panjabi” and is now very popular among younger women and students. It is a combination of pants, a shirt that goes from the neck to the knees, and a scarf that serves both for decoration and as a head covering. Both saris and chowildars may be of any color. In recent times Gulf influence through migrant workers has had some effect on female dress, including the use of a head covering that completely cloaks the hair and shoulders leaving only the face visible. Here, too, fashion is a controlling factor since the colors of the head covering may change. Supplementing this development, some women “now don a long black robe and scarf, which they call a ‘purdah’

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gown, over their beautiful and colorful saris and chowildars when they go out in public.”10 The practice is most common among women who have made the pilgrimage to Mecca because they have identified this form as religiously correct. “One such very progressive woman told me that she insists on this semi-purdah over the objections of her husband because it makes her feel closer to Allah.”11 Dress customs in the home vary from those followed in public. For reasons of comfort some women prefer to wear a long loose garment in their home. A head covering is not required except when visitors are present, but some older women occasionally retain it. There is no special nightdress, a mundu-shirt ensemble or a sari meeting that need. At least annually, in connection with a major festival such as Bakr ʿĪd, they will obtain new clothing. On that occasion the markets are a buzz of excitement as groups of women move from shop to shop. The dress of young girls before puberty is simple, consisting of a skirt and a buttoned shirt or blouse, with a small colored cloth thrown over the head when the child goes to the madrasa or into the streets.

Male Dress Mappila male dress is virtually indistinguishable from the general Malayali costume. The common apparel of trousers and shirt is worn by office staff and professional workers. Those engaged in physical labor prefer the mundu. A meter longer than that worn by females, it also hangs down to the ankles, but in the case of men it is hitched up to knee height when walking or working. The mundu is usually white; when made of plaid or checkered cloth it may be called a lungi, originally a Persian term. Whether mundu or lungi, it is tied at the waist on the left side thus distinguishing its wearer from non-Muslim Malayalis who tie on the right. The stated reason is for sanitary ease. A shirt covers the upper half of the body, hanging outside the mundu. It is ordinarily white, but designs and colors are becoming more common. In the evening trousered men will often change to a mundu for relaxation. It is not the type of clothing but its quality that differentiates the dress of the poor from that of the rich. The cloth of the poor is cheap cotton or khadi (homespun) material, while those who are better off may dress in polyester or fine cotton. While ready-made shirts are available, it is still quite customary for men to buy the cloth and have the shirt made up by a tailor. Those who perform physical labor often wear a turban as a head covering. It is a single white cloth, folded and tucked in, with the ends hanging down the neck. In earlier times

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some Mappila males wore a small white embroidered skull cap made of light canvas, the best ones sewn by Kannur women.12 These can still be seen occasionally, but most Mappila males today do not use any head covering and will resort to an umbrella if protection is needed. Sandals called chappals are the common footwear. They are cheaper than shoes and can be easily removed and left at the door. Shoes, however, are not uncommon. Mappila boys wear simple clothing, a combination of a shirt and short pants. As with female clothing, families will try to provide at least one new outfit at an annual festival. If the motif of Mappila women’s dress is distinctiveness, in the case of males it is blending. The Mappila women’s distinctiveness is visible also in their ornamentation.

Ornamentation and Hairstyle Mappila women affirm that they wear ornaments for decorative reasons, as a form of wealth reserve, and to show status. The most visible traditional decorations of Mappila women are the earrings. Formerly, at an early age, a woman might have six to twelve holes bored in the helix and lobe of the ear. The celebration that accompanies the event is called the kuthukuthukaliyānum (the “piercing-piercing ceremony”), and visiting ladies sing and clap their hands.13 Traditionally, a barber, but now more commonly a doctor, does the ear-piercing. Later gold, silver, or gilt brass rings are placed in the holes, all together making up a considerable weight. Modern women, considering the disfigurement that results, prefer a single gold earring. Women customarily possess a gold or silver necklace, but it is not always actually worn. Together with gold and silver bracelets the necklace serves as a way of preserving the woman’s mahr, as well as constituting a monetary reserve for the family. Some women also wear beads and anklets. The silver belt that holds the mundu in place is another visible decoration. Its manufacture is costly, and its construction ornate and heavy, and for these reasons the practice is now confined to older women. The wealthier the woman, the heavier the belt. A round cylindrical amulet containing Quranic material may also be attached to the silver belt. Another form of ornamentation is palm staining with henna. Henna is a shrub (Mal. mailanji)14 whose leaves produce a reddishorange dye. Imported from Mumbai or Bangalore, henna powder is mixed with eucalyptus oil and sugar-free black tea and is then sold to Mappila women for use on special occasions. The dye is applied to the palm of the hand in any one of many possible designs, is kept overnight and fixed by a morning wash. To remove it later, the

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hand must be dipped in curds on successive days.15 The practice of applying henna is considered sunnat or desirable for both marriages and festivals. Henna stains may also be used for fingernails. The use of fingernail polish is considered forbidden by some because it prevents water from coming into contact with the nails when washing up for prayer. Perfumes and cosmetics are commonly used. Hair ornaments—as one Mappila woman vividly put it—are “useless” because the head is covered. As a result there are no specific female Mappila hairstyles. Hairstyle, however, is one form of ornamentation to which Mappila males can lay claim. Except for a finger ring Mappila men do not wear decorations. The male manner of hair-dressing is significant. Earlier we have cited it as an example of Mappila change. The shaving of the head may never have been universal, but for centuries it was the dominant visible mark of the Mappila male. As late as fifty years ago it was still very commonplace. Now it is an unusual sight, and is largely confined to elderly men. The change reflects modern standards of Malayali social respectability and Mappilas welcome it. It reminds Muslims, some say, that Muslim identification lies in the quality of an individual’s piety rather than in external appearance. The same considerations also apply to the occasional practice of wearing a short beard. The vast majority of Mappila men prefer to be clean-shaven. Some older members of the community and religious workers follow the custom. The beard may be dyed red in the belief that the Prophet Muhammad’s beard was that color. Some effort has been made to promote the idea that being bearded is more genuinely Islamic than being clean-shaven, but few have accepted the argument. In 1985 the Kerala High Court denied a petition by a head constable named T. A. Muhammad Fasi who pleaded for permission to grow a beard, a practice forbidden by his occupation. He argued that shaving is un-Quranic and un-Islamic. The petition was dismissed, the judge declaring: “The practice of growing a beard and dyeing the hair could only be treated as optional and not obligatory among Muslims.”16 The judgment reflected the Mappila community’s general view. Neither through dress or hairstyle is it possible to distinguish modern Mappila men from other Malayali males.

Mappila Food Like Malayali food in general, Mappila food is rice-based and includes the generous use of coconut products and the spices for which Kerala is famous. At the same time, it also has a distinctiveness all its own,

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and there are special dishes for high occasions like marriages and festivals.

Food Consumption Mappilas have their meals thrice daily. The time for their consumption varies from family to family, according to convenience. No matter when that may be, every Mappila housewife must begin her work right after the early morning prayer. The breakfast is eaten somewhere between 7:30 and 9:00, the lunch between 12:00 and 1:30, and the evening meal from 8:00 to 9:30. Tea early in the morning and late afternoon is appreciated, but is not always possible. At meals the men and boys in the family will traditionally eat first, followed by the women and the girls, but in progressive homes men and women may eat together. The main meal is consumed at noon, the everyday food being rice with some sort of curry. If his place of work is distant from his home, the husband usually takes his meal at a restaurant called a “hotel.” The children who go to all-day schools must take their lunches with them. A typical Mappila food day would include pathiri (see below) for breakfast, rice and fish curry or a paratha for the noon meal, and any one of these or leftovers for supper. Following the habit of Malayalis, Mappilas will eat with their right hand, although some basic utensils are now available in most homes. Inexpensive dishes are made from porcelain or aluminum, but every Mappila woman prefers stainless steel if the family can afford it. For festival meals traditional plantain leaves are used instead of plates, and it is quite customary for guests to be seated on coconut mats on the floor if there is insufficient table space. Glass tumblers are commonly used for drinks. It is obvious that a family’s economic condition determines the amount and quality of the food—the poor cannot serve many dishes aside from the rice, and to compensate for that fact there is a tendency to use more hot spices, especially chilies. If an excessive amount of food has been cooked, the balance is normally kept for re-use, but it may also be given to the needy. It is considered bad manners to utilize any balance (bāqi) that may be left on someone’s plate or leaf. The ever-present goat is happy and willing to help out with such a problem!

Types of Food Although rice is the staple food, in the last half century, after initial objections, Malayalis in general have accepted imported wheat as

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an alternative to it. The wheat appears as a white flour (maida), as whole-wheat flour, and as a fine semolina flour. A third basic food is called “tapioca” (marachini), but it is really the cassava tuber that is often raised in plots next to banana groves.17 It is the cheapest food, and in low-income homes it supplements rice and wheat as the family staple. Fruits and vegetables are readily available, but their dietary value is not always fully appreciated, and some appear more regularly than others in the cuisine. Of the locally grown vegetables, beans and lentils, drumsticks (okra), and gourd-like lady-fingers, are commonly used in curries with plenty of onions. Other vegetables that can be purchased in the weekly markets include gourds, pumpkins, brinjals, and cucumbers. Potatoes, tomatoes, cabbages, and carrots have made their way into the food chain. The main spices are pepper, chilies, cardamom, cinnamon, and ginger, but many others like tamarind and turmeric are in use. Garlic is an important savory. Of the fruits, coconuts and bananas dominate the scene, with mangos not far behind. Coconut oil, coconut milk, and the copra itself are crucial ingredients in Mappila food preparation. Among the large variety of bananas is the nendra, which is widely used in fried form and in curries. There is a huge variety of mangos. Oranges and lemons too are common, and they, with mangos, are used in chutney preparation. A papaya tree is routinely found next to a Mappila village home. The great jackfruit tree produces fruit out of its trunk, weighing up to ten kilograms; it is used for making halva, the primary Mappila sweet. Dates and figs have been part of the Arab trade from early times, and they continue to be imported and consumed. The teeming fish markets are one of the distinctive sights in coastal areas, and fish are a common component in the diet. Many Mappilas prefer fish over meat, which is permitted18 for Muslims. The cost factor is a deterrent to the regular consumption of both meat and eggs. When Mappilas can afford meat, mutton or chicken is the preferred dish. The combination of chicken and rice is often served to honored guests in a home. Water is the ordinary liquid that is consumed at meals, although some homes are able to have milk for their children. Kanji water, the water in which the rice porridge is cooked, is drunk; jeeraka water is similar, but it has cumin seed and turmeric added. The highly esteemed natural drink is the tender coconut that is filled with sweet and refreshing juice, and is always safe. It is the common refreshment of travelers who make their way up and down the state. Tea and coffee are prepared in the home, as well as in the omnipresent “­teashops.”

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Tea is preferred by many, but coffee is also readily consumed; both have a local source in the state’s tea and coffee plantations. For Mappilas, pork and non-halāl meat are prohibited foods. The term halāl or “permitted” refers to the practice of reciting the bismilla at the same time as the animal is slaughtered, in the process observing the qibla, the direction towards Mecca.

Food Preparation The art of Mappila cooking has been to combine a few staples such as rice and coconut products in different ways to bring about different results. Mrs. Ummi Abclulla in her admirable study, Malabar Muslim Cookery,19 lists 143 recipes, many of which illustrate this point. Among the unique Mappila preparations are included the following: • Pathiri is the Mappila food par excellence. It is a very thin pancake made from a combination of rice flour and coconut milk. It is usually served for breakfast. • Paratha is a thick baked pancake made from whole-wheat flour and ghee (clarified butter). Sometimes an egg is added. Paratha is common in the Deccan area but the Mappila form has its own character. It may be eaten for the noon meal instead of rice. • Neichoru is a fried rice made from pulao rice with onions, cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom, and is eaten with meat curry. It is a special food served to guests. • Biriyāni is the ultimate festival food and is often served at weddings to big crowds. Its preparation is a very laborious process. The basic ingredients are pulao rice with onions, garlic, ginger, chilies, poppy seeds, coriander leaves, mint leaves, lime, cashew nuts, and raisins, all combined with mutton or chicken and cooked together in several stages, finally in a heavy vessel over high heat. The Mappila biriyāni is a variation of the North Indian Mughul pilau, in which the ingrédients are cooked separately.20 In addition to halva there are also other special Mappila sweets made in the home, including mutta mala, sweetened egg-yolk strings or garlands. Some older preparations like panchasārapattu, a sweet pancake, are known only to grandmothers.

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The cooking stove in most Mappila kitchens is built of brick or clay and is intended for firewood. It has an open surface at a low level, and the cook must contend with smoke. Even in wooded Kerala there is an increasing scarcity of firewood, and in any event, in the monsoon season it is very wet and difficult to handle. As a result gas or kerosene stoves are coming into fashion. Aluminum vessels are utilized for cooking and boiling, while earthen vessels are used for preparing sauces. In the home the women will ordinarily do the cooking; the mother is in charge, and a daughter, daughter-in-law, and/or servant woman will help. If the mother is alone or falls sick, the husband and neighbors will take on some or all of the load.

Cleanliness, Pollution, and Sanitation Malayalam culture places great stress on personal cleanliness, linking it with hygienic concerns and religious commands. Only in the modern period has it given the same emphasis to sanitation and environmental cleanliness. Mappilas are now striving to reach higher standards in both areas of deficiency, and considerable progress has been attained.

Personal Cleanliness and Ritual Washing In regard to personal cleanliness, hand washing before taking food is routine. Where there is no tap or washroom available, a pail of water is kept beside the veranda steps together with a dipper for pouring, and soap and a towel are provided. After the meal hands are washed again and the mouth is thoroughly rinsed, usually with vocal effects! Teeth are always brushed in the morning. The toothbrush and toothpaste are in common use, but old-fashioned people may prefer the traditional charcoal powder and salt combination. The teeth may also be brushed after the chewing of betel nut. Bathing is essential to Malayali personal cleanliness. Given the nature of the region’s hot and humid climate it is a necessity, but its importance is also increased through religious influence. Hindu culture is represented by the statement: “The bath as an act of purification is a necessary preliminary to every religious performance.”21 Christians commonly assert that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” In the Muslim Hadīth the phrase “religion is built on cleanliness” may be found more than once. Thus, not only physical necessity and cultural habit but concepts of ritual cleanliness in all segments of

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Malayali society bolster the emphasis on bathing. Mappila men do so twice daily, in the early morning and evening. They bathe in the bathroom of their home if there is one, otherwise near the well. If there is a bathroom but without running water, it will usually have a water reservoir that is filled manually. In the case of women, they will use a private bathroom, or bathe beside their well, or go to a river or pond. They may have the opportunity for only a single bath daily. Both males and females may apply coconut oil as part of the bath, usually weekly. For Mappilas the requirements of ritual cleanliness have to do with two factors: the preparation for prayer and the elimination of pollution. The former is called wuduʾ and may be described as follows:22 Washing the hands to the wrist thrice, reciting one’s intention; rinsing the mouth thrice; washing the face; washing the hands to the elbows thrice, the water running to the elbow; passing damp hands over the whole head; rubbing wet fingers in the ears, behind the ears and through the beard; rubbing wet fingers of one hand between the fingers of the other; washing the feet, wet fingers between the toes. This purification must be repeated before the next prayer if pollution occurs in the meantime. The polluting acts that call for its repetition include: bodily evacuations and discharges, sleeping or fainting, and touching the skin of husband or wife. There is also a ritually required full bath (ghusl) that must be carried out in the event of a more serious pollution. Actions that fall into that polluting category include sexual intercourse, childbirth, menstruation, the handling of dead bodies, and the touching of a dog’s saliva. A postnatal woman is in the state of pollution for forty days, and a menstruating woman from three to ten days. A full bath is also required for special religious events including the weekly congregational prayer and the two major festivals.

Sanitation Social problems in the area of sanitation were rife among Mappilas. The relationship between sanitary cleanliness and disease was not well-understood by the uneducated. For centuries the poor, and even the middle class, made little effort to meet sanitary needs. As interior plumbing developed, its strange and costly nature made it exotic. The sweeper system that existed in the cities was inadequate for their

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needs. In the countryside there was little space in the small houses for plumbing, even if the need was felt, the solution was understood, and the finances were available. Nor was there much effort exerted to provide outside facilities. Residents relieved themselves in shady spots or at nearby walls or beside canals or the seaside. It was a recognized “danger” for people to walk too closely to walls, even the walls on busy streets. Open drains contributed to the problems. Germ-bearing flies and malarial mosquitos found natural breeding grounds. Clean water supply in turn was threatened by run-offs. The situation was catastrophic for health care, with diseases from hookworm to cholera being a common result. A century ago C. A. Innes wrote: “Sanitation in the true sense of the term may be said to be non-existent in Malabar.”23 Conditions did not greatly improve in the next half-century. It was after Independence that the need for improved public and private sanitation began to receive more concentrated attention. As education increased people began to understand the issues. A wider basic recognition of the germ concept took hold. Government health schemes included sanitation projects and more and more lavatories made their appearances in homes. Public facilities in crowded areas were sponsored by municipalities. Private agencies assisted in developing programs for the poor.24 There was also a general rise in social consciousness with reference to untidiness and littering. Mappilas returning from abroad brought back with them a new appreciation for environmental cleanliness that had a modelling impact. From a Mappila health song we quote this line:25 “Absent-mindedness spreads many diseases; if alive to cleanliness, your ease increases!” Mappilas are no longer absent-minded on the subject of sanitation. It is now a major concern in the society, although it is still a work in progress.

Tabus: Stimulants and Extramarital Behavior Stimulants A debated aspect of Mappila personal behavior and amusement relates to the question of stimulants that may be used or consumed. There is no argument about the use of betel in the practice of chewing. It is a custom that is common throughout Asia. The packet,

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which is placed in the mouth and chewed, includes the betel nut, the betel leaf, a bit of tobacco, and a touch of shell lime (chunam). The betel nut is the nut of the areca tree, which is also called the betel palm tree. The betel leaf is from the betel pepper vine, which is often grown on the areca tree itself. For chewing, the leaf is wrapped around a piece of the betel nut and the other ingredients. The process produces some stimulation as well as salivation, the saliva taking on a brick-red color. Areca palm and betel pepper cultivation are major Mappila agricultural pursuits. There is mild argument, however, about the smoking of tobacco. Some Mappilas regard it as a health hazard, while others of a puritan bent consider it to be forbidden. Nevertheless, a large number of Mappilas do smoke tobacco routinely. As we have seen, many have been involved in the occupation of beedi-rolling. Far more contentious is the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Islamic law forbids the use of wine and spirits. The prohibition is based on the Qurʾān, which makes it clear that the Prophet Muhammad faced the problem of drunkenness at prayers. The Qurʾān dealt with the issue progressively. At first it recognized value “in the fruit of the date palm and the vine” while putting together “wine and healthy nutriment” (16:67). Then it pointed to the potential for both great sin and some utility in strong drink and games of chance, but said that “the sin is greater than their usefulness” (2:219). Thereafter, it forbade prayer by those who were “drunken” (4:43). Finally it explicitly forbade these practices declaring “avoid them!” and associating them with idolatry and other satanic customs (5:90). Muhammad Qadri, a contemporary jurist, describes the process as “the gradual prohibition against wine-drinking.”26 Muslim jurists agree that prohibition represents the final verdict of the Qurʾān on the consumption of alcohol—it is forbidden. Nevertheless, throughout Muslim history wine-drinking has not been uncommon, and some poets have actually extolled it. This double tradition is also present in Malayalam culture. For centuries the drinking of toddy, a fermented palm juice, has been a common practice. Against this background we come to the Mappila point of view. There is no doubt that the majority of the Muslim community in the state stands firm on the prohibition of alcohol. It is considered a tabu. A few Mappilas are involved in the practice, some simply going along with what they perceive to be modern custom, others reasoning that the prohibition is against intoxication rather than usage. There are also returned migrant workers who in some way became accustomed to the practice while in the Gulf area, and brought the habit back with

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them. While there are few public displays of intoxication, the entire subject is one that has produced great anxiety among Mappilas. By the process of analogy, the use of drugs is likewise forbidden by Islamic law. Drugs are readily available, but few Mappila youth have succumbed to their use, and the practice does not constitute a major community problem. As for “games of chance” we have noted that the Qurʾān couples them with wine-drinking. Thus, gambling is also frowned upon, although it is not entirely absent from the scene.

Forbidden Sexual Behavior For Mappilas sexual behavior takes place within the marriage covenant. Sexual activity outside marriage is a tabu. As in all societies where that tabu exists, it is sometimes broken. Legal Muslim writings therefore deal with various forms of extramarital sexual behavior including concubinage, adultery, prostitution, and homosexuality. Although concubinage was allowed in early Islam where it was linked with slavery, it does not appear as a factor in Mappila culture. Slavery was present in both the forming streams of the culture. In the case of Islam, slavery was a heritage of pre-Islamic society, received attention in the Qurʾān, was regulated by the sharia and practiced widely in medieval times, and continued in some Muslim areas until modern days.27 Within that context, the Qurʾān and the sharia permitted cohabitation with female slaves under narrow conditions. Similarly, slavery was a fact of life in Malayalam culture for centuries, where it was marked by forms of agrarian slavery as well as slave-trading.28 We may therefore wonder whether the Indian slaves seen in the Meccan market in the 1880s may have been from Kerala.29 Yet there is no evidence of direct slave-trade between the Kerala coast and South Arabia involving Mappilas, and as for agrarian slavery Mappilas were not landowners who were associated with that practice. In fact Malabar serfs became Muslims in large numbers, particularly in the nineteenth century, to escape their fate. The fact that Mappilas were not involved in slavery is presumptive evidence that concubinage, even in its allowed form, was not a Mappila community practice. The abolition of slavery in India in 1843 also removed any possible basis for its consideration. Adultery is also a rarity in Mappila society. If defined as an extramarital sexual relation of a husband or wife with another person, the practice is outrightly condemned in the Mappila tradition. The male partner in a marriage has adequate options in the institutions of divorce and polygamy if he is dissatisfied with his spouse.

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If a husband, nevertheless, chooses to engage in adulterous behavior, the wife has little recourse except to bear it silently and to hope that society’s disapproval will have some effect. As to the reverse possibility, it is virtually unknown that a married woman will take the risk of conducting an illicit relationship because the minimal punishment for such behavior is divorce and social ostracism. The position on prostitution and homosexual practice is clear. Prostitution, prohibited though it may be, has never been totally eliminated from any society. Nevertheless, among Mappilas it is quite universally condemned. When it does occur, it tends to be associated with the use of alcoholic beverages. Mappilas are generally alert to the Quranic demand for purity and moral defense. The Qurʾān exhorts: “Come not nigh to shameful deeds whether open or secret” (6:51; Yusuf Ali). The same passage might apply to homosexuality, an everpresent temptation in confined male quarters, but in that regard there is also an explicit prohibition: “If two men among you are guilty of lewdness, punish them” (4:16).30 The scriptural prohibitions are clear, and Mappilas are well aware of them. Mappilas are part of a modernizing Malayalam culture that struggles and gravitates between two poles. One pole, supported by many voices in the religious communities, tends towards puritanism in relationships. The other pole is represented by the scarcely veiled endorsement of freer mores that surfaces in the media. Within the older Malayalam Hindu culture there was a stream of “left-handed” Tantrism which involved the utilization of forbidden elements to achieve the goal of spiritual enlightenment. This also produced the devadasi or temple prostitute tradition. Modern Hindu society has laid aside that tradition, as well as the earlier easy-going marriage practices, and has opted for greater purism in relationships. The Christian community on its part has maintained a firm approach in male-female relations that discourages both adultery and prostitution. In this cultural context the Mappila stress on legal regularity in relationships finds a natural place. The aberrations that do occur are the exception rather than the rule, and they face the umma’s strong disapproval. At the same time the strong movement in the direction of modern habits has its own power, so that conventional behavior in the Mappila community is under pressure. In this regard it is instructive to reflect on Ibn Khaldūn’s criticism of the corrupting tendencies that occur in mature and sedentary cultures. This premier Muslim social historian (1332–1406) regarded sexual irregularity to be the result of luxury, that is, the disposition toward pleasures that takes hold of cultures and leads to their decline.

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He specifically names “the desires of the belly for pleasurable food and drink,” and “the pleasures of sex through various ways of sexual intercourse such as adultery and homosexuality.” Ibn Khaldūn believed that these marks were unfortunately present in the Muslim society of his time and place. Is Mappila culture of today subject to a similar critique? There is little evidence to support that. Despite its fourteen centuries of history Mappila society has not reached the age of “senility” that in Ibn Khaldūn’s opinion sooner or later marks any culture and disposes it to corruption. Since the Mappila transitional development to a new age has just begun after a long period of cultural stasis, it may be suggested that in a way Mappila society is chronologically old but culturally young. Using Ibn Khaldūn’s language, it still reflects the “toughness” of a younger society where behavioral regularity is appreciated.31 Mappila leaders, however, are not unaware of the social dangers that lie ahead—like reefs in a passage they threaten the onward journey of Mappila culture. We have examined some problems in personal behavior, but what are the acceptable pleasures of Mappilas, and who are their heroes and models? That comes next.

Pleasures and Role Models The Pleasure of Relaxation with Friends A Mappila’s greatest enjoyment is his or her friends. Organized recreation and amusement are present in Mappila culture, but are not greatly emphasized. More important is socializing with friends. For that purpose the hours of five to seven in the evening are precious. It is the streets that provide a common meetingplace for males, and they are jammed with people at that time. Many of the men are shopping, but others are simply standing in circles, engaged in lowkey conversation. What is its subject? It matters not. It may be the weather. Why is the monsoon so late? It may be politics. How long will this government last? It may be religion. Are you going to the special meeting tonight? It may be about the price of rice and the cost of living. How can we pull on if they keep climbing? The conversations are quiet, even desultory. It is not so much what is said that is important. It is being alive and well and in the company of a friend that counts. The friendly exchange may take place in someone’s home, where Mappila hospitality comes into the picture. If you are in someone’s

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home, you are treated royally. Everything else is laid aside in the eagerness to receive you and make you comfortable. Personal etiquette comes into play, dictating that you be given the best seat in the house. The family youngsters may shyly come in to see you and greet you. Your friend sits opposite you, and will not cross his legs. He will inquire about your health first, and then your family. His wife will ask whether she could bring a cup of tea. Time is not a consideration. There is a feeling of relaxation, a sense of not having to hurry, of tasting the pleasures that come from being together. The topics of discussion tend to be more personal than they are out on the street. The conversation is natural and honest. Problems can be openly stated, and help is freely offered. Mappila women make friends easily. They do not stand in the streets and engage in casual conversation like men, but rather they will walk together, often shielded by umbrellas. For real visiting they will go to their neighbors’ homes, moving inconspicuously along secluded paths whenever possible. They also appreciate attending the Ramadan night meetings when they can listen to the lectures in groups and experience their togetherness. Mappila women, however, do not restrict their relationships to other Muslim women; they rather easily surmount inter-communal barriers that tend to inhibit males and often form warm friendships with members of other communities. Is it the cementing quality of the motherhood experience that creates a simple bond, or is it their delight in sharing family news that makes this possible?

Avenues for Amusement Go to any coastal city or town in the evening and the sight is astonishing. Thousands of people are on the shore, some watching the sun go down, some enjoying the evening breeze after the heat of the day, many happy for a chance to have an outing with their family. The recreation that Mappilas enjoy most is informal, related to the natural beauties of the area. It is not only the sea that attracts. If there is a hill to climb for the view, some will engage in that activity. Picnics are common. There are public events to which one can come or go. Political meetings and even religious meetings become a form of recreation. The religious festivals provide similar opportunities; this applies especially to the nērchas, which will be considered later. But the striking beauties of Kerala’s natural scenery hold first place, and bus tours are now arranged to see their glory.

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The film and TV media have become important avenues for amusement. Mappilas traditionally shared some of the Middle Eastern Arab-Muslim hesitation over the artistic depiction of forms, although the Malayalam culture context softened the hesitation. In the case of cinema and TV it has all but vanished. Kerala’s huge film industry pours out a variety of productions in a steady pattern, attracting all Malayalis. Crowds of Mappilas attend the cinema. There is a similar attraction to television. In one important town in interior Malabar, when the first TV set arrived, it was the Mappila Chairman of the municipality who unveiled the screen at the perimeter of a field (maidan), surrounded by admirers. The admirers have long since moved into the homes where watching TV has become a passion. The moral level of the media is criticized, but despite the opposition of some religious clerics, they have become an accepted form of relaxation and amusement. In turn, they are also making their own cultural impact on the watchers. Attendance at formal sporting events such as football games attracts mainly Mappila males but unless they are conducted in the daylight hours it is not easy even for them. There is a reluctance to go out at night. The process of getting home in the evening is often tedious. Many people need to take a bus to get near to their house, and then may have to walk several furlongs through rice fields on bunds (earthen dividers), an exercise best done in the daylight. Larger cities can afford lighted stadiums, but even there buses and auto rickshaws are scarce after dusk. Daylight football games, however, are always well attended. In terms of participatory sports, badminton and volleyball are most practical since not much space is needed, and the cost is minimal. Track and field, and to some extent field hockey, hold interest for students. India’s exploits in cricket and tennis are celebrated, but these are the avocations of the few. The recreational elements of Mappila dance and music will be considered in subsequent sections on the Mappila arts.

Role Models and Popular Idols Who are the models for Mappila behavior? Who are the community’s heroes? Whom do Mappilas revere and follow? In answering these questions we must distinguish between enduring behavioral models and popular figures who are here today and gone tomorrow. The primary role models for the Mappilas, not surprisingly, are the great figures from early Islam, particularly the Prophet ­Muhammad.

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Their modeling becomes effective through the agency of madrasa and mosque, although the piety of the home also plays a part. In the mosque the examples of the first Muslims are regularly referred to in the sermons. The life and pattern of the Prophet Muhammad are exhaustively elaborated. He is the authentic human and the quintessential role model for all times. Of the other prophets Ibrahīm is noted for his faith and friendship with God and ʿĪsā is extolled for his ethical model. After Muhammad, however, it is three of his companions who are especially praised, namely ʿAbū Bekr, ʿUmar, and ʿAlī. Khadīja. Ayēsha and Fātima are extolled as female heroines and models. The role of the religious hero-model comes down to the present day in the reverence bestowed upon some saintly figures who are believed to possess the quality of nearness to God. However, for Mappilas today a shift has taken place from that category to a greater appreciation for the community hero, that is, a person who has been instrumental in leading Mappilas out of the social wilderness to a better life. The prime example is K. M. Seethi Sahib (1898–1960), who is still revered for his tireless efforts for the uplift of his community. A participant in the great events of the Freedom Movement, he was an inspirational figure who influenced many of the developments in Mappila culture from politics to education. He cannot be pigeonholed. Both traditional and progressive, he drew the unstinted admiration of a wide range of Mappilas. Seethi Sahib’s example is not likely to be forgotten, but his image is somewhat misted in time for younger Mappilas. Falling into the same category but more clearly remembered are the recent revivalists C. H. Muhammad Koya and P. K. Abdul Ghafoor whose biographies will be taken up later. Communist Muslims did not hesitate to go outside their own boundaries for their hero-model, the formidable E. M. S. Namboodiripad. As for living hero-models, there is another shift to popular idols who temporarily capture the imagination and stir the emotions. They are drawn from the cinematic, athletic, and artistic worlds, as well as from politicians. They elicit the attention and allegiance of youth especially, who freely bestow their lavish adulation and mimic their behavior. The attraction of “headline” figures has been an element in Mappila psychology for two generations. In the 1950s and 1960s when General Nasser of Egypt became a global Muslim hero, many Mappila boys were given his name, and that phenomenon continues with contemporary figures. However, the influence of charismatic figures, especially those from the film and video sectors, burns out quickly and for durability cannot compare with that of community leaders.

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The community-wide accepted contemporary hero-models are rare. There is tangible longing for such individuals who can arouse enthusiasm and loyalty from all sides, but that longing is not often fulfilled. Perhaps it is too much to expect for living hero-models to appear in fast-moving modern society that forgets quickly, and at a time when the media delight in exploring and exposing human weakness. For that reason when a Syed Mohammedali Shihab Tangal (1936–2009) of Panakkad in South Malabar does arise, combining many facets of a hero-model, there is widespread appreciation. His story will be told in Chapter 12. We have entered the area of the Mappila community’s social conduct and its variations. In the next chapter we take up class distinctions; the educational, political and social picture; and the society’s decision-making method.

10

The Landscape of Mappila Social Behavior Group Distinctions, Educational Variety, Political Alignments, Theological Factions, Decision Making

In this chapter we will highlight aspects of the Mappila life in community. As there is variation in personal behavior, so is there also in the social realm. Where diversity is an expression of vitality, it gives strength. This, in general, is true of the Mappilas. Some variations, however, are divisive in their effect. Others do not materially affect the common life. We will first discuss social distinctions related to racial descent, caste-like groups and various class factors. We will then look at the community’s double-track educational profile, including the religious and modern institutions. Political activities are very much a part of Mappila social life, with variety and dexterity their marks. The configuration of the theological factions changes from time to time, but the main features of the map are fixed. Much of Mappila social behavior revolves around these four areas which—with their mix and change—lend color to the tapestry of life. The variations make necessary a community decision-making process of some kind, and that matter will also be discussed. The cultural glue that holds Mappilas together, despite the social variation, is the idea that they are members of a unique and special community. It is a community that is based on God’s guidance, receives God’s mercy, fulfills God’s intention, and journeys to God’s destiny. The concept of sacred community is common to religious cultures. In the Mappila case it is expressed by the word umma, the root meaning being “mother.” As a child depends on a mother and continues to give her affection later in life, so the Mappila has a confident feeling of dependence on the umma, and gives it allegiance and affection. For a Muslim the idea of a blessed community goes back to Quranic foundations. The Qurʾān testifies that there is a wider 207

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family than the biological one, a family of faith based on truth and justice (7:181), a people who invited humanity to goodness and right conduct (3:104), a society that has a special status. The Qurʾān says: “Ye are the best umma that hath been raised for mankind” (3:110), and Mappilas accept that and regard one another in that light. Not only is their membership in the umma to be considered a privilege, but its members are enjoined to work together harmoniously: “And hold fast all of you together to the cable of Allah, and do not separate” (3:103). Mappilas feel the presence and power of this guiding ideal in their social life. Nevertheless, some distinctions do exist in Mappila society. They are related to blood descent, to the existence of caste-like groups, and to class feelings. We examine that reality next.

Group Distinctions: Arab Descent, Caste-Like Clans, Class Features The Factor of Arab Descent Observing a distinction on the basis of Arab blood is an old element in the history of Islamic cultures. In early Islam a strong differentiation was made between Arab and non-Arab Muslims. The latter were called mawālī or “clients,” and they were compelled to assume an artificial associate membership in an Arab tribe to be accepted as real Muslims. That practice fell by the wayside when Persian culture advanced during the time of the Abbasid Dynasty (750–1258). The respect for Arab descent, however, continued in Muslim societies. In diluted form it is also reflected in Mappila culture. Among Mappilas the old phrase “Arabi Muslims” was attached to Arab-descended people who maintained a relative purity of blood through tight intermarriage practices. The term is currently not a preferred one because of its separatist tone. There is no hesitation about the words sayyid or tangal which refer to those who trace their descent to the family of the Prophet Muhammad. Purity of descent cannot be maintained in families because the essence of Mappila origins is intermarriage between Arab traders and Malayali women. Nevertheless, the trend was for the Arab-blooded to arrange marriages with others of the same heritage, and in some cases an especially strong effort was made to do so. An example is the Quilandy area, twentyfive kilomoeters north of Calicut, where such families were regularly referred to as Arabi Mappilas. Near to the port of Quilandy is Pantalayini, also called Pantalyini Kollam; it was known by different names in ancient times, as

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far back as Pliny before the Christian era.1 Quilandy and Pantalyini were important to Muslims long before the Zamorin made Calicut the major coastal emporium. Pilgrims traveled from these towns to Mecca, and in turn they were gateways for continued Arab trade and settlement. It is natural that intermarriage practices designed to maintain the Arab heritage would become a prominent feature of their society. The same applies to other ancient coastal centers such as Ponnani, Kodungalur, and Kollam. It is in these centers particularly that Muslim families tried hard to maintain their early Arab lineage, but its maintenance has progressively weakened. In brief, apart from the few Arab immigrants of the past two centuries, the “Arabi” Mappilas make up a relatively small group of families who take pride in their heritage of Arab blood; but the distinction has nothing to do with pollution theory, and does not involve living or dining restraints. It becomes evident primarily in marriage practices and to a mild extent also in social relations and friendship circles. The large majority of Malayali Muslims who do not claim to be Arab-blooded treat the factor of Arab descent with respect, particularly in the case of the tangal/sayyid families, but do not give it undue weight. Arabi Muslims likewise do not flaunt the distinction, such as it is, and males are free to marry other Muslim women.

Caste-Like Groups The Hindu caste system is the dominant background for the discussion of the many Muslim social groups in India, and Malayalam society today is still noted for its strong caste alignments. It would be unreasonable to expect that Mappila culture would remain unaffected by this environment, and it is remarkable that the influence was generally so benign. Mappilas tended to resist groupism—one of the main factors in the conversion to Islam in interior Malabar was the reputation of Muslim social equality. Nevertheless, caste-like groups are also present among Mappilas. They are not castes in that they do not carry the same social implications that Hindu castes do, but they are caste-like in that they constitute distinct associations and some may even observe endogamous marriage practices. Some of the groups are related to functions and continue the craft guild heritage that lies behind some Hindu castes. These include fishermen, rock cutters, cigarette rollers, masons, heavy load bearers, barbers, and others. Some, like the barbers who are called Ossans, have special names. Other groups differ in background. At the lower end of the social scale are the Pusalans or “Puyislams,” a term derived

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from putiya-islām, that is, “new Islam,” referring to new converts from outcast communities such as the Cherumars, Parayars, and others. At the high end of the scale we find the Koyas who are business people in such centers as Calicut; at an earlier stage they maintained separate mosques and cemeteries. A related set are the Keyis, the spice merchants of Tellicherry. Their name and origin may be traced to early eighteenth-century traders who cooperated with the British, and who through personal enterprise became wealthy landowners. The Keyis are matrilineal and endogamous, and also once maintained separate mosques. Nainar Muslims represent converts from the upper Nayanar caste, whose name they kept.2 The existence of such groups encourages Ibrahim Kunju to make this comment: “Mappila society is divided into clearly distinguishable sections as in the caste system among the Hindus. Though the division is not as rigid and complete as in the Hindu caste system which prevents social intercourse, the division is apparent.”3 However the instinct of Mappila Muslims today is to downplay the importance of such tendencies inherited from the past in favor of a level set of relationships in the community. Although they are not a part of Mappila culture, we may note the existence of other Muslim groups who have immigrated into Kerala from other areas of India. They include Deccani Muslims known as Pathanis, the descendants of military personnel; Labbais, who are traders and shopkeepers from the Tamil coast; Rowthars (Ravatturs), originally from the Tamil martial class; and Navayats, Kanarese coastal Muslims. None of these groups are present in sufficient numbers to materially influence Mappila culture.

Class Distinctions In this section we restrict ourselves to class distinctions based on urban-rural-coastal differences and on variations in wealth. Urban-Rural-Coastal Differences In Mappila society the urban-rural contrast is basic, but for completeness the coastal differentiation must also be included. In their early immigrant stages Mappilas tended toward becoming city folk, which has been a common factor in the Islamic expansion into new societies. They were merchants and traders in port towns. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, however, a large number of landless Hindu agricultural laborers in Malabar became Muslims. The society’s complex land tenure system kept them in that role of low-income agricultural

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and plantation workers, thereby introducing an urban-rural social distinction and altering the Mappila cultural profile. The urban-rural distinction is partially mitigated by the fact that most Malayalis, Mappilas included, are instinctively agriculturally minded. Even in heavily populated towns they live or try to live as though they are in the countryside, their compounds filled with fruit trees and flowers. Town and country blend and merge. No matter where they are, people harbor a kind of rural attitude based on a common love for the soil. Yet some urban-rural differentiations do exist which are reflected in everyday interests, conversation topics, income levels, and marriage arrangements. City dwellers generally consider themselves to be more modern and advanced than their rural compatriots. There are continuing disparities in the comparative standards of living that the progressive social movements in the state have not been able to overcome. The coastal fishermen and sailors constitute a third group along with the city dwellers and rural folk. Although they comprise a much smaller social unit, their distinctive conditions create a separate class. Sustained by courage they frequently live on the very cusp of survival, often in appalling slum conditions on the beaches. Except for sharing some essential services their social relations with urban dwellers are very limited, and they have little contact with interior Mappilas. Their lifestyle and customs, including the superstitious elements, are very much their own. While there is widespread admiration for the bravery of the fishermen, aspects of the subculture that they have developed are viewed with some reservation by other Mappilas. The levelling influences of modernity, however, are also affecting this unique society, and the motorized fishing boats now patrolling the coastlines are the harbingers of social change. The Rich

and

Poor Divergence

The class difference between rich and poor is fortunately not as sharp as it once was, but it represents a perennial reality. Mappila cultural history cannot be fully appreciated without an awareness of the harrowing economic conditions that prevailed until recent times. While the Gulf connection and the improvement in the national economy have alleviated some of the survival problems and have contributed to the development of a middle class,4 and while the Mappila sighs of relief are almost audible, a rich-poor divergence continues. The economic gap is softened by three factors. The first is the basic Mappila egalitarianism that creates fellow feeling and sympathy. The second is the vigorous Quranic condemnation of the h ­ eartless

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and arrogant rich, its praise of generosity, and its encouragement of alms-giving. The third factor is all-important, namely, the belief that upward mobility is always a possibility. To explain, in Mappila society poverty is not embedded in any fixed tradition, although there are some social groups like divorced women that have chronic problems. A phrase that Marshall Hodgson used to describe Muslim society in Abbasid times is relevant: “A man of spirit or special gifts could rise on the social scale.”5 Similarly, there has often been a way out of want for Mappilas who are enterprising—the community has many examples of poor families who have become well-to-do as the result of their wit and energy. Not all have been that fortunate. What has kept some Mappilas down has been the lack of education, cash resources, imagination, and perseverance. Undoubtedly, there are also some wealthy Mappilas who have lacked concern for the downtrodden, have felt quite comfortable with their good fortune, and have even taken advantage of the situation. This self-centered and grasping attitude, where it exists, has drawn sharp criticism from communist parties and from social reformers within the Mappila family.

Current Educational Profile A great deal of Mappila social behavior revolves around the issue of education. In Chapter 4 we introduced the heritage of rote religious education while in Chapter 5 we discussed the rise of modern secular education. This development left contemporary Mappilas with two major educational forms. The purpose of this section is to provide a current profile of each. The two educational tracks occasionally merge but in the main they lead travelers by alternate routes to different destinations, thereby producing a division in the Mappila way of thinking and creating frequent tensions. Mappila leaders are striving to discover switching mechanisms that will keep the community going forward in a common journey. We begin with the contemporary status of traditionalist education.

Traditionalist Education The Persistent Madrasa Tradition That the madrasa system continues at all under the buffeting it has received is something of a wonder. That it continues with considerable strength makes the wonder even greater. In commenting on Muslim education in wider India, Professor Aziz Ahmed declared

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that it has “been flowing in two streams. There is a conservative stream that has conserved the medieval system. It has been fighting a losing battle with the other stream, that of modern, westernizing education.”6 Conservative Mappila leaders might well argue that the comment does not apply to the Mappila situation, and the statistics would lend some support to their argument. In 1991 when a careful count was made, there were 6,666 madrasas in the state of Kerala, involving almost one million students with 24,339 teachers.7 The number of Sunni-sponsored elementary madrasas alone may now have reached 7,000.8 In addition Mujahid and Jamaat-Islam Mappilas have developed their own systems. This is hardly the mark of a declining institution. The enduring vitality of the madrasas is borne out by the sight of young Muslim children in huge numbers still wending their way along Kerala’s roads on the way to the madrasa. At the same time, as elsewhere in Muslim society, even the madrasa system no longer continues in quiet comfort. Many of the institutional aspects of the hallowed madrasa tradition are receiving Muslim criticism from all over the Islamic world. Even its supporters levy criticism. The most outspoken opponents regard it as pedagogically outmoded and as the promoter of unenlightened religion. Of late it has also been accused of encouraging sectarianism and militancy. Many orthodox leaders, however, do not see it that way. They reject the idea of wholesale change. They still see the madrasa as essential for their community’s religious education. In the light of the fact that so many Muslims are now involved in secular education, the madrasas are needed more now than ever to ensure the community’s faith and loyalty. That is the feeling of many. Yet even the most conservative leaders recognize that the system needs improvement. The opposing trends of thought, common in the wider Muslim world, are also present in the Mappila community. In the case of the Mappila madrasa system a lot of things have happened to enable it to survive to its present stage. History provided leadership through such figures as Chalikattu Kunyahamed Haji (1867–1919), who pioneered the use of textbooks and educational equipment; Hamdani Shaikh (d. 1919), who dreamt of madrasas that in their standards rivalled government elementary schools; Wakkom Maulavi (d. 1932) who underscored that the Qurʾān is meant to be understood; and K. M. Maulavi (d. 1964) who introduced the new thinking to Malabar Mappilas. Other events took place that facilitated a climate of improvement. The traumatic effects of the Mappila Rebellion could not be overcome without change. The Communist-led cries for social improvement had to be addressed. With the introduction of

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a national education scheme in 1947 an irresistible new force entered the scene. The formation of the Muslim Education Society (1964), in the same year that K. M. Maulavi died, accelerated the drive toward Mappila secular education. The madrasa system could not remain aloof from these influences that we have described earlier. They produced a reflex action among Mappila traditionalist clerics who had to blunt the criticisms of lay Muslims. There were also serious financial factors to consider. Charitable giving was going in the direction of support for the exciting new educational efforts, and the number of those interested in assisting the old-type madrasas sharply decreased. If improvements were not made soon, Mappila families would drift away. The Samastha Kerala Education Board, a council of orthodox Sunni clerics, therefore stepped in and initiated some modest refinements. They included the creation of a common syllabus, the introduction of new texts, and the provision of teaching aids. Their stated intention was to bring in some of the technical elements of modern pedagogy and wed them to the madrasa core tradition. Improved teaching equipment and techniques, as well as the modest use of Malayalam, were deemed admissible; but fundamental change was avoided and may have been impossible to achieve. There was no basic reorientation to Quranic study, no alteration in the traditional authorities utilized, and no tilt toward a free analytic approach. Rather, the cosmetic changes left intact the main madrasa tradition and so, in the same manner, it carries on today. New madrasas are conforming to this approach that may be described as “low-tech ideological training in the orthodox tradition” rather than as a new form of religious education. An example is the massive Islamic (Sunni) Cultural Complex at Karanthur in Kozhikode District, founded in 1978 by Kanthapuram A. P. Abu Bekr Musaliar with major help from Gulf donors. It embraces fourteen institutions serving about 3,000 students. Its Prospectus states its point of view:9 It is the realization of a long cherished wish of Muslims of Kerala who had been helplessly . . . witnessing the cultural decline and educational backwardness of the Muslim community . . . The distinguishing feature of this complex are its predominantly residential character and facilities to impart modern education along with Islamic education. “Modern” education and “Islamic” education are regarded as distinct, and it is assumed that the former can simply be added to the latter. Very proudly the Prospectus proclaims that the institution

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is “the Brain of the Brights” and “the mastermind of all intelligent activities of Muslim Kerala.” The Complex contains a high school that necessarily conforms to state regulations, conducting religious studies classes after school hours, but the madrasa itself offers a traditional ten years of Islamic studies at primary, secondary, and higher levels, with special emphasis on the study of religious law. In conversation “A. P.” has stated that respect for the classical sharia is the key to Karanthur’s approach.10 Another of its institutions, the Islamic Daʾwa College, gives training leading to the maulavi degree (fazil sakhafi) by adding ten years of study to the secondary Islamic education requirement. But this brings us to the phenomenon known as the “Arabic College.” The Arabic Colleges The word “college” has an almost magical power of attraction in education-conscious Kerala. Mappilas have chosen to use this term to describe their latest version of higher madrasa training for prospective religious workers and Arabic teachers. The use of the term can lead to misunderstanding since the Arabic “colleges” are not at all educational institutions in the sense of university-level arts and science colleges. They are rather the community’s mid-range theological schools. They focus on the study of language, with Arabic being the medium of instruction in later years, and the study of religious themes using Arabic texts. There are at least 128 Arabic colleges: 6,400 pupils and 265 teachers.11 These are of two types—the traditionalist and the reformed—the former being in the majority. The contemporary Arabic colleges evolved from the desire of theological reformers for improved religious and linguistic training. They were looking for an intermediate bridge between the traditional madrasa/dars system and the modern post-secondary institutions. The idea was that they could eventually receive recognition as centers of Arabic studies in affiliation with universities. The movement received impetus in 1948 when the Rousathul Uloom Arabic College that had been established at Manjeri, South Malabar (1942), moved to Feroke and developed there, alongside Farook College. Malappuram District became a primary center for the Arabic college development because of the interest in the language in its heavily Muslim population.12 The Mujahid reform movement took the lead, beginning with the establishment of the Madeenathul Islam Uloom at Pullikal in 1947. Calling itself a university, despite its small size, and

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modelling itself on the Islamic University at Medina, the institution calls its graduates “Madanis.” Other colleges with a similar reform spirit include the Sallamussalam Arabic College at Azhikode (1954), the Ansar Arabic College at Valavanoor (1964), where one-third of the students are women, and the Anwar Islam Arabic College (1970) at Mongam, which is a small women’s college. Outside Malappuram the Nur ul-Huda College at Kochi was established in 1952. The main features of the Mujahid Arabic Colleges are a somewhat modernized curriculum and affiliation with a university, thereby giving their graduates first call for Arabic teaching positions in the state’s educational system. Although relatively small in number, the reform colleges had the effect of challenging Sunni Mappilas to a similar enterprise.13 About two decades after the reform Arabic colleges began to appear, traditionalist Mappilas woke up to their potential for the community, and very soon a large group of superficially similar Sunni “colleges” began to appear on the scene. We introduced the clergy training centers in chapter 4. To add to the confusion, they too made use of the term “college.” Other institutions developed to provide higher madrasa training for laity, including potential religious workers. They proliferated but varied somewhat in appearance, funding, and style. Some are modestly improved, classically orthodox institutions like the Al-Huda Complex (2004) near Tirurangadi; housed in a large well-appointed three-story building it includes a women’s college. Others are purely traditionalist in their in their approach. They are unrecognized and have no interest in university affiliation, preferring to plow their own furrow. Nor would their approach make them eligible for such affiliation. Their style is firmly based on the heritage of the dars system, with doctrinaire teaching and rote learning continuing to dominate. The contrast with modem education could not be greater. The dean of reform-minded maulavi-educators, Karuvalli Muhammad, straightforwardly says: “In the existing dars, madrasa and Arabic college institutions, education is not conducted in the modern manner.”14 He also notes the financial difficulties of these institutions, and offers the opinion that “the existing madrasa style will not last another century.”15 The opinion of this respected Mappila leader must be given full weight. Nevertheless, the tenacity of the persistent madrasa tradition also cannot be underestimated. It is so strong that its continuation, perhaps in a revised format and with reduced strength, is very likely. Certainly the vitality of the system is evident today, and many Mappilas are still under its influence.

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Modern Education We have come to the second educational track. Modern education has contributed very powerfully to the great Mappila cultural transformation, and it is steadily reshaping the educational profile of the Mappila cultural being. The two major aspects of the contribution are an attitudinal change and an institutional achievement. The attitudinal aspect refers to the new Mappila bias in favor of an up-to-date philosophy of education. The introduction of modem secular education is not yet fully complete, but its advance has resulted in a new educational habitude. It is now virtually taken for granted that Mappila parents will send their children to a modern elementary school, be it a government or managed school, and high school attendance is not far behind. The college undergraduate and graduate worlds are now coeducational, and the age of marriage has progressively risen to accommodate the large number of female students in post-secondary institutions. The change in attitude toward modern education affects also the numerous illiterate Mappilas who have not previously had the opportunity or inclination for such education. It not only encourages them to send their children to public school but even to seek their own self-improvement. A simple illustration underlines the latter point. Under the heading of “A Brighter Tomorrow” a newspaper (Indian Express, 2004) features the photo of a thirty-year-old Muslim woman from the fishing village of Vellayil. Umaidu has successfully appeared for the Kerala Literacy Mission’s examination. This is far from an isolated example of the search for a better tomorrow, but we cite it to show that the attitudinal change is felt at all levels of the Mappila community and is emotionally powerful. The fact that the educational style is secular is no longer considered a deterrent. The favor being shown modern education also embraces a fresh attitude toward language learning. As we have seen, the traditionalist stream preserves its regard for the primacy of Arabic, but rank-and-file Mappilas no longer consider the study of Malayalam and English as either demonic or forbidden. In public elementary schools Malayalam is the first language, involving seven weekly periods of instruction, and its study is routinely accepted. By engaging with their mother tongue at the earliest stage in their educational careers the once-adaptive Mappila cultural spirit is experiencing a basic renewal at its roots. The option for Arabic as a subsidiary subject does not conflict with the renewal for it too is now taught as a literary language, using

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the same methods applied to other languages. The modern approach is carried through the ensuing years of education to the university level which most dramatically demonstrates the modern approach. At the graduate level in the MA-degree Arabic Language and Literature Course the papers required include classical prose, grammar, rhetoric, prosody and modern poetry, the history of Arabic literature, Islamic history and culture, and journalistic Arabic.16 The three-language formula of education (Malayalam, Hindi, and English) is fundamentally broadening for Mappila children, but they are also involved in the burgeoning phenomenon of Englishmedium schools. Some of these are conducted by the Central Institute and others are under local management, but either way Muslim children are free to attend, and do so in large numbers.17 After centuries of struggle the study of Malayalam, Arabic, and English in Mappila society has attained a harmony. A fresh habitus has been born. The second aspect of the modern educational profile is the institutional one. The growth of Mappila-sponsored post-secondary institutions has inevitably slowed down. The cumulative achievement, however, is impressive. Today the Muslim Education Society (MES) alone supports the following educational establishments: 20 colleges, 41 lower schools, 8 student hostels, and 6 technical institutes. Its crowning achievement is the founding of a Medical College at Perintelmana in South Malabar. In terms of their population ratio Muslims have moved closer to quantitative parity in post-secondary education, remembering that many students attend non-Muslim institutions. The same does not yet apply at the qualitative level, however. In 2004 the National Assessment and Accreditational Council listed 15 of 77 Kerala state-accredited colleges in the “A-Grade” or “Five-Star” standing, but among them Feroke was the only Muslim institution so recognized.18 Nevertheless, the achievement is substantial. Mappila community leaders also engaged in aggressive fund-raising required by the new institutions. For its 20 colleges, the M.E.S. was able to provide grants toward the total budget amounting to the amazing sum of 6.9 crors of rupees in a typical year (2004).19 However, the energy of the trailblazing society—partly consumed by a split in 1980—has inevitably diminished, and it now makes its contribution at a lesser pace. The potential peak of the Mappila educational engagement with modernity is the new Social Advancement Foundation of India (SAFI) that serves as the basis for a possible Muslim university. The idea for such an “Aligarh of the South” was first broached at Kochi in 2001, but its inaugural function took place at East Vazhayoor in South

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Malabar on August 25, 2005. There an impressive first-stage domed building dominates a 600-acre site on a high plateau in interior “Mappila land” north of Feroke. The Quranic motto adopted by SAFI’s founders is the classic one of almost all Islamic intellectual reformers: “Verily never will Allah change the condition of a people until they change themselves” (13:11). With this exhortation in mind SAFI was set up “to transform the backward people into a society competent in every respect in the contemporary world, upholding ethical and religious values, and achieving excellence in educational, economic and social spheres through their intellectual acumen.”20 The far-reaching vision and proposal was greatly enabled by a foundational grant of a benefactor, Dr. P. Mohamed Ali, by the expert leadership of the Board Chair, Professor K. A. Jaleel, and by its scientist directors. Its academic program envisages Centers for Advanced Studies and Research in Information Technology, Medical Sciences and Biotechnology, Social Sciences, and Islamic Theology and Culture, all conforming to international standards. At its present stage of development it offers biotechnology, mass communications and journalism, management studies, and Islamic studies. In addition, another SAFI goal is to assist in developing quality improvements in other existing Muslim post-secondary institutions through a variety of interventions. Initially SAFI has begun an affiliated status with the University of Calicut. The terms vision, competence, holistic approach, and humaneness, all used in its Prospectus,21 sum up SAFI’s ambitious academic goals. How the enterprise will eventually unfold is unknown, but perhaps its basic importance lies in the venturing itself. While the institution’s leaders have faced practical problems translating their dynamic concept into reality, in principle they and their students are travellng to new horizons. Not all Mappilas share that kind of intellectual vision, and many still prefer a more traditional approach. Professor Jaleel himself notes that it is a very big effort for a traditionally resistant and fearful society to step into modern education. He states that a major reason for the difficulty facing students is parental lack of understanding and support for the goal of obtaining scientific knowledge, but in fact there are also unsolved educational questions. The problem of integrating empirical studies with foundational values has not really been solved. Nor have all aspects of job-oriented education been fully addressed. Finally, he observes that some of the original energy for the intellectual development of the Mappila community has been dissipated. He places much of the blame for that loss on Gulf employment, the

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fact being that well-paid jobs are available even for the poorly educated. Jaleel declares: “We cannot allow the practice of going abroad to lessen the importance of education.”22 This educator’s sober appraisal is a caution to the leaders of the Mappila intellectual awakening that their task is not yet over. If outright opposition to modern secular education is now more subdued, there is still inherited inertia to be overcome. Hence, some community members are saying that the reason for their remaining backwardness in education is no longer the lack of opportunity but a lack of will. Conclusion: An Educational Dichotomy The contemporary landscape of Mappila education has a divided profile. It reflects a “both-and” reality. The past and the present are marching along together. Can a culture survive educational “twotrackism”? Such a journey will not be easy. At practical levels the potential for controversy is reduced by the community’s spirit of toleration—parents send their children to both madrasas and secular institutions without visible anxiety. The lack of a synthesizing process is partially made up by a kind of compartmentalizing as Mappilas carry both experiences into their lives without making much effort to examine their relationship. The ultimate danger of a failure to more formally integrate “empirical studies with foundational values” is secularism, as some Mappilas may retain certain customs for historic or communal reasons while mentally abandoning their theological base. For the time being, however, they will go on together with a certain level of cultural tension.

Mappila Political Alignments Mappila political life is marked by vibrant activity and fluctuating alliances. It is deeply affected by two factors—the Malayali democratic culture and the community’s focus on its social needs. Politics in Malayalam culture are complex because they reflect the region’s sociological and religious mix. Politics are transparent because the educated populace and aggressive free press leave little hidden. Politics are emotional, and sometimes in extreme cases the vehemence takes violent forms. And politics are ever-changing as different groups align or realign themselves to protect and to advance their interests. As Malayalis, Mappilas also reflect these cultural trends.

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The second factor in Mappila politics is their focus on community needs. While this is true of all groups in the region, the principle holds special significance for the Mappilas who deeply feel their minority status. Especially after 1956, when the linguistic state of Kerala was formed, Muslims became convinced that democratic politics must not only be accepted but also must be harnessed in some way to support their community’s welfare.23 These factors played together to make Mappilas full participants in the region’s political process. There was some activity after 1921 and before 1956. Led by the revered Muhammad Abdurrahiman, Mappilas began their political action with a tilt toward Nationalist Muslims and the Congress Party. In the mid-1930s the Muslim League started its activity in Malabar and about the same time the Communist Party made its appearance. The Mappilas now had new political options. The political pace, however, increased after 1956. The post-1956 question was, whose politics and whose platform would they prefer? The Muslim League presented itself to the Muslim community as its political savior. Some Mappilas resisted that notion and chose to align themselves with the Congress Party or its offshoots. Others, a larger number, and in particular the jobless, landless, and povertystricken, heeded the siren call of the Communist parties who offered them the much-desired social improvement (see Chapter 5). They made that choice despite the strident theological critiques of mosque preachers who refused to accept the propaganda of Kerala Marxists that their movement had abandoned its atheist philosophy. Although Mappila opinion ran freely in any one of these three directions, the Muslim League certainly had the advantage with Muslims and maintained the widest support. This held true despite a major division within the League from 1975 to 1985 that resulted from personality conflicts and disputes regarding alliances. The Muslim League adopted the tactical approach of seeking coalitions with others no matter how basically different was the worldview of their proposed allies. The utilitarian tactic was justified on the basis of promoting the Muslim welfare. In the 35-year period from 1956 to 1991 the League participated in six coalition governments, in the process joining with fourteen other political parties, including communists. Despite its own limited number of seats, it proved adept in manipulating situations to its advantage. Again and again it was able to obtain the important Ministry of Education as its portfolio, and this in turn aided the improvement of Muslim education in the state. In contrast to the general condition of other Indian Muslims, they also achieved almost proportionate representation and

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influence in their state legislature. In the 2008 Assembly, out of the 141 elected members 26 were Muslims. This is an 18 percent representation and compares with the Muslim population ratio of 24 percent; at the same time, in the National Parliament 5 of the 20 Malayali representatives were Muslims. Muslims were becoming prominently present in the civil service and among educational administrators. In the light of this history the League political alignments may be criticized on the grounds of rank utilitarianism, but not on the grounds of lack of success. Nevertheless, the combination of democratic politics and alliances at will had opened the door to Mappila voter independence. The old Mappila solidarity in political action is virtually a thing of the past, replaced by political diversity. Mappilas have become typical Malayali voters—they do not hesitate to show their displeasure against any party. They now demonstrate less interest in traditional positions and more concern for practical possibilities. They also consider it within their freedom to support leftist candidates. In the 2006 Kerala elections, at a time when the Muslim League had apparently become complacent and was charged with various ills, the Mappila voters turned against it in large numbers. The League was successful in only seven constituencies, half of the previous total, and the coalition of which it was a part (UDF) went down in a resounding defeat to the Communist-led alliance (LDF). Several Muslim League luminaries lost their seats, and 75 percent of the Muslim members of the legislature now represented other parties. Mappilas had become political modernists. They were operating democratically across the political spectrum, displaying an independence of mind that compared favorably with other voters. The new ebb-and-flow in Mappila political opinion undoubtedly produced some ill-feeling and sometimes actual rifts in Mappila society. The political rhetoric among contending groups is often extreme, as fatwās are shot out and cries of kāfir (infidel!) fill the air. The rifts tend to be self-healing. The sense of “being Mappila” (see Chapter 6) overcomes permanent division. The possible exception is the communist issue, but even in that test case the community has found ways of lowering the dispute to a non-fundamental level. It is the case that all segments of the Mappila community are bound together in one common concern—the welfare of their society. The disagreements tend to focus on the question of who can best deliver that result. Mappila political action has become a form of social strategy. In summary, the Mappila community’s political activities, together with the accommodations they involved, have produced

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the following effects, which have radically shaped the community’s cultural profile:

• They strengthened the pragmatic principle underlying Mappila culture;



• They alerted Mappilas to the fact that democratic politics are beneficial for their well-being, and fostered their cooperative relations;



• They made individual Mappilas aware of their rights and power, and elevated the role of personal opinion;



• They reduced the authority of traditionalist religious leaders;



• They engaged youth in social justice issues relevant to the uplift of the community;



• They produced free discussion and tolerance on the one hand, and on the other hand some tensions and division;



• They gave to the psyche of the Mappila people a sense of importance that offset minority feelings.

Connected with the Mappila community’s political and educational behavior is the uneven influence of the Mappila theological parties, and we next outline that element of Mappila behavior.

The Mappila Theological Factions Abdulla and a visiting friend are touring the area. There is a lot of new construction going on. Abdulla’s friend points to a nearly completed worship building and asks, “Will that be a Sunni, Mujahid, or Jamaat mosque?” Abdulla answers politely, but he is not very happy to discuss the matter further and changes the subject. Theological divisions are a given in Mappila culture. The severe struggles leading up to the Great Transition left the community with a heterogeneous set of factions. The party members are fundamentally united as Muslim believers, but they nevertheless strongly maintain their own points of view. The parties do not control Mappila social behavior, but they have the strength to influence it. We have already met the two major parties, Sunni and Mujahid, who represent the traditional orthodox heritage and the reform movement, respectively.

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The Jamaat-Islam, Tabligh, and Ahmadiyya parties are Indian Muslim groups who have migrated to Kerala, while the more recent Islamist emphasis is represented by micro-religio-political organizations like the New Democratic Front. Although these theological parties are formally divided, they are not fully discrete entities. There is flux and movement in their membership. Moreover, many members of the community prefer to be called Muslims or Mappilas; they do not think of themselves as holding membership in any of these parties even though they may have sympathies in a certain direction. Yet the parties do exist, and must be reckoned with in describing the Mappila religio-cultural profile. Among those Malayali Muslims who do relate to a theological party, the vast majority identify with the Sunnis, the largest group, and with the Mujahids. The division between them is deeply felt. It is a difference between those who cherish their heritage and want to keep it more or less intact, and those who want to reinterpret it in modern terms. It is a conflict between faithful handing on (taqlīd) and freely reasoning out (ijtihād). It is the veneration of tradition versus a general respect for tradition, the fear of innovation against a regard for innovation. It is the desire for a culture unchangingly maintained as contrasted with a culture revitalized and enterprising. As we have seen in Chapter 5, the two worlds of thinking divided Mappilas for more than five decades, sometimes bursting out into strident public quarrels. The division continues but with less acrimony as the rank-and-file of gradually modernizing Mappilas provide a basis and impetus for convergence. Among Mappilas the term Sunni has taken on a double connotation that differs from the Islamic norm and causes some confusion. In Islamic usage it ordinarily refers to the generality of Muslim believers who follow the pattern (sunna) of the Prophet and who choose their leaders on the basis of piety. In the latter aspect they contrast with the minority, Shiʾas, who hold to a differing view on community leadership. Mappilas understand and share this broad usage that includes a wide range of believers, including both traditionalist and moderate Muslims. However, as noted earlier, Mappilas have also developed a second usage of the term, applying it to a traditionalist theological movement that stands in contrast with Mujahid reformers. In the light of this double connotation the exact intention of a statement can only be understood from the context. In regard to the broad meaning, Sunnis have a live-and-let-live outlook that allows for a diversity of opinion and behavior within a classically orthodox frame of reference. In this sense some Mappila

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Sunnis may tend toward their traditional heritage while others would like to see moderate improvements. In general terms they represent a kind of silent majority who look to conservative leaders for guidance and inspiration. Such a leader in the recent past has been the revered Shihab Tangal of Panakkad (see the next chapter). The narrower use of the term Sunni to describe a specific theological party stems from the strictly traditionalist sector of the Mappilas. They are Sunnis who revere their customary heritage to the point of clinging to it and resisting any change; they have crystallized as a clear faction through their contrast with the Mujahids, but like the latter they have not formed a distinct political organization. They are forthright in their expressions and active in their fund-raising. Their official coordinating body is a clerical council, the Samastha Kerala Jamiat-ul-Ulama, but their many internal conflicts have blunted their influence and have resulted in two major splits in the past four decades. The full name of the Mujahids is the Nadvat-ul-Mujahidin, but they are also termed the Islahi movement. Though not exclusively so, they generally represent the theological reformers. The Nadvat was founded in 1952, its purpose being “to enlighten the Muslim masses” by a return to the Qurʾan and the authentic Hadith, and through an emphasis on tawhīd, the oneness of God. As in the case of the Sunnis, so also among Mujahids there are different points of view—conservative, centrist and moderate, resulting in shifting subgroups and sometimes bitter contention.24 At their best the Mujahids have been powerful agents for community change in various areas of social progress. The Mujahids have been consistent in their core concerns—the primacy of scripture combined with its rational interpretation, the elimination of what is regarded as “superstitious” behavior, and the socioeconomic progress of their community. But given the nature of reform, differences of opinion are inevitable. So also among Mujahids questions like these arose: What are the limits of reason? And, what Hadith are acceptable? In 2004 the writer attended a meeting of conservative Mujahids that took place on the Calicut beach. A vast number attended—male and female, seniors and youth, their buses lining the streets. The burning issue that controlled the discussion was the literal acceptance of what the scriptures state. Throughout the long night meeting loudspeakers resounded with vehement affirmations of undeviating obedience to the written texts. On this point it would be hard to discern a line of distinction between conservative Mujahids and moderate Sunnis, a caution against facile distinctions.

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Lights played on the intent and anxious faces. Nothing could express more poignantly the earnest Mappila desire to be faithfully Muslim. Two smaller theological parties that introduced ethical issues, but play a lesser role in Mappila affairs, are the Jamaat-Islam and the Tabligh Jamaat. Both have special characteristics and separatist tendencies. The Jamaat-Islam party has had a checkered career in South Asia. It was founded by Abu Aʿla Mawdudi of Hyderabad (1902–1979) who espoused an ideal of religious puritanism combined with Islamic statism. After the Partition of India the Jamaat-Islam organization divided into Pakistani and Indian sections, Mawdudi himself taking up residence in Pakistan. In India the movement he founded went on at a reduced level. Mawdudi had maintained a rigorous vision of Utopian Islam. He had argued that religion should control every aspect of life, including the government, according to his interpretation of what that meant. Party members should engage in an organized struggle to bring the vision into political reality. The Jamaat-Islam leaders in India interpreted the term “struggle” (jihād) to mean their working within the constitution, but the Party has been twice banned by the Central Government. The Jamaat-Islam maintains a tight structure with an Amir at the head and tightly organized cadres of dedicated followers. The Kerala branch of the Jamaat Party was established in 1948 under the leadership of Muhammad Ali “Haji Sahib” (d. 1959). It chose to focus on two main issues—the commitment to the unity of God and the requirement to lead a pious life. Both were interpreted in terms of Mawdudi’s approach. As to the divine authority, all human leadership is subject to the danger of idolatry and must be clearly positioned under the Qurʾān and sharia. The democratic process is therefore suspect, and the Party vacillated for a time over the question of whether to participate in state elections. As to morality, the Party made its point through the efforts of youth organizations and the publication and the distribution of literature. Its youth groups conducted “anti-immorality,” anti-dowry, and anti-liquor campaigns.25 Its literature bitterly condemned impiety and any behavior that the Party regarded as Western immorality and modernist temptations. Although the Jamaat-Islam espoused women’s education, it criticized preoccupation with fashion and ornamentation. It opposed the practice of taking bank interest and called for an Islamic economic system. In 1972 it sponsored the publication of Mawdudi’s multivolume Qurʾān commentary. The movement has 225 mosques of its own. Important Jamaat-Islam educational institutions include the Arabic colleges at Kasaragode and Shantapuram in Malabar.

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The Mappilas have largely rejected the Jamaat’s fundamentalism and it holds only the status of a minor movement. With its model of sincere behavior, however, it has succeeded in changing some of the public Muslim discourse from theology to ethics. The Tabligh-Jamaat is similar to the Jamaat-Islam in its stress on ethical development, but is quite dissimilar in its non-political emphasis. Its founder, Maulana Muhammad Ilyas (1885–1944) came from Rajasthan where he attempted to nurture orthodox piety among the partially Islamicized Meos, who had retained many Hindu cultural practices. His movement has since become a worldwide organization dedicated to the deepening of Muslim faith and piety [tablīgh means “propagation of the faith”]. The Tabligh was originally a nurturing movement rather than a missionary one, but it has extended its work to non-Muslims. Theologically it is “a reformed Hanafi Sunnism which eschews the cult of saints but accepts a purified form of Sufism. It enjoins an austere practice of Islam with female seclusion and prohibition of music and cinema attendance.”26 It strongly urges non-involvement in theological controversies. Like the Jamaat-Islam it is a hierarchical and secretive organization. Within Kerala state the Tabligh holds three major assemblies annually, and from them mission groups fan out into other communities. A Mappila scholar suggests that “the Tabligh Movement is a regular scene in almost all localities . . . It has stretched out from grassroots levels to the topmost rank of Musiim society.”27 Tabligh members are especially concerned about the lack of adequate Islamic knowledge among Mappilas. Their method for overcoming the implied defect is the utilization of small committed “reaching-teaching” teams (jamāfats), using the local mosque as their base. They strive to inculcate six principles: One must understand the implications of the confession (shahāda) and abstain from worldliness; one must dutifully pray five times daily; one must learn to know the Qurʾān and Hadīth, and recite sacred phrases such as “God, forgive me!”; one must be respectful of the rights of other Muslims; one must observe genuine intention (niya) in carrying out ritual practices; and, finally, one should be involved in sharing and deepening the faith of other Muslims. The Tabligh-Jamaat, in a peaceful way, has reminded Mappilas of the importance of developing an ethical culture as well as one that is intellectually and economically progressive. The Ahmadiyyas or Ahmadiyya Movement is worldwide in its activity, but it has been regarded as heretical by orthodox Muslims. The major point of contention is the claim of the Indian Muslim founder, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad (1839–1908), to have prophetic qualities, to

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be both the messiah and the mahdi, and to possess continued revelations from God. This conflicts with the orthodox Muslim position that Muhammad is the last prophet—the very seal of prophecy—and the recipient of God’s final revelation, the Qurʾān. The Ahmadiyya Movement also emphasizes puritan morality, dedicated sacrifice, and the global missionary dissemination of its claims. That task is to be undertaken nonviolently since, in Ahmadiyya interpretation, jihād means peaceful struggle. The Ahmadis are present in Mappila society but have made little headway numerically. The movement began work in Kannur before 1914, and it now conducts about 35 mosques, including a major center in Calicut. Its cultural impact is its very existence rather than its specific influence. In some Islamic areas, especially in Pakistan where the majority Qadiani portion of the movement has its center at Rabwah, Ahmadis have been persecuted, but among Kerala Muslims they exist quietly if not comfortably, a testimony to the Mappila community’s basic acceptance of diversity. That principle is also demonstrated in another way by Mappila treatment of the small Islamist groups in their midst. On the global level the term “Islamist” has come into general use to describe an extremist Muslim, one who accepts the use of violence as a legitimate technique in a wide range of activities allegedly carried on in the name of and for the service of true religion. One of the most remarkable of all Mappila behavioral phenomena is the community’s stern resistance to this development. That is particularly notable in the light of the Mappila connection with the home of the Wahhabi tradition.28 We have pointed out that the original Wahhabi spirit involved militant action against those who disagreed with its approach in Saudi Arabia. Mappilas did not allow themselves to become Wahhabis in that sense. Nevertheless, in the present age no Muslim community can remain totally immune to the influences of contemporary Islamism. The radical approach is represented among Mappilas in two small religio-political organizations—the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) and the National Democratic Front (NDF). The PDP claims to represent all communities, but it is led by Abdul Nazar Madhani, former head of a banned organization named the Islamic Sevak Sangh (ISS), who has been charged with making provocative speeches.29 The NDF, centered in South Malabar, was established in opposition to the Rashtriya Sevak Sangh (RSS), and like the latter it accepts the methodology of violence if other alternatives become impossible. The relative lack of influence of these groups is a tribute both to the maturation of the Mappila community and to the strength of its leadership.

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The Community’s Decision-Making Process The nature of the community’s decision-making process becomes critical when there is a diversity of views which, as we have seen, is commonplace among Mappilas. Who decides what they should do or should not do? Mappila decision making has one significant advantage and disadvantage. The advantage is the basic unity of the society that keeps it from imploding when there is social acrimony and division. It is this mutuality rather than an authoritarian principle that enables judicious decision making. In Malayalam terminology the Mappila community is a samudāyum, a society, and not merely a samūhum, a collectivity. British administrators tried to capture this idea when they considered designating Mappilas as a caste, but fortunately wiser counsel prevailed; the Mappila community has neither the assumptions nor the regulations of a Hindu caste, although similar feelings of oneness and mutual support are common to both. English captures the samudāyum ethos with the combination “community-family-solidarity.” Mappilas find it in the term umma which we considered earlier. It conveys both the ideas of basic unity and decision making built on that concept. Outsiders may tend to see Mappila divisions, but insiders feel the unity. Yet Mappilas do face a major decision-making problem, and that is the fact that there is no designated authority to say: “OK, this is what we will do!” The Malayali culture stream brings its individualism, and the Islamic stream its equality. How are matters resolved? It is true that the institution of the sharia provides a partial behavioral structure as we have noted in Chapter 2. It gives direction in ritual matters and in defined areas of family law. No major decision making is needed in those areas. A body of religio-legal scholars and judges also exists among the Mappilas to interpret and administrate the regulations. It is beyond the boundaries of these areas that community decision making is required. The vast and complicated issues of modern culture, most of which the sharia does not touch, lie outside the scope of the legal scholars and overwhelm their capacities. It is the community as a whole that must make the decisions by its goodwill, practicality, and general agreement. Thus an element that was formative in the sharia has become the effective tool in Mappila decision making, and that is the principle of consensus (ijmāʿ) which we have already introduced. When the Qurʾān and Hadīth were silent, and analogies failed, scholars turned to consensus. They asked, how does the community as a whole regard this matter?

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­ rusting that under divine guidance God’s people would not agree T on an error, they took the position that this would settle the matter. This was the implicit approach of Mappilas as they worked through centuries of adaptation with Malayalam culture, and it continues to be the methodology for their adaptation with modern culture. As an example, we may apply the principle of the use of television. Neither the Qurʾān nor the traditions have anything to say about TV. In some parts of the Muslim world analogies were adduced on the basis of the disapproval of figural representation which created doubts in regard to the appropriateness of the new medium, but in the case of Mappilas the consensus of the community swept away the doubts and TV sets are everywhere. Whether intuitively or consciously, for all practical purposes Mappilas have now adopted consensus as their primary methodology for making community-wide decisions. The process of reaching consensus is subtle and undefined. Mappilas trust that common sense, concern for the welfare of the community, and their inherent solidarity will carry them past the often heated discussions to working agreements. Their consensus is not the ijmāʿ of the past, but a modified one that includes the following elements:

• A rational approach is now considered acceptable in determining what is good for the Mappila community and Islamically possible.



• In practice the opinion of respected lay leaders is given as much weight as that of religious leaders in the discussion and formulation of appropriate social behavior.



• Traditionalist clergy try to influence or control the consensus-building by issuing fatwās, but the opinions are often ignored.



• The general approval of the community, even though not unanimous, is enough to validate a position or development. The consensus is recognized informally and is understood by the public. The opinion of leaders is heard, but there is no “official” process.



• There is a growing feeling near to impatience, that when consensus has been informally reached as to what is good, some community change or action should take place.

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This process has served Mappilas reasonably well, although its basically democratic nature means that sometimes there is painful disagreement. The reality of these variations in Mappila opinion underline the need for sensitive leadership and mutual concern, but that takes us to our next chapter and three further dimensions of the community’s social behavior.

Fishermen on the south Kerala coast. In the Prophet Muhammad’s time, Arab traders brought Islam to southwest India.

Street scene in Calicut, Malabar’s historic port. Mappilas in Kerala state now number near nine million.

Contrasts are everywhere: A scene on Beach Road, Calicut.

Mappila women greet an old friend, Mary Helen Miller.

Female dress styles, once standard, are now varied.

Mapilla culture adopted Malayalam architecture. These are typical buildings, used for homes and rented shops.

A fashionable “Gulf” home.

Traditional ornaments and garb.

The hereditary Bibi of Kannur, an Ali Raja queen (2004).

The widely appreciated Syed Mohammed Ali Shihab Tangal community leader, model, and saint.

Young Mappila women in a traditional wedding dance.

Mappila male dancers in the kolkali “stick-dance.”

A traditional mosque near Quilandy.

A new mosque, with Indo-Saracenic style.

A hybrid mosque in the main intersection of Malappuram.

The famed Mambram shrine in Tirurangadi.

The Sheikhinde shrine in Calicut.

Ayesha teaches a friend basic literacy.

A new graduate school rises near Feroke.

Looking out from the Social Advancement Foundation of India, a Mappila institution that seeks intellectual progress. Professor Jaleel, a leader in the Mappila transformation, is on the left.

The future of Mappila Muslim culture is now in the hands of young Mappilas.

11

Social Behavior (cont’d) Leadership and Some Selected Leaders, Community Service, Communal Relations

This chapter explores three additional aspects of Mappila social behavior, namely the community’s leadership, its social service activity, and its relationships with non-Mulslims. In the closing section of our last chapter the Mappila approach to decision making was examined. Its focus on consensus means that the strength of its leadership becomes an all-important matter in the development of Mappila culture. The first section of this chapter therefore looks at the nature and extent of the community’s leadership resources, and also provides a brief biographical description of some selected leaders who have taken Mappilas forward in the building of their contemporary culture. The second section of the chapter then shows how strong Mappila leadership has led to growth in the area of social service, while the third section formally takes up a subject touched upon throughout our study, namely, the community’s behavior in relation to non-Muslims.

Mappila Leadership Resources and Representative Leaders A Rich Store of Leadership In a list of nine major Indian Muslim problems once drawn up by a North Indian Muslim editor and politician, Syed Shihabuddin, he placed the issue of community leadership first.1 His comment reflects the common opinion that Muslims in India are lacking in this quality. The problem is sometimes traced to the Partition era when many Muslim leaders left for Pakistan,2 but it also reflects a shared problem

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in general society. What about the Mappilas? In their case we see a notable contrast between past and present. Although the historical scroll of Malayali leadership is not inscribed with the names of many Muslims, in the present times Mappila culture is producing quite a rich harvest of public leaders. This striking fact reflects the Mappila developmental time warp. The post-1947 period represents a time of revival for Mappilas rather than the decline experienced by some other Indian Muslims. Their “Great Transition” in culture has provided a fertile seedbed for the growth of new leaders oriented to change. Members of the community in turn appreciate such dynamic leadership that contributes to the luster of their society. No longer is holding a traditional religious position an automatic qualification for leadership. It is now a function of social achievement, whatever the field. Once tendered, the appreciation for community leaders reaches great heights. There is a near mystical sense of respect for what is deemed to be authentic worthiness. This is evident in the proud references to the first wave of twentieth-century Mappila celebrities whose familiar names are invoked with awe—Wakkom, K. M. Seethi, M. Abdurrahiman, Poker Sahib, Pukkoya, and others. It is equally visible in their esteem for present-day leaders. Mappilas may be democratic in principle and in spirit, but they do not take a backseat in their regard for their leaders, and they generally heed what they say. Who are some of the esteemed leaders in Mappila culture today?

Selected Mappila Leaders It is not our intention to provide a kind of “directory” of outstanding Mappila leaders but rather to consider some representative figures in major categories. The latter include business, politics, education, religion, theological reform, and social reform. In connection with the latter some prominent female leaders will be noted. The categories are only starting points, for the individuals whom we have chosen transcend sharp limitations. The first figure, a businessman, illustrates their breadth of field. P. P. Hassan Koya (1913–1988) P. P. Hassan Koya of Kuttichira, Calicut, is a quintessential example of a modern Mappila leader. He received his education in Christian schools in Calicut and at the Madras Christian College and the Madras Law College. Remaining only briefly in the legal profession,

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he chose instead to go into business activities. With a magic touch he started or helped to start a remarkable series of flourishing business and industrial firms. Committed to modern higher education, he served on the managing committees of several Muslim institutions, including Feroke College, and he was a member of both the Madras University and Kerala University Senates. In the social field his service as a Rotary Club International Governor was widely appreciated. He also spent time and energy in the political world as a member of both the Muslim League and the Congress parties, serving a term in the Madras Legislative Assembly, but the vast range of his other activities left little time for such pursuits. Hassan Koya represents that group of cosmopolitan Mappila leaders—limited in size to be sure—that lent to Mappila life the features of high culture. Widely read, he brought his considerable intelligence to bear on almost any worthy subject, offering low-key but perceptive assessments. He exercised his leadership through his quiet but extensive personal relations and influence. His capacity for friendship was great, and his non-threatening style provided a notable leadership pattern. Despite his wide connections, his affection for his own community was foremost in his mind, and he personally remained located in and bonded to the time-honored Kuttichira society in Calicut. C. H. Muhammad Koya (1927–1983) After Indian independence Mappilas took to the political arena with vigor, and among the many figures of note C. H. Muhammad Koya stands out. His political interests began at a very early age in his home district of Calicut. While studying in the Intermediate Standard in the Calicut Zamorin College, he started the Muslim Students Federation, and in 1945 he helped to receive Liaquat Ali Khan, the future prime minister of Pakistan. He joined the Chandrika newspaper staff in l946, and in 1949 at the young age of 22 he became its editor. An able writer, he later authored fifteen works of his own. His interests led him to service in the Muslim League, and in 1955 when Mr. Nehru publicly criticized that organization, “C. H.” gave a spirited reply, and he himself became a longtime secretary of the Indian Union Muslim League. His thinking was influenced by the Mujahid emphasis on progress, and he worked hard for the uplift of his community. “C. H.” viewed political action as a helpful instrument for such development. From 1957 forward C. H. was a member of the Kerala Assembly; in the course of time he held several cabinet posts, and in 1979 he was

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briefly the premier of the state. On two occasions (1963, 1973) he was also elected to the National Parliament. As the state Minister of Education he furthered the progress of the Mappilas in secular education, but also encouraged higher standards in the Arabic colleges. During his tenure the first Malabar university, the University of Calicut, was born. A fiery and eloquent orator, C. H. Muhammad Koya became a grassroots star of the Mappila community and the ranking hero of Muslim youth. He was also a bridge-builder among various social and religious groups, and his early demise was widely mourned. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi (1905–1993) A pioneer of theological reformers, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi was a religious leader of great courage who represented the idea of reform rather than an organized movement of reform. His career was too turbulent, and his approach too personal and forthright to be organizational. He was rather a trailblazer who helped make it possible for others to advance moderate reform. There were few Mappilas who did not know or did not have some opinion about “C. N.” C. N. Ahmed Moulavi was brought up by his poor parents in the South Malabar inland villages of Cherur and Karuvarakundu. He took the elementary mosque-based dars training, and later recalled never using pen or ink. At his father’s death he became a farm laborer and by that means supported himself to the age of sixteen. Recognizing his talent, local leaders sent him to the Al-Baqiyyat-us-Salihat higher madrasa in Vellore. For him it was a heady atmosphere, and his thinking changed and began to enter a new stream. Ironically, he was inspired in that direction by Al-Shāfiʾī, the law school founder followed by Mappilas; C. N. claimed that the Imam “argued for freedom of thought.”3 In politics he was influenced by the Mappila Congress leader and freedom fighter, Muhmmad Abdurrahiman, who visited the Vellore College. C. N. remained in the Congress Party all his life. He completed his afzal degree in 1931 and obtained positions as a religious instructor at the Malappuram Training School and High School, but to augment his income and to have more time for writing he later began a retail clothing business in Calicut. When Marxist influence entered Kerala, C. N. contested its claims but was also influenced by its social critique. He came to the conclusion that a broader view of alms-giving (zakāt) would make it an instrument of economic development and would provide an Islamic response to economic needs. When he published his views, the severe criticism began that dogged him all his life and bordered

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on persecution. It reached new heights when he pressed his view that the key to Mappila progress was a return to the Qurʾān and its fresh interpretation. For the rest of his life he dedicated himself to that goal. He had to face the fact that the Qurʾān had never been translated into Malayalam and the very thought was harām! He accepted the challenge to make the translation. He tells of his trepidation as he commenced: “Hands shook, breast heaved, what fear!” Although he wrote many other theological and biographical works in his scholarly career, the Qurʾān translation was his magnum opus. His first (1951) and major volume of 800 pages included an extensive introduction as well as his translation and commentary. The latter revealed his rational approach and drew fresh ire from his critics.4 The huge publishing effort took a decade, appearing in six volumes, and it sapped both his finances and physical strength. It provided direct access to the Qurʾān, a basis for new theological development and a cultural milestone. With that task complete C. N. turned to the promotion of modern education, his second major interest. He had vowed to establish a college in his home area before he died. This he did at Mampad in 1969, later turning it over to the Muslim Education Society. A selfmade scholar, vehement in defense of his position, absolutely determined to forge ahead despite economic and health problems, warm in his relations with non-Muslims,and a pleasant and stimulating companion among friends, by the time of his passing his approaches that had once seemed so radical had become commonplace among Mappilas. K. A. Jaleel (1922–2012) For the category of educational leader we turn to Professor K. A. Jaleel who, for more than a half century, wisely led the Mappila community’s intellectual development with Enlightenment interests and vision. In his own person he was an unrivalled symbol of a healthy Muslim engagement with modernity. Born in Parur in the central region of the state and an heir of the cultivated Kodungalur tradition, he studied at Alwaye Christian College and at Kerala University where he specialized in English literature. He began his teaching career at Islamiya College in Vaniyambadi, Arcot District. When the Feroke College was born, he joined its faculty and became Principal in 1955. For 24 years he led that institution’s remarkable forward progress, insisting on genuine scholarly standards. From 1979–1983 he served as Vice-Chancellor of the University of Calicut. His resignation from that position gave him opportunities for ever-wider contributions. In 1987

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he served as Chairman of the All-India Muslim Education Conference in Madras. In 1992–93 he chaired a task force for a new university in North Malabar, which came to fruition at Kannur. In 2001 an idea was born for another kind of graduate institution named the Social Advancement Foundation of India which was inaugurated in 2005, Professor Jaleel leading its development. For five years he also served as Chairman of the Kerala State Waqf Board. Professor Jaleel was himself a careful scholar in the fields of English and linguistic history, but he also made notable contributions by encouraging the research and writing of other scholars, especially in the emerging field of Mappila Studies. He wrote warm introductions to many works. Sensitive to others and gentle in manner, he nevertheless was firm and determined in pushing forward the wheels of progressive community change. He was also a steady bridge-builder in relationships with other religious communities. His balanced, thoughtful, and Sir Sayyid-like leadership added many grace notes to the saga of modern Muslim culture in Kerala. P. Abdul Ghafoor (1930–1984) Social reformers have received a great deal of Mappila attention in contemporary times, and undoubtedly Dr. Abdul Ghafoor is the most prominent among them. He was born in Kodungalur where his father participated in the Aikya Sankhum development, He took his postsecondary education at Maharajah’s College in Cochin, at Aligarh University where he learned to appreciate Urdu, at the Trivandrum Medical College from which he graduated in 1957, and later at the University of Edinburgh where he took a post-graduate specialization in neurology. His final degrees of MRSP and FRSP, the latter coming after further studies in the U.S.A., reveal his thirst for higher education. He was the first Mappila Muslim to become a member of the Aligarh University Senate. It was Dr. Ghafoor’s incomparable work in founding the Muslim Education Society in 1964 and leading it on its wide-ranging forward path that gave him his greatest fame. He not only stimulated a desire for community improvement, but through the MES he was also able to establish a vast network of social uplift institutions. No one who heard him could ever forget his stirring cries for “revolutionary changes.” He overcame the inevitable opposition, gathering around himself a group of like-minded leaders. In a thoroughly remarkable development that we have sketched in the foregoing pages, he was an instrumental factor in the Mappila social progress of the recent

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decades. Once again, a relatively early demise silenced his powerful voice, but did not end his influence. Female Leadership The role of Mappila women in leadership roles is limited and when lists of community leaders are drawn up, women are conspicuous by their absence. This does not represent the full reality. Muslim women have taken leadership roles in a number of ways. As Mrs. Fatima Ghafoor, spouse of Dr. Abdul Ghafoor, has done, they have ably led women’s branches of social organizations. They have been recognized for selfless service in medicine, education, and law. Many have become known for their charitable gifts and have served on managing committees of service institutions. Yet this has been, in general, a subdued role. In the light of the fact that Mappila female leadership abilities are undeniable and are exercised in myriad ways in home life, the conclusion is that women have not yet been fully encouraged to exercise their talents, nor have they been provided with the needed opportunities for public service. That prospect lies ahead, and it may be only a matter of time before the Ayesha Bais, Fatima Beevis, and Ayesha Jaleels are multiplied. Ayesha Bai and Fatima Beevi were two Muslim women who successfully entered leadership realms usually occupied by men. Miss Ayesha Bai (b. 1919) of Kayamkulam took a law degree and joined the Communist Party in 1953. That movement had challenged Malayalam society with its positive stance on gender equality. Winning a state election in 1957 under the communist aegis, Ayesha Bai became Deputy Speaker of the Kerala Assembly. She was also a pioneer organizer of women’s societies (mahila samājums). M. Fatima Beevi (b. 1927) of Quilon entered the legal field. She took a law degree in Trivandrum in 1950, the first woman to do so in Travancore. In turn she became, a munsif (1958), district judge (1974), and a Kerala High Court judge (1983). Then, the following year, she rose to the status of Supreme Court Justice in Delhi, the first woman to achieve that distinction. It is significant that these trailblazing Muslim women came from Travancore where women’s education has a long tradition. Kodungalur, farther north, produced our third example of women’s leadership. Ayesha Jaleel was a person who demonstrated the talent to be both a homemaker and a public figure at the same time. From the moment she chose to cycle to school when that was regarded as wrong for a Muslim girl, Mrs. Ayesha Jaleel (1931–1991) was a female pioneer of modern Mappila culture. The niece of K.

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M. Seethi Sahib and the wife of K. A. Jaleel, she thrived in the new Mappila cultural world and communicated its values to other women in her community. Working through the Rotary Inner Wheel clubs she encouraged the goals of friendship, service, and social improvement. Through the MES women’s wings she fought what she called “the ignorance, prejudice and obscurantism” that stood in the way of women’s advancement. She regarded it as a woman’s duty to find the full expression of her personality. “She is as much a handiwork of God as men, and her faculty and powers are to be fully utilized.” One of the first Mappila women to hold a college degree, she saw the lack of education as women’s chief problem and successfully fought for its improvement. She called for volunteer organizations to rise up and struggle against social evils. “Our watchwords shall be education, culture, employment and emancipation. Let us pray and work for these noble ideals.”5 Combining her inspirational qualities with a positive outlook and a cheerful smile, Ayesha Jaleel not only influenced both females and males but also pointed to a rich lode of unmined leadership resources that the Mappila community possesses in its growing number of educated women. Syed Mohammadali Shihab Tangal (1936–2009) We conclude our examination of Mappila leadership with an individual whom we have already described as the single-most influential contemporary Mappila leader. It is fitting that we close with a religious leader, not in the sense of a musaliar but rather as a hakim, a wise person and guide. In its philosophic outlook Islam is comprehensive in scope, with all of life regarded as having a sacred quality bearing some relation to the will of God. Hence, religious leaders are not confined to the realms of doctrine and ritual. They may render opinions and participate in a broad range of social and political issues. The leading example of such an “involved” religious leader was Syed Mohammedali Shihab Tangal of Panakkad. The eldest descendant of the revered Pukkoya family, he was viewed by fellow Mappilas as a living saint. At the same time, for over thirty years the President of the State Muslim League, he was also regarded as the community’s political steersman. Saint and steersman, Shihab Tangal stood at the pinnacle of contemporary Mappila leadership. After attending elementary school at Pannakad, Shihab Tangal matriculated from a Calicut high school in 1953. From 1953 to 1958 he was a student at a traditional dars school near Tirur. His venerated father, P. M. S. A. Pukoyya Tangal (d. 1975) sent his son to

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Egypt for schooling. There he studied in the joint program at Al-Azhar (1958–1961) and at the University of Cairo (1961–1966). At the latter he studied a broad range of Arab literary figures, including poets and graduated with an MA in Arabic literature. On his return to Malabar he married Sharifa Fatima Beevi, daughter of Sayyid Bafaki Tangal, and the union was blessed with five children. On November 1, 1975, he succeeded his father as leader of the Kerala Muslim League. Unassuming and dignified, Shihab Tangal exercised both religious and political leadership with the same congenial spirit. On Tuesdays and Fridays throngs gathered at his Panakkad home seeking a moment to share their problems and to obtain a blessing from one deemed to possess miraculous powers. His welcoming attitude to one and all, high and low, was legendary. His presence was sought for political advice with the same eagerness, and he maintained a daunting pace in response to countless public invitations. Wisely and sensitively, he led Muslims through the landmines of state politics for over three decades. He also led the way into cordial relationships with members of other religious communities. In an ʿĪd al-Fitr address Shihab Tangal advised Mappilas: “Let every individual come forward to promote mutual affection and brotherhood in society, that humanitarianism will prevail.” Clarifying what he intended to say he added these words: “Overcome the hatred of enemies with the mind of love.”6 Against this background G. M. Banatwalla, President of the Indian Union Muslim League, described him as “the true voice of the Muslims in Kerala.”7 And an Indian Express editor, N. Madhavankutty, gave him the accolade, “the Affable Peacemaker of Panakkad,” and offered this perceptive insight: “Shihab Tangal both connects and separates Kerala’s Muslim milieu and the world, as delicately as he blends in himself the best of Islamic, Indian and Malayali identities.”8 A 2007 newspaper photograph of Shihab Tangal and friends made the same point in a pictorial manner.9 Because of a serious illness he is seated for the inauguration of the Haj Centre at the Karippur airport. Standing and shaking his hand is Mr. Achutanandan, the Chief Minister of Kerala, an avowed Marxist. Leaning forward behind him in a similarly congratulatory pose is Kanthapuram A. P. Abu Bekr Musaliar, an acknowledged leader of the Mappila traditionalists. Shihab is the bridge. With his widely mourned death on August 1, 2009, that important bridging function will now have to be taken up by others, including important members of his own family, but Shihab Tangal’s distinctive contributions will not be forgotten. Social service activities occupied many of the modern Mappila

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leaders, and that is our next topic.

Mappila Social Service and Trusts We have drawn attention to the problem of economic distress among the Mappilas. It was critical before the relief provided to many families by Gulf employment, but it still exists to some degree and new needs are arising. The spectrum of Mappila social behavior includes helping the poor and the disadvantaged in the community. Zeinuddin and Fathuma symbolize the suffering Mappila. Zeinuddin stems from Kolathur in the interior of Malabar. He was a day laborer in the fields with little income, and he and his family were forced to live in desperate poverty in a little hut. The conditions facilitated the onslaught of disease. One day he came to a medical center where the writer met him.10 Zeinuddin was diagnosed with diabetes. After a time he returned with more complaints. On this occasion he was also found to have tuberculosis. In the course of that treatment it was further discovered that Zeinuddin had contracted leprosy! How was it possible that he could continue to give me his quiet smile? Fathuma belonged to the poorest of the poor. She had been divorced and abandoned, and could barely feed her children. Intelligent but without any education, she earned a few rupees by daily labor in the market and by begging for help. Somehow Fathuma pulled on, but she was more vocal than Zeinuddin in expressing her feelings about her sorrowful condition. The hearts of Mappilas are generally warm toward community members such as these who are hard-pressed in their lives, although often the feeling is accompanied by a sense of helplessness. Their compassion is exercised at three levels: personal efforts, social service organizations, and charitable trusts. We will examine each of these.

Personal Charity The motivation for Mappila personal charity is not merely the deep memory of the community’s past suffering and its visible and continuing marks in the present, but it also rests in the principle of generosity that is enshrined in the Qurʾān. The scripture sets that out as one of the chief virtues by which humanity ascends to a higher level: Ah, what will convey unto thee what the Ascent is!—

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(It is) to free a slave, And to feed in the day of hunger an orphan near of kin, Or some poor wretch in misery.” (90:12–16) When the Qurʾān says “Take heed!” (80:4), it is a warning to see the suffering and to show compassion. In response to that exhortation, Mappilas express their personal charity in three ways—through daily acts of neighborly kindness, through ritual alms-giving (zakāt), and by local low-scale efforts to help specific needs. Daily acts of generosity cannot be measured, but they warm social relationships. The principle of alms-giving requires that a percentage of resources above one’s basic needs be shared with the poor. An illustration of a local low-scale effort by one individual to overcome suffering comes from a Calicut suburb. There a young, educated Muslim woman, depending entirely on voluntary contributions, has initiated a successful developmental school for mentally disadvantaged children. At another level Mappila women have collaborated with Hindu and Christian women to form women’s societies (mahila samājums) that creatively address basic village needs. These are signs of the “Ascent.”

Large-Scale Social Service Organizations Mappila social reformers recognized the fundamental importance of personal charity and local uplift efforts, but they also felt some despair over the inadequacy of these means to deal with the macro-problems of Mappila society. Influenced by the many social movements around them and dedicated to lifting up the backward classes in the nation and state, they came to the conviction that the Mappila community itself must organize new and imaginative programs to produce real and rapid forward progress. They believed that large-scale attempts were needed to root out the causes of poverty, and to provide technical training and job opportunities that would enable the Mappila community to lift itself out of its economic duress by its own action. Out of such feelings organizations like the Muslim Education Society and the Muslim Service Society developed. They could look for inspiration to an early precedent provided by a famous Mappila orphanage. Care for orphans is an old tradition in Islam that also reflects a Quranic emphasis. That service engaged the Mappila community in a special way after the 1921 Rebellion that left many children full or part orphans. Abdul Kader Kasuri, Mohiuddin Ahned Kasuri, and

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Mohamed Ali, three maulavis, led the remedial efforts, establishing the J. D. T. Orphanage near Calicut in 1922. It never closed its doors after the immediate need was met, rather, it both continued its founding activity and also impressively enlarged its field of service. The number of boys and girls in the orphanage hovers between 1,100 and 1,300. They are served by an elementary school and high school that include students from the general public. An industrial training center, technical institute, and production center provide broad opportunities for learning trades and crafts. Under the energetic leadership of K. P. Hassan Abdullah it also moved toward becoming a center for the Indira Gandhi Open University in selected practical diploma fields, and it established the full-fledged modern Iqra Hospital. A similar institution, the Yathim Khana, began in Tirurangadi in 1943 after a cholera epidemic took many lives. Its founders, K. M. Maulavi, E. K. Maulavi, and M. K. Haji were reform leaders. The institution also serves over a thousand orphans and conducts a large Oriental High School that feeds its graduates into the nearby B. Poker Memorial College. In addition to its 70 educational institutions (2004), the aforementioned Muslim Education Society has sponsored three orphanages, four hospitals, six technical institutes, and a mental institute. The Muslim Service Society took another direction. It began as a break-off from the MES in 1980 when a dissatisfied group of MES members initiated a new Calicut-based organization. The Muslim Service Society is less concerned about an institutional format and more interested in the older tradition of direct assistance to the Muslim poor. For that purpose the MMS gathers and utilizes zakāt contributions as well as other donations. Its range of services includes feeding the poor, assistance with burial arrangements, house construction, educational scholarships, and facilitating employment opportunities. As set out by one of its well-known supporters, Abdul Samad Samadani, it endorses the principle of helping people to stand on their own feet. The failure to do so perpetuates backwardness, and that must be overcome.11 Here in a nutshell is the raison d’etre of this hard-working group.

Charitable Trusts or Wakf Wakfs in Islamic practice are a legal form of sharing property. The term wakf may be loosely translated as endowment or charitable trust. It refers both to the act of creating the trust and to the trust itself. A wakf comes about when someone has the pious intention of helping a beneficiary. In an official document he or she declares a portion of

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property to be inalienable, that is, it cannot be disposed of by sale, donation, or inheritance. He or she also designates a beneficiary. All of the income after expenses must be used for that beneficiary. K. A. Jaleel who chaired the Kerala State Wakf Board (1998–2003) endorses the definition of the India Wakf Act, 1913 (Sec. 2.1) which declares that wakf is “a permanent dedication by a person professing Islam, of any moveable or immoveable property for any purpose recognized by Muslim law as a pious or charitable service.”12 Wakf is almost as old as historic Islam itself. Although it is not mentioned in the Qurʾān, it is based on early Hadīth. It soon became a vast system with many variations from country to country, and even law school to law school.13 It also became a normal part of Muslim life in India. As the Mughul legal administration merged with the British legal tradition, however, more critical attention was paid in India to wakf administration and the possibilities of abuse. Two elements of wakf in particular lend themselves to that possibility. The first is related to the fact that the founder of the trust also appoints a manager (mutavalli), whose duty it is to administer the property and to distribute its proceeds. He is permitted to cover expenses and to receive remuneration. Unguarded, the provision opens up the potential for abuse. The second element is that Muslim law envisions the possibility of relatives being beneficiaries. Other trust beneficiaries may be the poor, mosques, institutions such as schools and hospitals, and other charities, but relatives are also included in the list. This option relates in part to the poor economic condition of early Muslims among whom the practice of assigning a wakf to a family member was common. In modern times, the provision gives opportunity for evading inheritance laws or using the system for other personal ends. A. A. Qadri, a Muslim legal scholar, affirms that if the idea of wakf is properly understood there is protection against such abuse—the idea is that the property is really given to God and when the relatives have no further need its income should revert to the poor.14 In the light of the problems, real or potential, the British Government passed the Musselman Wakf Act of 1923. It made provision “for the better management of wakf property and for ensuring the keeping and publication of proper accounts.”15 Various Indian states also passed similar acts. After Independence the Government of India introduced the Wakf Act of 1954, later (1995) further amended. The legislation defined the membership of state administrative boards and set up tribunals to deal with disputes. The 1954 Wakf Act was ­modified and made applicable to Kerala in 1958, and in 1960 the first

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Kerala Wakf Board was appointed. In the light of this history it is not surprising that a large number of Mappilas utilize wakf to express their social concerns. For example, when Farook College was founded the Aikya Sankhum transferred their balances for that purpose under the Wakf Act. There are now approximately 7,000 registered wakf trusts in the state, and there are others which are non-registered. The distribution of the trusts in Malappuram District illustrates the variety of purposes that they serve. In 1986 there were 2,212 registered wakfs, with an average value of ten thousand rupees. The distribution was as follows: juma mosques 65, prayer mosques 422, Arabic schools 10, orphanages 8, welfare services such as aiding students, feeding travellers and Qurʾān recitals 704, and others 1003.16 The statistics indicate that wakfs are used for a broad range of religious purposes as well as for other family-related affairs. There is a feeling that the potential of the system as a resource for major social uplift activities has not been fully realized. K. A. Jaleel offers the opinion that “there should be provisions in the Wakf Act for the better use of wakf funds for educational and social purposes.”17

Mappila Relations with Non-Muslims For Mappilas, life in community involves their relations with nonMuslims. It is an issue as crucial as it is inevitable. In crowded Kerala no social community can live by itself or for itself. Mappilas are in day-to-day contact with Hindus, Christians, and others who are their fellow citizens. Their own cultural being is affected by this proximity and interaction. Two facts make the interaction very unusual. The first is the religious mix of the state. Perhaps no other area of the world can match the religious balance that we identified in Chapter 1, with each of the major world religions having a high population percentage. The second fact tightens the relational wire. These religious believers must live together at the rate of 819 per square kilometer (2,096 per square mile), one of the world’s highest population densities. The interreligious dynamics are constant, pressured, and intense. What do Mappilas bring to this table? They bring a behavioral approach defined by a long learning experience and directed by deliberate policy. As we have demonstrated, relations with non-Muslims have been a reality of Mappila existence from the community’s inception. Their culture was initiated by intermarriage with non-Muslims. Then came the long Mappila double experience. The first eight-century period passes on a positive

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memory of a time when people of different religions lived together in relative peace and harmony. The world may never again see anything akin to the Malayalam Pax that marked social life on the southwest edge of the subcontinent from 632 to 1498.18 The second experience yields a negative memory of people in confrontation, often involved in enmity and violence. The colonial incursions upset the interreligious harmony, and Mappilas themselves developed antithetical relations with their neighbors. The great cultural question was, which behavioral experience would become the informing one for Mappilas of the present era? In the decades after 1921, Mappilas made clear their choice; it is a choice for positive relationships. While they and their Hindu and Christian colleagues are still in the process of recovering the harmony of the early period, they have had considerable success in that effort, and Kerala is now frequently cited as a kind of national model for communal relations. The Mappila effort to take the high road in interreligious relations is a monumental one with wide ramifications. It is heavily connected with practical considerations but not entirely so. Four practical factors that we have taken up contributed to the positive development. Perhaps the most important one is the community’s leadership. From 1921, leaders dedicated themselves to rebuilding the community’s life, and that meant constructing new relations. From 1947, they led Mappilas to a new future in cooperative living within free secular India. The second contributing factor in the Mappila constructive task was the post-1956 involvement in Malayali political life, an activity that built self-esteem and that required collaboration with others of different views. The third element in the new relation-building was the educational one that opened the Mappila mind and created a new set of intellectual connections. The fourth factor is the economic one. With the removal of the worst of their disabilities, the Mappila age of discontent had passed and was replaced by an era of possibility and hope that eased Mappila feelings of minority and inferiority, and opened doors to mutual cooperation. A fifth factor bridges the practical considerations with the attitudinal element, and may be described as a psychological one. Mappilas have simply determined to bury their old reputation of being communal fanatics who cannot live peacefully with other religious communities. They have buried it deeply, making it easier for Hindus, Christians, and others to behave normally toward Mappilas in the two-way street of interreligious relations. This cultural reshaping is unusual and encouraging because of its deliberate nature. To observe how a large society can intentionally turn itself about, sturdily resist-

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ing the still remaining negative influences and remaining steadily on its chosen path of peaceful relations, is to contemplate a vision of wider hope. Of course, the development would not have been possible if Hindus and Christians had not been like-minded. The cultural interplay and mutual sympathy has been reciprocal. Mappilas recognize that fact and are grateful. That is why a noted Mappila leader could say to the writer: “Kerala Muslims have no problems because of the communal harmony.” The positive Mappila attitude of the present day is a recovery of the community’s old tradition, and it is not merely a psychological adjustment or a practical determination. It has a stronger grounding. It represents the community’s sturdy conviction that having good relations conforms with true Islam. The feeling is intuitive. While there is solid ground for interreligious amity in the broad Islamic tradition that counsels respect for other God-fearers, there are few formal Mappila writings on that theme. Rather, the contemporary attitude is a pious instinct that harmonious relations are a correct and proper response to the Quranic command “to enjoin the good and prohibit the evil” (3:104), and the Qurʾān’s exhortation “to control wrath” and to “be forgiving toward mankind” (3:134). Good human relations belong to the realm of piety, taqwā; beyond their social, commercial, or political advantage. From this perspective the idea of caring has a wider embrace than helping distressed members of one’s own community. It overflows in undefined ways to take in non-Muslims. Mappilas have demonstrated this attitude in many individual situations, if not in theoretical expression. The caring friendships that exist between Muslims, Hindus, and Christians in Kerala are beyond numbering. They are the stuff of Malayalam culture. It is these personal relationships that provide the foundation for the praised interreligious amity of the state. Mappilas have not been behind in extending a neighborly hand. A homely example of such neighborliness took place in the town of Malappuram in November 2006. A Mappila woman named Itty Kutty and a foreign Christian woman19 had forged a friendship going back forty years, but they had not seen each other for a long period. The up-to-date Itty Kutty had finally sent an e-mail to her Christian friend requesting a meeting. Things went well, and a meeting became possible. When it took place, the wider community rose to attention. Mappila women gathered and beamed their appreciation. Newspaper reporters were ready. Cameras were raised. They recorded the warm embrace. A newspaper headline caught the essence of the occasion:

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“Despite Great Distance in Time and Space, Still Good Neighbors!” Despite the grassroots neighborliness of Malayali society and despite the fact that the region has been acclaimed as a good example of harmony, the reality is that its communal relations are like a tender coconut that requires minding and nourishment. Communal relations in the area are certainly not perfect, and there is still work to be done. Neither are they impervious to the communalism that sporadically surfaces in wider Indian society. From Bagalpur to Ayodhya the Indian cultural landscape is dotted with communal incidents that have been aptly described as a form of “competitive religiosity.”20 It affects Mappilas in two ways. Sympathizing with the difficulties of fellow Muslims, when they occur, they themselves become restive. Second, the external incidents encourage communal organizations within Kerala, including, on the one hand, new Islamist groups and, on the other hand, older Hindu communal organizations like the Rashtriya Sevak Sangh that has been active in Kerala since 1942. Through recent years to mid-2014, a period that included testing national elections, Mappilas have done their best to avoid being provoked by communal influences, whether from within or without, and they have remained firm in their commitment to harmonious relations. That position has required of them a steady reinforcing of the principle of deliberate restraint. The depth of the problems involved is revealed in an incident that does not affect Mappilas directly, namely a violent attack on nuns at Calicut on September 25, 2004, allegedly by RSS miscreants. The nuns belonged to Mother Theresa’s Order and were engaged in charitable work in a Dalit colony. A newspaper editorial [The Hindu] subsequently commented on the precarious nature of communal peace and the need for alert discipline to maintain it, even within the relatively stable Malayalam society. It declared:21 The attack on nuns . . . is unusual, even if not unprecedented, for a State that has been relatively immune to communal violence.Without any apparent provocation but with meticulous planning, an unindentified mob criminally assaulted nuns from the Missionaries twice in one day  .  .  .  Most of the earlier incidents of communal violence in Kerala had their roots in disputes over ownership of land or access to resources . . . Quite naturally, there is now apprehension that Kerala . . . might go the way of other states . . . where minorities have come under threat

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from activists of the Sangh Parivar. The United Democratic Front Government must show greater alertness and sincerity in reining in communal outfits of all hues  .  .  .  Else the country’s most politically conscious State, which has so far remained isolated from major communal violence, might end up as another fertile ground for those who thrive on hate, intimidation, and anti-people violence. It is not a secret that unrestrained political enthusiasm is now probably the element most dangerous to peaceful human relations in Kerala. It may take aggressive forms that overlap into communal expressions, and therefore represents a challenge to wise and determined leadership. When the Muslim League Office in Trivandrum was attacked (2005) the League President, Shihab Tangal, declared: “The attack on the party office is undemocratic and unethical. The people of the state will not accept the politics of violence.”22 The Mappila leader was not only issuing a call for democratic, ethical, and nonviolent political activity, but he was also underlining the basic component in contemporary Mappila relations with non-Muslims, the desire for harmony. Mappila leaders understand the competitive factor in politics but they have joined other Malayalis in also recognizing that Malayalam society cannot afford communalism. They have thrown their weight on the side of harmony creation and harmony maintenance. Their methodology is a quiet one. The modus operandi is to step in whenever communal incidents do occur in order to preemptively contain them, the stepping-in takes place behind the scenes, a soft message of restraint goes out which is heard and accepted by the community, and the incidents are thereby kept isolated. In this manner enlightened leadership pressure has produced a remarkable Mappila behavioral transformation that contrasts visibly with the past. The inevitable intrusion of negative influences means that Mappila leaders are compelled to be steadily on guard in their preemptive service, but they are also able to take satisfaction from many symbols of their community’s positive relationship with non-Muslims. None is more moving than the tale of the Mappila flower growers. In 2002, a front-page newspaper headline read “Hindu-Muslim Amity in full bloom in Malappuram.” The story is about six Muslim farmers at Edakulam near Tirunavaya who raise lotus flowers meant for puja ceremonies at Hindu temples. One of the Muslim farmers named Abdurrahiman even delivered flowers daily to the Guruvayoor Srikrishna Temple during Ramadan. He is quoted as saying: “We

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know the importance of poojas in the Hindu religious customs and take care to deliver the flowers without fail around the year.”23 The heartwarming report firmly expresses the lovely aspect of the Kerala interreligious harmony and the Mappila participation in it.

12

Religious Rituals and Festivals Saints and Superstition

In this chapter we will describe Mappila religious behavior as expressed in the formally prescribed rituals and festivals, and in the informal practices related to saint veneration and credulous beliefs. Mappila religious life is diverse and lively. It is in a sense like a boiling pot—new bubbles are constantly appearing on the surface. This animated scene embraces practices that are common to Muslims everywhere and many others that are local in origin and affection. Whether formal or informal, the various expressions of Mappila religious behavior testify to the community’s inner conviction that religion is all-important and the very core of a healthy culture.

The Prescribed Rituals Islam prescribes certain rituals but is not defined or limited by them. Important as each one is, religious behavior is a broader concept defined as “surrendering to God.” That implies a holistic view of life and the recognition that true piety is comprehensive in its scope. As the first verse of the Qurʾān declares: “God is the Lord of the worlds.” An individual does not become a Muslim by performing some ceremonies but rather by confessing that all we do in our various worlds should be done as the obedient servants of God Almighty. This approach determines the specific role and function of religious rituals. They are the commanded acts that one performs as sacred symbols of God’s universal lordship and the regular reminders that we should be devoted to God in all our cultural expressions. If they are not understood in their symbolic meaning, the rituals may easily degenerate into rote religion. Mappilas well understand this point because they have witnessed that kind of formalism in their 253

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history and recognize its dangers. That having been said, it must be added that Mappilas fully honor the five formally prescribed religious practices.1 They give a pious rhythm to their existence and an habitual behavioral frame for the fully surrendered life.

The Confession of Faith Where there is believed to be revelation or truth, there is also confession. “This is what happened.” “This is what I believe.” Confession is the first and basic ritual act in Islam, the first act of what Mappilas call dīn or religion. Mappilas do not go around shouting the confessing words. But little children hear them. Worshippers use them. Dying people hear them. They are familiar words: “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God.” The confession is spoken in Arabic: la ilāha illa Allāh, wa Muhammadu rasūl lāhi. Sacred meaning is embraced by sacred sound. In this practice Mappilas follow the custom of Muslims around the world, and so declare their oneness with them. Muslim scholars list the confession of faith as a practice because it refers to an action. It is faith issuing from the believer’s inner being into the act of witness. Yet it is really in a category all its own. Muslims, including Mappilas, call it the shahāda, the witnessing. Others may use the term kalima, the declaration. Sincerely uttered, the confession makes one a Muslim. There is no other required creed in Islam. Creeds (ʿaqīda) exist, but none has official status. It is the simple words of the shahāda that declare and summarize an individual’s commitment. They are repeated five times daily as part of the prayers, and at the hour of death they should pass the believer’s lips. The pithy and powerful testimony is the first of the five prescribed rituals for Muslim pious behavior. The other four rituals are called arkān, the pillars of Islam, and chief among them is prayer which Mappilas call niskārum, a Malayalam noun derived from a verbal root meaning “to prostrate oneself in humble adoration and worship.”

Mappila Prayer Mappilas follow the classical Muslim division into two segments—the stipulated fivefold prayer (salāt) and the occasional voluntary prayer (duʿa). The stipulated prayer is all-important. In its conduct Mappilas follow the common Muslim tradition in regard to the call to prayer,

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the times of prayer, the pre-prayer ablutions, and the actual performance. The repeated process with its complex movements and sacred phrases brings home to the worshipper the centrality of submissive adoration. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi therefore calls it “the most important of Islamic observances.”2 Mappila prayer life is sincere, but there is also tolerance for variations in the rate of observance. Modern life intrudes on the fivefold prayer requirement and that fact is realistically accepted. The tradition of Islam that under certain circumstances allows two or more prayers to be telescoped into one allows for accommodation to both work schedules and spiritual needs. In particular, the noon and afternoon prayers (zuhr and ʿasr) are frequently united at a convenient time. Since the prescribed prayer has a private quality (except for Fridays) and goes unmonitored, it is not possible to confidently estimate how many Mappilas pray five times daily, how many pray a lesser number but make up for missed occasions, how many are satisfied with a lesser number, and how many pray seldom or not at all. Mappilas themselves have suggested that perhaps half of the community members perform niskārum five times daily. As for voluntary petitions, they may be offered at will, but nighttime has practical advantages. Mappila attendance at the weekly congregational prayer at the mosque (the khutba) can be more accurately gauged. It takes place on Fridays at the time of the noon prayer. In some periods of the Mappila past, such as the third quarter of the twentieth century the khutba was attended in a very perfunctory way, mostly by the elderly. That has now changed to a considerable degree. Attendance is more enthusiastic, sparked by the appearance of young males. Females may attend in some Mujahid and Jamaat-Islam mosques, praying in reserved and separate sections, but they are not at all to be seen in Sunni mosques. In the khutba ritual the congregation is first arranged in lines behind the prayer leader who guides the worshippers through the prescribed cycles of prayer, after which the congregation is seated for the message. The speaker mounts a platform or pulpit (mimbar) to give a sermon that includes praises of God, prayers for blessing on the Prophet Muhammad, an exposition of a Qurʾān passage, and a homily on a general topic. In progressive Mappila mosques the sermon will be presented in Malayalam, but in traditionalist mosques hallowed old Arabic versions are usually read. Mappila women pray in the homes except when they are menstruating or when they are in the forty-day purification period following a delivery. They may use any tidy location. After the normal ablutions (ulu, dial.) they don a long white garment called a

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­ iskāra-kuppai. A sari with a full-sleeved blouse may also be used. n The combining of prayers is not unusual. Children are not required to pray before puberty, but many do so at an earlier age. The formal prayers constitute the breath of Mappila spirituality. As five times daily they hear the muezzin’s call to “Come to prayer!” and the promise “Come to salvation!” They are reminded that God is to be remembered and that He prospers those who do remember him. They are also reminded of the Quranic admonition: “And be thou not of the neglectful” (7:205).

Mappila Fasting None of the Islamic rituals is more demanding than the fasting that takes place during the ninth Muslim month of Ramadan. It requires that the individual abstain from food and drink during the daylight hours. Moreover, the practice requires of the believers a determined effort to deepen his or her personal piety. Where do the Mappilas stand on this rigorous requirement which they refer to as nōnpu (Ar. sawm)? An increasing number of Mappilas proudly adhere to this rigorous exercise in self-control, although some in the community do not participate. On a formal visible level, especially where Mappilas are in the majority, the community does everything it can to encourage its members to take part. All Mappila establishments in the food industry are closed. Religious leaders conduct special teaching programs, usually at night. The main occasion occurs on the 27th day of the month when the angel of revelation is believed to have delivered the first portion of the Qurʾān. Women greatly appreciate the night meetings on that occasion, but youth participate only to a lesser extent. There is a kind of generational gap in the compliance with fasting. It may be illustrated by a personal experience. On one occasion I was invited to a Mappila home for refreshments during Ramadan. The invitation was given by two sons who had been influenced by communist philosophy. They did not fast. The young men sat down with me to join in the refreshments. The mother of the house bustled about, bringing tea and boiled bananas. The father was observing the fast, but he stood beside the table and led the conversation without any hint of embarrassment. By compromise this family had resolved their difference of opinion in regard to the ritual observance. Other families like them have done likewise. Familial tolerance at the grassroots level is a growing and moderating influence in Mappila culture.

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In more orthodox homes, however, the fast is a time of both spiritual intensity and agitated activity. From the moment when the new moon is first sighted to the time when it once again appears, the family life is turned upside down. Since the secular world of which they are a part does not change its habits, the Mappilas must still conform to the requirements of their work and schooling. Nor does nature alter its ways, and a fast month that follows the lunar calendar may at times fall in the hottest or rainiest season, causing special problems for the very young and very old. Yet the family copes. The mother has prepared food during the day. In the evening, at sunset, the fast is broken, often by first eating a fig or date with some water, followed by the evening prayer (maghrib). Then comes the eagerly awaited meal. The streets are active and noisy as men dash for “hotels” or restaurants. Following the late prayer (ʿishāʾ) from about 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. to 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. the family takes rest, after which there is a second full meal. The time for the morning prayer (fajr) arrives very early, and the fasting must begin again. Both the times for rest and for night meals are not exact and vary from family to family. Women who are in a state of prohibition are not expected to fast, nor are children before the age of puberty. Many children strain at the leash to be allowed to join the fasting.

Mappila Alms-Giving Mappilas refer to the ritual act of alms-giving by the Arabic term zakāt; this charitable rite has been introduced in the last chapter. The requirement is that a portion of the individual’s income above the basic amount for food, clothing, and shelter, that is, about 2½ percent, is to be shared with the needy. Undergirding the ritual requirement are the many Quranic passages commending generosity and condemning the heartless and greedy. What seems like a straightforward obligation, however, is plagued by the question of what is the best way to help the poor. It should be noted that zakāt gifts are also utilized to help with mosque expenses and for support of mosque personnel as well as for other charitable purposes. Zakāt giving is to be differentiated from voluntary gifts which are called sadaqa. The zakāt rite is to be viewed as a spiritual act and not as a tax requirement, and in the Qurʾān it is linked with prayer 82 times. The Mappila difference of opinion over the use of zakāt income may be illustrated by the practice of giving to beggars. Even today at the entrance to mosques there are still lines of beggars, among them

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handicapped people, seeking help with outstretched hands, and few worshippers pass by without leaving a coin in some hand. While this custom has the merit of providing immediate assistance, it has the demerit of failing to deal with the cause of the destitution and may even encourage the practice of begging. Hence, Mappila reformers, as we have noted, declared: “Let us gather zakāt and build schools and training centers where people can learn to break out of the cycle of poverty.” “No,” replied traditionalists, “We must remain with the traditional understanding that zakāt should be handed directly to the poor.” The issue remains a lively one.

Mappilas and the Pilgrimage to Mecca The pilgrimage to Mecca (hajj) is the ritual Mount Everest for Mappilas. Not all make the climb, but all desire to do so. Fulfilling the dream is somewhat easier for Mappilas than for some other Muslims since southwest India is relatively near to Arabia, and many Malayalis are already located in the Gulf region for employment purposes. Nevertheless, the number of Mappilas who make the pilgrimage is restricted by financial ability and by the limitation on the total permits issued by the Government of India. In the interests of preserving foreign exchange the government of India has limited the number of exit visas it issues for the hajj but with the improvement of the nation’s hard currency holdings in recent years it has been able to gradually increase the number of permits granted; by 2005 the figure had grown to over 97, 000.3 In relation to the total Muslim population of India Mappilas were able to benefit from a disproportionate number of the permits, so that in 2005, 11,256 of 13,002 Kerala applicants received permission.4 The size of the group leaving from Calicut alone required 29 Air India flights and 19 charter flights. Proceeding from the new Haj Camp at the Karippur airport and having donned their special garments for the state of purification, the male and female pilgrims pass through the emigration clearance in long orderly lines. Their predominantly middle age is notable, but most striking is the intense and nervous expectation that marks the faces. It is a very high moment for the future hājis. Admittedly, a few opportunist Mappilas who attend the hajj frequently do so for commercial reasons unrelated to spiritual growth. They may have import-export or other business interests. The practice is justified by C. N. Ahmed Moulavi claiming Quranic support. He states that “those who go to Mecca for commercial purposes should not be harassed” and argues that “such intentions do not clash with

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the purity of the Haj.”5 In any event this motivation belongs only to a small minority. For most Mappilas it is the supreme experience of one’s life, born from deep personal conviction and made possible by financial struggle. An elderly umma, a Mappila mother, came to the writer’s home to announce her “breaking news”: “I am going on the hajj,” she announced. The look on her face as she spoke was indescribable with its mix of devotion, awe, and happiness. She truly represented the basic Mappila emotion. After the loaded planes descend on Jidda or Medina it does not take long for the expectations to be fulfilled. The pilgrims make their way to Mecca where they cry “I am ready. Lord!” and participate in a variety of ceremonies designed to remind them of the birth of historic Islam and its meaning. They share their experience with up to two million fellow Muslims, fortifying their sense of identity and unity. As they circumambulate the Kaʾba shrine they firm up their commitment to keep God at the center of their lives. The hajj is not only a surpassing emotional experience, but for the returning hāji it also bears a social value as he or she receives the community’s respect. From the prescribed rituals we move to the statutory festivals.

Major and Minor Festivals Contrasting with the routine “solemn rituals,” the two major Mappila festivals, provide the spice for community life. They are relaxed and give pleasure. They are the festival of the sacrifice and the festival of the breaking of the fast.

The “Walia Perunāl” or Baqr-ʿĪd These are the preferred Mappila names for ʿĪd al-Adha, “the festival of the sacrifice.” Walia perunāl means “the great festival,” while BaqrʿĪd literally means “the festival of the bovine.” It takes place on the tenth day of the twelfth Muslim month, the month of pilgrimage (Dhu al-Hijja). Coinciding with the pilgrimage ceremonies, it is a high day everywhere in the Muslim world. On this day in the Valley of Mina near Mecca, Muslim pilgrims recall Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son by offering an animal sacrifice of their own. Many other Muslims not on the pilgrimage follow their example, but some prefer to omit the actual sacrifice and are content with the spiritual interpretation of the event. It signifies that we should surrender to God’s will with the same sacrificial spirit. To symbolize that spirit the festival becomes a

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time for giving food and gifts to the poor. While these meanings float in the atmosphere and are underlined in the mosque, for Mappilas the great festival is very much a relaxed and pleasant time for families. The festival extends over three days. The first day is concentrated on worship. Sermons expound on the significance of Ibrahim Nabi’s action and the importance of generosity. The second day is specifically a family time when new clothing is presented to the members of the family and feasts are enjoyed. The third day is an opportunity for visiting the wife’s home or the homes of friends, or receiving friends into one’s own house. Occasionally, special events and performances will occur featuring groups singing Mappila ballads. Because of the rush of life today, what was traditionally done in this leisurely three-day pattern is now frequently compressed into a single day. Nevertheless, it is still a time of good feeling set within family joys. A khutba preacher may sum it up with the words: “.  .  .  To rejoice on the feast-day is the sign and mark of the pure and good.” But then he will also add: “This is the day on which to utter the praise of God.”6

The “Cheria Perunal” or ʿĪd al-Fitr Even though it bears the name “the small festival” and even though in theory it ranks behind Bakr-ʿĪd, the ʿĪd al-Fitr holds a strong place in Mappila emotion. The phrase means “breaking of the fast” and the festival is celebrated on the first day of Shawal, the tenth lunar month, at the end of the fasting month of Ramadan. For a month Mappilas have set aside normal appetites in favor of physical selfdenial and spiritual reflection. ʿĪd al-Fitr comes as a welcome release. In the evening of the last day of the fast the streets are full of people awaiting the signal that the new moon has been sighted and the festival can begin! The morning of the feast-day is dedicated to worship, usually in the mosque, but it may also take place in an outdoor area if the weather is favorable. Even before the prayer, the worshipper may give gifts to the poor. In one ʿĪd al-Fitr sermon the speaker says: “Your fasting will not be rewarded and your prayers will be stayed in their flight until you have given the sadaqa.”7 The worship has two prayer cycles, a message, and special praises to God. After it is over those present greet each other with “salaam” or occasionally with “ʿĪd mubarak!,” “a blessed festival to you.” Thereafter comes the family feast and the visiting of friends. A few Mappilas also use the occasion to visit the cemetery and the graves of the departed loved ones. ʿĪd al-Fitr is a kind of pleasant sigh of relief and a signal that ordinary life can resume once again.

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Minor Festivals Three minor festivals receive fairly cursory Mappila attention. Milād

al-Nabi

Celebrated on the 12th day of the third month of the Muslim year, Rabi al-Awal, it marks the occasion of the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday. A mulla may read a birth story either in the mosque or in the home. There is often a lecture on the subject in the madrasa. It is considered a propitious day for enrolling children in the madrasa program. In the home a special dessert called payasum, a Malayalam tradition, may be prepared and served. It is also another day for remembering the needs of the poor for food and clothing. Lailat

al-Qadr

The “Night of Power” is remembered on the 27th day of Ramadan when many Muslim scholars believe the first revelation (Sura 96) descended. Traditional Muslims hold that angels are very active this night even as Jibraʿīl, the angel of revelation, was on that night long ago. It is believed that prayers at this time are greatly rewarded. They may have already begun on the 21st day of the month and continue on odd days thereafter. For some Mappilas it is a concentrated time of meditation. Ritual gifts to the deserving may also be given at this time. Lailat

al-Miʿrāj

The “Night of the Ascent” of the Prophet Muhammad is recognized on the 27th day of Rajab, the seventh month. In Islamic tradition the festival originated from the idea that the Prophet Muhammad in some way mystically ascended either to heaven or to Jerusalem. The belief is based on 17:1 of the Qurʾān and various Hadīth, and it is greatly elaborated in Islamic legend. For Sufis the miʿraj is a favorite symbol of the soul’s ascent from the material to the spiritual. Mappilas pay scant attention to the tradition, but fasting is recommended at this time.

Other Holidays Mappilas also enjoy the general holidays in Malayalam society. With its relative religious equilibrium the state of Kerala blossoms with

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festivals like tropical flora. Hindus and Christians have their own festivals, and these receive Mappila respect if not participation. Recognized in the public calendar, they are a part of the Mappila existential context. The main Christian festivals are Christmas and Easter. Christmas has some interest for Mappilas who accept ʿĪsa Nabi or ʿĪsa Masīh (Jesus) as one of the legitimate prophets of Islam. As for the many Hindu festivals, two have trans-cultural importance: Vishu, the New Year’s Day that takes place in the Malayalam month of Medan (March/April), and Onam, the harvest festival that occurs in the Malayalam month of Chingam (August/September). It marks the legendary golden age of King Mahabali when there was peace, crops were good, and everyone was happy. Onam is now the closest to becoming a kind of common state-wide Malayalam festival. The general national holidays, namely Independence Day on August 15th and Republic Day on January 26th, serve as uniting occasions for all Indian citizens, Malayalis and Mappilas included.

The Mappila Respect for Saints Measured and serious in their requirements, the prescribed rituals of Islam give regularity to Mappila religious expression. The confession sets the stage for uncomplicated obedience, the prayers give daily life a frame and an upward orientation, the fasting trains commitment, the alms-giving reminds one of the needs of others, the pilgrimage sets a solemn goal, while the festivals provide a welcome and happy break in this religious formality. Is it enough? The development of the Mappila religious behavior indicates that there was a pressure from some unmet need, possibly the pressure of the heart and emotions, which found an outlet in the veneration of saints. Many Mappilas consider this an aberration from the great tradition of Islam, a combination of errors that need reform, but an equally large number regard it as a form of divine guidance in providing sterling human examples and spiritual possibilities. In any event the practice of saint veneration resoundingly entered Mappila culture and with it came other unapproved magic and superstition. Mappila religious conduct became far more complex than could have been predicted from its basic early pattern. Even in the present day the respect for saints among many Mappilas is very strong. Consider the following incident: Outside a South Malabar town a huge pandal or temporary shelter has been constructed in a field. It is nighttime. Forty

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or fifty thousand Mappila males are seated on coconut mats. Lights and loudspeakers have been hung from the bamboo uprights. At one end of the pandal is a temporary stage that is occupied by various leaders. One of the most well-known stands at the microphone and delivers an impassioned speech. It is about the attempts of some fellow Muslims to eliminate saint veneration. “Will we allow them to take our saints from us?” he cries. Across the field the sound of NO! rolls like thunder in reply. Will we let them take from us Nūh and Ibrahīm and Mūsa and Ismaʿīl and ʿĪsa? Again and again the response rises, No! No! It is an incredible scene, but equally startling is the sight of some bold young men standing opposite the entrance and handing out tracts opposing the adulation of the saints. The event testifies that saints are not only venerated but loved. In this section we will first take up the question of the source of this profound respect for saints, then describe who the saints are in their various categories, and finally sketch their celebrations called nērchas. We will also examine the generally deplored phenomena of superstition and magic.

The Source of Mappila Saint Veneration In terms of the two cultural streams that join in the Mappila development—the Islamic and the Malayalam—it may be argued which one brought in the esteem for saints. It is a temptation to regard the phenomenon as a by-product of the Hindu tradition within Malayalam culture. From this perspective Mappila converts from Huinduism simply transmuted their worship of gods and goddesses into the veneration of Muslim saints. For example, C. K. Kareem declares: “The paraphernalia and appearance of all these Jaram [tomb] festivals reminds us of the utsavams of renowned temples. In fact, these are bequeathed to the converted from their old faith, which is followed in a different name.”8 Elsewhere he says of saint veneration: “It is an evident manifestation of the influence of Hinduism on Islamic practices.”9 S. M. Mohamed Koya agrees with this point of view. Referring to saint festivals he says: “These can be taken as examples of the influence of Hinduism and the legacy brought by Hindu converts. . . .10 The theory points to one element in the process, but it does not take us to the basic factor. We have to take into account the reality that at quite an early period saint veneration was already common in the Islamic culture that gave birth to the Mappilas, and this was

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the case in the very heartlands of Islam far removed from the Hindu environment and direct Indian influence. If we ask how this could have happened, we must reckon with such universal factors as respect for notably pious individuals, the need for intercession with God, and the longing for miraculous assistance with life’s difficulties. But to these we must add the more specific influences from the early Islamic context. The first is the great esteem that early Muslim believers maintained toward the Prophet and his Companions. These, after all, were the great founders of the faith and their exploits were rehearsed again and again. The heroic dimension encouraged the development of reverence. A related factor was membership in the Prophet’s family, a status governed by the word sayyid. The idea gradually gained support that such an individual was a blessed person who deserved the greatest honor. The thought was taken up in a special way in Shīʿa Islam on the basis of the life and death of Husain, the grandson of the Prophet, who gave the concept of saintliness a great boost. Finally, there was the view that ordinary believers too could develop a special characteristic of nearness to God. Such a person was called a walī or friend of God, and stories about the “friends of God” abound in the first century of Islam.11 People believed that they possessed near superhuman powers and with God’s help could do wonderful deeds. In this picture we see the roots of saint veneration in Mappila culture. The idea was in the air in Arabia already when the first Muslims landed at Kerala’s ports. Many Muslims fought against the trend, and possibly the practice of saint veneration would have been contained if the mystical movement in Islam had not taken it up in the second Islamic century. For the Sufis the idea was a perfect fit. Sufism focused on the charismatic qualities of certain spiritual leaders who were elevated to the position of “master” in the mystical order. With the development of Sufism saint veneration spread like wildfire. It was the leading characteristic of the late Sufism that made its way into North India after 1200.12 Thus Middle Eastern Islamic culture, especially in the Persian forms that evolved under the Abbasids, provided the seeds and stimulus for North Indian Muslim saint veneration, but it is also true that Indian culture in turn offered fertile soil for its growth. The interplay of these two elements, seed and soil, is well summarized by Murray Titus in this balanced analysis:13 The belief in saints and the worship of their shrines and tombs by the Muslims of India and Pakistan is not, however, peculiar to this area. In fact, all this came largely ready-

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made to India through those who introduced the religious orders into the country from Afghanistan, Persia and Iraq. Further, owing to the ancient gurūchelā practice existing among the Hindus, and the universal belief in the worship of local gods and goddesses, which was the heritage of the majority of the Muslims of India through their Hindu origin, it became all the more easy for saint worship to become a fixed part of Muslim religious life. In historical perspective, then, we may think of two main paths by which the tradition of saint veneration entered Mappila culture. One was via Arabia, its first home. Some of the early immigrants themselves may have been “friends of God,” or sayyids or sufis,14 while others may have been individuals of recognizable piety. The second path was from Persia via North India. This was the less-traveled road since North Indian Muslims were not in regular contact with Kerala. The occasional saint-mystic entering the region from the north is typified by Muhammad Shah Tangal of Kondotti. In the seventeenth century he came from Bombay to South Malabar announcing: “Islam is my religion, Muhammad is my Prophet, and the Qurʾān is my guide. Karim Ali was my respected teacher. I have joined the tarikh of Shaikh Muin-ud-Din Ajmeri and Shaikh Muhidin.”15 When they reached southwest India saintly visitors found a society that was rich in appreciation of great personalities. The Hindu veneration of holy figures needs no introduction. It lies at the very base of Malayalam religious culture. Its most vibrant current expression is the surging cult of Lord Ayyappan, a hero-deity, believed to have a relationship with Siva-Vishnu.16 By the many thousands black-robed pilgrims annually make their way to the shrine of Sabarimala located on a mountain spine at Erumeli in Kottayam District. The hills ring with the cry “Sharanam Ayyappa!,” that is, “Help me, Lord Ayyappa!” Tradition holds that Ayyappan was a historical figure who lived in the eleventh or twelfth century and who worked for the protection of the populace from Marava evildoers. In the course of that activity he made a compact with an Arab sailor named Vavar, then a leader of pirates. Vavar became his trusted lieutenant in the struggle against evil. The historical Ayyappan became Lord Ayyappan and Vavar became a Muslim saint. In honor of Vavar a mosque and shrine are maintained at Erumeli, sixty kilometers from Kottayam and the first station on the forest route to Sabarimala. It is regularly visited by Hindus some of whom break coconuts in his name, while the mosque Imam in turn offers sacred ash to the ­devotees.17 Some

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Muslims pay their respects to Vavar at a neighboring temple as well as at the mosque. While this phenomenon is unique, it may be suggested that the very air of Malayalam culture is one of hospitality to the saintly development. We will probably never know the full story of that evolution, especially its early beginnings. It seems to have started in full force in the 1700s with the influx of saintly figures from South Arabia, including both sayyids and sufis. A typical example is a Hadrami clan, the al-Bāʿalawī family. It traces its descent to ʿAlī, the cousin and son-inlaw of the Prophet. The Bāʿalawī family’s great progenitor was Sayyid Alavi ibn Muhajir (d.956), a Husainid who had emigrated from Basra to Yemen, and then lived at Tarim.18 Some of the Bāʿalawī sayyids became adepts of sufism, and one of them, Muhammad ibn ʿAlī (d. 1255), who was called “the Great Master,” even founded an ʿAlawī order. The family had several branches including the ʿAydarūs, Ba Falih, Bal-Fakih, al-Jifri, al-Habshi, al-Sakhaf, and al–Shilli; some of the names appear in Mappila geneologies.19 Some ʿAdurūsi, who were noted for their literary activity, emigrated from Tarim to Surat and to the Deccan area in the 1550s and 1600s, later coming to North Kerala.20 While the Bāʿalawīs were important in bringing saintly influence from southern Arabia to Kerala, they were by no means alone. Their cumulative influence was a significant factor in the development of saint veneration in the Mappila religious culture. The Mappila name for saints became the hybrid term awliyakul. The word is formed by the Malayalam plural suffix kul becoming attached to awliyāʾ, which in turn is the Arabic plural of walī or saint. The combined form provides a linguistic parable of the evolvement of saint veneration among Mappilas.

The Various Categories of Mappila Saints The awliaykul may be divided into four categories: Muhammad and other prophets and heroes; descendants of Muhammad; pious figures known in the wider Muslim world; and local saints. The criteria for saintliness are common to all four but they differ in stature. The criteria are piety, nearness to God, the capacity to perform wonders, and an unusual aura of sanctity. The Prophet Muhammad

and

Other Heroes

The position of Muhammad among all Muslim saints is unique and unassailable. His special qualities are taken for granted. Dr. K. K.

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Usman, a Muslim physician-writer from the central region of Kerala, expresses his appreciation . . . for this wondrous man who combines in his person the wants of the man in the street, the brilliance in arms of Alexander, the eloquence of Cicero, the kindliness of Jesus, and the authority of Caesar. A man who, in peace, is a gentle teacher in the ways of God, an enlightened administrator, a fair judge and a compassionate ruler . . . A man, whose preaching is in consonance with his life; whose religion is for actually living men, not for angels . . . A man whose life is an open book to his followers . . . When he wants them to follow a course of conduct, he himself sets the example .  .  .  he is at once the excellent exemplar and the choice model.21 In the list of 99 names that some Muslims have given to Muhammad is the name Kamīl; that is, Muhammad is not only Walī, the Friend of God, but he is also the Perfect One. He is the nearest to God of any human, the pattern of true Muslim life, and the prime advocate with God on behalf of believers. There are few Mappilas who would not agree with this line from a Deccan poem of praise: “The saints are the dust specks around you, the sun.”22 Traditionalist Mappilas also regard all the Quranic prophets who lived before Muhammad as saints as well as seers. They too were near to God, and they too were marked by holiness of life (taqwā), even to the point of sinlessness.23 The prophetic saints also possessed the qualities of baraqa and karāmat. Baraqa may be defined as a “beneficent force”24 that shines through, that commands attention, and that makes the person’s presence and blessing very desirable. Closely associated with baraqa is the grace of karāmat, that is, the unusual God-given capacity to perform wonders. That grace is attested to by the Qurʾān. The messengers of the past, that is, the prophets who were sent by God prior to Muhammad’s time “came with miracles and with the Scripture, giving light” (3:184). In the Mappila traditionalist view early Muslim heroes should also be included in the primary category of saints—the first four caliphs of Islam, Abu Bekr, ʿUmar, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī; and members of the Prophet’s personal family, namely his wife Khadīja and daughter Fātima, and his grandsons Hasan and Husain. The factor of family connection to the Prophet gradually rose to prominence and greatly broadened the eligibility for sainthood. The development produced the second category of Mappila saints.

268 The Descendants

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Prophet: Sayyids

and

Tangals

This group of saints includes those who not only possess the basic criteria but also have a lineal connection with the Prophet’s family. For Mappilas that means the tangal families of Malabar. In Islamic culture the term sayyid is universally used to signify the members of this respected group, although the designation sharif is also utilized. Mappila culture, however, employs a Malayalam honorific for this purpose. It is the word tangal (“Yourself”), the plural of tan, a personal pronoun that is a high form for you or thou. It is used for speaking to noble or exalted people, and represents the highest form of address in the language. Its application to those who have a blood connection with the Prophet’s family illustrates the great esteem for this kinship. The tangals are numerous in Mappila society and have many gradations of status. They are in all walks of life and receive recognition, but only a few are regarded as saints. The generality of tangals includes prominent business families who exercise their influence through commerce and politics. An example is the Bafaki Tangal family of Calicut whose most, notable representative was Syed Bafaki Tangal (d. 1973), an active leader of the Muslim League. The family are long-time international rice dealers. At the very opposite end of the economic scale is a group of poverty-stricken and unlearned mendicant tangals who live by charitable gifts. Much to the community’s relief these symbols of backwardness are decreasing in number. Not only is there considerable variety among those whose descent makes them eligible to bear the name tangal, but the word Tangal was also occasionally given to individuals simply as a gesture of deep respect. We must therefore leave aside the generality of tangals and give our attention to the very visible group of Tangal Saints. In popular Mappila religion the Tangal Saints are well represented by the Taramal family and their shrine in Mambram, South Malabar. Its founder was Sayyid Jifri Tangal whose origin was in Hadramaut, South Arabia. He had become a religious scholar in Mecca but then migrated to north Kerala in the mid-1700s to propagate Islam. The Calicut Zamorin received him in a kindly way and granted him a tax-free plot of land. He died in 1805, but his line was continued by his brother Hassan Jifri who had followed him to Malabar. He conducted preaching missions from Tirurangadi. Before his death (1764) Hassan Jifri had made arrangements to marry his daughter to a sister’s son who was coming from South Arabia, Syed Alavi ibn Muhammad (1749–1843). He became the greatest of Mappila

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saints. Although only 17 when he arrived, Syed Alavi quickly entered the revivalist path of his illustrious uncles, and a special aura soon gathered around him. Widely recognized for his piety and learning, he was faithful in Qurʾān-reading, in fasting and prayer. Establishing mosques in Ernad and Walluvanad taluks, he called on Mappilas “to repent with a pure heart, to return to Allah and to worship Him”25 It was his acclaimed miracles that projected him high in the imagination of the people as a true saint. They were said to include healing, producing rain, locating lost property, and finding thieves. His admirers asserted that he attributed all these and other dramatic wonders to the power of Allah. He was also a leader in opposing the British regime. Syed Alavi’s burial place at Mambram became and remains the chief saint shrine of the Mappilas. Although none attained the stature of the founder, some of Syed Alavi’s descendants were also held in esteem. His son, Syed Fazl, was exiled by the British in 1852 for allegedly inciting Mappila outbreaks against the government. It was said of him that his followers “regard him as imbued with a portion of divinity . . . Earth on which he had spat or walked is treasured up.”26 The Pukkoya family of Panakkad in South Malabar is a second saintly family of high importance. It illustrates how saintliness is a powerful living reality for many Mappilas. The family’s two most prominent members were P. M. S. A. Pukkoya Tangal (d. 1975) and his son Shihab Tangal (d. 2009; see Chapter 11). They were descended from Sayyid Ali who emigrated from the Hadramaut to North Malabar in the eighteenth century. There were several notable figures in the family including Sayyid Husain ibn Muhlar (1812–1882), a great-grandson of the first immigrant; but no descendant holds a higher place in Mappila memory than Shihab Tangal’s father, P. S. M. A. Pukkoya Tangal. He was widely believed to very strongly possess the grace of karāmat. In describing this grace, Louis Gardet speaks of God as al-Karim, the Generous One, Who is super-abundant in his favors and in the marvels that He helps His friends on earth to perform. These blessed individuals are to work their wonders quietly, with humility, always distinguishing them from the miracles of the prophets.27 Traditionalist Mappilas would agree with this description, and would take the view that P. S. M. A. Pukkoya Tangal met the criteria completely. His son, Shihab Tangal, carried on the tradition. The two were said to be shaikhs of the alAydarusiyya wa-Alawiyya.28 A third major saintly tangal family is that of Muhammad Shah Tangal of Kondotti, which lies between Malappuram and Calicut. We

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have quoted his own summary of his spiritual journey. He was a sufi of Bombay who performed the hajj and then traveled to Palestine. There he experienced a vision of the Prophet Muhammad instructing him to go to Kerala. Arriving in Malabar he took to a hermit’s life in the Azhikode forest, but later moved to Kondotti where some members of Hyder ʿAli’s army had settled. There his reputation for saintliness grew and spread. In 1738 Tipū Sultan received him at Feroke and gave him a land grant at Kondotti and a tax collection privilege. His journey, however, was not on the popular road of his contemporary, Syed Alavi. There was a persistent imputation that he was a Shīʿa Muslim, which his followers deny, but the rumor created suspicion among the strongly Sunni Mappilas. Syed Alavi himself issued a fatwā against him because of his alleged “new culture.”29 Nayars also attacked him because of his friendship with the hated Tipū. Muhammad Shah continued on his path undeterred and established a center (khanqah) at Kondotti where he gave religious instruction and from where he sent out his disciples on preaching missions. His miracles, believed to include the healing of a blind woman, discerning a hidden enemy, and causing plants to flourish, solidified his standing. Muhammad Shah’s disciples—no doubt greatly to the consternation of other Muslims—even began to prostate themselves before him. His tomb, which he himself had constructed in 1773 in Bijapur style, is now a revered shrine for his followers. His successors gained notoriety for their own miraculous healing powers, especially bone and throat problems, but they never attained to the founder’s stature. They chose loyalty to the British and in return were given an annual grant of Rs.2734.30 It is certain that this arrangement also added to their negative standing with the mass of Mappilas.31 Today Muhammad Shah Tangal’s followers peacefully maintain their establishment; his successor’s home and an instructional centere stand next to the founder’s tomb. Globally Revered Muslims Who Are Mappila Saints The third category of Mappila saints is made up of a small number of globally revered Muslims who are founders of Sufi Orders, though not necessarily sayyids. The two major saints whose deeds are extolled in Mappila songs are al-Rifāʿi of Egypt and al-Jilanī of Baghdad. It is uncertain how their fame reached Kerala. In the case of al-Rifaʾī (d. 1178) the channel of influence may have been Arab traders, for his memory is especially cherished by Mappila sailors and fishermen. Al-Jilanīʾs Qadiriyya Order seems to have come to Northwest India in

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the fifteenth century. Thomas Arnold affirms that a native of Aleppo Sayyid Muhammad, known as Bandagi Muhammad Gawth settled in Ucch in 1482 and introduced the Order.32 The fame of al-Jilanī may have entered the Mappila consciousness from that direction. When it did arrive, it had a powerful effect. His distinguished name, Muhyi-ud-Dīn, “the Reviver of Religion,” is shortened by Mappilas to Muhidīn. The Mappila devotion paid to al-Jilanī will be illustrated in the following chapter that deals with Mappila songs, while that given to al-Rifaʿī will be considered in our section on superstition. As for al-Jilanī the adulation is strong and fervent. The great saint himself who began his career as a Hanbalī jurist might have been surprised and even repelled by the intensity of the reverence. He once said:33 And the people who are nearest to God, the Mighty, the Glorious, are those who are most large-hearted in their behaviour. And the best of deeds is to guard one’s self from being inclined to what is besides God, the Great  .  .  .  You should also cultivate modesty in respect of God, the Mighty, the Glorious, and keep company with God.  .  .  .  Nevertheless, the Mappila heart that seeks mediation with God is very expressive: “The time when Azrail [the angel of death] takes me under the protection of the strong Muhiy-ad-Din, oh Allah!  .  .  .  With him by his intercession enter me in heaven, oh Lord of the Universe.”34 Local Mappila Saints The fourth and final category of Mappila saints is what might be called the village variety. This is far removed from the grand sweep of saint veneration in the wider Muslim world. Here we meet the homely levels of indigenous expression. It is here that the Malayali culture context becomes a visible factor in Mappila saint veneration, and it is here that Mappila converts from Hindu background may have left their mark. The religious emotion at the local level may be sparked by any one of several things ranging from miraculously answered prayer to heroic action. Something that someone does captures the admiration of a neighborhood, or someone displays an extraordinary quality of character. These suggest an unusual nearness to the divine, creating a sense of wonderment and esteem. Later, when the individual passes on, the admiration may lead to the development of a shrine and a

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festival. For Mappilas the concept of shahīd or martyr looms large in this context. They have a special regard for those who give their lives for the faith, and may consider them to possess a brave quality of saintliness. In their case, courageous sacrifice is added to the compelling criteria of a saint. The veneration of local saints becomes vivid in the celebration of saint-days. By festivals called nērchas, by shrine visitation, and by songs of praise called mawlūds and mālas Mappilas express their regard for the saints.

The Celebration of the Saints The Nērcha Festivals The Mappila term for a saint-related festival is the Malayalam term nērcha. It is derived from a root that signifies “vow,” but also includes the ideas of offering, prayer, and celebration. Originally it had a personal significance: “For such and such a reason I will make a vow to the saint, take an offering to the shrine and make a prayer.” The purpose of the vow was to fulfil a personal need, perhaps a health problem or the desire of a child, or any other deeply felt need. This accounts for the colloquial phrase: “Ithu nērcha karyiam,” that is, “This is a serious matter.”35 This personal significance is still carried forward in shrine visitations, but the nērcha as it developed in Mappila culture became much more than a private act. Public celebration was added to the meaning, and the nērcha turned into a series of great festivals that until recently rivalled the major observances in the Muslim calendar.36 We may note two other customary terms sometimes used by Muslims in Kerala to designate ceremonies associated with saints. The first is the Arabic ʿurs (pl. ʿurus), which originally meant nuptials, a wedding festival. Its use in this context stems from the idea of a saint’s union with God. The second word is the Malayalam chandanakudam; chandana means sandalwood, and chandanakudam literally signifies a sandalwood urn. It refers to the practice of preparing sandalwood paste prior to a festival, reciting the al-Fatiha over it, and then taking it to a shrine for distribution among devotees. The practice is found elsewhere in India where it is simply called sandal.37 The nērchas are noted for extreme emotional expressions and extraordinary behavior, especially when martyr-saints are being remembered. Superstitious phenomena quite distant from the great

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tradition of Islam are present. In the cultural now, such practices have attracted vigorous criticism. The critique of the reformers, together with the march of education and undisguised ridicule by leftists, has resulted in the decline of the nērchas, a decline so general that it is near death. During their heyday, however, the nērchas constituted one of the most colorful aspects of Mappila culture.

The Malappuram Nērcha For an example, let us visit the Malappuram nērcha as it was. The time is April. The locale is Waliyangadi, a long narrow street in Old Malappuram. At the end of the street is an ancient mosque that is built on land originally granted by the Hindu ruler of the area. In its cemetery 44 Muslim martyrs and one Hindu colleague are buried. Their story goes back almost two centuries. The Zamorin’s governor at Malappuram was Para Nambisan, the head of the leading Hindu family in the region. In one version of the story, a Mappila named Ali Marikkar, a soldier in his service, took the side of a low-caste serf who had failed to remit his taxes. The ruler’s Nayar soldiers slew the serf for his temerity, starting a conflagration. In a second version of the event, Nayar soldiers sold off a female house servant to another Raja, a fact revealed by a Muslim named Poker. Poker was punished for this action, and other Mappilas sought revenge. Whatever the true story, there is agreement that in the ensuing battle 44 Mappilas and one Hindu goldsmith took refuge in the mosque where they were killed and the mosque itself burned down. Later Para Nambisan or his immediate successor contracted a serious disease. Tracing its cause to these events, he rebuilt the mosque at his own expense.38 It is these martyrs who are remembered annually in the Malappuram nērcha. We walk into the street well in advance of the festivities. The adhikāri, the village headman, has invited us to observe the parade from his upstairs veranda, where it will be relatively safe. He himself has chosen to strap on a pistol for protection. The basis for his concern is the extreme narrowness of the street, far too constricted for the massive throngs. The custom is for offerings to be brought in baskets from seven surrounding villages. The devotees carry the gifts, money, and kind on their heads, following the flag-bearers. Shouts ascend and horns blast as the paraders converge on the narrow street. As they arrive before the adhikāri’s residence the jostling is at a fever pitch and revelers are thrown into the air in an emotional frenzy. They are met by representatives of four martyr families and escorted to the mosque where they are to present their gifts and mount their flags.

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At that point bedlam occurs as each village group recklessly charges foward in a determined effort to lead in raising their emblem on the flagpoles at the sacred precinct. At the end of it all the first question is always, “Did anyone lose their life?” These passionate sentiments that accompanied the Malappuram nērcha were not atypical. They are expressed in one of the old Malabar ballads, “The Song of the Mappila Shahids.” It is an emotional remembering of the Malappuram martyrs, and it illustrates the feelings that were involved in such nērchas. The song is also named Kulliyat al–Shifa, “A Remedy for All.” When their families sought to dissuade the famed 44 from going on their martyr path, these “bravest of the brave” were depicted as saying: “If men permit sacrilege to their mosque, all pains of hell await them. It is only by dying to the glory of God that they can obtain heavenly bliss, and then they can bless and aid their families.” Listeners to the song are advised to recall that sacrificial action. Moreover, doing something “for the sake of the Malappuram shahids” pleases God and brings rewards. The ballad rings out: “Ho, ye brethren, those who sing their praises obtain salvation from God. Those who slight them will suffer untold misery  .  .  .  Nothing is more pleasing to God than sacrificing one’s body and soul in defense of God, and none are more honored than these shahids.”39 But this inflamed enthusiasm has now virtually ended, and in two ways the Malappuram nērcha typifies its close. First, it could not continue as it was and second, it did continue as a kind of district fair. It could not continue as it was because Mappila culture was moving beyond the spirit of unrestrained martyr adulation. Even among traditionalist Sunni Muslim leaders there was a growing feeling that some elements were outdated. Among modernized Mappilas there was disenchantment with the phenomena, the youth were disinterested, and government administrators were concerned about law and order. From 1947 the Madras Presidency forbade the conduct of the Malappuram nērcha. After 1957 the Communist government allowed it again as a favor to voters, but it was banned again in 1960, conducted occasionally thereafter under the supervision of special police, and finally ended in 1986 in its traditional form. What continues today is a fair that preserves some of the pleasant features of the old celebration—crowds of people in conversation, sampling goods available at the temporary stalls, looking at the colorful flags, and in general enjoying a happy time. From violent nērcha to gentle carnival!—the passage illustrates the Mappila cultural transition from the Then to the Now.

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Other Nērchas, Shrines, and Shrine Visitation There is a trail of nērchas and shrines from south to north in Kerala. Sreedhara Menon holds that the most important southern one is the Trivandrum shrine dedicated to a female Muslim saint, Beema Beevi. A pious woman, she settled near the Trivandrum beach with her son, Mahin Abu Bekr. Near the tomb that contains their bodies is the Beema Palli (mosque). There the annual Chandanakudam festival attracts large crowds from all backgrounds. “The married, the crippled, and the mentally deranged belonging to all castes and communities, visit the shrine in large numbers seeking favours.”40 At the Kalamala Mosque at Enathu in Kollam District there is another Chandanakudam festival, with other nērchas taking place at Changanasseri and Erumeli. Proceeding to Cochin in the central region, the tomb of ­Shaikh Farid is located at Kanjiramuttam, northeast of Ernakulam. The Manathala Mosque at Chavakkad in Trichur District remembers Moopar Haidras Kutty. Said to have been a lieutenant of Hyder Ali, he became disgusted with the oppression of the people, revolted, and died in battle. He is revered by fisherfolk, and a replica of his tomb (jaram) is taken out in procession during the festival. In Palghat District nērchas are not uncommon. At the Theruvathu Mosque in Alathur there is a two-day celebration in honor of Sayyid Muhammad Aulia, with a panoply of elephants and music; Ottapalum conducts a similar ceremony. In the Malappuram District, in addition to the Malappuram nērcha that we have already described there are nērchas at Ponnani in honor of Zein-ud-Din Makhdum and in Kondotti, remembering Muhammad Shah Tangal. The latter includes visits both to the tomb and to the home of the current leader, where his Sufi chain (silsila) is recited. Nērchas take place in the Tirur area at Vettat Puthiangadi in the Talakkad amsom and at Kottayi in the Mangalam amsom, while Veliancode has the shrine of the poet-saint Umar Qadi. We will deal below with the great Mambram shrine at Tirurangadi and the Shekhinde shrine in Calicut. In North Malabar there is a nērcha at ancient Pantalayini Kollam, while at Kannur the Jamaat Mosque remembers the exploits of Sayyid Muhammad Maulana. At Kasaragode a shrine commemorates Malik ibn Muhammad, a companion of Malik ibn Dinar, believed to be the founding Muslim missionary of early years. The Sheikhinde shrine in Calicut provides a ready example of shrine structure and visitation. It memorializes Shaikh Muhammad Koya (d. 1579) who is said to have fought against the Portuguese.

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Different legends gather about this figure. One tale reports that some Mappilas dreamt that heavy seas were washing away his body on the Calicut shore. Hurrying to the grave they found the body in perfect condition, almost as though he were still alive. They re-interred the saint in a safe location where the present Sheikhinde Mosque is located. During its annual nērcha devotees bring offerings of bread and rice cakes that are later given to the poor, so the festival is also called the Appani nērcha. Prayers for the dead are routinely offered during the ceremonies. The mosque-shrine has a welcoming motif that encourages visitation. It faces the street and is open to it. Its flat three-storied front is constructed in such a way as to draw the eye to the center of the ground floor where a decorated screen surrounds the entrance to the shrine room. Within the room, and open to the public view, is the gold-embossed coffin of the saint, covered with a white cloth. To the left and at the rear is the saint’s flag. Entering from the rear, the votary devoutly bows his head in prayer. Mambram is not only the most famous of Mappila holy places, but it also best illustrates the practice of visiting saint tombs at other times than nērchas. A steady flow of Mappilas make their way to the sacred complex that includes the house of the Taramal family of Tangals. Mambram lies on the north bank of the Kadalundi River opposite Tirurangadi. Its shrine is the tomb of Syed Alavi, but nine other members of his family are also buried there. The three-storied Malabar-style structure is topped by a conical roof and flanked by two wings that are a mixture of architectural styles. Family members administer the shrine and receive its offerings, some of which are utilized for their income. The hopeful devotees visit the Mambram shrine to speak a prayer, utter a vow, make an offering, or all of these. The prayer is made in the name of the saint, asking him to intercede with God on behalf of the petitioner. Such is the aura of sanctity that the saint’s presence is also a place to seal agreements or contracts. On such an occasion the following phrase is used: “I swear by the foot [or the toe] of the Mambram tangal,” and no one would dare to break such an oath. From time to time architectural changes have been made to the shrine, and other changes have occurred in the attitudes of Mappilas, but the eagerness and expectancy of present-day pilgrims is age old.41 Except for the pilgrimage to Mecca, Mappilas do not travel extensively to visit shrines outside Kerala, that is, with one exception. The exception is the shrine at Nagore on the southeastern coast

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of Tamilnad that attracts many Mappila visitors. Nagore is a village twenty kilometers north of Nagapattanum, itself a shrine city about 350 kilometers south of Chennai. Nagore is the site of the shrine of Shah al-Hamīd ʿAbdul al-Qadir (1532–1600), a Sufi saint. He is also known by the names Qadir Wali, Nagore Baba, and Miran Sahib. His impressive shrine, which includes one very high minaret with a clock face, was built in 1757 by Pratap Singh, the Raja of Tanjore, and was thereafter patronized by palace princesses. Shah al-Hamīd is famed for healing powers, and as far as two centuries back Mappilas were visiting Nagore to seek his help.42 In ever smaller numbers some continue to make the journey to Nagore. A few Mappilas support the Nuri Shah Sufi center at Hyderabad and make visits there. Nuri Shah claimed to be a descendant of al-Jilanī. He visited Kerala in the 1960s and 1970s, but the supreme Sunni council, the Samastha Kerala Jamiyyat-ul-Ulema, ruled against his work and reduced its significance. His disciples publish a journal, al-Irfan.

Mawlūds When Mappilas praise their saints they do so in songs—which will be taken up in our section on literature—and by means of special recitals called mawlūds. The word mawlūd or maulid has three connected meanings: a birth, a celebration, and a written prose-poem. The latter is a unique literary expression using the Arabic language. The mawlūds are recited in honor of a revered individual, especially on the occasion of his or her birthday. Undoubtedly, the most important mawlūds are in honor of the Prophet Muhammad; they tell of his birth, extol his life and virtues, and pray for blessing upon him, but there are also many other mawlūds that praise popular prophets and saints. They are panegyrics rather than histories, and may include legendary material. Opening with praise for the Almighty they then make mention of the hero, followed by alternate verses in prose and poetry that recite his miraculous deeds and plead for his intercession. When it is read by a mulla, the mawlūd calls for antiphonal responses by the audience. The mawlūd tradition is not an early development in Islam, and when it did make its appearance it was met with criticism. Adam Mez dates its rise to the fourth Islamic century in Egypt, but it is likely to have originated earlier.43 It is fundamental Islam to avoid paying too high a respect to human beings lest it produce idolatry (shirk), but orthodox scholars such as al-Suyūti (d. 1505) chose to accept the

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mawlūd as “a good innovation” as long as abuses were avoided.44 Mappilas did not initiate the mawlūds, but they did make it a regular part of their religious behavior. The mawlūd readings are primarily an expression of family piety rather than public celebration. They are customarily recited in the home among family members and friends, with hospitality and meals associated. Behind the reading rests the idea of benefit. The prophet or saint is worthy of the celebration, no doubt, and the mawlūd requires no other reason than that, but the celebrants also believe that their praise will being personal blessings. They are convinced that the saint—by his merits and appeals—can bridge the gap to move God’s help in their direction. The mawlūd is not only praise and prayer, but also offering and hope. It is the Prophet Muhammad who can exercise that intercessory role better than anyone else, and therefore no praise can be too high in his mawlūd. He is The man in whose presence the trees did obeisance The man at whose light the flowers opened The man at whose blessing the fruits matured The man at whose promise the trees moved themselves from all directions The man at whose light all other lights burst forth The man to the skirts of whose robes wild creatures clung when he was travelling the most desert lands.45 The Manqus Mawlud of Zeinuddin ibn Shaikh Ali (d. 1521) of Ponnani is dedicated to the Prophet and declares: “You will deliver us tomorrow with your sincere intercession. Who is there to help us like you, Oh my Leader, the best of the Prophets?”46 Mawlūds to Muhammad remain the most popular for Mappilas. The conduct of mawlūds by Mappila fisherfolk shows how they broadened out to include many other Muslim heroes and saints whose mediation might be helpful for their practical needs. P. R. G. Mathur has made a careful study of the practice which he regards as the core ritual of the fisherfolk. “It is the key to open the world of the Mappila fishermen and their more complex ceremonies. The mawlūd symbolizes the mystic within the Mappila society and the unity of the fishermen.”47 With him we go into a home at Tanur on the South Malabar coast. There a simple form of mawlūd calls for an invitation to family and friends, the serving of a meal, and the burning of incense. The cleric involved sits on a mat facing the direction

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of Mecca. The host begins by informing the group of the purpose of the mawlūd. The cleric then recites the first chapter of the Qurʾān and conducts an appropriate prayer. After rubbing the palms of his hands over his face he begins reading of the birth, life, and miracles of the saint. This may go on for up to two hours. He closes with another prayer and the invocation “Oh, Creator and Lord!” to which all reply, “Amen!”48 An example of a more elaborate communal mawlūd is the bait or recognition of al-Jilanī. The mawlūd is chanted at night in the mosque, beginning at 11:00 p.m. There the assembled guests remain for about three hours. Four clerics chant the praises 150 to 200 times. Then, with lights extinguished, they recite the appeal “Ya Mohiuddin Abdul Qadir Jilani!” one thousand times. They are convinced that during this intense act of remembrance the saint is spiritually present and becomes aware of their needs.”49 The fisherfolk conduct mawlūds to mark the launching of a new boat or net, to celebrate a bumper catch of fish, for insurance against the hazards of the sea, for the curing of diseases and the warding off of evil spirits, and for the begetting of children. In addition to the Prophet they may offer praises and/or seek help from any of the four Companions, Abū Bekr, ʿUmar, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī; Muhammad’s wife Khadīja and daughter Fātima; his uncle Hamsa; his grandsons Hasan and Husain; other prophets like Sulaiman Nabi, Ilyas Nabi, Yunus Nabi, and ʿĪsa Nabi; Shaikh Rifāʿī and Shaikh Abdul Qadir Jilanī; Khwaja Muinuddīn of Ajmer; the Mambram Tangal, and the Nagore Shah al-Hamīd. The names are like a catalogue of Muslim saints. The fisherfolk maintain a special affinity for the prophet Yunus (Jonah) whom, as the Qurʾān reports, “the fish swallowed when he was blameworthy” (37:139–48). He was believed to have been punished either on the second or tenth day of the month of Safar, and hence the first ten days of Safar are a time for repentance. No boats or nets may be made in this period. When it is over, with penitent hearts, like Jonah turning back to God’s glory, they may enter their boats and as the Qurʾān says “sail with them with a fair breeze, and they are glad therein” (10:23). In its broadening out the mawlūd recitation became associated with Mappila martyrs, as we have already noted. By the nineteenth century those going into battle against perceived oppressors would frequently recite a mawlūd first. Then those who gave their lives in the struggle would themselves become the subject of a new set of mawlūds. Thereby, mawlūds, shahīds, and nērchas became intertwined phenomena.

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Superstition and Magic In this section we examine the presence of superstition and magic in Mappila practice. The issue of superstition is at the center of the Mappila religious debates in the modern era. Magical practices, while undeniably present, are widely condemned by the community.

The Issue of Superstition: Defenders and Critics The development of exaggerated saint veneration was a major factor in opening the door to superstitious practices of all kinds. This was the conviction of the Mappila reformers. They took up cudgels against what they regarded as erroneous beliefs and practices, especially those related to saints. Their conviction is that it is incorrect to try to get the help of the dead to ease the situation of the living. Traditionalist Mappilas, on the other hand, considered much of what was being criticized as appropriate or allowable behavior. It is said that true religion is in the eye of the beholder, and Mappilas were proving the point. For a long time the majority opinion favored traditionalists, but the tide is now moving in the other direction. Although the picture is still confused, many members of the community are now turning against the mentality called “superstitious.” The root meaning of the term superstition is “to stand beyond,” that is, to act in a way that seems outside the core themes of a community’s great tradition, and to allow credulity to replace a reasoned faith. The Malayalam term for superstition, andhawishwāsum, is very strong because it literally means blind belief. The term properly introduces the factor of ignorance. Because of their generally backward condition and beset by hopelessness many Mappilas were particularly subject to the development of superstition and, in fact, they became notorious for that approach to life. They never considered it to be contrary to the faith. It arose from their sense of need, the need for help in dealing with life’s practical problems. Why is my sickness not going away? Why is it that other women have given birth but I have not? Why is it that we are too poor to educate our children or own a little house? Why is it that I can’t get a job? As people of faith the Mappila underclass believed that there is, in fact, a power that can overcome these inscrutable difficulties. The Almighty God can do all things! What is needed is some kind of special effort or a technique to reach up, make contact, and somehow appropriate the help of the AllMerciful. It may take an appeal to some intermediary such as a saint

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or a pilgrimage to a shrine—whatever is required to get in contact with God’s beneficent power must be done. Superstitious activities are efforts to access the divine goodness, not neglecting any possibility. The latter point is the nub of the criticism of superstition that is alive in Mappila society today. The approach and method, it is argued, actually distracts from God. It weakens tawhīd. Moreover, through these activities the Mappila community has lost its focus on the central theological and moral themes of the Qurʾān, has ignored the need to maintain a balance between faith and reason, and has accepted degenerate practices that are really forms of idolatry (shirk). Superstition, they said, is unfounded, that is, it is without any scriptural basis, prophetic pattern, or support in early Muslim teaching. It is gullible, that is, it appeals to the ignorant and uneducated, and can easily be exploited. It is misdirected, for the approach stands beyond trust in the Merciful will of God, and is unnecessary and wrong. And finally it is disastrous in result, because it draws attention away from what godly people should really be doing. The problem for the reformers centers on excessive saint veneration and so, as Professor Abdul Samad has carefully detailed, they challenge especially the following customs:50

• Praying for the help of a saint and appealing for his intercession with God, especially using such ejaculation as “Ya  .  .  .  [name]  .  .  .  save us!” (istigatha).

• Nērcha festivals that glorify humans, processions in their honor, and the elevation of flags at mosques (kōtikattu).

• Songs extolling the saint’s history (māla pāttu); and recitations of a saint’s merits (mawlūd).



• Ecstatic dances in honor of saints (rātib).



• The practice of chandanakudam, a Hindu-derived practice related to the use of sandalwood paste (see “The Celebration of the Saints” above).



• Approving Muharram celebrations that commemorate the death of Husain, a Shīʿa tradition.



• The conduct of funeral ceremonies that give the impression that a person’s fate after death can be positively influenced from below.



• The use of amulets and charms.

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Another area of criticism that we have already reviewed relates to the alleged misuse of the Qurʾān, especially its rote memorization, and the use of Quranic texts for purposes that border on the magical. What gave superstitious practice such strength in Mappila culture was its linkage to a strong traditionalist clergy. Sunni clergy made their case that many of the activities listed above are acceptable forms of religious reverence. They can be properly understood, and where there are excesses they can be tolerated and gradually dealt with. These clergy absolutely disagree that saint veneration equates with false worship. Thus, the starting points for “standing beyond” are set at different places by different Mappilas. Nevertheless, other factors have now come into play that reduce this traditional strength. While the sense of need that produces superstition has not entirely gone away, the conditions producing it have been greatly relieved by economic progress and medical advance. The improvement of education has dispelled much of the ignorance that fed superstition. The desire for a modern respectable culture has made superstitious practice seem outdated and even shameful to members of the community. Finally, the combined critiques of various reformers, the intelligentsia, and secularists have struck a series of heavy blows against the conservative tradition. The future of activities that are labelled as superstitious really depends on the future of the traditionalist clergy and the extent to which they can maintain their influence in a rapidly changing culture. The culture remains a single entity, an umma, a steady collective despite the ruptures over the issue of superstition. The community of faith includes distinct points of view that produce heat and tension, but not fission. The dispute is not over the ultimate goal of glorifying God and serving His will, but rather it is a dispute over method and approach. Reformers take the view that the superstitious believers need correction, not exclusion. They are Muslims, though erring in some respects. On the other side of the coin traditionalist leaders also agree that the reformers and modernists can be tolerated, even though they are wrong. The charge of kāfir, unbeliever, may be thrown about on occasion, but with a kind of tongue-in-cheek. It is this bottomline mutual recognition existing among Mappilas that makes it possible for the community to go forward as a family despite the major disagreement over superstitious practice.

Magical Practice among Mappilas Before citing examples of magic in Mappila society we need to consider the relation of magic to religion and to superstition. Do religion

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and magic stand apart? Scholars in general believe that they do—they represent separate phenomena. Bronislaw Malinowski affirms that the distinction rests on the difference between manipulation and faith. He says, “The belief in magic  .  .  .  is always the affirmation of man’s power to cause certain definite effects by a definite spell or rite. In religion we have a whole supernatural world of faith.”51 Magic is a human effort to manage the powers, especially the dangerous ones that are believed to surround us, and it depends on human ignorance and compliance rather than on surrender to God and trust in Him. It also depends on the occult knowledge of a practitioner who “knows” the secret steps that must be followed and can take them accurately. The basic faith/control distinction also applies to the question whether superstition is a form of magic, since despite its borderline aspects superstitious religion is Godward in its intention. In this case the separation is a finer one because the two words, magic and superstition, are used interchangeably in ordinary speech and because there are overlapping activities. Nevertheless, the fundamental distinction between the surrendering and the manipulating attitude must decide the issue. The direction of one is vertical, the other horizontal. John Noss sums it up in this way:52 Magic may be loosely defined as an endeavor through utterance of set words, or the performance of set acts, or both, to control or bend the powers of the world to man’s will. It cannot be wholly divorced from religion  .  .  .  (and) is discernibly present when emphasis is placed on forcing things to happen rather than asking that they do. Magic has been and is a visible presence in Malayalam culture and it has certainly affected Mappilas. In the Malayalam language it is called mantrawādum, which signifies the use of sacred and magical phrases, originally Vedic in origin, which will control the spirits and produce desired results. The magician is called a mantrawādi, who is a recognized figure in society, but is also somewhat feared. As the purveyor of incantations he may cleverly use religious language. However, he is not interested in God’s help or the improvement of character, which are the concerns of religion. He is confident in his own powers to affect events, and his income depends on making others believe it. Nor will he hesitate to play on the ignorance and fears of others to do it. We must also look at the Islamic culture stream. Magic (sihr) is not defined in the Qurʾān, but it is often mentioned and always negatively. The Qurʾān asks: “Will ye then succumb to magic when

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you see it?” (21:3). The later Muslim scholars did not clearly define magic, rather, they drew up compilations of the different kinds of magic, one long list including fourteen varied types.53 A difference of opinion arose regarding the admissibility of harmless “natural” magic that is personally helpful, especially in connection with health and medicine. Some Hadīth were cited in its support. One quoted the Prophet as saying, “There is no harm in spells as long as they involve no polytheism.” Another said:54 Jabir told that God’s messenger prohibited spells, and the family of ʿAmr b. Hazm came and said, “Messenger of God, we had a spell proved efficacious which we applied for scorpion bite, but you have prohibited spells.” They submitted it to him and he said, “I see no harm in it. If any of you is able to benefit his brother, let him do so.” On the other hand, some Hadīth also show Muhammad to be unequivocal in his condemnation of astrologers and diviners. “The astrologer is a kahīn [diviner], the kahīn is a magician, and the magician is an infidel.”55 Ibn Khaldūn states what became the majority opinion:56 “The religious law puts sorcery, talismans, and prestidigitation [sleight of hand] into one and the same class, because they may cause harm. It brands them as forbidden and illegal.” We will deal with the presence of magic among Mappilas in terms of three large divisions common in Muslim discussion: simple benign magic, similar to superstition; magic related to spirits and exorcism; and black magic or sorcery. Simple Magic Amulets and charms are the simplest forms of magic, and are particularly used by Mappila women to ward off sickness. For example, a homely charm is the tying of a black cord around the wrist to ward off misfortune; mothers will also place it on the wrists of children. But most forms of everyday magic are related to the use of the sacred text of the Qurʾān. For example, a written Quranic word, possibly blessed by a local saint, is placed in an amulet and tied around the upper arm. Or certain phrases may be written in rice flour and then swallowed to produce a cure. Some visible charms are related to the old belief in the potential danger of an evil eye. Thus, differing from the cosmetic use of eye shadow, a Mappila mother may heavily outline infant eyes with a dark powder (kohl) for protection. In construction, an effigy is routinely placed in front of the work to attract the interest

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of the eye, thereby distracting an observer from making too close an examination of the new building and thereby threatening its future. Saint veneration is a fertile field for the growth of magical practices. A tomb may be opened and a handful of sand from its interior distributed to devotees. Later it will be given to the sick or disabled. “It is believed that this wonderful sand can cure their diseases.”57 Far more complicated is the custom of Ratib. The term rātib literally means a non-obligatory litany. It has become a form of sympathetic magic utilizing dance-drama to overcome calamities such as epidemics. In its basic presentation a party circles around a white-covered pillow on which the written form of the rātib is lying. Beside it is a vessel of water. Portions of the rātib are recited with the accompaniment of drums, and there may be dance movements. A typical rātib is the Haddad Ratib composed by Ibn Alavi al-Haddad (d. 1726), but the major example of the genre is associated with the saint al-Rifāʿī. Its use is designed to protect the participants and their families from injury.58 Al-Rifāʿī (1106–1182) came from near Basra in Iraq. He was noted for his cultivation of abstinence, for poverty and nonviolence, and was believed to possess miraculous powers. The Rifāʿīn Order that developed after his death spread especially to Syria and Egypt, but gathered an eccentric reputation. It was noted for such excesses as fire-walking and the handling of snakes. The Persian poet Jāmi (d. 1492) tried to exonerate the shaikh saying, “But this is something the shaikh did not know, nor did his pious companions—we seek refuge from Satan with God!”59 In the nineteenth century the Grand Mufti of Egypt condemned the members of the Order for these practices. By an uncertain route, perhaps through sailors, some of the extravagances reached Kerala. This may be a factor in its special popularity among Mappila fisherfolk. The fisherfolk not only sing the Rifāʿīn litany but also take to the extreme accompanying activities including ecstatic dance and the use of daggers to induce bleeding. Their performance usually occurs in a shelter in front of a house on a Thursday night. It commences with drumming and prayers. The chief mulla present says: “O Rifāʿī! We are performing the Ratib with the help of lethal weapons in your honor.” He adds: “O Rifāʿī, we come and attend the ceremony, save us from death and injuries.” He may then stab another in the stomach, and rub the wound with water, praying “Ya Rifāʿī, Ya Rifāʿī,” whereupon the wound is supposed to be instantly healed. This may be repeated in the course of the six-hour-long celebration that takes place.60

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Magical Practice Related

to

Belief

in

Spirits

The classical forms of primitive magic are related to the idea of an impersonal natural force like mana, but this does not reflect Mappila thinking. With all Muslims Mappilas believe that nature is directly under God, its Creator and Ruler. However, some forms of magic are related to belief in the existence of unseen spirits who have powers to exercise good or evil influence. They are called jinn and are the lesser spirits frequently mentioned in the Qurʾān. Behind the jinn is the great disaffected spirit Satan (shaitān), the Accursed, the Highly Dangerous One, the Beguiler. The concept of jinn was inherited from pre-Islamic Arabian culture and was confirmed by the Qurʾān. Jinn may be favorable to people, or antagonistic. They themselves admit, “Among us there are righteous folk, and among us there are far from that” (72:11). While their activity is worrisome, much more serious is Satan, also called Iblīs. When Mary was born, her mother prayed: “Lo! I crave thy protection for her and for her offspring from Satan the outcast” (3:36). The Qurʾān also advises everyone: “Follow not the footsteps of the devil. Lo! He is an open enemy for you.” (2:158). Thus Mappilas have a sense of living spirits abroad with negative power who cause danger and difficulty, and it is their existence that gives magicians opportunity. Orthodox Muslims from every side say that the answer to the powers is not in magic but in taking refuge with God. The classic phrase to use in resisting Satan comes from the Qurʾān (114:1–5; Arberry): Say: I take refuge with the Lord of men, the King of men the God of men from the evil of the slinking whisperer who whispers in the breasts of men, of jinn and men. Magicians on the other hand say, “We also can help you by taking care of the problem of spirit possession. The fear of spirit possession opens the door for magic. It is believed by some that spirit possession calls for professional diagnosis, the use of mystical formulae, and actual exorcism. The first step for a family that suspects there is spirit possession is to find a capable mulla-mantravādi who is known to have the answer. The mulla-mantravadi engages the spirit in dialogue to discover the reasons for what

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has occurred. At the first level of “treatment” he may place sacred phrases in an amulet attached to a knotted cord to be worn about the neck of females or the waist of males. If that is not successful, he may prescribe some combination of readings, prayers, incantations, and the beating of drums to drive out the evil spirit. If the spirit is still recalcitrant, it may be necessary to beat the victim herself or himself. The magician may specify the number of days the process will take—7, 14, 21, 41—and if it is unsuccessful, the ritual may have to be repeated. The writer recalls the case of Nafeesa,61 daughter of Alavi, who had a mental breakdown that was considered to be spirit possession. The family went through all the magical procedures described above, at considerable cost and with much suffering for the patient, but the efforts failed. The family then sought medical help and Amina was taken to the famed Christian Medical College Hospital in Vellore where her condition was successfully treated. Their first choice for magic illustrates the mindset of a family that had clear options. There is a whole field of magic dedicated to the task of thwarting Satan and his cohorts or dealing with possession by an evil spirit. As to the latter, there is no ritual more complex than that known as hōmam or offering, a procedure especially familiar in the fishing and sailing community.62 The intricacy of this magic gives added power to the magician who alone knows its details and can execute them correctly. To start out, a three-foot pit is dug on the southern side of the house, and in it a fire is started. The seated “patient,” who is deemed to be spirit-possessed, faces it on the western side. The mantravādi inscribes a mantrum (magical phrase) on 21 leaves reading, “Surely there is an enemy in you!” The leaves are carried around the patient three times while verses from Yā Sīn, sura 36, are recited. The leaves are then shaken over the head of the distressed person. After each Yā Sīn seven leaves are tossed into the pit. Theoretically, this should continue for 21 days during which Yā Sīn and mystic phrases are repeatedly recited. In addition, a few ounces of water are put in an earthen pot while incantations are recited 21 times; the water is poured over the victim’s head each evening of the 21 days. On the 21st day, 21 wicks dipped in oil are lit and carried around the patient with the recitation of the words: “Surely there is an enemy in you!” Every time the word enemy is used a wick is thrown into the pit. The elaborations continue without slowing down. Three eggs are taken next and are inscribed with the mantrum: “You must tell which Jinna [jinn] you are. For the sake of Allah’s Holy Quran, you must leave the patient. You must take care of yourself!” The eggs are then waved around the patient’s head three times. Charms are blown into

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the person’s eyes, after which the al-Fatiha is recited 21 times. Three coconut eyes have been pierced and each one is now taken seven times around the patient’s head. They are then rolled back and forth in the direction of Mecca. The rite is almost over now. Everything left over is tossed into the pit except the coconuts, which the mantravādi takes home! When the fire is cold, the ashes are thrown into the sea. Following this rigorous experience the individual who has been treated takes a full bath (ghusl), and the ritual is complete. Black Magic

or

Sorcery

It is but a short step to the third category, one both “irreligious and fearful,” and that is magic dealing with enemies. It is customarily referred to as black magic or sorcery. To confound an enemy that person’s nail parings, locks of hair, or even broken glasses may be presented to a spirit with the request to deposit them in the antagonist’s stomach. Another method is the pounding of nails into a plank, accompanied by certain formulae. Not uncommon is the use of buried plates. The mantravādi draws written spells (mantrums) and mysterious figures (chakrums) on thin plates (takitha), usually made of copper although silver and gold may also be used. These are then buried in an enemy’s yard or compound, preferably in front of the doorstep. The magician promises that this will cause the enemy severe distress. If that person happens to discover the hidden plates—much to his great consternation!—he must take immediate steps through countermagic to thwart the evil design. It is not necessary for our purposes to pursue further details of black magic that concerns only the very few and that stands at the community’s cultural fringe. Most Mappilas unhesitatingly agree that magical practice is a behavioral area that believers in God should avoid. Not only should they leave it alone, but they should oppose it. Their duty is to pay heed to the works of God, (ʿibādat), to cultivate piety (taqwā) and righteousness (birr), to prohibit the evil and commend the good, and to trust in God alone. God is greater (akbar) than the powers around us. We may spit at Satan, but we should not be preoccupied with him, for he is under divine control. Nor can the jinn harm those who take refuge in God. As to sorcery it is harām!! forbidden!! While the common opposition of community leaders and the advance of modernity in contemporary Mappila culture have failed to eliminate the practice of magic entirely, it has been sharply reduced and forced underground.

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• Mappila religious behavior covers a wide spectrum. While the basic rituals and festivals of the community are grounded in the great tradition of Islam, as the tree of religious practice grew over thirteen centuries of Mappila history various behavioral offshoots developed. There has been a luxuriant growth of additional religious practices, especially those related to saint reverence. In the contemporary Mappila cultural development with its new modes of conduct, we have witnessed a pruning of this old growth, and a simpler though less colorful profile has emerged. This is also evident in the community’s artistic expression, and we turn to that topic next.

13

Mappila Artistic Expression Mosque Architecture, Embellished Houses, the Material Arts, Song, and Dance

This chapter deals with the main Mappila arts. It begins with the dramatic story of the community’s mosque architecture, which more than any feature illustrates the displacement of the cultural past with the present. Following that we briefly consider the implications of the new ostentatious homes that are more and more frequently being built. Then we take up the limited development of the material arts, examining the reasons for their rather modest scope. And finally, we consider what many observers regard as the most notable of the community’s artistic expressions, namely, the famous Mappila songs.

Mosque Architecture The story of Mappila mosque architecture is an absorbing tale of cultural development and change. After more than thirteen centuries of identification with the indigenous Malayalam architectural style and the production of a mosque tradition unique in the Muslim world, Mappilas have recently turned to Indo-Persian and Arabian motifs. The change is sudden and unexpected. At its heart is the newly strengthened Mappila desire to identify with other Muslims. What facilitates it is the availability of foreign assistance for new construction. Old mosques are being torn down and replaced as soon as possible, and hybrid forms are popping up everywhere as the result of partial rebuilding or adding on to existing buildings. In the following discussion we will consider, in turn, the traditional mosque, the new architectural wave, hybrid forms, and data regarding the different types and numbers of mosques. 291

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The Traditional Mosque The traditional Mappila mosque was a simple building of one or two stories, constructed of laterite rocks, normally on a square foundation. The structure usually had a front veranda, and there were large open windows to provide ventilation. The interior and exterior walls were ordinarily plastered and whitewashed, and the pitched roof was tiled. Its decorative gables were neutral in style, but were reminiscent of indigenous temple architecture. Except in a very few cases there were no minarets and domes. These basic functional worship and educational centers dotted the Kerala landscape by the hundreds and they blended naturally with the general environment. There were practical reasons for the adoption of this style of mosque architecture, including the rain forest climate that necessitated a peaked roof, the nature of the local building materials, and the skills of the available masons and carpenters. Early Mappilas may also have accepted the pattern of the local sacred architecture. When they arrived on Kerala’s shores, Jainism was powerful in the region. Hindu structural temples only began around the year 800.1 Since Buddhism was also influential at that time, it was a period of architectural as well as religious flux, and even cave temples were not uncommon. The temples made great use of wood, including carved wooden pillars. Mappilas drew on that art, as well as on the Jain use of decorative gables. Staying true to their principles, they did not adopt the mural painting that was also a characteristic of worship places. There is no evidence that they felt any conflict over the approach that they adopted. They freely utilized the existing architectural patterns. There are even traditions that indicate that a few of the oldest Mappila mosques may have originally been Jain temples. The Mappila practice of adaptation was harmonious with the principle of freedom in mosque styling that existed in the Muslim world. As Richard Ettinghausen has pointed out:2 There is, however, no universally-used structure, no “Islamic mosque” as such—only various regional types. At first the plan of the Arab-type mosque gained almost general acceptance, but eventually mosque architecture came to reflect the traditional architecture of each ethnic or regional entity . . . In each case these forms were enriched by concepts derived from local pre-Islamic architecture and elaborated by specific technical considerations  .  .  .  No tower as such is in fact obligatory.

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The final result of the Mappila cultural independence was the development of a distinct form of mosque architecture that represents the community’s novel contribution to the wider Muslim world. The age of the oldest existing mosques is a disputed question. Worship structures must have been built very early in Mappila history, but they were later rebuilt or renovated. We have reported the legend of Malik ibn Dinar who reputedly traveled along the coast of Kerala from the present-day Kochi to Mangalore in the late seventh or eighth century, establishing several mosques. There is no suggestion that any current building goes back that far in age, but on that basis the mosque at Kodungalur near Kochi claims precedence. It has been suggested that this structure may originally have been an unused Jain temple that was assigned to immigrant Muslims by a sympathetic ruler, or it may have been constructed on the foundations of such a temple, thus accounting for the fact that it is not aligned toward Mecca. Even the most optimistic estimates, however, do not date the current building before the twelfth century. Another of the mosques purported to have been founded by Malik ibn Dinar is located at Madayi near Kannur in North Malabar. It illustrates the sad story of old historic Mappila buildings. The Madayi mosque bore a stone marker listing the year 1124 as the date of its construction. In the interests of modernizing, however, this landmark structure was razed in 2006, and a refurbished mosque has been built on its foundations. The stone marker is preserved and incorporated into the floor of the new building, but the original date is no longer legible. At the rear of the mosque an old wall has been retained incorporating the original mark of the qibla, while beside it stands the first pulpit (mimbar), a simple visibly ancient raised stone platform. The second mimbar, also old, has been retained in the new mosque. It has four carved wooden posts holding up a flat canopy that is covered with painted flowers on its interior. The tombs of two saints said to have been companions of Malik have been consigned to a rear room, and they now require some effort to reach. The dismantling and rebuilding of this historic edifice points to a challenge now facing the Mappila community—the preservation of its architectural heritage. One of the most noted of the remaining traditional mosques is the “Makhdum Mosque” in Ponnani. This ancient South Mālabar port town ranks highly in Mappila story and affection. Lying on a protected backwater, it was one of Kerala’s best-known links with the outside world. Poets also hymn its praises as “the Mappila Mecca,” “the light of learning,” and “the radiance of Islamic gold.”3 The town’s long Arabian connection probably meant that Islamic culture began

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soon after the Hijra (622 A.D.), and it grew into a prominent trading center. Yet its real fame came after 1500 when the scholarly Shaikh Makhdums made it their teaching center and began training the Mappila musaliars. The mosque structure that served as the center of their activities is attributed to the senior Shaikh Zeinuddin and is dated at 1519.4 Set in a very crowded area of the old town it is faithfully preserved in its ancient form and remains a prime example of traditional Mappila mosque architecture. The ground floor of the building, which is of modest size, is a worship area created by four arches. On entering the front archway the worshipper passes the pool used for washing. Looking across the room he sees a tall indentation (mihrab) in the opposite wall, outlined by decorated plaster, which marks the direction of Mecca. Beside it stands a moveable pulpit with six ornamented steps. Its canopy is supported by four curlicued hardwood posts, with lights hanging below. With its exquisite carpentry and decorated carving it is a fine example of the mimbar art form. Along another wall there are three old doors bearing Arabic calligraphy on their lintels, with other handwritten Quranic inscriptions on the wall itself. On one side of the central door hangs the mosque clock, while a traditional Kerala brass floorlamp stands on the other side. Various lamps hang from the ceiling, but suspended from the center of the ceiling is “the lord of the lights,” the ancient oil lamp that is the mosque’s most famous icon. Two feet below it stands the pot containing the oil and the dipper used to continually refresh the lamp. It was to this light that the Makhdums would invite their favored students, and to this day the dars students continue to sit in a circle around the lamp, which symbolizes their search for knowledge. The architectural glory of the mosque is its impressive facade that rises like an A-frame from the first story to the peak of a sharply pitched roof. The facade utilizes a mix of three narrow horizontal awning-like tiled roofs, three porticos jutting out in receding size, and lines of decorative Mughul-style windows, together constituting a unified whole. The attractive use of blue and red colors help to both separate and to draw together the features of the facade. At the corner of the peak is a decoration and a light, while on the ridge of the roof are turrets of a type commonly found also on temples. Ponnani has other traditional mosques, but none that can compare with this remarkable structure with its storied contributions to the life and culture of the Mappila community. Our final example of the old-style mosque is the large Mishkal Palli in Kuttichira, Calicut, which Mammu Koya describes as “the finest and most famous mosque in Kerala history.”5 The mosque was

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endowed by an Arab shipowner whose name it bears. It is elaborately constructed with four major stories and three smaller ones, rising in ziggurat style to a great height. Each story has a veranda with a sloping tiled roof. Upper level verandas are protected by lattice enclosures. The final pitched roof is surmounted by three decorative turrets. The ground floor has a walled-in veranda that serves as a passageway. The finest timber was used for the building’s 24 pillars and 47 doors, while the inner courtyard was floored with Italian tiles. The mosque was damaged in 1510 by Portuguese attacks but was later rebuilt using materials from the abandoned Chaliyam fort. In 1678 it suffered a fire but was once again reconstructed and maintains that form, holding 1,300 people for prayer. Whatever their origins and whatever Mappilas today may think of these great traditional masjids, they not only became a distinctive architectural form but they also provided effective religious services for centuries. However, now we must consider the recent rather startling change.

The New Architectural Wave The rapid change in mosque architecture that has taken place in the past thirty years is a surprising one and requires explanation. For centuries Mappilas had been content with their traditional mosques. They liked them, and saw no serious problem. In recent times, however, dissatisfaction set in, the rising feeling being that the Arabian and Indo-Persian mosque styles were somehow more Islamically appropriate. The feeling developed along with the growing Mappila awareness of the wider Muslim world. It also reflected the efforts of Mappila reformers to “purify” Sunni religious practices from what were viewed as un-Islamic phenomena. The thought was: Why should our mosques resemble the worship places of other religious communities? C. N. Ahmed Moulavi once gave the writer this critical explanation of the appearance of the Feroke juma mosque—its facade reflected Syrian–Christian influence because the local committee had used Christian masons and carpenters. Moreover, there was no doubt that many of the old mosques needed major repairs and up-dating to make them more convenient. If funds are available, why not change our approach to reflect the wider Muslim pattern? Why not rebuild? The dissatisfaction expressed itself in a flurry of new mosque construction in what was deemed to be the classical Islamic style, using domes and minarets. It has been architecturally facilitated by the use of reinforced concrete construction technology, and it has been financially enabled by munificent gifts from Saudi Arabia and the Gulf

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States. The Mappila Architectural Now has almost eliminated the Architectural Then, giving the entire environment a new appearance. The basic style of mosque architecture may have changed, but varieties continue. The mosques are democratically run by local committees who have their own opinions. Moreover, they are constrained by the size of existing sites and by financial limitations. We may go to Kannur District for a demonstration of that variety. The large new juma mosque in the city of Tellicherry is virtually indistinguishable from Middle Eastern counterparts. But travel outside Kannur to Muttam and there is a different appearance. The new Rahmaniyya Complex that rises from an open plateau, in addition to the new mosque, includes a secondary Madrasa, an upper primary school, a high school, and an English-medium lower school. The mosque expresses functional simplicity—it is a long two-story rectangular structure made of cinder blocks, with a flat roof and a facade that supports two minarets, and it is fronted by a semicircular enclosure that extends outward and has white and green” filigree decoration. Thus, with varieties of design ranging from the grand to the basic, costly new mosques are appearing everywhere, and there is more than a hint of community competition. Some Muslim voices are being raised in protest. “There are too many mosques . . . It is a waste.”6 The end of the process, however, is not in sight.

The Hybrid Development Where there are insufficient funds to build new mosques or where there is loyalty to an old structure, various hybrid buildings have emerged. Elements of the new architectural approach are combined with existing mosques. The attempt to blend two quite different styles often produces odd results! The Vadakemanna Mosque in Mālappuram District is an example of an attractive composite structure that was made possible by both charitable gifts and the expertise of a builder. The mosque is a rectangular building set in a grove of trees, its size being 60 by 22 meters. The foundation and walls of the traditional structure now support a new flat, reinforced-concrete roof on which a small dome and minarets have been placed. A veranda surrounds the building on three sides. Important improvements have been made in lighting, water supply, and sanitation. The mosque has two stories: the first for prayer, the second for education. The entry to the ground floor passes by an attached room that holds two tanks with running water for the required ablutions. Visitors enter from the side veranda that gives access to the prayer

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hall itself. That is a traditional open space, the ceiling being supported by six pillars; the space is of sufficient size for 24 lines of worshippers, with 13 in a line. The simple pulpit is mounted by three steps. In the right and left corners of the wall facing Mecca there are doors to two small rooms, one serving as an office and the other as a rest room for the imam. The interior floor is cement covered by carpets, while the veranda floors are marble. The cream-colored walls combine with the green trim of the dome and the four short minarets to give a pleasing appearance. The second story houses the dars activities. Near the mosque stands a traditional auxiliary building used for the elementary madrasa. The expenses for the operation and maintenance of the whole establishment are covered by the income of a local trust, by member contributions, and by zakāt gifts. Supporting members form committees to manage the program and needed building repairs.7 The number of hybrid mosques exceeds that of new structures, and the development has turned the once unified image of Mappila mosque architecture into a motley mosaic.

Mosque Types and Numbers Mappila mosques differ in function as well as in style and age. There are three major types. The first and most important category is the juma palli or jamaat mosque, that is, “the mosque of assembly.” It is the regional center for the Friday congregational service (khutba), and it usually also maintains a higher madrasa or dars school. The second type is a smaller building that meets local needs by providing prayer facilities, a site for funerals, a venue for other occasional assemblies, and usually an elementary Qurʾān school. The third mosque form is a diminutive roadside building called niskāra palli, or “place of prayer”; it is only a convenience for the performance of the salāt prayer. There are also a few special shrine mosques dedicated to saints. These tend to be large, old structures that house the tomb of the saint, and sometimes those of his family, and make provision for devotional activities. Finally, it should be noted that certain theological parties may maintain their own distinct and exclusive worship facilities. The varieties of mosques and the shifting district boundaries make it difficult to discover the exact number of Mappila mosques. In 1988 P. K. Muhammad Kunju listed by name a total of 2,400 mosques, almost all of them appearing to be juma mosques, implying about 2,772 Muslims per juma mosque. He does not claim to have located all of the lesser mosques and prayer rooms.8 About the same time C. K. Kareem conducted a meticulous count of mosques in Mālappuram

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District alone, reporting that there were 546 juma mosques and 1,027 ordinary mosques.9 These figures yield a ratio of one juma mosque for every 2,573 Muslims and a mosque of some kind for every 893 Muslims. In the light of the current Muslim population10 and considering the upsurge in mosque construction, we may estimate the number of Muslim worship facilities of all types to be no fewer than 8,600, while the number of juma mosques may have risen to 3000. Whatever the exact count, their great abundance underlines the element of “Godwardness” at the core of Mappila culture. We conclude the discussion of mosque architecture with a note on the cultural implication of the stylistic change. Does it signify a retreat from the community’s adaptive approach to Malayalam culture in favor of a tilt toward Middle Eastern culture? Or, more seriously, does the acceptance of funds with implied conditions mean yielding to a form of cultural imposition? Most Mappila leaders would not view the matter this way, but would prefer to describe the artistic change as a cultural rebalancing combined with a functional improvement of facilities that new funding made possible. At the same time, however, community leaders have heard the wakeup call. Cultural change does not necessarily mean the obliteration of a society’s treasured heritage, and efforts are now underway to preserve the most important remaining architectural symbols of the past.

Embellished Homes Abdulla and Amina are riding a bus from their town to the nearby city. They are going to attend a family wedding. The bus races along the narrow roads barely missing other vehicles and pedestrians. Abdulla and Amina are impervious to that drama. They are used to it. Instead they are looking at the large mansions they are passing. Abdulla has seen them before, but Amina has not and she is agog. They are houses built by Gulf returnees, and they rise enormously from the paddy fields. Amina cannot help but compare them with her own traditional house which she likes very much. In any event, for them there is no choice—they have no family members in the Gulf and must be content with what they have. We have described the typical Mappila habitations which reflect Malayalam house architecture. Mappila culture today follows the same path, but a notable architectural development came after the 1960s when newly enriched Mappilas returned from the Gulf. They were

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inspired by a new dream of how homes should really be built if a family has the needed economic capacity. It was a vision of a splendid new modernity, and they began to spend their hard-earned gains on the showy construction of large two- or three-story square homes with spacious rooms and high ceilings, using expensive woods and marble chip materials. Despite their unabashed ostentation many of the new houses are architecturally interesting, often attempting to blend “Travancore” styling with a modern appearance. The baroque houses have become a community art form as unusual as unexpected. Since their owners are heavily dependent on foreign funds for the house maintenance as well as construction costs, the future prospect for this style is dubious. Moreover, the use of scarce funds for palatial buildings contrasts with the tradition of Mappila frugality and has drawn sharp criticism from some community leaders who argue that the funds could be more wisely spent to ensure the family’s future economic prosperity. Nevertheless, the very existence of these stately homes raises community expectations, and larger homes are now also being built by wealthier members of the community who never traveled abroad. The contents of the new homes reflect the modernization dream. In regard to home furnishings Mappilas have shared the Malayali preference for simplicity, but the new homes display the rising interest in consumer goods. The living room will have a low table surrounded by three or four settees, befitting its function as the place for entertaining guests. Walls may bear a calligraphic inscription, a depiction of the Kaʿba, photos of family members, diplomas, and calendars. The dining room may contain a veneer table with several chairs, while the kitchen is full of modern cooking utensils and electrical devices. Small refrigerators and washers are common, and the bathrooms are thoroughly modernized. In interior rooms there will be television sets and/or electronic apparatus. The new wealth that makes this possible has not resulted in the advancement of the fine arts, except in jewelry. Home decoration is limited, and there is little evidence of any movement into the realms of painting and sculpture—or even ceramics—with fine wood-working, especially on staircases, providing the main artistic product of the new prosperity. Some days have passed and Abdulla and Amina are returning home on the same bus route. This time Amina does not show much interest in the big houses. For her it is another world. That is true also for Abdulla, but he knows that world is drawing nearer. As they pass by he wonders whether he could somehow provide a new table and chairs for his family.

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The Material Arts Mappila culture is not distinguished by its productivity in the field of the material arts. The lack of high achievement is striking and is matched by the relatively low level of community interest. The cause for this deficiency cannot be laid at the door of either the Islamic or the Malayalam forming culture stream since each has a strong artistic heritage. The traditional Islamic material arts include ceramics, calligraphy and illustrated manuscripts, painting, metal work including scientific instruments, carpets and decorated textiles, lamps, and carvings. In addition to writing and geometric patterns, the decorative elements used in these arts include floral and vegetal themes and even—in some regions—bird, animal, and human figures. The Malayalam artistic tradition in turn produced many art forms in addition to sculpture and painting. Traditional crafts and metal work including brass and bell metal; gem, ivory and bone carving; bamboo, rattan, cane, reed, grass, and straw work; palm-leaf and shell artistry; pottery and lacquer work; textile printing; lace and embroidery; silver and gold ware; and wood carving, ranging from small objects to ornate carved doors and lintels. As one authority suggests, the Malayalam motifs and designs take their main inspiration and raw materials from nature:11 The ivory of the elephants, the wood from the bountiful forests, the horn of the wild life, the coconut shell and fibre from the world’s most wonderful tree, metals from its good earth, bamboo and screw-pine, rattan and cane from the flora of the woods and coast, and the conch-shell from the ocean supply the materials for some of its unique crafts. The blending of two such flourishing artistic traditions would ordinarily result in a rich growth of the material arts, but this did not take place in Mappila culture. The reasons are theological, practical, and psychological. There are two interrelated theological factors—the fear of figural representation, and the orientation to the Word. To early Arab Muslims there were two serious difficulties with figural art like painting and sculpture. First, it seemed as though the artist might be trying to compete with God the Creator, Who alone shapes things out of nothing (Qurʾān 59:24). Second, the activity seemed too close to the pre-Islamic practice of making idols. Islamic culture generally took a different road when it became rooted in Persian soil. The painting of figures became quite common in Persian Muslim art. As we have seen, it was this culture that was transplanted to Northern India and

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the Mughul miniature painting that developed there is justly famous. The same artistic transition did not take place in southwest India. Painting, both Hindu and Christian, maintained a deeply religious quality centering on sacred images, while sculpture generated sacred forms. Mappilas were naturally hesitant and did not find the art forms congenial. The second and related theological factor is the Muslim emphasis on the recited and written Word. The first declaration of the Qurʾān declares: “Thy Lord is the Most Generous, who taught by the Pen” (96:4; Arberry). From the beginning of Muslim history the Word and Pen reigned, and hence calligraphy became the primary and cherished Islamic art form. Calligraphers raised that art to high levels of achievement and held positions of great eminence. In that context, painters had little room to move. We may also point to two practical factors that hindered the development of the material arts in Mappila culture. The first is the economic factor, that is, the absence of community-based funding and sponsorship for the material arts. In many places elsewhere in the Muslim world where the Islamic arts flourished there were rulers or wealthy patrons who encouraged and endowed artistic efforts, sometimes out of personal interest and sometimes to enhance their fame. This situation never existed among the Mappilas. There was no wealthy patronage or court-sponsored cultivation of the arts. Except for the isolated case of the Ali Raja of Kannur, Mappilas did not have their own native rulers. As for the well-to-do businessmen, they were few and far between, and these were known for their liberality toward mosque construction and furnishings rather than for artistic patronage. When deemed necessary they imported art materials and did not attempt to develop native talent. A second practical element inhibiting Mappila artistic development is the fact that the traditional Malayalam crafts were generally outside the purview of Muslim artisans. The craft guilds in Malayalam culture tended to take the form of hereditary Hindu castes. Within that status, parents pass on their skills to their children. Pottery, for example, is the full-time occupation of the Kushuwar caste. Hence, the ceramic arts so notable in wider Muslim culture could not easily develop among the Mappilas. The metallic arts provide another example. The main focus of the metal artisans was the production of lamps for temple and household worship. From basket weaving to carving the material arts were associated with traditional caste functions. When members of such castes became part of the Mappila community through conversion, they naturally brought their skills with them, but that impact is not very visible except in masonry and carpentry.

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Finally, two psychological factors affected Mappila involvement in the material arts. The first is their pragmatism. Mappila history made the community practical rather than philosophic or artistic. Mappilas became doers and kept busy at life’s tasks. If time was left over, conversation was the preferred form of relaxation. That is still the case. A visit to the beach of the port city of Calicut on any weekday evening will serve to confirm the point. The promenade is jammed. People of all ages, male and female, young and old, many with families, stroll contentedly and observe the splendid sunset. Few photograph it, and painters cannot be seen. The precious hour of relaxation is not given over to artistic creation. The pragmatic reality helps to account for the fact that there are no Mappila museums of note. The second psychological factor is simple disinterest. The Mappila community has not been and currently is not very attentive to the material arts. The aloofness is underlined by the absence of indigenous Mappila calligraphy despite the fact that the latter is the supreme Muslim art form. In the sphere of Arabic calligraphy, Mappilas faced no craft guild competition, and it is a relatively inexpensive art. Therefore, it is both remarkable and revealing that Mappilas did not produce calligraphy in contrast to using it. The calligraphy in use is imported or reproduced by local presses, and only recently have Mappilas attempted to start schools of calligraphy. The existing material arts among Mappilas tend to be functional ones.12 They include products of the coir industry. Coir is coconut fiber from which a variety of mats are made in addition to rope. Various leather goods, including decorated women’s shoes, are designed and produced. In North Malabar embroidered male hats are still made. Heavily engraved silver belts and intricate gold jewelry for women are fashioned. In the mosques brass hanging lamps, floor lamps, inscribed brass plates, and old decorative boxes may be seen, but it is arguable to what extent they were locally crafted. There is a great deal of interest in marble chip flooring with beautiful shades and patterns, so much so that it has come to be a contemporary Mappila art form. Developments are taking place in Mappila culture that portend a possible change in the Mappila approach to the material arts. The influence of commerce and the visual media is producing the change. Commercial activity depends on figural representation in advertising, with the roadside billboard serving as its grassroots medium. All along the main roads Mappila male and female figures are now seen in advertisements promoting everything from jewelry to bathroom hardware. Although a billboard is occasionally vandalized, that response is becoming rarer. As to the visual media, the advance of

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cinema and television represents a powerful influence. The Malayalam film industry involves many Muslims, including prominent actors, such as Mamooty, and several prominent directors. Mappilas routinely watch TV, and through that medium they are normally exposed to many different forms of figural art. Old fears are being allayed, and it may be only a matter of time before the community’s interest embraces a wider range of material arts; but in the end that may depend on a further movement of the spirit that matches its applauded revolution of the mind.

Mappila Music: Songs, Instruments, and Dance The double founding streams in Mappila culture afforded Mappilas a rich source of musical expression. In contrast with their early architectural approach, however, in the area of music they tilted to the Islamic stream. Malayalis love to listen to music and watch trained dancers. Their classical culture is rich in both music and dance. In the southern region of Kerala a musical peak was reached during the rule (1829–1847) of Swati Tirumal, who not only produced many compositions of his own but also generously patronized other musicians. He even attracted Muslim prodigies like Imam Fakir of Lahore and Pir Muhammad of Trichinopoly to his Trivandrum court.13 Similarly dance-drama in its various styles14 became a developed art in Kerala. While many Mappilas can and do appreciate the technical quality of these classical arts, they did not adopt them because of their religious associations. Folk dancing such as kaikottukali—women circling with handclapping and chanting—and folk ballads, on the other hand, were more ecumenical and Mappilas were friendly to their style. Especially the ballads that memorialized local heroes became part of the Mappila tradition,15 but the Mappila preference for the Islamic tradition is visible in both their song themes and their musical instruments. We begin with the songs that constitute the Mappila’s most democratic and most emotive artistic expression.

The Mappila Songs The Mappila community is extremely proud of their song heritage. Covering a range of subject material from the tragic to the romantic, their singing produces a deep emotional response in listeners. The songs are regarded as the distinctive Mappila contribution to Kerala’s music and literature. Their place in Malayalam literature will

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be c­ onsidered in the next chapter, while here we take up the various types of songs and themes. The traditional Mappila songs are in both Arabic–Malayalam and Malayalam, but the former are in the majority. This restricts the number of actual singers. In practice they are the musical expression of Mappila women, although males too have a tradition of non-instrumental singing (bayt). With powerful memories Mappila women learn the songs at home and pass them on to their daughters. They usually sing the songs in groups in a rhythmic chant, at public performances such as marriage festivals, mawlūds, and other occasions. The songs may be roughly divided into three categories:

1. Songs of praise and prayer; that is, garlands for the saints.



2. Song-stories, that is, biographical and narrative ballads.



3. Miscellaneous songs, that is, wedding airs, teaching refrains, and modern lyrics.

The common Malayalam term for a song or ballad is pāttu, but the several categories also have their own specific designations. The term māla (garland) pāttu is applied to poems dedicated to great saints. A second term, khissa, applies to a song-story. Qissa is the modern Arabic term for novel but in earlier times it was used for historical narratives, particularly religious epics. The term was adopted by Mappilas and is used especially for a religious narrative, a romantic tale, or a martial saga. While the mālas are relatively short, the khissa pāttukul may be quite lengthy. The subcategory of war songs is sometimes referred to as pata pāttu, while the songs in the miscellaneous category go by a variety of names. The wedding songs, for example, are called the kalyāna pāttu. More important than the names is the content of the songs, and we begin that examination with the mālas. Garlands

for

Saints

and

Prayers

for

Their Help

One māla stands out among the many, not only because it is the oldest composition but also because it is a pattern for other saint-songs. It is named the Moideen Māla and will be used as our illustration for the first category of Mappila songs. The Moideen Māla memorializes ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlanī (1077– 1166) who has been called “probably the most popular saint in the Islamic world.”16 We have briefly introduced him earlier. He came

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from the Caspian Sea region to Bhagdad where he became a wellknown preacher. Given the titles Gauth, “Helper,” and Muhyī al-Dīn, “The Reviver of Religion,” he was noted for both his sober piety and for his mystical nearness to God. The following passage by al-Jīlanī reveals both aspects of his spirituality:17 Be with God, the Mighty, the Glorious, as if no creation exists. And be with creation as if there is no self in you. And when you are with God, the Mighty, the Glorious, without the creation, you will get Him and vanish from every other thing; and when you are with the creation without yourself, you will do justice and help the path of virtue and remain safe from the hardships of life. The Moideen Māla, however, goes far beyond this orthodox mysticism. It has acquired a special sanctity among Mappilas. In the past knowing it was even cited as a desirable qualification for a bride! The song begins with preliminary information about the composition of the poem itself, following which come a series of praises for God. After this preface the main portion of the work then deals with the life of the saint, starting with his early years but rapidly moving to his later exploits. This is the central theme. After the theme, the song-story adds an appeal for forgiveness on the basis of the merits and intercession of the saint, and then it concludes with a general prayer. The pleas in the māla illuminate the vehemence with which theological reformers have criticized the genre. There is extreme adulation, even allowing for poetic exaggeration. V. Kunyali’s welcome rendition of the Moideen Māla brings to light the approach:18 After dating his work the anonymous author says: “. . . I prepared this mala in 155 lines, Like pearls and rubies strung together I tied this garland, Oh people.” Then the writer romantically announces that the saint has the sea of the shariʿa, legal knowledge, on his right, and on his left the sea of haqīqa, esoteric truth. His authority is bounded by the sky above and the earth below. The sheikh then speaks for himself. In words that the poet puts in his mouth the saint claims supreme standing: I am the sea without bounds . . .  I am the Shaykh above them all . . .  All the Auliyas and Qutubs are children of my house.

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He clearly declares his function of mediating with God on behalf of believers: I am the intercessor to those who are from any land. I shall reply before he closes his mouth . . .  The poet takes him at his word and calls for his help in words that poignantly express Muslim fear and trembling before the Day of Judgment. He asks God to place him under the safe-keeping of the saint: The days when I live on this earth Place me under the protection of leader Muhiyi ad-Din, Oh Allah! The time when Azrail [angel of death] takes my soul Place me under the protection of the strong Muhiyi ad-Din, Oh Allah! The day when I go to the Qabar [grave] frightened Place me under the protection of renowned Muhyi ad-Din, O Allah! The day when seven hells rage Place me under the protection of noble Muhyi al-Din, O Allah! The day when weighed and accounts are verified Place me under the protection of leader Muhiyiadin, Oh Allah! . . .  The day when the ten feet long Sirat [narrow bridge to heaven] is to be crossed Place me under the protection of your slave Muhiyiadin, Oh Allah! . . .  The “garland” closes with praise for Muhammad, an appeal for his intercession, another plea for personal forgiveness, and a prayer for blessings upon the Prophet. Romantic

and

Heroic Songs

The heroic Mappila songs extol the lives of the prophets including Abraham (Ibrahīm), Lot (Lūt), Joseph (Yusuf), and others. They also sing of the virtues of the early companions of the Prophet Muhammad such as ʿAbu Bekr, ʿUmar, and ʿAlī. The songs also include other figures important in Mappila history such as Malik ibn Dinar. It is

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a small jump from these song-narratives to the exploits of Mappila heroes in the community’s later history. The heroic songs quite naturally gravitate into war songs. So the early battles of Badr and Uhud are celebrated in songs bearing those titles, reminding Mappilas of God’s vindication of His people in early Islamic history. Even Hunayn and Khaybar are so remembered.19 That emotion is then carried forward into the song-celebration of the Mappila struggles against their oppressors in later history. Such ballads of warrior saints bravely opposing the enemy bridged the category of khissa pāttukul and mālas. Extolling the sacrifice of the martyrs, these song-stories became saint-malas in their own right, making present the characteristics of valiant faith and a martyr spirit, elements of special relevance in Mappila life between 1498 and 1921. The songs are filled with both hyperbole and pathos as they acclaim gallant struggles against impossible odds. The Cherur ballad is an example. It arose from an incident that occurred October 19, 1843, in South Malabar. Seven Mappilas accused of slaying the administrative officer (adhikari) of Tirurangadi were besieged in a Nayar house by a British detachment. After stalwart resistance they were killed. The Cherur song extols their stand and ends with these words: The seven died as martyrs, and houris of Paradise comforted them, and their bodies remained where they fell in a place pleasant for them.  .  .  .  May God give courage to all Musulman to remove disgrace from their religion, and let all persons pray that in similar cases the martyrs may be admitted to Paradise.20 The romantic songs represent a change in mood. They are essentially fairy-tales in song with a happy ending. A very popular example is the Badrul Munir–Husnul Jamal by Moyinkutty Vaidyar (1851–1891), whom we shall meet again in the next chapter. It appears to be an adaptation of a Persian folk tale and bears an “Arabian Nights” flavor.21 The story line of the song is set in Ajmer. Mas Amir, minister of king Mahasil, has a son, Badr ul-Munir, while the king has a daughter, Husan ul-Jamal. They grew up together and fell in love. When people began to whisper, they were forbidden to see each other. They met secretly and planned to elope, using funds from the sale of her ornaments. A fisherman overheard them and warned the minister, who detained his son. The fisherman then disguised himself and met the girl at midnight. She discovered the deception later and wept bitterly,

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but the fisherman persuaded her that it had all been an accident. She allowed him use some of Badr ul-Munir’s clothes when they reached a distant kingdom. There the deceiver adopted another tactic. He persuaded the local people to believe that he was Abu Sayyid, a famous dealer in precious stones, and the local king gave them a house. Throughout the ordeal Husan ul-Jamal remained faithful to Badru ul-Munir and was continuously disconsolate. The local king was so pleased with Abu Sayyid that he also offered to give his own daughter to him in marriage. He accepted, parting from Husnul Jamal. When the king heard of the latter’s beauty he desired her. He first sent an old woman, then soldiers, to bring her to him, but she refused. “She prayed to God, resolving to die rather than to fall into the hands of the king.” Then the ruler of the jinn, Shihah, saw her distress and his son, the giant Mustaq, carried her off. The song now turns to Badr ul-Munir. He fled home and roamed for six months, finally meeting up with a Fairy Queen, Kamarba. She took him to her crystal palace where she shut him up for more than two years. One day she took him on a flight and, becoming tired, rested under a tree. At the same time Sufayirath, daugher of the ruler of the jinn, was also on a flight. She saw Badr ul-Munir sleeping and “in the twinkling of an eye” put him in a palace. There she informed him that because she feared her brother Mustaq she would only visit him at night. This she did for seven years, at which time he finally rebelled at his confinement and was allowed to take chariot rides. On one of his rides another princess saw him but later, unable to find him, she went to Mustaq for help. Mustaq asked his maid-servants if they had any information about Badr ul-Munir and was informed that his own sister had him in her custody. Sufayirath was compelled to produce him. Mustaq asked Badr ul-Munir to tell his story. When he told it, Mustaq remembered Husnul Jamal who was still in his care, and suspected the truth. The jinn costumed Badrul Munir and Husnul Jamal as for a wedding, and gave them cots in a dark room where they slept. They woke up in the morning and, recognizing each other, embraced and wept. Ten years had passed. The jinn then took them home on his Air Chariot on a night flight. They created a golden palace in front of King Mahasil’s residence, and there installed the loving pair. When he woke up to the sight, the king was very glad, arranged their wedding, and abdicated in their favor. The song ends with the report that they lived happily ever after. The ending must have given consolation to Mappilas as they walked down the blind alleys of their dreary existence in the nineteenth century.

Mappila Artistic Expression

A Medley

of

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Songs: Wedding, Instructional, Modern

Like a delta spreading out, the Mappila songs broadened to include a diverse range of subjects. All-important in Mappila affection are the wedding songs. The Wedding Songs.  Wedding songs routinely accompany Mappila wedding ceremonies. A mailanchipāttu is sung the night before the wedding at the house party, while the oppana is chanted during the wedding with the bride centered within a circle of younger women. A typical song starts out with the marriage proposal and, in as many as twenty sections, it takes the listeners through every stage of the marriage process, finally closing with the warning of the grave that lies at the end of the road, an incentive for the married couple “to live and die in holy Islam.”22 Amina has returned from her visit to a nearby city where she participated in a marriage function. Some of her friends are now visiting her in her home. With much pleasure Amina is telling them of the songs they sang. One of the oppana songs was “Aminabeevi.” It began with the wedding arrangement: Aminabeevi, daughter of the renowned Ali Muhammad, experienced blessing and grew up in prosperous comfort. She became a beautiful, eligible young woman, adorned in fine garments and jewelry. Young men greatly desired marriage with her. She had beautiful hair and a gleaming smile. Bangles jingled on her decorated hands. Everyone loved Aminabeevi. Abdul Kareem was the handsome son of the celebrated Pokutty Moopen. He had no deficiencies. Arrangements were made to give Aminabeevi in marriage to Abdul Kareem. Amina’s visitors are spellbound. They know the story, but to them it is always new. They listen closely now as the song goes on to tell of the auspicious wedding day: The wedding of Aminabeevi with Abdulkareem was fixed. The auspicious day arrives. Friends had come, bringing their congratulations. Relatives, neighbors and children had arrived. All ate a lovely meal. The bridegroom has seen a dream, and is walking. The bride blushes and stands. The women clap their hands and sing.

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At this point Amina’s guests begin clapping their hands. They know what comes next, the kaikotti chant, followed by the concluding verse: The full moon falls upon and blesses Aminabeevi. It is a moment of waiting for the desirous couple. The scent of rose essence spreads. Amina and Kareem are beauties indeed. May God give them health and a long life! Amina’s guests return to their homes. Their day has been brightened, and their steps are lighter. When God blesses the marriage union with a child the Nafeesa Māla comes into play. It is sung by pregnant women and their friends when their time is full in the interest of assuring an early and safe delivery. Nafeesa is believed to be descended from Fatima, the Prophet’s daughter, and the song celebrates her miraculous powers and wonderful deeds. As one of her miracles, through powerful prayer, she delivered a suffering person from a miserable fate in an Aden prison.23 The popular māla is also sung at nērchas. Nafeesa’s own name is included in the closing prayer that invokes the blessing of God on the Prophet Muhammad and his family. Instructional Songs.  Songs are an ordinary medium for teaching doctrine and morals. The method may not have begun with Kunyain Musaliar (b. ca. 1700), but his are the first-known songs of this type. He wrote his Nūr Māla in 1738, a “devotional piece” that conveys admiration for the Prophet. Reflecting his time period, the author used a mixture of Tamil and Mālayalam.24 It is his later work, Kappal-Pāttu or Kappa-Pāttu, that is his singular contribution. “The Boat Song” compares a human body to a ship, each of the major parts of the body corresponding to some section of the ship. It then goes on to compare the progress of life to a ship’s journey. As a ship faces dangers from rocks and shoals, so a human body faces problems and Satanic temptations on one’s spiritual journey, and he or she must be alert to reach the shore safely. In the contemporary period lyrics for instructional purposes are a lively addition to the body of Mappila songs. An example is the Hajj Yātra, “Journey to the Hajj,” by Weerankutty Maulavi. It features an antiphonal conversation between two maulavis who have gone on the pilgrimage and they now spell out its blessings. Another theological ballad sings about the unity of God that reformers believe has been compromised in popular Mappila religion. In “The Bell of Tawhīd” Hasan Nediyadu voices this sentiment:25

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Allah, The only One who pardons sins Allah, the only One where truth begins .  .  .  The universal Lord to be adored Yet many are there whom we have implored     The good and evil You made clear     A pious pattern to revere     And new theories to fear     Yet errors we hold dear. On the same theme, a marching song by an anonymous singer exhorts:26 Struggle, brothers and mujahids so brave, It is true religion we go forth to save. La ilāha illa lahu, la ilāha illallā  .  .  .  Come, companions, to the path of truth proceed We are going to a radical struggle for tawhīd. Earlier we reported how a Mappila physician used teaching songs to promote family planning in South Mālabar. A health song declares: It is gold to prevent disease,    a path that science will show; A gold that gives a life to please,    a vision that nature will bestow. The songwriter, Kallayi Abu Bekr, gives his view: “Thus, by spreading the seeds of health, our land will become a vale of goodness and beauty  .  .  .  Let it become such a crowded heavenly place!”27 Modern Songs.  With the teaching songs we have already entered the new world of contemporary Mappila music and song. Mappila music is adapting rapidly to modern forms even as the community holds on to and cherishes the songs of the past. Mappilas are just as engrossed with cinematic music as are other Malayalis, and the culture “is slowly transforming itself to the tunes of the next generation.”28 The development is especially evident in the increase of the new commercial albums directed especially to Gulf listeners tuned to Malayalam-language stations. The music is a synthetic product, combining the old genre with new tunes connected with films. Many lovers of the old Mappila pāṭukkuḷ are less than excited about what is happening. As a singer, Ramesh Ponoor, puts it: “The developed style sounds like light music.”29

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It is unquestionably lighter, yet the new songs appeal to Mappilas. Gone are the stirring battle themes of the past, the paeans to saints, the long epics. Replacing them are romantic songs—“Where is My Beloved?”—and songs that express the social problems of contemporary life. One of them is the problem of family separation, which has resulted from Gulf employment, and “The Dubai Pāttu” and “The Tears of Kuwait” sing of that difficulty. The issue of poverty is never ending. In “There Is No Sweetness in Your Tea” the singer laments that dear Ayesha’s tea is not sweet enough. Ayesha pertly replies that there is no tea powder, sugar, or milk available.30 And so the songs go on, in new forms, both Malayalam and Arabic–Malayalam. With the number of Mappilas able to utilize Arabic-Malayalam fast decreasing it is the modern Malayalam songs that will be the future outlet for musical expression. Yet some Mappila women have now begun to sing their old songs on the Internet.

Musical Instruments A broad array of Malayalam instruments are available to Mappila music, but it is the Arab stream of influence that is most visible. The tambourine or duff31 is basic to most Mappila musical and dance performances. The instrument is made of skin that is usually stretched over a round frame with jingling attachments. In the duff-kali (tambourine dance) the participants face each other singing songs while their hands strike the instrument and bodies sway in a slow restrained dance form. The tabula (Ar. tabla) is a small cylindrical drum that has skin stretched over both ends, and is played like the duff with strong rhythms. The most widespread Islamic instruments, the various lutes and pipes, did not make their way into Mappila music, either from Arabia or from North India. However, kettle drums appeared, and a very large drum is often used in nērcha parades.

Mappila Dance Mappila dance does not reflect the Hindu tradition of single dancers communicating a story, usually a religious narrative. Rather it involves a group of people combining in dance-drama performances that are sometimes very athletic. The prime example is kōlkali, a stick dance, which represents a unique Mappila development. Male dancers, ten or twelve, carry one-foot-long round wooden sticks. In the course of the dance they weave amongst each other, simultaneously singing, precisely striking the sticks both on the forehand and back-

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hand, and circling in intricate patterns all within a small space. The action takes place with ever-increasing speed. The singing is antiphonal, one leading, the others repeating the refrain. When the dance has achieved almost impossible speed it abruptly comes to a halt, the sudden silence yielding a profound effect. The kōlkali dancers receive their training over a period of years from an experienced teacher (kurikkal). What kōlkali is to male artists, the oppana is to women. We have reported the content of an oppana song, and the dance accompanies it. The women may sit in a group around a bride, with swaying bodies and hand-clapping (kaikotti) as they sing. Or they will rise and dance around the bride in a complex pattern while singing, often using the tambourine. Oppana songs and dances may also take place on other ceremonial occasions in a woman’s life. In a simple variation called kolāttum, young girls do the singing while seated in a circle; if a similar performance is done around a lamp it is called vattakali. Amjad Ali Khan32 makes this perceptive observation about the role of artistic expression in popular culture: It is 60 years since India’s Independence, and we have achieved economically and technologically. However, it is also true that along with such developments, Indians are beginning to lose their inherent tenderness. This tenderness, in the earlier years, was encouraged by an emphasis on culture, music, dance, art and education. In the absence of such an emphasis, I believe that our traditions, identities and values are gradually eroding. This warning needs to be heard by all cultures today that are attracted to material advance. In the case of the Mappilas, it is not too strong to say that it is their songs that have carried the banner of the community’s artistic expression, and while the type of music is changing, to the extent that it is encouraged, it is the songs that will continue to bring sweetness to the Mappila tea. We turn next to another cultural lamp that has been lit in Mappila society, the writings of Mappila novelists in Malayalam.

14

Mappila Literature

Mappila literature illustrates both the becoming and the being of Mappila culture. The becoming was in process at the same time as the Malayalam literary tradition was being shaped, but we see little interaction between the two developments. The being of Mappila literature as we see it today, reveals a lively commonality as well as providing a vivid picture of Mappila life. In the first section of this chapter we examine the separate paths that Malayalam and Mappila literature traveled until

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modern times. The second section looks at the unfulfilled Mappila flirtation with literature utilizing the Arabic language, while in the third section we take up the hybrid substitute called ArabicMalayalam. The development of this limited genre ensured that Mappila literature followed a channel separate from the wider Malayalam form. For generations the two rivers ran side by side, barely touching. The being of Mappila literature today, however, reveals a startling change. As the Arabic-Malayalam stream dried up Mappilas joined the Malayalam literary world, drawing on its liveliness and contributing to its diversity. The profile of Mappila literature today is much different from what it was two generations ago. It is now a vibrant Malayalam language-based literary movement led by novelists and dramatists who are exploring the inner dimension of Mappila culture and are bringing its realities to view. Our final sections take up that movement.

Malayalam Literature Is Born: Mappilas Remain Aloof The Mappila attitude toward Malayalam culture until the European era was a general openness reflected in social adaptations such as their spoken language, customary practice, and architecture. Even though Mappila conversational Malayalam became a dialect of its own with a heavily Arabicized vocabulary, nevertheless the language was accepted as the community’s spoken medium. Yet the openness did not extend to the development of a common literary heritage. As Krishna Chaitanya puts it: “The traditional Muslim literary effort has remained almost completely isolated until modern times.”1 Why? What were the factors that were involved in this anomaly? We may point to three compelling reasons why Mappilas did not interface with the developing Malayalam literary tradition. The first is that the latter was sustained by Sanskrit with which the Mappilas were unfamiliar. The second is that its content was largely the Hindu religious epics that did not interest Muslims. And the third is the late development of Malayalam literature, which came at a time when the Mappila community was becoming culturally closed as it contended with the European incursions. Lesser factors that played a part were the problems associated with the Malayalam script and the use of palm leaves in writing. Sanskrit became the early literary language of Kerala, and later it interacted with Tamil and Malayalam in the development of the Malayalam literature. Sanskrit came into prominence with the Brah-

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min immigration from the north into southwest India that began before the advent of Islam. The Brahmins entered a Tamil-dominated culture that resulted from successive invasions from the east by Tamil powers. The Pallava, Pandyan, and Chola dynasties in turn conducted intermittent wars with the Chera kings in central Kerala. Thereby, Tamil became the court and administrative language of the area for centuries, overlaying the indigenous Dravidian proto-Malayalam speech. When the Cholas finally left in 1120, Sanskrit formally replaced Tamil in the Malayalam language story, although long before that Brahmins had begun to assert their linguistic as well as their religious preeminence. Their control also assured that the basic content of the literary tradition would be primarily the Hindu Vedas and Shastras, although some biographical and historical materials were also produced. The philosopher Sankaracarya (788–820) used Sanskrit as the medium to put forward his Vedantic thought. Various Kerala chiefs took pleasure in sponsoring Sanskrit poets. The fact that only the eldest son in a Brahmin family married meant that other sons could dedicate their lives to Sanskrit teaching and writing. Thus Sanskrit became the basic literary medium of Malayalam culture, as well as serving as the mother tongue of Malayali Brahmins. That conclusion, however, did not include Mappilas! For them Sanskrit literature was essentially an unknown or hidden tradition. From 1309 the Zamorin followed the custom of sponsoring an annual one-week-long festival of learning which drew together scholarly representatives from all of the state’s eighteen regions (nāds) to share their learning and literary achievements.2 It was conducted in Sanskrit, and only Brahmins were invited. Despite the fact that Calicut was the center of Mappila influence and the Zamorin was their friend and supporter, Mappilas were not present at the festival. Sanskrit was not a language of commerce, which was the primary Mappila interest during this period; and we do not know of the existence of any Mappila Sanskrit scholar. When Malayalam itself emerged in full force as a distinct language and when it became the vehicle of an independent literature are two different questions. In regard to spoken Malayalam, time estimates vary greatly, and the true facts may never be known. There is no doubt, however, that the literary development came surprisingly late because it first had to pass through some composite forms as Sanskrit writers sought to hang on to their dominant role—that process going on from the twelfth to the seventeenth century. There is general agreement that the first known literary works having a strong Malayalam content were the Bhasha Kautilyam, a Shastra commentary

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of the twelfth century and Chiraman’s Ramacharitrum, a thirteenthcentury poetic version of the Ramayana.3 There may have been others whose palm-leaf manuscripts did not survive. But these works were not the harbingers of a strong Malayalam literary movement since the region’s literature had to initially experience a hybrid Sanskrit–Malayalam stage. Mappilas must have been as remote from that genre as they had been from the pure Sanskrit writing that preceded it. Its chief hybrid form was an artificial construct called Misrabhasha (“a mixed language”) or Mani-Pravalam (“ruby and coral fused”). This was an awkward blending which kept Sanskrit as the ruling partner. Not only did the Sanskrit vocables retain their own grammatical structure, but the same syntax was also required of the Tamil and Malayalam words that were taken in. As Tamil gradually dropped off, Mani-Pravalam became the artificial combination of Sanskrit and Malayalam. Its content was limited to romantic literature, often involving sensual relationships with temple dancers. There is no doubt that Muslims must have been remote from this literature. The artificial genre could not last, and did not. Its life span did not exceed three centuries; it had to give way to the natural emergence of pure Malayalam literature as an independent tradition. The first signs of that emergence came in the 1400s when the Niranam family in central Kerala initiated the task of translating Hindu religious epics into Malayalam, but it gained its chief ­stimulus from two great symbols of the Malayalam coming of age—the poets Cherusseri Sankaran Nambutiri who wrote in the second half of the 1400s and the famed Ezhuthachan who probably lived in the early 1500s. These were dramatic times in Kerala Hinduism as bhakti movements flowed in from the north, bringing religious seriousness that overcame the moral frivolity of the romantic age. They were also traumatic years in politico-economic affairs brought on by the Portuguese entry. Cherusseri was a seminal figure in the development of Malayalam literature that took place in this context. In his KrishnaGatha he used the vernacular to narrate the Bhagavad Gita’s story in 47 cantos. He still utilized many Sanskrit terms, but now the shoe was on the other foot, for this time they were blended into Malayalam grammatical usage. Ezhutachan also continued the use of Sanskrit terminology but his linguistic base is Malayalam. Said to be of Nayar extraction he broke the lock that Brahmins had on the literary field. He is credited with giving Malayalam poetry its classic metrical form and raising its content level to higher ideals. He solidified his reputation as the father of Malayalam literature by rendering the Ramayana and Mahabharata into Malayalam versions that held the field for the next three centuries.

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The Malayalam literary tradition had begun. There were still problems related to script and writing materials, but they were gradually overcome. The Malayalam script did not arrive on the scene as a ready-made product. Two old scripts, Vattezhuthu and a court version called Kozhezhuthu, were in existence, both derived from a widespread Indian script called Brahmi. At the same time Tamil also had an old script called Granthi that stemmed from the same Brahmi source. Not only did the native Malayalam script further develop to incorporate the full range of the rich Malayalam phonetic structure, but it also borrowed Granthi symbols to provide for Sanskrit sounds.4 As to the writing material, paper had long been known in China, but despite the China trade neither paper nor parchment seemed to have been in general use in Kerala in the pre-European era. The local substitute was palm leaves (ōlas), which had the disadvantage of being fragile. For safety they were hung from ceilings, mainly in temples and royal dwellings but also in wealthy private homes. They were not intended for wide distribution.5 By the time the Europeans came, however, the Malayalam script had completed its formative journey, and with their arrival paper came into common use. The stage was set, and in the 1600s the Malayalam literary tradition (sāhityum) took off in various directions. Where were the Mappilas while this was going on? Were they involved in any way? In daily life they could see the Brahmin pandits walking the streets, and they knew of their leadership in education and scholarship. Some Mappilas must have personally known Ezhuthachan who was born in Trikandiyur in Ponnani Taluk. Moreover, with the evolution of Malayalam, the Sanskrit linguistic block must have been reduced. All this moves P. P. Nambutiri to affirm: “It is improbable that this community made no contribution to Malayalam literature.”6 While such a possibility exists, we can see no visible evidence of Mappila involvement in the fast developing Malayalam literature. Its content was still very much based on Hindu religious themes for which Mappilas felt no affinity. More important was the fact of the Portuguese wars in the 1500s and the foreign intrigues designed to separate Hindus from Muslims. As their difficulties increased Mappilas became ever more protective and isolated, resisting outside influences. Their once dynamic relationship with their social environment was a casualty of the era. The birth of Malayalam as a literary genre came at just the wrong time to have a creative impact on the Mappila community. Mappila literary interest, such as it was, went in another direction.

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Arabic Literature and the Mappilas: An Unfulfilled Vision Even if the conditions that precluded Mappila participation in the region’s literary development did not exist, they might nevertheless have remained somewhat aloof because of their preference for Arabic. It was their sacred heritage, and it was the language of the early Muslim settlers. The development of a significant body of Mappila literary works in Arabic could therefore be expected, but surprisingly that did not occur. There are three reasons for this noticeable absence. The first reason is that Arabic was not the natural language of Mappilas except at a very early stage. While Arabic had a specific role as the religious language of the community, that was practically confined to the mosque and madrasa. There was no everyday Arabian life-context out of which writers and readers would emerge. The second reason is the absence of a strong Arabic literary influence from the outside that in any way paralleled the Arab commercial impact. Finally, as it turned out, the development of the Arabic-Malayalam hybrid “language” pre-empted Mappila attention. The die was cast, and it was not until current times that Arabic as a literary language began to receive Mappila recognition and regard, mainly in universities and colleges. The lack of a strong Arab literary influence on the Mappilas becomes more understandable if we step into the Arabian context. What may be called a “high” literature was not known in pre-Islamic Arabia where the ballad style prevailed. Nor did it develop quickly after the advent of Islam. When the Qurʾān appeared, it became the energizing and defining force in Arabic language and literature; in Arabian Muslim centers various literary materials began to appear in its wake, but these early works concentrated on the religious sciences and in particular studies of the Hadīth. Native Arabian poetry went into decline, and other types of prose were slow in developing. It was only after the Arab outward movement into other Middle Eastern societies and the absorption of their peoples and cultures into Islam—especially in Syria and Persia—that literature of a general nature began to flourish.7 Very soon thereafter, as Islam moved into its “Golden Age,” Arabic literature became a monumental achievement, covering the whole range of human knowledge. This literary productivity was certainly boosted by the arrival of paper in Bhagdad by the year 800 CE, but—and this is the significant point for Mappila culture—it was not from these areas that Arab immigration came into Kerala. “Golden Age” literary influences never reached Malabar,

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although they touched North Indian Muslim life and culture. We have introduced the culture of South Arabia from which Arab immigration came into southwest India. The immigrants came from a region that had from pre-Islamic times developed strong indigenous cultures with an Arabic dialect of their own.8 Their civilization—variously called South Arabian, Sabaean, Himyarite or Hadrami—reached “a high level of sophistication,”9 and a later South Arab scholar-poet, Abū Muhammad al-Hamdanī of Sanʿāʾ (d. 945), who was called “the tongue of South Arabia,” looks back to the early South Arabian legends with pride and nostalgia.10 After the Islamicized cultures of central Arabia entered into the South Arabian cultural sphere, they modified its language and moved its literary direction into the religious mode. Thereafter, any Arab influence that would come into the land of the Cheras was destined to be of the commercial or religious type. At first the commercial environment must have dominated. The new immigrants into Kerala were not at all litterateurs but rather traders and business people. Their first writing interest must have been the equivalent of cargo manifests and bills of lading! Religious writing came next, and the Arabic literary materials that did make their appearance among the Mappilas were theological in nature.11 The earliest reported Arabic work is Qayd alJami (1342) by Faqih Husain of Dharmapattanum in North Malabar, a discussion of legal regulations pertaining to marriage.12 But the most widely known Arabic language materials came more than a century later and were produced by the Zeinuddīn family, the Makhdums of Ponnani, to meet religious needs. The Zeinuddīnn Makhdum family whom we have noted earlier migrated, possibly from Yemen,13 to the southeastern coastal region of India known to Arab geographers as Maʿbar, and from there they made their way to Ponnani in South Malabar. Sheikh Zein-ud-Dīn ibn Shaikh ʿAlī (1467–1521), called the Senior Makhdum, not only raised the reputation of the Ponnani dars to a high level, but he also wrote many religious treatises in Arabic, including a work on the practice of the Prophet Muhammad, Tuhfut-ul-Ahibba; the Irshad-ul-Qasidim, a summary of al-Ghazālī’s Minaj; and a work on sufism entitled Murshid-ul-Tullab.14 His grandson was Shaikh Ahmad Zein-ud-Dīn ibn Shaikh Muhammad al-Ghazālī (d.ca. 1581) who was called “the Junior Makhdum” and was arguably the most famous member of this distinguished family. He authored Fathul Muīn, a textbook on the sharia that is still in use, as well as several other theological works.15 Even better known is his revivalist treatise, Tuhfat al-Mujāhidīn, “An

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Offering to Jihad Warriors,” written to encourage Mappilas in their opposition to the Portuguese.16 The inspiration to produce Arabic literary works, even theological ones, could not be maintained in later centuries. Neither writers nor readers were in strong supply. Conversational Arabic was reinforced to a limited degree by commercial contacts and by attendance at the pilgrimage, but the same could not be said for an Arabic literary enterprise. Finally, in the twentieth century pressures came from reformers to deal with Arabic as a living literary language to be studied with modern methods. The great Wakkom Maulavi led the struggle in the southern region, and Arabic began to be offered in Travancore schools in 1916 and in Cochin in 1918. In Malabar the impetus was delayed until the formation of the unified state of Kerala. Thereafter, leaders like Maulavi Karuvalli Muhammad (b. 1919), Inspector for Muslim Education, Professor V. Muhammad (d. 2007), and others made their influence felt. Muslim colleges began to introduce programs leading to degrees in Arabic Language and Literature. Through these developments a new foundation has been laid for an Arabic literary stream, but the results lie in the future. Looking back over the history of the Mappila Arabic language literature, Karuvalli Muhammad deplores the lack of progress. He says, “Despite the fact that for hundreds of years Arabic received encouragement in both the religious and linguistic spheres, I do not know of any books produced by Kerala scholars.”17 He reflects the anguish of an unfulfilled vision.

Arabic-Malayalam Literature: A Synthetic Medium Arabic-Malayalam, sometimes called Arabi-Malayalam, is a synthetic literary language that uses Arabic script and Malayalam vocables. Its readers thereby have a lofty sense of reading Arabic, a sound made sacred by religious associations, and at the same time they understand what they are reading because the words are actually those of their mother tongue. It is an artificial construct, but as such it is not unique. The same process has gone on in other linguistic areas in India, producing what are sometimes called “Musalmani” languages such as Musalmani Bengali, Kannada, Punjabi, Sindhi and Tamil.

The Development of Arabic-Malayalam Literature

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The historic beginning of Arabic-Malayalam is unknown. We can be certain that it is not less than 400 years old for the earliest known work in the medium, the Moideen Māla by Qadi Muhammad of Calicut, is self-dated at 782 in the Malayalam era or about 1607 CE. An earlier genesis is probable, alongside the development of Malayalam, but any dating is speculative. The emotional source rests in the notion that Malayalam itself is not a worthy vehicle to carry Islamic ideas because of its association with Hindu religious expression.19 This notion stimulated the development of an artificial language that satisfied the desires for both literacy and sacredness. The main function of Arabic-Malayalam literature was to provide a tool for religious education within the Muslim community and it rarely broadened out into an active medium for the production of general works. Contemporary Arabic-Malayalam uses fifty symbols, an increase from the earlier figure of thirty-five to accommodate the full range of Malayalam sound. Led by linguistic reformers like Chalilakathu Kunyahmed (d. 1919), Chakkiri Moideenkutty (d. 1926), O. Abu (d. 1980) and others, there has been a continuous effort to improve and simplify the script. The grammar and syntax of the hybrid medium are Malayalam-based, but the vocabulary is broader and varies according to the literary form; thus, for example, the song-poems make free use of Persian, Urdu, and Tamil, as well as Malayalam and Arabic words. Arabic-Malayalam literary production grew with the advance in lithographic printing. Black-and-while lithography began in the West after 1825, while color and offset lithographic printing started after 1860 and 1870, respectively. The development in India followed soon after. Today Arabic-Malayalam publications for religious education are produced in large, cheap editions in several Malabar centres, the main one being in Tirurangadi, but the publishers face a decreasing market. Thirty years ago it was estimated that there were at least 1600 Arabic-Malayalam titles in print, distributed through more than 3,000 book stalls, but now the medium is in sharp decline and the number of major works in circulation is much fewer.20 It may be premature to predict the total demise of the genre, but its continuation now rests primarily on tradition and emotion rather than on functional needs. Arabic-Malayalam has fallen into the gap between the rise of Malayalam as the Mappila educational tool and the new attention to Arabic as a literary medium. Both children and women, once the big consumers of Arabic-Malayalam, have taken to Malayalam. What sustains the genre today, then, apart from some continued usage in upper madrasas, is the song literature. S. M. Koya asserts: “The bulk of the

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Mappila literature in Arabic-Malayalam is  .  .  .  in the form of ‘Mappila Pattu.’ ”20 This may not be a cheerful sign for Arabic-Malayalam enthusiasts since the song literature is virtually inaccessible to the average reader.

The Arabic-Malayalam Songwriters In our previous chapter we illustrated the Mappila songs in the context of Mappila music. At this point we take up their literary nature and the writers. As to their literary nature, the essence of the ArabicMalayalam medium is that the reader must hear the sound which comes through as Malayalam. However, poetic sound is transmitted less easily through another script than prose, and the songs were meant to be sung rather than read. If they are read as literary works in the ordinary way, the reader faces a slew of other difficulties for the song literature is idiosyncratic: it makes use of an expanded script, the frequent use of foreign words, compact phrases, and obscure historical references. The songs can only be approached by knowledgeable singers who can interpolate explanations for listeners. To facilitate actual reading of the texts some ballads have been transliterated into Malayalam script with a few annotations. They represent only 10 percent of the total,21 however, and in any event they carry forward the inherent difficulties and do not succeed in making the material very comprehensible for the ordinary reader. What are needed are more actual free translations of the song content into Malayalam, and some efforts are now being made to carry out this daunting task. The known Arabic-Malayalam songwriters were literary specialists and few in number. The most admired author of the song-stories is Moyinkutty Vaidyar.22 On a roadside in the town of Kondotti in South Malabar stands an attractive library building dedicated to the memory of this poet laureate. He was poor and uneducated but he drew on the resource of his religious training for his poetry, and he had also learned some Persian literature from another Kondotti Muslim. In his short lifetime he wrote song-stories across the khissa spectrum. They included religious narratives such as Hijra; military epics including Badr ul-Kubra and Uhud; martyr tales, especially his famed Malappuram; and romantic works such as Badr ul-Munir–Husna ul-Jamal, which we have summarized and which he wrote at the age of twenty. Virtually on a par with Moyinkutty Vaidyar was Chettuvayi Parikutty (1847–1886), a singer as well as a poet, who favored a simpler Malayalam base for the song-stories. He wrote Futhu Huslam, extolling ʿAbu Bekr and ʿUmar; Adimun Ahadana, a tragedy; and Min-

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hat ul-Bari, a collection of short stories. Although none of the later songwriters attained the same community stature as Moideenkutty Vaidyar and Chettuvayi Parikutty, later writers were more aware that the song-stories would need greater accessibility to survive. So, for example, Chakkiri Moideenkutty (d. 1926) wrote his Badr ul-Kubra Padapāttu in the simplest possible style, while S. Moidu Musaliar (d. 1968) even included prose sections in his Safala Māla to make it more understandable.23 Other contemporary songwriters who contributed to the traditional song literature are M. K. Kunyumuhammad, Tanur Machikolath, Moideen Mulla, Ahmadkutty Musaliar, K. Kunyirayankutty, Pullikottil Haidar, T. Ubaid and O. Abu. Particularly the last three figures have attempted to keep the writing of Mappila song-stories alive in the modern period. Pullikottil Haidar (1879–1980) of Ernad in the heart of traditional Mappila population wrote songs on everyday life, one being the Kalaputtu Māla centered on the traditional custom of oxen-racing. He wrote other poems against what he considered to be a backward orthodoxy, including a eulogy of the reformer K. M. Seethi Sahib and poems with political themes. The respected T. Ubaid (1906–1972) of Kasaragode bridged Malayalam and Kanarese literature by translating his own works. But it is O. Abu (1916–1980) who requires special mention. O. Abu was a Tellicherry journalist who devoted his mature life to the cause of Arabic-Malayalam literature, becoming its recognized historian. He engaged in script reform to encourage more accurate pronunciation. He made translations of Islamic works into ArabicMalayalam, and composed his own original mālas. His māla, “The Death of Fatima Beevi,” reveals his determination to maintain the old style. It reports that when his death drew near the Prophet Muhammad’s wives assembled, and also his daughter Fatima. The Prophet warned his grieving daughter that we must all die, and she herself will do so within six months, so worship God alone. When Muhammad died the city of Medina mourned. Six months later Fatima saw her father in a dream. He kissed her and informed her that her death was near, in fact, the very next day. Her face saddened. Her husband ʿAlī saw it, drew near, and learned of the situation. Fatima spoke saying, “We had much joy in our life and raised children, and now I must go.” ʿAlī said, “If you die I will be a flowerless plant and will not be able to bear it. If I have hurt you in any way, please forgive me and pray to Allah for me. Now tell me your wishes.” Fatima replied, “Please raise the children well, cover me with your own clothes, and pray for me.” She saw her children once more, and then died—the angel of death took her without suffering as she prayed. Although

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everyone was sorrowful, no one wept, and all displayed their firm resolution.24

Arabic-Malayalam Prose Literature If the song literature is meant to be sung, heard, and emotionally received, the Arabic-Malayalam prose literature is intended to be read, remembered, and heeded. Comprised of both educational and theological material, its theme and purpose are basic instruction. In the past it was heavily relied upon for madrasa education and for the learning of women in the home. In those areas it served as an effective instrument of Mappila traditionalism. Before me as I write is a set of Arabic-Malayalam booklets intended for use in classes one to five of the elementary religious education schools. They do not exceed forty pages in length and are inexpensive. Their main subjects are language, Qurʾān study, and religious ritual and practice. Their unattractive print quality and severe, non-illustrated character give them an archaic appearance. There may be financial reasons behind the failure to reflect the advances in lithography, but the appearance also demonstrates a lack of interest in developing modern pedagogy. Theological works fare better in their presentation but keep the same unadorned character. They are now largely Qurʾān translations and short expository treatises, as ­Arabic-Malayalam fights a seemingly losing battle for its reading audience. While Arabic-Malayalam prose was always predominantly religious in its themes, it was not exclusively so. Beginning in 1900 the Arabian Nights were transliterated in eight volumes in Tellicherry.25 Even earlier, the Chavar Darwish, a tale that had a Persian source, was published (1883), and it may have been the first Arabic-Malayalam novel.26 Considering the writers and publications, it is possible to argue that the closing twenty years of the nineteenth century and the early years of the twentieth century were the high period for Arabic-Malayalam literature, whether songs, poetry, or prose. Materials continued to be produced with some regularity even beyond that period in the first half of the twentieth century, helped by various dictionaries that made their appearance including Chakkiri Moideenkutty’s Bhāshabushānum, an Arabic-Malayalam dictionary of synonyms. A number of works were written in the fields of medicine and astrology, and Shiyai Moidu Musaliar (d. 1968) produced two world histories, Faizal Fayyas and Fath ul-Fattah. Nevertheless, theological materials, especially works on religious law, continued to lead the way. Not only were multivolume sets

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produced, but so were an abundance of short introductions on various topics for the average family. By the second half of the twentieth century, however, Arabic-Malayalam was passing off the popular stage. The declining usage is illustrated by the approach of community reformers. Early theological reformers felt the necessity of utilizing Arabic-Malayalam because of its hallowed status. To advance reform Said Alikutty (d. 1919), a Tirur teacher, introduced two ArabicMalayalam journals, Salahul Ikhwan (1899) and Rafiqul Islam (1906). The esteemed Wakkom Maulavi (1873–1932) decided to begin his reform with Malayalam productions including a monthly journal, but when he found that the material failed to reach those for whom it was primarily intended he established the short-lived but highly influential Arabic-Malayalam al-Islam periodical (1919). His great interest in deepening morality also led him to publish an ArabicMalayalam abridgement of al-Ghazālī’s Kīmīya al-Saʾada, a section of the Ihyā al-ʿUlūm al-Dīn (“The Revival of the Religious Sciences”) that al-Ghazālī himself had prepared in Persian for popular use; thereby traditional Mappilas could directly read the great scholar’s words: “Many claim to love God, but each should examine himself as to the genuineness of the love which he professes.”27 But Wakkom Maulavi stayed with Arabic-Malayalam only as long as necessary, and when he began his publication of the periodical Deepika (1931) he chose Malayalam as its language. This typifies the general experience. The various reform-minded leaders and movements in the Mappila community were taking its members down another language road, linguistically identifying with Malayalam culture.28 We may sum up the Arabic-Malayalam literary development by first pointing to several benefits that it brought to Mappilas. It provided an acceptable literary medium that gave service to the community for centuries, especially in the sphere of religious publication. Mappila women were helped by the medium. The great majority were uneducated and illiterate in Malayalam, but they had learned the Arabic alphabet in the madrasa and Arabic-Malayalam provided a reading outlet. The Arabic-Malayalam song-stories produced hope and resolution in depressing times. Finally, despite its limitations, the existence of the medium kept the literary muse alive during the period when Malayalam was considered inappropriate. These are benefits, but the downside is also plain and undeniable. What was essentially a private language kept Mappilas from participation in the literary mainstream. Karuvalli Muhammad therefore forthrightly declares that “it caused the development of both Arabic and Malayalam to stand still.”29 With conservationism as its guiding spirit the Arabic-Malayalam literary

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enterprise was holding back rather than advancing Mappilas on the road to modern education, which was destined to be the community’s road to progress. We have seen how the obstacles impeding that progress collapsed (Ch. 5). When they did so, Arabic-Malayalam literature lost its relevance, and Malayalam literature replaced it in Mappila culture. A new “Literary Now” has arrived, and we turn next to that remarkable story.

Mappila Literature in Malayalam Enters the Cultural Scene The birth of Mappila Malayalam literature is like an unfolding drama. It involved a major turnabout. Like a great river changing its course because of some alterations in the terrain, so Mappila literature moved in a new direction as the result of intellectual influences and social decisions within the Muslim community. The directional change came four centuries after Malayalam literature appeared on the scene, but when it did so it moved buoyantly and rapidly. Mappila Malayalam literature is now enriching its own culture as well as the common heritage of the whole society. What implemented the awakening is a sturdy group of novelists and dramatists who have wholeheartedly committed themselves to the production of Malayalam literary works. The traditionalist condemnation of Malayalam and English is only a memory. ArabicMalayalam remains, but as a curiosity. Modern education and social advances have opened the minds of Mappilas, and writers are taking advantage of the new awakening. They have begun their work just in time—while there is still interest in the print media. Although they have entered the Malayalam literary scene belatedly, they have done so explosively and in the process have produced a respectable body of literary materials. In his Survey of Kerala History (1967) A. Sreedhara Menon includes only one Mappila writer (Bashir) in over thirty pages of material on Malayalam literature, with a passing reference to a second (P. A. Seyd Muhammad). Writing today would require correcting that imbalance. The first Mappila Malayalam press and publisher began in Tellicherry in the 1930s, and now there are fifteen publishers in Calicut alone. We look first at the beginnings.

Mappila Malayalam Literature Begins

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The development required a bridge. The bridge was built, as it had to be, by religious figures. The first was Sayyid Sanaullah Makti Tangal (1847–1912) of Veliyankode, South Malabar. A controversial revivalist who was called “the Shield-Bearer of the Mappila community,”30 he was committed to improved education and the use of Malayalam and English. Not only did he write the first Malayalam Muslim biography of the Prophet Muhammad, Nabinayanum, but before he finished he had authored forty booklets and books in “the mother tongue.”31 In 1899, with the help of a Cochin businessman, he also established the first Muslim journal in Malayalam, the weekly Satya Prakashum (“The True Light”). It only lasted nine months, but then he quickly started another in Calicut, named Parokapari (“The Humanitarian”), which continued until 1902. The second bridge-builder was Abdul Qadir Wakkom Maulavi, whom the reader has met often in these pages. He established the journal Swadeshabhimani “(The Patriot”), in 1905 in Travancore. It was a journal dedicated to the elimination of governmental corruption, the promotion of freedom and popular rights, and social progress in general. By appointing the provocative young Nayar journalist, Ramakrishna Pillai, as editor, he invited and received political opposition, and in 1910 the publication was banned. The intrepid Maulavi, however, had not put all of his eggs in one basket. In 1906 he founded Muslim, a monthly for Muslims which continued to 1917. Its pages reflected his groundbreaking agenda for the intellectual and behavioral reform of the Muslim community in Kerala. Of Muslim, C. H. Muhammad Koya declared: “Almost all the later Islamic literature of Kerala had grown through the columns of Muslim.”32 Other groundbreaking figures crossed the language bridge, especially theological writers, but also educational and political figures. A special place must be given, however, to the contribution of the journalists.

Mappila Journals and Newspapers The Mappila journals and newspapers provided access for budding writers in Malayalam, and gave widespread prominence and credibility to the rising medium. The Mappila Journals The journals of the Muslim community have three important features: they tend to be agenda-laden, effective, but short-lived. By agenda-

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laden we refer to the fact that they often reflect the views of a popular founder or are associated with a theological movement. Their unusual effectiveness is related to their low cost, the presence of a captive group of readers, and the natural curiosity of the populace. Yet they frequently have a fleeting life span; for example, of the 78 journalistic publications that appeared in Calicut between 1902 and 1944, well over half did not last a decade, and many folded within two years.33 Nevertheless, their impact was often astonishing. We have noted Wakkom Maulavi’s Arabic-Malayalam al-Islam. It survived only five months, and yet E. K. Maulavi says: “There is no doubt that Wakkom Maulavi’s five issues of al-Islam sowed the seed of Islamic reform in Kerala. They created a storm from one end of Kerala to another.”34 The periodical al-Bayan illustrates the up-and-down nature of the Mappila journals. Begun in 1929 as an Arabic-Malayalam monthly, it soon ceased publication; it started again in 1950 with a new editor, but this time in Malayalam. “This was the first Malayalam publication of the Samastha!”35 (the main Sunni clerical council). Again, however, it ceased publication, but other journals rose to take its place. Among the currently leading Mappila Malayalam journals that have some continuity are Prabodhanum, a publication of the Jamaat-Islam Party that began in 1949. Al-Manar, a Mujahid journal, was born in 1952. The Sunni Times, also known as the Sunni Voice, started in 1964, representing the Samastha. Shabab, a reform publication, began as a youth magazine in 1975. Muslim, another Samastha periodical, commenced in 1987 with both Malayalam and Arabic-Malayalam editions. There are none of the above that did not experience difficulty in maintaining a steady publication rate. From the content of the journals an observer might judge that Mappilas are theology-obsessed. With the exception of the quite rare sports or cinema magazines the journals are clear and unapologetic about their primary purpose—to focus on religion, and religion as seen through the eyes of Sunnis, Mujahids, or Jamaatis, as the case may be. Their concern is with issues of faith and practice, imān and dīn, and they deal with social and behavioral implications in that light. Journals concentrating on general cultural description are very few.36 The publications of the Muslim Service Society and the Muslim Education Society provide some relief from the theological concentration by their advocacy of social improvement. In a recent edition the M.S.S. Journal called for progressive Muslims to engage in a “competition in good things.”37 The Malayalam language journal of the Muslim Education Society,38 namely the MES Journal, provides the best example of a Mappila journal that regards itself as an agent of social change. It flourished from 1969 to 1986 and played a vital role in informing readers of

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the explosive M.E.S. social developments. Its pages also reveal how some social reformers approached their chosen path. Their goal was to develop a culture of progress and to create a new Muslim society, and their method was learning and self-help, knowledge of the world and its sciences, and rational religion. In a survey of a three-year publication period of the MES Journal (1980–82), the following ratio appeared in 135 articles, not including regular columns:

• 21 percent of the articles were news oriented (12% local, 8% world);



• 21 percent were religious articles on Islamic thought and practice, in a reform perspective;



• 17 percent were on cultural, social, and educational themes;



• 23 percent related to affairs in the wider Muslim world;



• 13 percent related to matters in Indian Islam; and



• 7 percent were miscellaneous reflective essays.

Thus the MES Journal was not only a reporter but also an educator, reflecting the social advance and cultural balance that the Muslim Education Society sought introduce into Mappila life. Although this section deals with Malayalam language journals, an English language Muslim journal represents the same broad concerns for the intellectual and cultural development of the Muslim community as did the MES Journal, and therefore it is included at this point. It is al-Harmony whose subtitle is “A Journal on Islamic Thought and Ethics.” The publication is a quarterly production from CochinEmakulam, whose chief editor is K. M. Abdul Mather and editor is Dr. K. K. Usman. Whereas the MES Journal was Mappila community oriented, al-Harmony tends to be more world-of-Islam oriented. It may be the first Kerala Muslim publication that successfully reaches other Indian Muslims and an international audience, and in that respect it is a landmark publication. Whereas the MES Journal was concerned with social improvements in a backward society, al-Harmony concentrates on the promotion of a thoughtful Islam and the process of intellectual enlightenment. Its articles are all written on some aspect of Islam, although in the main its writers are not professional theologians. The editorial policy is to allow freedom of expression and takes as part of its mandate the task of dealing with controversial issues in an amicable way. The writers include distinguished Kerala Muslims, notably educators, but the editors also provide reprinted materials from the

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pen of international Muslims. Some examples of article titles reveal the scope of al-Harmony’s concerns:



• “Islam and the Pursuit of Knowledge” by K. K. Usman, physician-theologian;

• “Interface Between Cultural Pluralism and Human Rights; by V. A. Muhammad Ashraf, researcher and author; • “An Ethical Approach to Globalization” by C. H. Abdul Raheem, a businessman;

• “Professor Amartya Sen’s New Version of Economics and the Quranic Injunctions” by T. Abdulla, former Dean of Commerce and Management Studies at Calicut University;

• “Social Growth and Communal Tension” by Professor Bahauddin, a distinguished Kerala Muslim educator and former Pro-Vice Chancellor, Aligarh Muslim University.

The journal editors did not hesitate to publish Riffat Hassan’s forthright “Gender Equality and Justice in Islam,” nor to reprint the candid K. N. Pannikar’s “Communalism, An Analysis.” The wide breadth of articles illustrates the journal’s interest in harmony, expressed in the words: “We should seek for commonalities of varying cultures.”39 It likewise points to the firm editorial view that “Islam is a progressive faith and a force for modernization.”40 Mappila Newspapers Mappila newspapers are small in number but play a major role in providing a Muslim perspective on public events and in informing Mappilas of their community affairs. An equally important contribution has been their cultivation of the Mappila reading habit. The cultural impact of Malayalam newspapers in general, however, cannot be ignored. It goes beyond that made by the specific Mappila newspapers, for many Mappilas, like most Malayalis, read several different newspapers. There is a natural basis for newspaper reading in the high literacy rate of Malayalis, but there is more to it than that. Journalists in Kerala are generally tireless and intrepid in their search for facts, especially in the political sphere, thereby catering to the consuming

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Malayali curiosity and the tilt to independent decision making. In sharing those societal characteristics Mappilas also come under the influence of newspapers which they read as a kind of “bible of reality.” The broadening and unifying influence of common information impacts them and reinforces their sense of being part of a larger cultural family. Finally, the newspaper influence on the Malayalam language itself directly affects the Mappila linguistic tradition. The first continuing Malayalam newspaper, the Manorama, was founded by Kandathil Verghese Mappila, a Christian, in 1890, and from that time on newspapers have contributed fundamentally to the vocabulary, diction, and script of the Malayalam language. The Communist movement in the state made language reform a policy, opposing the use of flowery and obscure expressions, and contending for a clear, simpler, and hard-hitting manner of expression. Newspapers responded positively to the challenge and led the way in promoting the new Malayalam, including a reformed script that eased printing. Mappila newspapers followed that approach. As a result they had to modify some of the quirks of Mappila Malayalam, leaving it to the novelists and dramatists to preserve its dialectical idiosyncrasies. There are two leading Mappila newspapers in Malayalam. The Chandrika, which is most widely read, began as a monthly in Tellicherry in 1932 but became a daily in 1939. Its development was led by community stalwarts like A. K. Kunyumayin Haji, Sattar Sait, and Seethi Sahib. It has also enjoyed a series of well-known editors including C. H. Muhammad Koya. In 1946 the Chandrika moved its headquarters to Calicut, in 1990 it began offset printing, and in 1992 it started a Cochin edition. The newspaper is the organ of the State Muslim League. Madhyamum, the second major daily, began in 1987 in Calicut and started a Cochin edition in 1993. As its name suggests, it seeks “the middle way.” It is the new surge of Mappila novelists writing in Malayalam, however, that represents the foremost literary development in Mappila culture.

Mappila Novelists in Malayalam: A Cultural Wave In the remaining portion of our chapter we deal with the Mappila novelists, dramatists, and poets writing in Malayalam who provide both honest and revealing insights into everyday Mappila life and culture. In the first rank of Mappila novelists Basheer stands alone. As is the case with Basheer, the major novelists could not have achieved

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what they did without the support of sympathetic and progressive Mappila publishers. In Basheer’s case, the far-sighted V. Abdulla (d. 2007), well represents that important cultural contribution.

A Literary Icon: Vaikom Muhammad Basheer (1908–1994) Basheer’s life is as eventful as one of his novels. The fact that he was largely self-taught makes his career even more notable. He was the son of a large and financially strapped family in Vaikkom in the central region. He left school at the fifth form level in order to become active in the freedom movement and associated himself with the Temple Entry agitation at Vaikkom that culminated in 1925 with Gandhi’s personal participation. In the course of those activities he somehow managed to touch the Mahatma’s arm, and he later regarded that event as his life’s most thrilling moment. Joining the Salt March that took place at Calicut in 1930 under the leadership of Muhammad Abdurrahiman and E. K. Moidu Maulavi, he was severely beaten and then imprisoned for his involvement. He proudly declared: “I received blows and was persecuted because of Gandhi.” When he was released Basheer wandered over India for years, and also worked as a sailor along the Arabian and African coasts. On his return, history repeated itself and he was sentenced to rigorous imprisonment for his anti-government activities. Emerging from prison, at Ernakulam he turned to writing in 1937. He received a meagre income from short journalistic pieces, which still left him in extreme poverty. Another jail term faced him in 1942, but in 1943 he managed to publish his first longer story. It received acclaim and his circumstances improved. In 1958 he transferred his residence to Beypore, the ancient port near Calicut, where he enjoyed family life and where—in between bouts of ill health—he could focus on his writing. His slightly more than one hundred short stories and novelettes made him famous in Kerala society and beyond. He was honored by fellowships from literary societies, and received the nation’s Padma Shri award as well as other distinctions. Basheer’s personality was as complex as his writing, but through his works runs a freedom of spirit and human concern. V. Abdulla, his friend, translator and occasional publisher, therefore calls him “the essential humanist.”41 Basheer was personally warm-hearted. People enjoyed him and he responded with brilliant conversation, but he shunned public appearances. His own periods of suffering made him alert to the human capacity for cruelty, whether subtle or brutal, and perhaps that is why he both cried and laughed so hard. While his

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adventurous life provided the material for much of his writing, it was his settled period at Beypore with a late marriage, the duties of a loving father, and the joys of a dedicated gardener, that encouraged more mature reflection. He was a Muslim, but with “a catholicity of spirit.” A vignette is revealing. When C. N. Ahmed Maulavi said to him, “I am a Muslim,” Basheer replied, “I am a Malayali.”42 His literary productions bear witness to his sense of identity with the entire Malayalam culture. Accordingly, G. Kumara Pillai makes this comment: “He was the first major writer to emerge from the large Muslim community of Kerala, and thus he made a signal contribution to the evolution of Malayalam writing into the literature of the entire Malayalam-speaking people.”43 Basheer belongs not only to Mappilas but to all Malayalis. Basheer adopts the conversational style so common to the Malayali storywriters. Befitting that, his language is very simple, but at times very colloquial and dense. There is a more than ordinary abruptness in his writing. He makes unexpected leaps, compelling readers to fill in the gaps. The fact that he is very imaginative himself may produce a desire that his readers be the same; but there is more to it than that, for much of what he writes has an autobiographical element which he may not wish to spell out. V. Abdulla describes Basheer’s writing as “an amalgam of autobiography and imagination, difficult to unravel into separate strands.”44 He offsets the dark absurdities that he often brings into his writing with irony and humor, but he also takes perplexing flights into fantasy and the supernatural. Some stories have a deftness of plot, while others appear simply as pieces broken off of the spectrum of life. Basheer’s works are marked by a variety of themes from poverty to survival, family life to romance, roughness to kindness, sadness to humour, personal conflict to politics. To a degree the theme of escape or rescue provides a common thread in the writing—rescue needed or longed for, thwarted or effected. The possibility of deliverance is present in both the communal and the personal realms, and despite his fierce realism this is also Basheer’s offering to fellow travelers along life’s way. It is clearly his belief that rescue—in the form of salutary change—is needed by his own Mappila community. While he does not press his Islamicity, as we have noted, he nevertheless writes from that context. His first story, Balyasakhi, “A Childhood Friend” (1944), is based on that theme. Kumara Pillai calls it “the first important literary work in Malayalam to portray Muslim customs and manners.”45 With knowing detail Basheer opens a door into lower-middle-class Mappila life, in particular its tragic aspects. It tells of the thwarted

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love between Suhra and Majid, which is complicated by the control of the parents over marriage arrangements and the difficulties involved in the social inequality between the two families. Chaitanya regards it as “unrelieved by a single ray of hope.”46 But Basheer is also an idealist. He believes that the rescue needed is a transition from tradition to progress, with all the pain and struggle that involves. This form of deliverance and its possibility is developed in his most famous work, Nduppuppakkoraanentarnnu, “My Grandfather Had An Elephant” (1951).47 The title of this short novel is itself a virtual introduction to Mappila dialectical Malayalam; in ordinary speech it would read: Ente Appuppinu Oru Āna Untāyirunnu. The oft-reprinted work takes the reader deeply into the Mappila culture and into its troublesome conflict between traditionalism and change. Its framework is the reaction between two neighbors, a conservative family and a progressive one. Kunyupathumma and Nissar Ahmad belong to the two families, have fallen in love, and would like to be married. Tachamma, who is Kunyupathumma’s mother and the dominant figure in the family, vigorously opposes the idea. She is the epitome of traditional values. The family was once well-to-do, typified by the fact that her father owned an elephant. But that status is gone. The family had not worked diligently, had resisted education, had simply rested on its laurels, and has now become poor. Nevertheless, Tachamma continues to glory in the past and in the fact that they once owned an elephant. She asks her daughter not to mix with Nissar’s family, their neighbors. Nissar’s grandfather was only a bullock-driver. “Your grandfather had an elephant,” she says. Never mind that Nissar’s own father had chosen to become educated, and thereby became wealthy. It is tradition that counts! The tradition almost destroys them, however, because Tachamma’s family has no money. Salvation comes when Nissar’s kindly father, who had become a professor, makes an offer to receive Kunyupathumma as the betrothed, without a dowry. It is a breakthrough. A great burden is lifted. Nissar and Kunyupathumma are married and live happily on. Throughout its development the story reveals the inner realities of Mappila life. Basheer’s purpose, however, is not simply to present a cultural tale with insight and sympathy, but rather to communicate the message that modernization is needed and is good. That is the path of deliverance for the community. Despite that concern it is the personal dimension that is primary for Basheer, and it is at that level that his descriptions of human distress are most vivid. In Maranattinde Niralil, “In the Shadow of Death,” (1951), he expresses a deeply felt despair:48

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I am caught between two emotions. Not between life and death. Between laughter and pain . . . Listen to a joke. Have you ever considered that this world has reached the shadow of death? . . .  Listen, either laugh or weep. In Shabdangl, “Voices” (1947), a demobbed soldier reflects on loneliness:49 I felt very tired—here was not a living being either to love me or to hate me . . . If someone dies, what of it? What of it, if someone survives? . . . I am an isolated creature. Just that. In this vast machinery that is mankind, I am not even a tiny cog-wheel  .  .  . A frightening sense of solitude. It went through my veins and reached the innermost core of my heart. Then I remembered! God is the last refuge of the lonely! Not only the thought of God brings Basheer hope in dark days, but also family and love are its symbols. In his life at Beypore he personally experienced family as an instrument of rescue. The most touching expression of that fact come through the portrayal of his mother. In a tale by that name, Amma (1946), he intertwines his experience as a freedom-fighter with a sensitive memory of mothers who watched their sons go off to prison. He thinks of himself: “All over India there are mothers who have given birth to children like me. What did they do when their children were locked up in the cause of the freedom of the motherland?” At the end of his imprisonment and after a long arduous journey, the long-absent son arrives home at past midnight. He and his mother have not seen each other for years. His mother steps out of the room, brings water for washing and puts a plate of prepared rice before him, asking nothing. The son is amazed. “How did you know, amma, that I was coming today?” She replies, “Oh  .  .  .  I cook rice and wait every night.” The writer reflects: “Even today mother awaits son.”50 Basheer returns frequently to the theme of love. It is his answer to the question of what finally triumphs in personal and social difficulties.51 For him it is a delivering power and the uniting force both within communities and in the common life of a multi-cultural society.

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Three Other Premier Writers From a notable array of writers we have selected three other eminent figures who, along with Basheer, well represent the rapidly expanding fields of the novel and drama. Each one is prolific and widely read. N. P. Muhammad N. P. Muhammad (b. 1928) of Calicut has produced a large number of short stories and novels as well as children’s books, periodical articles, a screen play, a travelogue, a story of the birth of the Prophet, and a work on literary criticism. His novels include such works as “Arabian Gold” (co-authored), “Cave,” and “Driftwood.” Included among his story collections are “The President’s First Death” and “Toppi and Scarf.” In his various works N. P. is centered on life in the Mappila community, especially as it relates to everyday situations—the problems of poor families, wedding arrangements, the provision of funds for new festival clothing, and so on. While he generally uses simple plots expressing real situations, he occasionally engages in flights of romantic fantasy. His language is filled with Mappila idioms, especially those of women, and his works are a source book of Mappila customs in Malabar. One of his major works, Marum, “Driftwood,”52 which was later filmed, illustrates these comments. The short novel is set in the logging community of Mappila labourers situated on the shore of ­ the Kallai River near Calicut. This large river was the artery for great logs that floated down from the Nilambur forests, although in recent years truck traffic has reduced the volume. Along its edges are many sawmills where poor workers engage in their back-breaking employment. This is the context for a loving marriage between Ibrahim and Amina. But an unscrupulous businessman, Khader, has intervened. Ibrahim has gone to war, and not having returned is considered dead. Although a full four years have elapsed, Muslim law requires six before the wife is free to re-marry. Nevertheless Khader, who has fallen in love with the poverty-stricken Amina, arranges to marry her. Alassan Mollakka, a sly but untutored mulla, and Amutty, a tricky servant, arrange to help Khader. When Ibrahim miraculously returns, all the arrangements are forestalled. Now Alassan Mollakka and Amutty conspire to reverse the situation. A Muslim judge (qādī) has decreed that the bride belongs to Ibrahim. Moreover, behind the decree is a hint that he may deny the conspirators the use of the Muslim cemetery when they die. They

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engage in various stratagems to overcome the difficulties. Although she is a helpless victim of circumstances, Amina on her part does not hesitate to declare her own preference for Ibrahim. She is dismissed by Mollakka as “but a woman, woman’s mind is perverted!” In the end the situation is remedied for her and Ibrahim, and only Khader is the loser. Behind that success rests the thought that the powerless poor can outwit and overcome the oppressors. In Manushyakum (“Humanity”) N. P. Muhammad speaks of the “divine” quality of the “glorious novel,”53 but his efforts to accredit Malayalam literature in his community go well beyond the novel to include also other literary forms. K. T. Muhammad K. T. Muhammad (b. 1929) of Manjeri, South Malabar, was born and brought up in the ordinary home of a police constable, and his schooling was limited to eight standards. Until 1969 he served in the postal department. His writing career began at the age of twenty with the publication of a drama, but it started in earnest two years later when his Kannukul, “Eyes,” won an all-India competition for short stories. Although having collections of short stories and novels to his credit, it is as a dramatist that he has excelled, and he has published more than forty dramas. He is a founder and patron of drama groups, and many of his works were written for their productions. He has also chaired a variety of literary, song, and film academies. K. T.’s subjects range across the life experiences, problems, and dreams of common people. His appeal is in his realism, and that is enhanced by his mastery of colloquial idioms. His flair is for dramatic description rather than philosophical discourse, but he also introduces ultimate questions along the way. In his 1955 drama Ithu Bhumianu, “This is the Earth,” K. T. took up a basic question troubling many Mappila families in Kerala’s fastmoving society, namely the culture conflict between young and old. Only twenty-six at the time, he may have personally experienced the clash between the independent spirit of the new generation and the older view of traditional authority and family solidarity. In the play, a young man in a Muslim family has adopted a rebellious attitude. His father takes him to task: “Stop a minute. I want to ask you something. Who are you?” “Son.”

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“Right you are my son. If you take to bad ways, who will have to face the consequences?” “Myself.” “Who?” “I myself, Father.” “Who will have to answer to Allah?” “I will have to, Father.” (The old man, losing his temper, shouts) “That is not what I am asking. Won’t I have to plead and lament before Allah on your behalf?”54 The equally important topic of human relations in his complex society also presses on K. T. Muhammad, and he takes it up in his 2003 drama, Weḷḷapokum “The Flood.” In the Malayalam union of religious cultures the differences of caste, creed, color, place, and dialect all produce tensions and disputes, and at times they seem crucial; but when nature is aroused, the rain pours down, and the floodwaters rise, a sense of proportion returns. “A flood has no caste or religion. It doesn’t look [at] whether a house is Hindu or Muslim. All humans and animals share its miseries.”55 Yet inherited attitudes persist even under such dire circumstances, causing anxieties and heartaches. The question the writer raises is this—the waves do not observe distinctions, why do we? As K. T.’s story-line develops he echoes the theme of tragedy that dominates Mappila novels and dramas: The main plot deals with the interaction between the members of a Hindu family and a Muslim family in their inundated village, which is the victim of a more than normal deluge. A series of subplots are linked with the overall theme:

• One alludes to the contention between the administrators of the mosque and temple, both of which are located on the same tract of land. It has prevented them from building the bund that would save both from flood damage.



• Another is a series of difficult theological questions that the writer puts into the mouth of a young Hindu boy: “Why does God  .  .  .  ?”



• Still another is the sympathetic portrayal of Biyath, a

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Mappila mother who identifies with the suffering Hindu mother and compels her husband to show concern.

• Finally there is the practical issue of pollution related to floating bodies.

In the end, however, all these sub-issues yield to a critical central question: How does a true Muslim act in this situation? The mosque mukri (muezzīn) says: “Save the Muslims first!” The young Muslim teacher, Usman, declares: “That is impossible. A true Muslim cannot think like that!”56 As the drama goes forward in its sad detail the Hindu mother, Janaki, has ordered her adopted daughter Sunitha, who has gone to a neighbor for a visit, to get home before the waters rise too high. Alas! Sunitha drowns as she tries to do so. Janaki is maddened by guilt. At about the same time her son, Gopi, and his friend, Usman, manage to rescue another girl from the flood waters. This girl is Subeida, the daughter of a Mappila beedi (cigarette) roller who has perished in the waters. Subeida is given Sunitha’s clothing to wear. Janaki sees her, fantasizes that it is really her daughter Sunitha, and feels better. However, Usman’s father, Kunyali, an important Muslim figure, takes Subeida to his home on behalf of the family. The Hindu family in turn pleads that Subeida be allowed to make visits to Janaki. Moved by his wife Bujath’s plea on their behalf, Kunyali reluctantly agrees to take her there. In her dazed condition Janaki still thinks that Sunitha has returned, and in ecstasy she offers her hand in marriage to Gopi. Kunyali declares, “Let him become a Muslim and we will agree.” The Hindu family’s senior advisor is Parameswaran, who knows what has happened. A very orthodox man, he says, “Let her become a Hindu and we will agree.” His opinion is that despite the flood “a Hindu is a Hindu, and a Muslim is a Muslim,” and that unchangeable reality determines the matter. Kunyali entirely agrees. Usman tries to make sense out of the impossible situation. He suggests, “Let them be married but each remain as they are.” Kunyali and Parameswaran, equally offended, walk out. A huge thunder clap drives them back inside! All cower as the catastrophic storm increases in intensity. The unanswered underlying question is: “Is nature angry? Or is the Lord of nature angry?” Moidu Padiyath Moidu Padiyath (b. 1931), from South Malabar, may not attain the

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psychological depths of our previous writers, but he leads the way in being the most prolific Mappila novelist.57 He utilizes simple, direct language to describe stark contrasts in human behavior, offering few nuances. In “The Cuckoo That Yearned to Sing” (1952) he describes the deep emotion of a young Muslim woman, Sabira, who was once the playmate of a Muslim boy she later wished to marry, but instead she became the second wife of the boy’s father, winding up as her old friend’s mother-in-law. Padiyath’s stories are replete with intimate customs prevailing in Mappila homes. He is well aware that Mappila culture is a religious culture, and his writing conveys a conviction that there is a negative aspect to traditionalism. No Mappila writing makes the point more poignantly than his novel Umma, “Mother” (1968). In Umma, Padiyath deals with the emotion of a Mappila woman who has just given birth to a daughter. For whatever reason her hardhearted husband Ammuhaji no longer favors her, and he has paid no attention to her birth-pains or even to the new child. Custom requires him to say the call to prayer in the baby’s right ear, but he has no interest in that or in naming her. On the 28th day after the birth he abruptly tells Kochalu, his wife, “You can go back to your home now.” Kochalu is shaken to the core. As the author puts it, “This is the one word no woman wishes to hear,” for it customarily signifies the end of the marriage.58 It had never been a good marriage. Attracted to Kochalu, Ammuhaji had asked for her as his fifth wife, arguing that since the Prophet had more than four, an extra one might be allowable for him! His piety was a surface one. He had the reputation of being “an 80 percent Muslim” because he did his best to get out of paying the full amount of zakāt. None of the people were interested in giving him another of their daughters, but Kochalu’s father, Ibrahim, was dead poor, without dowry money, and he was forced to agree. Now it was over. The cruel Ammuhaji had sent her home. There Kochalu raises her little daughter Zainaba with tireless effort and great love. She has dreams of a great wedding that she will someday arrange, inviting the best-known singers. In the meantime she supports her poor family by sewing mats. Time has passed. Ammuhaji’s mother has persuaded him that he must take his daughter Zainaba into his house and arrange for her marriage, since she is now seventeen years old. However, he has paid nothing for her maintenance up to that time despite the requirements of Muslim law. Under the circumstances Kochalu refuses to send Zainaba to him. Instead Kochalu’s sick and aged father arranges Zainaba’s marriage with a local laborer. The culture requires the

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presence of the bride’s father at the nikah. Kochalu has pleaded with Ammuhaji who has finally agreed to come. Oh! how Kochalu runs here and there to get everything ready! The bridegroom’s party is in the mosque, waiting. But then!! Ammuhaji changes his mind and refuses to come! Kochalu pleads in vain. Ammuhaji’s mother says “Give her back to us and we will arrange a marriage with a good Mappila.” The wedding is off. Kochalu is frenzied, but Ibrahim calls her to his sickbed and informs her that she has no alternative and must agree. The only right she has is to care for Zainaba as a child. Now she has to return her to her father, and this time let him arrange a marriage. Kochalu is compelled to yield, and Zainaba goes to her father Ammuhaji’s home. Ammuhaji refuses Zainaba permission to visit her mother Kochalu and her grandfather Ibrahim. The latter dies, and Kochalu is alone, helpless, and practically out of her mind. There is only one person willing to help her and that is Zainaba’s young Christian friend Annakutty. Annakutty proposes a plan. Let Kochalu go to a friend’s home near to Ammuhaji’s house, and Zainaba can pay a visit there on a pretext. The plan works, and a glorious reunion takes place. Alas! Ammuhaji discovers it, drives Kochalu away, and arranges Zainab’s marriage. Kochalu’s health has totally declined. Annakutty and her mother help, and when Kochalu says, “How much trouble you take,” Annakutty answers, “You should love your neighbor as yourself.” Despite her burning fever, when everyone has left her Kochalu rises and starts off for Ammuhaji’s house, arriving in time for the wedding but in a state of collapse. Ammuhaji orders Zainaba into the house, commands his servants to eject Kochalu from the property, and the nikah proceeds. Aayo! Kochalu expires on the way home and lies in the dust, the jewelry she had intended to give her daughter lying beside her. Kindly neighbors perform the funeral rites. Annakutty grieves and takes the jewelry to Zainaba. Ammuhaji heartlessly refuses his mother’s plea to postpone the marriage, and it proceeds. The sad sounds of the funeral are heard in the distance and merge with the wedding songs. When the bridegroom enters the marriage chamber, he finds a weeping bride. Discovering the problem he kindly agrees to Zainaba’s request to take her to the cemetery. Ammuhaji tries to prevent them from going, but the new bridegroom rebuffs him, declaring, “You have no more power over her.” Zainaba throws herself on the grave of her mother, and the tragic story closes with her moving cry  .  .  .  “O Umma!” Throughout the story the author leaves hints that there is a better way of doing things than Ammuhaji’s, and that is the way of

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compassion.

Other Fiction Writers and a Concluding Thought The number of worthy novelists and dramatists is increasing, and it is not possible to give them all the attention they deserve. There are many examples. P. A. Muhammad Koya (b. 1922) of Calicut, in his “Painted Eyes,” tells the story of the temporary marriages contracted by Arabs with Muslim women in his city. U. A. Khader (b. 1935 in Burma), also a prolific writer, in Changala, “Chain” (1956), relates stories of tarawād life and its struggle in contemporary times. T. Muhammad Yusuf (d. 1956) of Cochin, takes up the subject of true religion in “Patched-Up Coat” (1956). He tells the story of an old man who has been saving up all his life to go on the pilgrimage, but instead he gives all the money to poor Kunjibi for a dowry so that she can marry Umar, the son of a proud rich man who has several times gone on the hajj. There is no issue that is too “sacred” for the novelists to address. Our concluding thought relates to that point. In terms of content the Mappila novelists and dramatists cover a wide range, but there is evident fascination with two subjects—male-female relationships and contradictions in ethical behavior. Both are delicate areas. The novelists, however, are not hesitant to deal with them. They do so as a part of life, honestly and with realism, wry humour, and an empathetic insight into customary life. What we have suggested earlier59 is still applicable: The paradoxes of the Mappila writer represent honestly the paradoxes of Mappila living. It may be suggested that these writings are the one place where Mappilas are really honest with themselves in public. It is certainly the one place where they publicly smile at themselves and their traditions. This humanising combination of honesty and self-deprecation is the chief contribution of the writers to their community . . .  Windows are needed to look into the overlapping and interpenetrating of the Now and the Then in Mappila behavior. The novelists and dramatists open the shutters to Mappila culture as it is.

Mappila Nonfiction Writers Aspects of Mappila culture are increasingly under study by pro-

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fessional historians writing in both Malayalam and English. The acknowledged trailblazer was P. M. Seyd Muhammad (d. 1975) of Kodungalur. His prize-winning History of Kerala (1952) was followed by the Kerala Muslim Directory (1960) that he edited, and then by his well-known Kerala Muslim History (1961). Succeeding him was C. K. Kareem (d. 2004) who gathered a mass of information for his threevolume Kerala Muslims (1991), which included statistical, historical, and biographical materials. Armed with an Aligarh University doctorate, the Gazetteer model, and a relentless zeal to find publishing funds, Kareem took great pains to base his writings on accurate facts. English is still the preferred medium for such scholarly works, and the studies of K. M. Bahauddin, A. P. Ibrahim Kunju, S. M. Koya, and V. Kunhali on the Mappila community’s history; Abdul Samad on theological movements; and K. T. Mohammed Ali and U. Mohammed on educational development, may be mentioned at this point. Similarly, Mappila scholars in other academic disciplines are also adding their contributions in English to the body of Mappila literature. A second group of Mappila researchers writing in Malayalam are the “cultural compilers.” By that term we refer to non-professional individuals who have been indefatigable in their efforts to make known elements of their community’s history and culture. Special mention must be made of K. K. Muhammad Abdul Kareem (1932– 2005) of Kondotti. A self-educated writer he produced many short books on Mappila history, including the Khilafat Movement, Seethi Sahib, Noble Mambram, and Sayyid Alavi Tangal, and he co-authored The Glorious Mappila Literary Tradition with C. N. Ahmed Moulavi in 1978. Ignoring documentation, the latter work includes brief summaries of over 500 writers whom the authors consider to have made a contribution to Mappila literature. With untiring research P. P. Mammed Koya Parappil of Calicut has produced an encyclopaedic study on The History of Kozhikode Muslims (1994) and a cultural work, The Sultan’s Palace (2006). These writers combine their interest in both history and biography. Other Mappila writers in Malayalam have produced biographies of such diverse sociopolitical heroes as Muhammad Abdurrahiman (d. 1945) and K. M. Seethi Sahib (d. 1960). Professor K. K. K. Abdul Sathar has contributed helpful studies on South Malabar history and culture. The body of Mappila prose literature in Malayalam also includes contributions from a third group that we will describe as “the occasional writers.” These authors produce works on various subjects at the same time as they carry on busy vocational lives. Their participation in the enterprise indicates the extent to which Mappilas are now involved in Malayalam writing. The occasional writers do not

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pretend that they are trained scholars, but they have special interests and feel free to write and publish nonfiction. Many are notable figures in the community’s history. T. P. Kuttiyamu of Tellicherry (d. 1988) is a telling example. As the first graduate engineer in the Mappila community, who for fourteen years was Chief Engineer of the State, Kuttiyamu is also a cultural hero. Alongside his professional work he served as the Chandrika managing editor and wrote such religious works as Islam and Interest, Thoughts on the Hajj, and A Journey into the Study of the Quran. C. H. Muhammad Koya (d. 1983), whose leadership role is assessed in an earlier chapter, follows that stirring example. Even though the political field consumed his time and talents, his writing became a model and inspiration for Muslim youth. He honed those writing talents in preparing materials for the Mujahid movement and in serving as the Chandrika editor, but he also authored other works including articles on the progress of Mappila literature and travelogues. P. P. Umar Koya of Calicut (b. 1922) who wrote a biography of Muhammad Abdurrahiman, and U. A. Beeran (b. ca. 1925) who wrote such short stories as “Tutor,” combined writing with political careers as Kerala state ministers.

Mappila Poetry Poetry has been called “the most lively branch of modern Malayalam literature,”60 and there are many Malayali mahākavis or “great poets” from Vallathol to Sankara Kurup, almost all from Hindu background. At the same time, Muslim culture is rich in poetry, from the old Arab poets to Rūmī in Turkey to Ghalib and Iqbal in North India. The two streams met in Mappila culture, yet poetry remains to be fully developed by the Mappilas. The concentration on the Mappila songs with their narrow frame of reference may have constrained the genre, or its slim development may simply be another result of the community’s lack of interest that also affected some areas of artistic expression. Hence, the body of contemporary Mappila poetry does not come close to the great outpouring of the Mappila novels and drama. An Arab poet, al-Muttanabbī (d. 965), wrote the line: “Whoso desires the ocean makes light of the streams.”61 As Mappilas have dedicated themselves to the pragmatic and heroic task of bringing their community and its culture into the ocean of the modern age, the stream of poetry has not been their first concern. Its development, then, will be a future aspect of an ever-broadening culture. Nevertheless, to some extent the poets are heard from, and they are a respected presence. A journal issue or a memorial volume will

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often include a poetical piece, and the modern Mappila songs provide a vehicle for poetical expression. We will illustrate the range of poets with two figures—T. Ubaid, a late twentieth-century male poet who composed his poetry in both Malayalam and Arabic-Malayalam, and Kamala Suraiya, a contemporary female poet writing in English. T. Ubaid (1908–1972) stemmed from Kasaragode District in the northern region where Malayalam and Kanarese cultures meet and overlap. He was a schoolteacher turned writer and poet. Ubaid became a bridge figure who spanned prose and poetry, languages and cultures. A stirring public address in 1948 in Calicut on the subject of “Mappila Songs” projected him into public view. He contributed to different literary genres including biography (Malik ibn Dinar) and the novel, Return to the Earth), but his main achievement was his poetry, some of which was in Arabic-Malayalam. He composed mālas and ordinary poems, his main collections being Navaratnamala, Bashpadhara, Chandrakkala, and Ganawichi.62 “We Also Are Coming,” his poem of praise for the theological reformer, K. M. Maulavi, bridges the reverential māla and the heroic song-story. Eloquently praising this “brave son” and “lion” of Kerala, extolling his years of service, his gifts of knowledge, his progressiveness, and his sweet personality, he asks: “Has one equal risen in our land of heights?” With a double meaning, referring to both K. M.’s death and his leadership in a renewal movement, Ubaid declares: “On that road, we too follow after.”63 Ubaid also bridged the two cultures that he cherished, Malayalam and Kanarese. He not only translated his own poems into Kanarese, but also those of Vallathol Narayana Menon (1875–1958), a Malayali poet laureate, and in turn he translated Kanarese materials into Malayalam. For his ability to transcend differing cultural elements, two Mappila prose scholars declare Ubaid to be both “noteworthy and enlightened.”64 Dr. Kamala Suraiyya of Kochi represents the classical introspective poetess patterned by the female saint Rabīʿa al-ʿAdawiyya (d. 801). Into the male-dominated world of Mappila literature she poignantly introduces the feminine mood. Composing in English in “Tempest” she states her complaint against forms of denigration:65 Religious leaders declare me a menace, She does not adjust to the Islamic decree. She adorns herself with ornaments of gold,

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encrusted with gems, She declares herself vulnerable to human love. Against it, she finds her solace in God and dares to picture that relationship in human terms:66 Ya Allah, forgive me my wayward ways, If only you had arms to fashion a protective hug, I would remain yours and unsullied . . .  If only you had a human voice to whisper words of comfort in my ear, I would not ever like a leaf in a storm be tossed about this way, that way . . .  Suraiyya wonders about the unanswerable questions of finitude and infinity, about the relation of the human and divine wills, and about the loss of mystical yearnings amidst the common pressures of everyday life. She feels so deeply about them that she declares: “My mind is now a terrain transgressed.” Therefore with tangible relief, in the poem “To Thy Will, Ya Allah,” she simply declares her submission to God: Ya Allah! how rapidly you wrought in me this change, I cannot but surrender my will to yours! Utilizing their multiple linguistic legacies Mappila writers are now full participants in their society’s literary world. Particularly in the field of Malayalam literature, the adaptive spirit of the Mappila community is becoming re-energized, drawing on common cultural waters and contributing to their flow.

Conclusion The Significance of Mappila Culture

We suggest that there are three principal areas where Mappila culture is particularly significant:

• It provides a store of unique materials and is therefore a rich resource for cultural learning and appreciation, including the interesting adaptation that affected many customs.



• Its renaissance from a long-depressed social condition is a source of hope for static societies.



• Its determined change in human relations makes it a positive symbol in the multicultural global village.

A Resource for Wider Cultural Understanding As we move from our immediate consideration of Abdulla and Amina their memory is strong. There is much for us to view and appreciate in their lives. As the knowledge becomes more intimate, the appreciation grows stronger. We have examined their thinking and acting in several areas, and even though we have not been able to deal with every aspect of their lives it is evident that in both its current customs and in its social history their community represents a rich resource for cultural contemplation. In providing a wealth of behavioral material they both interest us and instruct us. In part, this is so strongly true because the Mappila cultural story has so many pages. It moved to its present stage through a long process of evolution, and not only the experience in each stage but also the transitions become a basis for cultural learning. And the Mappilas are still on the move. Abdulla 349

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and Amina represent both a history of culture and a living culture. We learn from their Becoming and from their Being. In their cultural becoming Mappilas bonded two cultural traditions, passed through two distinct phases, and now have entered a third. The long first phase covered eight centuries marked by quiet customary adaptation and remarkably harmonious intercultural relations. In the next four centuries the community retreated into a shell. Traditionalism was born and ruled, and there was cultural stasis. In the twentieth century, stimulated by theological reform and other movements, the Mappila community began its dynamic engagement with modernity, in the context of free India. This left its cultural being with a coat of many colors. Regionally there are differences as some Mappilas espouse a certain form of behavior, others favoring another view. At the same time certain customs of the past have disappeared entirely. Yet more commonly modern and traditionalist cultural views are simultaneously present, the Cultural Then and the Cultural Now advancing side by side into the future. The dominant trend in the present is a recovery of the spirit of the first eight centuries, with adaptation to modern practice and peaceful interreligious relations once again characterizing the behavior of Mappilas. The Mappilas are in every sense of the word a storied people— theirs is a soul-stirring narrative of a journey across the centuries, and an absorbing tale of contemporary cultural encounter. It is hardly surprising that such a long experience yields a mass of fascinating cultural phenomena. It is perhaps more surprising that the cultural adaptation could be carried on for so long within a sustained identity. How was that possible? While the first phase of the Mappila cultural adaptation is hidden in the shrouds of history, its components are visible in the continuing heritage. It is evident that the Mappilas maintained their identity over such a long period primarily because social patterns were steadily infused by the spirit of religious faith. Other factors in the adaptive process varied from time to time, but they included openness to their environment, the guidance of able leaders, and the readiness to change, in all of which their minority status was a constant element in behavioral choices. We see no evidence of the development of a conscious Islamic theory of cultural adaptation. The process was rather a form of pragmatism sustained by faith. The net effect is that Mappila culture represents a striking laboratory for examining the adaptive process. It is unusual in its thirteen centuries of social experience within a multicultural and multireligious milieu. The Mappilas are not unique among Muslim societies in being formed from two streams, the incoming Arabian culture

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and a host culture. Every non-Arab Muslim society in the world is minimally two-streamed. What distinguished Mappila culture is its long period of development, its context, and its continuing engagement with the originating Arabian Muslim culture that still streams in its influence alongside Malayalam culture and modern culture. The Mappila adaptation took place within those parameters. It was both natural and original, but at the same time it was measured by a religious approach that assured the continuity of the Mappila identity. The same adaptive spirit is at work now as Mappilas deal with modernity. Young Mappilas are developing new behavioral motifs and codes, many of which are cross-cultural in nature. The older Mappila customs will continue to challenge descriptive scholars to mine their rich trove, but Mappila studies must face the fact that many practices are fading from view and some will disappear entirely with the passing of this generation. Mappila life inevitably revolves around the need to adapt to the new age, within the desire to maintain religious faith. The nature of that adaptation will make the community’s experience a continuing resource for cultural understanding.

The Implication That a Cultural Renaissance Is Possible The Mappilas symbolize the possibility of a cultural rebirth without the loss of either identity or heart. The comments of a Russian social historian have some relevance to the Mappila situation. Nicolas Berdyaev (1874–1948) made the point that human culture, which he defined as a time of creativity, inevitably declines and becomes a civilization, a time of organization. In the process the will to culture is lost. “Every culture in the process of flowering and becoming more complex, exhausts its creative forces and spirit.”1 When this stage is reached, what preoccupies people is how they will construct and organize life in a practical way to master it and enjoy it. As the culture becomes more and more preoccupied with the goal of material realization, the people’s energy leads “away from culture,” and the process brings about “the death of the spirit of culture.”2 Mappila culture has not followed that line of development. It breaks such patterns, for following centuries of progress and then deterioration it is now a culture re-born. Though chronologically old, it is marked by the character of youth. It has spontaneity and dynamism. It is evident that Mappilas are entering their creative age and with it the promise of a new cultural flowering. Some cultural areas neglected in the past are being developed. It remains to be

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seen whether the fresh spirit and energy will bring what Berdyaev calls an “efflorescence”3 of the arts and sciences—a productivity in ­philosophic and scientific works, an outpouring of poetry and prose, advance in the material arts, and other marks of a high culture that have been only partially developed in the past. The prospects are favorable for the near future since Mappilas clearly display the will to culture. The long future, however, cannot be so easily predicted. There are new and disturbing social forces already sweeping over the Mappilas including a self-indulgent materialism, a not very subtle secularism, and post-modernist forms of disintegration, all of which have severely affected unified cultures in other parts of the world. These forces may make the future a time of cultural anxiety for Mappilas, casting shadows over their new buoyancy of spirit and hindering its potential creativity.

The Importance of Determined Behavioral Change Mappilas have demonstrated that a Muslim society can progressively change by an act of will. It is a noble contribution to other cultures in the present era. In the wake of modernization all human societies, including Muslim societies, have experienced or engaged in some form of culture change, either by a quiet process of acculturation or by arbitrary governmental decision making.4 But when a Muslim society that has earned the reputation of religious emotionalism and violence, and has long endured the reputation of being “hopeless,” and then such a society deliberately moves to change its character, to modify its behavior, and to alter its image, and finally carries through that decision despite considerable internal opposition and tension, it has special significance as a culture of promise. That is what the Mappilas have done. They did so with resolve, drawing on spiritual and intellectual energies, and guided by the common sense of strong and courageous leaders. Together with Hindus and Christians they succeeded in restoring the harmony of the past, and despite occasional strains they have diligently maintained their part in that remarkable achievement. The conscious reorientation of their ideas and values involved struggle and some trembling, but the will power exercised was so intense that the cultural changes came with unexpected speed. We can sense the wonder in Suraiyya’s haunting line: “Ya Allah! How rapidly you wrought in me this change!”

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To use Sir Muhammad Iqbal’s helpful phrase, the Mappilas have succeeded in “rechiselling their ancient frame.” Unusual experience in social adaptation, a stirring societal renaissance, and determined character change—the Mappila story is full of meaning. In that perspective it may be suggested that the Mappila Muslims of Kerala represent more than a repository of living and fascinating behavioral phenomena. They are also trailblazers for similar communities facing change, and a sign of hope for a world that seeks new symbols of human possibility.

Appendix A

Islamic and Malayalam Terms for Culture

There is no single term in the Arabic intellectual tradition that exactly corresponds to the English word “culture.” There is rather a shifting terminology and a group of words that reflect the search for clarity within the Islamic perspective. It is an area that has many ambiguities. For example, in English there is a distinction between the meaning of the term “culture” and the word “cultured.” Whereas culture is the accumulation of learned behavior within a society, cultured refers to the urbane behavior of a sophisticated, usually a learned individual. One common Arabic term, adab, reflects that progression, but in reverse. It started out with the meaning of good manners. F. Gabrieli commends the following definition: “high quality of soul, good upbringing, urbanity and courtesy.”1 As time passed the meaning of the term broadened, and it became the one closest to signifying universal human culture. Al-Māwardī (d. 1058) even wrote a book entitled Adab al-Dunyā wa Adab al-Dīn, which could be roughly translated “The Culture of the World and the Culture of Religion.”2 Now, however, in modern use the term adab has narrowed again to refer to someone who has literary knowledge, a lettered person. The terminological difficulty is also related to a distinction that is often made between religious culture and secular culture. In theory, Islamic theology refuses to recognize the validity of that distinction for all of life is under God, “The Lord of the Worlds.” It rather looks for inclusive theological terms that can express that idea. They include such words as dīn, religious practice; ʿibādat, the service of God; sunna, the custom of the Prophet and the early believers; and even ʿilm, religious knowledge. The effort to put the whole realm of human actions into a legal frame of reference was called sharia. Those actions that were classified as unregulated, which includes the bulk of cultural 355

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behavior, were called mubah, but the word is not widely used. Since it was believed that also unregulated actions should be subject to the general Quranic moral principles, a group of words came into use for moral behavior including ʿamal, approved practice; akhlāq, ethics; and taqwā, piety. Of the three terms ʿamal came closest to approved cultural practice. In the text we have outlined how two other terms, ʿādat and ʿurf, became the legal designations of acceptable pre-Islamic cultural practices. In the Indian context, however, the very pointed sharia language does not meet Mappila needs since Indian Muslims have accepted a limitation of its legal scope to specifically cultic and personal affairs. Utilizing Islamic terms, however, culture may be viewed as ʿādat or acceptable indigenous tradition plus adab meaning refined practice, both informed by dīn, religion. Mappilas, however, do not experience a problem with the proliferation of Arabic terms since they freely and commonly make use of an available Malayalam word, samskārum. It combines the ideas of human practice and noble achievement, and therefore conveys a sense of high culture. Two other Malayalam terms do not give the same satisfaction: sambrudāyum originally has tribal connotations and refers to the practices of specific groups; pārambaryum, places the emphasis on genetic history and hereditary succession. Samskārum, however, is a virtual equivalent of the concept conveyed by the English term “culture.” Applied to Mappilas it signifies what they have learned to do, have particularly cultivated and especially admired. It provides a natural and spacious term that can aptly and comprehensively embrace the Mappila cultural symbiosis in its particular form.3

Appendix B

The Ali Raja Kingdom in Kannur

The Ali Rajas of Kannur in North Malabar had the distinction of being the only rulers in Mappila history. They constituted only a tiny principality. Yet through navigational and diplomatic skills they asserted maritime power and achieved influence that far exceeded the small size of their kingdom. Stratgically situated on the shore of the Arabian Sea, they played an important role in their region for four centuries, but ceased to do so after 1908. The family archives list 24 rulers dating from 1545 when historical certainty begins, of whom nine were female (“Bibi”s). Their cultural influence came mainly through their free association with non-Muslims and their matrilineal approach that they drew from their Hindu context. That undoubtedly gave impetus to the tradition of women rulers. The Arakkal family, as it was called, remains in Kannur today. The old palace located across the bay from Fort St. Angelo no longer exists, and the Sultan Ameena Bibi Tangal Adi Rajah lived in a rented house surrounded by artifacts from a noble past.1 The extended family occupies a large though run-down compound near the sea, which includes many homes and mosques. The origin of the Arakkal House is shrouded in legend.2 There are strong reasons, however, to trace it back to the conversion and intermarriage of a Nayar chieftain. This took place most probably at some point in the eleventh or twelfth century, although no precise historical dating is possible. The tradition of a Nayar conversion is given substance by the family’s matrilineal practice. The Nayar in question was in the service of the Hindu Kolattiri rajas headquartered at Chirakkal and Eli in the Kolattanad area just north of Kannur. The Kolattiris were notable rulers heavily involved in the pepper trade, and they also had sovereignty over the Laccadive Islands that lie 300 kilometers off the coast of Kerala.3 The history of this new Muslim family is murky until the Portuguese period. They attained naval power, ranging the seas as far

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as the Maldive Islands, and they assumed the name of Adi Raja (the first king), or Ali Raja (the noble king), or sometimes Ali Adi Raja. For their services, whether at the beginning of their line or after the Portuguese entry, the Kolattiri Raja gave the family a bequest of land at the Kannur port and transferred to the Ali Raja his assumed sovereignty over the Laccadives and their valuable trade. Gradually the Ali Raja and his supporters became virtually independent of the Kolattiris. Since their kingdom fell short of being a fully sovereign entity, the Mappila rulers never wore a crown, but they had effective authority symbolized by a throne, a seal, an emblem, and their own coinage. The extent of their jurisdiction on the mainland varied according to political circumstances, but it was always a limited one. It started small, increased to a sixteen kilometer range along the coast, extended under Hyder Ali to an administrative role over the Kolattiri territoriies, under the British was reduced to 2,364 acres by 1887, and it ended with 1,419 acres in 1908 which was the date of a final treaty with the English rulers. What kept the family going financially was its income from the coconut coir and copra trade of the Laccadives. The Ali Raja’s tactical skills developed in the heated atmosphere of the European effort to take over the pepper trade. Portuguese, Dutch, English, and French traders were in competition along with the Hindu rajas and the Muslim rulers of Mysore. The Portuguese had established their factory (a trading post) at Kannur in 1502 and had built Fort St. Angelo in 1505. The Ali Rajas struggled against their power until the Dutch seized the fort in 1663 and the English set up their factory at nearby Baliapatam. These changes enabled the Ali Raja to extend his power over Kannur town and the nearby Dharmapattanum Island at the head of the Tellicherry harbor, sixteen kilometers to the south. Political complications grew, however, as Hindu Kanarese kings invaded from the north, the French established their Malabar base (1725), Hyder Ali entered the area (1766), and the English captured the Kannur Fort (1783). Through it all the Ali Rajas played the diplomatic game to the hilt. They were not without their own occasional duplicity, and were faced by major powers yet managed to survive and maintain some authority. The Ali Raja provided troops to Hyder Ali, a fellow Muslim, became his admiral, and even invaded the Maldives on his behalf. But in the 1790s the Ali Rajas saw the handwriting on the wall and became allies of the English. Thus they were able to continue, but the nineteenth century witnessed the diminution of their influence, effected through various treaties. In 1875 the English sequestered the Laccadives for non-payment of revenue. In 1908 the transition of the

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Ali Raja from a ruler to a small landowner became complete—he surrendered all political authority to the English and in return received an annual income (malikhana) of 23,000 rupees, the rights to his Kannur property and its income, and permission to retain the title of Sultan. These arrangements continue to the present. The Ali Rajas were sincere in their Muslim faith even though they did not always match it in their behavior. A few were noted for their high living and spendthrift ways, at the same time levying exacting revenue demands on their fellow Laccadive Muslims who eventually rebelled. In 1780 the reigning Bibi began correspondence with the Ottoman Emperor who chose to recognize her regional authority. He referred to her as “one who had covered herself with the sheet of modesty, who is adorned with the ornaments of truth and justice, venerated in pedigree, viz. Bebee Sultan, the Queen of Malabar. May God preserve her in her country to develop the pillars of faith and Islamism.”4 The family sponsored the construction of mosques, many of which are still extant, served as their managing trustees, and appointed khatībs and qādīs. They followed Muslim law in judicial proceedings, but controlled the decision makers. The Arakkal House also kept collections of calligraphic theological works, and some of the Rajas studied Persian and Urdu. The traditions of the House continue, but the members of the family have gone on to various careers in the secular world. The glory days of the Arakkal Kingdom are but a memory.

Appendix C

The Origins of Traditionalism in the Islamic Heartlands and Its Structure

Traditionalism is one form of response to the Muslim encounter with the modern forces of world culture. The strength of its resistance to modernity rests in its habitual nature, in its structural rigidity, and in the sense of safety it gives. It grew out of an epic struggle in medieval Islam that also produced its main features. Any understanding of the contemporary Mappila Muslim cultural engagement requires an understanding of the origins of traditionalism. As the Muslim Enlightenment surged forward in various intellectual fields in the ninth and tenth centuries of the Abbasid Empire, the rational approach to knowledge also passed over into religious thought when sincere Muslim believers began to ask questions about the interpretation of certain religious teachings. Such questioning had previously been discouraged, but the Muslim mind was aroused. The questions included: Does a person have free will? Are humans responsible for their actions, or is God? Do great sins make a believer a nonMuslim? Is the Qurʾān created or uncreated? Will our vision of God in heaven be a physical one or a spiritual one? A theological school of thought arose called the Muʿtazilite, which argued that such inquiries must be answered on the basis of what is reasonable. Beginning with the affirmation that God is both absolutely one and absolutely just, they used a logical style of argumentation called kalām to answer questions and to prove their points, and their approach dominated the scene for many decades. They brought the art of disputation into Islamic theological discussion so that it later became the style of theologians, and orthodox theology even began to be called kalām. The Muʿtazilite development cannot be taken as a true triumph of reason. They were rationalists, but they were not democrats, and in their days of power they insisted that everyone agree with them or be punished! In this regard they differed from the approach of most Muslim scientists and philosophers who believed that freedom 361

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of thought was as important as the use of reason. They had taken these ideas from the works of Greek thinkers, especially Aristotle, which were now being translated to Arabic, and their combination of faith, reason, and freedom produced the Islamic Golden Age. Orthodox Muslim thinkers, worried about their tradition, eventually rebelled against the rational emphasis. Their point of view was first expressed by scholars involved in jurisprudence, the earliest of the Islamic religious sciences. The legal scholars held that Muslim law must be based on scripture, the sunna and precedent, rather than on the free use of reason. Leading the way was Muhammad al-Shafīʿī (d. 820) of Egypt, who spent eight years in Yemen. The Shafīʿī school of law became the accepted approach in South Arabia, and it is the law school of the Mappilas. It emphasizes the traditions of the Prophet (Hadīth) and the use of precedent rather than individual judgment. Another law school founder, Ibn Hanbal (d. 855) of Baghdad, vehemently opposed the use of reason in scriptural interpretation. He held that all the verses of the Qurʾān must be taken absolutely literally. If the scripture says that God sits on a throne, we must accept it without asking how; there can be no speculation in regard to the implication. For matters of behavior our guide is the practice of the Prophet and his early Companions. Cultural importation of any kind that leads to innovation (bidʿa) is invalid. Despite his great piety and popularity, Ibn Hanbal’s stern opposition to the Muʿtazilite point of view placed him in jeopardy, and he spent two years in prison. His approach was channeled by the Wahhābi Movement into the modern state of Saudi Arabia where Mappila Gulf employees were introduced to it. Law led the way toward the crystallization of thought, but there was still a wide flux of Muslim opinion in the medieval period, and it took another religious scholar to establish the traditionalist approach. He was Abuʾl-Hasan al-Ashʿarī (873–935) of Basra and Baghdad, who is considered by many to be the founder of orthodox theology. Once a rationalist, he later denounced these views and adopted a conservative position. He called Ibn Hanbal “a perfect teacher,” but he did not agree with his view that there is no place for reason in Islamic thinking; there is a place, but it is a very restricted one. Reason, al-Ashʿarī and others argued, cannot establish truth for that comes only from revelation and is received by faith. Nor can one use reason to interpret revelation, except to clearly set forth its teachings. A a believer can use reason in the form of logic to prove what is believed and to defend it, for the Qurʾān itself does so when it points to the wonders of creation as the signs of God. In short, what al-Ashʿarī and his school of thought did was to abandon the ideas of Aristotle and other

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Greek philosophers but keep the method of logical deduction that they used. Their version of the kalām approach became the method of traditionalist thought, and it is noteworthy that to this day logic remains a valued subject in the training of conservative clergy. The Asharite theologians had great admiration and respect for the Qurʾān, but their approach was pedantic and dry, as well as argumentative, and it threatened Islam with religious formalism. Fortunately, another figure arose who would give more religious depth to orthodox theology. He was the renowned Abū Hamīd Muhammad al-Ghazālī (1058–1111) who is called “The Teacher of Islam.” He put forth a view that attracted many faithful believers. He maintained that Muslims should use reason—not to multiply legal regulations as some legists do, not to bring in human ideas as some philosophers do, not to engage in endless debate as some theologians do—but rather to find the spiritual and ethical implications of divine revelation. He wanted to discover the heart-meaning of Islam. That burning desire was undoubtedly a product of his personal religious experience. He had undergone a crisis of faith, and finally it was only through a Sufi mystical experience that it was restored. Al-Ghazālī came to the conclusion that true religion must concern itself with the need for nearness to God and with the spiritual dimensions of ritual and law, and he henceforth dedicated himself to the task of synthesizing mysticism with law and theology. Al-Ghazālī was not uninterested in logic and philosophical methodology, and wrote on those topics; but he was very critical of many philosophical ideas, especially those of the noted Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037), against whom he wrote The Incoherence of the Philosophers. While he recognized the need for latitude in approach and berated the tendency of clergy to label everyone who disagreed with them as kāfir or unbelievers, yet he also wanted respect for Islamic fundamentals. Taking Asharite theology as his base, he gave it moral depth and set the main lines for Muslim orthodoxy.1 Many of the theologians that followed him, however, preferred to center their attention on his rejection of philosophy rather than on his ethical emphasis, and they interpreted it as a signal to withdraw from secular learning. They effectively cut off the intellectual disciplines in which Muslim culture had taken the leading position in the world. This action, together with their style of argumentation, provided two of the three basic elements in the development of traditionalism. The third and final element was the closure of freedom of thought in favor of the emulation of the past. Already in the tenth century in the realm of law there had been a movement afoot to eliminate the general freedom of judgment and

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private opinion (ijtihād and raʾy) that prevailed among Muslims and restrict it to religious scholars. That tendency also moved into the theological area. The trend was sealed after the Mongol invasions when the centers of the Muslim heartlands collapsed, except for Egypt. The desire to preserve and protect the faith became dominant.2 The defense-minded religious scholars adopted a very damaging position. By their own consensus (ijmāʿ) they concluded that all major religious issues had now been settled and that the door to private rational judgment was closed, except for some narrow room for legal experts. What was left for the rank-and-file of believers? What remained was the uncritical acceptance of the authority of past believers and scholars, the determination to faithfully hand on their teachings, and the commitment to imitate them in the present. The term for this approach, taqlīd, became the watchword of traditionalists, and it remains so today. The impact on Islam was calamitous as the informing and sustaining spirit of the Muslim Enlightenment was stifled.3 The Muslim mind was effectively tranquillized,4 and traditionalism claimed the mantle of orthodoxy. The main features of traditionalism in Mappila culture reflect the results of this development. It is the measure of the power of the contemporary Mappila cultural revolution that it has succeeded despite this deeply embedded structure.

Appendix D

The Nizamiyya Syllabus

In one form or another the Dars-i-Nizamiyya became the dominant curriculum in most orthodox Indian Muslim religious schools. It constituted a North Indian Muslim contribution to Mappila culture. In their use of the syllabus the Mappila Muslims modified an already adapted version, but nevertheless the core approach of the Dars-iNizamiyya became the guide for the training of their community’s traditionalist clergy. The syllabus featured Arabic grammar and syntax; Quranic exegesis and the Traditions; logic, mathematics, and a smattering of other medieval sciences; jurisprudence; scholastic theology; and sufism. Curricular variations appeared from time to time in various institutions. Persian, Urdu, the history of Islam, medicine, and even some philosophy and English moved in and out of the list. Not all institutions were enamoured with the inclusion of sufism. We go to Deoband to illustrate the operation of the curriculum. It lies in Saharanpur District about 100 kilometers north of Delhi. There the Dar-ul-Uloom was founded in 1867. It has become the premier theological training center for orthodox Indian Muslims and is attracting students from many nations. The institution is the recognized vehicle of the Jamiat-Ulama-i-Hind, the All-India organization of orthodox religious scholars. Originally the school was set up to represent the tradition of Shah Wali Ullah (d. 1763), who tried to bring Indian Muslims together on a common theological platform and to revive their flagging spirits, but now it simply holds to a broadly Sunni approach. Before India’s Independence it had maintained a strong stance against the influence of English culture. The institution tries to operate in a modern way with courses, examinations, and degrees. The certificates offered include maulavi, alim, fazil, munshi, and kamil, each depending on the length of study that varies between six and eleven years. The Dars-i-Nizamiyya continues at the heart of Deoband’s program with a few variations. Its version of the syllabus includes the history of Islam and Persian. 365

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Law and theology receive extra attention. Students must complete the study of 106 texts, most of them acknowledged conservative authorities.1 A sprinkling of modern subjects has been introduced, but they have more of a decorative than a substantive quality. The Deoband approach illustrates the common practice of higher Indian madrasas using the Nizami syllabus. It is said that in compiling his syllabus Muhammad Nizām al-Dīn of Lucknow (d. 1748) maintained a rational approach and used the most difficult texts in each subject area in order to make his students think.2 However, madrasa pedagogy went into the imitational mode. That has been criticized both from within the Muslim community and from outside. So, for example, M. Mujeeb regards the Dars-i-Nizamiyya as an aspect of the orthodox attempt to control education and to resist “subversive ideas.” While it is the most comprehensive form of orthodox education, it has simply enabled its supporters “to isolate themselves from life around them.”3 Kuldip Kaur, who has made an extensive study of the system of madrasas crticizes them for producing “religious dogmatism” and for failing to meet “the challenge of the times.”4 Mappila traditionalist authorities who happily continue their use of the Nizami syllabus would reject the criticisms and would respond that the very strength of the approach is its harmony with the revered learning of the past. It is an unanswered question whether or not a new Nizām al-Dīn will rise to create a generally acceptable modern syllabus for clergy training.

Appendix E

Mappila Culture on the Laccadive Islands (Lakshwadeep)

The residents of the Laccadive Islands are technically Mappilas except for those in Minicoy, which has connections with the Maldive Islands, but their island culture distinguishes them from mainland Mappilas. Depending on the numbering of atolls, banks, and reefs, there are 27 to 36 small low-lying islands with a total land area of 32 sq.km. They lie 225 to 400 km. off the Kerala shore in the Indian Ocean. Only ten of them are inhabited, having a total population of 64,473 (2011), indicating their high density. The date of the settlement of the islands is uncertain, but probably it resulted from Buddhist and Hindu migration from the Kerala mainland. Since the islands lie on the Aden to Colombo trading route, we may assume that their Islamicization followed similar patterns as other Mappilas. There are various traditions about Muslim saints who introduced Islam. One speaks of Ubaidullah arriving in 661 (41 A.H. [Anno Hegirae]), and his tomb on Agatti is held in great respect. Although sources are scanty, the islands appear to have been under the titular rule of the Chera kings in the Kulasekhara period, but after 1102 CE the Kolattiri rajas of North Malabar replaced them. The remnants of the matrilineal system among islanders point to Hindu or North Malabar Muslim influence at that time. Practical control over the islands was given into the hands of the Ali Rajas of Kannur, as we have seen. The Portuguese briefly entered the scene 1498–1545, followed in turn by the English and the Mysore rulers, Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan. After 1792 the English took possession of Malabar, but they exercised their sovereignty over the Laccadives through the Ali Rajas until 1908, when they began their direct administration. Following Independence in 1947 India took over the rule, consolidating the islands into a Union Territory in 1956. Its affairs are conducted by a Central Government Administrator with legal matters falling under the Kerala High Court. 367

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The islands have some strategic importance and therefore benefit from a protective approach. Their inhabitants are listed as “Scheduled Tribes” and receive liberal treatment. This includes free health care with hospitals built on Kavaratti, the island administrative center, and Minicoy; free education including high schools and two junior colleges affiliated with the University of Calicut; electrification and water supply projects; and agricultural development. Before these improvements the native inhabitants of the Laccadives were backward economically and educationally. Fishing, coconuts, coir, and copra provided the main income, with rice importation, gardens, and the sea providing the food; coconuts are still the main revenue source. There are local elected bodies (panchayats), and the islands have a representative in the Lok Sabha. Culturally there are some internal differences among the islands, from Minicoy in the south where an old Sinhalese-based dialect called Mahl is spoken, to the central islands and the northern Aminidivis where dialects of Mappila Malayalam are used. However, 95 percent of the people are Muslim, providing a common base, and there are many mosques. Like the mainland Mappilas, the vast majority of people are Sunnis and follow Shafīʿī law. There is a tangal society on Androth, and Kalpeni has Ahmadiyyas. Saint veneration and superstitions common to fisherfolk, including the use of amulets, are customary. Class distinctions are unique: there are the koyas or aristocratic landowners, like jemnis; the malumis or pilots; the melacharis or laborers in the coconut gardens; and the fisherfolk. Two islands follow matrilocal living patterns. Women are relatively free in their movements, and wear many bangles and ear ornaments. Monogamy is the practice, but so is easy and frequent divorce. Ordinary houses are made of coral rock slabs or compressed coral grit. The construction of their imposing boats (odams) is the major material art. While traditionalism has ruled, the increased learning and literacy have brought the problem of the educated unemployed, and youth show some distaste for traditional occupations. Such problems and issues will increase as the once isolated Laccadives open to the wider world through their increased interaction with mainland society, facilitated by better transport, and through the influence of the media. Tourism is also now permitted in the uninhabited island of Bangaram. In the past Minicoy sailors roamed to the far shores of the Bay of Bengal, and islanders will inevitably be involved in the same cultural journeys that mainland Mappilas have experienced.1

Notes Preface   1. Roland E. Miller, The Mappila Muslims of Kerala—A Study in Islamic Trends (Madras: Orient Longman, 1992; rev. ed.).   2. Professor Arkoun used this phrase in a public speech at an Ontario conference on “Canada and the Islamic World,” June 26, 2008.  3. G. O.Lang, “Culture,” in New Catholic Encyclopedia (New York: Thomson-Gale, 2003), p. 246.

Chapter 1  1. In earlier English writings Mappila was usually spelled either Moplah or Mappilla. For a full discussion of the name cf. Roland E. Miller, The Mappila Muslims of Kerala, A Study in Islamic Trends (Madras: Orient Longman, 1992), rev. ed., pp. 30–33.   2. The term Malabar is commonly used to signify the northern region of the state of Kerala. The word is formed by combining the Malayalam for hill (māla) with the Persian for place (bār).  3. William Logan, Malabar Manual, 3 vols. (Madras: Superintendent, Government Press, 1887), I, p. ciii.   4. For a full bibliography of Mappila materials in English up to 1989, cf. the writers “Mappilas,” Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed., VI (London: E. J. Brill, 1989), pp. 458–66. There is no extensive up-to-date study of contemporary Mappila culture, although aspects of it are touched upon in various works. Miller, Mappila Muslims, op. cit., examines the history and theology of the Mappilas. Further information on theological movements and a useful bibliography is found in M. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, Groups and Movements in the 20th Century (Kollam: Laurel Publications, 1998). A. P. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims of Kerala, Their History and Culture (Trivandrum: Sandhya Publications, 1989) gives helpful information. K. T. Mohammed Ali, The Development of Education Among the Mappilas of Malabar, 1800–1965 (New Delhi: Nunes Publishers, 1990) and U. Muhammad, Educational Empowerment of Kerala Muslims: A Socio-Historical Perspective (Calicut: Other Books, 2007) provide background on that subject. The Publications Division of the U ­ niversity of

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Calicut has produced works on such subjects as the Sufis and the Ali Rajas, while K. K. Mohammed Abdul Sattar has explored the composite culture of Mappila shrines and festivals in several articles. The Malayalam language resources have been enriched by the detailed descriptions of local customs by C. K. Kareem that have replaced the older works of P. A. Syed Muhammad.   5. The 2001 India Census reported a Muslim population of 7,863,342 in Kerala. The current figure is obtained by applying that decade’s growth rate of 9.42 percent to the 2001–2014 period. The estimate is low since the Mappila natural growth rate is exceeding that of other communities. The Kerala figure for Muslims also includes a few non-Mappilas.   6. In English the term Malayalam may be either a noun or an adjective. As an adjective it overlaps with Malayali. While Malayalam is the more inclusive term, Malayali points to the human element. In practice it is possible to say either Malayalam culture or Malayali culture.   7. Some of the statistical information in this section is drawn from the Manorama Yearbook, an annual published by the Manorama newspaper.   8. It took from 1960 to 69 to enact the legislation, which was finally enshrined in the Ninth Schedule of the Indian Constitution by an Act of Parliament, May 29, 1972.  9. For a treatment of this phenomenon see Roland E. Miller, “The Dynamics of Religious Co-Existence in Kerala: Muslims, Christians and Hindus,” in Y. Y. Haddad and W. Z. Haddad, eds., Christian-Muslim Encounters (Gainesville: The University Press of Florida, 1995), pp. 263–84. 10. Cf. population tables in Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 351. The growth rate of Hindus and Christians in India in the decade 1991–2001 was 20.3 percent and 22.6 percent, respectively, against a recalculated Muslim growth rate of 29.3 percent. The Muslim population of India, including Kashmir, in 2001 was 138 million, or 13.4 percent of the total. Cf. New Indian Express, September 7, 2004, p. 7 and The Hindu, September 13, 2004, p. 10. 11. I have taken Islamic culture to mean the general behavior of people whose lives are informed by Muslim faith. “The Islamic cultural tradition” and “Islamic civilization” are somewhat similar terms, but each has its own shade of meaning. Cf. Gustav Grunebaum, Islam: Essays in the Nature and Growth of a Cultural Tradition (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., 1961). For the shades of meaning in the word “Islam,” see W. C. Smith, The Meaning and End of Religion (San Francisco, Harper & Row 1978), especially Ch. IV, “The Special Case of Islam.” If the word “Islam” has basic, ideal, and collective meanings, as Smith contends, the same may be said for “Islamic culture.” 12. The relation between religion and culture is so intimate that some ambiguity is inevitable, for as Christopher Dawson points out a culture involves common beliefs. He therefore speaks of “the interpenetration” of religion and culture,” a phrase I have borrowed from him. In the case of Islam the issue becomes even more complicated because the religion is holistic in principle; therefore Dawson calls Islam “a living culture as well as a world religion.” Cf. Christopher Dawson, Religion and Culture (New York: Meridien Books, Inc., 1959), pp. 46f, 53. Paul Tillich sees the relationship more tightly.

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He says: “As religion is the substance of culture, so culture is the form of religion” See Tillich’s On the Boundary (New York: Ch. Scribner’s Sons, 1966), pp. 69f. 13. Roland E. Miller, Muslim Friends. Their Faith and Feeling (St. Louis, MO: Concordia Publishing House, 1995), p. 58. 14. Von Grunebaum, Islam, especially Ch. III, “Arab Culture,” pp. 51–59. 15. P. Crone, “Mawla,” EI 2, VI, pp. 874–82. 16. Robert Lacy, The Kingdom (London: Harcourt, 1981), pp. 243f. 17. D. Libson, “ ‘Urf,” EI 2, X, pp. 887ff. 18. Asaf A. A. Fyzee, Outlines of Muhammadan Law (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 4th ed., 1964), p. 22. 19. Murmi Djamal, “Foreword,” Kultur. The Indonesian Journal of Muslim Culture Vol. 1, No. 1, 2000, n.p. 20. What is presented here is the Sunni position on religious authority. The Shiʾa point of view differs. Its leadership and authority principles are related to descent from the family of the Prophet Muhammad. In addition, an authoritative leader represents in a special way the twelfth imām or successor of the Prophet who disappeared and is in occultation. Since all Mappilas are Sunnis, it is not necessary to deal with this point at greater length in the context of this study. 21. Muhammad Iqbal, Javid Nama, in The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam (Lahore: Sh. Muhammad Ashraf, 1962; repr.), p. 199.

Chapter 2   1. For the details of Mappila history, cf. works listed in the Encyclopedia of Islam, VI; in Miller, Mappila Muslims, and in the bibliography of this volume.   2. The decision on whether there may have been some Arab settlements in Kerala prior to the advent of Islam must be laid aside for lack of information. Nothing precludes such a possibility; if there were settlers their preIslamic religious outlook would have made local assimilation an easy matter.  3. The Zamorin maintained a close entente with Muslim traders for centuries; his favors included port and travel facilities, security arrangements, land grants, and others. The customs duties he received in turn were a major source of his income. It was said that he encouraged conversion to the sailor group.   4. The Perumāl’s presumed conversion has been variously dated at 717, 701, 822, and 1122 CE, but there is no scholarly consensus. The earliest date is unlikely since the establishment of mosques by Mālik ibn Dīnār presupposes a settled Muslim community. Malik’s own identity is doubtful; he cannot be the Qurʾān scholar and moralist of Basra (d.ca.748 A.D.), the major figure bearing that name.   5. Cf. infra, Ch. 3.   6. L. W. Brown, The Indian Christians of St. Thomas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956), pp. 70f.

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 7. K. V. Krishna Ayyar, A Short History of Kerala (Ernakulam: Pai & Co., 1966), p. 3.   8. Shaikh Zein-ud-Din, Tuhfat-ul-Mujahideen, trans. by M. M. Rowlandson (London: John Murray, 1833), p. 59.   9. K. M. Kurup, and K. M. Mathew, Native Resistance Against the Portuguese: The Saga of Kunjali Marakkars. (Calicut: Calicut University Press, 2000), p. 125. 10. The padroado was a remarkable action that is hard to imagine today. It was based on the idea that the Pope had direct dominion over all the kingdoms of the earth. Pope Alexander VI in 1493 had drawn a line from pole to pole down the Atlantic Ocean dividing the Portuguese and Spanish spheres of influence. The Portuguese regarded the line as unfair to their interests, and by the Treaty of Tordesillas it was reset at 48 degrees longitude, that is, 694 kilometers west of the Cape Verde Islands and 506 kilometers farther west than the original decision. The new line clipped off a good bit of Eastern Brazil, and when one of Pedro Cabral’s Portuguese ships drifted there on the way to Kerala in 1500, he was able to “legitimately” claim Brazil for his country. The padroado also gave the Spanish and Portuguese monarchs control over the churches in the lands they colonized. Commerce, conquest, religious propagation and church control were all equal strands in this unique theory. See Eugene Tisserant, Eastern Christianity in India (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1957, pp. 413–53; and F. C. Danvers, The Portuguese in India (London: W.H. Allen & Co., 1894), vol. l, pp. xxxvl, 21, 3 9f.; and EB, I, pp. 241f.; XI, p. 851. 11. The Mysorean religious policy is a controversial issue. See Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 88–94, for a summary of opinion. C. K. Kareem, Kerala Under Haidar Ali and Tipu. Sultan (Ernakulam: Paico Publishing House, 1973), pp. 182–209, entirely dismisses the criticisms. A moderate view is that the religious policy served the rulers’ political aims, but at the same time they did not hesitate to advance the cause of Islam. 12. Letter of November 25, 1552, quoted in K. P. P. Menon, A. History of Kerala, written In the form of notes on Visscher’s Letters from Malabar (Ernakulam: Government Press, 1924), I, p. 188. 13. Cf. “Malabar Land Tenure System,” in Mi11er, Mappila Muslims, App. C, pp. 355–56. 14. For a full and careful study of the causes of the Mappila outbreaks and their Rebellion see Stephen F. Dale, Islamic Society on the South Asian Frontier: The Mappilas of Malabar, 1498–1922 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980). 15. For Ali Musaliar see Charles A. Innes, Malabar. Madras District Gazetteers (Madras: Superintendent, Government Press, 1951; rev. ed.), pp. 87ff.; and C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Mohamed Abdul Kareem, Mahattāya Māppiḷa Sāhitya Pārambaryum. (“The Glorious Mappila Literary Tradition”), Calicut: The Authors, 1978; Malayalam, pp. 516–18. 16. For a balanced view of the social disruption and suffering during the Rebellion see the eyewitness account of the distinguished Hindu editor, K. P. Kesava Menon in his Kazhinya Kālum (“The Past”), Calicut: Mathrubhumi Printing and Publishing Co. Ltd., 1969; Malayalam), pp. 93–126.

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17. Mappila and British estimates of the number of dead differed greatly. See Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. l48f.; there were also thousands of refugees. 18. Khan Bahadur K. Muhammad, Mappilamar Engottu (“Whither the Mappilas”), (Trichur: Mangalodayam (Pvt.) Ltd., 1956), p. 180. K. Muhammad was the first special officer for Mappila education. 19. V. Bava in conversation at Malappuram, South Malabar, October, 2004. 20. The Kollam Era is used for calendar dating in Kerala; it is also called the Malayalam Era (M.E.). It begins with the year 825 CE. There are various theories about this beginning date; cf. A. Sreedhara Menon, A Survey of Kerala History (Kottayam: National Book Stall, 1967), pp. 114–22. 21. Muslims were witnesses to the Tarisapally grant to Christians and others in 849 CE, as recorded on copper plates. See Brown, Indian Christians, pp. 74–77. 22. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 67. 23. Al-Harmony is published by the Forum of Faith & Fraternity, Ernakulam; significant editors have included K. M. Abdun Rahman Mather and K. K. Usman. 24. Philip J. Kreyenbrock, “Religion and Religions in Kurdistan,” in Kurdish Culture and Identity (London: Zed Book, 1996), p. 85.

Chapter 3   1. Muhammad Mujeeb, The Indian Muslims (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1967), p. 201.  2. Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History of Islam in India (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1969), p. 91.   3. Daud Rahbar, “Gandhi and the Hindu-Urdu Question,” in Harold Coward, ed., Indian Critiques of Gandhi (Albany: SUNY Press, 2003), pp. 217ff. Cf. also C. Shackle, “Urdu.” EI 2, X, pp. 873–81.   4. D. J. Boilot, “Al-Bīrūnī,” EI 2, I, pp. 1236–38.   5. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, p. 81.  6. The word maʿbar means the crossing; it was the common ancient term for southern Tamilnad, and it also became the name for one of the five India regions ruled by Muslims.   7. R. C. Majumdar, An Advanced History of India (London: Macmillan, 1950), p. 306.  8. S. K. Ayyangar, South India and Her Muhammadan Invaders (New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1991), pp. 157, 170.   9. K. M. Panikkar, A Survey of Indian History (Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1964), pp. 134f. 10. Shaikh Ikram, History of Muslim Civilization in India and Pakistan (Lahore: Star Book Depot, 1961), p. 315.

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11. J. B. P. More, The Political Evolution of Muslims in Tamilnad and Madras, 1930–1947 (Madras: Orient Longman, 1997), p. 18. See also Mattison Mines, “Labbai,” EI 2, V, pp. 582f. 12. Qureshi, Muslim Community, p. 12. 13. Ikram, Muslim Civilization, p. 501. 14. Murray Titus, Islam in India (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1959), pp. 152–179. 15. Caste and Social Stratification Among Muslims in India (1973); Family, Kinship and Marriage Among Muslims in India (1976); Ritual and Religion Among Muslims in India (1981); and Modernization and Social Change Among Muslims in India (1983). See also Humayun Kabir’s brilliant analysis of Indian Muslim “fusion and synthesis” in H. Bhattacarya, ed., The Cultural Heritage of India, Vol. IV, The Religions (Calcutta: Ramkrishna Institute, 1956), pp. 579–92. 16. S. A. A. Rizvi, “Muslim India,” in Bernard Lewis, ed., Islam and the Arab World (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1976), p. 301. 17. K. A. Nizami, “Tarika,” EI 2, X, section 7, pp. 255ff. 18. Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1982), p. 345. 19. V.Kunhali, Sufism in Kerala (Calicut: University of Calicut, 2004), p. 70. 20. Aziz Ahmad, Islam in India, p. 114. 21. The French established factories at Surat (1668), Masulipatam in Andhra (1669), Pondicherry (1673), Chandergore near Calcutta (1674), and at Mahe in Malabar (1725). 22. Majumdar, Advanced History, p. 643. 23. Kareem, Haidar Ali, p. 26. 24. Majumdar, Advanced History, pp. 638f. 25. Qureshi, Muslim Community, p. 266. 26. Quoted by Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, p. 392. 27. Ibid., p. 397. 28. Aziz Ahmad, Islam in India, p. 60. 29. Majumdar, Advanced History, p. 820. 30. A more conservative reform movement was under way at the same time; it was led by the bridge-building Shibli Nuʾmani (1857–1914) with aid from other theologians, the Urdu novelist Nazir Ahmad (1833–1972), and the revivalist poet Hali (1837–1914). This group of reformers were restrained in their regard for reason and were apologists for the cultural values of Islam. Hali’s celebrated poem, the Mussadas (1879), that celebrated the past achievements of Islam, was however composed at Sir Sayyid’s suggestion, and he in turn wrote a study of Sir Sayyid’s life and work (1901). 31. Sir Sayyid also wrote, “Islam is truth; it is the religion of truth and morality par excellence, and as such justly claims a paramount superiority.” See his essays on the Life of Muhammad (Lahore: Premier Book House, 1968; repr.), p. 240. What he was contending for was an interpretation of truth and morality that reflected modern learning. 32. S. Abid Husain, The Destiny of Indian Muslims (Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1965), pp. 17–22.

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33. Rizvi, “Muslim India,” op. cit., p. 311. 34. Peter Hardy, The Muslims of British India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), p. 169. 35. K. T. Mohammad Ali, The Development of Education among the Mappilas of Malabar, 1800–1965 (Delhi: Nunes Publishers, 1990), pp. 141f. 36. Wakkom Abdul Khadr, Jr. (1912–76) translated Iqbal’s Asrar-i-Kudi into Malayalam, and another of the reformer’s sons, M. Abdul Salam (1905– 35), translated part of Shibli’s Al-Faruq. See Jose Abraham’s McGill University doctoral thesis: “Modernity, Islamic Reform, and the Mappilas of Kerala: The Contributions of Vakkom Maulavi” (2008). This fine study published in late 2014; cf. Bibl. O. Abu translated Syed Ameer Ali’s Spirit of Islam as Islāminde Chaitānyum (1967). Sir Sayyid’s major works were not translated; nevertheless, Prof. Abdul Samad, Islam, p. 38, regards his influence as the most prominent one. 37. Hardy, Muslims, p. 240. Jinnah’s speech helped to change the course of South Asian history. 38. Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 162–66. 39. That need for attention seemed to be finally assuaged when the Government of Kerala created Malappuram District on June 16, 1969, with a Muslim majority. At that time many of those who opposed the formation of the district once again raised the bogy of “Moplastan.”

Chapter 4  1. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 1970, p. 1360.  2. Jaroslav Pelikan, The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100–600) (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971), p. 9. The analogous term orthodox is closely associated with traditional, rather than traditionalist. Traditionalism is hardened, unyielding orthodoxy.   3. Constance Padwick, Muslim Devotions (London: S.P.C.K., 1961), p. 132.   4. The founder of the noted Taramal family (Mambram Tangal), Sayyid Shaikh Jifri Tangal, came from Hadramaut to Calicut as late as 1755.  5. Freya Stark, The Southern Gates of Arabia (London: John Murray, 1936), pp. 209f. Stark counts sixty mosques in use and states that it is still the city of religion par excellence.   6. Ibid., p. 203.   7. C. N. Ahmed Maulavi, Parisuddha Khurān-Paribāshyum Wyākhyānawum (“The Holy Qurʾān, Translation and Commentary”) (Perumbavoor; Abdul Majeed Marikar, Vols. I and II; and Calicut; by the Author, Vols. III to Vl, 1951–1961.   8. A notable example. Emperor Firuz Tughluq, may have constructed or endowed as many as thirty schools in the Delhi region in the years 1351 to 1388. Cf. Ahmed, An Intellectual History, pp. 52–57, for other patrons.   9. J. M. Landau, “Kuttāb,” El2, V, p. 367. 10. Kuldip Kaur, Madrasa Education in India (Chandigarh: Centre for Research in Rural and Industrial Development, 1990), p. v.

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11. Innes, Malabar, p. 300. 12. V. Mohamed, “Moplah Education,” Farook College Annual: Silver Jubilee Number (Feroke: Feroke College, 1973), p. 117. 13. K. T. Mohammed Ali, Education Among the Mappilas, p. 118. 14. Ibid., p. 120; quoted from the “Report on Public Instruction in the Madras Presidency for the year 1936–1937.” 15. See Chapter 12, “Religious Rituals and Festivals: Saints and Superstition.” 16. For this summary I am indebted to A. T. T. Tibawi, Islamic Education (London; Luzac, 1972), pp. 23–27. 17. K. T. Mohammed Ali, Education Among the Mappilas, p. 58. 18. Kareem, Directory, pp. 779ff. 19. Clergy training schools reflect personality differences among maulavis, even though educationally they belong to the same general group. The schools may also represent reform movements or sectarian groups. 20. The name Jalālain is a dual form; it refers to the two Egyptian “Jalāls” who share the authorship of this standard orthodox Qurʾān commentary. They are al-Mahallī (d. 1459) and al-Suyūtī (d. 1505). 21. Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 261. 22. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Religion of Islam, p. 334. 23. K. Muhammad, Mappilamār Engoṭṭu (“Whither the Mappilas”), p. 184.

Chapter 5   1. J. G. J. Jansen, “Tajdīd,” EI 2, X, pp. 61f. For a full treatment of theological reform movements see Aziz Ahmad, “Islāh,” EI 2, IV, pp. 144–71; and W. Ende, “Salafiyya,” EI 2, VIII, pp. 900–09; for Mappila movements cf. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, and Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 255–307.   2. Osman Amin, Muhammad Abduh, trans. by Charles Wendell (Washington: American Council of Learned Societies, 1953), p. 12.  3. Furqān is a Quranic term applied to God’s signs, especially the Qurʾān. Pickthall and Yusuf Ali translate it as “Criterion,” Palmer as “Discrimination,” Rowley as “Illumination,” and Arberry as “Salvation.”  4. H. A. R. Gibb, Modern Trends in Islam (New York: Octagon Books, 1978), p. 42. See also Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798–1839 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970), pp. 130–60. Fazlur Rahman argues that Abduh’s contribution was not in “new ideas” but in a new approach, namely, that faith and reason “must cooperate,” Islam, p. 268.   5. In his article “Al-Manār,” EI 2, VI, pp. 360ff., J. Jomier credits its contribution to the Muslim awakening; however, he also notes that the later Rida veered from ʿAbduh’s progressive approach, especially in his Hanbalism and “schematic views of an apologetic nature.”  6. Cf. Charles Kurzman, ed. Modernist Islam, 1840–1940 (New York: Oxford, 2002), p. 314; quoted from Wakkom Maulaviyute Tiyanyeṭṭuka Krtikul (Wakkom: Maulavi Publications, 1979), p. 315, trans. by Roland Milier.

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  7. Ibid., p. 314.   8. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, pp. 75–80.   9. See Chapter 11 for the biography of “C. N.” 10. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, p. 133. 11. The Ahl-i-Hadith in North India who bore a striking philosophic resemblance to the Mappila theological reformers were also dismissed as “Wahhabis.” Cf. Murray Titus, Indian Islam, pp. 195f. 12. Miller Mappila Muslims, pp. 160f; in 1933 Seethi Sahib withdrew from his legal practice at Tellicherry to work full time for Muslim revival. 13. Cf. E. E. Abdul Qadir Musaliyar, Al-Munir Annual (Pattikad: Noorul Islam Students Association, 1972), pp. 83–93; the quotation is on p. 90, trans. by Roland Miller. 14. It is widely recognized that the accessing and use of Gulf monetary donations lay behind much of the acrimony. See also “The Impact of Gulf Money and Gulf Custom” in this chaper. 15. M. R. Masani, The Communist Party in India (Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1967, p. 248. 16. Kerala politics are famous for their shifting alignments both within parties and in coalitions; it is noteworthy that even the Muslim League divided into two groups from 1975 to 1985. 17. The Communist (ML) or Naxalite group, an anarchic movement, broke off from the Marxist group. It is Maoist in doctrine and violent in behavior; while the group faded from the scene in Kerala, it still continues elsewhere. 18. E. M. S. Namboodiripad, Conflicts and Crises (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1974), p. 92. 19. Ibid., p. 70. 20. Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 204. 21. Ravinder Kumar, ed., The Selected Works of Maulana Kalam Azad (New Delhi: Atlantic Publishers, 1992), IV, pp. 45f. 22. Speech at the 14th Session of the Central Advisory Board of Education, New Delhi, Ibid., III, (1991), pp. 111–13. Later quotes are also from this 1948 address. 23. Parliamentary speech on the Benares Hindu University Bill; Ibid. (1991), VI, p. 86. 24. V. Muhammad, “Moplah Education,” Farook College Annual, 1973, p. 118. 25. Abid Husain, Destiny, p. 227. 26. Ibid., p. 231. 27. See Chapter 11 for the biography of Professor Jaleel. 28. The educational complex also includes a primary school, high school, training school, as well as an Arabic college and extensive hostel facilities. Both the spellings Feroke and Farook are used for the college. 29. The full listing is found in Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 334f. 30. Professor Akbar S. Ahmed, a Cambridge anthropologist, makes the astute observation that Islamic culture is still engaged with various aspects of modernity, and therefore differs from Western culture which has entered the

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stage of post-modernity. “There exists . . . an intellectual time-warp between Muslims and the West.” Cf. his Postmodernism and Islam (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 28f. The Mappila educational history substantiates his contention. 31. Robert Lacy, The Kingdom. Arabia and the House of Saʿud (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich Publishers, 1981), p. 239. 32. Ibid., pp. 254ff. 33. About 1.5 million were resident at any one time. For sources cf. Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 321–26. 34. Cf. Arjan Roy Chaudhuri, “Emigration from India grows 27% in ‘03,” in The New Economic Times, October 20, 2004. 35. “Restive Foreign Workers Have Fearful Dubai Eyeing Reform,” New York Times, August 6, 2007, pp. Al, A8. The Emirate statistics are quoted from United Nations U.A.E. officials. 36. N. Vijay Mohan, “Gulf Dream: for Indians the Golden Beaches Still Gleam,” Malayala Manorama, 1990 (Kottayam: Malayala Manorama, 1990), pp. 414, 417. 37. Cf. Indian Express, November 5, 2007, p. 1. 38. See Times of India, November 5, 2007, p. 14, and Indian Express, November 6, 2007, p. 1; the development compelled the U.A.E. government to announce a. decision to look into the conditions. 39. These statistics were drawn from personal interviews in South Malabar in 2004, and are subject to variations in currency exchange rates; in 2007 there were eleven Indian rupees to the Saudi rial. The subject of the Gulf effect on Keralites is being investigated by Caroline and Filippo Osella. See, for example, “Migration, Money and Masculinity in Kerala,” in The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Vol. 6, No. 1, 2000, pp. 117–33, and “Once Upon the Time in the West: Stories of Migration and Modernity from Kerala, South India,” Ibid., Vol. 12, No. 3, 2006, pp. 569–88. 40. A study by the Kerala Sastra Sahitya Parishad (KSSP), quoted in Frontline, Vol. 23, No. 24, December 2–15, 2006, p. 32. 41. The Saudi Government has progressively modified aspects of its regulations, but the basic structure remains intact. For information regarding the Wahhabi movement up to 2002 see W.Peskes and W.Ende, “Wahhabiyya,” EI 2, XI, pp. 39–47. Ende (p. 47) states that in contemporary Saudi Arabia “ultra-orthodox Wahhabi principles and practices are upheld to a considerable extent.” That this remains true was illustrated in August, 2008, when the nation’s chief religious authority chose to ban the practice of birthday parties! On the other hand, in 2012 the first Saudi woman was permitted to participate in the London Olympics. 42. Fazlur Rahman, Islam, pp. 243, 245.

Chapter 6   1. See Appendix A, “Islamic Terms for Culture.”   2. Quoted in M. Zaid, ed., Congress Presidential Addresses (New Delhi: Indian Institute of Applied Political Research, 1989), IV, pp. 295, 306.

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 3. The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (Delhi: The Director, Publications Division, 1965), Vol. 21, p. 135.   4. Ibid., Vol. 23, p. 514.  5. Ibid., p. 3.  6. In the colonial context various organizations arose to represent Hindu interests. The earliest was the Arya Samaj, founded by Dayananda Saraswati in 1875. Since then many other revivalist Hindu associations have arisen, some with political connections.  7. Speech at Ernakulam on August 15, 1958, quoted in Aboosidiqqi, Seethi Sahib (Calicut: Green House, 1966; Malayalam), pp. 209ff.   8. Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 177. Kerala political parties tend to represent the interests of specific social and religious groups, although often indirectly.   9. The India Government’s Rajinder Sacher Committee made this observation of Indian Muslims in general (2006). With reference to the Mappilas it quoted a Kerala Government study (2000) reporting that Mappilas received only 10.54 percent of eligible state positions in contrast to their 24.70 percent of the population. Frontline, op. cit., p. 32. For an example of the strong Muslim feeling about their low representation in government services see K. M. Bahauddin, Kerala Muslim History: A Revisit (Calicut: Other Books, 2014), pp. 237f. 10. R. Walzer, “Akhlāk,” EI 2, I, p. 327. 11. For example, Prof. A. P. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 1, offers this comment on his inclusive use of the term Mappila: “. . . The term is applied to all Muslims in Kerala in general for the reason that all of them follow practically the-same-beliefs, social customs and practices.” As far as is known, no statistical poll of Mappila opinion on the issue has ever been taken. For the Mandal Commission cf. Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 342–46. 12. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, and M. H. Abdul Kareem, Mahattāya Māppiḷa Sāhityāpārambaryam “The Glorious Mappila Literary Tradition”), p. l.

Chapter 7   1. Aruna Asaf Ali, Resurgence of Indian Women (New Delhi: Radiant Publishers, 1991), pp. 218f.   2. Cf. Stanley Wolpert, India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), p. 226.  3. Arogya Gitang! (“Health Songs”) (Malappuram: Indian Population Project, n.d.), pp. 11f.   4. Javeed M. Ansari, “AIMPLB Differs on small family norm,” The Hindu, September 15, 2004, p. 11.  5. Indu Prakash Singh, Women, Law and Social Change (New Delhi: Radiant Publishers, 1989), p. 66.   6. The practice of dowry often produces very sad spin-off events. A notably disastrous one was the suicide of four Hindu sisters at Alappali, Palghat District, Kerala, on November 4, 1988, to relieve their parents “from the burden of dowry.” Ibid., p. 67.

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 7. My Mappila informant was Maulavi Karuvalli Muhammad, at Malappuram, November, 2005.   8. Rashid A. Chaudry, Muslim Festivals and Ceremonies (London: International Publications Ltd., 1988), p. 39.   9. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 182. 10. Mary Helen Miller, “A Mohammedan Wedding,” The Minaret, Vol. 10, No. 1, September 1954, p. 11. 11. Thurston, Tribes, IV, p. 493. 12. Kareem, Kerala District Gazetteers: Palghat, p. 203. 13. Gazetteers: Malappuram, p. 273. 14. Hammudah Abd al-Ati defines talāq al-bidʾa as “the triple divorce formula in the same sitting or the same breath;” see The Family Structure of Islam (Indianapolis: American Trust Publications, 1977), p. 241. There are also more obscure divorce methods that have some recognition; cf. Qadri, Jurisprudence, pp. 395ff; and Fyzee, Muhammadan Law, pp. l66ff. 15. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Religion of Islam, p. 295. 16. Ibid., p. 226. 17. N. Abdul, Mayyittu Parapālanum (“Funeral Service”) (Tirurangadi: C. H. Muhammad, 1982), p. 47.

Chapter 8   1. Professor K. A. Jaleel, in conversation at Feroke, November, 2005.   2. “Priority for Muslim Women,” New Indian Express, November, 2005.   3. Conversation in Malabar, November 22, 2006. Aysha Maqbool grew up in Saudi Arabia, was educated in Ernakulam, and now teaches English at Feroke. She is pursuing a higher degree at the University of Medina.  4. The next stage of Mappila Studies hopefully will be enhanced by close up investigations of family life that will also lead to a phenomenology of gender relations.  5. Ironically, Mappila cultural adaptation stands in sharp contrast to Al-Shāfiʾī’s strictly logical, systematic and traditions-emphasizing legal approach.   6. Imtiaz Ahmed, Family, p. xxix, suggests: “Perhaps we need a large number of individual studies of particular Muslim communities before we can hope to arrive anywhere close to a truly definite picture of family, kinship and marriage in India.” The Mappila marumakkathāyam system symbolizes that variety.   7. N. J. Coulson, A History of Islamic Law (Edinburgh: University Press, 1964), p. 17.   8. Fyzee, Muhammadan Law, p. 340.   9. This section of the verse refers to brothers and sisters of the same mother. A later verse, 4:176, takes up the case of brothers and sisters of any mother.

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10. Fyzee, Muhammadan Law, p. 387. 11. Ibid., p. 399. 12. Qadri, Jurisprudence, p. 428. 13. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Islam, pp, 309–11. 14. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 6. 15. There are pockets in Paravar, Edava, and Odettel taluks in former Travancore. Cf. K. M. Seethi Sahib, “Kerala Muslimkālum Marumakkathāya Sambradāyum,” in P. A. Syed Muhammad, ed., Kerala Muslim Directory, pp. 409ff. 16. I owe the translation of tarawād as “ancestral home” to Mr. V. Abdulla. 17. Cf. Innes, Malabar, pp. 96f. 18. It should be noted that not all Nayars followed marumakkathāyam. Moreover, a few other caste groups also observed it, sometime partially, sometimes only in certain regions. North Kerala Tiyyas appear to have been among them (Menon, Survey, p. 265), but South Malabar and other Tiyyas observed makkathāyam (Innes, Malabar, p. 125). 19. The Arakkal family followed a modified system, the senior-most person, female (Arakkal Bibi) or male (Ali Raja) becoming the ruler. 20. Victor S. D’Souza, “Kinship Organization and Marriage Customs Among the Moplahs on the Southwest Coast of India,” in Imtiaz Ahmed, Family, p. 150. 21. D’Souza, Ibid., pp. l42f, reports on further hybrid phenomena. 22. K. M. Seethi, “The Muslims of Kerala and the Customary Act,” Kerala Muslim Directory, op. cit., p. 412f. 23. Adrian C. Mayer, Land and Society in Malabar (London: Oxford University Press, 1952), p. 101. 24. David M. Schneider and Kathleen Gough, Matrilinear Kinship (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1961), p. 432. 25. Barbara Riedel, Letter from Calicut, February 25, 2005; Ms. Riedel has studied culture change among Mappila college students. See her Orient und Okzident in Calicut (Heidelberg: Draupadi Verlag, 2014), Ch. 5, for firsthand information about the attitudes of Muslim youth in the tarawāds.

Chapter 9   1. See Asghar Ali Engineer, Indian Muslims (New Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1985), p. 330; N. C. Saxena, “Public Employment and Educational Backwardness among the Muslims in India,” in Moin Shakir, ed., Religion State and Politics in India (Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1989), p. 180; and Bhaskar Roy, “Mind of Indian Muslims,” Indian Express Sunday Magazine, September 22, 1991, quoted in Muslim India, December, 1991, p. 569. Roy says, “Muslims have never been so badly off.” See also National Sample Survey, 4th Round, 1990, quoted in MI, IX, No. 108, December 1991, p. 60. Yet another Central

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Government commission in November 2006, found that the problem still continues.   2. This figure is for March 31, 1983, taken from the Writ Petition, No. 930, 1990, op. cit.   3. See “Malabar Land Tenure System,” in Miller, Mappila Muslims, App. C, pp. 355f.  4. Writ Petition, op. cit., p. 4, 5   5. The author first met this reality in the town of Manjeri, South Malabar, in September 1953, when a single Mappila porter carried a trunk on his head for a city block; it had earlier taken four Westerners to lift the same trunk!   6. P. R. G. Mathur, The Mappila Fisherfolk of Kerala (Trivandrum: Kerala Historical Society, 1977), p. 23.  7. Ibid., pp. 206, 221.   8. K. T. Mohammed Ali, Education, p. 189.   9. C. K. Kareem, compiled, Kerala District Gazetteers: Malappuram (Trivanchrum: Government Press, 1986, pp. 268f. 10. Mrs. Mary Helen Miller, the writer’s wife, has provided helpful research information on women’s dress, ornaments, and general behavior. 11. Ibid. 12. Thurston, Castes and Tribes, IV, p. 484. 13. Kareem, Malappuram, p. 213. 14. Originating in northeast Africa, the henna stain was used as far back as ancient Egypt for decorating hands, feet, and nails, and as a hair colorant; henna is derived from the Ar. al-hinna. The henna plant is a low tree or shrub. 15. For further details of a cottage industry involving henna preparation and marketing by Mappila women in Calicut see “Henna way to fame and riches,” New Indian Express, Kozhikode, November 26, 2005, p. 2. 16. MI, III, No. 2, 7, March 1985, p. 111. 17. Cassava or manioc (manihot esculanta) is often confused with sweet potato or yam (dioscoreaceae), which is also found in South Asia. Cassava is native to the South American tropics and may have been brought to Kerala from Brazil by the Portuguese. What is called “tapioca” in the West, a pudding material, is made from cassava starch. Without explanation Gundert, Dictionary, p. 368, followed by other Malayalam dictionaries, suggests that chini is a sweet potato of the convolvalus batatas species. 18. While the cow is sacred for orthodox Hindus, the mixed population of the state and general sensitivity have ensured that there is little agitation over the issue. 19. Ummi Abdulla, Malabar Muslim Cookery (Madras: Orient Longman, 1981), passim. 20. The origin of the word biriyani is obscure. C. Madhavan Pilla, Malayalam-English Dictionary, lists it as an Arabic term, but without etymology; Arabic dictionaries are silent. Pilau is derived from Persian. Its Turkish variant is pilav, hence the occasional English spelling pilaf.

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21. Sivaprasad Bhattacarya, “Religious Practices of the Hindus,” in Kenneth W. Morgan, ed. The Religion of the Hindus (New York: The Ronald Press Company, 1953), p. 164. 22. Miller, Muslim Friends, p. 218. 23. Innes, ed. Malabar, p. 291. 24. For example, in 1954 the author and Veeran Maestry, a Mappila contractor, built the first septic tank at Malappuram, which then became a model for others. In the backward Melmuri area in the same district Dr. Victoria Mathews and Mr. Tharyan Mathews constructed a large number of protective well covers and latrines under the auspices of Canadian Lutheran World Relief. 25. I am unable to trace the origin of this health song, but regard it as one of the Aroqya Gitang, op. cit., produced under the direction of Dr. A. Mohammed. 26. Qadri, Jurisprudence, p. 187. 27. Cf. Reuben Levy, The Social Structure of Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2962), pp. 73–90; for slavery in Islamic history see pp. 117f, and for concubinage p. 234. Cf. also Joseph Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), pp. 127–30. B. Lewis in What Went Wrong? (New York: Oxford, 2002), p. 89, records that slavery was only abolished in Yemen and Saudi Arabia in 1962. 28. There were two types of slave activity in southwest India—slave trading and agricultural slavery. Slave trading was a severe problem in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when children were kidnapped by robber bands and were dispatched from Cochin and Mahe to foreign markets. In 1792 the Joint Commissioners in Malabar outlawed this practice as one of the first acts of English rule. Agricultural slavery was related to the land ownership system. People were attached to the land as serfs, and were bought and sold along with the land. This easily reverted to the outright buying and selling of people. As late as August 10, 1844, a ten-month-old child was sold in court auction for Rs.1.65. In some taluks women brought higher prices than men with a view to their ability to breed more slaves. This agrarian slavery was formally abolished in Travancore in 1812, in Malabar in 1843, and in Cochin in 1854, and the passage of the India Penal Code in 1862 delivered a final legal blow to the practice. It continued sporadically thereafter. In Malabar the bulk of the agricultural slaves belonged to the Cherumar outcastes, and in the nineteenth century many became Muslims to escape their condition. In 1857, however, they still numbered 187,812. Cf. Logan, Manual, I, pp. l50ff, and Menon, Survey of Kerala History, passim. 29. Levy, Social Structure, p. 84, quoting Snouck Hurgronje, Mecca, II, p. 15. 30. Yusuf Ali, Commentary, pp. l83f, interprets the passage 4:13–16 to refer to lesbianism and homosexuality, the punishment for both to be an indefinite form of confinement. 31. Ibn Khaldun, The Muqqadimah, trans. by Franz Rosenthal, abridged by N. J. Dawood (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), pp. 288f.

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Chapter 10   1. Pliny called it Patate; the Portuguese Pandarani; Ibn Batutah Fandaraina; and Sheikh Zein-ud-Din Fundreah; cf. Innes, Malabar, p. 464.   2. “Muslim Sub-Divisions,” Kerala Muslim Directory, pp. 478ff.   3. Cf. Victor D’Souza, “Social Organization,” Anthropos, LIV (1939), p. 504, who deals with separate mosques. D’Souza, followed by Ibrahim Kunju and others, uses the term “Malabari” to describe the general run of Mappilas; this narrow term does not represent common Mappila usage.   4. In late 2007 a McKinsey Global Institute report predicted that India’s middle class would increase from the current 50 million to 583 million by 2025 and consumer spending would quadruple from the current Rs.17 trillion to Rs.70 trillion by 2022. Mumbai Mirror, November 5, 2007, p. 26.   5. M. G. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, I, The Classical Age (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, p. 303.   6. Ahmad, Intellectual History, p. 57.   7. Kareem, ed., History, Statistics and Directory, pp. 779ff.  8. Conversation with Shihab Tangal at Panakkad, South Malabar, December 2005.  9. Prospectus of the Islamic (Sunni) Cultural Complex, Karanthoor, n.d., p. 1. 10. Quoted from an interview with “A. P.” and faculty members at Karanthoor, November 10, 1990. 11. Kareem, Directory, pp. 799f. This 1991 figure awaits up-dating. 12. Kareem, Malappuram District Gazetteer, p. 721. Of the 131,165 elementary students opting for Arabic in Kerala (1985) 35 percent were located in Malappuram District. 13. Kareem, Directory, pp. 799f. 14. Karuvalli Muhammad, “Arabic Education in Kerala,” op. cit., p. 249. 15. Ibid. 16. The list is taken from the University of Calicut’s School of Distance Education Handbook, 2004–2005, p. 120. 17. As an example, cf. the interior South Malabar town of Wandoor where two English medium schools have been established with classes from kindergarten to “plus two.” In one of them, the Otten School, 63 percent of the students are Mappila children (2011). 18. “Education Plus, Aiming for the Starts,” The Hindu, September 4, 2004, p. 5. 19. See the Muslim Education Society’s 2003–2004 Warshatte, 39th Warshika Report (“The Year 2003–2004, 39th Annual Report”) (Calicut: M.E.S. Office, 2004), p. 43. In dollars the comparative figure would be about $1,522,500! 20. Brochure of S.A.F.I. (Cochin: The Board of Trustees, SAFI, n.d.). 21. S.A.F.I. Inauguration Brochure. 22. K. A. Jaleel, Kēralattile Muslim Sānnidhyum (“Muslim Presence in Kerala”) (Trivandrum: Muslim Cultural Trust, n.d.), pp. 15–18.

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23. In an earlier work, in introducing the critical early years of the Mappila entry into politics the writer used the phrase “salvation by politics” to describe the basic Mappila motivation. The phrase still applies, though with less force, as some Mappilas now look either to education or to economic improvement as the community’s hope. Cf. Miller, Mappilas, pp. 167–72. 24. In an example of a Mujahid split, one faction led by Maulavi A. P. Abdul Khader was adamant that the immediate implementation of the tawhīd principle is needed and there can be no compromise with superstitious practices bordering on shirk, while another faction led by Maulavi Hussain Madavoor advised a slower pace of change. The argument led to violence. Both groups claimed control over a mosque at Kodunthirapully in Palghat District, and in the ensuing struggle in October 2005, the mosque was demolished. Cf. the New Indian Express, October 5, 2005, p. 3. 25. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, p. 128. 26. M. Gaborieau, “Tablīghī Djamāʿat,” EI 2, X, pp. 38f. 27. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, p. 149. 28. Cf. supra, Chapter V, Section 4. 29. See the New Indian Express, November 6, 2007, p. 6.

Chapter 11   1. Syed Shihabuddin, Muslim India, VIII, No. 86, p. 51.   2. Among the many holding this view is A. A. Engineer, Indian Muslims (Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1985), p. 309, who says, “After partition even the educated classes who were in the professions of military and government service had migrated to Pakistan.”   3. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and K. K. Abdul Kareem, The Glorious Tradition, p. 616.   4. For a description of that rational approach see Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 278–80. “C. N.” exercised considerable exegetical freedom in his commentary.   5. The quotations are from Ayesha Jaleel, “Muslim Women and Their Problems,” in K. A. Jaleel, ed., Ayisha Jaleel Smaraka Grantham (“Memorial Volume for Ayisha Jaleel”) (Calicut: K. A. Jaleel, 1988), pp. 88f.   6. Quoted in Rahim Mechary, ed., Karmawithiyil Kalanuttandu (“Essays and Memoirs”) Calicut, 2001), pp. 113f.   7. G. M. Banathwalla, “Message,” Ibid., p. 11.   8. N. Madhavankutty, “Essays and Memoirs,” Ibid., pp. 101f.  9. The Indian Express, November 6, 2007, p. 5. 10. The locale was the still flourishing Christian Welfare Centre, Malappuram, South Malabar, which was established in 1956. 11. Abdul Samad Samadani, Khurān Manushya Vijāyattilēke (“The Quran Leads to Human Victory”), Muslim Service Society Journal, October 2004, p. 52. 12. K. A. Jaleel, “On Wakf and Wakf Laws,” al-Harmony, Vol. 3, No. 3, Jan.–Mar., 2002, p. 18. For the Wakf Act itself, consult A. A. Fyzee, Outlines of

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Muhammadan Law, 4th ed., pp. 280ff. The spelling “wakf” conforms to Indian Muslim practice. 13. See, R. Peters, et al., “Wakf,” EI 2, XI, pp. 59ff. 14. A. A. Qadri, Muslim Jurisprudence, 2nd rev. ed., pp. 455–57. 15. Fyzee, Muhammadan Law, p. 318. 16. Kareem, Malappuram, pp. 797f. 17. Jaleel, “Wakf,” al-Harmony, p. 21. 18. Cf. the author’s following book chapters: “The Dynamics of Religious Co-Existence in Kerala: Muslims, Christians and Hindus,” ChristianMuslim Encounters, ed. by Y. Y. and W. Z. Haddad (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1995), pp. 263–84; “Religious Interaction in Kerala,” Conversion and Continuity: Indigenous Christian Communities in Medieval Islamic Lands, ed. by M. Gergers and R. J. Bikhazi (Toronto: The Pontifican Institute of Medieval Studies, 1990), pp. 437–48; and “Trialogue in Kerala,” Hindu-Christian Dialogue, ed. by Harold Coward (New York: Orbis, 1989), pp. 47–63. 19. The expatriate woman was Mrs. Mary Helen Miller. 20. The phrase “competitive religiosity” was used by P. Chidambaram, Minister of State for Home Affairs, in a Lok Sabha speech at New Delhi, October 12, 1989, as reported in Muslim India, VII, No. 83, November 1989, pp. 504ff. 21. The Hindu, September 29, 2004, p. 10. 22. Quoted in the New Indian Express, October 10, 2005, p. 15. 23. Ibid., December 6, 2002, p. 1.

Chapter 12   1. For a full discussion of the details of the five basic Islamic rituals see Miller, Muslim Friends, pp. 210–40.   2. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Religion of Islam, p. 138.  3. Malayala Manorama, November 20, 2005, p. 1.  4. The Hindu, December 3, 2005, p. 6.   5. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Religion of Islam, p. 279.   6. Sell, Faith of Islam, p. 436.   7. Ibid., p. 432.   8. Kareem, Kerala District Gazetteer: Palghat, p. 239.   9. Kareem, Kerala District Gazetteer: Malappuram, p. 215. 10. S. M. Koya, Mappilas of Malabar. Studies in Social and Cultural History (Calicut: Sandhya Publications, 1983), p. 102. Similar statements have been made with reference to other Indian Muslims. Sell, Faith of Islam, p. 429, states: “Among other practices borrowed from the Hindus must be placed the pilgrimage made by Indian Musulmans to the shrine of saints.” For examples of genuine syncretic groups in Indian Islam cf. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, pp. 10–19. 11. B. Radthke, “Walī,” EI 2, xi, p. 109.

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12. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, p. 345, is of the opinion that this impact “began to be felt in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries after the consolidation of the main Sufi orders in the central provinces of India.” Sir Thomas Arnold notes: “Each of these [major] religious orders originated outside India.” Cf. his “Saints and Martyrs (Muhammadan in India)” ERE, II, p. 68. 13. Titus, Islam in India, p. 37; see his entire chapter on “Saint-Worship,” pp. 137–52. This description is borne out by the myriad saint shrines that dot the landscapes of North and Central India. Cf. Christian Troll, ed., Muslim Shrines in India (Delhi: Oxford, 1993); Zahra Khatoon, Muslim Saints and Shrines (Jammu: Jay Kay Book House, 1990); and S. A. Rizvi, A History of Sufism in India, 2 vols. (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1978–83). 14. V. Kunhali, “The Felicitous Heritage of the Sufi Tradition,” in Mechary, Essays, p. 139, wisely maintains the distinction between sayyids and sufis, even though some individuals fall into both categories. 15. Quoted in Mitankutty, Hazrat Muhammad Shah Tangal (Kondotti: Makkoli Ahmadkutty, 1961; Mal.), p. 17. “Shaikh” means a leader, important teacher, or head of a Sufi Order. 16. See Krishna Chaitanya, A History of Malayalam Literature (New Delhi: Orient Longman Ltd., 1971), pp. 31–34, for a full account. 17. G. Ragunath, “Vavar, Ayyappa’s Muslim Disciple,” New Indian Express, December 1, 2002, p. 13. An Erumeli resident states: “To us both the mosque and the temple are equally sacrosanct.” 18. O. Lofgren, “Ahmad b. Muhammad b. ʿAli b. al-ʾArid b. Djaʾfar al-Sadik,” EI 2, I, pp. 277f. 19. Ibid., “Ba ʿAlawi,” pp. 828f. 20. Ibid., “Aydarus,” p. 781. 21. K. Usman, “His Life and Mission,” al-Harmony, Vol. 4, No. 4, April– June, 2003, p. 41. 22. Molla Ghawasi, quoted in Annemarie Schimmel, And Muhammad Is His Messenger, (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985), p. 122. 23. At an early stage Islamic scholars developed a theory of the sinlessness of the prophets. But since to err is human and since God chided even prophets in the Qurʾān, the theory has now been modified to say that the prophets and other saints do not commit any major sins. 24. G. S. Colin, “Baraka,” EI 2, I, p. 1032. 25. Muhammad Abdul Kareem, Sayyid Alavi Tangal (Tirurangadi: C. H. Muhammad and Sons, 1970; Mal.), p. 28. 26. Innes, Gazetteer, p. 79. 27. Louis Gardet, “Karama,” EI 2, IV, p. 610. 28. Kunhali, Sufism, p. 93. 29. Mitankutty, Muhammad Shah, p. 20. 30. Innes, Gazetteer, p. 443. 31. In striking contrast is the experience of Shaikh Hamdani Tangal in the central region of Kerala; when he promoted his sufi Hamdani Order, it was tolerated.

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Notes to Chapter 12

32. T. W. Arnold “Saints and Martyrs,” ERE, II, p. 69. 33. Futuh Al-Ghaib (“The Revelations of the Unseen”), trans. by Aftabud-Din Ahmad (Lahore: Sh.Muhammad Ashraf, 1958), pp. 201f. 34. Kunhali, Sufism, pp. 28f. 35. H. Gundert, A Malayalam and English Dictionary (Mangalore: Basel Mission Book and Trust Depository, 1872), p. 583. 36. For Mappila nērchas see Said M. Shah, “Muslim Celebrations in Kerala,” Kerala Muslim Directory, pp. 414–28; various Gazetteers, especially C. K. Kareem’s Malappuram District and A. Sreedhara Menon’s Kozhikode District; E. Thurston, Castes and Tribes, IV, esp. pp. 464–89, provides older materials. For the Malappuram nērcha cf. K. K. Abdul Kareem, introd. to Moyinkutty Vaidyar, Malappuram Khissa Pāttukul (Alwaye: P. B. Arifa Beevi, n.d.; Mal.), pp. lff; and Manorama, April 7, 1972, p. 8. For the Islamic mawlūd tradition see H. Fuchs, “Maulid,” EI 2 VI, pp. 895f, while V. P. M. Villiapally, Maulid Entu Entalla (“What a Maulid Is and Is Not”) (Pattikad: Noorul Ulama Students Association, 1971) makes a defense of the traditional Mappila practice. 37. Arnold, “Saints and Martyrs,” op. cit., p. 71; Sell, Faith of Islam, p. 416, refers to it as bara wafat. 38. K. K. Abdul Kareem, Moyinkutty Vaidyar, pp. lff. 39. F. Fawcett, “War Songs of the Mappillas of Malabar,” Indian Antiquary, XXVIII, March 1899, pp. 50f. 40. Sreedhara Menon, Cultural Heritage of Kerala, an Introduction (Cochin: East-West Publications Private Ltd., 1978), p. 59. 41. For a contemporary Mappila evaluation of the Mambram shrine’s significance cf. K. K. Mohammed Abdul Sathar, “Mambram Thangals and Communal Harmony: A Critique to Colonial Perception,” in Proceedings, South Indian History Congress (Calicut, 2004), pp. 406–408. 42. Imperial Gazetteer of India, Vol. XIX (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908), p. 3. Jaʾfar Sharif describes the festivals of Qadirwali Sahib and the Mappila participation in Islam in India, trans. by G. A. Herklots and ed. by W. Crooke (London: Oxford, 1921; first published 1832), pp. 197–200. 43. Adam Mez, The Renaissance of Islam (London: Luzac & Co., 1937), p. 427. 44. H. Fuchs, “Maulid,” Shorter Encyclopedia of Islam, p. 367. 45. Padwick, Muslim Devotions, p. 147. 46. Kunhali, Sufism, p. 24. 47. Mathur, Mappila Fisherfolk, p. 308. 48. Ibid., pp. 306ff. 49. Ibid., p. 313, and pp. 305–08. 50. Samad, Islam, p. 103, passim. 51. Bronislaw Malinowski, “Man, Science and Religion,” in J. D. Bettis, ed., Phenomenology of Religion (New York: Harper & Row, 1969), p. 196. The Committee of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Notes and Queries on Anthropology (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd., 1951), states: “There is no agreement among anthropologists on the use of the terms ‘magic’ and ‘religion’  .  .  .  ” (p. 174).

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52.  John Noss, Man’s Religions (New York: Macmillan Co., 1963), p. 20. 53. T. Fahd, “Sihr,” EI 2, IX, pp. 567–71; and Fahd, “Rukya,” EI 2, VIII, p. 600. 54.  Muslim in James Robson, ed., Mishkat al-Masabih (Lahore: Sh.Muhammad Ashraf, 1964), III, p. 947. 55.  Ibid., p. 961. 56.  Ibn Khaldun, Muqqadimah, p. 395. 57. Kareem, Palghat Gazetteer, p. 241. 58. Kunhali, Sufism, p. 41; see also p. 23. 59. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, pp. 248f. 60. Mathur, Fisherfolk, pp. 314–317. 61. The name is a pseudonym: the incident took place in 1962. Nafeesa’s hands and feet were still shackled when the family delivered her into professional care. 62. While the Malayalam term homam literally means sacrifice, referring in particular to the Hindu tradition of fire sacrifice, in this context it may be translated as “offering.”

Chapter 13   1. Menon, Survey, p. 31.  2. Richard Ettinghausen, “The Man-Made Setting,” in Bernard Lewis, ed., Islam and the Arab (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1976), pp. 63f.  3. “Islam Ponnaniyil,” in Husain Randathani, ed., Makhdoomum Ponnaniyum (“Makhdum and Ponnani,”) (Ponnani:Masjid Committee, 1988), p. 35.   4. Ibid., p. 38.  5. Mammu Koya, History of Calicut Muslims, p. 215. Of. the detailed description in P. K. M. Koya, “Mishkal Palli—A Brief History,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Vol. L, Part One, April 1991, pp. 75–93.   6. Conversation with Karuvalli Muhammad Maulavi at Malappuram, November 2005.  7. Varikoden Baba of Kodur, Malappuram Dt., who also assisted the development of this study in various ways.  8. P. K. Muhammadkunyu, Keralattile Muslim Pallikul (“Muslim Mosques in Kerala”) (Calicut: Al-Huda Book Stall, 1988), passim.   9. Kareem, Malappuram, p. 296; Sreedhara Menon, Gazetteer, 1962, p. 218, reported 2,462 mosques in undivided Kozhikode Dt., a higher percentage. 10. I am using the approximate figure of 8,900,000 for the Mappila population in 2014; see Ch. 1. 11. Enakshi Bhavani, Decorative Designs and Craftsmanship of India (Bombay: D. V. Tarapovela & Son Ltd., 1969), p. 88. 12. These artistic contributions are not well recognized. In Stella Kamrisch, The Arts and Crafts of Kerala (Cochin: Paico Publishing House, 1970), first published as “The Arts and Crafts of Travancore,” no mention of Muslim artistic contributions is made.

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13. Menon, Survey, p. 429. 14. The classical dance styles include Kudipattam, Chakiyarkuthu, Mohini-Ottam, Kathakali, and Ottam-Tullal. 15. Hindu heroic ballads were called Teyyams. For example, in the Badagara area of North Malabar a Teyyam commemorates the exploits of Tacholi Ottenam a kind of “Robin Hood” figure. Mappilas adapted the medium in such epics as the Madayi Teyyam that recalls the conversion of Cheraman Perumal and the mosque building program of Malik ibn Dinar. See Logan, Manual, I, p. 196. 16. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, p. 247. 17. Al-Jīlanī, Futuh Al-Ghalib, op. cit., pp. 201f. 18. Kunyali, Sufism in Kerala, pp. 27–30. 19. Badr was the first battle waged by nascent Muslims in 624, ending in an important victory. Uhud in 625 was a stalemate as the Meccans withdrew from a siege. In 628 Muhammad’s forces subdued the Jewish fort at the oasis of Khaybar north of Medina. In 629 at Hunayn near Mecca, Muslims overcame resistant Arab tribes. For an introduction to over thirty song-poems and song-stories see C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, pp. 228–269. 20. Logan, Manual, I, pp. 557 and 103f. 21. F. Fawcett, “A Popular Mopla Song,” trans. by T. Kannan, Indian Antiquary, XXVIII, March 1899, p. 65. Fawcett regards the story as an adaptation of the Persian romance Nasr-i-Be-Nazir (“story of a prince”), which was rendered into English by C. W. Bowdler Bell, 1871, as “An Eastern Fairy-Tale,” However, the Mappila version claims it is an adaptation of an Urdu translation of the same work by Mir Hasan of Delhi, 1802. 22. K. M. Pandavoor, Kaikottipāṭṭukul (“Songs for Hand Clapping”) (Parappanangadi: Bayaniyya Book Stall, n.d.), pp. 5–20. “Aminabeevi” is one of the songs. 23. Nafeesatmala (“Nafeesa’s Song”) (Tirurangadi: C. H. Muhammad & Sons, n.d.). 24. Cf. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and K. K. M. Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, pp. 162–67, for available information about this unusual figure, who is said to have been associated with the Zamorin’s court. 25. Hasan Nediyadu, Tawhīd Gānangl (“Songs of Tawhid”) (Calicut: Rajana Kalasahiti, n.d.), p. l. 26. Pōruvin sahōdara, dhīra mujāhidakul (“Strive, o brothers and brave mujahids”) (Calicut: Mujahid Centre, 1988), p. l. 27. The selections are from “A Lullaby” and “Angel of Mercy” in Arōgya Gītanql, op. cit., p. 19. 28. Shailash Menon, “For Generations Next . . . Mappila patta takes trendy plunge in album era,” New Indian Express, October 5, 2004, p. 3. 29. Ibid. 30. Ninglē Chāyil Madrumilla (“There is No Sweetness in Your Tea”) (Tirurangadi: Nurul Islam Press, n.d.), pp. 4–10.

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391

31. The Arabs had a great variety of musical instruments; cf. the listing in H. H. Farmer, “Music,” The Legacy of Islam (London: Oxford University Press, 1931, 1st ed.), pp. 360–62. O. Wright, “Music,” in the 2nd ed., 1974, p. 501, makes the important point that it was the Arab instruments rather than the Arab music itself that was “disseminated among the trade routes,” but the movement to southwest India was a limited one. 32. Amjad Ali Khan, “Music is life,” in The Week, Vol. 25, No. 52, November 25, 2007, p. 98.

Chapter 14   1. Krishna Chaitanya, Malayalam Literature, p. 196.   2. Menon, Survey, pp. 184f.  3. Cf. Krishna Ayyar, Short History, p. 166, and Menon, Survey, pp. 395–98. For further background see also articles on “Malayalam” by K. R. Srinivasa Iyengar and S. K. Nayar in R. C. Majumdar, ed., The History and Culture of the Indian People (Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan), Vol. 6 (1960) and Vol. 7 (1977).   4. Krishna Chaitanya, Malayalam Literature, p. 166.   5. Various groups, including the Trichur Sahitya Akademi, have made efforts to preserve the palm-leaf collections, but not many manuscripts have been reproduced. The Trichur collection includes 170 writings on Hindu epics, grammatical works, and especially Ayurveda.   6. P. P. Nambutiri,”Musliminglum Malayāla Sāhityavum,” (“Muslims and Malayalam Literature”) in the Farook College Annual, Silver Jubilee Souvenir (Feroke: Farook College, 1973) p. 67. In contrast, P. P. Mammed Kova, Kozhikode Muslims, p. 248, states: “If you would [have] ask[ed], a hundred years ago, were there Muslim publications in the mother tongue, the answer would be no.”   7. Gibb, Arabic Literature, p. 38.  8. K. A. Jaleel, Lipikālum Manavasamskāravum (“Scripts and Civilization”) (Trivandrum: Institute of Languages-Nalanda, 1989), p. 143; Jaleel with other scholars distinguishes between “the Arabic language” and “the South Arabic language.”   9. Donner, Early Islamic Conquests, p. 12. See Nicholson, Literary History, pp. 5–11, for an introduction to South Arab Culture; cf.also the works of R. B. Y. Serjeant, including The Sayyids of Hadramaut (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1957). 10. O. Löfgren, “Al-Hamdānī,” EI 2, III, pp. 124f; cf. Ilse Lichtenstadter, “Neswān b. Saʾid, EI 2, VII, pp. 976f. Neshwān took up from al-Hamdānī the task of “rescuing from oblivion the legends of the South Arabian kingdoms.” 11. This was not only true in Kerala. Prof. Syed Mohideen Shah notes that “most literary-works produced in Arabic in India pertain to theology and jurisprudence;” cf. his “India Arab Relations,” Silver Jubilee Number, Farook College Annual, p. 82.

392

Notes to Chapter 14

12. The date is noted by Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 208. 13. Kareem, Kerala Muslims, III, p. 227. 14. S. M. Koya, Mappilas of Malabar. Studies in Social and Cultural History (Calicut: Sandhya Publications, 1983), p. 98. 15. K. V. Abdul Rahiman, “A Mappila Savant of the 16th Century,” in Farook College, Fortieth Anniversary Souvenir, 1988, pp. 201f. 16. Two English translations are available; preferred is S. Muhammad Husayn Nainar’s trans., Tohfut-ul-Mujahideen (Madras: University of Madras), 1942. See the new edition, released by Other Books in 2006, which includes a helpful biography of Shaikh Zeinuddin Jr., by A. I. Vilayathullah. 17. Karuvalli Muhammad, “Muslim Arabic Education,” in Farook College, Fortieth Anniversary Souvenir, p. 248. Aziz Ahmad reminds us that this is the general situation among Indian Muslims. He says, “Arabic was used sparingly, and mainly for religious scholarship,” Islam in India, p. 66. 18. Cf. P. A. Seyd Muhammad, “Mappila Sāhityum” (“Mappila Literature”) in Farook College Annual, Silver Jubilee Number, 1973, p. 56. 19. Ibid. 20. Koya, Mappilas, p. 96. 21. Seyd Muhammad, “Mappila Sāhityum,” op. cit., p. 22. 22. A well-rounded summary of Vaidyar’s work and influence is K. M. Ahmed, ed. Mahākavi Moyinkutty Vaidyar Paṭhanangḷ (“Essays on the Great Poet, Moyinkutty Vaidyar”) (Kondotti: Moyinkutty Vaidyar Memorial Committee, 2006). This Malayalam collection by 26 writers testifies to the poet’s place in Mappila affection. 23. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 204; see his entire chapter, pp. 198–212, on “The Mappila Literary Heritage.” 24. O. Abu, Fātima Bīvīyute Wafāt (“The Death of Fatima Beevi”) (Chavakat: Laila Book Stall, 1979), pp. 135f. For the history of Arabic-Malayalam literature see his Arabi-Malayāla Sāhitya Charitrum (“The Arabic-Malayalam Literary Tradition”) (Kottayam: Sahitya Publications, 1970). 25. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 208. This scholar considers a transliteration of the Jalālaini by Mayinkutty Elaya in six volumes (1872–77) to be the first prose work in this genre. 26. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and K. Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, pp. 51f, hold this view on the basis of a lithographic imprint; the date would slightly precede the first Malayalam novels, but Chavar Darwish is not an original work. 27. For the quotation cf. Claud Field’s tr. of the Urdu version of the Kīmīya, namely The Alchemy of Happiness (London: Octagon Press, 1980), p. 119. 28. Even the Aikya Sankhum published an Arabic-Malayalam monthly, Al-Irshad, although only for two years (1923–24). K. M. Maulavi is an example of a reformer who continued publishing in Arabic–Malayalam until his death (1964). 29. Karuvalli Muhammad, Arabi Islamika Widyābhyāsum Kēraḷaṭṭil (“Muslim Arabic Education in Kerala”), Farook College, Fortieth Anniversary Souvenir, 1988, p. 247.

Notes to Chapter 14

393

30. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, p. 426. 31. Abdul Samad, Islam, p. 47. 32. Ibid., p. 66; quoted from Koya, Kerala Muslīmkālum Patra Pravartanum (“Journalism and Kerala Muslims”), in Kerala Muslim Directory, p. 362. 33. Mammen Koya, Kozhikode Muslims, pp. 249–60. 34. E. K. Maulavi, “Another New Monthly,” Mishkatul Huda, Vol. l, October 1958, p. 15. A prominent reformer, E. K. (1879–1974) of Tellicherry was a colleague of Wakkom Maulavi. 35. Abdul Samad, Islam, p. 136. 36. The Malabar Review, 1941–44, was the first Mappila cultural magazine introducing color plates; see Mammen Koya, Kozhikode Muslims, p. 251. 37. M.S.S. Journal, October 2004, p. 7. 38. The M.E.S. also published an English language journal, The Voice of Islam, from 1975. 39. Editorial, al-Harmony, Vol. 4, No. l, July–September, 2002, p. 5. 40. Editorial, al-Harmony, Vol. 5, No. 3, January–March, 2004, p. 5. 41. V. Abdulla, “Translator’s Introduction,” Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, Voices/The Walls (Bombay: Sangam Books, 1976), p. 5. 42. Ibid. 43. G. Kumara Pillai, “Introduction,” Vaikom Mohammed Basheer, The Love Letter and Other Stories, trans. by V. Abdulla (Madras: Sangam Books, 1983), p. 4. 44. Abdulla, Voices, p. 3. 45. “Introduction,” The Love Letter, p. 5. 46. Krishna Chaitanya, Malayalam Literature, p. 46. 47. Basheer, Nduppuppakkorānentarnnu (Kottayam: Indian Press, 1961); the novel has received large printings for use in schools. 48. Basheer, Maranaṭṭinde Niṛalil (“In the Shadow of Death”) (Kottayam: Sahitya Pravartaka Society Ltds., 1965), p. 5. 49. Basheer, Voices, pp. 53, 56. 50. Basheer, Amma (“Mother”), in The Love Letter, op. cit., pp. 50–64. 51. In Prema Lekhanum (“The Love Letter”) Basheer uses the story of a love affair between a Hindu man, Kesvan Nayar, and a Christian woman, Saramma, to illustrate the common Malayali social problem of intermarriage, and its implications for children. 52. N. P. Muhammad, Driftwood/The Bull, trans. by P. Bhaskaran and V. Abdulla (Bombay: Sangam Book, 1976), passim. 53. N. P. Muhammad, Mānushyakum (“Humanity”) (Calicut: Poorna Publications, 1981), p. 26. 54. Krishna Chaitanya, Malayalam Literature, p. 366. 55. K. T. Muhammad, Weḷḷapokkum (“The Flood”) (Calicut: Medha Publications, 2003), pp. 7–9. 56. Ibid., p. 46. 57. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, p. 599. 58. Moidu Padiyath, Umma (“Mother”) (Champakulam: M. M. Press, 1968), p. 5. 59. Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 296.

394

Notes to Appendix C

60. Menon, Survey, p. 407. 61. Gibb, Arabic Literature, p. 91. 62. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, p. 568. 63. T. Ubaid, “Nyanglum Warunnuwallō” (“We Also Are Coming”) in K. M. Maulavi Smarakagranthum (“K. M. Maulavi Memorial Volume”) (Tirurangadi: Smaraka Committee, 1965), p. 85. 64. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, p. 568. 65. Kamala Suraiyya, “Tempest,” New Harmony, Vol. 3, No. 4, April– June, 2002, p. 23. 66. “Suraiyya’s Complaint,” New Harmony, Vol. 2, Is. 2, October–December, 2002, p. 18.

Conclusion   1. Nicolas Berdyaev, The Meaning of History (New York: Ch. Scribner’s Sons, 1936), p. 209.   2. Ibid., pp. 211, 209.   3. Ibid., p. 209.  4. Muhammad Iqbal, The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam (Lahore: Sh. Muhammad Ashraf, 1961), p. 199, quoting his own Jawid Nama.

Appendix A   1. F. Gabrieli, “Adab,” EI 2, I, pp. 175f.   2. Richard Walzer, “Akhlak,” EI 2, I, p. 328.   3. For the phrase “cultural symbiosis” I am indebted to M. G. S. Narayan, Cultural Symbiosis in Kerala (Trivandrum: Kerala Historical Society, 1972).

Appendix B  1. We interviewed the Bibi in October, 2004, at Kannur. A gracious woman with a warm smile, at the age of 83 she was confined to her bed. Her previous heirlooms included gifts from colonial authorities.  2. Cf. K. K. N. Kurup, The Ali Rajas of Cannanore (Calicut: The University of Calicut, 2002), pp. 15f.  3. See Appendix E for a brief note on the history of the Laccadive Islands and the culture of its Mappila inhabitants.  4. Kurup, Ali Rajas, p. 108.

Appendix C  1. Ignaz Goldziher, Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law, trans. by A. and R. Hamor and ed. by B. Lewis (Princeton: Princeton University Press,

Notes to Appendix E

395

1981), p. 245; Goldziher notes: “For orthodox Islam, since the twelfth century, Ghazalī has been the main authority.”  2. J. Schacht, “Idjtihad,” EI 2, III, p. 1026.  3. W. M. Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology (Edinburgh: University Press, 1962), p. 147. Watt calls the development “the period of darkness” and dates its beginning about 1250 CE.  4. The last great philosopher of the Islamic Golden Age was Ibn Rushd (1126–1198), also known as Averroes; through him Aristotle was introduced to the West.

Appendix D   1.   2.   3.   4.

Aziz Ahmed, An Intellectual History, p. 57. F. Robinson, “Mulla Muhammad Nizam al-Din,” EI 2, VIII, pp. 68f. M. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, pp. 403, 407. Kaur, Madrasa Education, pp. 294ff.

Appendix E  1. Modern Lakshwadeep culture has not benefited from detailed research, but see George Abraham, Lakshwadeep—Economy and Society (New Delhi: Inter-India Publications, 1987), pp. 57–94. For traditions of the century past the best source is Innes, Malabar, pp. 508–31.

 

Glossary [Restricted to terms used in this volume]

Arabic Terms adab. Manners, universal culture, literary knowledge. ʿādat. Customary behavior, cultural heritage, especially in Indonesia. adhān. Call to public prayer; the Mappila colloquial term is bankku (Pers.). afzal al-ulama. Arabic degree for a maulavi. ahl al-kitāb. Lit. “the people of the book.” People who have received a genuine revelation from God, including Jews and Christians. akhlāq. Ethics. ʿalīm, pl. ʿulamāʾ. Learned doctor(s). A general term for Muslim clergy. Allāhu akbar! God is greater. ʿamal. Approved practice, works. ʿaqida. Creedal formulations, without official standing. baraqa. Sanctity, spiritual power. bidʿa. Innovation, a negative term for change. birr. Doing what the Qurʾān commends, righteousness. bismillā. “In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate.” dār al-harb. Lit. “house of war.” Opposite of dār al-Islām, an area under Muslim rule. dars. Traditional training center, located in a mosque. dīn. The religion of Islam, especially its practical duties. duff. Tambourine. fajr. The first prayer, between dawn and sunrise. Two cycles. al-Fātiha. Lit. “the opening.” The first and most sacred chapter of the Qurʾān. 397

398

Glossary

fatwā. A learned opinion on a matter with religious implications. firman. A sovereign administrative order, permit. furqān. Discrimination between right and wrong. A term for the Qurʾān. ghusl. A full ritual bath following pollution. Hadīth. A story or tradition, particularly of the Prophet Muhammad. hāji. One who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca. hajj. The pilgrimage to Mecca. Encouraged for all Muslim believers. halāl. That which is permitted, particularly food. harām. Behavior which is forbidden. ʿibādat. Combines the ideas of worship of God and service to God. ʿiddat. Three-month period legally prescribed for a divorce. ʿishāʾ. The late prayer before retiring. Four cycles. iʿjaz. The miraculous and inimitability of the Qurʾān, leading to the idea that it should not be translated. ijmāʿ. The consensus of the Muslim community. ijtihād. The right of private and personal interpretation. islāh. Reform, involving especially the return to the Qurʾān, its reasoned interpretation, overcoming superstition, and concern for the well-being of the community. islām. Surrender to God. The religion of surrendering. imān. Faith, the five basic beliefs. in shāʾAllāh. If God wills. istigatha. Appealing for a saint’s help. jamāʿat. Assembly, council, team. jaram. A tomb. jizya. Poll-tax, required of non-Muslim subjects, in return for government protection and exemption from military service. kāfir. Ungrateful one, unbeliever. kāhin. Seer, magician. kalām. Word or speech; the Speech of God; classical theology. kalima. The confession of faith. karāmāt. Ability to do wonders. khatīb. Preacher for the weekly congregational service. khutba. The weekly congregational service.

Glossary

399

lā ilāha illa Allāh wa Muhammadu rasūl Allāh. “There is no deity but God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God.” madrasa. In Mappila usage, an elementary religious education school. maghrib. The fourth prayer, after sunset. Three cycles. mahr. A bridegroom’s gift to his bride. Voluntary amount. maktab. Elementary religious school. Madrasa has replaced its use among Mappilas. masjid. Lit. “a place of prostration.” A mosque. maulavi. Lit. “my tutor;” a cleric, a learned scholar with a recognized degree. mawālī. “Clients”; early non-Muslim converts who had to associate with an Arab tribe. mawlūd. A recital that is read or sung at a saint’s birthday. muezzīn. One who gives the call to prayer. muftī. A learned scholar who issues religious opinions. mujāhid. One who strives; among Mappilas one who strives for reform. mulla. A religious worker, of lesser stature than alim or maulavi. mutavalli. A trust (wakf) manager. nikah. The marriage contract. qādī. A judge for sharia purposes. qanūn. Administrative law recognized by the sharia. qibla. Direction; the direction of prayer toward Mecca. raʾy. Personal opinion in law. sadaqa. Voluntary alms. salaam aleikum. Peace be with you. salafī. Lit. “pious forefathers.” A neo-orthodox reform movement to regenerate Islam by returning to the faith of early Muslims. salāt. The fivefold Muslim prayer. sayyid. A descendant of the Prophet’s family. A saintly person. shahāda. The basic testimony that confesses faith. shahīd. A martyr for the faith. Shaitān. Satan, a devil; also commonly called Iblīs. sharīʿa. The traditional law of Islam. shirk. Idolatry. silsila. Spiritual lineage of a sufi saint leading back to the Prophet.

400

Glossary

subhāna ʾllāhi. Glory be to God! sunna. Custom. Pattern of the Prophet. tabla. A small drum. tablīgh. Propagation of the faith. tajdīd. Renewal, revival. takbīr. Declaring the greatness of God. talāq al-bidʾa. Declaring “I divorce you,” thrice running on one occasion. talāq al-hasān. Declaring “I divorce you,” three times over three months, as the classical law requires. taqlīd. Handing down tradition and imitating the past; a simple acceptance of traditionalist religious authority. taqwā. Piety. The fundamental behavioral attitude. tawhīd. Unity; the oneness of God and the oneness of life surrendered to God. umma. Lit. “mother.” The community of believers. ʿurf. Local culture and custom; a secondary source of law. wādī. Valley wakf. A charitable trust. walī. Nearness; friend of God; guardian; saint. wuduʾ. The lesser washing before prayer. zakāt. The prescribed alms-giving.

Malayalam Terms adhikāri. A village headman; administrator. andhawishwāsum. Superstition. bāqi. Left-over food. biriyāni. A festival and wedding food in South India; rice-based. chakrum. Certain figures drawn for their magical implication. chandanakudam. Annual saint’s festival, involving use of sandalwood paste. chowildar. Women’s dress combining shirt, pants, and scarf; from North India. chunam. Lime paste used in chewing betel nut.

Glossary

401

devadāsi. A temple prostitute in early times. devatttinnu stōthrum. God be praised! gherāo. Forced confinement by protesters. hōmam. A magical ritual among fisher-folk. jātha. Street procession, march. jeeraka. Water in which rice was cooked, with cumin and turmeric. jenmi. Hereditary landowner. kaikōṭṭakaḷi. Hand-clapping by women while they circle and sing. kakoose. A sanitary convenience. kaliyānum. Wedding. kaḷiyānapāṭṭu. Wedding song. kanji. Rice porridge. kanumdār. A property lessee; an intermediate manager. kamavān. The manager of a matrilineal establishment. khādi. Homespun cloth. khissapāṭṭu. A historical song story. kōlaṭum. A song of girls who have formed a circle. kōlkaḷi. Stick dance. kuppai. A tight-fitting blouse. kurrikal. Dance teacher. lungi. A male garment, waist to foot, similar to a mundu. mahākavi. A great poet. māhiḷa samājum. A women’s society, usually dedicated to community uplift. maida. White flour. maidān. An open space in the centre of a town; a playing field. mailanji. Henna. mantravādi. A magician. māla. Song. mantrum. Sacred spoken formulas with special power; magical spell. maruchini. Tapioca; a poor family’s diet. marumakkathāyam. The matrilineal system; practised by Nayar Hindus and some Mappilas. maryāda. Civility; the quality of harmonious living. mukri. One who gives calls to prayer and other mosque services. mundu. Cloth garment, waist to foot, male and female. muṭṭa māla. An egg-yolk string, making up a sweet preparation.

402

Glossary

nād. A traditional region in old Kerala. neichoru. Fried rice. nērcha. A saint festival; also a general fair. niskārum. The prescribed prayers; equals salāt. niskāra-kuppai. A long prayer garment used by women. niskāra paḷḷi. A small road-side prayer hall. nōnpu. Fasting, fast month. ōla. Palm leaves; used for writing materials before paper. ōppana. Women’s song and dance. osathi. A rural midwife; traditionally the barber’s wife. ōthupaḷḷi. A place for the recitation of the Qurʾān, in early times. pada pāṭṭu. War song. panchasārapatha. Sweet pancake. pārambaryum. Hereditary tradition. paratha. Thick pancake. pathiri. Thin pancake. pāṭṭu. Song. pilau. North Indian festival food, similar to biriyāni. sāhityum. Malayalam literature. sahōdaran, sahōdari. Brother, sister; the term can include cousins. samāj. An association. sambandhum. Male-female alliances among Nayars. samūhum. Collectivity, assembly. Sanskrit. Mal. samskrita. Most important religious and literary language in India after 1200 BCE; brought to southwest India by Brahmins about 400 CE. Dominant literary language in Kerala until 1400s; merged with Malayalam. sāri. Traditional Malayali womens’ garment. A long cloth. sāstras, or shāstras. Hindu sacred books. takitha. Thin plates, usually copper, used in magical practice. tarawād. Ancestral home in the matrilineal system. vattakaḷi. Girls singing while circled around a lamp. verumpattambār. A cultivating tenant. wallakanal. Sweets. Zamorin. Lit. “sea-lord.” The Calicut Hindu ruler who befriended Mappilas.

Glossary

403

Composite Arabic-Malayalam and Other Terms awliyākul. (Ar.Mal.), Saints. duff-kaḷi. (Ar.Mal.) Tambourine dance. juma-paḷḷi. (Ar.Mal.) Central mosque for the weekly congregational prayer. malikhana. (Urdu) British pension allowance given to former rulers. musaliar. (Ar.Mal.) Traditionalist cleric trained in a mosque dars. Musalmani. (Urdu) An adjective, applied to hybrid Muslim languages in India. padroado. (Port.) Papal charter, dividing global areas between Portuguese and Spanish. sunnat. (Ar.Mal.) Recommended behavior. sulh-i-kull. (Pers,) Universal toleration; a theory of Akbar the Great. urus. (Pers.Mal.) Celebration of saint days.

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Other Materials Abdu, O. “Mappila Songs,” Chandrika Republic Day Edition, Jan. 26, 1966. Malayalam. Abdulla, V. “The Moplahs.” The Illustrated Weekly, February 1, 1970. Ansari, Javeed M. “AIMPLB Differs on small family.” The Hindu, September 15, 2004, p. 11. “Educating Plus, Aiming for the Stars. The Hindu, September 4, 2004. Handbook, 2004–2005. Calicut: University of Calicut School of Distance Education, 2004. Karanthoor, Prospectus of Islamic (Sunni) Cultural Complex. Karanthoor, Kozhikode Dt., n.d. S.A.F.I., Brochure. Cochin: The Board of Trustees, Social Advancement Foundation of India, n.d. “The Man Who Sold the Bomb.” Time, Vol. 45, No. 7, February 14, 2005, p. 25. Nafeesatmāla [“Nafeesa’s Song”]. Tirurangadi: C. H. Muhammad & Sons, n.d. Malayalam. Ningjḷe Chāyil Madrumilla [“There is no Sweetness in Your Tea”]. Tirurangadi: Islam Press, n.d. Malayalam. Pōruvin sahōdara dhīra mujāhidakuḷe [“Strive, o brothers and brave mujahids”]. Calicut: Mujahid Centre, 1988. Malayalam. Randathani, Hussein. “Genesis and Growth of the Mappila Community,” in Mera Watan: Jaihoon.com, December 16, 2005. Roy, Bhaskar. “Mind of Indian Muslims.” Indian Express Sunday Magazine, September 22, 1991. Reprinted in Muslim India, December 1991, p. 569. Ubayd, T. “Nyangaḷum Warunuwallō” [“We Also Are Coming”], in K. M. Maulavi Smaragagranthum, 1985, p. 85. Malayalam. Writ Petition No. 930 of 1990, Civil Appellate Jurisdiction, Supreme Court of India.

418

Bibliography

Periodicals [nb.: Various Mappila periodicals in Malayalam are included in chapter XIV on “Mappila Literature.”] al-Harmony Anthropos Indian Cultures Quarterly Indian Antiquary Islamic Culture Journal of Kerala Studies Journal of The Royal Anthropological Institute Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Kultur. The Indonesian Journal of Muslim Culture MES Journal. Malayalam Minaret M.S.S. Journal. Malayalam Man in India Muslim India The Week

Newspapers Chandrika. Malayalam Madhyamum. Malayalam Manorama. Malayalam Mathrubhumi. Malayalam Mubai Mirror New Indian Express The Hindu The Times of India

Index Abbasid caliphate, 20, 51, 361 ʿAbduh, Muhammad, 97–98 Abdul Kareem, K. K. Muhammad, 344 Abdul Qadir Maulavi, Muhammad. See Wakkom Maulavi Abdul Qadir Musaliar, E. E., 102 Abdul Rahman Mather, K. K., 331 Abdulla Ummi, 194 Abdulla, V., 333–34 Abdurrahiman, Muhammad, 38, 69, 333 Abid Husain, S., 66, 112–13 Abu, O., 324–25 Abu Bekr Musaliar, A. P. (Karanthur), 103 Abu Bekr Musaliar, E. K., 102 Abussabah, Ahmed Ali, 114 adab (manners), 355–56 adaptation, cultural. See Mappila adaptive culture ʿādat (customary behavior), 22, 355–56 Ahmadiyyas (Ahmadis), 228 Ahmed, Imtiaz, 58–59 Ahmed Moulavi, C. N., 60, 91, 100, 114, 135, 155, 258, 324 Aikya Sankhum Society, Kerala Muslim, 43, 99, 246 Akbar the Great, 55 ʿAla-ud-Dīn, Emperor, 53 Alavi ibn al-Muhajir, 266 Albuquerque, Afonso de, 30 ʿAlī ibn Abū Tālib, 266, 325

Aligarh University (M.A.O. College) its establishment, 66 later Mappila contact, 218 Mappila knowledge of, 67–68 Ali Musaliar of Tirurangadi, 38 Ali Rajas of Kannur, 24, 44, 301, 357–59 Alleppey, 42, 113 Amjad Ali Khan, 313 amulets and charms. See magic amusements and pleasures, 201–203 Andaman Islands, 39 Anjengo, 35 Arab traders active from pre-Muslim times, 25–26, 43 culture of the immigrants, 319–20 Mappila descent from settlers, 209 Arabian cultural model, Medina, 19 Arabic colleges. See college, Arabic Arabic language influence on Malayalam, 78 as a literary medium, 319–21 Mappila respect for, ritual use, 75–77 source from South Arabia, 77–78 Arabic literature development of Arabic-Malayalam substitute, 322–23 little development among Mappilas, 319 modern university study, 321 nonliterary culture of Arab immigrants, 320–21

419

420

Index

Arabic-Malayalam literature current publication decline, 323 the language and its synthetic form, 78, 322 lithographic tool for religious education, 323 Mappila benefits and problems, 327 prose literature, journals, 325– 26 songwriters and songs, 323–25 Arakkal House. See Ali Rajas of Kannur architecture. See habitations and mosques Arcot Kingdom, 57 Arkoun, Muhammad, xi arts. See Mappila material arts al-Ashʿarī, Abuʾl-Hassan, 362 Asrof, V. A. Mohamad, 331 Aurangzeb, 55–57, 61 awliyākul. See saints ʿAydarūs Order, 266 Ayyappa, Lord, 265 Azad, Abul Kalam, 69, 111 Ayesha Bai, 239 al-Azhar (Cairo madrasa), 97 Aziz Ahmed, 64 al-Baʿalawī family, 266 Babur, Muhammad, 54 Badr-ul-Kubra, Uhud (songs), 390n19 Badrul Munir-Husnal Jamal (ballad), 307–308 Bafaki Tangal, Abdurrahiman, 102, 268 Bahauddin, K. M., 331, 344 Bahadur Shah, Emperor, 63 Bahmani sultanate, 54, 270 al-Baidāwī, ʿAbd, 90 al-Baqiyyat-us-Salihat College, Vellore Bashir, Vaikom Muhammad, 335–37 behavior, cultural a definition, xi

relation of individual, family, community role models, 203–205 Beeran, U. A., 345 Bentick, William, 64 Berdyaev, Nicolas, 351–52 Bibis of Kannur. See Ali Rajas bidʿa (invalid innovation), 361–63 Bijaypur. See Bahmani sultanate birth control family planning songs, 145 Indian Muslim attitudes, 146 Mappila attitudes, practice, 144–46 national policy, 144 al-Bīrūnī, 52 Brahmanism, entered Kerala, 28 Brahmi script, 318 Brennan College, Tellicherry, 114 Buddhism, decline in Kerala, 28 Calicut, 26, 30–31, 36, passim Chaitanya, Krishna, 316, 335 Chakkiri Moideenkutty, 322, 324, 326 Chandrika newspaper, 332–33 change, Mappila, 41–48, 92–95, 102, 116–17, 121–22, 125–26, 136, 347–48, 352–53 Chera rulers, 27, 43, 316 Cheraman Perumal, 27 Cherur ballad, 307 Cherusseri Sankaran Nambutiri, 318 Child, John, 61 Chinese traders, 42–43 children, customs related to, 171–72 Chiragh Ali, 65 Chishtī, Muʿīnuddīn, 59 Chola dynasty (Tamil), 42–43, 316 circumcision, 143 class features, Mappila, 208–12 cleanliness the Mappila Hindu tradition, 195 Mappila sanitation, 196–97 clergy development of the Muslim vocation, 23–24 effect of training, 91

Index Mappila, source of style, 86–88 pre-modern Indo-Muslim, 64 traditionalist training, dars and college, 88–90 Clive, Robert, 61 “C. N.” See Ahmed Moulavi, C. N. Cochin (Kochi), 26, 33, passim college, Arabic Mujahid and Sunni types, 215–16 as traditionalist clergy center, 89–90 communal relations. See interreligious relations, Mappila communist influence on Mappilas change of effects on Mappilas, 108–109 Communist Party alliance with Muslim League, 107–108, 221–22 development as Kerala party, 104–105 impact of social message, 106 opposition of traditional clergy, 222 Congress Party in Kerala, 104, 221 Coulson, N. J., 174 culture colonial contributions, 32–37 definition, academic approach, xi– xii Islamic and Malayalam terms, 355–56 Islamic culture, definition, 370n11 and religion, 370–71n12 three important aspects of Mappila culture, 349–52 culture, Indo-Muslim adaptation, 57–59 culture, Islamic. See Islamic culture culture, Malayalam. See Malayalam culture dance, Mappila, 312–13 Dara Shukoh, 55 dars, training center and ethos, 88–90, 216

421

death and funeral ceremonies, 157–60 Deccan region, 54 Delhi College, 64 Delhi sultanate, 52–53 Deoband, 365–66 dīn (religious practice), 16 divorce. See marriage and divorce Dowry Act, 149 Dupleix, Joseph, 60 Dutch cultural contribution, 33, 60 East India Company, English, 61–63 education, Mappila British policy on secular education, 83–85 divided community heritage, 220 modern, after 1947, 217–20 traditionalist stream, 81–82, 212–16 E. K. Maulavi, 99 English cultural impact creates link with Indo-Muslims, 71 English replaces Persian, 64 far-reaching, 35–37, 63–65 Enlightenment, the Muslim. See Golden Age, Islamic European entry into South India fall into defensive posture, 40–41, 92 Mappilas lose out in colonial politics, suffer trauma, 30–31 resist new cultural influences, 32–36 revive after 1947, 351–52 Ezhuthachan, 318 family interrelationships husbands-wives, parents-children, wider kinship, 167–72 patrilineal emphasis, 172 role of mother-in-law, 173 family planning. See birth control family values and life appreciation of friendship, 201–202

422

Index

family values and life (continued) basic principles, daily routines, 164–66 special joys and common sorrows, 166 Faqih Husain, 320 Farook (Feroke) College, 114, 218 Fathul Muin, 90, 321 Fatima Beevi, M., 239 Firuz Shah, 53 fisher-folk a distinct subculture, 211 practice spirit control, 285–87 use mawlūds, 278–79 food and its consumption, 191–95 Freedom Movement, Mappila linage, 68–70 French cultural contributions, 33–34 furnishing of homes, 163, 299 Gandhi, Mahatma, 38, 129, 333 Gandhi, Sanjay, 144 gender relations. See women, Mappila Genghis Khan, 52 Ghafoor, P. K. Abdul, 115–16, 131, 204, 238 Ghafoor, Mrs. Fatima, 239 al-Ghazālī, Abū Hamīd Muhammad, 90, 363 Ghaznavid dynasty, 52 Ghurid dynasty, 52 Golden Age, Islamic, 51–52, 361–64 Granthi script, 318 Gulf money impact of Wahhabism, 123–25 impact on architecture, 291, 295–96 Malayali rush to Gulf, 117–20 Mappila benefits, drawbacks, 120–23 habitations Gulf-funded homes, 298–99 traditional construction, 162–64 Hadīth, 19, 90, 225, 284, passim

Hadramaut, Hadramis, 17, 266, 320–21 hairstyles and beards, 190–91 Haji Sahib, Muhammad Ali, 226 hajj (pilgrimage, Mappila participation, 258–59 Hakim Amal Khan, 129 Hamadani Tangal, Shaikh Muhammad, 67, 96, 213 Al-Harmony (journal), 44, 331–32 Hassan Abdulla, K. P., 244 Hassan Koya, P. P., 234–35 henna ornamentation, 190–91, 382n14 Himayathul Islam Sabha, Calicut, 13 Hindu society in Kerala hospitality, intermarriage, and tolerance, 29, 44, 47 influence on mosque architecture, 292 land tenure system, 184 majority population, 7–8 outcaste conversion in Malabar, 45 relation with Mappila saints, 263 religious phenomena, 28 home life, Mappila, 161–66 Hyder Ali, 31–32, 62, 358 Hyderabad, 51 ʿibādat (worship, service), 16 Ibn Battūta, 70 Ibn Hanbal, 362 Ibn Khaldūn, 200–201, 284 Ibn Saud, King, 21 Ibrahim, A. P. Kunju, 344 ijmāʿ (consensus), 21, 223, 364 ijtihād (private judgment), 21, 223, 364 Ikram, S. M., 5 Iltumish, Emperor, 52 Ilyas, Maulana Muhammad, 227 Imam Fakir, 303 imān (faith), 16 Indian Muslims, North adaptation to Indian culture, 57–59

Index British period after 1857, 61–63 early period to Babur, 51–54 few influences on Mappilas, 67–68, 70–71 and Indian National Congress, 68–69 Mughluk contact with South India, 54–57 response to Western influence, 63–70 inheritance patterns, Mappila twofold source of principles, and orthodox applications, 173–76 matrilinear system, 44, 177–81 Innes, Charles, 197 interreligious relations, Mappila disturbed in European period, 31–32, 37–39 Mappila renewal of harmony, 246–50 positive symbols, 255–56, 353 share traditional Kerala harmony, 8, 28–29, 221–23, 247 intermarriage, 47, 148 Iqbal, Muhammad, 16, 96 Islahi movement. See Mujahid islām (surrender), 16 Islamic culture Akbar Ahmed on modernity, 377 four guiding principles, 25–38 Ibn Khaldūn on corruption, 200–201 linguistic terms, 24 relation of faith and behavior, 24–25 relation of Indo-Muslims with indigenous cultures, 58 Jainism, 28 Jalālaini (text), 90, 376n20 Jaleel, Mrs. Ayesha, 239–40 Jaleel, K. A., 114, 219–20, 237–38 Jamaat-Islam Party, 226–27 Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghāni, 97

423

Jamʿiyyathul ʿUlama, 99 J.D.T. Islam Orphanage, 244 Jews in Kerala, 28 Jifri Tangal family, 268–69 jihād (struggle), 227–28 al-Jilāni, ʿAbd al-Qādir, 270–71, 279 Jinnah, Muhammad Ali, 69 kaikoṭṭi (hand clapping). See dance Kannur (Cannanore), 31, 44, 357–59 Karanthur Islamic Complex, 214 Kareem, C. K., 153–54, 187, 344 Karuvalli Muhammad, 216, 321, 327 Kasaragode, 226 Kaur, Kuldip, 83, 366 Kerala features ancient seaward relations, 25–26 meaning of term Malayalam, 6 modern linguistic state, 104–105 natural characteristics, 5–7 population and religions, 41 religious harmony, 27–29 societal characteristics, 9–13 Kesava Menon, K. P., 38 Khader, U. A., 343 Khilafat Movement in Kerala, 38–39 Khilji dynasty, 52 khissa pāttukul (songs). See Mappila music khutba (congregational prayer), 255 K. M. Maulavi, 99, 213 Kodungalur mosque, 293 Kollam (Kawlum, Quilon), 26, 42, 114 Kollam Era (Malayalam calendar), 373n20 Kolattiri Rajas, 357–58 kōlkali (stick dance), 313 Koya, C. H. Muhammad. See Muhammad, C. H. Koya, S. M., 344 Kozhezhuthu script, 318 Kumara Pillai, 335 Kunhali, V., 59, 305 Kunyain Musaliar, 440 Kunyali, Marakkars, 52

424

Index

Kunyumayin Haji, 332 Kunyu Musaliar Tangal, A., 114 Kuttichira, Calicut, 180–81, 294–95 Laccadive Islands, 367–68 Lang, G. O., xi Lajnatul Muhammediya Society, Alleppey, 113 language, Arabic. See Arabic language, Malayalam. See Malayalam language in Mappila culture, 49–50, 218 Lodi dynasty, 53 Maʿbar (southeast India), 53, 321 Macaulay, T. B., 64 Madayi mosque, 293 Madeenath Islam Uloom, Pullikal, 215 Madhyanum newspaper, 233 madrasa, Mappila number, strength, critique, 212–15 traditionalist development, 81–84 magic and Mappila culture, 283–88 Mahe, 31 Mahmud of Ghazna, 51–52 Mahratta Kingdom, 56 maktab schools. See madrasa Makti Tangal, Sayyid S., 96, 328 Malabar, 5, 35, 39, 321, 369n2, passim Malabar Christian College, 114 Malappuram district Arabic colleges, 315 district mosques, 297–98 forming majority Muslim District, 375n39 the town, 1–2 the town nērcha, 273–74 Malayalam culture artistic tradition, 300 early plastic period and social tolerance, 29 linguistic terms for, 356 main elements, 5–12

Malayalam culture, external influences Arab Muslim influence, 39–40 Christian influence, Jews, 48, 55, 287 European and modern impact, 97, 287, 290–91 Jain and Buddhist marks, 48, 416 Tamil connections, 69, 449 Vaisnavism, Saivism, Brahmanism, 28 Malayali, characteristics of, 8–10 Malik ibn Dinar, 27, 293, 307 Malik Kafur, 53 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 283 Mambram shrine, 276 Mammed Koya, P. P., 345 Mampad College, 114 al-Manār, Egyptian journal, 98 Manipravalam literary genre, 317 Mappilas double, contrasting cultural heritage, 46–48 earliest Muslim community in South Asia, 4, 26 their forming attitude, 15–18 identity and name, 3–5, 82, 134–36, 379n11 rise, decline, revival, 25–41 share Islamic culture, 13–24 share Malayalam culture, 13–24 sources for study, 369–70n4 outdated myths, character, sense of being Mappila, 128–36 Mappila adaptive culture compared to Indo-Muslim culture, 59–60 inner differences, 41–48 natural and Islamic flexibility, 5, 21–22, 47, 292 a practical necessity, 20, 24, 27, 34 significance of adopting Malayalam, 27–28 three cultural implications, 349–54 Mappila arts, material background of the forming streams, 300

Index commercial and media transforming impact, 302 notable absence of calligraphy, 302 reasons for limitation to functional arts, 301–302 Mappila language and literature development of ArabicMalayalam, 322–26 emergence of Mappila literature in Malayalam, and types of, 327–48 Mappilas and Malayalam, 6, 27–28 resistance to Sanskrit and Hindubased literary movements, 315–17 special role of novelists, 343–44 Mappila music, song and dance Arabic-Malayalam songwriters, 223–25 dance, 312–13 modern songs, 311–12 musical instruments, 312 traditional ballads, 303–308 wedding and instructional songs, 309–11 Mappila Rebellion (1921), 37–39 Mappila self-help efforts charitable trusts, 245–46 poverty, personal charity, 242–43 social service organizations, 243–44 Mappila traditionalism. See traditionalism Marco Polo, 42 marriage and divorce age, arrangement and betrothal (nikah), dowry, 147–51 divorce frequency, method, effects,   154–55 polygamy, 153–54 wedding (kaliyānum) practices, 151–53 marumakkathāyum. See matrilinear system

425

maryāda (civility), 29 Masani, M. R., 105 matrilinear system basic elements, ancestral homes, 177–79 especially in North Malabar, 44 Mappila involvement, critics, 179–91 Mappila Succession Act and the Marumakkathāyam Act, 180 maulavi, 86 mawlūds (saint recitals), 277–79 mawālī (cultural affiliates), 19 Mawdudi, Abu Aʿla, 226 Mecca and Medina, 215, 258–59 Minangkabau Muslims, 177 Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, 227 Mishkal Mosque, Calicut, 295 models, behavioral, 203–205 Mohammad, A., 145 Mohammad Ali, K. T., 84, 344 Moideen Māla (praise for al-Jilāni), 305–306 Moidu Maulavi, E., 38 Moidu Padiyath, 341–43 mosques, Mappila hybrid structures, 296–97 new Mideast styles, 295–96 traditional, 292–95 types and number, 297–98 Moyinkutty Vaidyar, 307–308, 324 Mughuls and South India, 54–63 Muhammad, the Prophet birthday, first revelation, heavenly ascent, celebrations of, 264 paragon and primary pattern, 266–67 Muhammad Abdurrahiman. See Abdurrahiman Muhammad, Khan Bahadur, 85, 92 Muhammad Koya, C. H., 204, 235–36, 329, 333, 345 Muhammad, K. T., 338–40 Muhammad, N. P., 337–38 Muhammad, U., 344 Muhammad, V., 112, 321

426

Index

Muhammadan Educational Conference, 66 Muharram, 281 Mujahid reform movement divisions, 385n24 founding and principles, 225–26 reform activities, 99–100 Mujeeb, M., 49, 64 mulla. See clergy Munnivirul Islam High School, Ernakulam, 113 musaliar, 86, 89 music. See Mappila music Muslim Education Society (MES) achievements, 218, 244 formation of, 238 MES Journal, 330 Muslim League, the Indian Union founding, 66 rebirth in Malabar, 221 supports idea of Pakistan, 69–70 Muslim Service Society, 244 Muʿtazilites, 361–62 mutiny, Indian, 63 Muziris (Kodungalur), 26, 43 Nadir Shah, 62 Nadvat-ul-Mujahdin. See Mujahid Nambutiri, P. P., 319 Nambutiri Brahmin property system, 177 Nambutiripad, E. M. S., 104, 107, 204 National Democratic Front, 228 Nayars, in North Malabar and the Ali Rajas, 357–60 and conversion to Islam, 44 their matrilineal system, 177–79 nērcha festivals, 46, 272–77 Niranam family, 317 Nizam al-Din, Mulla Muhammad, 56 Nizamiyya Syllabus, 365–66 Nizam-ul-Mulk, 57 Nuri Shah Centre, Hyderabad, 279 occupations, factors and types, 184–86

oil in Gulf area, discovery, 118 old age, care of elderly, 155–56 ōppana. See dance ornamentation, personal, 190–91 ōthapalli (site for Qurʾān recitation), 82 padroada (papal decree), 30 Pallava Tamil dynasty, 316 Pandyan Tamil dynasty, 53, 316 Parikutty, Chettuvayi, 224 Partition of India, Mappila stance, 69–70 Pattikad, Jamiʿa Nuriyya College, 89–90 Felikan, Jaroslav, 74 Peoples Democratic Party, 228 pilgrimage to Mecca. See hajj Pir Muhammad, 303 Poker Sahib, B., 377 Pondicherry, 60 politics, Mappila a means for social advance, 70 strategy and results, 221–23 pollution forbidden behavior, 285–87 forbidden foods, 279 ritual purification, 281–82 Ponnani, town and mosque description, importance, 35, 293–94 Maunat-ul-Islam conversion center, 45 theological school, 88–89 population Kerala State, 7 Mappila, 8, 146, 370n5 Portuguese cultural impact, 30–33 prayer (niskārum), 254–56 Pukkoya family, Panakkad and P. M. S. A. Pukkoya Tangal, 269 Syed Mohammedali Shihab Tangal, 240–41 Pulikottil Haidar, 324 Qadariyya Order, 270–71

Index Qadi, Shaikh Abdulla ibn Hassan (Saudi Arabia), 21 Qadi Muhammad of Calicut, 322 ganūn (administrative law), 22 Qatar, 199 Qurʾān the issue of translatability, 80, 237 in relation to culture, 21, 27 right of personal interpretation, 37, 122, 363–64 traditionalist approach, 79–81 Qureshi, Ishtiaq, 58, 63 Ramadan fasting, 256–57 Ramakrishna Pillai, 328 ratīb (magical litany), 285 religious education, Mappila reform approach, 99–100 Sunni response, 101–103 traditionalist rote emphasis, 81–85 religious practices, prescribed, 253–58 Rida, Rashid, 98 al-Rifāʿī, Rifāʿīn Order, 270, 285 Rizvi, S. A. A., 58–59 Romans, trade with Kerala, 43 Sabarimala shrine (Ayyappan, Vavar), 265–66 Social Advancement Foundation of India (S. A. F. I.), 218–20 Said Alikutty, 326 saints, source and criteria common in Islamic tradition, 264 criteria for sainthood, 266–67 the impact of Hindu veneration for sacred figures, 265 prophets, globally revered heroes, 266–71 roots in a sense of need, 262–63 saints, local Mappila the community’s issue with superstition and magical practices, 283–89 influx of sayyids from South Arabia, and other sufis, 266

427

local festivals (nērchas), and major shrines, 272–77 mawlūd celebrations, 277–79 tangals, 268–70 Samad, Abdul, 281 Samadani, Abdul Samad, 244 Samastha Kerala Jamiya-ul-Ulama, 225 samskārum (culture), 356 samudāyum (solidarity), 229 Sankaracarya, 28 Satter Sait, Abdul, 332 Saudi Arabia influence on Mappila female dress, 188–89 on Mappila mosque architecture, 295–96 its strict theory of culture, 14 Wahhabism, 123–26 sayyids, 264–68. See also saints Sayyid Ahmed Khan call for change, 40 distant influence on Mappilas, 67–68, 375n36 reform movement, 65–66 Sayyid Amir Ali, 65 Sayyid dynasty, 53 Seethi Sahib, K. M., 99, 131, 204 sexual behavior and tabus, 199–201 Seyd Muhammad, P. M., 344 al-Shafīʿī, Muhammad, 362 Shafīʿī law, 90, 176 Shah Abdul Aziz, 64 Shah-ul-Hamid, Abdul al-Qadir (Nagore), 277 Shah Jahan, Emperor, 55 Shah Tangal, Muhammad, 265, 270 shahāda (confession), 158, 227, 254 shahīd (martyr), 272–74, 307 Shantapuram, 226 sharia (Islamic law), 20, 22, 215, 229, passim Shawkat Ali, 38 Shīʿa, 264, 267, 270 Shihab Tangal, Syed Mohammedali, 102, 205, 240–42

428

Index

slavery, 199, 383n28 Smith, Wilfred Cantwell, 370n11 solidarity, Mappila, 12, 134–36, 229–30, 282 songs (mālas). See Mappila music, song, and dance d’Souza, Victor S., 179 spirits, belief in, 286–87 Sufis, 264–65, 304–306, 387n14 Sufi Orders, India and Kerala, 59 Tabligh-Jamaat, 227–28 tabus, 197–200 Tamilnad, Mughul influence, 57 tangals. See saints tapioca, 193 taglīd (handing on), 88, 102–103, 361–63 Taramal family. See Jifri tangal Tarim, Hadramaut, 77, 266 Tellicherry, 31 teyyam (Hindu ballad), 390n15 theological parties, Mappila, 223–28 theological reform the classical language of Islamic reform, 94–95 founding Mappila reformers, 96–97 scope of Mappila reform, 95–96 Timur (Tamerlane), 53 Tipu Sultan, 31–32, 34, 62 Titus, Murray, 58, 264–65 tradition, Mappila respect for, 224 traditionalism in Islamic history, 361–64 traditionalism, Mappila British effort to overcome, 83–85 definition, cultural spirit, 48, 73–74 four pillars of, 75–92 initial response of traditionalists to Mappila reformers, 101–103 modern dislodging of, 148–79 Travancore, 104 Trivandrum, 36, 42, 303

Taureg Muslims, 177 Tughluk dynasty, 53 Tuhfat al-Mujahidīn, 321 Turkey, culture theory, 14 Tyabji, Badr a-Din, 65 Ubaid, T., 324, 346–47 ʿulamā. See clergy Umarabad Madrasa, 57 Umar Koya, P. P., 345 Ummayad caliphate, 20 United Arab Emirates, 118–19 Urdu, role among Mappilas, 49– 51 ʿurf (customary law), 22 Usman, K. K., 267 Vadakemanna Mosque, Malappuram, 296–97 Vasco da Gama, 20 Vattezhuthu script, 318 Vavar, tradition and shrine, 265–66 Victoria College, 113 Vijayanagar Empire, 54 al-Wāhhāb, Muhammad ibn ʿAbd, 187–88 waqfs, Mappila, 244–46 Wakkom, the town, 42 Wakkom Maulavi, Abdul Khader and the Egyptian reform, 97–98 founding Mappila theological reformer, 96–97 reason-based interpretation of the Qurʾān, 98–99 seminal publications, 463, 466 women, Mappila coming of age, menstruation, 142–43 gender relations and social restrictions, 167–71 share in modern education, 114, 217 some prominent leaders, 239–40 Wood, Charles, 64

Index Yathim Khana, Tirurangadi, 244 Yazīd ibn Maqsam, Hadramaut, 77 Yemen, 321 Yunus Nabi (Jonah), 279 Yusuf, T. Muhammad, 343 zakat (alms-giving), 242–43, 257–58 Zamorin of Calicut festival of Sanskrit learning, 113

429

hospitality of Arab traders, 26–27, 29 and the Portuguese, 30 Zein-ud-Din Makhdums of Ponnani, 294 Zein-ud-Din, Shaikh (the “Senior”), 88, 278, 294, 321 Zein-ud-Din, Shaikh Ahmad (the “Junior”), 89–90, 275, 321 Zulfigar Ali Khan, Nawab, 57