Muslim Cultures in the Indo-Iranian World during the Early-Modern and Modern Periods [1., Erstausgabe ed.] 3879973644, 9783879973644

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Hermann/Speziale Muslim Cultures in the Indo-Iranian World

ISLAMKUNDLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN • BAND 290 BIBLIOTHÈQUE IRANIENNE • VOL. 69

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ISLAMKUNDLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN • BAND 290 BIBLIOTHÈQUE IRANIENNE • VOL. 69

Denis Hermann / Fabrizio Speziale (eds.)

Muslim Cultures in the Indo-Iranian World during the Early-Modern and Modern Periods

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Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Bibliothek Die Deutsche Bibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.ddb.de abrufbar. British Library Cataloguing in Publication data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. http://www.bl.uk Library of Congress control number available http://www.loc.gov

Cover Illustration: Details from the IbrÁhÍm Rawæa (1626), Bijapur/India (F. Speziale)

www.klaus-schwarz-verlag.com www.ifriran.org Tous droits réservés. All rights reserved. Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Kein Teil dieses Buches darf in irgendeiner Form (Druck, Fotokopie oder in einem anderen Verfahren) ohne schriftliche Genehmigung des Verlages reproduziert oder unter Verwendung elektronischer Systeme verarbeitet werden.

© 2010 by Klaus Schwarz Verlag GmbH Erstausgabe 1. Auflage Gesamtherstellung: J2P Berlin Gedruckt auf chlorfrei gebleichtem Papier Printed in Germany ISBN 978-2-909961-45-3 ISBN 978-3-87997-364-4

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CONTENTS

List of contributors ...........................................................................8 introduction denis Hermann - fabrizio speziale ......................................................9

I. POlITICS aNd SOCIETy IN IraN aNd INdIa durINg ThE SafavIdMughal PErIOd ................................................................................21 corinne Lefèvre: Jahāngīr et son frère Šāh ‘Abbās: compétition et circulation entre deux puissances de l’Asie musulmane de la première modernité................23 Hasan bashir: intellect and the Limits of reason: native and European responses to Early-Modern indian Political thought..............................................57 Andrew newman: towards a reconsideration of the « isfahan school of Philosophy »: Šayḫ bahā al-dīn and the role of the safavid ‘Ulamā ......................83

II. ThE ShI‘I lEgaCy IN ThE dECCaN ..............................................123 scott Kugle: courting ‘Alī: urdu Poetry, shi‘i Piety and courtesan Power in Hyderabad ........................................................................................125 Andreas d’souza: the influence of Rawḍa-ḫwānī on the development of Nawḥa in the deccan ..............................................................................................167

Karen G. ruffle: Karbala in the indo-Persian imaginaire: the indianizing of the Wedding of Qāsim and fāṭima Kubrā..............................................................181

III. INdIaN aNd IraNIaN SufIS ......................................................201 Alberto Ventura: une interprétation mystique de la šarī‘a selon Šayḫ Aḥmad sirhindī .... ..........................................................................................................203 sajida s. Alvi: renewal of the Čištī order in Eighteenth-century Punjab. converging Paths of two sufi Masters: Maulānā faḫr al-dīn Aurangābādī and nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī ......................................................................217 Leonard Lewisohn: the Qawā’im al-anwār of rāz-i Šīrāzī and shi‘i sufism in Qajar Persia ..........................................................................................................247

Iv. ThE rElIgIOuS MIlIEu aNd ThE rEfOrMIST dISCOurSE ..........273 Marc Gaborieau: « Wahhabisme » et modernisme : généalogie du réformisme religieux en inde (1803-1914)..........................................................................275 denis Hermann: La défense de l’enseignement de l’arabe au cours du mouvement constitutionnel iranien (1906-1911)..................................................301

v. SCIENTIfIC aNd PhIlOSOPhICal STudIES ....................................323 sonja brentjes: the Mathematical sciences in safavid iran: Questions and Perspectives ..........................................................................................................325

fabrizio speziale: Les traités persans sur les sciences indiennes : médecine, zoologie, alchimie ............................................................................................403 sajjad rizvi: Mīr dāmād and the debate on Ḥudūṯ-i dahrī in india......................449 G. A. Lipton: Muḥibb Allāh ilāhābādī’s Taswiya contextualized ..........................475

vI. ENCOuNTErS wITh ThE INdIaN TradITIONS ............................499 dušan deák: Śahādat or Śahā datta? Locating the Mysterious fakir in the Marathi texts..................................................................................................501 svevo d’onofrio: A Persian commentary to the Upaniṣads: dārā Šikōh’s « Sirr-i akbar » ..........................................................................................................533 Véronique bouillier: dialogue entre les nāth yogīs et l’islam............................................565

indEx ................................................................................................585

List of Contributors

Sajida Sultana Alvi, McGill University, Montreal. Hasan Bashir, Texas A&M University at Qatar, Doha. Véronique Bouillier, Centre national de la recherche scientifique, Paris. Sonja Brentjes, University of Seville, Seville. Dušan Deák, University of St. Cyril and St. Methodius, Trnava. Svevo D’Onofrio, Ruhr-Universität, Bochum. Andreas D’Souza, Independent Research Scholar. Marc Gaborieau, Centre national de la recherche scientifique, Paris. Denis Hermann, Centre national de la recherche scientifique, Paris. Scott Kugle, Emory University, Atlanta. Corinne Lefèvre, Centre national de la recherche scientifique, Paris. Leonard Lewisohn, University of Exeter, Exeter. G.A. Lipton, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Andrew Newman, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh. Karen Ruffle, University of Miami, Miami. Sajjad Rizvi, University of Exeter, Exeter. Fabrizio Speziale, Université Sorbonne Nouvelle - Paris III, Paris. Alberto Ventura, University of Calabria, Arcavacata di Rende.

IntroductIon

Le présent ouvrage constitue les Actes du colloque qui a eu lieu à l’Iranian Institute of Philosophy (IrIP) de téhéran les 30 juin, 1er et 2 juillet 2007 et intitulé Intellectual Relations and the Renewal of Religious Thought in Iran and Muslim India during the Modern Period. ce colloque a été organisé sous l’égide de l’Institut Français de recherche en Iran (IFrI) et de l’Iranian Institute of Philosophy (Mu’assasa-yi Pažūhiš-i Ḥikmat va Falsafa-yi Īrān) et grâce au soutien de l’Iran Heritage Foundation (IHF) de Londres. cette rencontre scientifique a permis de rassembler pendant trois jours, au cours de différentes séances thématiques, plusieurs chercheurs travaillant sur les cultures musulmanes de l’Iran et de l’Inde pendant la première modernité et la période moderne. ces journées ont constitué une occasion importante de rencontres et d’échanges d’idées pour des participants provenant de différents pays comme l’Inde, la France, l’Italie, les États-unis, le canada, en dehors de l’Iran. nous avons par ailleurs invité à participer à cet ouvrage d’autres chercheurs qui n’étaient pas présents à téhéran, et dont les articles sont des contributions importantes aux thèmes et aux perspectives envisagés par cette rencontre. on regrette le fait que, pour différentes raisons, certaines contributions présentées au colloque n’ont pas pu être insérées dans ce volume. une première journée d’études qui s’est déroulée à l’IFrI le 3 juillet 2006, avait constitué un préliminaire à ce colloque. *** Le monde musulman de l’époque moderne est souvent présenté comme peu dynamique, centré de façon stérile sur la transmission du savoir ancien et incapable d’exprimer des tendances nouvelles, au moins jusqu’au renouveau de la pensée animé par les mouvements réformistes du XIXe siècle, particulièrement actifs dans l’orient Arabe, la turquie, l’Iran et le sous-continent indien. La société musulmane était certes conservatrice : l’autorité religieuse et intellectuelle reposait surtout sur la tradition et l’imitation de ses modèles anciens et l’innovation était fondamentalement considérée comme synonyme de transgression et d’erreur. En outre, hormis quelques contacts, l’Iran safavide et l’Inde moghole restèrent imperméables à la modernité entendue comme l’assimilation du savoir occidental moderne. cependant, ces régions n’en demeuraient pas

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IntroductIon

moins parcourues par de grands changements. on pense en particulier à la création d’Etats supranationaux et à la « chiitisation » du plateau iranien, ce dernier processus ayant notamment un impact durable sur l’identité politique et religieuse de l’Iran. Au vu de certaines personnalités marquant la culture musulmane de cette époque, on est poussé à se demander dans quelle mesure la position centrale conférée à la tradition pouvait parallèlement constituer un élément contribuant à développer de nouvelles directions de la pensée. de quelle manière l’étude des traditions anciennes, y compris préislamiques, pouvait aider les savants musulmans à élaborer de nouvelles synthèses intellectuelles ? on pense notamment à la synthèse du rationalisme philosophique, de la gnose, de la théosophie illuminationiste (išrāqī) et de la doctrine chiite, réalisée par les auteurs de l’école d’Ispahan. des figures religieuses très influentes de l’islam sunnite indien comme Aḥmad Sirhindī (m. 1034/1624) et Šāh Walī Allāh (m. 1176/1762) ne s’imposèrent pas seulement comme exégètes de la tradition islamique, mais également comme rénovateurs et porteurs d’un message nouveau, adapté aux conditions de leur temps. L’émergence d’un Iran chiite face à une Inde majoritairement sunnite ne se traduisit pas pour autant dans l’isolement de ces deux régions. Au contraire, les savants et les textes musulmans y circulaient comme dans une grande écoumène intellectuelle. L’usage du persan par les élites musulmanes dans une région qui s’étendait de la transoxanie au deccan, favorisait la circulation des savants et aidait à la formation de traits culturels communs, nonobstant les grandes diversités géographiques et politiques. L’influence des savants safavides en Inde contribua notamment à la formation d’importants traits iranisants dans le milieu intellectuel du sous-continent. En outre, des marchands indiens, musulmans, sikhs et hindous vécurent en Iran safavide et des hindous y fondèrent également quelques temples (il existe encore aujourd’hui un temple hindou d’époque qajare à Bandar Abbas). cependant, l’examen de ces relations ne constitue pas la seule perspective d’analyse importante pour ce type d’études. Les contributions présentées dans ce volume montrent notamment l’importance de fournir des approches contextuelles, indiquant que le monde musulman n’était pas homogène au cours de la première modernité et la période moderne. ce volume rassemble des contributions examinant ces questions à travers plusieurs perspectives et domaines d’études. La première partie du volume (Politics and Society in Iran and India during the Safavid-Mughal Period) revient sur certains aspects des bouleversements politiques, sociaux, économiques et religieux qu’ont connus l’Iran et l’Inde au cours des XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Au début du XVIe siècle, l’Iran et l’Inde sont marqués par l’arrivée au pouvoir presque simultanée des dynasties safavide et moghole. L’unification du plateau iranien par les Safavides et leurs armées turkmènes qizilbāš fut rapide,

IntroductIon

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ceux-ci parvenant à étendre le nouvel empire jusqu’à Marv et Herat seulement neuf ans après la conquête de tabriz en 907/1501. L’imposition du chiisme par Šāh Ismā‘il I (r. 1501-1524) constitue certainement l’un des événements les plus décisifs dans l’histoire de l’Iran à la période musulmane. Les Moghols, eux, étendirent leur pouvoir sur une région qui était beaucoup plus peuplée et plus riche que celle contrôlée par les Safavides. Au cours du deuxième siècle de la dynastie, les sultanats chiites du deccan furent annexés à l’empire moghol, atteignant ainsi son expansion territoriale maximale sous Awrangzeb (r. 16591707). Si ces deux empires ne s’affrontèrent jamais militairement, les désirs hégémoniques de part et d’autre n’allèrent pas sans provoquer de fréquentes tensions, notamment autour du statut de Qandahar et des sultanats du deccan. Safavides et Moghols adoptèrent des politiques religieuses différentes, ayant chacune des conséquences importantes sur le plan culturel. La « chiitisation » de l’Iran, passant par l’effondrement du sunnisme iranien, fut très rapide et accompagnée par une ample renaissance de la production de traités sur le chiisme. Les conditions religieuses et sociales de l’Inde moghole étaient en revanche marquées par une plus grande tolérance à l’égard des différentes communautés religieuses. dans ce contexte, les Moghols et d’autres sultans prirent même la décision de patronner la composition de textes en persan sur les savoirs indiens. corinne Lefèvre (Jahāngīr et son frère Šāh ‘Abbās : compétition et circulation entre deux puissances de l’Asie musulmane de la première modernité) souligne la complexité des rapports et les antagonismes entre les Safavides et les Moghols. Elle montre en particulier comment les rivalités idéologiques entre les discours impériaux des deux dynasties n’empêchèrent pas la circulation des biens, des hommes et des idées, et cela notamment sous Jahāngīr (r. 1605-1627) ce qui correspond aussi à l’âge d’or des Safavides à l’époque de Šāh ‘Abbās I (r. 1587-1629). Hasan Bashir (Intellect and the Limits of reason: native and European responses to Early-Modern Indian Political thought) analyse la politique religieuse du souverain moghol Akbar (r. 1556-1605). Il revient en particulier sur la vision politique d’Abū al-Fażl (m. 1011/1602), exposée dans l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī, et sur l’ouvrage de ‘Abd al-Qādir Badā’ūnī (m. 1024/1615), ce dernier représentant la réaction musulmane orthodoxe à la politique de tolérance d’Akbar envers l’hindouisme. L’auteur examine aussi les témoignages et les réactions des missionnaires jésuites qui furent invités à se joindre aux débats religieux organisés à la cour moghole. Andrew newman (towards a reconsideration of the « Isfahan School of Philosophy »: Šayḫ Bahā al-dīn and the role of the Safavid ‘Ulamā) analyse la collaboration entre les Safavides et les oulémas uṣūlī (rationalistes). Il souligne en particulier le rôle central qu’a joué Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī (m. 1030/1620-21). ce dernier, souvent considéré comme l’une des premières

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IntroductIon

figures de l’école d’Ispahan, fut certes un mystique et un philosophe reconnu mais aussi un acteur politique de premier plan auprès de Šāh ‘Abbās I. A travers l’étude du rôle de Bahā’ al-dīn, l’auteur souligne ainsi plus largement l’influence décisive des membres de l’école d’Ispahan dans le renforcement du poids du clergé chiite uṣūlī en Iran, au cours de la période safavide. La seconde partie (The Shiʻi Legacy in the Deccan) rassemble trois études sur le chiisme dans le deccan et son héritage jusqu’à l’époque contemporaine. Les plus importants sultanats du deccan instaurèrent comme les Safavides le chiisme comme religion d’Etat. Il s’agit des sultanats des niẓām Šāhī (14901633) d’Ahmadnagar, des ‘Ādil Šāhī (1490-1686) de Bijapur et des Quṭb Šāhī (1518-1687) de Golconde, dont les Safavides devinrent les alliés majeurs sur la scène internationale. de nombreux savants iraniens furent actifs dans ces cours du deccan et le milieu religieux safavide exerça un impact important sur le chiisme local. cependant, les communautés chiites y étaient destinées à demeurer minoritaires parmi les musulmans sunnites et les masses hindoues. ce processus d’immigration se ralentit considérablement après la conquête du deccan par les Moghols, mais nous comptons tout de même quelques migrants célèbres au cours du XIXe sièclem comme les religieux chiites Mīr ‘Abd al-Laṭīf Ḫān Šūštarī (m. 1220/1805-06, Hyderabad) et Āqā Aḥmad Kirmānšāhī (m. 1235/1819-20). A l’époque moghole tardive, le centre indien le plus important pour la culture chiite devient Lucknow, sous les nawwāb d’Awadh (1722-1858). Les articles présentés ici, insistent en particulier sur la formation d’une identité chiite dakhanī, certes très influencée par le chiisme iranien et la culture persane, mais ayant aussi intégré des éléments du milieu indien. Aujourd’hui encore, certaines formes de dévotions dans les lieux de culte (‘āšūr-ḫāna) chiites du deccan témoignent de l’empreinte d’éléments locaux. ces contributions se concentrent notamment sur les manifestations de la religiosité chiite dans le deccan à l’époque post-moghole, sujet sur lequel il n’existe que peu d’études. Scott Kugle (courting ‘Alī: urdu Poetry, Shi‘i Piety and courtesan Power in Hyderabad) revient sur le pouvoir charismatique d’une courtisane chiite, Māh Laqā Bāī (m. 1240/1824), à la cour sunnite des niẓām. cette dernière fut l’une des premières poétesses indiennes à composer un dīwān de ġazal en ourdou. Son ouvrage souligne notamment que des réseaux de patronage de la dévotion chiite réussirent à se maintenir à la cour d’Hyderabad, et cela malgré l’effondrement du pouvoir chiite depuis plus d’un siècle. Andreas d’Souza (the Influence of Rawḍa-ḫwānī on the development of Nawḥa in the deccan) analyse le rôle de la littérature nawḥa dans la vie culturelle des chiites du deccan. Il s’agit d’une forme de poésie populaire, et généralement déclamée en ourdou, pour se lamenter sur le martyr des membres de la famille du prophète lors des cérémonies de deuil comme celles du mois de muḥarram en particulier.

IntroductIon

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L’auteur relève notamment les différentes influences de ce registre littéraire, tout à la fois marqué par le célèbre Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ de Mullā Ḥusayn Vā‘iẓ-i Kāšifī’s (m. 910/1504) comme par certains éléments de la culture hindoue. Karen G. ruffle (Karbala in the Indo-Persian Imaginaire: the Indianizing of the Wedding of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā) étudie l’une des pratiques centrales des commémorations de muḥarram dans le deccan et plus largement en Inde, la célébration du mariage de Qāsim et Fāṭima Kubrā. L’auteur souligne ici comment le mariage entre le fils de l’Imām Ḥasan (m. 49/669) et la fille de l’Imām Ḥusayn (m. 61/680), déjà conté dans le Rawḍat al-šuhadā de Vā‘iẓ-i Kāšifī, prend une importance toute particulière pour les chiites du deccan, la culture indienne accordant une large place à la célébration du mariage. Les contributions de la troisième partie (Indian and Iranian Sufis) sont consacrées au rôle des mystiques soufis : il s’agit d’un sujet sur lequel reviennent également, d’autres articles du volume. A différents degrés, la question du soufisme fut centrale en Iran et en Inde pour l’histoire religieuse mais aussi sociale et politique. Les Safavides constituaient à l’origine un ordre sunnite, qui fut « chiitisé » tardivement au cours du XVe siècle, et qui par la suite réprima violemment toutes sortes d’ordres soufis, en particulier sunnites. La répression des Safavides entraîna inévitablement un fort déclin du soufisme confrérique dans le plateau iranien en dépit du fait que les thématiques mystiques furent développées par de nombreux oulémas. Pendant une période, des tendances chiites anti-soufies se manifestèrent également dans les sultanats du deccan, tels Golconde et Bijapur, où très peu de soufis sunnites s’établirent tout au long du XVIe siècle. dans l’Inde de l’époque moghole, on assista à un succès croissant de la Qādiriyya et de la naqšbandiyya. ces ordres furent d’ailleurs patronnés par des membres de la famille moghole, et s’affirmèrent avec la Čištiyya comme les ordres les plus influents du sous-continent. c’est autour de la tombe d’un saint čištī qu’Akbar fit édifier sa nouvelle capitale Fatehpur Sikri. La renaissance d’un soufisme confrérique chiite en Iran au début de l’ère qajare (1796-1925) fut notamment marquée par le succès populaire de la ni‘matullāhiyya, et dans une moindre mesure de la Ḏahabiyya, une branche de la Kubrawiyya. L’indien Ma‘ṣūm ‘Alī Šāh (m. 1212/1797-98) est à l’origine de nombreux ralliements iraniens à la ni‘matullāhiyya. celui-ci migra vers l’Iran à partir du deccan, où il était l’un des maîtres d’une branche de l’ordre implantée à Golconde par Mīr Maḥmūd (m. 1100/1688), savant originaire de najaf qui fut initié à la ni‘matullāhiyya à Bidar. L’article d’Alberto Ventura (une interprétation mystique de la šarī‘a selon Šayḫ Aḥmad Sirhindī) analyse une figure centrale du soufisme indien de l’époque moghole, celle du naqšbandī Aḥmad Sirhindī (m. 1034/1624), dont l’œuvre connut une diffusion importante y compris en dehors du sous-continent. La contribution de A. Ventura se

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IntroductIon

concentre sur l’un des thèmes centraux de la doctrine sirhindienne, c’est-à-dire l’interprétation de la loi religieuse et sa fonction dans la voie mystique, en proposant la traduction d’une lettre tirée des Maktūbāt de Sirhindī et consacrée à ce sujet. Au renouveau de l’ordre čištī dans le Punjab du XVIIIe siècle est dédiée la contribution de Sajida Sultana Alvi (renewal of the Čištī order in Eighteenth-century Punjab. converging Paths of two Sufi Masters: Maulānā Faḫr al-dīn Aurangābādī and nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī). L’auteur montre également comment cette branche de la Čištiyya se développa au fil des migrations de ses membres dans plusieurs régions : Faḫr al-dīn Aurangābādī (m. 1199/1785), le fils du maître niẓām al-dīn Aurangābādī (1142/1730), migra du deccan à delhi, où il initia nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī (m. 1205/1790), qui s’établit à son tour dans le Punjab rural où il est à l’origine d’une lignée de maîtres čištī comptant d’autres membres influents. Leonard Lewisohn (the Qawā’im al-anwār of rāz-i Šīrāzī and Shi‘i Sufism in Qajar Persia) revient sur l’ordre soufi chiite Ḏahabiyya dans l’Iran qajar. La Ḏahabiyya était particulièrement populaire à chiraz où ses maîtres étaient aussi chargés de la direction du mausolée de Šāh Čirāġ, alors l’un des lieux de pèlerinage le plus populaire en Iran. L. Lewisohn analyse l’enseignement donné par rāz-i Šīrāzī (m. 1286/1869), maître et auteur prolifique de l’ordre, dans le Qawā’im al-anwār. Il considère cet ouvrage comme symptomatique d’une évolution strictement chiite du soufisme iranien en contradiction avec la dimension universaliste du soufisme persan de l’époque pré-safavide. La quatrième partie (The Religious Milieu and the Reformist Discourse) concerne le rôle des oulémas face aux changements politiques et culturels au cours des XIXe et XXe siècles. Bien que l’Iran ne soit pas tombé pas sous occupation coloniale, cette période est marquée en Inde comme en Iran par la domination politique, économique et culturelle croissante de l’occident, et en particulier du royaume-uni. En Iran, les oulémas vont progressivement critiquer au cours du XIXe siècle l’incapacité des Qajars à défendrer l’identité islamique de la nation en danger. La hiérarchisation toujours plus complexe du clergé uṣūlī (marja`iyyat) à partir du milieu du XIXe siècle sous l’influence de Šayḫ Anṣārī (m. 1281/1864) va donner aux plus hauts clercs un poids politique sans égal sur les masses, favorisé également par leur indépendance économique toujours plus grande avec l’Etat qajar. dans ce sens, l’appel de nombreux oulémas à la formation d’un parlement et d’un régime constitutionnel en 1324/1906 marque l’aboutissement d’une mobilisation politique continuelle et graduelle au cours du siècle. En Inde également, les oulémas sunnites arrivèrent à cette époque à acquérir un pouvoir religieux, éducatif et social très important. Sous les Moghols, les oulémas n’avaient pas exercé une influence comparable à celle des oulémas chiites dans l’Iran safavide. A l’époque coloniale, le

IntroductIon

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réformisme indo-musulman se développa parallèlement à la naissance de mouvements de réforme parmi les hindous. Les réformistes indo-musulmans soutinrent l’utilisation de l’ourdou, à la place du persan, et certains mouvements, tels les deobandī et les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ, étaient marqués par une identité nettement anti-chiite. Le réformisme indo-musulman comprenait des mouvements et des courants assez différents, comme le montre très bien l’article de Marc Gaborieau (« Wahhabisme » et modernisme : généalogie du réformisme religieux en Inde (1803-1914)). L’auteur dresse ici une vue d’ensemble de l’histoire des mouvements réformistes sunnites au cours du XIXe siècle et au tout début du XXe siècle. de manière très pédagogue, il revient sur les lignes de fractures idéologiques entre les Barelwī, les Wahhabites, les déobandis, les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ ainsi que l’école d’Aligarh. denis Hermann (La défense de l’enseignement de l’arabe au cours du mouvement constitutionnel iranien, (1906-1911)) étudie le rôle des oulémas iraniens dans les débats animés concernant l’enseignement de l’arabe au cours du mouvement constitutionnel. cet enseignement était particulièrement critiqué par certains réformateurs nationalistes et laïcs. Il analyse en particulier un opuscule composé par le maître šayḫī kirmānī Zayn al-‘Ābidin Ḫān Kirmānī (m. 1360/1941) pour défendre l’enseignement de l’arabe en Iran. Les articles de la cinquième partie (Scientific and Philosophical Studies) examinent plusieurs tendances, textes et figures de la pensée scientifique et philosophique, en indiquant également certaines caractéristiques fondamentales marquant la circulation de ces savoirs dans le monde indo-iranien à cette époque. un élément caractérisant le milieu intellectuel musulman de l’Iran safavide et de l’Inde moghole fut l’attention portée vers la philosophie et les sciences rationnelles (‘ulūm-i ‘aqlī). A l’époque safavide, les études philosophiques furent en particulier influencées par les auteurs de l’école d’Ispahan, ayant également une résonance importante dans le monde indien. L’influence de ce courant iranien se révéla considérable pour le développement des sciences rationnelles dans le cursus d’étude musulmane de l’Inde. certains traités d’auteurs chiites de l’époque safavide, tels Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī pour les mathématiques, et Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī (m. 1050/1640) pour la philosophie, étaient d’ailleurs étudiés dans les madrasas sunnites indiennes. Les médecins iraniens, qui étaient souvent recrutés par les cours indiennes, lancèrent en Inde la vogue des traductions persanes et des commentaires de textes médicaux arabes, et notamment du Qānūn d’Ibn Sīnā. Parallèlement, la culture scientifique musulmane de l’Inde fut marquée par des développements originaux, tel que l’intérêt porté vers les sciences indiennes. de plus, dans le milieu multiculturel de l’Inde, des textes scientifiques en persan furent composés par des savants hindous persanophones, surtout à partir de la moitié du XVIIe siècle, et certains

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éléments du savoir astronomique et médical des musulmans étaient discutés dans quelques traités en sanscrit. Sonja Brentjes (the Mathematical Sciences in Safavid Iran: Questions and Perspectives) se concentre dans son article sur la condition des sciences mathématiques. Elle indique sur un plan méthodologique l’importance de passer d’une analyse verticale à une perspective horizontale et contextuelle dans les études sur les mathématiques dans les cultures musulmanes. Elle nous offre une vue d’ensemble détaillée de la production des textes sur le sujet réalisée à l’époque safavide en Iran, accompagnée par un résumé des études mathématiques dans les mondes timouride, ottoman et moghol. La contribution de Fabrizio Speziale (Les traités persans sur les sciences indiennes : médecine, zoologie, alchimie) se concentre sur le milieu scientifique de l’Inde et analyse le mouvement de rédaction de traités en persan sur les savoirs scientifiques indiens, qui fut dominé par les textes sur les disciplines médicales. L’auteur examine les tendances majeures de ce domaine d’étude à l’époque moghole, en montrant que cet intérêt perdura jusqu’à l’époque coloniale où ce type de textes étaient alors rédigés également en ourdou. L’influence des courants philosophiques dominant en Iran sur le milieu intellectuel indien est soulignée par les articles de Sajjad rizvi et de G. A. Lipton. La contribution de Sajjad rizvi (Mīr dāmād and the debate on Ḥudūṯ-i dahrī in India) est dédiée à la pensée de Mīr dāmād (m. 1041/1631), souvent considéré avec Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī comme le co-fondateur de l’école d’Ispahan et qui fut aussi le maître de Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī. L’auteur analyse la résonance qu’eut en Inde la pensée de Mīr dāmād et le concept central de sa philosophie du temps, c’est-à-dire celui de la création atemporelle (ḥudūṯ-i dahrī). L’étude présentée par G. A. Lipton (Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī’s Taswiya contextualized) illustre ensuite comment l’assimilation d’éléments philosophiques se réalisa également dans la pensée d’une importante figure du milieu soufi de l’Inde moghole. L’auteur revient sur le traité al-Taswiya du maître čištī Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī (m. 1058/1648), un célèbre commentateur d’Ibn ‘Arabī (m. 638/1240) qui fut formé par un étudiant de Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī (m. 997/1589), ce dernier savant iranien ayant joué un rôle central dans le développement des études philosophiques dans l’Inde de l’époque d’Akbar. La sixième partie (Encounters with the Indian Tradition) recueille des contributions examinant les contacts entre les traditions musulmanes et hindoues. Sous certains aspects, l’Inde semble être demeurée réfractaire à l’islam : hormis dans les zones situées à l’ouest et à l’Est du sous-continent, seule une minorité d’indiens se convertit à l’islam. cependant, les mondes musulmans et hindous interagirent à divers niveaux. dans la sphère politique, les hindous furent intégrés dans l’administration et les milieux aristocratiques des Etats musulmans. Pour ce qui concerne la production savante, la domination

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musulmane s’établit entre autres à travers une entreprise de connaissance de l’Inde, qui se matérialisa par la rédaction d’importantes traductions et traités en persan sur les savoirs indiens. une différence importante comparée au processus de traduction du grec vers l’arabe de l’époque Abbasside, est le fait que les savants musulmans hellénisants ne s’étaient pas intéressés à la religion et à la mythologie des Grecs, savoirs qui sont au contraire l’objet d’études importantes par les auteurs écrivant en persan sur les traditions indiennes. des soufis comme dārā Šikōh (m. 1069/1659) et le naqšbandī Mīrzā Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān (m. 1195/1781) considéraient les Védas comme étant des textes révélés, tandis que dans le milieu religieux indien des yogis nāth soutenaient que le prophète Muḥammad avait été un initié à la tradition nāth. concernant les pratiques religieuses, les sanctuaires soufis furent les institutions musulmanes qui attirèrent le plus la dévotion des hindous, qui vont ainsi y introduire des actes propres à leur univers dévotionnel et qui seront assimilés par les musulmans, comme l’offrande des fleurs et le fait de faire la circumambulation (ṭawāf) autour de la tombe du saint dans le sens des aiguilles d’une montre, selon l’usage rituel indien. des réactions opposées se manifestèrent à la période moghole, mais c’est surtout à l’époque coloniale que l’épuration de l’islam des éléments indiens devint un thème central du discours des mouvements musulmans réformistes. L’article de dušan deák (Śahādat or Śahā datta? Locating the Mysterious Fakir in the Marathi texts) examine le recours aux symboles musulmans dans l’adaptation du culte de la divinité hindoue dattātreya dans l’Inde à l’époque musulmane. cela fut réalisé notamment à travers l’attribution à dattātreya de l’aspect d’un faqīr, l’une des principales figures du mysticisme musulman indien. L’auteur illustre en particulier comment ces thèmes se développèrent dans des sources marathi qui furent composées au cours des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles. L’étude de Svevo d’onofrio (A Persian commentary to the Upaniṣads: dārā Šikōh’s « Sirr-i akbar ») revient sur le cas de la traduction des Upaniṣads en persan qui fut réalisée pour le prince moghol dārā Šikōh, l’un des personnages les plus emblématiques du mouvement des études en persan sur les traditions indiennes. L’auteur indique que cette traduction ne fut pas accomplie directement par dārā Šikōh, mais plus vraisemblablement par des savants hindous à son service, et dont le style révèle qu’ils étaient très probablement affiliés à l’école advaïta. Le chapitre de Véronique Bouillier (dialogue entre les nāth yogīs et l’islam) se concentre sur le rôle des nāth, l’une des traditions mystiques hindoues particulièrement intéressée par les contacts avec l’islam. L’existence de groupes de yogis musulmans a déjà été mentionnée par quelques études, mais reste encore peu connue. un exemple des formes de méditation qui étaient pratiquées par ces yogis musulmans est illustré ici par l’auteur, qui présente un texte nāth incluant

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un paragraphe destiné aux musulmans et concernant le culte au cours du mois de ramadan. *** Les éditeurs tiennent en premier lieu à remercier les directeurs de l’IrIP et de l’IFrI, Messieurs Gholamreza Aavani et christian Bromberger – qui depuis a achevé son mandat –, sans l’aide desquels la réalisation à téhéran du colloque Intellectual Relations and the Renewal of Religious Thought in Iran and Muslim India during the Modern Period n’aurait pu se faire. nous remercions aussi tout particulièrement l’IHF pour le généreux soutien apporté pour la tenue du colloque. Pour leur appui scientifique et leur aide dans l’organisation du colloque toute notre reconnaissance va également à Monsieur Shahram Pazouki, directeur du département d’études religieuses de l’IrIP, et à Mme Shahin Aavani, membre de cette même institution. Pour la publication de ce volume dans la collection Bibliothèque Iranienne, nous remercions Monsieur Philippe rochard, directeur actuel de l’IFrI, qui a permis l’achèvement du travail mis en œuvre par son prédécesseur. nous n’oublions pas non plus l’ensemble de l’équipe des publications de l’IFrI, en particulier Annette caracache et catherine Azarnouche. nous remercions aussi les responsables de Klaus Schwarz Verlag et en particulier Gerd Winkelhane pour avoir accepté dès le début de co-publier cet ouvrage dans leur collection Islamkundliche Untersuchungen. nous remercions également Alessandra Marchi, pour sa traduction de l’italien de l’article de A. Ventura, et Svevo d’onofrio pour son assistance concernant la transcription des termes sanscrits et pour avoir rédigé la liste des transcriptions du devanāgarī. Les éditeurs du volume sont reconnaissants à Studia Iranica et à l’Institut Français du Proche-orient, pour avoir consenti à inclure dans ce volume des versions mises à jour des articles d’Andrew newman et de Marc Gaborieau : A. newman, « towards a reconsideration of the “Isfahan School of Philosophy”: Shaykh Bahā’ī and the role of the Safawid ‘ulamā », Studia Iranica, 15/2, 1986, pp. 165-199 ; M. Gaborieau, « “Wahhabisme” et modernisme : généalogie du réformisme religieux en Inde (1803-1914) », in : M. al-charif - S. Kawakibi, éds., Le courant réformiste musulman et sa réception dans les sociétés arabes (Actes du colloque d’Alep, 31 mai-1er juin 2002). damas, Institut Français du Proche-orient, 2003, pp. 115-138.

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NOTE SUR LES TRANSCRIPTIONS : Pour ce qui concerne les termes des langues musulmanes, nous avons suivi le système adopté par Abstracta Iranica. dans quelques articles, plusieurs termes d’origine arabe ou persane issus de sources en langues indiennes ont été transcrits selon les critères de translittération des langues indiennes. Pour ce qui est du devanāgarī ont été utilisées les transcriptions suivantes : a, ā, i, ī, u, ū, ṛ, ṝ, ḷ, e, ai, o, au, ka, qa, kha, kha, ga, gha, ṅa, ca, cha, ja, za, jha, ña, ṭa, ṭha, ḍa, ṛa, ḍha, ṛha, ṇa, ta, tha, da, dha, na, pa, pha, fa, ba, bha, ma, ya, ra, la, va, śa, ṣa, sa, ha.

JAHĀNGĪR ET SON FRÈRE ŠĀH ‘ABBĀS : COMPETITION ET CIRCULATION ENTRE DEUX PUISSANCES DE L’ASIE MUSULMANE DE LA PREMIÈRE MODERNITÉ Corinne Lefèvre

Abstract: Since the time of Bābur (r. 1526-1530), the Safavids – rather than the Ottomans or the Uzbeks – were the dynasty with which the Mughals were the most closely connected. This intimate relationship also entailed a strong territorial and ideological rivalry. Competition with the Mughals played an important role in the new ideological formulas elaborated during the reign of Šāh ‘Abbās (r. 1587-1629). Whatever the intensity of this rivalry, it never acted as an impediment to the circulation of goods, people, or ideas between the two poles. As a matter of fact, the migration of Iranian elites into Mughal India crucially informed the shaping of Mughal culture and state. This was especially the case under Jahāngīr (r. 1605-1627) whose reign is generally associated with Iranian administrative hegemony. While the iranophily of the « world conqueror » has often been deemed a sign of political weakness, it is here thoroughly re-examined.

Lorsque je devins empereur, il me vint à l’esprit que je devrais changer mon nom afin qu’on ne le confondît pas avec celui des empereurs de Rūm [les Ottomans]. Une inspiration de l’au-delà m’ayant suggéré que la domination du monde (jahāngīrī) était la tâche des empereurs, je pris le nom de Jahāngīr1.

Lorsqu’à son avènement en 1605 le prince Salīm adopta le titre de « Jahāngīr » (littéralement, « celui qui saisit le monde » et, plus communément, le « conquérant du monde »), il ne fait guère de doute qu’il ne s’adressait pas seulement aux sujets de son royaume – microcosme représentant le macrocosme – mais reprenait à son compte, tout au moins métaphoriquement, l’idée d’empire universel qui avait animé les réalisations de ses deux prestigieux ancêtres, Čingīz Ḫān (m. 1227) et Tīmūr (m. 1405). Ce faisant, il affirmait 1. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 22 qui fait ici référence aux sultans ottomans Salīm Ier (r. 1512-1520) et Salīm II (r. 1566-1574).

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également sa prééminence vis-à-vis des trois autres grandes puissances de l’Asie musulmane contemporaine : les dynasties ottomane, safavide et uzbeke. Que Jahāngīr (r. 1605-1627) ait réalisé un coup de maître face à des souverains dont les noms de règne apparaissaient désormais ridiculement modestes – qu’il s’agisse du Safavide Šāh ‘Abbās (r. 1587-1629), des Ottomans Aḥmad Ier (r. 1603-1617), Muṣṭafā Ier (r. 1617-1618 puis 1622-1623), Uṯmān II (r. 16181622) et Murād IV (r. 1623-1640), ou encore des Uzbeks Walī Muḥammad (r. 1605-1611) et Imām Qulī Ḫān (r. 1611-1641), la fortune de la titulature moghole ainsi inaugurée ne permet pas d’en douter : les successeurs immédiats de Jahāngīr choisirent en effet de régner sous les noms de Šāh Jahān (« l’empereur du monde ») et d’‘Ālamgīr (« le conquérant du monde ») et la tradition se poursuivit tout au long du XVIIIe siècle, devenant à cette époque une réponse symbolique à l’affaiblissement croissant du pouvoir central2. Défi lancé aux puissances rivales qui l’entouraient, le titre adopté par le prince Salīm peut également être interprété comme le signe de la volonté royale de définir le pouvoir moghol en relation avec le monde environnant. De fait, et à l’inverse de ce que l’« indocentrisme » traditionnel des études mogholes pourrait donner à penser, l’empire timouride fut loin de fonctionner en vase clos, et le XVIIe siècle inauguré par le règne de Jahāngīr témoigna au contraire d’une ouverture croissante sur l’extérieur. Cette période vit en effet un développement et une diversification sans précédent de la présence européenne sur le sous-continent ainsi qu’un accroissement des échanges avec l’Occident. Loin de se limiter aux domaines économique et commercial, ces relations eurent également un impact non négligeable au niveau culturel : les recherches menées par les historiens de l’art sur les œuvres produites dans l’atelier impérial ont ainsi mis en lumière l’importance de l’apport européen dans l’évolution de la peinture moghole, notamment dans l’élaboration de portraits allégoriques3. Thème central des recherches menées durant la période de domination britannique, la question des rapports entre Inde précoloniale et puissances européennes s’est naturellement imposée comme une des préoccupations majeures des historiographies nationaliste et marxiste qui virent le jour à partir des années 1920. Si l’intérêt porté à cette question continue aujourd’hui encore d’être pleinement justifié, la centralité qui lui a été accordée a cependant conduit à négliger les relations qui unissaient l’empire timouride à des royaumes géographiquement et culturellement bien plus proches de lui. De ce point de vue, l’historiographie moghole apparaît curieusement fermée sur 2. Le XVIIIe siècle vit ainsi le règne de deux Šāh ‘Ālam (« empereur du monde ») en 1707-1712 puis 1759-1806, et d’un second ‘Ālamgīr (1754-1759). 3. À ce sujet, voir par exemple Franke 2005 ; Koch 2001 et Bailey 1998.

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elle-même, notamment sur des sujets aussi centraux que la construction étatique et l’idéologie impériale4. L’historien désireux d’explorer la piste transdynastique se trouve ainsi face à deux grands types de travaux. D’une part, quelques histoires diplomatiques de facture traditionnelle qui sont certes précieuses de par la richesse des matériaux mis à jour mais qui ne les confrontent guère aux sujets évoqués plus haut5. D’autre part, une poignée de comparaisons de type structuraliste, principalement menées par les historiens de l’« école d’Aligarh » et qui, comme l’ont justement souligné Muzaffar Alam et Sanjay Subrahmanyam, aboutissent nolens volens à présenter une nouvelle fois les quatre grands empires musulmans comme autant de variations régionales du vénérable despotisme oriental ou, en langage marxisant, du non moins respectable Mode de Production Asiatique6. Aux marges de l’historiographie moghole proprement dite, on trouve en outre un certain nombre d’études qui, directement ou indirectement, s’intéressent à la circulation des élites (diplomates, marchands, lettrés, soufis) à l’intérieur des espaces définis par ces quatre États et abordent, pour certaines, la question du rôle de ces élites dans la diffusion des idées politiques entre ces pôles.7 Enfin, les vingt dernières années ont vu la parution d’un nombre non négligeable de travaux s’attachant à analyser conjointement les discours (tant textuels qu’iconographiques ou architecturaux) élaborés par les différentes dynasties pour légitimer leur pouvoir. Souvent dues à des historiens non spécialistes de l’Inde moghole, ces études ont particulièrement insisté sur l’importance des héritages čingīzḫānide et timouride dans la genèse de ces formulations idéologiques et sur les modalités de leur appropriation dans chacun des empires8. Comme l’indique ce rapide tour d’horizon, les recherches reliant les histoires politiques et culturelles des grandes puissances musulmanes de la première modernité restent à ce jour largement fragmentaires. Cet axe de questionnement apparaît pourtant incontournable dans la mesure où, en Asie musulmane (tout

4. Cela est beaucoup moins vrai dans les domaines de la littérature, de la peinture et de l’architecture où l’importance de l’élément persan est, par exemple, depuis longtemps reconnu. 5. Edwards 1915 ; Rahim 1934-1935 ; Islam 1970 et, dans une moindre mesure, Farooqi 1989. 6. Alam - Subrahmanyam 2000, pp. 5-6. Pour des exemples de telles comparaisons, voir Ali 1975 et 2000; Moosvi 2002. 7. Voir, entre autres, Alam - Subrahmanyam 2007 ; Dadvar 1999 ; Dale 2003 ; Digby 1993 ; Gopal 1998 ; Haidar 2004 ; Haneda 1997 ; Khan 2002 ; Khan 1998 ; Levi 2002 ; Robinson 1997 ; Subrahmanyam 1992 ainsi que les contributions réunies dans Levi 2007. 8. Voir notamment Balanbabilar 2007 ; Calmard 2000 ; Dale 1998 ; Foltz 2001 et Watson 1995. Dans le domaine artistique, les contributions les plus importantes sont celles de Necipoǧlu 1993 et de Lentz - Lowry 1989.

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comme d’ailleurs en Europe), la période de la première modernité fut une époque de lutte inter-impériale, mais aussi d’imitation et de compétition symbolique et idéologique. Comme l’a souligné Sanjay Subrahmanyam dans un article programmatique sur les « Connected Histories » : Les idées et les constructions mentales circulaient également à travers les frontières politiques de ce monde, et – même si leurs expressions locales étaient spécifiques – elles nous permettent de voir que ce qui nous occupe, ce ne sont pas des histoires séparées et comparables, mais des histoires connectées […]. Toute considération de la construction étatique durant la première modernité qui négligerait cet élément de la circulation des élites passerait à côté d’un des thèmes-clés qui caractérisent la période : c’est-à-dire, un changement dans la nature et l’échelle du mouvement des élites à travers les frontières politiques9.

Une telle réflexion apparaît d’autant plus nécessaire à l’échelle du monde indo-iranien que c’est avec les Safavides, bien plutôt qu’avec les Ottomans ou les Uzbeks, que les Moghols entretinrent les rapports les plus étroits et les plus suivis. Bābur (r. 1526-1530) lui-même, le fondateur de la dynastie moghole, rechercha et obtint l’aide du premier Safavide Šāh Isma‘īl (r. 1501-1524) pour reconquérir Samarkand sur les Uzbeks et c’est également en Iran, à la cour de Šāh Ṭahmāsb (r. 1524-1576) qu’Humāyūn (r. 1530-1540 puis 1555-1556) trouva refuge en 1544 après avoir été chassé de l’Inde par le souverain Afghan Šer Šāh Sūr (r. 1539-1545). Ces deux épisodes marquèrent durablement les relations ultérieures entre les deux dynasties. D’une part, ils firent des Moghols les débiteurs des Safavides, un fait que les souverains iraniens ne se privèrent pas de rappeler régulièrement à leurs voisins dans leur correspondance diplomatique10. Au milieu du XVIIe siècle encore, Šāh ‘Abbās II (r. 1642-1666) décida d’orner son nouveau palais du Čihil Sutūn d’une peinture murale représentant Humāyūn en audience à la cour de Šāh Ṭahmāsb11. De ce point de vue, il est également très intéressant de noter que, lorsque le dernier Safavide Šāh Sulṭān Ḥusayn (r. 1694-1722) vit son pouvoir menacé par les Afghans ġilzay, il envoya plusieurs missions en Inde pour demander l’aide des Moghols. À la cour de Muḥammad Šāh (r. 1719-1748), Niẓām al-mulk fut le seul amīr à plaider en faveur de l’envoi d’une aide militaire, faisant valoir que les Moghols

9. Subrahmanyam 1997, p. 747. Sur le concept d’« histoires connectées », voir également les contributions rassemblées dans la Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, LIV/4bis, 2007, ainsi que Gruzinski 2001 pour une réflexion dans le cadre de la monarchie espagnole. 10. Voir notamment Islam 1979-1982, vol. 1, J. 47 p. 144 et Ab. 245, pp. 451-452 pour des exemples datant respectivement des règnes de Jahāngīr et d’Awrangzeb (r. 1658-1707). 11. Babaie 1994.

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s’acquitteraient ainsi de la dette qu’ils avaient contractée à l’égard des Safavides à l’époque d’Humāyūn12. Outre le poids symbolique qu’acquirent ces deux épisodes, les conditions particulières auxquelles Bābur et Humāyūn durent se soumettre pour obtenir l’aide des Safavides eurent également d’importantes répercussions. Les deux Moghols se virent en effet contraints d’embrasser (momentanément) le chiisme, et cette déviation vis-à-vis de l’orthodoxie sunnite fut d’ailleurs par la suite habilement exploitée par les Uzbeks pour discréditer la dynastie. Cette conversion temporaire au chiisme rappelle opportunément que l’hétérodoxie des Safavides ne constitua jamais une barrière dans leurs relations avec les Moghols. Sauf dans les moments de tension politique extrême (comme, par exemple, après la prise de Qandahar par Šāh ‘Abbās en 1622), les Moghols invoquèrent rarement le chiisme des Safavides pour les disqualifier politiquement. De fait, même si une alliance des puissances sunnites moghole, uzbek et ottomane fut évoquée à plusieurs reprises de part et d’autre, elle ne déboucha sur aucune action conjointe d’envergure13. Par ailleurs, il est bien évident que l’emploi d’une rhétorique de l’orthodoxie dans ce contexte servait avant tout à légitimer l’attaque d’une puissance musulmane concurrente. Enfin, et a contrario, il est intéressant de noter que le chiisme des Safavides contribua de façon indirecte à la dynamique circulatoire de l’Iran vers le sous-continent : il est en effet difficile de nier que l’intolérance religieuse des Safavides fut un des facteurs qui poussèrent nombre d’Iraniens sur la route de l’Inde moghole même si, comme on le verra par la suite, l’importance de ce facteur ne doit pas être surestimée. Cependant, et comme l’indiquent déjà ces quelques réflexions, les relations entre Safavides et Moghols furent également marquées, dès les origines, par une forte rivalité territoriale et idéologique. La lutte pour le contrôle de Qandahar constitua ainsi un point de tension permanent entre les deux dynasties : située sur un axe stratégique reliant l’Inde à l’Iran et au MoyenOrient, la forteresse assurait en effet à son possesseur la sécurité de Kaboul (dans le cas des Moghols) ou du Khorasan (dans celui des Safavides). S’il n’est pas utile d’entrer ici dans le détail de l’événementiel de cette lutte (Qandahar changea dix-sept fois de mains au cours des XVIe-XVIIIe siècles), quelques remarques s’imposent toutefois concernant les moyens mis en œuvre par ses

12. Islam 1970, p. 138. 13. En 1577, ‘Abd Allāh Ḫān Uzbek (r. 1583-1598) proposa ainsi une alliance anti-safavide à Akbar, qui la refusa. Entre 1622 et 1627 eurent lieu des pourparlers à ce même sujet entre Imām Qulī Ḫān, Murād IV et Jahāngīr, la mort de ce dernier mettant cependant fin au projet. Enfin Šāh Jahān conclut en 1635, dans le contexte de son projet de reconquête de Qandahar, une alliance antisafavide avec les Uzbeks et invita Murād IV à leur adjoindre ses forces, Islam 1970 ; Farooqi 1989.

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protagonistes : outre la classique campagne militaire, Šāh Jahān (r. 1628-1658) eut par exemple recours à la subornation du gouverneur safavide de la forteresse (‘Alī Mardān Ḫān, 1638), tandis que Šāh ‘Abbās entreprit, après un premier échec militaire en 1606-1607, d’amadouer Jahāngīr en multipliant l’envoi d’ambassades et de présents14. La cour jahāngīride reçut ainsi la visite de trois ambassades majeures – successivement menées par Yādgār Sulṭān ‘Alī Tāliš (1611-1613), Muḥammad Riḍā Beg (1616-1617) et Zaynal Beg (16201622) – auxquelles on doit ajouter plusieurs missions de moindre envergure15. Face à cette déferlante diplomatique, le Moghol ne dépêcha certes en retour qu’une seule ambassade mais il déploya à cette occasion toute la munificence nécessaire pour convaincre le monarque safavide de la supériorité de sa richesse et de sa puissance. Si le témoignage d’Iskandar Beg Munšī montre que l’arrivée de l’ambassadeur moghol Ḫān ‘Ālam à Qazvin produisit bien l’effet escompté auprès de la cour, il permet également d’observer la façon dont un tel événement pouvait être détourné au profit du Šāh : selon le chroniqueur, aucun roi d’Iran n’avait jusqu’alors reçu une telle preuve d’amour de la part d’un souverain étranger16. En d’autres termes, plus encore que la puissance de Jahāngīr, c’était celle d’‘Abbās qui se trouvait ainsi exaltée. Si cet épisode constitue un bon témoignage du sentiment de compétition qui animait les deux souverains, il est loin d’en donner à lire toutes les implications. Ce sont précisément celles-ci qu’on se propose d’examiner ici en scrutant au plus près la façon dont la rivalité entre ces deux frères ennemis informa les formulations idéologiques et les choix politiques élaborés dans chacun des empires. Dans ce contexte, il n’est pas inutile de rappeler que si l’iranophilie du « conquérant du monde » a été maintes fois soulignée, on s’est rarement interrogé sur ses motivations : le prestige d’une culture persane pluriséculaire joua bien évidemment un rôle très important, mais un autre facteur de nature plus conjoncturelle doit également être pris en compte. On veut parler ici de l’exceptionnelle stature politique de Šāh ‘Abbās et du modèle que pouvaient constituer ses réformes centralisatrices aux yeux d’un Jahāngīr qui, contrairement à ce qui est souvent avancé, était tout aussi soucieux que 14. Islam 1970, pp. 69 et 80. Cette interprétation se trouve en outre confirmée de façon indirecte par la chronique officielle du règne de Šāh ‘Abbās – la Tārīḫ-i ‘ālam-ārā-yi ‘abbāsī d’Iskandar Beg Munšī (L’histoire ornant le monde de [Šāh] ‘Abbās, 1629) – suivant laquelle tous les ambassadeurs envoyés auprès de Jahāngīr depuis son avènement avaient évoqué sans succès l’épineuse question de Qandahar, Munšī 1978-1986, vol. 2, pp. 1193-1194. 15. Parmi ces dernières, on peut citer les missions de Muṣṭafā Beg en 1615, de Sayyid Ḥasan en 1619, de Mīr Walī Beg et Ḥaydar Beg en 1622 et d’Āqā Muḥammad en 1625-1626, Islam 1970, pp. 76-77, 83 et 85. 16. Munšī 1978-1986, vol. 2, pp. 1158-1160.

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son prédécesseur Akbar (r. 1556-1605) de renforcer l’autorité impériale17. Pôle rival et source d’inspiration, c’est probablement en ces termes que le souverain moghol concevait les États de son « frère » Šāh ‘Abbās qui, de son côté, s’évertua à parer son pouvoir de connexions timourides toujours plus nombreuses.

RIVALITÉ DES DISCOURS IMPÉRIAUX Si l’on se place, dans un premier temps, du point de vue safavide, l’évolution de l’historiographie officielle sous Šāh ‘Abbās fournit un premier cas d’étude intéressant. L’abandon par ce monarque du rôle de pīr-u-muršid (maître et guide spirituel) des Qizilbāš et la promotion simultanée de l’imâmisme comme principal pilier légitimant de la dynastie sont aujourd’hui des faits bien connus18. Les récents travaux menés par Sholeh Quinn et Maria Szuppe ont par ailleurs attiré l’attention sur un élément du discours impérial jusqu’ici largement ignoré et particulièrement intéressant dans la présente perspective : la multiplication des connexions timourides dans les chroniques safavides contemporaines19. Ce phénomène se manifesta avec une emphase particulière dans trois ouvrages historiques composés, il faut le souligner, précisément après que Šāh ‘Abbās fut sorti vainqueur de la seconde guerre civile et eut réaffirmé son autorité face aux Qizilbāš (1590)20. Les chroniqueurs explorèrent plusieurs voies pour ancrer durablement le pouvoir safavide dans l’héritage timouride dont une seule, la plus pérenne et de loin la plus efficace, retiendra ici l’attention. Suivant un processus très largement attesté dans l’histoire des sociétés tant occidentales qu’orientales, ces historiens s’attelèrent en effet à la réécriture des origines de la dynastie en insérant dans leur texte le récit de la rencontre apocryphe entre Tīmūr et certains pīr de l’ordre safavide. Le plus ancien récit de cette rencontre apparaît dans un ouvrage de 156321, mais c’est Iskandar Beg Munšī, le chroniqueur officiel du règne de Šāh ‘Abbās, qui en proposa le premier une version historiquement vraisemblable. Suivant celle-ci, Tīmūr serait allé rendre hommage au šayḫ safavide Ḫwāja ‘Alī (m. 1427) au retour de sa campagne d’Anatolie en 1404 : à cette occasion, il serait non seulement devenu le disciple du šayḫ mais lui aurait également cédé en waqf les terres situées 17. Pour une démonstration de ce point, voir Lefèvre 2007a et 2007b. 18. On consultera notamment à ce sujet Babayan 2002. 19. Quinn 2000 ; Szuppe 1997. 20. Il s’agit du Ḫulāṣat al-tawāriḫ (Abrégé des histoires, 1590-1591) de Qaḍī Aḥmad Qumī, des Futūḥāt-i humāyūn (Les victoires augustes, 1598-1599) de Siyāqī Niẓām et de la Tārīḫ-i ‘ālam-ārāyi ‘abbāsī déjà mentionnée. 21. Quinn 2000, p. 86.

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autour d’Ardabil, cœur de l’ordre et de la dynastie safavide ; enfin, et toujours suivant Munšī, la waqfiyya (document de dotation en waqf) attestant de la légalité de la cession tomba opportunément entre les mains des Safavides lors d’une campagne dans la région de Balkh en 1602-1603. S’il a effectivement existé, ce document était en réalité un faux forgé par les autorités safavides, probablement peu de temps avant ladite campagne22. Ainsi authentifiée et officialisée par Iskandar Beg Munšī, la légende de Tīmūr et de Šayḫ Ḫwāja ‘Alī devint un puissant instrument au service de la dynastie : elle renforça non seulement son autorité spirituelle en plaçant Tīmūr parmi les disciples de l’ordre safavide, mais consolida également la légitimité de son pouvoir temporel en le faisant résulter d’une sorte de mandat timouride23. Que cet instrument ait été jugé efficace par les monarques safavides et leurs historiographes, la fortune de la légende dans les chroniques postérieures au règne de Šāh ‘Abbās ne permet guère d’en douter : sans cesse enrichie par de nouveaux ajouts, celle-ci s’imposa en effet comme un des piliers du discours sur les origines de la dynastie24. En outre, il est particulièrement intéressant de noter que la connexion timouride n’envahit pas seulement le champ du discours historiographique mais pénétra également les productions iconographiques et architecturales commanditées par Šāh ‘Abbās. S’il est vrai que ce monarque fut loin de porter à l’art du livre un intérêt comparable à celui de son grand-père Šāh Ṭahmāsb, il s’employa cependant à remettre sur pied un atelier impérial qui avait pratiquement cessé d’être actif durant la seconde guerre civile (1576-1590)25. Les œuvres associées avec certitude au patronage du souverain furent certes rares, mais elles témoignent d’une attraction indéniable envers les formes timourides : réalisés respectivement vers 1605-1609 et en 1614, les manuscrits illustrés du Manṭiq al-ṭayr (La conférence des oiseaux) du poète persan ‘Aṭṭār et du Šāh-nāma (Livre des Rois) de Firdawsī furent ainsi exécutés dans un style timouride volontairement archaïsant et tranchant avec la manière safavide alors en vogue26. Suivant Anthony Welch, ce « renouveau timouride » se fit essentiellement sentir dans les quinze premières années du XVIIe siècle, mais on 22. Quinn 2000, pp. 87-88 ; Szuppe 1997, pp. 320-321. 23. Szuppe 1997, p. 322. 24. C’est notamment le cas dans l’‘ālam-ārā-yi ṣafawī, dans le Silsila-i nasab-i ṣafawiyya de Šayḫ Ḥusayn Zāhidī ou encore dans le Ḫuld-i barīn de Walī Iṣfahānī – autant de chroniques composées durant le règne de Šāh Sulaymān (r. 1666-1694). 25. Welch 1974, pp. 484-485. 26. Welch 1974, p. 481. Welch note par ailleurs que ce style timouride est également présent dans plusieurs miniatures isolées et dans au moins une pièce textile réalisées sur ordre du souverain durant cette période.

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doit noter qu’il marqua aussi fortement de son empreinte les nombreux projets architecturaux patronnés par Šāh ‘Abbās27. Face à la multiplication des références timourides dans le discours impérial élaboré par ce monarque, une question essentielle s’impose : pourquoi cette formulation idéologique émergea-t-elle précisément à cette époque et à qui s’adressait-elle ? L’évolution politique du royaume safavide à partir de la fin du XVIe siècle – marquée par un puissant mouvement de centralisation qui s’opéra au détriment des Qizilbāš et s’accompagna d’une certaine sécularisation du pouvoir safavide – fournit un premier élément d’explication. En tant que descendant du septième imâm, Šāh ‘Abbās continua certes d’occuper une place privilégiée dans le paysage religieux safavide, mais son rôle s’apparentait désormais davantage à celui d’un protecteur et propagateur de l’imâmisme – l’autorité spirituelle passant progressivement entre les mains des oulémas chiites. Simultanément, il consolida le pouvoir temporel de la dynastie et lui donna une coloration impériale en l’associant à l’une des plus illustres figures de domination universelle du monde islamique – le Ṣāḥib-i qirān (maître de la conjonction astrale auspicieuse) Tīmūr. La connexion timouride ainsi établie servit en outre à rehausser le prestige et à asseoir la légitimité des Safavides face à leurs rivaux musulmans. Dans ce domaine, l’importance du rôle joué par la rivalité avec les Moghols peut difficilement être sous-estimée. Ce n’est en effet pas un hasard si, en 1603, le prince Salīm et futur Jahāngīr reçut de la part de Šāh ‘Abbās une lettre évoquant la waqfiyya établie par Tīmūr au bénéfice de Šayḫ Ḫwāja ‘Alī. Non seulement tous les détails de la découverte y étaient-ils soigneusement consignés, mais la lettre incluait également une copie du précieux document et soulignait fort opportunément l’ancienneté et l’étroitesse des relations entre les deux dynasties, depuis l’époque de Tīmūr jusqu’aux règnes de Šāh Ṭahmāsb et d’Humāyūn28. Et s’il vrai, comme l’a justement remarqué Riazul Islam, qu’on ne trouve nulle mention de ce document dans les sources mogholes contemporaines ou postérieures, une remarque isolée d’Abū al-Fażl montre tout au moins que la légende de la rencontre entre Tīmūr et le šayḫ safavide était connue en Inde à la fin du XVIe siècle. Dans son récit du séjour forcé d’Humāyūn en Iran, l’auteur de l’Akbar-nāma note en effet que le souverain se rendit à Ardabil « conformément au précédent établi par Sa Majesté Ṣāḥib-i qirān »29. On trouve également dans le Jahāngīr-nāma un passage qu’il est particulièrement intéressant d’analyser 27. Pour une mise en perspective de l’influence timouride sur l’architecture safavide, voir Golombek - Wilber 1988. 28. Islam 1979-1982, vol. 1, J. 47, pp. 144-145. 29. Abū al-Fażl 2000, vol. 1, p. 443.

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dans ce contexte de rivalité dynastique. À la date du 6 mars 1620, Jahāngīr écrivit ainsi au sujet des tribus Gakkhars installées au nord du Singh Sagar Doab : Lorsque le Ṣāḥib-i qirān conquérant du monde (gītī-satān) conquit l’Hindoustan et retourna dans sa capitale du Touran, il installa cette tribu (ṭā’ifa), qui appartenait à sa suite, dans cette région. Ils [les Gakkhars] disent qu’ils sont d’origine qārlu, mais ils ne savent pas vraiment qui était leur chef à cette époque et quel était son nom. Ce sont à présent de purs Lāhawrīs et ils parlent cette langue30.

Près d’un siècle auparavant, Bābur avait déjà affirmé dans ses Mémoires que des descendants de Tīmūr et de ses compagnons avaient continué à contrôler certaines parties du Singh Sagar Doab longtemps après le départ du Ṣāḥib-i qirān31. D’après Irfan Habib, cette affirmation n’était d’ailleurs pas dénuée de fondement historique, la domination timouride s’étant étendue jusqu’à l’Indus, à l’est de Bannu32. Pour autant, ce n’est ni la véracité de cette assertion ni la surprenante assimilation des Gakkhars aux anciens soldats timourides qui doit ici retenir l’attention, mais bien plutôt les raisons pour lesquelles Jahāngīr choisit de rapporter cette anecdote. Celle-ci peut certes être rattachée à la curiosité d’ordre ethnographique que le souverain manifesta tout au long de ses Mémoires33, mais il n’est pas exclu qu’elle ait également eu à ses yeux une fonction légitimante : en soulignant l’ancienneté de l’implantation timouride en Inde, elle permettait en effet au monarque de présenter la présence moghole dans cette région non comme le résultat d’un processus de conquête, mais comme l’aboutissement d’une entreprise de reconquête visant à récupérer les territoires qui avaient été perdus après la mort de Tīmūr. Enfin, l’insertion de cette anecdote dans le Jahāngīr-nāma est d’autant plus significative qu’elle avait totalement disparu des chroniques mogholes postérieures aux Mémoires de Bābur. Dans ces conditions, l’hypothèse suivant laquelle Jahāngīr l’aurait réintroduite en réponse aux nouvelles connexions timourides élaborées par Šāh ‘Abbās apparaît particulièrement séduisante. Elle le devient encore davantage lorsqu’on considère que seules quelques pages séparent le récit du retour à la cour de Ḫān ‘Ālam – l’ambassadeur de Jahāngīr auprès de Šāh ‘Abbās – de l’anecdote susmentionnée34. Il est vrai que le prestige que les Moghols tiraient 30. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 324 et Jahāngīr 1980, p. 329. 31. Bābur 1996, p. 277. 32. Habib 1997, p. 299. 33. À ce sujet, voir Lefèvre 2007a. 34. Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 318-319. Il paraît tout à fait vraisemblable que le rapport que Ḫān ‘Ālam fit à Jahāngīr de sa mission ait inclus des informations concernant les formulations idéologiques alors en vogue à la cour safavide.

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de leur ascendance timouride était bien supérieur à la légitimité que les Safavides avaient réussi à établir en référence à Tīmūr. Cependant, la sanglante campagne indienne du Ṣāḥib-i qirān n’avait jamais vraiment été utilisée pour justifier la domination moghole sur le sous-continent35, et on peut penser que Jahāngīr lui-même aurait probablement évité de recourir (même indirectement) à cet argument, n’eussent été les revendications des Safavides. Outre la lettre de 1603 et la copie de la waqfiyya qui l’accompagnait, il est un autre élément qui donne à penser que les connexions timourides s’adressaient, au moins en partie, à la puissance concurrente des Moghols : il s’agit de l’utilisation faite par le monarque des objets se rattachant à Tīmūr ou à ses descendants. Tout comme les Moghols, les Safavides étaient d’avides collectionneurs de memorabilia timourides (un terme emprunté à Thomas Lentz) et la fonction politique que ceux-ci remplissaient à leurs yeux est clairement attestée par la nature du lieu où ils étaient conservés : suite aux dotations en waqf de Šāh ‘Abbās, le sanctuaire dynastique d’Ardabil en possédait en effet un bon nombre, et il ne fait guère de doute qu’il s’agissait là pour le souverain d’un moyen supplémentaire de renforcer les liens entre Timourides et Safavides36. Dans ce contexte, l’empressement avec lequel Šāh ‘Abbās approvisionna Jahāngīr en memorabilia timourides apparaît à première vue assez surprenant37. Comme on l’a dit plus haut, ces gestes ont généralement été considérés comme autant de tentatives destinées à amadouer le Moghol sur la question de Qandahar. Si l’interprétation politique de ces présents est tout à fait justifiée, elle ne doit pas pour autant occulter leur dimension symbolique : en alimentant le « trésor » dynastique de Jahāngīr, Šāh ‘Abbās signifiait simultanément au Moghol que les Safavides étaient eux aussi les détenteurs d’une part importante de l’héritage timouride. Le double rôle ainsi assigné aux memorabilia – tout à la fois appât politique et source de légitimité pour l’exportation – témoigne en tout cas de la remarquable habileté politique du Šāh, une qualité que Jahāngīr appréciait d’ailleurs, comme on le verra par la suite, à sa juste valeur. Si l’on se tourne à présent du côté de la cour moghole, force est de constater que la rivalité avec les Safavides n’informa pas aussi profondément l’idéologie jahāngīride. Le monarque reprit essentiellement à son compte les formulations 35. À ce sujet, voir Habib 1997. 36. Lentz - Lowry 1989, p. 313 et Rizvi 2002, p. 14. 37. Jahāngīr reçut en effet de Šāh ‘Abbās deux rubis gravés des noms de ses ancêtres, une peinture représentant la bataille entre Tīmūr et Tuqtamiš Ḫān et, très probablement, un astrolabe ayant appartenu à Mīrzā Uluġ Beg (r. 1447-1449), le petit-fils de Tīmūr (Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 319, 357 et Islam 1979-1982, vol. 1, J. 70 p. 178 et J. 74 p. 183). Pour une étude détaillée des échanges de présents entre les deux monarques, on consultera Littlefield 1999.

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développées par Akbar qui, il est vrai, s’était lui-même inspiré du modèle d’autorité charismatique incarné par Šāh Isma‘īl. La compétition entre les deux puissances est cependant loin d’être absente du discours impérial élaboré par Jahāngīr, comme le montrent en particulier deux peintures réalisées sur son ordre vers 1618. Jahāngīr recevant Šāh ‘Abbās (Bičitr ?) et Jahāngīr étreignant Šāh ‘Abbās (Abū al-Ḥasan) ne représentent certes aucun événement historique, les deux hommes ne s’étant jamais rencontrés ; ces images furent néanmoins produites durant une période où Jahāngīr recevait d’abondantes informations sur la cour safavide par l’intermédiaire de son ambassadeur Ḫān ‘Ālam, nommé en 1613 à la tête d’une mission de prestige38. On doit encore noter la présence, au sein de cette ambassade, du peintre Bišan Dās : il exécuta sur ordre de Jahāngīr de nombreux portraits du Šāh, de ses rencontres avec Ḫān ‘Ālam ainsi que de plusieurs dignitaires de la cour iranienne39. Le réalisme des représentations du Safavide sur ces deux peintures n’est pourtant pas lié à l’œuvre de Bišan Dās (qui ne revint en Inde qu’en janvier 1620) mais, d’après une note de Jahāngīr inscrite sur Jahāngīr étreignant Šāh ‘Abbās, aux descriptions verbales que lui fournirent des personnes l’ayant déjà rencontré40. La première des peintures figure les deux souverains assis sur une banquette et entourés de Ḫān ‘Ālam et d’Āṣaf Ḫān, beau-frère et ministre de Jahāngīr d’origine iranienne. Malgré l’égalité apparente du Moghol et du Safavide que proposent les nimbes et l’inscription fraternelle qui encadre la miniature41, la supériorité du statut de Jahāngīr se manifeste clairement à travers un certain nombre d’éléments. Physiquement plus imposant, le Moghol est également bien plus fastueusement paré que son voisin à la mise sobre : face à cette magnificence et à la majesté de la généalogie timouride que présentent deux angelots dorés, Šāh ‘Abbās ne semble avoir d’autre choix que d’adopter une attitude déférente et d’incliner légèrement la tête en signe de respect. Encore discrètes et conciliantes dans cette première peinture, la supériorité moghole et la prétention à la souveraineté universelle s’affirment sans retenue dans Jahāngīr étreignant Šāh ‘Abbās. Officiellement dictée par un rêve royal et sans doute inspirée de sources anglaises42, la peinture d’Abū al-Ḥasan met en scène 38. Pour une reproduction de ces deux peintures, voir Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 263 et 382. Parmi les nombreuses analyses dont elles ont fait l’objet, on consultera notamment Ramaswamy 2007 ; Franke 2005 ; Cole 2003 ; Okada 1992 et Beach 1981. 39. Sur cette série de peintures, très populaires et maintes fois copiées en Inde et en Iran, voir Das 1998, pp. 119-127 et Littlefield 1999, Appendix B, part 1&2. 40. Voir Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 477-478 pour la translittération et la traduction de cette inscription. 41. Voir Jahāngīr 1999, p. 477 pour la translittération et la traduction de cette inscription. 42. Beach 1981, p. 30 mentionne en effet un Portrait d’Élisabeth Ière réalisé vers 1592 par Marcus Gheeraerts le Jeune dans lequel « the monarch stands on a globe, with her back to storm

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Jahāngīr et Šāh ‘Abbās se tenant respectivement sur un lion et un agneau allongés côte à côte sur un globe terrestre. Les souverains sont par ailleurs entourés d’un double nimbe solaire et lunaire soutenu par deux têtes d’anges ailées. Tout semblant d’égalité est ici abandonné : Jahāngīr écrase de sa masse imposante le frêle Šāh ‘Abbās, tandis que sa monture léonine pousse inexorablement l’agneau safavide hors de la sphère terrestre. Comme l’a justement souligné Amina Okada, le couple du lion et de l’agneau – symbole de l’assemblée pacifique des bêtes sauvages et apprivoisées (dad-u-dām) et, au-delà, de la justice du souverain – est ici détourné de son sens traditionnel : loin de coexister pacifiquement avec l’agneau/Šāh ‘Abbās, le lion/Jahāngīr semble au contraire vouloir le dévorer43. Au-delà de la rivalité (territoriale et symbolique) qui sous-tendait de telles représentations, l’estime mutuelle que se portaient les deux souverains doit également être prise en compte dans l’évaluation globale de leurs relations. Contrairement à ce qui est souvent affirmé, le fait que les deux monarques se soient mutuellement appelés « frères » (barādar) ne se résumait pas à mon sens à un simple artifice diplomatique destiné à tromper l’autre mais indiquait également un respect réciproque. Dans le cas de Jahāngīr, celui-ci semble par ailleurs s’être doublé d’une sincère admiration, voire d’une certaine fascination. Dans les Mémoires qu’il composa, tout comme dans une chronique des premières années de son règne récemment mise à jour – les Majālis-i Jahāngīrī44, Šāh ‘Abbās est en vérité le seul souverain contemporain à sortir de l’ombre à travers la retranscription de ses lettres et la consignation des réactions qu’elles suscitèrent chez le monarque moghol45, ou encore par le biais de l’évocation de clouds, facing – or ushering in – celestial light, and a sonnet inscribed on the right asserts that the sun itself pales beside the radiance of Her Majesty ». Les marchands et les émissaires anglais constituaient, avec les Jésuites, une importante source d’approvisionnement en peintures européennes à la cour moghole. Pour une récente interprétation du globe terrestre dans Jahāngīr étreignant Šāh ‘Abbās, voir Ramaswamy 2007, pp. 754-758. 43. Okada 1992, p. 55. Sur l’importance et la signification du motif des dad-u-dām dans la peinture moghole, voir Koch 2001. 44. Composées par ‘Abd al-Sattār Lāhawrī, les Majālis-i Jahāngīrī – dont l’unique manuscrit a été découvert en 2002 à Lahore et publié à Téhéran en 2006 – constituent une relation des assemblées nocturnes tenues à la cour moghole entre octobre 1608 et novembre 1611 et apportent, de ce fait, un éclairage nouveau sur les premières années du règne et la personnalité de Jahāngīr. Šāh ‘Abbās apparaît dans onze des cent vingt-deux majlis qui composent l’ouvrage, plus des deux tiers des références le concernant étant liées à l’arrivée à la cour de son ambassadeur Yādgār Sulṭān ‘Alī Tāliš en mars 1611. 45. Trois lettres de Šāh ‘Abbās à Jahāngīr sont ainsi intégralement retranscrites dans les Mémoires, Jahāngīr 1980, pp. 111-112, 190-192 et 397-398 pour le texte persan et Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 122-123 et 383 pour une traduction de la première et de la troisième. Outre la reproduction de

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sa personnalité et de certaines de ses décisions politiques. Dans ce dernier domaine, il semble que Jahāngīr ait à l’occasion utilisé la référence à Šāh ‘Abbās comme une sorte de faire-valoir, nombre des anecdotes mentionnées ayant trait à la cruauté du Safavide et rehaussant, par voie de contraste, sa propre magnanimité et son sens de l’équité46. Sensible dans les chroniques contemporaines, la place privilégiée occupée par Šāh ‘Abbās dans l’univers mental et l’imaginaire politique de Jahāngīr se manifesta également dans les sources iconographiques qu’il commandita : outre la transfiguration allégorique dont il est l’objet dans les peintures examinées plus haut, le Safavide est non seulement le monarque contemporain le plus souvent dépeint dans les miniatures jahāngīrides mais aussi, significativement, le seul dont la représentation soit empreinte d’un souci de réalisme47. Šāh ‘Abbās apparaît, ce faisant, comme le seul digne de comparaison et même d’émulation. Sans surprise, les chroniques officielles sont particulièrement peu loquaces à ce sujet – soucieuses qu’elles sont d’exalter la perfection intrinsèque de la figure impériale – et c’est bien davantage vers les documents administratifs et les témoignages extérieurs qu’il faut se tourner pour mettre à jour ces connexions politiques. Comme on va le voir à présent, celles-ci furent véhiculées par les nombreux Iraniens qui s’installèrent en terre moghole dans le premier quart du XVIIe siècle et jouèrent un rôle non négligeable dans l’évolution des rapports entre pouvoir et commerce qui marqua le règne de Jahāngīr.

la seconde lettre, les Majālis donnent à lire l’obsession de Jahāngīr vis-à-vis d’un distique sur l’amitié impériale que Šāh ‘Abbās avait inclus dans sa missive (« Je suis assis auprès de ton image et mon cœur est en paix / C’est une union qui n’est pas suivie par le chagrin de la séparation »). De fait, le monarque n’eut de cesse de consulter les poètes de sa cour à la recherche du parfait distique à envoyer en réponse, s’interrogeant notamment sur le style le mieux approprié à la correspondance entre deux souverains (Lāhawrī 2006, pp. 198-200, 203-205, 223-225 et 232-233). 46. À ce sujet, voir en particulier Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 178 et 201 sur l’exécution du prince Ṣafī Mīrzā sur ordre de Šāh ‘Abbās, et Lāhawrī 2006, pp. 8 et 55-56 pour d’autres évocations de la sévérité des châtiments (siyāsat-i saḫt) prononcés par le Safavide et de sa cruauté (sang-dilī). 47. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 315 et Welch 1995. À l’inverse, les sultans ottomans présents dans les miniatures jahāngīrides étaient systématiquement dépeints suivant des prototypes, généralement européens. En ce qui concerne les souverains aštarḫānides contemporains, je n’ai pu trouver aucune référence à des portraits les représentant. On sait par contre que Jahāngīr commandita au moins un portrait du célèbre Šaybānide ‘Abd Allāh Ḫān Uzbek et de son fils ‘Abd al-Mu’min, tous deux morts en 1598, et veilla à ce que leurs traits fussent fidèlement reproduits (Lāhawrī 2006, p. 53 et Seyller 2000, p. 201).

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CIRCULATION DES ELITES ET DES INSTRUMENTS POLITIQUES L’immigration iranienne dans l’Inde de Jahāngīr Les étapes du renforcement de la présence iranienne au sein de l’appareil d’État moghol sont aujourd’hui bien connues : initié par Humāyūn et accentué par Akbar, le recrutement d’Iraniens s’intensifia encore à l’époque de Jahāngīr sous le règne duquel ces derniers devinrent le premier élément de la noblesse, tant du point de vue numérique qu’en matière de charges attribuées48. Symbolisée par l’ascension de la famille de Nūr Jahān (l’épouse favorite de Jahāngīr, elle-même d’origine iranienne), cette dynamique migratoire se poursuivit tout au long du XVIIe siècle même si, à partir des années 1650, les Iraniens durent faire face à la montée en puissance d’autres groupes (musulmans indiens, Rājpūts) dans leur quête de patronage49. Bien que ce processus ait été abondamment décrit et commenté, peu d’historiens se sont véritablement efforcés d’expliquer cet attrait moghol pour les Iraniens50. La plupart des études existantes ont privilégié l’analyse des facteurs ayant poussé les Iraniens hors de leur patrie. Parmi ces facteurs, l’idéologie strictement chiite des Safavides est certainement celui auquel on a accordé le plus d’importance : l’intolérance religieuse de la dynastie, et le désintérêt des monarques à l’endroit de la poésie de cour et de la peinture auraient ainsi conduit bon nombre de lettrés, d’artistes et de soufis à prendre la route d’une Inde moghole dont le pluralisme religieux faisait au contraire un véritable dār al-amān ou « demeure de la paix »51 – une caractéristique dont Jahāngīr s’enorgueillissait d’ailleurs tout particulièrement52. Un second facteur souvent avancé est de nature économique : l’étendue des possessions mogholes ainsi que l’importance des ressources humaines et financières de l’empire offraient évidemment de bien meilleures perspectives de carrière que le royaume safavide. Ce dernier disposait en effet de revenus bien inférieurs et son territoire était dominé par un vaste plateau aride et assez faiblement peuplé (environ dix millions d’habitants contre cent millions environ pour l’Inde moghole)53. Enfin, nombre de cas d’émigration ont été expliqués par une

48. Ali 1985, p. xx-xxi. 49. À ce sujet, voir notamment l’éloquent témoignage de Mīrzā Muḥammad Mufīd récemment analysé par Alam - Subrahmanyam 2007, pp. 175-229. 50. Significatifs sont, de ce point de vue, les travaux de Dadvar 1999 et de Haneda 1997. 51. Dale 2003, pp. 65-66 et Alam 2003, p. 159. 52. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 40. Voir également les remarques dépréciatives concernant l’intolérance des Safavides ou des Uzbeks dans Lāhawrī 2006, pp. 15 et 53-54. 53. Dale 2003, pp. 66-67.

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disgrâce politique, dont les causes restent malheureusement souvent décrites en des termes assez vagues. Si tous ces facteurs ont sans aucun doute joué un rôle non négligeable, la trop grande importance qu’on leur a généralement donnée est cependant problématique car elle conduit à présenter l’émigration des élites iraniennes en Inde comme un processus essentiellement subi par les Moghols. Cette interprétation apparaît en outre particulièrement lacunaire dans la mesure où elle ignore les facteurs qui ont pu motiver le recrutement de si nombreux Iraniens par les monarques de la dynastie. Or, comme on va le voir à présent, le rôle de ces « pull factors » fut loin d’être nul. Parmi ceux-ci, on peut par exemple mentionner le choix fait par Akbar de favoriser les Iraniens afin de réduire l’influence des Tūrānīs dont les tendances autonomistes cadraient mal avec le degré de centralisation qu’il cherchait à imposer. Nombre d’historiens ont par ailleurs attribué la position privilégiée acquise par les Iraniens sous le règne de Jahāngīr à l’influence de son épouse Nūr Jahān – une interprétation contestable sur laquelle on aura l’occasion de revenir54. Cependant, au-delà de ces explications de nature plutôt conjoncturelle, on peut discerner deux facteurs qui motivèrent bien plus profondément l’iranophilie des Moghols. Le premier a trait à l’immense prestige dont la culture persane bénéficiait dans le monde islamique – un prestige que les Safavides cherchèrent d’ailleurs à s’approprier de façon exclusive dès le XVIe siècle55. De fait, la promotion du persan par Akbar tant au niveau administratif que littéraire (et dont la création de la position de malik al-šu‘arāʾ ou « poètelauréat », exclusivement réservée aux poètes d’expression persane, constitue un bon indicateur) témoigne clairement de la volonté du monarque de faire de l’Inde moghole un nouveau pôle de la culture persane, capable d’égaler, sinon de surpasser, l’antique centre iranien. Que le recrutement d’Iraniens et la promotion de la culture persane par les Moghols aient dérivé, au moins dans une certaine mesure, de la rivalité qui les opposait aux Safavides renvoie d’ailleurs à une hypothèse légèrement différente récemment formulée par Muzaffar Alam, selon lequel : « En envoyant de généreuses invitations aux Iraniens, Akbar chercha à neutraliser la révérence que les Moghols éprouvaient à l’égard du Šāh iranien à cause de l’aide que les Safavides avaient apportée à Bābur et à Humāyūn »56. Par ailleurs, et c’est là – comme l’a clairement démontré Sanjay Subrahmanyam dans un article consacré à la circulation des élites iraniennes en Asie – le second facteur d’importance, le profil bien particulier des Iraniens qui réussirent à se hisser aux plus hauts niveaux de 54. C’est notamment le cas de Prasad 1922. 55. Alam 2003 sur lequel est largement basé le développement qui suit. 56. Alam 2003, p. 160.

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l’appareil d’État ainsi que la nature des charges qui leur furent confiées à partir du règne de Jahāngīr donnent à penser que les Moghols recherchaient et appréciaient chez ces immigrés persans des compétences bien précises57. Le cas de la famille de Nūr Jahān est, de ce point de vue, tout à fait significatif. De son grand-père Ḫwāja Muḥammad Šarīf, un Tājik originaire de Téhéran, on sait qu’il avait occupé un poste important dans l’administration fiscale de Šāh Ṭahmāsb et avait épousé la fille d’Āqā Mullā Dawatdār, inaugurant ainsi une longue alliance avec cette prestigieuse et puissante famille iranienne58. Son fils I‘timād al-dawla choisit quant à lui de s’établir en Inde où son savoir-faire dans l’administration fiscale lui valut non seulement d’obtenir en 1611 les charges combinées de wazīr et de wakīl, mais encore de les conserver jusqu’à sa mort en 162159. Pour reprendre les termes du Ḏaḫīrat al-ḫawanīn, un dictionnaire biographique du milieu du XVIIe siècle, « il était sans égal dans la science de la comptabilité (dar ‘ilm-i siyāq bī-naẓīr būd) »60. I‘timād al-dawla transmit apparemment ses compétences à son fils Āṣaf Ḫān, également loué pour son expertise dans le domaine fiscal61 ; il hérita ainsi de la charge de wakīl de son père, un poste qu’il occupa pareillement jusqu’à sa mort en 1641. Plus généralement, il convient de rappeler que, sous les règnes de Jahāngīr et de ses successeurs, les plus hauts postes de l’administration fiscale furent quasi exclusivement confiés à des amīrs d’origine iranienne62. C’est en outre avec Āṣaf Ḫān qu’apparurent les premiers signes tangibles de l’intérêt de la famille de Nūr Jahān pour le commerce international, même si le profil de Ḫwāja Muḥammad Šarīf et ses connexions avec un homme tel qu’Āqā Muḥammad Dawatdār donnent à penser que le commerce faisait déjà partie du portfolio des activités familiales en Iran. Quoi qu’il en soit, cet intérêt ne fit que se renforcer à l’époque de Šāh Jahān et d’Awrangzeb, demi-siècle durant lequel Āṣaf Ḫān et son fils Šayista Ḫān jouèrent, parmi d’autres amīrs, un rôle considérable dans le commerce de la baie du Bengale63. Que Jahāngīr ait activement recherché les services de ces Iraniens combinant compétences administrative et commerciale ressort en outre clairement de l’accueil qu’il réserva à Mīr Jumla Iṣfahānī – un amīr qui, malgré une 57. Subrahmanyam 1992. 58. Bhakkarī 2003, p. 3 et Habib 1969, p. 76. 59. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 125. Les termes de wazīr et de wakīl désignent respectivement le chef de l’administration financière et le responsable ultime de l’administration par délégation de l’empereur. 60. Bhakkarī 1961-1974, vol. 2, p. 10 et Bhakkarī 2003, p. 3. À ce sujet, voir également Jahāngīr 1999, p. 373. 61. Bhakkarī 2003, p. 10. 62. Ali 1985, pp. xxix-xxx. 63. Pour plus de détails à ce sujet, voir Prakash 1985.

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carrière particulièrement intéressante, n’a jusqu’ici guère retenu l’attention des historiens64. Son arrivée à la cour moghole en mars 1618 est ainsi décrite dans le Jahāngīr-nāma : À cette date, Mīr Jumla arriva de Perse et eut la fortune de me rendre hommage. C’est un important Sayyid d’Ispahan et sa famille a toujours été honorée en Perse. À présent, son neveu Mīr Riḍā est au service de mon frère Šāh ‘Abbās et occupe le poste de ṣadr. Le Šāh lui a donné sa propre fille en mariage. Mīr Jumla a quitté la Perse il y a quatorze ans et s’est rendu à Golconde, auprès de Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb al-mulk. Son nom est Muḥammad Amīn, mais Quṭb al-mulk lui a donné le titre de Mīr Jumla. Durant dix ans, il a été le pivot de ses affaires (madār-i alayhi) et son factotum (ṣāḥib-i sāmān). Après la mort de Quṭb al-mulk, le pouvoir échut à son neveu, mais celui-ci ne traita pas le Mīr de la façon dont il l’aurait souhaité. Le Mīr obtint [donc] la permission de partir et retourna dans sa patrie. En raison de sa relation avec Mīr Riḍā et du respect accordé aux hommes de richesse, le Šāh lui témoigna attention et faveur et il [le Mīr] lui offrit les présents appropriés (pīškašhā-yi lā’iq). Il passa trois ou quatre ans en Perse et accumula les possessions (mulkhā). Comme il m’avait été plusieurs fois rapporté qu’il voulait entrer au service de cette cour, je lui envoyai un farmān l’invitant à se rendre auprès de moi. Aussitôt qu’il reçut le farmān, il rompit ses liens [en Iran] et se mit en route pour cette cour avec loyauté. À cette date, il eut l’honneur d’embrasser le tapis royal et présenta en offrande douze chevaux, neuf tuqūz de soieries et deux bagues. Comme il était venu avec le visage de la dévotion et de la loyauté, je l’entourai de faveurs et de bontés et lui accordai dix mille roupies pour ses dépenses ainsi qu’une robe d’honneur65.

Plusieurs remarques s’imposent à la lecture de ce passage. La première a trait aux origines de Mīr Jumla : comme l’indique clairement Jahāngīr, celui-ci appartenait à l’un des clans sayyids des environs d’Ispahan dont on connaît par ailleurs la propension à investir simultanément dans le foncier et dans les activités commerciales et manufacturières. Dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle, leur « diversité d’instinct » leur avait cependant valu – et, plus généralement aux tujjār (marchands) iraniens – une certaine hostilité de la part des autorités safavides qui avaient choisi de s’appuyer sur d’autres groupes pour mettre en œuvre leur programme de centralisation administrative et commerciale (un point sur lequel on reviendra plus longuement par la suite). Nombre de Sayyids avaient alors choisi de répondre positivement aux appels

64. Haneda 1997, pp. 135-136 fait cependant exception. 65. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 258 et Jahangir 1980, p. 256.

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des sultans de Golconde qui, depuis l’époque d’Ibrāhīm Quṭb Šāh (r. 15501580), encourageaient fortement l’immigration iranienne66. Il est d’ailleurs intéressant de noter qu’à son arrivée à la cour de Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh (r. 1580-1612) en 1604, Muḥammad Amīn bénéficia de l’aide d’un éminent compatriote : d’après Šayḫ Farīd Bhakkarī, c’est en effet grâce à l’intervention de Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min Astarābādī (m. 1625) qu’il entra au service du sultan et obtint la charge de mīr jumla (responsable de l’administration des finances)67. Originaire de la région de la mer Caspienne, Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min était lui-même une figure majeure de la communauté iranienne de Golconde : arrivé au Deccan en 1581, il fut nommé pešwā (premier ministre) quelques années plus tard et demeura à la tête des affaires de l’État sous les règnes successifs de Muḥammad Qulī et de Muḥammad Quṭb Šāh (r. 16121626). À l’instar de ses compatriotes, il semble qu’il ait également développé d’importants intérêts dans le commerce entre Masulipatnam et les ports du golfe Persique et de la mer Rouge68. Si Muḥammad Amīn Mīr Jumla fut loin de jouir de la même longévité politique que son protecteur, la dizaine d’années qu’il passa dans le sultanat lui permit néanmoins d’amasser une fortune substantielle. C’est en tout cas ce qui ressort de la lecture des sources (indo-)persanes qui, toutes, insistent sur l’importance des biens qu’il emporta avec lui lors de son départ de Golconde. Ces textes ne fournissent malheureusement aucune information sur l’origine de cette richesse, mais il est probable qu’elle provenait au moins en partie des attributions fiscales de l’amīr (qui lui donnaient accès à l’affermage des revenus) et peut-être également de sa participation au commerce maritime. Aucune des chroniques consultées ne fournit par ailleurs d’élément précis concernant les causes de sa mésentente avec Muḥammad Quṭb Šāh : suivant Iskandar Beg Munšī, le nouveau sultan n’aurait pas été disposé à lui laisser le même degré de liberté dont il avait bénéficié sous son prédécesseur69, mais on peut également supposer que son ascension finit par provoquer la jalousie de Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min. Quoi qu’il en soit, Mīr Jumla quitta Golconde en 1613 et choisit d’aller tenter sa chance dans le sultanat voisin de Bijapur, où il n’eut cependant guère plus de succès70. Contrairement à ce que donne à penser le Jahāngīr-nāma, ce n’est donc qu’après avoir vu ses services refusés par les principaux sultans du Deccan que Mīr Jumla se résolut à retourner en Iran.

66. Calmard 1988 et Subrahmanyam 1992. 67. Bhakkarī 2003, p. 72. 68. Subrahmanyam 1992, pp. 344-345. 69. Munšī 1978-1986, vol. 2, p. 1098. 70. Bhakkarī 2003, p. 72.

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La réticence de Mīr Jumla à regagner son waṭan se comprend d’autant mieux à la lumière du récit de son séjour à la cour de Šāh ‘Abbās tel qu’il apparaît, non dans les Mémoires impériaux, mais dans la notice du Ḏaḫīrat al-ḫawanīn consacré à l’amīr. À l’inverse de Jahāngīr qui, comme on l’a vu, s’attachait plutôt à souligner les faveurs dont Mīr Jumla jouit auprès du Šāh (mais n’expliquait nullement son désir d’entrer au service des Moghols), Šayḫ Farīd Bhakkarī dressa un tableau beaucoup plus cru des relations entre les deux hommes. Selon lui, ces derniers se seraient en effet livrés à un long jeu du chat et de la souris, l’amīr offrant au monarque les présents susceptibles de lui assurer un poste élevé dans l’administration du royaume, tandis que le Šāh s’emparait de ses biens sans nulle intention réelle de le prendre à son service ; finalement, ce n’est que lorsque Mīr Jumla fut convaincu que le Safavide lui refuserait toute participation politique qu’il se tourna vers Jahāngīr71. Cette version est en outre indirectement corroborée par la Tārīḫ-i ‘ālam-ārā-yi ‘abbāsī, même si le Šāh y est naturellement présenté sous son meilleur jour. Après avoir relaté les aventures au Deccan de Mīr Jumla, Iskandar Beg Munšī décrit en effet son arrivée et son séjour à la cour de Šāh ‘Abbās dans les termes suivants : Il lui [à Mīr Jumla] restait suffisamment de bijoux et de possessions pour offrir au Šāh les présents convenables et il resta un moment à la cour. Son ambition sans bornes le conduisit à faire des remarques déplaisantes au Šāh ; il fit par exemple savoir que seuls les postes de wazīr du suprême dīwān et de wakīl-i nafs-i humāyūn le satisferaient. Il ne réussit pas à les obtenir, quitta la cour du Šāh au Mazandaran et alla à Ispahan. Bien qu’il ait possédé dans sa ville natale de belles demeures, de coquettes propriétés privées et tout ce dont il avait besoin pour mener la vie d’un gentilhomme, il continuait d’aspirer à de hautes charges et décida donc d’émigrer une seconde fois. Il laissa ses enfants et ses dépendants à Ispahan et se rendit à la cour de l’empereur moghol Šāh Salīm [Jahāngīr]. Le Šāh, qui fut heureux de le voir partir, prit soin de ses enfants72.

La cour de Jahāngīr offrit effectivement à Mīr Jumla les leviers que celle de son rival safavide lui avait refusés. Dans les mois qui suivirent son arrivée dans le sous-continent, l’Iranien fut en effet intégré dans les rangs des serviteurs de l’empire et obtint une première charge administrative d’‘arẓ-muqarrir (réviseur des pétitions)73. Sa carrière suivit dès lors une progression ascendante. 1620 71. Bhakkarī 2003, p. 72. 72. Munšī 1978-1986, vol. 2, p. 1098. Il est par ailleurs intéressant de noter que Munšī se refuse ici à employer le titre de « Jahāngīr » et préfère désigner le Moghol par son nom princier, beaucoup moins prestigieux. 73. Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 265 et 276.

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vit son entrée dans l’administration fiscale au poste élevé de mīr sāmān (responsable de l’intendance de la Maison impériale) qu’il conserva, mises à part quelques années d’interruption, jusqu’en 1635. Lorsqu’il mourut en 1637, il occupait les fonctions de mīr baḫšī (administrateur en chef de l’armée qui avait en charge la gestion des dignitaires) depuis deux ans et jouissait d’un rang élevé74. En outre, et bien qu’il ne soit plus jamais retourné en Iran après son installation en terre moghole, Mīr Jumla y conserva d’importants intérêts économiques auxquels veillaient les membres de sa famille restés à Ispahan. Suivant, encore une fois, le Ḏaḫīrat al-ḫawanīn : Il a de nombreux fils et petit-fils en Iraq ; chaque année, il leur envoie deux lakh de roupies. Dans les documents officiels, il fait figurer cette somme sous la rubrique des bonnes œuvres (ḫayrāt) de peur que cette affaire [l’envoi d’argent en Iran] ne parvienne aux oreilles augustes [de Sa Majesté]. Ainsi les descendants du défunt ont-ils construit un grand nombre de demeures (ḥawīlīhāyi muta‘addid) à Ispahan et acheté des sarāys, des jardins, des moulins à eau, des hostelleries et des propriétés (ribāṭ wa amlāk)75.

Ce passage est intéressant à plusieurs titres. Il montre d’abord, avec d’autres documents, l’importance des transferts financiers opérés par les élites émigrées en Inde et le rôle qu’elles continuèrent de jouer par ce biais dans l’économie iranienne. Il témoigne d’autre part du recours aux œuvres charitables pour justifier la richesse acquise76 et, surtout, la protéger de la convoitise de l’État. Cette « couverture » ne servait pas seulement à faciliter les transferts, mais aussi à préserver les biens acquis en Iran grâce à l’argent de l’émigration : on sait en effet que nombre d’entre eux étaient convertis en waqf – un statut qui permettait à leurs propriétaires d’échapper à la confiscation ainsi qu’aux taxes prélevées par les autorités safavides77. Au terme de l’analyse de son parcours, Muḥammad Amīn Mīr Jumla apparaît à bien des égards comme une figure archétypale de l’immigration iranienne en Inde et, dans une certaine mesure, comme un précurseur de son plus célèbre homonyme Mīr Jumla Mīr Muḥammad Sayyid Ardistānī (m. 1663). Son cas est d’abord une belle illustration de la relégation dont les élites iraniennes au profil mi-politique mi-commercial furent victimes dans le 74. Ali 1985, pp. 128 et 141. 75. Bhakkarī 2003, p. 73 et Bhakkarī 1961-1974, vol. 2, p. 219. 76. De même Šayista Ḫān qui, comme on l’a vu, participait activement au commerce de la baie du Bengale consacra ainsi une partie de ses profits à des aménagements et des constructions d’intérêt public (ponts, routes et sarāys). Ce faisant, il conférait une certaine honorabilité à une richesse d’origine mercantile, Subrahmanyam 2005, vol. 2, p. 69. 77. Subrahmanyam 1992, pp. 353-354.

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royaume safavide ; cette mise à l’écart fut elle-même un puissant motif d’émigration vers les terres plus accueillantes du Moghol. La brillante carrière qu’il fit par la suite sous Jahāngīr et Šāh Jahān, de même que celle de la famille de Nūr Jahān, montrent en outre la valeur que les monarques de la dynastie accordaient à ces Iraniens alliant compétences administratives et savoir-faire commercial. La question est dès lors de déterminer pour quelle(s) raison(s) et dans quel(s) but(s) les Moghols valorisèrent cette double compétence et les hommes qui en étaient porteurs. Suivant toujours l’hypothèse formulée par Sanjay Subrahmanyam, il semble en réalité que les Moghols aient vu dans ces Iraniens – non seulement à cause de leur profil composite mais aussi en raison de leur connaissance de la nouvelle politique commerciale initiée par Šāh ‘Abbās – un groupe idéal pour les aider à développer en Inde une politique similaire78. C’est cette hypothèse, qui touche à la question cruciale de la circulation des modèles et des instruments politiques entre les empires safavide et moghol, qu’il s’agit à présent de développer. Jahāngīr et le mercantilisme d’État de Šāh ‘Abbās Quelques mots de rappel, tout d’abord, concernant la nouvelle politique commerciale élaborée par Šāh ‘Abbās. Celle-ci s’apparentait à une forme de mercantilisme d’État, le terme ne renvoyant pas ici spécifiquement aux politiques adoptées par certains États européens des XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles mais, plus généralement, à « une idéologie concevant le comportement de l’État en analogie avec celui du marchand »79. Ce mercantilisme, il faut le souligner, ne constituait par ailleurs qu’un des volets des réformes centralisatrices que le Safavide chercha à mettre en œuvre. Pour ce faire, il choisit de s’appuyer, non sur les marchands-administrateurs tājiks que leur diversité d’activités rendait difficilement maniables, mais plutôt sur deux « communautés » qu’il lui était beaucoup plus facile de contrôler : d’une part, un corps d’esclaves (ġulāms) auquel il confia une part croissante de l’administration du royaume au détriment des Qizilbāš ; d’autre part, les marchands arméniens de Julfa qu’il déplaça en 1604-1605 à Ispahan, dans le quartier le la Nouvelle Julfa, et dont il fit les partenaires à la fois privilégiés et contraints de sa politique commerciale80. Aux 78. Les immigrés iraniens n’étaient cependant pas les détenteurs exclusifs de telles qualités, les castes de scribes persanisées telles que les Kāyasthas et les Khatrīs s’imposant comme de sérieux compétiteurs dans l’Inde du Nord du début du XVIIIe siècle, Subrahmanyam 1992, p. 358. 79. Subrahmanyam 2005, vol. 2, p. 49. Participant activement au commerce, l’État mercantiliste ne jouait pas pour autant jeu égal avec les producteurs et les marchands et utilisait tous les moyens à sa disposition (depuis le compromis jusqu’à la coercition) pour contrôler et orienter leurs activités. 80. Subrahmanyam 1992, pp. 354-355.

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yeux du Safavide, les Arméniens présentaient en effet un double avantage : outre leur savoir-faire marchand, ils bénéficiaient d’un vaste réseau de contacts qui s’étendait d’Amsterdam à Manille et qui pouvait être mis au service des intérêts de l’État ; en tant que ḏimmīs, ils étaient par ailleurs plus vulnérables aux pressions religieuses que le Šāh était susceptible d’exercer à leur encontre81. L’alliance ainsi conclue entre le pouvoir safavide, les ġulāms et les Arméniens limita d’autant la participation politique et commerciale des Iraniens et contribua sans aucun doute, comme on l’a suggéré plus haut, à la nouvelle vague de migration qui vit un nombre important d’entre eux s’installer au Deccan et dans l’empire moghol. La relation privilégiée établie avec la communauté marchande arménienne ne constituait cependant qu’un des volets de l’ambitieuse stratégie politicocommerciale élaborée par Šāh ‘Abbās. Comme l’a clairement démontré Rudolph P. Matthee, celle-ci visait avant tout à développer les réserves en argent de l’État – particulièrement précieuses en ces temps de centralisation et que le déficit commercial structurel avec le sous-continent indien contribuait à affaiblir. Pour ce faire, le Safavide eut recours à toute une série d’expédients dont seuls les principaux seront évoqués ici82. Parmi ceux-ci, on peut citer la mise en place d’une politique de substitution des exportations : Šāh ‘Abbās encouragea ainsi la culture du coton et le port de cotonnades en Iran afin de réduire les importations de textiles indiens mais aussi d’augmenter les exportations de soie. Il est par ailleurs intéressant de noter que le Safavide n’hésita pas à faire appel à l’aide de son rival moghol dans ce domaine : soucieux de développer la culture de l’indigo, il demanda en effet à Jahāngīr de lui envoyer les plants et les horticulteurs nécessaires à l’implantation de cette plante tinctoriale83. L’interdiction, en 1618, des exportations d’or et d’argent traduisit, plus clairement encore, la volonté royale de réduire au minimum le flux d’espèces monétaires hors des territoires safavides. La mesure emblématique de la politique mercantiliste adoptée par Šāh ‘Abbās fut cependant la centralisation du commerce du principal produit d’exportation iranien. Créé en 1619, le monopole sur les exportations de soie contraignit les marchands étrangers – principalement les facteurs de la Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie (VOC) et de l’East India Company (EIC) – à traiter avec l’État et ses intermédiaires officiels, assurant ainsi au pouvoir la majeure partie des bénéfices issus de ce commerce84. Parallèlement à ce processus de 81. Matthee 1999, p. 89. 82. Pour une présentation détaillée de ces mesures, voir Matthee 1999, ch. 3, pp. 61-90. 83. Matthee 1999, p. 67 et Islam 1979-1982, vol. 1, J. 60.1 p. 164 pour la lettre de Šāh ‘Abbās à Jahāngīr datée de 1611. 84. Sur l’établissement et le fonctionnement de ce monopole, voir Matthee 1999, ch. 4, pp. 91118.

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centralisation, Šāh ‘Abbās s’employa à doter l’Iran d’un débouché marchand qui échapperait à l’emprise des Ottomans et des Portugais : il explora simultanément les possibilités offertes par la route terrestre du nord (via la Russie) et par la voie maritime du sud (via le golfe Persique)85. C’est finalement cette dernière solution qui s’imposa grâce à l’éviction des Portugais d’Ormuz en 1622 ; le port de Bandar Abbas fut créé la même année sur le site de Gombroon et acquit dès lors une importance commerciale croissante. Face au modèle mercantiliste élaboré par Šāh ‘Abbās – dont la Maydān-i Naqš-i Jahān, nouveau centre d’Ispahan dans lequel espace politique et espace marchand étaient étroitement imbriqués, constituait assurément un puissant symbole, l’implication commerciale des Moghols apparaît à première vue beaucoup plus limitée. Tout comme leurs prédécesseurs afghans de la dynastie sūr et leurs contemporains safavides et uzbeks, Akbar et Jahāngīr considéraient certes qu’il était de leur devoir d’assurer la sécurité des marchands et de financer les infrastructures nécessaires au transport des marchandises : les aménagements réalisés sur la grand-route du nord-ouest qui reliait l’Inde à l’Asie centrale et à l’Iran en sont un bon témoignage. Le commerce constituait par ailleurs une source de revenus non négligeable pour l’État, même si ces revenus restaient largement inférieurs aux sommes rapportées par la collecte de l’impôt foncier86. Au-delà de ces rapports traditionnels de protection et de taxation, plusieurs éléments donnent cependant à penser que les liens entre État moghol et commerce se renforcèrent sensiblement à partir du premier quart du XVIIe siècle. Parmi ces éléments, le plus important est sans aucun doute la participation croissante de la famille royale et des umarā’ au commerce maritime. S’il est vrai que celle-ci est presque totalement absente des chroniques officielles, elle est en revanche largement attestée par de nombreux autres témoignages : les registres de l’Estado da Índia87, la correspondance échangée entre les facteurs anglais et hollandais et les autorités tutélaires de l’EIC et de la VOC88, ainsi qu’une collection de documents administratifs moghols relatifs au port de Surat89 indiquent en effet que les souverains moghols et les membres de leur 85. Matthee 1999, p. 76-79. 86. En Inde du Nord, les impôts fonciers représentaient environ 70% des revenus de l’État contre 30% pour les taxes commerciales et artisanales. 87. Voir en particulier Flores 2005, p. 261-264 pour une éclairante analyse de six cartazes ou sauf-conduits octroyés par les Portugais aux Moghols entre 1618 et 1622. 88. À ce sujet, on consultera notamment Chandra 1959, pp. 93-94. 89. Pour une analyse de cette collection compilée dans les années 1640 par un dignitaire moghol anonyme et documentant la carrière de plusieurs navires impériaux, voir Hasan 1989-1990 et Moosvi 1990.

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famille (y compris les femmes, telles que Maryam al-zamānī et Nūr Jahān, respectivement la mère et l’épouse de Jahāngīr) possédaient un nombre non négligeable de navires qui transportaient leurs marchandises (textiles, indigo, tabac) vers les grands ports du golfe Persique, de la mer Rouge et de l’Asie du Sud-Est. Pour terminer sur ce point, il est important de noter que si la participation commerciale de la famille royale se développa effectivement dans le premier quart du XVIIe siècle, cette évolution mercantiliste ne fut que faiblement intégrée sur le plan idéologique. La nature des documents convoqués ici – témoignages européens et archives mogholes – le montre bien, de même que le silence des chroniques officielles. Il est d’ailleurs remarquable que les Mémoires de Jahāngīr ne contiennent aucune référence aux activités commerciales du souverain ou de son entourage. Plus intéressante encore est l’utilisation souvent péjorative par le monarque de termes associés au monde des marchands90. Même s’il est vrai que cette utilisation participe d’une rhétorique plus généralement dépréciative à l’égard du commerce, elle n’en renvoie pas moins justement au malaise persistant de la dynastie face aux notions mercantilistes, et ce malgré l’intérêt accru qu’elle porta aux activités commerciales91. Ceci vaut également pour les élites administratives de l’empire qui, à partir des années 1615, endossèrent de plus en plus fréquemment l’habit de marchand. Parmi celles-ci, les plus actives étaient sans surprise les umarāʾ placés à la tête de provinces maritimes comme le Gujarat92 mais aussi, comme on l’a vu, les nombreux immigrés iraniens qui s’imposèrent précisément à cette époque comme le premier élément de la noblesse moghole93. La participation commerciale croissante de la famille impériale et de la noblesse ainsi que la place de choix faite aux Iraniens dans la sphère politicoéconomique ne sont pas les seuls témoins de la nouvelle orientation mercantiliste adoptée par le pouvoir moghol dans le premier quart du XVIIe siècle. Celle-ci se perçoit également dans certaines directions prises par l’expansion moghole et par le durcissement de l’attitude de la dynastie vis-à-vis des puissances commerciales européennes.

90. Pour mieux exprimer le mépris que lui inspirait le prosélytisme de Gurū Arjan et de Šayḫ Aḥmad Sirhindī, Jahāngīr choisit ainsi d’évoquer le « trafic frauduleux (dūkān[-dārī]-yi bāṭil) » auquel se livrait le sikh et les « échoppes de la tromperie » achalandées par les disciples du Mujaddid, Jahāngīr 1999, pp. 59 et 304 et Jahāngīr 1980, pp. 42 et 309. 91. Subrahmanyam 2005, vol. 2, pp. 67-68. 92. Pour les activités des mutaṣaddī (administrateurs) des ports de Cambay et de Surat et, plus généralement, pour une analyse de l’évolution des rapports entre marchands et pouvoir moghol dans le cadre de la province du Gujarat, on consultera utilement Hasan 2004, ch. 3, pp. 31-51. 93. Voir infra sur l’implication commerciale des membres de la famille de Nūr Jahān.

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Contrairement à ce qui est généralement affirmé, le règne de Jahāngīr ne vit pas, en effet, l’arrêt complet du processus de conquête (ré)enclenché par Akbar : la pression exercée sur les sultanats du Deccan se poursuivit sans interruption durant cette période, tandis qu’une nouvelle orientation stratégique commençait de se manifester avec la poussée vers les marges méridionale et orientale du Bengale. L’un des motifs essentiels sous-tendant cette opération était de nature commerciale, les Moghols cherchant ainsi à s’emparer des deux principaux ports du Bengale – Hughli à l’ouest et Chittagong à l’est – respectivement contrôlés par les marchands portugais et les souverains maghs de l’Arakan94. Et s’il est vrai que ces expéditions n’aboutirent alors à aucun résultat tangible, les efforts initiés par Jahāngīr furent poursuivis avec constance par ses successeurs et finalement couronnés de succès : Hughli fut conquise en 1632 par l’armée de Šāh Jahān et Chittagong succomba aux assauts de Šayista Ḫān en 1666. Avec le contrôle de ces deux ports, les Moghols bénéficièrent dès lors d’un accès privilégié à la baie du Bengale et à son commerce florissant. Initiateur d’une politique agressive sur la frontière orientale de l’empire, Jahāngīr fut également à l’origine du durcissement de la position moghole face à la présence européenne sur les côtes occidentales. Le premier conflit ouvert éclata en 1613 avec la capture et la destruction par les Portugais d’un navire de Surat revenant richement chargé de Djeddah, et dans lequel Maryam al-zamānī avait d’importants intérêts95. L’importance de la réplique jahāngīride (arrestation et confiscation des biens des firangīs qui se trouvaient sur ses terres) montre que les Moghols étaient de moins en moins prêts à accepter le contrôle européen sur leur commerce maritime et témoigne par là même de leur intérêt croissant pour cette activité. À la crise de 1613-1615 succéda une période de « conflit larvé » qui se poursuivit jusqu’à la fin du règne et vit les Portugais céder progressivement du terrain face à la pression croissante exercée par les Moghols. De ce point de vue, le voyage entrepris par Jahāngīr au Gujarat en 1617-1618 apparaît particulièrement significatif. Bien que l’empereur l’ait présenté dans ses Mémoires comme un simple séjour d’agrément96, les observateurs portugais ne s’y laissèrent pas prendre et manifestèrent leurs inquiétudes concernant ses éventuelles conséquences pour l’Estado da Índia97. De fait, plusieurs éléments donnent à penser que la visite gujarātī de Jahāngīr était étroitement liée à la nouvelle politique commerciale qui commençait alors à se dessiner. Les réflexions dont le monarque ponctua son court séjour à 94. Subrahmanyam 2005, vol. 2, pp. 45-46. 95. Pour une analyse détaillée de ce conflit, voir Flores 2005, pp. 251-261. 96. « Je n’avais jamais chassé d’éléphants et je voulais voir le Gujarat et l’océan », écrivit Jahāngīr 1999, p. 232 en guise d’explication. 97. Flores 2005, p. 224.

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Cambay attestent d’abord de sa volonté de promouvoir le trafic entre la côte occidentale de l’empire et la mer Rouge, Jahāngīr ambitionnant de faire de la cité portuaire l’escale la plus attractive de tout l’ouest de l’océan Indien grâce aux réformes fiscales qu’il venait d’y introduire98. Il est par ailleurs très intéressant de noter que c’est précisément à l’occasion de son séjour au Gujarat que le monarque décida de nommer le prince Šāh Jahān à la tête du gouvernement de la province : ce faisant, il s’assurait que l’autorité impériale s’y ferait désormais plus fortement sentir, en particulier vis-à-vis des Européens99. Šāh Jahān s’avéra dans ce cas, comme dans d’autres, un excellent choix. Le prince participait lui-même activement au trafic gujarātī et les archives portugaises montrent qu’il adopta effectivement une stratégie plus dure à l’égard de l’Estado da Índia100. Les Portugais ne furent cependant pas les seuls Occidentaux à goûter à ses redoutables talents de négociateur. Face aux agents de l’EIC établis à Surat, il mêla habilement le recours à la carotte et au bâton101. Avec l’appui de son père, Šāh Jahān réussit ainsi à mettre en place au Gujarat une politique commerciale ferme visant tout à la fois à développer les intérêts moghols dans le trafic international, à les émanciper du contrôle portugais et, plus généralement, à les protéger de la convoitise des puissances européennes. Le gouvernement de la plus riche province maritime de l’empire fut donc à bien des égards le laboratoire princier dans lequel s’élabora le mercantilisme royal de Šāh Jahān. Dans cette perspective, il n’est guère étonnant que les Européens aient cherché à profiter de son entrée en rébellion en 1622 – et de sa marginalisation politique – pour faire pression sur Jahāngīr. En octobre 1623, les Anglais s’emparèrent ainsi de l’ensemble de la flotte de Surat de retour de Moka. En échange de la libération de la flotte, les Anglais réclamaient compensation pour certains préjudices qu’ils estimaient avoir subis et exigeaient surtout que le commerce avec les ports de la mer Rouge leur fût désormais ouvert. Face à cette impressionnante démonstration de force maritime, Jahāngīr chercha d’abord à obtenir l’aide des facteurs hollandais de Surat mais, suite à leur refus, il fut forcé de temporiser en attendant des conditions d’action plus favorables. Celles-ci se présentèrent en 1624 avec le départ de la flotte de l’EIC : profitant de ce que les Anglais étaient désormais privés de cette précieuse protection, le monarque ordonna leur arrestation massive dans l’ensemble de ses territoires. Tout comme en 1613, la violence compensatoire exercée à terre porta une nouvelle fois ses fruits : les agents de l’EIC

98. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 241. 99. Jahāngīr 1999, p. 244. 100. Flores 2005, pp. 262-264. 101. Pour plus de détails à ce sujet, voir Faruqui 2002, pp. 187-189.

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acceptèrent de restituer les navires capturés et leurs cargaisons sans pour autant avoir obtenu la satisfaction de leurs revendications102. Il paraît difficile, en conclusion, d’ignorer le notable renforcement des liens entre pouvoir politique (imārat) et commerce (tijārat) qui marqua le règne de Jahāngīr ainsi que le rôle central joué par l’Iran safavide dans le développement d’un mercantilisme d’État « à la moghole ». Comme on l’a vu, l’ambitieuse politique commerciale menée par Šāh ‘Abbās constitua en effet une puissante source d’inspiration pour Jahāngīr, et l’avidité avec laquelle ce dernier rechercha les services des élites iraniennes combinant savoir-faire administratif et commercial ne permet guère de douter qu’il ait vu en elles les intermédiaires indispensables au développement d’une politique similaire en terre moghole. Pour terminer sur ce point, il est également important de souligner que l’évolution initiée par Jahāngīr alla en se renforçant sous le règne de son successeur Šāh Jahān. De tous les Moghols, il fut probablement celui qui porta le plus d’intérêt au trafic maritime. Il poursuivit également le recrutement d’Iraniens, auxquels il continua par ailleurs d’accorder un rôle-clé dans l’administration fiscale. Sous son impulsion, la politique commerciale moghole se fit encore plus ambitieuse, comme en témoignent l’expulsion des Portugais de Hughli en 1632 et les tentatives menées pour instaurer des monopoles impériaux sur des produits tels que l’indigo, la chaux ou le salpêtre103. Sous Šāh Jahān, la politique commerciale de la dynastie fut cependant loin d’être le seul domaine à porter la marque des processus de compétition et d’imitation qui sous-tendaient les relations de l’empire moghol avec les puissances contemporaines de l’Asie musulmane. De fait, il paraît illusoire de vouloir rendre compte des transformations que connut l’idéologie impériale durant le second quart du XVIIe siècle – abandon progressif du culte royal, coloration orthodoxe donnée au discours officiel et insistance renouvelée sur l’héritage timouride – sans les mettre en relation d’une part avec le plus vaste mouvement de réforme orthodoxe dont l’influence se percevait alors tant dans les cours ottomane et safavide que dans les sultanats du Deccan et le plus lointain Acéh, d’autre part avec la reprise de l’expansion moghole en direction de l’Asie centrale uzbek, et enfin avec la place croissante accordée à la connexion timouride dans l’idéologie safavide. Il s’agit là, assurément, d’un autre chantier à explorer pour l’histoire connectée.

102. Pour un récit détaillé de cette crise du point de vue d’un observateur hollandais, voir Broecke 1932, pp. 3-7. 103. Voir Flores 2005, III/2 sur les relations entre Šāh Jahān et les Portugais et Chandra 1959, pp. 94-95 sur les monopoles instaurés par ce monarque.

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Bhakkarī, Šayḫ Farīd, – 1961-1974 : Ḏaḫīrat al-ḫawanīn, S. M. Haq, éd., Karachi, Pakistan Historical Society, 3 vols. – 2003 : Ḏaḫīrat al-ḫawanīn, tr. angl. Z. A. Desai, Nobility under the Great Mughals. Based on Dhakhīratul Khawanīn of Shaikh Farīd Bhakkari, Delhi, Sundeep Prakashan, vol. 2 et 3. Broecke, Pieter van den, 1932 : « Pieter van den Broecke at Surat (1620-1629) ». Tr. angl. W. H. Moreland, Journal of Indian History, XI, pp. 1-16 et 203-218. Calmard, Jean, – 1988 : « Les marchands iraniens : formation et montée d’un groupe de pression, 16e-19e siècles », in : J. Aubin - D. Lombard, dir., Marchands et hommes d’affaires asiatiques dans l’Océan Indien et la Mer de Chine, 13e-20e siècles. Paris, Éditions de l’EHESS, pp. 91-107. – 2000 : « Safavid Persia in Indo-Persian Sources and in Timurid-Mughal Perception », in : M. Alam - F. N. Delvoye - M. Gaborieau, éds., The Making of Indo-Persian Culture. Indian and French Studies. Delhi, Manohar, pp. 351-391. Chandra, Satish, 1959 : « Commercial Activities of the Mughal Emperors during the 17th century ». Bengal Past and Present, LXXVIII/2, pp. 92-97. Cole, Juan R. I., 2003 : « The Imagined Embrace. Gender, Identity, and Iranian Ethnicity in Jahangiri Paintings », in : M. Mazzaoui, éd., Safavid Iran and her Neighbors. Salt Lake City, The University of Utah Press, pp. 49-61. Dadvar, Abolghasem, 1999 : Iranians in Mughal Politics and Society, 1606-1658. Delhi, Gyan Publishing House. Dale, Stephen Frederic, – 1998 : « The Legacy of the Timurids ». Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, VIII/1, pp. 43-58. – 2003 : « A Safavid Poet in the Heart of Darkness. The Indian Poems of Ashraf Mazandarani », in : M. Mazzaoui, éd., Safavid Iran and her Neighbors. Salt Lake City, The University of Utah Press, pp. 63-80. Das, Asok Kumar, 1998 : « Bishandas: ‘Unequalled in his Age in Taking Likeness’ », in : A. K. Das, éd., Mughal Masters. Further Studies. Mumbai, Marg Publications, pp. 112-133. Digby, Simon, 1993 : « Some Asian Wanderers in 17th-century India - An Examination of the Sources in Persian ». Indian Museum Bulletin, pp. 117-134. Edwards, Clara Cary, 1915 : « Relations of Shah Abbas the Great of Persia with the Mogul Emperors, Akbar and Jahangir ». Journal of the American Oriental Society, XXXV, pp. 247-268. Farooqi, Naimur R., 1989 : Mughal-Ottoman Relations: A Study of Political and Diplomatical Relations between Mughal India and the Ottoman Empire, 1556-1748. Delhi, Idarah-i Adabiyat-i Delhi.

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Faruqui, Munis Daniyal, 2002 : « Princes and Power in the Mughal Empire, 1569-1657 ». Ph.D., Duke University. Flores, Jorge, 2005 : « ‘Firingistan’ e ‘Hindustan’. O Estado da Índia e os confins meridionais do Imperio Mogol (1572-1636) ». Ph.D., Universidade Nova de Lisboa. Foltz, Richard C., 2001 : Mughal India and Central Asia. Karachi, Oxford University Press (1ère éd., 1998). Franke, Heike, 2005 : Akbar und Ğahāngīr. Untersuchungen zur politischen und religiösen Legitimation in Text und Bild. Schenefeld, EB-Verlag. Golombek, Lisa - Wilber, Donald, 1988 : The Timurid Architecture of Iran and Turan. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Gopal, Surendra, 1998 : « Indian Diaspora in West and Central Asia and Russia in Medieval Times ». Journal of Indian Ocean Studies, V/2, pp. 116-128. Gruzinski, Serge, 2001 : « Les mondes mêlés de la Monarchie catholique et autres ‘Connected Histories’ ». Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales, LVI/1, pp. 85-117. Habib, Irfan, – 1969 : « The Family of Nur Jahan during Jahangir’s Reign: A Political Study ». Medieval India – A Miscellany, Mumbai, Asia Publishing House, I, pp. 74-95. – 1997 : « Timur in the Political Tradition and Historiography of Mughal India », in : M. Szuppe, dir., L’héritage timouride, Iran - Asie centrale - Inde, XVe-XVIIIe siècles (Cahiers d’Asie centrale, 3-4). Tashkent et Aix-en-Provence, Édisud, pp. 297-312. Haidar, Mansura, 2004 : Indo-Central Asian Relations: from early times to medieval period. Delhi, Manohar. Haneda, Masashi, 1997 : « Emigration of Iranian Elites to India during the 16th-17th centuries », in : M. Szuppe, dir., L’héritage timouride, Iran - Asie centrale - Inde, XVe-XVIIIe siècles (Cahiers d’Asie centrale, 3-4). Tashkent et Aix-en-Provence, Édisud, pp. 129-143. Hasan, Farhat, – 1989-1990 : « Mughal Officials at Surat and their Relations with the English and Dutch Merchants: Based on a Collection of Persian Documents of the Reigns of Jahangir and Shah Jahan ». Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 50th Session, Delhi, pp. 284-293. – 2004 : State and Locality in Mughal India. Power Relations in Western India, c. 1572-1730. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Islam, Riazul, – 1970 : Indo-Persian Relations: a Study of the Political and Diplomatic Relations between the Mughal Empire and Iran. Téhéran, Iranian Culture Foundation.

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– 1979-1982 : A Calendar of Documents on Indo-Persian Relations (1500-1750). 2 vols., Téhéran-Karachi, Iranian Culture Foundation & Institute of Central and West Asian Studies (University of Karachi). Jahāngīr, – 1980 : Jahāngīr-nāma: Tūzuk-i Jahāngīrī, M. Hashim, éd., Téhéran, Intishārāt-i Bunyād-i Farhang-i Irān. – 1999 : Jahāngīr-nāma, tr. angl. W. M. Thackston, Jahāngīr-nāma. Memoirs of Jahāngīr, Emperor of India. Washington D.C. - New York, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution & Oxford University Press. Khan, Iqtidar Alam, 2002 : « The Mughal Empire and the Iranian Diaspora of the 16th century », in : I. Habib, éd., A Shared Heritage. The Growth of Civilization in India and Iran. Delhi, Tulika Books, pp. 99-116. Khan, Muhammad Afzal, 1998 : « Safavis in Mughal Service: The Mirzas of Qandahar ». Islamic Culture, LXXII/1, pp. 59-81. Koch, Ebba, 2001 : Mughal Art and Imperial Ideology. Collected Essays. Delhi, Oxford University Press. Lāhawrī, ‘Abd al-Sattār b. Qāsim, 2006 : Majālis-i Jahāngīrī, A. Naušāhī - M. Niẓāmī, éds., Téhéran, Mīrāṯ-i Maktub. Lefèvre, Corinne, – 2007a : « Recovering a Missing Voice from Mughal India: The Imperial Discourse of Jahāngīr (r. 1605-1627) in his Memoirs ». Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient. L/4, pp. 452-489. – 2007b : « Pouvoir et noblesse dans l’Empire moghol. Perspectives du règne de Jahāngīr (r. 1605-1627) ». Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales, LXII/6, pp. 1287-1312. Lentz, Thomas W. - Lowry, Glenn D., 1989 : Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and Culture in the 15th c.. Los Angeles, Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Levi, Scott C., – 2002 : The Indian Diaspora in Central Asia and its trade, 1550-1900. Leiden, E. J. Brill. – 2007 (éd.) : India and Central Asia. Commerce and Culture, 1500-1800. Delhi, Oxford University Press. Littlefield, Sharon E., 1999 : « The Object in the Gift: Embassies of Jahangir and Shah Abbas ». Ph.D., University of Minnesota. Matthee, Rudolph P., 1999 : The Politics of Trade in Safavid Iran. Silk for Silver, 1600-1730. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

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Moosvi, Shireen, – 1990 : « Mughal Shipping at Surat in the First Half of the Seventeenth Century ». Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 51st Session, Calcutta, pp. 308-320. – 2002 : « Sharing the ‘Asiatic Mode’? India and Iran », in : I. Habib, éd., A Shared Heritage. The Growth of Civilization in India and Iran. Delhi, Tulika Books, pp. 177-188. Munšī, Iskandar Beg, 1978 : Tārīḫ-i ‘ālam-ārā-yi ‘abbāsī, tr. angl.: History of Shah ‘Abbas the Great (Târîḵ-e ‘Âlamârâ-ye ‘Abbâsî) by Eskandar Beg Monshi. 3 vols., R. Savory, éd., Boulder, Westview Press. Necipoǧlu, Gülru, 1993 : « Framing the Gaze in Ottoman, Safavid and Mughal Palaces », in : G. Necipoǧlu, éd., Pre-Modern Islamic Palaces (Ars Orientalis, XXIII), pp. 281302. Okada, Amina, 1992 : Le Grand Moghol et ses peintres. Miniaturistes de l’Inde aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Paris, Flammarion. Prakash, Om, 1985 : The Dutch East India Company and the Economy of Bengal, 1630-1720. Princeton, Princeton University Press. Prasad, Beni, 1922 : History of Jahangir. Londres, Oxford University Press. Quinn, Sholeh A., 2000 : Historical Writing during the Reign of Shah ‘Abbas. Ideology, Imitation and Legitimacy in Safavid Chronicles. Salt Lake City, University of Utah Press. Ramaswamy, Sumathi, 2007 : « Conceit of the Globe in Mughal Visual Practice ». Comparative Studies in Society and History, XLIX/4, pp. 751-782. Rahim, Muhammad Abdur, 1934-1935 : Mughal Relations with Persia and Central Asia (Babur to Aurangzeb). Aligarh, Aligarh Muslim University. Rizvi, Kishwar, 2002 : « The imperial setting: Shah ‘Abbās at the Safavid Shrine of Shaykh Ṣafī in Ardabil », in : S. Canby, éd., Safavid Art and Architecture. Londres, British Museum, pp. 9-15. Robinson, Francis, 1997 : « Ottomans-Safavids-Mughals: Shared Knowledge and Connective Systems ». Journal of Islamic Studies, VIII/2, pp. 151-184. Seyller, John, 2000 : « A Mughal Code of Connoisseurship ». Muqarnas, XVII, pp. 177-202. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay, – 1992 : « Iranians Abroad: Intra-Asian Elite Migration and Early Modern State Formation ». Journal of Asian Studies, LI/2, pp. 340-363.

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– 1997 : « Connected Histories: Notes Towards a Reconfiguration of Early Modern Eurasia ». Modern Asian Studies, XXXI/3, pp. 735-762. – 2005 : Explorations in Connected History. Delhi, Oxford University Press, 2 vols. Szuppe, Maria, 1997 : « L’évolution de l’image de Timour et des Timourides dans l’historiographie safavide, XVIe-XVIIIe siècles », in : M. Szuppe, dir., L’héritage timouride, Iran - Asie centrale - Inde, XVe-XVIIIe siècles (Cahiers d’Asie centrale, 3-4). Tashkent et Aix-en-Provence, Édisud, pp. 313-331. Watson, Geoff, 1995 : « Interpretations of Central Asian Influences on Mughal India: The Historical Debate ». South Asia, XVIII/2, pp. 1-22. Welch, Anthony, 1974 : « Painting and Patronage under Shah ‘Abbas I ». Iranian Studies - Studies on Isfahan, VII/3-4, pp. 458-507. Welch, Stuart Cary, 1995 : « The Emperor’s Shah: Emperor Jahangir’s Two Portraits from Life of Shah ‘Abbas », in : A. I. Davies - W. W. Robinson - C. P. Schneider, éds., Shop Talk: Studies in Honor of Seymour Slive. Cambridge, Harvard University Art Museums, pp. 260-263.

Intellect and the lImIts of Reason: natIve and euRopean Responses to eaRly-modeRn IndIan polItIcal thought Hassan Bashir

Abstract: This paper focuses on the content and impact of political ideas, devised by Abū al-Fażl (d. 1602) and adopted by emperor Akbar (r. 1556-1605) as state policy, in early modern India. It discusses historical circumstances of Akbar’s India focusing on the multi-confessional nature of the polity and the need to forge a national identity that could overcome divisions created by dominant religious identities in India, i.e., Hinduism and Islam. The paper begins by delineating Abū al-Fażl’s broader political theory, as given in Ā’īn-i Akbarī, with a focus on his logic regarding a definite causal relationship between human intellect and societal conflict. It then compares and analyzes works by Badā’ūnī (d. c. 1615) with the records maintained by Antonio Monserrate (d. 1600) who was member of the first Jesuit mission to Akbar’s court. Badā’ūnī’s work represents orthodox Muslim reaction to Akbar’s policies and Monserrate’s commentary reveal the manner in which early modern Europeans received Akbar’s politics.

IntroduCtIon towards the end of 1570s Akbar the great (r. 1556-1605), the third Mughal emperor of India, developed keen interest in Christianity and invited a delegation of Jesuit missionaries to come and stay at his court. In a letter addressed to the Chief Fathers of the order of St. Paul, he expressed his desire to know more about the Christian faith and requested the presence of learned priests at his court. Akbar asked these priests to bring principle books of the Law and the Gospel with them so that he could learn about the Christian doctrine.1 this was indeed a most fortunate development for the Society of Jesus, which had piggybacked on Portuguese success and established itself 1. Jesuits were popularly called Paulists because of the college of St. Paul in Goa. See Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 6. For English translation of the actual invitation see Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 1.

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firmly in India at the time of this invitation.2 Furthermore, the prospect of converting the Mughal emperor to Christianity was directly in line with the general missionary practice of the Society, which preferred to achieve mass conversions by employing a top-down approach. Historical evidence suggests that the Jesuits were wishfully optimistic in their assessment of the Indian emperor’s readiness to adopt their faith. But the record of their observations also reveals that in their zeal to Christianize the whole of India through its emperor, the Jesuits failed miserably to understand Akbar’s politics or personality. Akbar’s interest in Christianity, though genuine, was most probably an extension of his general desire or curiosity to know about the essence of diverse religious traditions. this desire, and the politics which took shape because of it, could very well be the outcome of the problems and challenges he confronted in consolidating his empire whose most distinguishing characteristic was religious, cultural, ethnic and linguistic diversity. As a consequence of this situation, Akbar invited and encouraged discussions on doctrinal issues among delegates from various religious traditions at his court.3 these discussions, which began with Muslim theologians, gradually came to include non-Muslims including Brahmins, Parsis (Zoroastrians), Jains and eventually the Jesuits. Inclusion of non-Muslims in the religious debates coincides with Abū al-Fażl’s entry into Akbar’s court in 1575.4 Abū al-Fażl (d. 1602) was well versed in Islamic theology and exercised enormous influence on the development of Akbar’s religious and political thinking.5 this paper delineates basic features of the political thought and practice that emerged from this partnership and also attempts to understand the causes and implications of the manner in which these ideas were received by traditional elements in Indian society and foreign visitors present at the emperor’s court.

SourCES the primary source that I have chosen for analyzing the impressions of European missionaries is the commentary of Father Antonio Monserrate 2. For a brief account of the arrival of Jesuits in India see Correia-Afonso 1980, pp. 6-7. 3. there is no single consolidated record of these debates, but this problem is somewhat compensated by the fact that participants and contemporary historians on opposing sides of the debates have recorded their perspectives in their accounts of Akbar’s reign, in particular, and Indian history, in general. 4. Asher - talbot 2007, pp. 128-130. 5. Asher - talbot 2007, pp. 129-130.

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(d. 1600), a member of the first Jesuit delegation.6 Monserrate also accompanied Akbar on his military campaign to Afghanistan and was aware of the plot which prompted that campaign in the first place. His observations on India generally, and more specifically on Akbar’s interest in art and literature, his religious leanings, style of government and warfare, and his political ideas, are a treasure trove of valuable insights into the European interpretation of early modern Indian society, culture and religions. In addition to Monserrate’s commentary, I also look at the letters that he and his colleagues sent to the superiors of the Society of Jesus during their stay at the court.7 Second, I rely on the Ā’īn-i Akbarī, written by Abū al-Fażl ‘Allāmī.8 the Ā’īn-i Akbarī is the third volume of Akbar’s court history, the Akbar-nāma, and is a detailed and eulogistic gazetteer of Akbar’s reign. the Ā’īn-i Akbarī provides the basis for contextualizing observations made by Monserrate in his commentary, on the one hand, and helps in understanding key features of Akbar’s political thought, on the other. As with the Jesuit missionaries, I also look at the letters sent from Akbar’s court to foreign rulers, governors and officers of the empire and his allies. Finally, to gain an understanding of the reception of Akbar’s ideas by traditional elements in Indian society, I consider Muntaḫab al-tawārīḫ of ‘Abd al-Qādir Badā’ūnī (d. c. 1615).9 Badā’ūnī was also Akbar’s courtier but he wrote a dissident account of his reign. His history sheds important light on the intellectual tensions that were the hallmark of Akbar’s India in particular and the early modern period in general. the Ā’īn-i Akbarī and the Muntaḫab al-tawārīḫ are massive works and their completion took many years. these sources of Indian history cover much more than what is of immediate concern in this paper; it is important, therefore, to mention that the focus here is intentionally limited to the sections of these works that deal with explaining Akbar’s political thought and practice and are also relevant in context of inter-civilizational contacts. More specifically the paper will attempt to show that Akbar’s invitation to the Jesuits was initiated in context of ongoing arguments at his court about the nature and purpose of the sovereign’s role and in terms of the relationship between religion and politics. By virtue of their training and missionary methodological practices, the Jesuits were well equipped to engage in these debates and hold their ground against rival religious traditions. However, historical records left by the Jesuits suggest that they read more into the imperial invitation than was merited. the Jesuits 6. Monserrate 2003. 7. Correia-Afonso 1980. 8. Abū al-Fażl 1993. I have used Blochman’s and Jarrett’s English translation of the original Persian done in three volumes. 9. Badā’ūnī 1990.

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in fact treated these religious debates almost as an irritant in effectively pursuing their ultimate goal to convert the emperor. their inability to comprehend the broader context in which they received Akbar’s invitation reveals the significance of the mindset with which one approaches the other for an inter-civilizational dialogue. In a broader context, choosing Akbar’s India, as a venue to understand the uniqueness of the early modern period, is significant from the perspective that the Mughals were descendants of the Mongols. In an inter-civilizational context, Mongols can be classified as the quintessential other to the three known great civilizations of the time because they simultaneously challenged the Muslims, the Christians and the Chinese. Akbar’s political thought exhibited visible signs of influence from key features of Mongol political ideas, in particular, the continuing impact of the code of laws allegedly developed by Čingīz Ḫān.10 this aspect of Akbar’s lineage, both personal and political, highlights the transitory nature of this period. on the other hand, and from a European perspective, one must remember that India played the role of a launching-pad for Jesuit missionary work in the east. For instance, Matteo ricci (d. 1610), who lived and worked in China for nearly three decades, began his missionary career from India. Same is also true for Francis Xavier (d. 1552), the first Jesuit missionary of note to work in the east, who used India as a base for approaching Japan and China. In this epoch India was also the base for the missionary activities toward Iran. the first missionary treatise against which Shi‘i ‘ulamā of the Safavid period wrote texts in refutation was the Āyina-yi ḥaqq-nāma by Jerome Xavier (d. 1617), the nephew of Francis Xavier, who has also lived in India.11 these two features provide a broader civilizational context for analyzing this encounter between the western civilization and Mughal India. Another significant element that needs to be at the back of our minds, when discussing Mughal India, is the fact that the Mughals themselves were foreigners in India. Akbar’s reign is interesting specifically because even though he was the third in succession among the Mughal rulers he was the first who actively worked towards consolidating his empire and forging a nation from the religiously and culturally diverse Indian population around the figure of the emperor.12 In crafting his political approach, Akbar and Abū al-Fażl 10. For a discussion of the persistence of Mongol laws in the policies adopted by timurid rulers of India until Akbar’s time see Khan 1973, pp. ix-xii. Haider 1992, pp. 53-62. Also for a history of Mughals’ Mongol lineage and their connection to the family of Chingiz Khan see Malleson 2005, pp. 9-13. 11. Hairi 1993, pp. 154-157. 12. For a detailed discussion of this aspect of Akbar’s India see Ali 1996, pp. 80-88. And for a comprehensive literature review of works dealing with this aspect see o’Hanlon 2007, pp. 889-891.

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borrowed ideas from the Central Perso-Islamic, turko-Islamic and Greek traditions.13 As stated earlier, the Jesuits failed to read Akbar’s secular intentions and interpreted his politics, which surely was unconventional for a Muslim monarch, as being directed against Islam and therefore in favor of Christianity. the Jesuit misinterpretation was mainly due to western civilization’s past experience and preoccupation with Muslims as the traditional civilizational other.

AKBAr And ABū AL-FAżL As mentioned above Akbar was the third Mughal ruler of India, however, scholars of Indian history seem almost unanimous in terming his predecessors, Bābur (r. 1526-1530) and Humāyūn (r. 1530-1540 and 1555-1556), as mere conquerors.14 Bābur remained busy in acquiring more of India’s territory and his son Humāyūn in re-acquiring what he inherited from his father but had lost because of lack of interest and political acumen to deal with matters of the state.15 Akbar, who was Humāyūn’s son, was the first among Mughal rulers who consistently enlarged the territorially meager empire inherited from his father and also invested great effort in consolidating his conquests. He achieved this consolidation simultaneously on two fronts. First, he took measures to build an infrastructure for the efficient administration of the empire through the creation of a composite ruling class.16 Second, the imperial patronage was directed to the arts, i.e., translations of religious and secular literature from ancient and regional languages into Persian, painting, architecture, religious and secular debates at the court and historiography.17 As a result of these measures, Akbar was successful in establishing himself as the first « national king of India », meaning that his status as the ruler was accepted by all in his empire regardless 13. Ali 1996, pp. 80-88. 14. For a detailed discussion of this aspect of the Mughal dynasty see Malleson 2005, pp. 1-8. 15. For details see Malleson 2005, pp. 57-70. 16. According to Asher and talbot Akbar was engaged in almost every level of administration. Asher - talbot 2007, p. 124. For detailed information on Akbar’s administrative measurers, development of a composite ruling class and politically motivated alliances see Ali 1993, pp. 699-710; Chandra - Grewal - Habib 1992, pp. 61-72; Zaidi 2007, pp. 76-82; Khan 2001, pp. 16-45 and Khan 1968 reprinted in Eaton 2003, pp. 120-132. Also see Hussain 1999, pp. 1-10. 17. For details about Akbar’s patronage of these facets of his rule see, among many others: For painting Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 113-115; Brend 1988-89, pp. 281-315; dimand 1953, pp. 46-51; Bailey 1998, pp. 24-30 and Soucek 1987, pp. 166-181. For translations, historiography, literature and debates see Ali 1992, pp. 38-45; Mehta 1992, pp. 54-60; Alam - Subrahmanyam 1998, pp. 317-349; Bhadani 1992, pp. 46-53 and Hambye 1982, pp. 3-12.

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of their ethnic, religious or cultural affiliation.18 A crucial connotation that this term suggests is that Akbar was successful in molding an Indian nation founded on ideals independent of the religious affiliations of the populace in his empire. While this was no small feat given the times during which Akbar accomplished this task, it also raises some interesting questions regarding the popular notion that India was ruled by a Muslim minority for over 700 years till the advent of the Europeans. As the discussion of Akbar’s political thought below suggests, he was able to achieve such a status primarily through consistent rejection of the inherited obligations and influences of his Muslim birth. Key features of Akbar’s political thought as mentioned by Abū al-Fażl in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī and summarized here, definitely at the cost of oversimplification, seem to be extracted from his tendency to reject an ideologically bound traditional basis of identity. In context of India, he opted for the state to reject both the dominant religious ideologies, i.e., Hinduism as well as Islam, and proposed instead a synthesis anchored on the notion of ṣulḥ-i kull or universal toleration. By doing so he attempted to divest the Muslim and Hindu officials of the state, of the tendency on part of each, to view the other from their respective religious frameworks of thinking. this was no doubt a truly ingenuous approach to solving the problems of a multi-confessional polity. However, what is even more remarkable is the manner in which Abū al-Fażl lays the theoretical foundation for ṣulḥ-i kull. He writes God, the Giver of intellect and the Creator of matter, forms mankind as He pleases, and gives to some comprehensiveness, and to others narrowness of disposition. Hence the origin of two opposite tendencies among men, one class of whom turn to religious (dīn) and the other class to worldly thoughts (dunyā). Each of these two divisions selects different leaders,19 and mutual repulsiveness grows to open rupture.20

In the above quote it is noteworthy that the nature of the temporal world or the human condition is defined in terms of the creation of intellect in man instead of the act of creation of the first man. It is the intellect which equips human beings with reason, whether limited or comprehensive, and makes them realize their self-interest. Based on this self-interest, human beings then choose their leaders in distinct religious or worldly arenas. It is noteworthy that Abū al-Fażl emphasizes the inherently conflicting nature of religious and worldly 18. See Chandra - Grewal - Habib 1992, p. 64; Asher - talbot 2007, p. 124. 19. Abū al-Fażl’s note « As prophets, the leaders of the Church; and kings, the leaders of the State », in Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 171, note 1. (Italics and caps original.) 20. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 171.

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reasoning. this could lead one to assume that in Abū al-Fażl’s scheme conflict is not only an unavoidable, but also an irresolvable feature of human existence. He therefore clarifies in a later passage by exploring the question whether there is any possibility of achieving common ground between the conflicting religious and worldly tendencies of men and answers in a matter of fact manner that, When the time of reflection comes, and men shake off the prejudices of their education, the threads of the web of religious blindness break, and the eye sees the glory of harmoniousness.21

one can detect a clear predilection for reason over revelation in Akbar’s thought via Abū al-Fażl’s account.22 However, before one goes further, another important point to note here is the presence of a glorious harmony in God’s world which the humans can only recognize after they have shed the fallacious images developed because of the presence of varying degrees of intellect. If God’s world is harmonious, as Abū al-Fażl repeatedly asserts in elegant Persian prose and verse throughout this chapter in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī, then the blame for strife in human society lies squarely with human intellect, which ascribes false significance to religious or temporal matters.23 divisions between religious and temporal worlds thus are creations of the human intellect and not of God and therefore untrue. Furthermore, since God is one and he created man and his intellect along with everything else in the world, humans, when they are able to see beyond their self created images, find that everything in the world is in perfect harmony and universal peace reigns simply because the cause of conflict has been overcome.24 Yet, the ability to see beyond this deception is not everyone’s forte, primarily because of the factors mentioned earlier, but also because even if some people did possess such wisdom, the majority’s inability to see beyond the deception 21. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 171. 22. As Abū al-Fażl’s English translator Blochmann states in a footnote to this passage, that the original text uses the Persian word taqlīd which he has translated into « religious blindness ». Taqlīd he further clarifies means « to put a collar on one’s own neck to follow another blindly, especially in religious matters ». Blochmann also cites Badā’ūnī in further justification for his translation who mentions the use of the term Taqlīdiyāt (things against reason) by Abū al-Fażl and his partisans when referring to matters pertaining to prophet-hood and revealed religion. Badā’ūnī blamed the Portuguese to have taught this line of reasoning to Abū al-Fażl. See Blochmann’s note in Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 171, note 5. 23. For instance Abū al-Fażl writes « there is but one lamp in this house, in the rays of which, wherever I look, a bright assembly meets me ». See Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 171. 24. Habib argues that this notion of universal peace goes back to Ibn al-‘Arabī. See Chandra Grewal - Habib 1992, p. 69.

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would cause its members to be cautious in the interest of self-preservation.25 Abū al-Fażl states that if a time comes when a people or a nation as a whole learn to worship truth, they invariably look towards their king because of his exalted status. these people then also expect their king to be their spiritual guide, because he alone is ordained with the « ray of divine wisdom ».26 He claims that Akbar is such a king, i.e., one who is indifferent to the usual joys and sorrows of the temporal world, and « is the spiritual guide of the nation, and sees in the performance of his duties a means of pleasing God ».27 As the bearer of divine authority and a representative of the divine will, it thus becomes Akbar’s responsibility to avert conflict of any sort between the people under his rule and inform them of the true nature of things beyond the veil cast by imperfect human intellect over human understanding. Another significant distinction that Abū al-Fażl makes is between a true king and a selfish ruler. He states that in the case of the former, the many advantages that a mighty king has are longer lasting whereas in the case of a selfish ruler these are short lived.28 this is so because a true king does not attach himself to the outward grandeur of the empire and dedicates himself to removal of oppression from society and provision of everything good. these include, among other things, security, health, justice, faithfulness, and truth.29 In further elaborating on the nature and conduct of a true king, Abū al-Fażl establishes a direct link between God and king without any intermediaries.30 the true king, because of his divine nature, also possesses god-like abilities that restrict him from reacting in a typically human fashion to worldly stimuli.31 the theory of sovereignty or that of the ideal monarch, which takes shape from the precepts discussed above, is surprisingly modern in its outlook. As Akbar puts it repeatedly in the letters written to other monarchs and the administrators of his empire, and Abū al-Fażl says in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī, the true king must « put the reigns of desire into the hands of reason ».32 once the king accepts reason as his guide it obligates him to ensure and provide swift justice 25. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 171-172. 26. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 172. For a detailed discussion of use of metaphors of light in Mughal ideology see Asher 2004, pp. 161-194. 27. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 172. 28. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 2 29. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 2. 30. More specifically Abū al-Fażl states that royalty is the light emanating from God. In Persian, i.e., modern language, it is called farr-i īzidī (the divine light) and in ancient language it was called kiyān ḫura or the sublime halo. See Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 3. Also Asher - talbot 2007, pp. 168-171. 31. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 3. 32. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 3.

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without regard to the class and status of the petitioner, protect the life and liberty of the populace, save them from tyranny, and promote of happiness in the realm by achieving harmony and peace by ridding the polity from several potential and existing ills introduced in the society because of the presence of varying degrees of intellect in ordinary humans. Abū al-Fażl, however, once again underscores the fact that it is only the true king who can achieve these goals in their true spirit as he never tries to defy the dictates of reason.33 In other words, reason is prior to the set of public goods mentioned above because they can only be truly achieved with recourse to reason. the other accompanying set of obligations for the ideal ruler which this rather circular theory of sovereignty demands from the true king is that, since a true king represents divinity, i.e., the factor which distinguishes him from ordinary humans and selfish rulers, he does not withhold his blessings from those who do not follow the path of reason and are driven by their defective or incomplete intellect. In other words, entitlement of the populace to the set of obligations mentioned above, i.e., justice, security, right to happiness, guidance to embark on the path of truth and reason, etc., are the universal rights of the populace regardless of their religious orientation.34 In the ultimate analysis the true king is divine, tolerant and magnanimous towards his subjects. As might be expected, Abū al-Fażl in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī clearly endows Akbar with the qualities of a true king and posits him as the perfect man. He also gives several examples of the emperor’s deeds and acts in support of his claim in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī.35 one could think of Abū al-Fażl’s theory of sovereignty as flattery from a trusted and beloved aide of the emperor. However, when one looks at Akbar’s correspondence with other rulers, members of his family, and his administrators, it appears that he believed in his own divine nature and regularly practiced and propagated the policy of ṣulḥ-i kull to others.36 For example, in letters to his European counterparts Akbar assumed and accepted their divine status. In these letters Akbar highlights the responsibility of kings to rule in accordance with dictates of reason and makes it the basis for extending a hand of friendship.37 For instance, in a letter, he addresses the king of Portugal as 33. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 3. 34. Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 3-4. 35. For instance see Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 3-5 and 170-176. 36. this is not to say that Akbar never performed acts in contradiction to this theory of kingship but then because he alone understood the path of reason for the necessity of any atrocities or seemingly unreasonable acts could not be understood by the common folk since they did not possess Akbar’s reason. 37. Haider 1998, p. 8.

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Dānāyān-i Farang (Wise Men of the Franks). this rather unusual manner of addressing a monarch only begins to make sense after the brief discussion of Akbar’s notion of the fallibility of human intellect and his theory of sovereignty, i.e., Akbar allowed the same status to his European counterpart that he had assumed for himself.38 It is also noteworthy that towards the end of this letter, Akbar categorically stated his belief that Most people were prisoners of the shackles of uncritical acceptance (taqlīd) without any real piety, they adopt the customs of their predecessors, relatives and associates that too blindly without any reflection, careful consideration and arguments. they accept the same faith among those whose followers they were brought up, and they remain without virtue of verification (taḥqīq) – a prerequisite of wisdom and truth – the finding of which is the proper goal of reason.39

Similarly in one of his farmān (ordinances) to the current and future administrators of the empire, Akbar canceled the tax on all items that constituted means of necessary livelihood for the populace.40 He required from his officers to ensure the safety of the weak from potential oppressors in the society.41 In another circular, which enumerates duties of the imperial officers, Akbar instructs them to study books on ethics and good morals so that they are well acquainted with various extreme stages and requirements of faith and piety and are not easily diverted from the right path by mischief-mongers.42 In this same circular Akbar also proclaims that, « best service to God in this world is the growth of relations and the accomplishment of works of people’s welfare which they [officers] should perform without regard to (personal) friendship, enmity or relationship ».43 He instructs his officers to patronize and protect those who have the courage to speak the truth. these rely on reason to reach truthful conclusions which benefit the ruler and go against the plans of ill wishers. If they are not protected from those wicked and strong elements who 38. For details see translator’s comment in Haider 1998, p. 10. 39. Haider 1998, pp. 9-10. 40. these included food items, medicine, oil, perfumes, garments and cloth, household articles made of metal, leather, grass etc. See Haider 1998, p. 14. 41. Haider 1998, p. 14. 42. the circular is titled « Akbar’s dastūr al-‘amal (a Circular enumerating the duties of officers) addressed to the ummāl and Mutaṣaddī of the Empire ». the recommended books are Aḫlāq-i-Nāṣirī, al-Ġazālī’s Iḥyā ‘ulūm al-dīn, Kīmiyā’ī sa‘ādat, Mawlānā rūmī’s Maṯnawī and Kalīla wa Dimna. See Haider 1998, p. 79 and also notes 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 for a brief description of these texts on p. 87. 43. Haider 1998, pp. 79-80.

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are always hoping to see their ruler in trouble, these righteous and truth-loving people may not speak at all either in consideration of possible danger to their person or out of their general good nature to avoid hurting the feelings of others due to their words.44 In addition to the above and perhaps most significantly Akbar specifically forbids his officers from interference in religious matters. As the quote below demonstrates this policy of religious tolerance is also based on pure reason. He instructs the officers that they, Should not interfere with religious matters, customs or beliefs of people, for a wise person would not intentionally choose his own loss in transient worldly affairs, how could he then deliberately select a wrong path in eternal matters? If the men are right, they (the officers) should not oppose them unnecessarily. If they are not on the right path, even then they (the officers) should not interfere or oppose them, for they (men) are the victims of ignorance and as such deserve sympathy rather than opposition and oppression.45

the instructions to the officers in imperial ordinances and the letters to other rulers supports the notion that Abū al-Fażl’s political ideas, as expounded in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī, were at the core of Akbar’s imperial policy.

BAdĀ’ūnī: nAtIvE rESPonSES to AKBAr And ABū AL-FAżL As stated earlier Akbar ruled India for almost half a century. It is useful to divide this period into various phases based on Akbar’s primary focus during a given period. For instance, one could argue that in the first phase, Akbar concentrated on reacquiring and expanding the territorial limits of his realm, as the kingdom that he had inherited from Humāyūn was not substantial.46 during the second phase of his rule, i.e., by the mid-1560’s, Akbar had acquired substantial territory and had begun to concentrate on developing a solid bureaucratic administration and imperial service to manage the expanding empire.47 In the development of this administrative infrastructure, he appointed Hindus and Muslims alike to key governmental posts. this proved to be a 44. Haider 1998, p. 80. 45. Haider 1998, p. 82. 46. At the time of Akbar’s death in 1605 his empire stretched horizontally from Kabul and Qandahar in modern day Afghanistan in the west to Bengal and orissa in the East, vertically it encompassed Kashmir in the north and Berar in the South. See map in Spear 1990, pp. 32-33. 47. Spear 1990, pp. 34-35 and 40-51.

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highly effective move, as it raised Akbar’s status from that of a conqueror of India, belonging to a foreign minority, to the accepted leader of all Indians.48 during this phase, he also forged alliances with Hindu rajputs, rulers of independent smaller states, and married Hindu princesses to cement those alliances.49 According to Spear, Akbar’s imperial service opened the previously non-existent opportunity to be part of the highly prestigious imperial service to those who previously sought fame and glory through recourse to obscure local independence, via insurrection, or through committing gang robberies.50 dates of the letters and the Ā’īn-i Akbarī and Muntaḫab al-tawārīḫ suggest that the ideas delineated above derive from third phase of Akbar’s rule, which begins in late 1570s.51 during this third phase, Akbar actively pursued a policy of religious toleration and invited members of different religious traditions to visit his court and argue about doctrinal matters pertaining to their respective faiths. According to Badā’ūnī, this act was based on lack of formal educational in Akbar’s life, which made him believe that the truth is an inhabitant of every place: and that consequently how could it be right to consider it as confined to one religion or creed, and that, one [Islam] which had only recently made its appearance and had not yet endured a thousand years! And why assert one thing and deny another, and claim pre-eminence, for that which is not pre-eminent?52

As mentioned earlier, Badā’ūnī wrote a dissident account of Akbar’s reign. His historical account is replete with similar other comments and details of events, and is representative of the viewpoint of orthodox Muslim in India.53 Badā’ūnī account also clearly illustrates ideological tensions regarding the ideal relationship between religion and politics and the role and status of the sovereign in early modern India. His primary concern seems to be Akbar’s 48. Akbar’s policy also deviated radically from his Mughal predecessors as well as sultans of delhi before them, who preferred to govern through centrally located military camps commanded by their trusted generals. See Asher - talbot 2007, pp. 114-128. 49. Asher - talbot 2007, p. 126. Also see Khan 2007, p. 85. Zaidi 2007, pp. 15-24. 50. Spear 1990, p. 36. 51. this could mean that Akbar became more religiously tolerant and sure of the divine sanction for his acts as he established his rule on a firm footing in India. However evidence suggests that he was always liberal minded for instance in 1564 he abolished the jizya or poll tax on non Muslims, prohibited enslavement of non combatants and also abolished a longstanding tax on Hindus visiting their holy places. For a discussion of these measures see Khan 2007, pp. 83-88. For details and quotes from Akbar-nāma pertaining to these measures see Jinarajadasa 1934, pp. 6-11. 52. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 264. 53. See for instance Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, pp. 264-269, 277-278, 314-318, 323-326.

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willingness to open Islamic beliefs for debate by followers of other faiths. Badā’ūnī is perturbed by the skill of non-Muslims in articulating the logic of their respective faiths through recourse to reason, and blames this skill as the main reason for Akbar’s distancing himself from traditional Islam.54 Badā’ūnī tries to substantiate his claim by giving several examples of events at the court that, in his opinion, conclusively demonstrate specific influence of different religious traditions on Akbar’s policy and thought.55 Badā’ūnī’s intentions, when listing these influence on Akbar, is definitely to ridicule the emperor for his follies. However, he seems even more perplexed by the fact that Akbar did not find any problem in believing in all the religions simultaneously and in adopting whatever suited him the most from each tradition. For instance, he writes that due to the influence of a Brahman, he appeared in public with his forehead marked like a Hindu56 and strongly agreed with the notion that the transmigration of souls was an indisputable common element in every religious tradition.57 He also prohibited the slaughter of cows and used to chant spells taught by Hindus to subdue the sun.58 In addition, Akbar firmly believed in the truth of the Christian faith because of the influence of Christian monks from Europe.59 At yet another place, Badā’ūnī expatiates on the influence of the Zoroastrians who persuaded Akbar to start the practice of keeping a perpetual sacred fire like the kings of Persia.60 Badā’ūnī’s narrative also underlines the fact that part of the reason for Akbar to move away from Islam was frequent disagreements among Muslim scholars present at his court. these scholars represented different sects and seemed to hold diametrically opposed views on most doctrinal issues.61 this obviously militated directly against Akbar’s agenda of developing a strong basis for peaceful coexistence of all religions within his empire. one must also remember here the earlier discussion about the fallibility of human intellect. If we take Akbar’s and Abū al-Fażl’s argument at face value, then by not adhering strictly to the dictates and doctrines of a single religion, Akbar was probably seeking to demonstrate his superior or even divine ability to see beyond the supposed restrictions imposed by intellect on the reasoning ability of ordinary human beings. Support for this claim can be found in Akbar’s attempt to form 54. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, pp. 263-264. 55. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, pp. 265-279. 56. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 269. 57. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 265. 58. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 268. 59. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 267. 60. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, pp. 268-269. 61. See for instance Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, pp. 262, 266-267, 269-270, 277.

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a discipleship order called the Dīn-i ilāhī or the divine faith.62 A detailed discussion of the complex nature of Dīn-i ilāhī is not within the scope of this paper. However, it is pertinent to briefly discuss some of the key features of Dīn-i ilāhī and also the circumstances which propelled Akbar to think seriously in terms of instituting a system which could trump if not substitute religion. once again these circumstances relate to Akbar’s growing discontent with Islam in particular and organized religion in general during the last phase of his rule. Badā’ūnī, after deliberating at length on Akbar’s various un-Islamic practices, reproduces the text of a document presented to Akbar in 1579 by Muslim scholars and jurists holding positions of prominence in various parts of the empire.63 this rather extraordinary document proclaimed that, according to Islamic sources, the rank of Sulṭān-i ‘ādil (just ruler) is higher in the eyes of God than the rank of the Mujtahid (an authority on points of religious law). therefore, in the interest of the nation and political expediency, Akbar’s decrees regarding religious questions on which the Mujtahid cannot agree will be final and binding on the entire nation.64 Furthermore, according to the document, the emperor was entitled to issue new orders as long as these were in conformity with some verse of the Qur’ān and held real benefit for the nation.65 though Badā’ūnī does not give a specific date, he considers this as the final step in Akbar’s move away from Islam and states that soon after receiving this document he abolished use of the Islamic Hijri calendar and inaugurated a new era which began with the first year of his accession to throne; this era was termed Tārīḫ-i ilāhī.66 Badā’ūnī links these imperial measures to a sharp rise 62. Earlier Mughal historians have also argued that Akbar in fact attempted to create a new religious order in the shape of Dīn-i ilāhī, however, more recent scholarship suggests that this interpretation was based on a mistranslation of Abū al-Fażl’s writings. For instance Athar Ali points out that Dīn-i ilāhī is an incorrect translation of the actual Persian term Ā’īn-i irādat gazīnān [literally: regulations for those privileged to be (His Majesty’s) disciples] used in the Ā’īn by Abū al-Fażl. Blochmann translates this Persian term as « ordinances of the divine Faith ». See Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, p. 175. Similarly in his lengthy note on Akbar’s religious views Blochmann again makes the error of translating Badā’ūnī’s Persian terms ḥalqa-yi irādat and silsila-yi-murīdān (both terms literally: circle of disciples) as « divine Faith » and the « new religion » in two passages. For the note on Akbar’s religious policy see Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 176-223. For Athar Ali’s argument see Ali 1983, pp. 126-127. Also see Habib’s comments in Chandra - Grewal - Habib 1992, pp. 70-71 and Asher - talbot 2007, p. 130. 63. For details of the signatories see Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 278 and for the copy of the actual text see pp. 279-280. 64. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 279. 65. Badā’ūnī claims that the document was written and signed first of all by Abū al-Fażl’s father, Šayḫ Mubārak, who was the muftī of the empire (chief jurist). Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 280. 66. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 316. Akbar also commissioned the writing of a new history of the thousand years starting from his own ancestors. See Moin 2005, pp. 1-2.

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in, what he terms, the anti-Islamic activity at the court in the shape of preference given to subjects like astronomy, mathematics, medicine, poetry, history and literature over the study of the Qur’ān or Islamic law.67

tHE JESuItS: EuroPEAn rECEPtIon oF IndIAn PoLItICAL tHouGHt Abū al-Fażl and Badā’ūnī present two extremes of the overall spectrum of ideas regarding religion and politics which had currency in Akbar’s India. It was in this very context that Akbar sent the invitation for Jesuit missionaries to come to his court. the Jesuits, as mentioned at the beginning of this paper, were ecstatic about Akbar’s interest in the Christian faith and sensed that he was possibly on the verge of conversion to Christianity.68 Soon after their arrival at the court, they inquired about Akbar’s views on religion in general and the status of his knowledge about the Gospel in particular from a Christian priest, deputed by Akbar as their host.69 the fundamental bias of the European missionaries becomes evident even during this early phase of their stay at the court. Based on his interaction with Akbar, the host informed the missionaries that the emperor revered Christ and the virgin and was not far from acknowledging and embracing Christianity as the true faith. Immediately after this sentence, and quite ironically, the host identifies the doctrinal issues, which prevented Akbar from converting to Christianity. the host informed the visitors that according to Akbar his judgment of Christian faith was clouded, when he heard that there are three persons in one God, that God had begotten a son from a virgin, had suffered on the cross, and had been killed by the Jews.70

the host further suggests to the visitors that if somehow Akbar could be made to believe that the Gospel had in fact come from God, the inconsistency between these doctrinal matters and human reason could easily be resolved.71 this solution could only be suggested by somebody who was ignorant of Akbar’s political and religious ideas discussed earlier in the paper. First, the 67. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 316. 68. See Monserrate 2003, pp. 28, 30. 69. Monserrate identifies this priest as one Francis Julian Pereira (vicar General in Bengal stationed at Satgaon). According to him Pereira was « a man of more piety than learning » who acquainted Akbar with the tenets of Christianity and asked him to send for more learned priests from Goa. See Monserrate 2003, note 1, p. 1. 70. Monserrate 2003, p. 29. 71. Monserrate 2003, p. 29.

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doctrinal matters mentioned by the host all defy human reason. And second, the proposed solution indicates an incorrect understanding of the problem that needed to be resolved in order to convert the emperor, who claimed to be the representative of God. one must also remember that this conversation between the newly arrived missionaries and their host took place after Akbar had received the approval from Muslim scholar to be the supreme authority on earth even in religious matters. As the conversation further reveals, the Jesuits seem to have interpreted Akbar’s lack of devotion to Islam as their good fortune.72 this is also evident from the fact that in their meeting with the King, after this conversation, the Jesuits were invited to participate in the religious debates at the court. Monserrate notes that the Jesuits took this as « an opportunity to debate the accuracy and authority of the Holy Scriptures on which the Christian religion is founded and that of the vanity and lies of the book in which the Musalmans [Muslims] put their faith ».73 He also writes that the King was impressed by the arguments made by the missionaries, and in private asked them for an explanation of the doctrinal issues mentioned by their host earlier.74 Interestingly, the Jesuit response to the king’s request was to pray and seek enlightenment from God on these issues and humbly wait for His response.75 Monserrate records several similar debates after this one and notes that the king was happy that all the missionaries were united in their opinions, whereas the Muslims could never seem to agree on anything.76 Akbar himself also encouraged the missionaries in believing that he was on the verge of conversion. According to Monserrate, he suggested to the missionaries that if he felt his conversion to Christianity would cause an upheaval in his empire, he would pretend as if he was going for a pilgrimage to Mecca but would instead go to Goa and get baptized.77 In addition, Monserrate claims that Akbar always sided with the missionaries during religious debates and praised them extravagantly.78 However, despite this optimism, the missionaries also realized the problems involved in converting the emperor, partly because of possible political repercussions, but also because of their assessment of Akbar’s nature and approach. Some of these are spelled out in a letter written by father 72. According to the host Akbar believed that « Muḥammad was a rascally imposter, who had deluded and infatuated men by his lies ». Monserrate 2003, p. 29. 73. Monserrate 2003, p. 37. 74. Monserrate 2003, p. 38. 75. Monserrate 2003, p. 38. 76. Monserrate 2003, p. 39. For accounts of the debates see pp. 39-42, 50-51, 57-58, 100-101, 118-121, 136-139. 77. Monserrate 2003, p. 48. 78. Monserrate 2003, p. 51.

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Acquaviva, a member of the delegation, to Everard Mercurian, Superior General of the Society of Jesus.79 the primary problems that Acquaviva mentions are that Akbar « wanted to understand the scriptures through recourse to reason, and that he is very curious and wants actual miracles to be convinced ».80 Acquaviva also suggests that Akbar is familiar with the authority of the Pope and the power of the King of Portugal and would be positively influenced towards Christianity if he received some letters and gifts from these two.81 other than these insights into Akbar’s approach towards Christianity and religion in general, Jesuit letters also highlight two fundamental problems in conducting a successful inter-civilizational dialogue. First, they repeatedly point out the possibility of mistranslation, both cultural and linguistic, because of their own limited language ability in Persian and Arabic.82 Second, and perhaps more importantly, the Jesuits realized the difficulties involved in the conversion of the emperor and gradually even came to the point of accepting the futility of their enterprise, they do not give up hope because of Akbar’s lack of interest in Islam. Acquaviva, for instance, categorically states that, they had not lost hope, for it was no mean achievement to have reached half the way, that is, Akbar’s loss of faith in his own religion.83 Similarly, in context of their missionary zeal, the Jesuits fared great pride and joy in the fact that they could be very close to martyrdom. they had publicly announced that Muḥammad was an Antichrist and for such an act the punishment was the death penalty.84 this is especially important because it shows that the Jesuits clearly failed to comprehend the complexity of Akbar’s approach to religion and politics because of their own bias against Islam. What Acquaviva claims as half the achievement for the Jesuits, i.e., Akbar’s loss of faith in Islam, could actually be pointing towards a much more serious hurdle for the Jesuit enterprise, i.e., of his having lost faith in religion in general, including Christianity. this also implies that even if the Jesuits were proficient in Persian they still would have failed to understand his politics because of the cultural, historical and religious baggage they carried in context of the traditional rivalry between Islam and Christianity. the above is also instructional for political theorists in the west who favor constructing imaginary dialogues by comparing philosophical treatises from

79. See Correia-Afonso 1980, pp. 55-62. 80. Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 59. 81. Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 60. Also see Monserrate 2003, pp. 172-173. 82. Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 67, 75 and 77. Also see Monserrate 2003, pp. 30, 119, 172 and 179. 83. Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 65. 84. Correia-Afonso 1980, p. 61.

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western and non-western traditions.85 these theorists run the risk of committing the same error as the Jesuits and their comparative approach can lead to construction of faulty hypotheses because of incorrect problem identification at the planning stage of a comparative study. As the discussion of Akbar’s and Abū al-Fażl’s theory of sovereignty clearly suggests, Akbar’s chief concern as a ruler was to achieve cohesion in a religiously diverse populace. He overcame this problem, first, by theoretically constructing a rawls-like « veil of ignorance », for his subjects, via a description of the centrality as well as fallibility of human intellect in understanding religious or temporal matters.86 Second, he acquired authority from Muslim scholars for his superior status vis-à-vis Muslim jurists in deciding matters of faith. If the Jesuits were aware of this context they would not have misinterpreted Akbar’s willingness to hear criticism of Islam as a hopeful sign for their own purpose. In fact, Akbar’s perplexity on the select doctrinal issues related to Christianity, as noted before, could be interpreted as his mockery of the intellect of those who believed in Christianity, since all these questions were about phenomenon that defied human reason. A related possibility for Akbar’s tolerance of a critique of Islam, which cannot be ignored, is the timing of the Jesuit mission’s presence in India. one must remember that this was the completion of the millennium since the migration of the prophet from Mecca to Medina. Several measures that Akbar enforced during this period are suggestive as regards his intentions. one such measure, discussed earlier, was his replacement of the use of Islamic calendar with a new era beginning with the first year of his accession to throne. Another measure was to stop the minting of coins of all denominations from 1581-2 till 1590-1. Minting of coins resumed in 1000/1591-2 with the date Alf or 1000 inscribed on them.87 these measures must also be looked at in the context of Akbar’s divine Faith and Badā’ūnī’s statement that « on copper coins and gold muhurs the era of the Millennium was used, as indicating that the end of the religion of Muḥammad, which was to last one thousand years, was drawing near ».88 All these measures suggest that Jesuit criticism of Islam and Muḥammad in fact favored Akbar’s intentions to establish a discipleship order, which incorporated elements from diverse religious traditions, and eventually

85. For more details about this new trend and call for a new subfield by the name of Comparative Political theory see dallmayr 1989; dallmayr 1996; dallmayr 1998; dallmayr 1999; dallmayr 2002; dallmayr 2004; dallmayr 2009; Euben 1999; Euben 2006 and Parel - Keith 1992. 86. For a discussion of the « veil of ignorance » see rawls 2003, pp. 118-123. 87. Haider 2007, p. 55. 88. Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II p. 316. For a detailed discussion see Moin 2005, pp. 26-54.

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provide an alternate basis for legitimacy for a ruler faced with a multi confessional polity such as India. this point is further supported by Akbar’s brief speech, reported by Monserrate, where he makes reference to the incompatibility between and hostility among different religions. In the speech Akbar commands representatives of each religion to explain their faith to the emperor and to each other so that it could be decided which religion is best.89 Akbar’s solution, as we know, was ṣulḥ-i kull or universal toleration, but to the Jesuits this presented an opportunity to establish the superiority of Christianity despite the fact that they had not given any satisfactory replies, based on reason, to the questions asked by Akbar regarding Christianity. the above discussion also makes us aware of the ever-present possibility of unintended outcomes during an inter-civilizational encounter. the Jesuits had a specific mission in mind, which blinded them from interpreting the broader context in which Akbar was operating. neither could they understand that they were in a sense acting as Akbar’s foreign and impartial advocates against orthodox religious forces in India in general. one must also remember here the Society of Jesus’ unique position in the ecclesiastical politics of the west. As members of a counter-reformation movement in the early modern period with a twin focus on mission and education, the Jesuits were singularly well prepared to counter arguments pertaining to the separation of the Church and State and in countering heresy. Furthermore, they were present in India for quite some time and, as mentioned earlier, had launched foreign missions to China and Japan from their base in Goa. If they had engaged Akbar and Abū al-Fażl, with whom they had extensive contact, from a philosophical rather than a religious standpoint, they probably would have been more successful in achieving their ultimate objectives. this is indeed speculation but probably not totally without merit, as we find several statements in both the Muntaḫab al-tawārīḫ and the Ā’īn-i Akbarī that Akbar was profoundly interested in privileging philosophy, sciences, and the arts over religious reasoning.90 In fact, Akbar’s interest in painting was legendary and is frequently attested to by Abū al-Fażl in the Ā’īn-i Akbarī.91 the change that occurred in Mughal painting because of the impact of European art that came to Akbar’s court via the Jesuits, and later by way of other European travelers and visitors to India, had a crucial and lasting effect on Indian art and architecture as well as on the manner in

89. Monserrate 2003, p. 182. this is also the only point in the whole narrative where Monserrate mentions that the missionaries had become suspicious that Akbar wanted to found a new religion. See Monserrate 2003, p. 184. 90. For instance see Badā’ūnī 1990, vol. II, p. 316; Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 110-111. 91. For instance Abū al-Fażl 1993, vol. I, pp. 113-115.

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which Mughal emperors liked to be depicted in their portraits.92 Wellesz, for instance, states that Christian images, brought by missionaries, were copied by Akbar’s artists and adapted to very different subjects during illustration of manuscripts.93 Europeans visitors to Akbar’s court had brought works of art to India as gifts or souvenirs from their homelands with hope to gain favor from him, or to convert them to Christianity, as in the case of Jesuits. But, because of Akbar’s inability to read himself and the resultant unusually high interest in artistic renditions of history, these souvenirs ended up having a much stronger and long lasting influence on Mughal India than the actual message that the Europeans wanted him to accept. European art therefore played a significant role in the self-imaging of Mughal India in general and of Mughal emperors in particular. In context of comparative theorizing, then, any comparative study keep room for the unintended outcomes of an inter-civilizational encounter. As the cases of Jesuits in India show, honest but unintentional cultural, linguistic and religious mistranslations are almost unavoidable and may in fact result in the most profound identity-transforming outcomes for all parties involved in the dialogue. Another striking example of these mistranslations can be seen in the way Monserrate describes the Hindu religion in his commentary. For him the origin of the Hindu faith is, curiously, in terms of the dawn of Abrahamic faiths which emerge from a single source in shape of a founder.94 In addition, he interprets idol worshipping practices and the structure of relationships between Hindu deities in light of his own knowledge of similar practices in the west during the pre-Christian era. His comments are replete with references to Athenians, ancient European poets, names of and relationships between roman Gods such as Jupiter, neptune, orcus and Minerva.95 In visualizing the Hindu religion in this manner, Monserrate almost totally equates ancient India with ancient rome.96 His description of the Hindu system of beliefs provides us a glimpse into the embryonic stages of the manner in which later Europeans and colonial powers interpreted it.97 this European interpretation of the Hindu faith as « Hinduism » had profound implications for Colonial British policy towards 92. See Koch 1982; Bailey 1998, pp. 24-29; Wellesz 1952, pp. 41-44 and Jones 1987, pp. 30-56, 152-156. 93. Wellesz 1952, pp. 40-41. 94. Monserrate 2003, p. 90. 95. Monserrate 2003, p. 91. 96. Monserrate 2003, p. 93. 97. According to Grewal term Hinduism came into currency during the nineteenth century and became much more current during the twentieth. See Chandra - Grewal - Habib 1992, p. 66.

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Indians, on the one hand, and on the natives of the sub-continent, on the other. one could argue that, the claim made by Muslims of India in support of division of the subcontinent, on the basis that Hindus and Muslims were two distinct nations and could not live together, could have its origins in the manner in which these early Europeans interpreted India’s religions. If this is a possibility, then once again, Monserrate’s unintended cultural mistranslation seems to have a crucial bearing on how later Europeans understood Hindus and Muslims in South Asia and the ways in which they would distinguished themselves from their future colonial subjects.

ConCLuSIon the discussion in this paper suggests that primacy of reason and rationality (taḥqīq) over blind acceptance of a religion (taqlīd) were the key motivating factors in Akbar’s and Abū al-Fażl’s political practice and thought. We also find, embedded within early modern Indian political thought, the notion of a social contract between the true ruler and his subjects and advocacy for the role of the state as a guarantor of the free practice of religion. these ideas and state practices are distinctly modern in nature and are seen in action in early modern India before they were fully developed in Europe by some of the most well known proponents of the social contract tradition.98 In addition, the first Jesuit mission at Akbar’s court is only one instance of the early contacts between the west and its Indian other. this initial western European interpretation of Hinduism, as an eastern faith, and the records and correspondence maintained by these and subsequent western visitors to India gradually gave rise to a more nuanced civilizational self-understanding in the west. the paper suggests that this new image of the western self was developed in contradistinction to the defining characteristics of their counterparts in other civilizations.

acknowledgements I wish to thank Cary J. nederman and vasileios Syros for their comments on earlier versions of this article.

98. Hobbes (b. 1588 – d. 1679), Locke (b. 1632 – d. 1704) and rousseau (b. 1712 – d. 1778).

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Towards a reconsideraTion of The « isfahan school of PhilosoPhy »: Šayḫ Bahā al-dīn and The role of The safavid ‘Ulamā1 Andrew Newman

abstract: To date, Western scholarship has characterized the major Imāmī ‘ulamā of early 17th century Iran as interested primarily in philosophy and mysticism and averse to involvement in secular political affairs. Closer study of the life and writings of one important Imāmī ‘ālim of this period, Bahā al-Dīn al-‘Āmilī (d. 1030/1620-21), known also as Šayḫ Bahā’ī, suggests a different picture of the behavior and role of these ‘ulamā. Rather than being simply an apolitical philosopher or mystic, Bahā al-Dīn was in fact active throughout his career in the service of the Safavid State and in the expansion of the power of the Imāmī ‘ulamā in the community during the absence of the Imām.

Most Western-language commentators on 17th century Safavid Iran have viewed the period as having begun with a burst of cultural and intellectual achievement, in an atmosphere of military, political, and economic stability, due largely to the policies undertaken by Šāh ‘Abbās I (r. 1588-1629), only to end in the darkness of fanatical religious orthodoxy amid military, political, and economic chaos. Many of these commentators have cited the changing behavior and interests of important Imāmī Shi‘i ‘ulamā over the 17th century as an important aspect of the the Safavid « decline » of the latter half of the century. Western-language scholars have portrayed the majority of the late 17th century Iranian ‘ulamā as intolerant, orthodox clerics whose growing 1. Portions of the study resulting in this publication were made under a fellowship granted by the Social Science Research Council and the American Council of Learned Societies. However, the conclusions, opinions, and other statements in this publication are those of the author and not necessarily those of the Councils. The author would like to thank Amin Banani, Nikki Keddie, S. A. Arjomand, and Wilferd Madelung for their comments on drafts of this paper. The author is also grateful to Emilie Savage-Smith, and especially Yann Richard for his continued encouragement and support. The faults herein are those of the author. A collection of articles on Bahā al-Dīn, including this one, earlier and subsequent essays, has recently been published by Raḥmatī 2008.

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political influence inhibited an adequate response by the Safavid polity to the political and military crises enveloping it, and who crushed the philosophical renaissance of the earlier half of the century. By contrast, the Imāmī ‘ulamā of the early 17th century have been characterized as interested primarily in philosophy and mysticism, and, as averse to, or having refrained from, entanglements in secular affairs.2 Browne perhaps was the first scholar in this century to stress the philosophical proclivities of a select group of early 17th century Imāmī clerics, and emphasize their role in the broader process of enlightenment and intellectual achievement characteristic of the reign of Šāh ‘Abbās I. Browne identified such figures as Mīr Dāmād (d. 1041/1630-31), Bahā al-Dīn al-‘Āmilī [the name Bahā al-Dīn is used all through the volume] (d. 1030/1621), Mullā Ṣadrā al-Šīrāzī (d. 1050/1640), Muḥsin Fayḍ al-Kāšānī (d. 1091/1680), Mīr Findiriskī (d. 1050/1640), and ‘Abd al-Razzāq al-Lāhījī (d. 1072/1661) as « philosophers, as well as, or even more than, theologians ».3 In the 1950’s, Corbin and Nasr coined the phrase « Isfahan School of Philosophy » to stress the uniqueness of the contribution of these figures within broader dimensions of Islamic philosophical thought, and call attention to the early 17th century as a period of philosophical renaissance in Iran.4 Subsequent Western-language commentators on Safavid history incorporated aspects of the « Isfahan School » concept into their own accounts.5 Bahā al-Dīn Muḥammad ibn Ḥusayn al-‘Āmilī was a prominent member of this group of supposedly philosophically-oriented, mystically-inclined Imāmī clerics of early 17th century Safavid Iran. For Browne, Bahā al-Dīn was Equal in fame, influence, and honor with ... Mīr Dāmād, these two being amongst the men of learning who gave most lustre to the court of Šāh ‘Abbās I the Great.

2. See, for example, Browne 1953, pp. 103, 118-120, 372-373, 403-404, 406-410, 426; Minorsky 1943, pp. 13-14, 16-19, 23-24, 30, 41; Lockart 1958, pp. 16-18, 21-34, 70-79; Savory 1980, pp. 76-103, especially pp. 93-95, 216-220, and 226-254, especially 226-228, 233-234, 238-241. 3. Browne 1953, pp. 250-251, 406-410, 426. 4. Among the best-known of the works by Corbin and Nasr on this subject are Corbin 1956; Nasr 1966a. 5. See, for example, Savory 1980, pp. 93-95, 216-220, 234-239; Arjomand 1979, pp. 93, 97; Arjomand 1981, pp. 25, 27; Arjomand 1984, pp. 145, 148-150. An important element of Arjomand’s argument is that the « inherent esoteric quality » of Shi‘ism, especially gnostic Shi‘ism, has precluded secular political activity by the Imāmī clergy. See Arjomand 1984, pp. 23, 162-163.

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Browne noted that Bahā al-Dīn was interested in arithmetic, astronomy, law, theology and medicine, that he was Šayḫ al-Islam in the Safavid capital of Isfahan, and that he made the pilgrimage (ḥajj) to Mecca, after which he visited many Arab lands « in the guise of a darwish », and met many learned men. Browne also listed a number of Bahā al-Dīn’s works, devoting special attention to Bahā al-Dīn’s poetry, his works on astronomy and arithmetic, and his Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī, a legal manual.6 Nasr was as interested as Browne in Bahā al-Dīn’s extra-legal abilities. He too noted Bahā al-Dīn’s talents in arithmetic and astronomy and said Bahā al-Dīn was respected by theologians, jurists, philosophers (ḥakīm), natural historians, sophists, logicians, and Sufis-groups which, according to Nasr, were usually at odds with each other. However, Nasr placed special emphasis on Bahā al-Dīn’s mystical proclivites. Including Bahā al-Dīn as a member of the « Isfahan School of Philosophy », Nasr referred to him as « an outstanding Sufi », a master in all sciences, and one capable of demonstrating « the nothingness of all sciences before divine gnosis ».7 Indeed, Bahā al-Dīn’s mystical poetry and gnostic tendencies were the main focus of Nasr’s attention. Arjomand adhered to these characterizations of Bahā al-Dīn, but also included Bahā al-Dīn as one of the clerics of this period « reluctant to accept governmental positions and open favors » from the Safavid court. As evidence of Bahā al-Dīn’s aversion to entanglements with the secular state, Arjomand said the Šayḫ only « reluctantly » accepted the position of Šayḫ al-Islām of Isfahan, only to resign soon thereafter and accept no such position again.8 Elsewhere, Arjomand called Bahā al-Dīn « the most prominent of the `ulamā of the reign of ‘Abbās I », noted the « special royal favor » shown him by Šāh ‘Abbās I, and mentioned Bahā al-Dīn’s acceptance of a royal commission to write what became his Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī. Arjomand also concluded that Bahā al-Dīn’s poetry and the inclusion of his name in a Nūrbaḫšī silsila demonstrated his « Sufi inclinations ».9 6. Browne 1953, pp. 407, 427-428. 7. Nasr 1966a, pp. 909-914. Nasr’s source for Bahā al-Dīn’s poetry was his Kulliyyāt-i aš‘ār-i fārsī (see Bahā al-Dīn 1336š./1957-58). Nasr also made reference to the biography of Bahā al-Dīn by Nafisī which also contains citations of Bahā al-Dīn’s poetry (see Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 120). 8. Arjomand 1979, pp. 97, 99, where Arjomand cited as his source Falsafī 1351-1353š./197275, p. 27. However, the word « reluctantly » used by Arjomand does not appear in Falsafī’s account. 9. Arjomand 1981, pp. 9, 16n96, n97, 25, 26. In this article, Arjomand inexplicably did not include Bahā al-Dīn in his listing of the members of the « Isfahan School of Philosophy », though the remainder of those cited as « members » of the School were those figures identified as such by Corbin and Nasr. See also footnote 75. Arjomand’s source for Bahā al-Dīn‘s poetry was Kulliyyāt-i

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Based on these discussions, Bahā al-Dīn supposedly typifies the Imāmī clerics of the « Isfahan School of Philosophy » of early 17th century Iran. He emerges both a well-known, universally respected philosopher and Sufi mystic, with abilities in many areas of knowledge while, at the same time, he was averse to involvement with the secular state. The sources utilized by these authors in their discussions of Bahā al-Dīn have consisted chiefly of Persian-language primary and secondary works. These sources include: Tunukābūnī’s 19th century Persian-language biography of major Imāmī clerics, Qiṣāṣ al-`ulamā, the Persian-language court chronicle Tārīḫ-i `ālam-ārā-yi `abbāsī of Iskandar Munšī (d. ca. 1632), a contemporary of Bahā al-Dīn,10 Nafīsī’s Persian-language biography of Bahā al-Dīn, Bahā al-Dīn’s poetry, Falsafī’s Persian-language biography of Šāh ‘Abbās I,11 and several later chronicles. A more detailed examination of Bahā al-Dīn’s career and several of his writings reveals a hitherto unexplored dimension to Bahā al-Dīn’s life and shows him to have been a figure more complex than has been suggested by Browne, Corbin and Nasr, and Arjomand. More than simply a Sufi, a « universal man » with abilities in many branches of knowledge, or a philosopher-cleric who rejected close ties to the state, Bahā al-Dīn was, in fact, active throughout his career in the service of the secular state, and a proponent of both the expansion of the powers of the `ulamā within the community and the delegation of the prerogatives reserved for the Imām to the clergy during the Imām’s occultation (ġayba). In all three respects Bahā al-Dīn’s career and contributions represented a continuation of existing, trends of interpretation within Imāmī law. In Safavid Iran the issues of clerical involvement with the secular state and the powers of the clergy during the occultation of the Imām were among the subjects of contention between Uṣūlī and Aḫbārī elements within the Imāmī community. The former, including Bahā al-Dīn, maintained a close relationship with the secular state, advocated a growth in clerical authority within the

Šayḫ-i Bahā al-Dīn (Bahā al-Dīn 1345š/1966-67). See also Arjomand’s comments on Bahā al-Dīn in Arjomand 1984, pp. 116, 116n57, 144-145, 148-149, 175, 199, 206. 10. Browne did refer to the 1306/1888 edition of al-Ḫwānsārī’s Rawḍāt al-jannāt and al-Kantūrī’s Kašf al-ḥujub, both Arabic-language works. Careful reading makes clear that Browne relied mainly on Persian-language material. See Browne 1953, pp. 364n1, 427n2. See also footnotes 3 and 35. Roger Savory has translated Munšī’s chronicle into English under the title History of Shah `Abbas the Great (See Munšī 1978). The work by Muḥammad ibn Sulaymān Tunukābūnī, Qiṣaṣ al-`ulamā, was printed in Tehran (n.d.). 11. In a five-volume work (see footnote 8), Falsafī‘s comments on the `ulamā of this period covered only pp. 26-30 of the third volume. Falsafī’s main source for these few comments was the same Qiṣaṣ al-`ulamā by Tunukābūnī.

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community, and supported the delegation of the Imām’s powers to the clergy. The Aḫbārī in turn argued against these positions, employing both legal arguments and often anonymous slander in their attacks on their opponents. Not surprisingly given his positions on these issues, Bahā al-Dīn was the target of intense criticism within the Imāmī community. Subsequent discussions will examine aspects of the Aḫbārī polemic in greater detail and show the continuity of these Safavid-period arguments with polemics present within Imāmī Shi‘i thought since its earliest days as an independent, coherent faith.

BAHĀ AL-DīN’S EARLY CAREER: IN THE SHADOW OF HIS FATHER Bahā al-Dīn was not the first Imāmī cleric to maintain a close relationship with a secular state or support the growth in the authority of the Imāmī clergy during the occultation.12 In the Safavid period Šayḫ ‘Alī al-Karakī (d. 940/1534), later called al-Muḥaqqiq al-Ṯānī, served both Šāh Ismā‘il I (r. 1501-1524), the first Safavid Šāh, and his successor Šāh Ṭahmāsb I (r. 1524-1576) and supported the process of the growth of clerical power.13 A more immediate role model for Bahā al-Dīn was the career of his own father Šayḫ Ḥusayn ibn ‘Abd al-Ṣamad al-‘Āmilī (d. 984/1576), a figure whose life, as with his son, has not received detailed scrutiny in Western-language studies. Šayḫ Ḥusayn arrived in Iran from Lebanon in 966/1558, following the death at Ottoman hands of his friend and teacher Zayn al-Dīn ‘Alī ibn Aḥmad al-‘Āmilī, later called al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī (d. 966/1559). A student of al-Karakī arranged an introduction for Šayḫ Ḥusayn at court. Šāh Ṭahmāsb I sent Šayḫ Ḥusayn a number of gifts, and then appointed him Šayḫ al-Islām at the Safavid capital of Qazvin. After approximately seven years in that position, Šāh Ṭahmāsb I appointed Ḥusayn to the same position in Mashhad/Ṭūs, and then in Herat. As Šayḫ al-Islām of Herat, Šayḫ Ḥusayn was ordered to undertake the religious education of the populace, considered ignorant of the tenets of the newly-established Imāmī faith, and that of the heir-apparent, Šāh Muḥammad Ḫudābanda (r. 1578-1587), as well. The provincial governor was ordered to insure the heir’s attendance at Friday congregational prayer services at which Ḥusayn taught. The governor was also ordered to obey all Ḥusayn’s commands 12. See, for example, Madelung 1980. 13. On al-Karakī, see Calder 1979, pp. 156-158; Calder 1981, pp. 479-480. See also Madelung 1978; Modarresi Tabataba’i 1983, pp. 47-59; Modarresi Tabataba’i 1984, pp. 50-51, and our discussion of al-Karakī below. On al-Karakī, see also Newman 1993; Newman 2006, pp. 13-25.

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and guarantee no one disagree with him. As compensation, Ḥusayn was given three villages near the city. The Šayḫ remained in Herat nearly eight years.14 Ḥusayn also used his legal talents in the service both of the state and of the expansion of the clergy within the community. In 962/1555, for example, Ḥusayn composed an answer for Šāh Ṭahmāsb I to a letter sent him by the Ottoman ruler Sulaymān.15 Ḥusayn also dedicated a work on the aḫbār (the sayings of the Shi‘i Imāms) to Ṭahmāsb.16 Another work by Šayḫ Ḥusayn, al-`Aqd al-Ṭahmāsbī, among the best known of his essays, and composed at the order of Šāh Ṭahmāsb I, was notable for its emphasis on the importance of holding Friday congregational prayer services during the occultation. Such a ruling by a cleric with such close ties to the Safavid state represented a strong statement from within the Imāmī tradition which, according the occultation a semi-permanent status, provided for both recognition of and relations with the secular state and also allocation to the clergy of many of the prerogatives reserved for the Imām.17 Ḥusayn was also active in teaching his interpretations of Imāmī doctrine to a new generation of scholars who, in turn, continued the process of establishing Imāmī doctrine in Safavid territory and serving the state and promoting the

14. The sources agree on the chronological order of the events recounted here, though not always on the durations in question. In general, the religious biographies are more reliable than Nafisī’s biography of Bahā al-Dīn. See, for example, al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 2, pp. 110, 119-120; vol. 5, pp. 94-95; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 2, pp. 341-342; Mudarris13281333š./1949-1955, vol 3., pp. 79-82; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol 26., pp. 239-243, 257-258; al-Nūrī 1382/1962-63, p. 421; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 18-19. Bahā al-Dīn’s brother ‘Abd al-Ṣamad was born in Qazvin in 966/1559 though Nafisī erroneously wrote that ‘Abd al-Ṣamad was older than Bahā al-Dīn (See Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 21-22). al-Amīnī al-Najafī criticizes Nafisī for this and other errors. See al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 281-284. I am grateful to H. M. Tabataba’i for directing me to this reference. The exact nature of the financial arrangements involving the villages given Šayḫ Ḥusayn was not specified in the sources. 15. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 26, p. 264; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 19. 16. al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 1, pp. 414-415. 17. On al-`Aqd, see al-Baḥrānī 1386/1969, pp. 25-26; al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 2, p. 115; al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 15, p. 290; al-Kantūrī 1914, pp. 383-384; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 26, p. 243, vol. 44, p. 231; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 16; and al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī 1385/1965-66, vol. 1, p. 75, where it may be another work composed by Ḥusayn at the order of Šāh Ṭahmāsb I as a reply to the Ottomans. On Friday prayer, see al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 2, pp. 115, 120; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 2, pp. 341-342; vol. 6, p. 86; and footnotes 90, 91, and 94. Šayḫ ‘Alī al-Karakī was in favor of Friday prayer, but Munšī wrote that Šayḫ Ḥusayn restored the practice of Friday prayer in Safavid territory when he became Šayḫ al-Islām, an indication that sometime between al-Karakī’s death and Ḥusayn’s ascendancy at court Friday prayer was discontinued. See Munšī 1978, vol. 1, p. 247. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 26, pp. 241, 264; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 13, 16.

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expansion of the power of the Imāmī `ulamā. Among Ḥusayn’s more prominent students were Mīr Dāmād, the son-in-law of al-Karakī, and his own son, Bahā al-Dīn.18

BAHĀ AL-DīN’S EARLY CAREER: HIS CLOSENESS TO HIS FATHER, SERvICE WITH ŠĀH ṬAHMĀSB I, AND TRAvELS DuRING THE INTERREGNuM During the nearly twenty years of Šayḫ Ḥusayn’s evolving relationship with the Safavid court, Bahā al-Dīn was in close, if not constant, contact with his father and thus witnessed first-hand his father’s increasing responsibilities and contributions. Bahā al-Dīn began his study of the Imāmī religious sciences under his father at an early age. After the family’s arrival in Iran, when Bahā al-Dīn was about thirteen years old,19 and probably for several years after his father’s posting to Khurasan, Bahā al-Dīn probably studied with some of the important `ulamā of Qazvin. That city had undergone a great expansion following its designation as the Safavid capital. A number of religious schools were built in Qazvin, for example, and many prominent religious figures had settled there. In this period Bahā al-Dīn studied scholastic theology (kalām), philosophy, art, arithmetic, and medicine with some of these and began his study of Persian, eventually mastering the language, as evidenced by his poetry.20 18. On Šayḫ Ḥusayn’s ijāza to Mīr Dāmād, see al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 1, p. 185 and Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 157-158. On Bahā al-Dīn’s ijāza from his father see the sources cited in footnote 19. 19. Most sources agree Bahā al-Dīn was born in 953/1546 in Ba’lbak in the Jabal ‘Āmil region of Lebanon. See al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, p. 290; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 217, 221; al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 2, p. 110; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 7, p. 60; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 30. See, however, al-Baḥrānī 1386/1969, p. 26; al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/198081, vol. 5, p. 97. 20. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 221; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 27. On Bahā al-Dīn’s teachers, see Browne 1953, p. 427; Mudarris1328-1333š./1949-1955, vol. 3, p. 306; Munšī 1978, vol. 1, p. 248; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 29, 153; al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī 1385/1965-66, vol. 2, pp. 160-161; al-Muḥibbī n.d., vol. 3, p. 440. There are, however, no dated ijāzāt to confirm the dates and places of study with any of those listed as his teachers. It is apparent, however, that none of Bahā al-Dīn’s teachers from this period was from outside Iran, save his own father. See also al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, p. 251; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 54, p. 91. It may also have been in this period that Bahā al-Dīn married the daughter of ‘Alī al-Minšār, al-Karakī’s student who introduced Bahā al-Dīn’s father to Šāh Ṭahmāsb I. See al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 5, p. 94. al-Minšār, along with al-Karakī and Šayḫ Ḥusayn, bore the nisba of al-‘Āmilī, identifying him with the Jabal ‘Āmil region of Lebanon. The notion of a large-scale migration of Arab Imāmī scholars, many from Bahrayn and Jabal ‘Āmil, to Iran following the establishment of the Safavid state has a history, within the

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Sometime after Šāh Ṭahmāsb I posted Šayḫ Ḥusayn to Khurasan, Bahā al-Dīn began to commute between Qazvin and the eastern Safavid territories to be with his father, and after 981/1573, he settled in Herat with Ḥusayn.21 Bahā al-Dīn must have demonstrated his administrative ability and political loyalty to the court swiftly, since, when Ḥusayn was allowed by Ṭahmāsb to undertake the pilgrimage in 983/1575, Bahā al-Dīn was made Šayḫ al-Islām of Herat in his father’s place. Bahā al-Dīn was still in Herat when he heard of his father’s death in Bahrayn in 984/1576. Šāh Ṭahmāsb I died the same year.22 Bahā al-Dīn appears to have made an effort to maintain an even relationship with the new rulers of Iran during the period of interregnum following the death of Ṭahmāsb. In 985/1587 for example, he dedicated an essay on legal weights and measures to Šāh Muḥammad Ḫudābanda, his father’s student and Ṭahmāsb’s son.23 However, several years later, Bahā al-Dīn left Iran to perform the pilgrimage. He was outside of Iran from 991/1583 until 993/1585, and it is likely that the series of travels he undertook in this period are his travels through Ottoman territories so often referred to, but undated, in some sources.24 Western-language sources, at least as far back as the work of E. G. Browne. It is still current within the field. See for example, Browne 1953, pp. 54-55, 360; Arjomand 1984, pp. 128-131; Nasr 1974, p. 274; Savory 1980, p. 30; McChesney 1981, pp. 183-184. On the migration, see also Newman 1993; Newman 2006, especially chapters 1 and 2, p. 162n68. 21. Exchanges between father and son reveal the strain of the separation on both, as well as date their whereabouts. See also footnote 23. For a poem by Bahā al-Dīn dated 979/1571, see al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, pp. 295-296 and al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 258, where, however, the same poem is not dated. For a poem dated 981/1573 to Ḥusayn in Herat, see al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 251, and al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, p. 300, where the poem is not dated. Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 28, 152 contradicts himself on the dates of the separation of Bahā al-Dīn and his father. 22. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 26, pp. 244-245; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 2, p. 342; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 20; al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 1, p. 186. Nafisī also said (Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 19) that Bahā al-Dīn and his mother accompanied Ḥusayn on the pilgrimage and later returned to Iran. See, however, al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 2, p. 110, vol. 5, pp. 94-95; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 152; that Bahā al-Dīn’s mother may have died in Herat. 23. al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 23, p. 329; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 102, 165-166 that this essay had first been written to Šāh Ṭahmāsb I. See, however, al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/19341978, vol. 3, p. 402, vol. 17, p. 288. On Bahā al-Dīn’s changing of the dedications of other works, see footnotes 26, 45. 24. The dates of this pilgrimage can be inferred from Nafisī’s dating of Bahā al-Dīn’s movements from the poetry in Bahā al-Dīn’s famous al-Kaškūl (The Beggar’s Bowl). Nafisī said Bahā al-Dīn completed his Nān va ḥalvā in 992/1584 while on the pilgrimage. He erred, however, in calling this Bahā al-Dīn’s second ḥajj. See Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 34-35, 127. See also al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 24, pp. 30-31; al-Kantūrī 1914, pp. 321, 375. The dates of this pilgrimage can be confirmed further by the references in the sources to the Ottoman Sulṭān Murād as having been the ruler in this period. This can only refer to Murād III, who ruled from 982/1574 until 1003/1595. See also footnote 26.

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Bahā al-Dīn’s dress – the sources agree he dressed as a Sufi dārwīš – and his association with non-Imāmī elements during these travels were cited by later detractors as evidence of Bahā al-Dīn’s Sufi tendencies and his having been a non-believer.25 Yet, the details offered in the sources about his stops on his way home to Iran render these charges problematic. In Jerusalem, he arrived wearing traveling clothes, kept to himself during his stay, and avoided revealing his familial connection to the nearby Jabal ‘Āmil region. During his stay, he taught only one student some astronomy and geography, but soon left the city, without a trace. In Damascus, Bahā al-Dīn stayed with a local merchant in a « ruined » quarter of the city. The merchant arranged a meeting with several local figures, including one with whom Bahā al-Dīn engaged in private discussion. Bahā al-Dīn cautioned this man to secrecy and departed immediately for Aleppo. He arrived in Aleppo dressed as a dārwīš and maintained a low profile while in the city. Nevertheless, during his stay, he attended the lessons of a certain Šayḫ ‘umar. The two became embroiled in an argument at the end of which ‘umar rebuked Bahā al-Dīn calling him an « heretical Shi‘i ». Later, hearing of the arrival of a larger crowd from Jabal ‘Āmil come to meet him, Bahā al-Dīn hurriedly left the city.26

25. On his dress, see footnote 6, where Browne was citing Munšī 1978, vol. 1, pp. 247-249. On the charges against Bahā al-Dīn, see our discussion of Bahā al-Dīn below and also the following: al-Nūrī 1382/1962-63, pp. 419-420; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 222-223; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 7, p. 58; al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 283-284; Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 240, and footnote 66. I am indebted to īraj Afšār for his suggestion that in the 17th century the intent behind charging Bahā al-Dīn with zindiqa was « bī dīn », i.e. without religion, or being a non-believer. 26. For details of Bahā al-Dīn’s stops, see al-Muḥibbī n.d., vol. 3, pp. 442-445; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 216-217, 233-235; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 41-43; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 7, p. 71; al-Nūrī 1382/1962-63, pp. 417-419; Tunukābūnī n.d., pp. 236-237; al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 5, p. 88; al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 218-219, 249. Both al-Muḥibbī and al-Amīn stated that Bahā al-Dīn completed al-Kaškūl in Cairo. However, Nafisī’s dating recounted above makes this unlikely, though portions of al-Kaškūl may have been completed in Cairo. See also Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 44; and Munšī 1978, vol. 1, p. 249. al-Muḥibbī wrote that Cairo was Bahā al-Dīn’s first stop on his way to the Hijaz to perform the ḥajj. From the account of his stops herein, however, it seems more likely that Cairo was his first stop on the way back to Iran from the Hijaz. The reference to Sulṭān Murād occurred in al-Muḥibbī’s account of Bahā al-Dīn’s arrival in Aleppo. The reference there to Šāh ‘Abbās I as reigning at the same time is not repeated by al-Nūrī, and was no doubt an error. The events recounted here also reveal the presence of an Iranian merchant community active in Ottoman territory some fifty years after the Ottoman conquest of the region.

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Bahā al-Dīn’s behavior during these stops was, if anything, circumspect. As an Imāmī cleric who, as had his father, had enjoyed close connections with the Safavid court, and whose father’s teacher had been killed by the Ottomans, Bahā al-Dīn was moving in enemy territory, near lands where both he and his family and al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī were still remembered. Naturally, Bahā al-Dīn was anxious to avoid recognition by friends and enemies alike. Thus, he dressed in traveling clothes, stayed in quieter quarters, and avoided revealing his identity. At one point, he even identified himself as a Šāfī‘ī scholar, and once he wrote Sulṭān Murād’s name in the preface of a work he was carrying with him. However, there is no evidence in the sources that Bahā al-Dīn had any contact with any Sufis or Sufi orders (ṭarīqa) during these travels. Nor is there evidence he made any heretical or anti-Islamic statements to justify his being accused of zindiqa. Indeed, his vigorous defense of the Imāmī faith to Šayḫ ‘umar was sufficient for him to have been publically accused of being an Imāmī. In 996/1588, three years after Bahā al-Dīn’s return to Iran, sixteen-year-old ‘Abbās Mīrzā, son of his father’s former student Muḥammad Ḫudābanda, was placed on the Safavid throne by Muršid Qulī Ḫān (d. 996/1588).27 Several years after this, Bahā al-Dīn performed a second ḥajj, passing through Baghdad and arriving at the Kāẓimayn in 1003/1595 on his way back to Iran.28 In 1006/159798, in an atmosphere of improved Safavid military position vis-a-vis Iran’s enemies, the decision was made to move the Safavid capital to Isfahan and to undertake a major redevelopment of the city.29 ‘Alī al-Minšār, the Šayḫ al-Islām of Isfahan, and Bahā al-Dīn’s father-in-law, died soon after the designation of his city as the new capital. Bahā al-Dīn must have seemed the ideal replacement for al-Minšār: both his father-in-law and especially his father had loyally served the Safavid court in positions of great responsibility and authority, and Bahā al-Dīn himself not only had close associations with both men, but himself had served as Šayḫ al-Islām in Herat. Šāh ‘Abbās I soon made him al-Minšār’s replacement in the newly-designated Safavid capital,30 and Bahā al-Dīn resumed his service to the Safavid state in the midst of its consolidation and expansion.

27. Savory 1970, pp. 409-413. 28. al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 1, p. 238; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 1, p. 58. There are no references made to any stops in Syria or Cairo during this pilgrimmage, substantiating the idea that those stops were made during Bahā al-Dīn’s earlier pilgrimmage described above. A later chronicle dates Bahā al-Dīn as having been in Qazvin in 1003/1594. See Arjomand 1984, p. 199. 29. Savory 1970, pp. 409-413; Munšī 1978, vol. 2, p. 724. Mention should be made of McChesney’s article on the problems of dating in Munšī’s work. See McChesney l980. 30. Nafisī postulated al-Minšār died ca. 1006/1597, after the decision was made to move the capital to Isfahan. Though it is certain he succeeded al-Minšār in the post, the actual date of Bahā

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SERvICE TO THE SAFAvID STATE uNDER ŠĀH ‘ABBĀS I Bahā al-Dīn had served only briefly as Šayḫ al-Islām in Herat under Šāh Ṭahmāsb I. With his appointment as Šayḫ al-Islām in Isfahan, however, Bahā al-Dīn’s career and contributions quickly began to mirror those of al-Karakī and his own father Šayḫ Ḥusayn. Like both men, Bahā al-Dīn was, from this time on, consistently and continuously active in the service of both the Safavid state and the Safavid ruler and in the advocacy of an ever-greater role for the clergy within the Imāmī community during the occultation. The record of his service to the state and the Šāh will be considered first. Bahā al-Dīn was an active participant in the development of Isfahan as the Safavid capital and a major center of Imāmī scholarship and learning, as well as in political missions, and personal undertakings for Šāh ‘Abbās I. Bahā al-Dīn’s skills in engineering, design and mathematics merited his being placed in charge of several aspects of Isfahan’s expansion program. He participated in the planning stages of the city’s renewal program, especially in the development of Maydān-i Šāh and its adjacent quarters. Bahā al-Dīn also laid out the plans for the Čahār Bāġ residential area, and took part in the design of the Šāh Mosque located on the Maydān-i Šāh.31 He also completed all the calculations for the Sulaymāniyya School inside the Šāh Mosque and oversaw the school’s construction and the building of a sun-dial inside the school for fixing the correct prayer times. Bahā al-Dīn also performed the calculations for the directions of many of the city’s new mosques to insure they faced in the proper direction for prayer. He also was in charge of several irrigation projects developed in the areas surrounding Isfahan, including the well-known diversion of the waters of the Zāyandirūd.32

al-Dīn’s appointment is not known. Bahā al-Dīn was in Mashhad/Ṭūs in 1007/1599 writing his al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, but he never completed the work. The following year he is known to have been on his way to Isfahan, probably to take up his post as Šayḫ al-Islām. See Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 32; Mudarris1328-1333š./1949-1955, vol. 2, p. 55; al-Kantūrī 1914, p. 192; al-Tihrānī 13531398/1934-1978, vol. 6, pp. 240-241. None of these authors alluded to any reluctence on Bahā al-Dīn’s part to accept the position, as suggested by Arjomand. See footnotes 8, 63. 31. Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 67. See also the special section on Isfahan in Architectural Review, 159, No. 951 (1976), p. 315. Tunukābūnī incorrectly stated that Bahā al-Dīn actually completed the Šāh Mosque. See Tunukābūnī n.d., pp. 234-235, and footnote 35 for another error by the same author. 32. Hunarfar 1350š./1971-72, pp. 455-457; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 67-71; Nasr 1976, p. 217. Nafisī also cited several probably exaggerated accounts of Bahā al-Dīn’s other accomplishments. See also Nasr 1966a, p. 910n22. According to īraj Afšār, Bahā al-Dīn’s work on the division of the Zāyandirūd has been published in Isfahan.

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The establishment of Isfahan, and by extension Iran itself, as a major center of the Imāmī faith also had its foundations in the development projects undertaken in the early 17th century. The growth of the city as a major religious center lent credibility to Safavid claims to being the chief protectors of the Imāmī faith in the region, and, as a corollary, established the Imāmī clerics based in Iran as the chief interpreters of that faith. Thus, Isfahan and Iran itself became an alternate focus for the region’s Imāmī community to the Imāmī shrine cities still under Ottoman control. Doubtless also the establishment of the city as a major Imāmī religious center also contributed to the efforts to further establish the Imāmī faith in Iran.33 Bahā al-Dīn played a role in this process. As already recounted, he participated in the design and construction of several important religious buildings, including the Šāh Mosque and the Sulaymāniyya School. More importantly, he taught many of the students who began to flock to Isfahan in this period to study in the newly-built or refurbished schools. Lists of Bahā al-Dīn’s ijāzāt show that his students came both inside and outside territory under formal Safavid control. Among his students were many of the most prominent Imāmī clerics of the later 17th century, including Muḥammad Taqī al-Majlisī (d. 1070/1659-60), Mullā Muḥsin Fayḍ al-Kāšānī, Mīrzā Rafī‘ al-Dīn al-Nā’īnī (d. 1099/1688-89), Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Šīrāzī, and Muḥammad Bāqir al-Sabzawārī (d. 1090/1679).34 There is also evidence Bahā al-Dīn was involved in efforts made by the court to attract prominent Imāmī scholars resident outside Safavid territory to enter the country.35

33. By the end of Šāh ‘Abbās I’s reign alone, Savory estimated that the city contained 162 mosques, 48 religious schools, and 1800 serais. See Savory 1970, p. 420. al-Šabībī, in what is likely an exaggeration, gave Bahā al-Dīn credit for establishing many of the schools built in Isfahan in this period. See al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 222-223. On the religious buildings known to date from this period, see Hunarfar 1350š./1971-72, pp. 404-406, 427, 455, 467, 475, 477, 501. On the need for further efforts to establish the faith in Iran during this period, see McChesney 1981, p. 184; Arjomand 1981, 31f. 34. Lists of Bahā al-Dīn’s ijāzāt can be found in Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, 87f; al-Tihrānī 13531398/1934-1978, vol. 1, 237f; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 241; al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī 1385/1965-66; al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 253-260. Many of those listed as students of Bahā al-Dīn also studied under other prominent Imāmī clerics resident within Safavid borders, most often in Isfahan itself, including for example Mīr Dāmād, ‘Abd Allāh al-Šūštarī, for whom Šāh ‘Abbās I built a school, and Luṭf Allāh al-Missī, for whom Šāh ‘Abbās I built a mosque. By contrast, the major Imāmī clerics of the 16th century were still resident outside Iran (see footnote 20). 35. Tunukābūnī, (Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 235) wrote that Šāh ‘Abbās I sent Bahā al-Dīn to bring Aḥmad al-Ardabīlī to Iran. However, al-Ardabīlī had died in 993/1585, several years before Šāh ‘Abbās I acceded to the Safavid throne, and thus prior to the latter’s appointment of Bahā al-Dīn as

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Like his father, Ḥusayn, Bahā al-Dīn also wrote several religious treatises which touched directly on and supported Safavid interests. Šāh ‘Abbās I once asked Bahā al-Dīn to compose a reply to certain Ottoman `ulamā who had written to question Safavid policy toward the slaughtering practices of the ḏimmī.36 In another essay, Bahā al-Dīn argued in favor of the legality of killing the relatives of ‘uṯmān, a stance which might have been used to legitimize the Safavid wars against their Sunni enemies, the Ottomans and the uzbeks.37 At one point, Bahā al-Dīn’s own brother disputed with the Ottoman envoy to the Safavid court on the relative abilities of the `ulamā of each realm.38 Bahā al-Dīn also undertook at least two political missions on behalf of Safavid interests during the early years of Šāh ‘Abbās I’s reign, while ‘Abbās was in the process of re-establishing Safavid power in the region. Both cases involved the Muša‘ša‘ Arabs of lower Iraq. Sometime after 998/1590, prior to formal acknowledgement of his accession from Šāh ‘Abbās I, the Muša‘ša‘ leader Sayyid Mubārak (r. 998-1025/1590-1616) occupied Dizful. Bahā al-Dīn intervened with the Šāh, then in Khurasan fighting the uzbeks, and brought about a peaceful resolution of the potential conflict: the Šāh recognized Mubārak’s accession, while Mubārak acknowledged Safavid suzerainty. Several years later, when Šāh ‘Abbās I was again occupied with affairs in Khurasan, he requested military assistance from Sayyid Mubārak. The latter, sensing weakness again moved east into Safavid territory. The Šāh sent an army into the area and, according to Muša‘ša‘ sources, the two armies fought for four days without resolution, until Bahā al-Dīn intervened with Mubārak and won a joint cease-fire agreement after which peace terms were negotiated.39 In both instances, Bahā al-Dīn’s intervention resulted in substantial saving of lives of Safavid soldiers and allowed Šāh ‘Abbās I to continue military campaigns elsewhere. Šayḫ al-Islām in Isfahan. The exchange of letters between Šāh ‘Abbās I and al-Ardabīlī, cited by Tunukābūnī in Qiṣaṣ al-‘ulamā and mentioned by Browne could not have taken place for the same reason. See Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 343; Browne 1953, p. 369; Arjomand 1979, p. 97n143. 36. al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 10, p. 3; al-Kantūrī 1914, p. 262; Nafisī 1316š./193738, p. 165. 37. Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 239. According to Munšī’s description of the uzbek invasion of Khurasan in 997/1588-1589, the Sunni `ulamā among the uzbeks rejected pleas from the Imāmī clerics in Mashhad to persuade the uzbeks armies not to plunder the shrine of the eighth Imām. See Munšī 1978, vol. 2, pp. 561-575. 38. al-Nūrī 1382/1962-63, p. 420, in contrast with Nafisī’s statement (Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 21-22) that Bahā al-Dīn’s brother never came to Iran. 39. Šubr 1385/1965-66, pp. 101-104, 216-217; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 43, pp. 163-165. Neither Munšī nor Aḥmad Kasravī, who used Munšī’s chronicle as the main source for his discussion of the Muša‘ša‘ in this period, mentioned the first incident herein. See Kasravī 2536

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In addition to his service to the Safavid state, Bahā al-Dīn also enjoyed a good personal relationship with Šāh ‘Abbās I himself, better than his contemporaries among the Imāmī clerical community, and closer than the relationship between his own father and Ṭahmāsb. Several accounts attest that Bahā al-Dīn and ‘Abbās were constant companions40, occasionally discussing points of religious law.41 Bahā al-Dīn wrote several treatises in reply to Šāh ‘Abbās’s queries on personal behavior as outlined in Imāmī law.42 In 1015/1606 Bahā al-Dīn accompanied Šāh ‘Abbās I on his campaign in northern Iran, and in pitched camp wrote his well-known work on daily prayer Miftāḥ al-falāḥ.43 Bahā al-Dīn also handled several of the Šāh’s personal financial transactions relating to ‘Abbās’s development of Isfahan. In 1014/1605 for example, Bahā al-Dīn wrote the waqf document in which Šāh ‘Abbās I dedicated to the Imāms the Qayṣariyya bazaar and all the bazaars of the Maydān-i Šāh, including a serai and bath. Bahā al-Dīn was also involved in the waqf transactions relating to the Šāh Mosque in 1023/1614.44 Bahā al-Dīn also made some effort to maintain good relations with other important figures at court. He dedicated his famous essay on the astrolabe to Hātim Beg, a minister at court. He seems to have dedicated all or parts of his essay on mathematics to several different court figures. At least part of one šāhanšāhī/1977-78, pp. 56-62 and Kasravī 1352š./1973-74, pp. 72-80. However, the dates of these events given by Šubr coincided with other, verified events of the time. See al-Bidlīsī 1381/1962, pp. 250-257. See also McChesney 1980, for a comparison of al-Bidlīsī’s dating of events with that of Munšī. Confirming the second series of events, Munšī dated the presence of the Safavid army in Khuzistan as having occurred in 1003/1515, but mentioned no fighting between the Safavids and the Muša‘ša‘, and did not mention Bahā al-Dīn at all. See Munšī 1978, vol. 2, pp. 674-677. The relative lack of interest of the court chroniclers in the `ulamā may be the explanation for the dearth of clear, consistent references to religious figures except, occassionally, at their deaths. Bahā al-Dīn’s influence with the Muša‘ša‘ probably derived, at least in part, from his having taught some important members of the confederation, including Sayyid Mubārak’s own brother Sayyid Ḫalaf (d. 1070/1659). See Šubr 1385/1965-66, pp. 113, 234f; al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, p. 554. 40. al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, p. 290; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 117. 41. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 237; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 7, p. 69; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 52-54; Tunukābūnī n.d., pp. 242-244, where Mīr Dāmād is mentioned as having joined Bahā al-Dīn and the Šāh on one occasion, disputing Nafisī’s claim that Mīr Dāmād and Bahā al-Dīn did not get along well together. See Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 52-56, 138, 146. See also Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 239; al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 283-284. 42. al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 2, pp. 84-85, vol. 5, p. 207. 43. al-Ḥusaynī Ḫatūnābādī 1352š./1973-74, p. 500; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 37, 108-109. See Munšī 1978, vol. 2, pp. 905-956, on the campaign itself. 44. Falsafī 1351-53š./1972-75, p. 21, citing Munšī. See also McChesney 1980, pp. 174, 178-179, 180. Bahā al-Dīn also wrote individual waqf documents relating to the donation of books to the shrine of Imām Riḍā at Mashhad. See Sipāntā 1346š./1967-68, p. 41.

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manuscript copy of the essay was dedicated to Šāh ‘Abbās I himself while another portion was dedicated to Šāh ‘Abbās’s brother Hamza Bahādur Ḫān.45

THEOLOGICAL POLITICS: EARLY EFFORTS IN SuPPORT OF CLERICAL POWER Throughout the latter half of his career, including the period of his relationship to Šāh ‘Abbās I, Bahā al-Dīn was a consistent proponent of the expansion of the clergy’s power within the Imāmī community and the delegation of the prerogatives of the Imām to the clergy during the occultation, trends in the interpretation already evident in Imāmī Shi‘i history.46 Bahā al-Dīn supported this process of articulating the growth of clerical power during the occultation in his writings on such topics as the independent exercise of legal reasoning (ijtihād), collection and distribution of zakāt and ḫums, and the conduct of Friday prayer. In these works Bahā al-Dīn either sanctioned earlier interpretations which expanded clerical authority within the Imāmī community, or else expanded on these interpretations to further broaden the scope of that authority. In two essays written during the early years of Šāh ‘Abbās’s reign for example, Bahā al-Dīn supported the exercise of ijtihād by Imāmī clerics, and, in the second, actually misrepresented criticisms offered by his father and others of ‘Alī al-Karakī’s exercise of ijtihād, both to defend the exercise of ijtihād and stress his own solidarity with al-Karakī, who, like the Bahā al-Dīn’s father and Bahā al-Dīn himself, had served the Safavid court, practiced ijtihād on its behalf, and supported the growth in the authority of the `ulamā within the community. In the early years of Imāmī Shi‘i legal interpretation, special emphasis was placed on the textual/« revealed » sources of the law including the Qur’ān, the sunna, and especially the sayings (aḫbār) of the Imāms. Ijtihād, the independent exercise of legal reasoning, seems to have been formally incorporated into

45. Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 94; al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 3, p. 425; Dānišpažūh 1332š./1953-54, p. 911n1; al-Kantūrī 1914, p. 208. Dānišpažūh erroneously identified a third figure to whom the essay on mathematics was also addressed, Sulṭān Ḥasan Bahādur Ḫān, as another of the Šāh’s brothers. The dedication of this work to Sulṭān Ḥusayn Bahādur Ḫān in al-Kantūrī’s copy may have been a misprint for the aforementioned Sulṭān Ḥasan or, may refer to another court figure altogether. We seen that Bahā al-Dīn did rededicate essays when conditions dictated. See footnotes 26, 23. 46. See especially Calder 1982, pp. 39-47.

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doctrine only by al-‘Allāma al-Hillī (d. 766/1325).47 The exercise of ijtihād was limited to learned members of the community, effectively restricting its practice to the better-educated clergy. The rest of the community was to follow the legal opinions of a mujtahid of their choice. A gulf between the clergy and the mass of followers was thus presupposed. However, neither this gulf nor the practice of ijtihād itself were accepted universally among the clergy and the community. Opposition to ijtihād and an emphasis on the revealed texts of the faith, especially the aḫbār of the Imāms, as the prime source for legal interpretation, was an important criticism of the aḫbārī school – usually said to have arisen only in the early 17th century. It is apparent, however, that the Aḫbārī polemic also questioned the growth of clerical power during the occultation and the relationship between the clergy and the secular state, and that the main elements of the polemic predated the Safavid period.48 In Zubdat al-uṣūl, a short essay on Imāmī uṣūl written before 1005/159749, Bahā al-Dīn supported the exercise of ijtihād and upheld the effective limitation of its practice to the best educated among the `ulamā. According to Bahā al-Dīn, the practitioner of ijtihād, the mujtahid, was to be well-versed in the principles of ḥadīṯ, logic, uṣūl, rijāl, tafsīr, the Arabic sciences, and the legal decisions (fatāwī) of earlier mujtahidīn. Moreover, Bahā al-Dīn wrote that it was incumbent upon all members of the community to follow the best such mujtahid (taqlīd al-afḍal).50 In an essay entitled al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, written in Mashhad ca. 1007/1597, about two years later, Bahā al-Dīn supported a specific instance of the exercise of ijtihād by al-Karakī and downplayed contemporary and later criticisms of al-Karakī, including that of his own father, and the latter’s teacher al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī. The focus of the opposition to al-Karakī was his close relationship with the Safavid state and certain of his legal interpretations which provided for, or presupposed, growth in the power of the clergy during the occultation. Opposition to al-Karakī’s relationship with the Safavid court was manifested in 47. Madelung 1970, esp. p. 17; Calder 1979a, pp. 102-105, 226-227, 230-231, 234-236, 240. 48. The Aḫbārī polemic is usually said to have arisen in the 17th century in the writings of Muḥammad Amīn al-Astarābādī (d. 1030/1624-25). See, for example, Browne 1953, p. 374; Scarcia 1958, pp. 211-250, esp. 218f. Madelung, however, suggested the Aḫbārī polemic predated the 17th century. See Madelung 1970, pp. 20-21, 21n1 Calder 1979a, p. 231n18; Arjomand 1984, pp. 145-146. On the Akhbārī polemic see Newman 1992a; Newman 1992b, 2001. 49. al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 12, p. 19. 50. Bahā al-Dīn, Zubdat al-aḥkām, ms. Cairo, Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, Ḥalīm uṣūl fiqh 17, ff. 38r-v. See also Arjomand 1984, pp. 55, 139-140. I translate taqlīd here as « following » rather than the usual, and more pejorative, « imitation ».

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challenges to al-Karakī’s acceptance of a grant of ḫarāj land in Iraq from the Safavid court, and his rulings on a number of issues, including his acceptance of the legality of the conduct of Friday congregational prayer services – a prerogative reserved for the Imām or his appointed representative during the period of the former’s presence within the community – by the clergy during the occultation.51 In spite of these criticisms Šāh Ṭahmāsb I designated al-Karakī the earthly representative of the Imām in occultation (nā’ib al-imām), upon which al-Karakī ordered a series of changes in the conduct of religious affairs throughout Safavid territory. One such change involved the redirection of every prayer niche (qibla) of every mosque in the realm on the grounds that these were not facing Mecca directly.52 The qibla marks the direction of the specific point of the ka‘ba in Mecca toward which the beleiver must face during prayer. Only exceptional circumstances justify ignoring the qibla, and, facing the incorrect direction invalidates the believer’s prayer.53 Contemporary and later scholars criticized al-Karakī’s decision to order the qibla changes. Manṣūr Daštakī (d. 948/1541) was among the earliest to attack al-Karakī on this issue, and as a result, Ṭahmāsb removed Daštakī from his position at court. After al-Karakī’s death, both al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī and Bahā al-Dīn’s own father Ḥusayn criticized al-Karakī’s qibla ruling. During a visit to the great mosque in Kufa, al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī refused to pray in the qibla direction specified by al-Karakī. Šayḫ Ḥusayn criticized al-Karakī for having failed to take into account differences in latitude and longitude throughout the different regions which made up the Muslim world, especially those areas some distance from the Hijaz.54 Ḥusayn also attacked al-Karakī for placing the entire discussion of the qibla beyond the practical ability of the average believer to 51. See footnote 13. On the debate between al-Karakī and Sulaymān al-Qaṭīfī on the ḫarāj see Madelung 1978. Savory discussed the attack on al-Karakī’s position on Friday prayer, but implied that personality conflicts were at the root of the dispute. See Savory 1960, pp. 81-82. See also Arjomand 1984, p. 136, where he also stresses personality conflict as a source of the debates between al-Qaṭīfī and al-Karakī. See also our discussion on Friday prayer below, and footnotes 90, 92, 94. 52. On the firmān designating al-Karakī nā’ib al-imām and his subsequent actions, see al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol 4., pp. 361-363, 372; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 41, pp. 176-178, 179. Calder doubted the authenticity of the firmān, but offered no concrete evidence to support his doubt. See Calder 1979a, pp. 159-160. 53. Concerning the qibla see King - Wensinck 1986. 54. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 41, pp. 177-178; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 4, p. 372; al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī 1385/1965-66, vol. 1, p. 75; Šūštarī 1356š./1977-78, vol. 2, pp. 230-233; Tunukābūnī n.d., pp. 247-248, 252.

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comprehend and utilize. The formulations of the « ancients » on the matter had been sufficient, according to Ḥusayn.55 An unnamed contemporary of Bahā al-Dīn continued the discussion on the qibla.56 This cleric criticized recourse to scientific methods, especially astronomy (`ilm al-hai’at) which were not specified in the religious texts as the means for determining the direction of the qibla. The scholar argued that astronomy presupposed the acceptance of the principle of the curvature of the earth, a principle he said had not yet been proven conclusively, though it might have been accepted by astronomers. Many legists, he argued, had not accepted the principle of curvature, and many Qur’anic verses clearly questioned acceptance of the idea of curvature. The cleric also charged that the proper differentiation of terms had not been established, and that to begin any discussion on the qibla was thus premature. He also said the « Indian circle » was a better instrument for fixing the direction of the qibla than the astrolabe. Finally, he also questioned the degree of commitment to Imāmī doctrine of those he was criticizing.57 Bahā al-Dīn’s earliest discussion of the qibla question came in his al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, a work of aḥkām (legal judgments) drawn from aḫbār. He was composing this essay in 1007/1598, about the time he was appointed Šayḫ al-Islām of Isfahan by Šāh ‘Abbās I. The major portion of Bahā al-Dīn’s qibla 55. Bahā al-Dīn, al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, ms. Cairo, Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, Taymūr ḥadīṯ 219, ff. 189v-190r. On the dating of this treatise, see footnote 30. It is not clear whether Ḥusayn made this and the aforementioned criticisms in one essay or two. In al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, Bahā al-Dīn himself cited only one set of his father’s criticisms, leaving unmentioned, as will be discussed, Ḥusayn’s comments about latitude and longitude considerations. al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī mentioned only one essay by Ḥusayn on the qibla, in which Ḥusayn challenged al-Karakī on latitude and longitude. This essay was also mentioned by al-Tihrānī and al-Kantūrī. Al-Tihrānī, however, listed two other essays on the qibla by Ḥusayn, but gave no details on either. See al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī 1385/1965-66, vol. 1, p.75; al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 3, p. 423, vol. 17, pp. 40, 46; al-Kantūrī 1914, p. 104. The dates of Ḥusayn’s comments cannot be established. Presumably, however, he wrote them while still in the company of al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, and doubtless muted his criticisms after succeeding to al-Karakī’s position at the Safavid court. See also al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 7, p. 81 and al-Isbahānī Afandī 1401/1980-81, vol. 2, p. 111. 56. The arguments advanced by this cleric can only be deduced from Bahā al-Dīn’s delineation and criticism of them in his discussion on the qibla in al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn. Because of the manner in which Bahā al-Dīn spoke of him, it is clear this man was still alive at the time of Bahā al-Dīn’s writing of this essay. 57. Bahā al-Dīn, al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, ms. Cairo, Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, Taymūr ḥadīṯ 219, ff. 190r-191r. Just as Bahā al-Dīn did not name his opponent, so he did not list any of the scholars his opponent may have mentioned as having questioned the principle of the earth’s curvature. The Qur’anic verses mentioned by Bahā al-Dīn as cited by the scholar as opposing the earth’s curvature were portions of suras II: 22, LXXvIII: 6 and LXXXvIII: 20. On the « Indian circle », see Nasr 1976, p. 93.

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discussion, in fact, was devoted to a refutation of the criticisms of the unknown scholar cited above.58 Bahā al-Dīn began his discussion by citing four aḫbār he interpreted as mandating both facing the qibla during prayer and the exercising of ijtihād to determine the direction of the qibla when that direction was not already known. In his comments following the fourth ḫabar, in which an alternate form of the word ijtihād is used,59 Bahā al-Dīn argued that previous Imāmī scholars had agreed on the use of ijtihād when the direction of the qibla was not known, had consistently resorted to astronomy and celestial signs (al-`alāmāt), and had agreed on the terms to be used in discussions on the qibla. Both al-Karakī and al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī had, according to Bahā al-Dīn, agreed on the necessity of defining the qibla as lying in the direction of the ka‘ba.60 Al-‘Allāma al-Hillī, al-Šahīd al-Awwal (killed 786/1384-85), al-Karakī, and al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, argued Bahā al-Dīn, were among those who had specified combinations of such signs be used to determine the direction of the qibla. Each had also acknowledged the importance of recognizing seasonal changes in the relative positions of the celestial bodies in fixing the direction of the qibla throughout the year. Bahā al-Dīn then cited his own father’s comments on the recent series of specifications: Ḥusayn had, according to Bahā al-Dīn, called these changes « shameful » and « unnecessary » and said the intent of « the ancients » was clear and simple and had not resulted in error for the community, while the more recent specifications had been difficult for the average believer to understand and follow. Bahā al-Dīn called his father’s comments « excellent and clear ». He then ended his comments on the aḫbār by reiterating that it was clear that previous scholars had used astronomy to determine the direction of the qibla.61

58. The section on the qibla covers nearly fourteen folios of the Dār al-Kutub manuscript, out of proportion to the space devoted to any other single issue addressed by Bahā al-Dīn in the treatise. On the dating of al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn see footnote 30. 59. The texts of the fourth and the second ḫabar can be found in al-Ṭūsī 1378/1958-59, vol. 2, p. 46, nos. 148, 146. Only the fourth ḫabar, however, actually contained a variant of the word ijtihād. The text of the third can be found in the same work, vol. 2, p. 45, no. 144. The text of the first ḫabar, on the necessity of facing the qibla during prayer, can be found in ibn Bābawayh 1377/195758, p. 180, no. 855. These two aḫbār collections are two of the well-known four canonical aḫbār collections of the Imāmī school. 60. Bahā al-Dīn, al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, ms. Cairo, Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, Taymūr ḥadīṯ 219, f. 187r-v. 61. Bahā al-Dīn, al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, ms. Cairo, Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, Taymūr ḥadīṯ 219, f. 189r-v.

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Bahā al-Dīn devoted the rest of his discussion on the qibla to refuting the remaining criticisms offered by the unknown cleric. In response to the charge that many legists had not accepted the principle of the earth’s curvature, Bahā al-Dīn cited al-‘Allāma’s comments in his al-Taḏkira and those of his son in al-Īḍāḥ as evidence to the contrary. Bahā al-Dīn also cited several tafsīr works, including that of al-Tabarsī (d. 548/1154), to show that the verses cited by the cleric had not been consistently understood as denying the earth’s curvature. He also defended the use of the astrolabe for determining the correct direction of the qibla.62 Bahā al-Dīn’s brief summary of the scholar’s remarks leaves gaps in our understanding of the details of his criticisms. Clearly, however, within the broader framework of the early 16th century arguments about the positioning of the qibla of the mosques in Safavid territory, the unknown opponent of Bahā al-Dīn was posing a distinctly Aḫbārī critique: the revealed texts had been ignored and certain principles, such as the curvature of the earth and the principles of the science of astronomy, not mentioned in the texts had been accepted and adopted. At the same time, this critique implicitly included both a challenge to the exercise of ijtihād, since its exercise had permitted al-Karakī to incorporate non-textual principles in their analyses, and a challenge to the clerical relationship with the Safavid state which had enabled the clergy to effect the changes in the qibla under discussion. It can be easily inferred that the object of the unknown scholar’s remarks was al-Karakī, as well as Bahā al-Dīn himself, both of whom practiced ijtihād, accepted the principles of astronomy, and had maintained close contact with the Safavid state. Bahā al-Dīn’s response to this Aḫbārī challenge was to stress the unity and unanimity of previous generations of Imāmī scholars on the necessity of recourse to ijtihād and the incorporation of the principles of astronomy in determining the direction of the qibla. Bahā al-Dīn, however, left out of his lengthy refutation any reference to the very substantial disagreement and dissension among Imāmī scholars of the early 16th century over both the process and the results of al-Karakī’s exercise of ijtihād in effecting the changes in the qibla. Bahā al-Dīn mentioned neither the opposition of Daštakī nor that of al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī to al-Karakī’s actions. He mentioned little of his own father’s specific criticisms and, when he did recount something of Ḥusayn’s arguments, Bahā al-Dīn left unexplained the reference to « the ancients », perhaps to avoid revealing an unpleasant similarity between

62. Bahā al-Dīn, al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, ms. Cairo, Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, Taymūr ḥadīṯ 219, ff. 190r-193v. Here Bahā al-Dīn, for example, cited al-Taḏkira of Nāṣir al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī in support of his statement that previous Imāmī clerics had accepted the principle of curvature.

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his father’s preference for the earlier works and the argument for relying on the revealed texts put forward by his own, unnamed critic. The effect of Bahā al-Dīn’s presentation was to legitimize al-Karakī’s actions and the association with the Safavid court which allowed him to implement his ruling. Bahā al-Dīn’s downplaying of the criticisms of al-Karakī by al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī and his own father was also an effort at self-defense, both of his father Ḥusayn and of Bahā al-Dīn himself. A lengthy discussion of Ḥusayn’s critique of al-Karakī might also have necessitated explaining the later compromise required for Ḥusayn to have made with his principles when he accepted the same position at court al-Karakī himself had held. Also minimized was any identification of the criticisms of al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī and Ḥusayn with the more extreme and unsuccessful challenges by Daštakī, al-Qaṭīfī, and al-Hillī and others to al-Karakī and his association with the court on the qibla and other issues. Since Bahā al-Dīn’s own career had already begun to mirror that of al-Karakī and his own father during his later years at court – Bahā al-Dīn had already served as Ṭahmāsb’s Šayḫ al-Islām in Herat and had undertaken political missions for Šāh ‘Abbās I –, Bahā al-Dīn’s minimizing of the earlier criticisms of al-Karakī left unmentioned similar criticisms which might be levelled against Bahā al-Dīn himself. Thus, in response to Aḫbārī criticisms challenging the growth of clerical authority within the Imāmī community and the clerical association with the state, Bahā al-Dīn offered a carefully tailored rebuttal intended to justify the Uṣūlī position favoring the exercise of ijtihād and clerical association with the state during the occultation. Taken together, his position on ijtihād in Zubdat al-uṣūl and the arguments offered in this section of al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn clearly identified Bahā al-Dīn as a proponent of the Uṣūlī interpretation of Imāmī jurisprudence: he favored the exercise of ijtihād, in practice restricted to the clergy, and, by implication, he approved of clerical recognition of and association with the secular state.

MOuNTING CRITICISM AND RESIGNATION AS ŠAyḫ Al-ISlĀM Appointed Šayḫ al-Islām of the newly-established Safavid capital of Isfahan sometime after 1007/1598, Bahā al-Dīn did not remain at his post for long. The date of his resignation from the position is not known, however, and the explanations for his resignation and the descriptions of his behavior afterwards by contemporary and recent authors have not been satisfying. Munšī, the author of Tārīḫ-i `ālam-ārā-yi `abbāsī, and a contemporary of Bahā al-Dīn, wrote that Bahā al-Dīn resigned his position in order to perform the pilgrimage, and that

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afterwards he traveled in many areas, including Iraq, Syria, Egypt, the Hijaz and Jerusalem before returning to Iran. Sayyid ‘Alī al-Madanī, writing in 1082/1671, some fifty years after Bahā al-Dīn’s death, said that Bahā al-Dīn, having attained the great honor accorded him by Šāh ‘Abbās I, determined on a life of poverty and travel. Bahā al-Dīn, according to Sayyid ‘Alī, resigned his position and traveled for some thirty years before returning to Iran. Later Arabic-language biographers repeated this version of Bahā al-Dīn’s career and travel. In this century, Falsafī wrote that Bahā al-Dīn resigned his post soon after accepting it and embarked on a series of travels in Iraq, Syria, Egypt, the Hijaz, and Jerusalem. upon his return to Iran, Bahā al-Dīn accepted no further positions, but devoted himself entirely to teaching and writing. With Falsafī’s account as his only reference, Arjomand explained that Bahā al-Dīn became Šayḫ al-Islām only « reluctantly » and resigned from the post soon after. Arjomand explained Bahā al-Dīn’s subsequent refusal of any further involvement with the state as a result of his opposition to interaction between the Imāmī clergy and the state.63 Thus, where earlier writers offered as an explanation for Bahā al-Dīn’s resignation a sudden desire for an ascetic way of life, recent writers have explained his resignation as the result of a suddenly new view about the morality of interaction between the religious and the mundane spheres. These authors, however, offered little concrete evidence to substantiate these explanations of Bahā al-Dīn’s behavior. Thus, the issues at hand are two: the dates of Bahā al-Dīn’s sojourn outside Iran following his resignation, by which the approximate date of his resignation might be determined, and, more importantly, the causes of that resignation. There were only two blocks of time in the early 17th century during which Bahā al-Dīn could have been Šayḫ al-Islām, resigned, and traveled for any length of time. In 1007/1599 he was in Khurasan writing al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn. In 1008/1600, two years after Šāh ‘Abbās’s decision to make Isfahan the Safavid capital, Bahā al-Dīn was traveling from Khurasan to Isfahan, probably, as has been suggested above, to accept the position of Šayḫ al-Islām of the new capital. In 1015/1605, Bahā al-Dīn wrote the waqf document for the Qayṣarī bazaar in Isfahan. The same year, 1015/1606, he was with Šāh ‘Abbās I in Azerbaijan

63. Munšī 1978, vol. 1, pp. 247-249; al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, p. 290; Falsafī 1352-53š./197275, p. 27; Arjomand 1979, p. 99; Arjomand 1984, p. 206. Of the later Arabic-language biographies, see al-Muḥibbī n.d., vol. 3, p. 440; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/1970-71, vol. 7, p. 62; and al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 228-229. Arjomand neither offered any evidence to substiantiate his explanation of Bahā al-Dīn’s refusal to accept any further posts, nor did he note the explanations of Bahā al-Dīn’s resignation offered by Munšī or al-Madanī. See also footnote 8, 30.

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where he wrote Miftāḥ al-falāḥ. Later in the same year, Bahā al-Dīn was in Qum working on his Mašriq al-šams.64 In 1019/1610 Bahā al-Dīn was in Isfahan, and in 1021/1612 he was in Mashhad. Two years later, in 1023/1614, he wrote another waqf document for Šāh ‘Abbās I, probably also while in Isfahan. In 1025/1616 Munšī wrote of Bahā al-Dīn as having returned from his travels abroad following his resignation, and engaged in writing Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī for Šāh ‘Abbās I.65 The only blocks of time during which Bahā al-Dīn might have resigned his post and traveled were from 1009/1601 until 1015/1606 and from that year until 1019/1610. Neither block of time would have allowed for any series of travels approximating the thirty years of travel mentioned in the sources. And we have already seen that his well-known Hijaz-Egypt-Jerusalem-Syria trip and his trip through Iraq probably took place prior to his appointment as Šayḫ al-Islām sometime after 1007/1599. It is unlikely Bahā al-Dīn would have left his post in 1009/1601 after no more than a year or so in office. It seems more reasonable to suggest he resigned the position sometime after 1015/1606, approximately eight years after his appointment by Šāh ‘Abbās I. The chronology outlined above would allow him to have traveled outside Iran for about four years and to have returned to Isfahan by 1019/1610. More interesting, however, is the question of the reasons behind Bahā al-Dīn’s resignation from office. The aforementioned explanations offered by both contemporaries and more recent commentators require acknowledgement of an inexplicable, extremely sudden desire for piety and poverty, or a similarly inexplicable radical new view of the morality of the interaction between clergy and the Safavid state which resulted in Bahā al-Dīn’s renunciation of both his own relationship with the Safavid court, begun more than thirty years before, and his father’s own close relationship with the court which lasted for some twenty years. These explanations have neither been substantiated by the authors who have offered them, nor do they seem very likely.

64. Some of these dates have been cited above. See also Falsafī 1351-53š./1972-75, p. 21; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 31f, 36-37, 108-109; al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 1, p. 239. Nafisī said Bahā al-Dīn accompanied Šāh ‘Abbās I on the latter’s famous walk from Isfahan to Mashhad, though Munšī did not. See Munšī 1978, vol. 2, pp. 800-801, and Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 37. 65. Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 37, 169; McChesney 1981, p. 178; Munšī 1978, vol. 1, pp. 248-249. The evidence supports Nafisī’s claim Bahā al-Dīn was in Iran continuously from 1019/1610 until his death in 1030-31/1621-22. There is, however, no clear evidence concerning Bahā al-Dīn’s activities during the period after 1025/1616.

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A factor not previously taken into account in discussions of Bahā al-Dīn’s resignation is the increasingly bitter attacks to which Bahā al-Dīn was subjected in this period. The attacks levelled against Bahā al-Dīn during, and after his lifetime, included charges that he was a Sufi, that he associated with many nonImāmī groups and sects, and that therefore he was guilty of disbelief. The charge that Bahā al-Dīn was a Sufi received widespread acceptance both from contemporaries and later scholars. As proof of his Sufi status, Bahā al-Dīn’s critics pointed to the mystical dimensions of his poetry, his frequent citations therein of the works of such well-known Sufis as ibn al-‘Arabī (d. 638/1240) and Ḥallāj (d. 309/913), the dārwīš dress he wore, and the people with whom he associated while traveling. As we have suggested, the evidence to support charges that Bahā al-Dīn was a Sufi or a non-believer based on the accounts of his travels preserved in the sources remains problematic. Yūsuf al-Baḥrānī (d. 1186/1772), a moderate Aḫbārī – and thus, not predisposed to defend such a staunch Uṣūlī as Bahā al-Dīn – supported the opinion of Ni‘mat Allāh al-Jazā’irī (d. 1112/1710), also a moderate Aḫbārī, that Bahā al-Dīn enjoyed good relations with many different groups and sects of varying persuasions, and that many of these, including some Sunni groups, claimed Bahā al-Dīn as their own. Al-Jazā’irī concluded that Bahā al-Dīn’s discussion of Sufis and his citation of Sufi poetry did not necessarily prove he was himself a Sufi.66 Bahā al-Dīn’s strong connections at court were another factor which probably induced some groups to lay claim to Bahā al-Dīn as one of their own. Bahā al-Dīn undoubtedly possessed an interest in gnosis (`irfān), rational philosophy, and mysticism. Many of his contemporaries among the bettereducated, more wordly Imāmī clerics with close connections to the court, such 66. The charges against Bahā al-Dīn have already been discussed above, see footnote 25. On the zindiqa charge, see al-Muḥibbī n.d., vol. 3, pp. 440-441; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 222-223, 231. On the charge that Bahā al-Dīn was a Sufi, see Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 240; al-Baḥrānī 1386/1969, pp. 19-20; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 222-223, 237-238; al-Ḫwānsārī 1390/197071, vol. 7, pp. 56-58; al-Nūrī 1382/1962-63, p. 419. See also Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, pp. 47-50; Nasr 1976, pp. 909-914; Arjomand 1981, p. 16, 16n96, n97, where he, like Nafisī and Nasr, relied on Bahā al-Dīn’s poetry as evidence of Bahā al-Dīn’s Sufi inclinations. Arjomand also cited later Nūrbaḫšī claims that Bahā al-Dīn was one of their own as evidence of Bahā al-Dīn’s Sufi inclinations; the Nūrbaḫšī claims are unsubstantiated in other sources, however. See also the references in Arjomand 1984 cited in footnote 9. For additional criticism of charges that Bahā al-Dīn was a Sufi, see also Al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 283-284; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 10, p. 58. Tunukābūnī (Tunukābūnī n.d., p. 240) alluded to Bahā al-Dīn’s also having been attacked for the use of opinion (ra’y) in his legal interpretations. However, since Tunukābūnī did not mention any names or dates in connection with such attacks, the origin of this charge is difficult to pinpoint.

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as Mīr Dāmād, shared similar interests. There is no clear evidence, however, that Bahā al-Dīn was a member of any « popular » rural – or urban – based Sufi ṭarīqa, or that he participated in any Sufi rituals or other Sufi activities.67 Accusing an opponent of Sufi sympathies, however, was a polemical device utilized by some 17th century Imāmī clerics against their enemies. Even while Aḫbārī and Uṣūlī clerics debated publically in a more refined manner, both sides vigorously denounced Sufi orders, and anonymous tracts often alledged Sufi tendencies on the part of prominent clerics of both sides.68 Bahā al-Dīn’s staunchly Uṣūlī proclivities have already been demonstrated. In the two essays already discussed, Bahā al-Dīn had openly supported the exercise of ijtihād and, his relationship with Šāh Ṭahmāsb I and Šāh ‘Abbās I was clear evidence of his support for the recognition by the clergy of the secular state during the occultation of the Imām. On both issues, Bahā al-Dīn’s views were opposed to those of the Aḫbārī. Moreover, the qibla discussion in al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn shows that Bahā al-Dīn had already been subjected to Aḫbārī criticism. The contemporary accusations of non-belief and Sufi tendencies on Bahā al-Dīn’s part most likely originated among his Aḫbārī critics. Bahā al-Dīn’s interest in `irfān and philosophy, his citations of Sufi poetry, and his discussion of Sufism and Sufis left him particularly vulnerable to such charges. Bahā al-Dīn himself reacted to the attacks against him with a mixture of disdain, an increasing aloofness from the public, and a growing sense of self-importance and majesty.69 Nevertheless, the attacks took their toll, both on Bahā al-Dīn’s work and on Bahā al-Dīn personally. Al-Jazā’irī noted that few of Bahā al-Dīn’s works became well-known during Bahā al-Dīn’s lifetime despite the exceptional knowledge displayed therein by the author.70 The attacks on Bahā al-Dīn were so intense that, at one point, he openly regretted having been brought out of Lebanon to Iran by his father. Had he not left Jabal 67. However, Šāh ‘Abbās I is said to have rebuked Mīr Findiriskī, another member of the « Isfahan School », for his frequent associations with the popular classes. See Nasr 1966a, p. 922n72. 68. The tenets and tactics employed by the Aḫbārī of this period are discussed in Newman 1992a; Newman 1992b. The noted Aḫbārī al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī (d. 1104/1693) denounced the Sufis, as did ‘Alī al-Karakī. See al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 1, pp. 116; vol. 21, pp. 138-139. On al-Ḥurr and the Sufis see Newman, forthcoming. 69. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 222-223, 231. Some Uṣūlī, jealous of Bahā al-Dīn’s close association with the court, may have joined in these attacks on Bahā al-Dīn. It does not appear that many of Bahā al-Dīn’s other Uṣūlī colleagues came to his defense; indeed, some of them, for example, Muḥammad Taqī al-Majlisī, were victims of similar attacks. Bahā al-Dīn’s aloofness and growing disdain for those around him would have been typical of the clerical elite’s reaction to criticism. 70. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 236-237.

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‘Āmil, said Bahā al-Dīn, his father would not have become associated with the court, and he, Bahā al-Dīn, would have become one of the most God-fearing, devoted, and ascetic of people. But, having been brought to Safavid Iran, [I] mixed with the people of this world and [I] acquired their ruinous morals [...] and their characteristics. Then, I derived from this social intercourse with the people of this world only idle talk and conflict and quarrels. And the long and the short of it is that every ignorant person has embarked upon oppressing me and every minor figure was encouraged to compete with me.71

Thus Bahā al-Dīn’s sudden ascetic intentions and his revulsion with « the people of this world » were in fact the result of the vitriolic attacks being directed against him by those whom Bahā al-Dīn and his supporters disdainfully characterized as « the common people », « fopish imitators », and hypocrites.72 Resignation from the highly-visible position of Šayḫ al-Islām in the Safavid capital and a period of travel cloaked in the anonymity of traveler’s clothes must have seemed an attractive alternative to enduring these vitriolic attacks.

BAHĀ AL-DīN’S RETuRN TO COuRT: THE FuRTHER EXPANSION OF THE POWER OF THE IMĀMī ‘UlAMĀ The comments of Falsafī and Arjomand that after his return to Iran following his resignation about 1015/1606 Bahā al-Dīn « could not be prevailed upon to accept an office again »73 were only technically correct. While Bahā al-Dīn did not accept an official position at court following his return to the Safavid capital, in no way did he sever his ties with either the court or Šāh ‘Abbās I, as both Falsafī and Arjomand imply. Both Munšī and al-Madanī clearly stated that Bahā al-Dīn and Šāh ‘Abbās I were in constant contact after the former’s return from his travels. We have also seen that Bahā al-Dīn wrote the 1023/1614 waqf document for Šāh ‘Abbās I.74 A further indication of the continued close association between Bahā al-Dīn and Šāh ‘Abbās I during the years following Bahā al-Dīn’s return from his travels was Bahā al-Dīn’s acceptance of the commission from Šāh ‘Abbās I to undertake a Persian-language work on Imāmī fiqh. This work became the 71. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 231. The passage translated herein from the Arabic in al-Amīn’s account also may be found, in Arabic, in Bahā al-Dīn n.d. Tunukābūnī (Tunukābūnī n.d., pp. 238-239) carried only an incomplete, inaccurate rendition of this passage in the Persian. 72. al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 222-223, 231. 73. Arjomand 1984, p. 206; Falsafī 1351-53š./1972-75, p. 27. 74. Munšī 1978, vol. 1, p. 249; al-Madanī 1324/1906-07, p. 290; McChesney 1981, p. 178.

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Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī, and Bahā al-Dīn was working on this project when Munšī was composing his own chronicle in 1025/1616. He completed only the first five chapters before his death five years later.75 The Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī, though not completed by Bahā al-Dīn, was intended to enumerate Imāmī practices briefly and directly rather than offer a detailed discussion of Imāmī scholarship on these matters to date. Nevertheless Bahā al-Dīn’s views on alms (zakāt), the fifth (ḫums), and Friday prayer revealed the clear continuation of his support for the trend among Imāmī clerics both to increase their authority within the community and to accord recognition to the secular state during the occultation of the Imām. On the issue of zakāt, the Imām, during his presence within the community, was accorded complete authority over these revenues. Following the onset of the occultation, the major pre-Safavid Imāmī scholars gradually restored many of the categories of alms’ recipients considered lapsed by early Imāmī clerics, and allocated to the `ulamā increasingly greater control over the collection and distribution of zakāt. Al-‘Allāma, al-Muḥaqqiq al-Hillī, al-Šahīd al-Awwal, and al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, were, according to Calder, the prime proponents of clerical assumption of authority over the alms. By the time of al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, Calder argued, the clergy had succeeded in establishing itself both as the prime collectors of the alms and as an important class of its recipients.76 Bahā al-Dīn’s discussion in the Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī shows him to be firmly in agreement with this trend toward clerical control over zakāt. Although Bahā al-Dīn did not address specifically the issue of who was to collect zakāt during the occultation, he did not dispute the most recent rulings on this matter, such as that of al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, cited by Calder, that the donor was obligated to give his donation to a higher-ranking jurist (faqīh) to gain any spiritual reward (ṯawāb) from his donation. Moreover, with his use of the term ḥākim šar‘, Bahā al-Dīn clearly intended the faqīh continue in the role outlined by al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī. Bahā al-Dīn designated ḥākim šar‘ as the arbiter of the shares of al-`āmil – the assistant in the tax-collecting process – and stated al-`āmil was eligible to receive shares of zakāt by virtue of the effort expended in the collecting of the alms (bī ḥaqq 75. Munšī 1978, vol. 1, p. 248; Nafisī 1316š./1937-38, p. 39; al-Tihrānī 1353-1398/1934-1978, vol. 5, pp. 62-63. A student of Bahā al-Dīn’s was subsequently commissioned to finish the work. On Bahā al-Dīn’s death in 1030/1622, see the following: Munšī 1978, vol. 2, pp. 1189-1190; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, pp. 218, 230; al-Amīnī al-Najafī 1372/1952-53, pp. 280-281; al-Ḥusaynī Ḫatūnābādī 1352š./1973-74, p. 504. On later dates, see the above and also: Mudarris 13281333š./1949-1955, vol. 3, pp. 319-320; al-Baḥrānī 1386/1969, p. 22; Nasr 1966a, p. 910; al-Amīn 1353/1935, vol. 44, p. 230. 76. Calder 1981, pp. 470, 472-473, 476-479.

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al-sā‘ī).77 The term ḥākim šar‘ denoted the faqīh, and emphasized his role as the repository of judicial authority within the Imāmī community during the occultation.78 In this context, Bahā al-Dīn was equating the ḥākim šar‘ or faqīh with the Imām as receiver and distributor of the alms collected by the Imām’s functionary, designated al-sā‘ī and/or al-`āmil by Imāmī scholars, and clearly intending the faqīh be the final collector and distributor of zakāt. Bahā al-Dīn also continued the more recent trend of restoring categories of alms’ recipients considered lapsed during the occultation by earlier clerics. In the Būyid period, for example, Muḥammad ibn Ḥasan al-Ṭūsī (d. 460/1067) had written that the shares of zakāt allocated to al-`āmil, fī sabīl Allāh, and al-mu`allafa – the tax-collecting and military classes – were lapsed during the occultation. By the 16th century, al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī had restored all three categories. A century later, Bahā al-Dīn also certified al-`āmil and al-mu`allafa as eligible to receive shares of zakāt during the occultation. Following al-Muḥaqqiq al-Hillī’s (d. 676/1277) definition of al-mu`allafa as those unbelievers who aid Muslims in a holy war (jihād), Bahā al-Dīn was thus supporting the trend to permit the declaration of holy war – a duty of the Imām during his presence – during the occultation, a view propounded by al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī. Bahā al-Dīn also included in the category of fī sabīl Allāh the building of schools for students of religion, further cementing the inclusion of the `ulamā as a class of alms recipients.79 Where previous scholars had increasingly limited the specification of certain qualities on the part of alms recipients, such as justice (`adāla), Bahā al-Dīn, as more recent clerics, including al-‘Allāma al-Hillī and al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, specified only avoidance of major sins (kabā’ir) as a pre-requisite for receiving alms.80 Bahā al-Dīn also followed the general trends established by preceding clerics in increasing the clergy’s discretionary power over ḫums. ḫums, a fifth, is a special tax levied on such items as wealth acquired in war, precious metals or treasure found, land bought from a Muslim by a ḏimmī, wealth from the ocean, profits acquired in trade, agriculture and crafts greater than the amount 77. Bahā al-Dīn 1319/1901-02, p. 99. The last word in the phrase (bī ḥaqq al-sā‘ī) is of the same trilateral root as al-sā‘ī, the term denoting the agent appointed by the Imām in the zakāt process. 78. Calder 1981, pp. 477-479. On ḥākim šar‘, see, for example, Calder 1982, p. 45; Calder 1979b, pp. 104-108. 79. Bahā al-Dīn 1319/1901-02, pp. 99-100; al-Muḥaqqiq 1389/1969-70, vol. 1, p. 161; Calder 1981, pp. 469, 475-476. The category of fī sabīl Allāh had, from the time of al-Ṭūsī, included bridges and mosques. For further discussion of the terminology, see Calder 1981, pp. 468-469. 80. Bahā al-Dīn 1319/1901-02, pp. 99-100.

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required for one’s annual subsistence, and, finally, lawfully acquired wealth which had become mixed with wealth unlawfully acquired. As in the case of zakāt the pivotal points in the discussion of ḫums concerned the collection and distribution of the revenues collected from the community. The revenue was traditionally divided into six shares. One each was set aside for God, the Prophet, and his family, to be given to the Imām during his presence within the community for distribution as he saw fit. These three shares came to be called « the Imām’s shares ». The remaining three shares were distributed to the orphans, poor, and « wayfarers » among the Prophet’s family. During the period of the Imām’s presence, the Imām or his deputy collected these latter three shares and distributed them according to need. The Imām would make up any shortfall from his own shares, and conversely, retain any excess.81 In the centuries following the disappearance of the last Imām, the `ulamā, as in the case of zakāt, allocated themselves ever-increasing power over the revenues derived from ḫums, in particular the shares of the Imām. In the Būyid period, al-Ṭūsī had ruled that the first three shares were to be buried until the return of the Imām, and the remaining three were to be distributed to those groups specified; al-Ṭūsī did not explain who was to undertake this distribution/collection process.82 Al-‘Allāma al-Hillī however ruled that the ḥākim, i.e. the faqīh, was only one who might « undertake the distribution of the Imām’s share ». Al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī’s analysis further broadened the role of the faqīh in the distribution process.83 As with zakāt, Bahā al-Dīn followed the already-established trend toward alloting both the collection and distribution of the Imām’s shares to the clergy. Bahā al-Dīn divided the revenues of ḫums into halves. One half was to be allocated to the needy among the Imāmī of the Banī Hāšim, and this portion might be given them directly by the donor. The other half constituted the Imām’s share and during the occultation it was to be set aside for the Prophet’s family. However, it was incumbent upon the donor to deliver the Imām’s share to the mujtahid who would, in turn, undertake its distribution among the sayyid.84 81. Sachedina 1980, pp. 283, 286f; Calder 1982, p. 39. 82. Calder 1982, pp. 43-45; Eliash 1979, pp. 20-21. 83. Calder 1982, pp. 43-45. 84. Bahā al-Dīn 1319/1901-02, pp. 101-102. This division of ḫums into halves by Bahā al-Dīn prefigured a similar division by al-Ḥākim al-Ṭabāṭabā’ī (d. 1391/1971), author of al-Mustamsak, as discussed by Sachedina (see Sachedina 1980, pp. 288-289). In his discussion of Bahā al Dīn’s position on ḫums in the Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī, Arjomand might usefully have reiterated that Bahā al Dīn’s inclusion of the faqīh in this process had been preceded by similar rulings by al-‘Allāma and al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, and have emphasized Bahā al Dīn’s intention that the mujtahidīn distribute the

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Bahā al-Dīn’s position on the conduct of Friday congregational prayer during the occultation similarly reflected his support for the expansion of the power of the `ulamā within the community in the absence of the Imām. During the Būyid period, Imāmī scholars had disagreed over the conduct of Friday prayer – a duty assigned to the Imām during his presence – during the occultation. Al-Ṭūsī, in his al-Nihāya held that the clergy might conduct Friday prayer during the absence of the Imām.85 Sallār (d. 448/1056-57), a student of al-Ṭūsī, opposed the conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation.86 As Calder has shown, later Imāmī clerics permitted the faqīh to conduct Friday prayer during the occultation, thus further increasing the stature and power of the `ulamā in the community. Thus, al-Šahīd al-Awwal, ‘Alī al-Karakī, al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, and even Šayḫ Ḥusayn, Bahā al-Dīn’s father, ruled in favor of the conduct by the clergy of Friday prayer during the occultation.87 In a candid commentary on this issue – unusual given the terse, brief style of the rest of the early chapters he himself completed – Bahā al-Dīn acknowledged in Jāmi`-i `Abbāsī the disagreement among the fuqahā over the permissibility of Friday prayer during the occultation. Bahā al-Dīn wrote that shares they were to be given among the sayyid. Indeed, the evidence cited by Arjomand suggests the sayyid were receiving their shares. See Arjomand 1984, p. 231. 85. al-Ṭūsī 1390/1970-71, pp. 103, 302. A study of al-Ṭūsī’s two aḫbār collections and his al-Mabsūṭ suggests al-Ṭūsī permitted clerical conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation as a continuation of the clergy’s status as representatives of the Imām in the conduct of Friday prayer during the presence of the Imām within the community. Thus, in his discussion of Friday prayer, when al-Ṭūsī referred to the nā’ib of the Imām in this process, he was referring to the faqīh. Thus, there was no contradiction in al-Ṭūsī’s statement on the clergy’s role in the conduct of Friday prayer, as Calder suggested. See Calder 1979a, pp. 160-162, citing al-Nihāya. In al-Jumal, a much shorter work, al-Ṭūsī’s statement that Friday prayer might be conducted by « the just Sulṭān » or his appointed representative also referred to the Imām and the cleric. See al-Ṭūsī 1388/1968, pp. 81-82. The term « the just Sulṭān » does not appear to have referred to a temporal ruler, but to the Imām. See, however, Madelung 1982, p. 170; Enayat 1982, p.12. See also footnote 92. On the question of Friday prayer during the occultation and the intent of the term « the just Sulṭān » see Newman 1993. 86. Calder 1979a, pp. 160-162. See also Calder 1979b, pp. 106n6. Given the disagreement among contemporary clerics on this issue, there is no prime facie reason to assume, as Calder did (Calder 1979a, pp. 160-161), that al-Ṭūsī’s view prevailed and Friday prayer was conducted in the Būyid period. An additional cause for dissent over clerical conduct of Friday prayer services during the occultation may have been disagreement among the Imāmī clergy over the possible endorsement of secular government implied in the customary inclusion of the name of the current secular ruler in prayer services. Additional empirical research on this issue is clearly in order. See also footnotes 85, 90, 91, 92, 94. 87. Calder 1979a, pp. 162-165; footnote 17. As mentioned above, the legitimacy of the conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation was also disputed by Imāmī clerics of the first Safavid century.

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the more correct view on the matter was that the individual believer might make his own choice88, a retreat from the usual stance of proponents of Friday prayer who stressed the necessity of its performance during the occultation by characterizing the performance of Friday prayer as « an individual duty » (wājib `aynī). This retreat by Bahā al-Dīn and his acknowledgement of disagreement within the community over the legality of Friday congregational prayer was likely the result of a resurgence of opposition to Friday prayer similar to that which had succeeded in halting Friday prayer services for a time in the mid-16th century.89 Opposition to the conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation, along with opposition to the exercise of ijtihād and the assumption by the clergy of others of the Imām’s duties, and any recognition accorded the secular state, were major elements of the Aḫbārī polemic.90 We have seen that Bahā al-Dīn already had been the subject of Aḫbārī-inspired attacks, by the unknown cleric whose positions Bahā al-Dīn ridiculed in al-Ḥabl al-maṭīn, and again during his tenure as Šayḫ al-Islām in Isfahan. Since, after his resignation, Bahā al-Dīn continued both to maintain a close personal relationship with Šāh ‘Abbās I and the court and to advocate an expansion of the powers of the `ulamā within the community in such matters as the collection and distribution of zakāt and ḫums, there is no reason to suppose the Aḫbārī attack on Bahā al-Dīn lessened. The continued intensity of the Aḫbārī attack was most likely the cause of Bahā al-Dīn’s reluctance to characterize Friday prayer as « wājib `aynī » in the tradition of his Uṣūlī predecessors. Nevertheless Bahā al-Dīn made his preferences in the matter of Friday prayer clear: though Friday prayer might be an issue of personal choice, Bahā al-Dīn wrote that the spiritual reward (ṯawāb) obtained from its performance was greater than that derived from the performance of regular noon-time prayer. Moreover, he said, it was preferable to perform Friday prayer in place of the noon prayer. 88. Bahā al-Dīn 1319/1901-02, pp. 55-57. 89. See footnote 17. 90. See footnotes 48, 68, 86. Some 17th century Imāmī clerics often classified as Aḫbārī, including Muḥammad Taqī al-Majlisī and Mullā Muḥsin Fayḍ al-Kāšānī, did not oppose the conduct of Friday prayer during the occulation. See Arjomand 1984, p. 146. Both of these men, however, like Bahā al-Dīn, enjoyed a close association with the court and were interested in `irfān and philosophy; the probable inclusion of the Šāh’s name in Friday prayer services, implying recognition of the secular state, would have presented no problem for either man. Thus the extent of their Aḫbārī sympathies was limited. Similarly, the standings of Safavid-period clerics usually classified as Uṣūlī, but who opposed the conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation, might also usefully be reexamined in detail. Though conclusive evidence is lacking, Bahā al-Dīn himself also probably invoked blessings on the Šāh during Friday prayer services.

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Bahā al-Dīn then further demonstrated his preference for the conduct of Friday prayer by then outlining, in great detail, provisions for the institutionalization of the conduct of Friday prayer in the country. He listed thirty actions connected with Friday prayer of which nine were obligatory (wājib) and twenty one were traditional (sunnat). The former included the appointment of a « prayer leader » (pīš-namāz) to perform the required two ḫuṭba.91 Though reluctant to stress the obligatory nature of Friday prayer during the occultation, Bahā al-Dīn thus left it a foregone conclusion that it was more beneficial for the believer to perform that prayer, and thus acquiesced in the delegation of yet another prerogative of the Imām to the `ulamā.92 Given the likely inclusion of the Šāh’s name in this prayer, Bahā al-Dīn and like-minded Imāmī clerics thus bestowed their approval of the legitimacy of the authority of the Safavid Šāhs.

SuMMARY AND CONCLuSIONS From early in this century Western-language scholars have portrayed the major Imāmī clerics of the early 17th century Iran as having been interested principally in philosophy and mysticism, and generally averse to prolonged interaction with the state itself. Bahā al-Dīn has been portrayed in the Western-language scholarship to date as one of these clerics interested mainly in philosophical and mystical pursuits and reluctent to become involved with the state. A closer examination of Bahā al-Dīn’s career and contributions has revealed that Bahā al-Dīn in fact followed the career of both ‘Alī al-Karakī and his own father Šayḫ Ḥusayn. Bahā al-Dīn was active throughout his career in the service of the Safavid state, and was a constant proponent of an expanded role for Imāmī clergy within the community during the occultation. In these respects Bahā al-Dīn was clearly one of those figures within the Uṣūlī tradition of Imāmī history who had proposed expanding the powers of the clergy within the community and allocating to the clergy during the occultation the powers reserved for the Imām during his presence, and who, according the occultation 91. Bahā al-Dīn 1319/1901-02, pp. 55-57. By contrast with the Būyid period, there is evidence Friday prayer was conducted in Safavid Iran. See footnotes 17, 86. See also Tunukābūnī n.d., pp. 239-240. 92. Bahā al-Dīn‘s contemporary Mīr Dāmād was not as cautious in his discussion of the conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation. Mīr Dāmād wrote that al-sulṭān al-`ādil, meaning, he said, the infallible Imām, his appointee, or « he who deserves to act as deputy » to the Imām – most likely a reference to the faqīh – might conduct Friday prayer. See Arjomand 1984, p. 142, citing Muḥaqqiq, « Introduction » to Mīr Dāmād 1356š./1977-78, p. 39.

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a semi-permanent status, permitted recognition of and interaction with the secular state. In the tradition of al-Muḥaqqiq al-Hillī, al-‘Allāma al-Hillī, al-Šahīd al-Awwal, ‘Alī al-Karakī, al-Šahīd al-Ṯānī, and his own father Šayḫ Ḥusayn, Bahā al-Dīn argued in favor of the exercise of ijtihād, in favor of granting the `ulamā greater discretionary power over zakāt and ḫums, and in favor of the clergy’s conduct of Friday prayer during the occultation. At the same time, he was active in direct and indirect support of Safavid efforts to develop the city of Isfahan as the Safavid capital and Safavid-controlled center of the Imāmī faith in the region. He wrote religious treatises which directly supported the legitimacy and extension of Safavid power in the region, undertook political missions which aided the process of solidifying Safavid politico-military hegemony in the area, and maintained a close, personal relationship with Šāh ‘Abbās I. Bahā al-Dīn’s activities in both the religious and secular realm made him the target of virulent attacks, most of which originated within the context of the Aḫbārī attack on Uṣūlī doctrine. He was the victim of attacks ranging from false accusation, including charges that he was a Sufi, a non-believer, and associated with non-Imāmī elements, to more reasoned anti-rationalist polemics, such as that offered by the unknown cleric. The unceasing ferocity of these attacks most likely was the cause of Bahā al-Dīn’s resignation from the position of Šayḫ al-Islām in Isfahan. Yet, after his resignation and following his return to Isfahan, Bahā al-Dīn resumed his close relationship with Šāh ‘Abbās I and continued to support growth in the role of the clergy within the community. The Aḫbārī challenge grew as the century progressed, and eventually succeeded in putting the Uṣūlī `ulamā on the defensive. It was the Aḫbārī/Uṣūlī polemic which was the prime dynamic of 17th century Iranian Shi‘ism, not a conflict between an enlightened philosophy and a fanatical religious orthodoxy, as suggested by the majority of Western-language writers to date. A more detailed examination of Bahā al-Dīn’s career clearly demonstrates the problematic nature of the continued acceptance of this dichotomy. Bahā al-Dīn is not alone among Safavid-period clerics in having a significant dimension of his career underestimated and misunderstood. Many of Bahā al-Dīn’s contemporaries have received similarly uneven attention by Western-language scholars. The life and works of Mullā Ṣadrā have been viewed almost entirely in terms of their continuity within the broader traditions of Muslim philosophy. The implications of Ṣadrā’s legal interpretations, for example, have received little or no scrutiny to date.93 Mīr Dāmād is also usually portrayed as primarily interested in mysticism and philosophy. Yet Mīr Damad,

93. See, for example, Corbin 1963; Nasr 1966b, pp. 932-961.

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like Bahā al-Dīn, was a prominent figure at the Safavid court, an active proponent of Safavid interests in the region, and an advocate of an expanded role for the `ulamā during the occultation, supporting both the exercise of ijtihād and the conduct of Friday prayer.94 Similarly, though Muḥammad Bāqir al-Majlisī (d. 1111/1699) has been characterized by most Western-language scholars as a prominent figure in the religious reaction of the late 17th century. However, neither the bulk of al-Majlisī’s works nor the details of his career have been made the subject of detailed, comparative examination.95 More careful analyses of the lives and contributions of these and other Imāmī clerics of the 16th and 17th centuries will undoubtedly reveal a picture of developments in Imāmī Shi‘i thought and practice in the Safavid period substantially different from, and far more interesting than, that to which the field has become accustomed.

94. See Corbin 1956; Nasr 1966a, pp. 914-922; Arjomand 1984, pp. 142, 145, 176. Mīr Dāmād’s position on Friday prayer and his conduct of the coronation of Šāh Ṣafī, mentioned by Arjomand, and his support of ijtihād, clearly suggest that a systematic and comparative analysis of Mīr Dāmād’s career and contributions would reveal close parallels with those of Bahā al-Dīn as discussed in the present work, and suggest that, as with Bahā al-Dīn, Western-language scholars have emphasized Mīr Dāmād’s philosophical proclivities to the exclusion of his legal and political contributions. Though both men had esoteric interests, the evidence of their careers does not substantiate Arjomand’s suggestion that Imāmī clerics devalued secular political activity and therefore ceded mundane affairs to the secular authorities and his statement that the « inherent esoteric quality » of Imāmī Shi‘ism mitigated against active involvement by Imāmī clerics with the secular authorities. See footnotes 5, 92. 95. al-Majlisī is characterized in such terms by nearly all the Western-language writers cited in the beginning of this essay. A useful point of departure for a reconsideration of al-Majlisī’s contributions would be Pampus 1970.

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– 1993 : « The Myth of the Clerical Migration to Safawid Iran: Arab Shi’ite Opposition to Ali al-Karaki and Safawid Shi’ism ». Die Welt des Islams, 33, pp. 66-112. – 2001 : « Fayd al-Kashani and the Rejection of the Clergy/State Alliance: Friday Prayer as Politics in the Safavid Period », in : L. Walbridge, ed., The Most learned of the Shi`a. New York, Oxford university Press, pp. 34-52. – 2006 : Safavid Iran: Rebirth of a Persian Empire. London, I.B. Tauris. – Forthcoming : « Clerical Perceptions of Sufi Practices in Late 17th Century Persia, II: al-Ḥurr al-‘Āmilī (d. 1693) and the Debate on the Permissibility of Ghinā », in : Yasir Suleiman, ed., living Islamic History: Studies in Honour of Professor Carole Hillenbrand. Edinburgh university Press, Edinburgh. al-Nūrī, Ḥusayn ibn Muḥammad Taqī, 1382/1962-63 : Mustadrak al-wasā’il. Tehran, vol. 3. Pampus, Karl-Heinz, 1970 : « Die theologische Enzyklopädie Biḥār al-Anwār des Muḥammad Bāqir al-Maǧlisi (1037-1110 A.H. = 1627-1699 A.D.). Ein Beitrag zur Literaturgeschichte der Šī‘a in der Ṣafawidenzeit ». Ph.D Dissertation, Bonn. Raḥmatī, Muhammad Kazem, 2008 : At the Nexus of Traditions in Safavid Iran: The Career and Thought of Shaykh Bahā al-Dīn al-`Āmilī. Qom. Sachedina, Abdulaziz, 1980 : « Al-khums: the Fifth in the Imāmī Shī`ī Legal System ». Journal of Near Eastern Studies, 39, 4, pp. 276-289. Savory, Roger, – 1960 : « The Principal Offices of the Safavid State During the Reign of Shah Tahmasp I, 930/1524-984/1574 ». Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 24, pp. 65-85. – 1970 : « Safavid Persia », in : P.H. Holt - A.K.S. Lambton - B. Lewis, eds., The Cambridge History of Islam. Cambridge, Cambridge university Press, pp. 394429. – 1980 : Iran Under the Safavids. Cambridge. Scarcia, Gianroberto, 1958 : « Intorno alle controversie tra Aḫbārī e Uṣūlī presso gli Imāmītī di Persia ». Rivista degli Studi Orientali, 33, pp. 211-250. Šūštarī, ‘Abdallāh, 1356š./1977-78 : Majālis al-mu’mīnīn. Tehran, vol 2. Sipāntā, ‘Abd al-Ḥusayn, 1346š./1967-68 : Tārīḫča-yi awqāf-i Iṣfahān. Isfahan. Šubr, Jāsim Ḥusayn, 1385/1965-66 : Tārīḫ al-muša`ša`iyīn. Najaf. al-Tihrānī, Āqā Buzurg Muḥammad Muḥsin, 1353-1398/1934-1978 : al-Ḏarī’a ilā taṣānīf al-šī`a. 25 vols., Tehran - Najaf.

Towards a Reconsideration of the « Isfahan School of Philosophy »

Tunukābūnī, Mīrzā Muḥammad ibn Sulaymān, n.d. : Qiṣaṣ al-`ulamā. Tehran. al-Ṭūsī, Muḥammad ibn Ḥasan, – 1388/1968 : Al-jumal wa-l-`uqūd. Mashhad. – 1378/1958-59 : Tahḏīb al-aḥkām. Najaf, vol 2. – 1390/1970-71 : al-Nihāya. Beirut.

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Courting ‘Alī: urdu Poetry, Shi‘i Piety And CourteSAn Power in hyderAbAd Scott Kugle

Abstract: Shi‘i devotion and Urdu poetry both flourished in unique ways in the Deccan region, but did these cultural phenomena allow new creativity for women? For ordinary women, creativity and empowerment were normally curtailed. But there were also extraordinary women in Shi‘i communities in the Deccan, such as Māh Laqā Bāī (1181-1240/1768-1824), one of the most powerful figures in the court of the second and third Niẓām of Hyderabad.1 She is one of the first women poets to compile a full dīwān of Urdu ġazal. She was also an adept at music and dance, and was a high-ranking courtesan (ṭawā’if). She was also a staunch upholder of Shi‘i piety in a kingdom that had recently in 1686 been conquered by Sunni overlords. This essay examines the paradox of a courtesan’s combination of Shi‘i piety, Urdu poetry and seductive power. It argues that Māh Laqā Bāī helped to create a dignified place for Shi‘i devotion in a Sunni court through her poetry, patronage and personality.

In the Deccan region of South-Central India, Shi‘i devotion and Urdu poetry both flourished in unique ways, beginning in the medieval period but extending into the modern period. But did these cultural phenomena allow new creativity for women? For ordinary women, creativity and empowerment were normally curtailed. But there were also extraordinary women in Shi‘i communities in the Deccan such as Māh Laqā Bāī (1768-1824).2 She wrote the following poem – under her pen-name (taḫalluṣ), Čandā or « Silvery Moon » – about the ability to speak: 1. Gawhar 1904, the earliest Urdu biographer of Māh Laqā Bāī gives her date of birth on page 20 as 1181/1768, and he gives her death date on page 29 as 1236/1820. But this is contradicted by the inscription over the gate to her tomb, which gives three couplets of poetry including a chronogram that gives the death date as 1240/1824 (in Persian: rāhī jannat šud, āh, māh laqā-yi dakkan). This essay trusts the chronogram inscribed at her tomb more than Gawhar as a written source. 2. Māh Laqā Bāī is her formal title (ḫitāb) for court ceremonies. It means « Madame Moon Cheek. » Her name is often written in roman script as Mahlaqa Bai (or even Mahlakha Bai or Malaka Bai). This confusion arises from the local Deccani Urdu dialect, which often pronounces the letter q as ḫ or k. This essay uses her formal name as properly transliterated from Persian but readers may find references in other sources that transliterate her name differently.

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Who has the power to praise God, should a tongue try to speak It’s as if this world were nothing but silent and weak To tell Muḥammad’s virtue, who needs a poets’ glittering gathering? Keep the tongue from babbling, like a candle’s glowing wick Take the path of praise, but you’ll never step foot at its end Though both youth and sage head out in this vastness to seek How can elegant thought arrive anywhere but its own incapacity? So close your mouth, let eloquent tears roll down your cheek Who except the true One could express the beauty of the Imāms? Such a hidden point, like Čandā the moon, stays at heaven’s peak

Though Māh Laqā Bāī professes to fall silent before the majesty of the God, the Prophet Muḥammad and the Imāms who perpetuate his charismatic leadership, she speaks eloquently about her inability to speak.3 Urdu poetry has given her, as a Shi‘i woman, a uniquely powerful and subtle voice, when most of her fellow women – at least by their absence from historical narratives – « were nothing but silent and weak. » This essay explores the unique voice of Māh Laqā Bāī « Čandā » as a poet, courtesan, political personality and Shi‘i woman. Māh Laqā Bāī was in no way a typical woman of her time, her city or her religious community. Rather, she emerged from an obscure family of marginalized outsiders to achieve a high position in Hyderabad at the peak of its prosperity. She was of the most powerful figures in the court of the second and third Niẓāms of Hyderabad. She is one of the first women poets to compile a full dīwān of Urdu ġazal.4 She was also an adept at music and dance as a 3. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324, Ġazal 1, p. 2. All translations from Māh Laqā Bāī’s poetry are by Scott Kugle, rendered from this lithograph edition containing 125 ġazal. Manuscript versions of her Dīwān have also been consulted, such as Māh Laqā Bāī, Diwan e-Chanda that was transcribed in 1799. The manuscript versions have slightly fewer poems, and the later lithograph edition reveals that Māh Laqā Bāī continued to revise her poems up until her death, perhaps under influence of her teacher, Īmān. 4. The other candidate for the position of « first woman to compile a full dīwān of Urdu ġazal » is Luṭf al-Nisā’ « Imtiyāz » of Bijapur, a contemporary of Māh Laqā Bāī and also a resident in a Deccan city with a deep Shi‘i heritage. Recent research in Urdu literature posits that Imtiyāz actually circulated her dīwān at least four months before Māh Laqā Bāī did hers. The assertion of the popular historian Dalrymple (Dalrymple 2002, p. 124) that Māh Laqā Bāī was « the first major woman poet in Urdu » needs to be corrected. Both these women poets deserve mention together.

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high-ranking courtesan (ṭawā’if). She was also a staunch upholder of Shi‘i piety in a kingdom that had recently been conquered by Sunni overlords after the Mughal invasion in 1686. This essay examines the paradox of a courtesan’s combination of Shi‘i piety, Urdu poetry and seductive power. It argues that Māh Laqā Bāī helped to create a dignified place for Shi‘i devotion in a Sunni court through her poetry, patronage and personality. It will do so through examining her Urdu ġazal, with their praise of Imām ‘Alī, their allegiance to the Sunni Niẓāms, and her seduction of their Iranian Shi‘i ministers. This essay presents English translations of ten of her ġazal (out of 125 in her full dīwān), supplemented by the biographical narratives about her and the architectural legacy she left behind. Understanding her multi-faceted personality will give us a lens through which to understand the tensions and possibilities of Shi‘i devotion in the early-modern Deccan environment. The essay will proceed in four parts, gradually focusing more intensely upon her persona. « Patronage » will give background to Shi‘i presence in Hyderabad, « Power » will reveal her background in a family of courtesans, « Poetry » will focus on her outer personality as revealed by her writings, and finally « Piety » will focus on her inner persona as an unmarried Shi‘i woman who courted the love of ‘Alī.

PATRoNAGE: A VIEw oF SHI‘ISM FRoM THE HILLoCK oF MAwLā ‘ALĪ The birth of Māh Laqā Bāī was assured by her mother’s pilgrimage (ziyārat) to the shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī, on a hill-top outside of Hyderabad. But long before her birth in 1768, the love of ‘Alī formed an important element that promoted peaceful coexistence between Sunni and Shi‘i Muslims in the Deccan. Both sectarian groups were composed of diverse sub-groups. Among Sunnis, the vast majority in the Deccan was Sufi oriented, with the Čištī and Qādirī orders (ṭarīqa) being the dominant organizations of Sufi rituals. Among Shi‘a, the majority were « desi Shi‘i » with a local orientation (the term « desi » taken from the Urdu word des, meaning the local land). They were mystically inclined and enjoyed local Shi‘i rituals that were highly « Indianized. » Such rituals included visitation at local shrines (known as both bargāh and dargāh), veneration of ‘alam, recital of Urdu devotional poetry (marṯiya) that had developed under patronage of the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty (ruled 1518-1687). we can call the Sufi-oriented Sunni piety « soft Sunni » as it did not define itself antagonistically against Shi‘a or other so-called « heretical » movements. Rather it defined itself positively as adherence of Sunni (specifically ḥanafī)

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legal norms animated by an inner spiritual cultivation inspired by ‘Alī, as the first and prototypical Sufi master. we can describe the « desi » Shi‘i piety as « soft Shi‘i, » as it did not define itself antagonistically against the practices of neighboring Sunnis and did not ideologically oppose Sufism, as Iranian Shi‘ism tended to do under Safavid rule. In « desi » Shi‘i devotion, ‘Alī was not primarily the marker of political loyalty which defined sectarian allegiance, but was more specifically the focus for personal spiritual love and mystical absorption. The definition of Sufi-Sunnis as a group is not sharply distinguished from other Sunnis, but rather blurs along a devotional continuum. For instance, the Čištī Sufis who historically defined the contours of Sufi devotion in South Asia, blurred rather seamlessly in the Deccan region with Qādirī Sufis. while across South Asia, Čištīs were more avid promoters of musical devotion through samā‘ rituals (especially in the form of qawwālī at the tomb of a saint or dargāh), in the Deccan, the Qādirī and Čištī ṭarīqa became most often fused; often one muršid or spiritual guide would hold allegiance to both Čištī and Qādirī affiliation, passing them both on as a fused whole to their disciples. This was easy to achieve, since both ṭarīqa trace their charismatic initiation back to ‘Alī, who is the anchor of each silsila and provides its connection to the Prophet Muḥammad. In addition, the saintly founders of both ṭarīqa – Ḫwāja Mu‘īn al-Dīn Ḥasan Čištī (d. 1236 in Ajmer)5 and Šayḫ ‘Abd al-Qādir al-Gīlānī (d. 1166 in Baghdad)6 – both claim a sayyid family lineage as genealogical descendents of ‘Alī’s sons. This structural devotion to ‘Alī distinguishes Sunni-Sufis with Čištī and Qādirī affiliation from Sunni-Sufis of the Naqšbandī ṭarīqa, which does not venerate ‘Alī. In contrast, the Naqšbandī ṭarīqa’s lineage of charismatic initiation goes through Abū Bakr rather than through ‘Alī. Accordingly, the Naqšbandīs tended to be « harder » Sunnis despite their Sufi orientation. Naqšbandī came to the Deccan region rather late, along with the conquering Turkic soldiers (either Timurid Chaghatais, Uzbeks or Turkomans) with the Mughal armies in the seventeenth century, and they tended to define themselves as « proper » Sunnis who opposed the Shi‘a. Their Sufi orientation was enfolded within an antagonistic Sunni exterior. This « hard » exterior was shared with Sunnis who had no Sufi allegiance or spiritual orientation (such as jurists, ḥadīṯ experts or rhetorical preachers) who also tended to define their community politics by sharp sectarian division and opposition against the Shi‘a. This 5. He is also known as Ġarīb Nawāz, Ḫwāja-yi Ḫwājagān or Mahārāja Mu‘īn al-Dīn. 6. He is also known in the Indian Subcontinent as Pīr-i Pīrān, Pīr-i Dastagīr, Baġdādī Sāyiṅ or Šay’ullāh.

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defines a devotional continuum with more Indianized Sufi-Sunnis at one extreme, blending into more « foreign » Sunni-Sufis in the middle and nonSufi Sunnis at the other extreme. Similarly, in the Deccan, the definition of « Desi » Shi‘a as a group is not sharply distinguished from other Shi‘a, but rather blurs along a devotional continuum. The group defined above as « Desi » Shi‘a are not sharply differentiated from other more ideological or antagonistic Shi‘a who were resident in the Deccan. The spiritual orientation and ritual practices of « Desi » Shi‘a took shape under Quṭb Šāhī patronage, and the royal court actively promoted certain « syncretic » practices to create a single culture that highlighted common cultural and religious traits among their very heterogeneous subjects, with a Shi‘i super-structure. Quṭb Šāhī rulers built several ‘āšūr-ḫāna as part of the very foundation of Hyderabad, their new capital city. During Muḥarram in these devotional halls, they erected ‘alam – battle-standards representing the martyred Imāms and members of the Prophet’s family constructed of precious metals of exquisite craftsmanship. Devotees would come to the ‘āšūr-ḫāna to venerate the ‘alam, which were laden with symbols reminding the viewer of personalities from the Ahl-i Bayt.7 Devotees could touch the ‘alam as one would touch for blessing the body of a spiritual master, and could present offers like parched rice, palm sugar (in Urdu ġūṛ) and coconut as one would present offerings to a Hindu deity. The Quṭb Šāhī dynasty « adopted a unique method for creating a common cultural ethos among the people by following a broad based liberal policy in religious observance. The love of common pīrs and the devotion to ‘āšūr-ḫāna was common both in the Muslims and the Hindus [...] The purely religious part of the Muḥarram ceremonies were meant for Muslims, more so for the Shi‘a, and they did remain so. But the sacredness of the ‘alam at ‘āšūr-ḫāna, the presentation of naḏar, langar [offerings] were all universalized. The ‘āšūr-ḫāna thus became a meeting place of people of all religions and castes [...] Most of these ceremonies were ‘Indianized’ and coincided with the ceremonies current among the people of the region [...] ‘Āšūr-ḫāna thus served as a platform for the people of a diversified society to meet in a brotherly atmosphere. »8 In the ‘āšūr-ḫāna, the majlis for Muḥarram was held and poems were recited to incite mourning for the martyred Imāms. The Quṭb Šāhī kings and their court poets composed such poems, marṯiya, in the local Deccani dialect of Urdu, to further ground their Shi‘i devotion in the local idiom and replace or supplement the earlier Persian marṯiya that had been composed in Iran. 7. Pinault 1992, pp. 79-82. 8. Naqvi 1982, pp. 74-76. Spelling and grammar corrected by Kugle.

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Influenced by the Safavid movement, Sulṭān Qulī Quṭb al-Mulk, the first Quṭb Šāh (ruled from 1518-1543) made Shi‘ism the state religion of the Kingdom of Golconda by having the Friday ḫuṭba read in the name of the twelve Imāms.9 But while the Quṭb Šāhī rulers adopted Shi‘i doctrine from Iranian sources, they actively adapted it to the Deccan Indian environment. The scholar of Shi‘ism in South Asia, Karen Ruffle, calls this process « vernacularization, » meaning the cultural translation of Shi‘i heroes, heroines, texts and rituals into a distinctively South Asian idiom.10 She uses the term « translation » to mean much more than a mere change of language in a textual tradition. That did happen, with Persian texts from Iran being translated into Deccani Urdu, beginning with the influential tale of martyrdom in Karbala by Mullā Ḥusayn Vā’iẓ-i Kāšifī, Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ (composed in Persian around 1501). But texts such as this were integrally linked to oral performances, like Shi‘i sermons or majlis orations of mourning called rawḍa-ḫwānī for the unjust suffering of the Prophet’s family. Recently, Toby Howarth has traced the development of this oral tradition of preaching in Hyderabad, which was based on Persian texts composed in Iran but transformed into popular rituals in the Deccan, starting in the Quṭb Šāhī period.11 Textual translation, therefore, became subsumed into a wider and deeper process of « vernacularization » as Shi‘i texts (written in Iran in Persian) were linked to oral performances, religious rituals and local customs in the Deccan. Ruffle notes the pivotal role in this process of Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min Astarābādī (d. 1034/1625), an Iranian immigrant scholar and administrator who rose to become chief minister (pešwā-yi sulṭanat). He was the administrative force behind establishing the city of Hyderabad as the « New Isfahan. »12 But he also helped engineer this process of vernacularization: « Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min founded many villages as centers of Shi‘i and Islamic life. In them, he constructed reservoirs, mosques, caravanserais, ‘āšūr-ḫāna and planted gardens. The mosques and ‘āšūr-ḫāna brought the Hindu villagers into contact with the Islamic and Shi‘i way of life. The ‘alam and other symbols of the tragedy of Karbala were introduced by Mīr Mu’min into these villages where they aroused Hindu curiosity and helped to convert them to Shi‘ism. »13 In this quote 9. Yūsuf ‘ādil-Šāh of Bijapur introduced Shi‘ism as the state religion of his neighboring Deccan kingdom earlier the same year. 10. Ruffle 2007, pp. 135-140 and 210-214. 11. Howarth 2005. 12. Around his tomb was established the main graveyard for Shi‘a in Hyderabad, known popularly as Dā’irat Mīr Mu’min. Mīr Mu’min had purchased this land and created an endowment for the free burial of Shi‘i residents. 13. Rizvi 1986, vol. 1, pp. 311-312.

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emphasizes how this popularization of Shi‘i rituals helped convert Hindus to Shi‘ism. But the process demanded also that Shi‘i rituals be « converted » into a local idiom that appealed to the environment in linguistic, cultural and aesthetic ways. « Vernacularization » is thus an apt term for this two-way process: it brought Shi‘i beliefs, texts and rituals « lower » toward the understanding of common people in a new environment, while simultaneously « raising » new populations into the sphere of influence of these beliefs, texts and rituals. while this process did lead to some gradual conversion of Hindus and tribal people to Shi‘i Islam, it had a wider impact by encouraging Hindus to incorporate Shi‘i figures or practices into their local Hindu practice. Muḥarram rituals, for instance, attract participation from non-Muslims in the Deccan without conversion being an issue at all. Many Hindu poets began to compose marṯiya in honor of Shi‘i heroine and heroes, and many Muslims who otherwise identified as Sunni would participate in Muḥarram rituals.14 Such a cultural movement is seen in the architectural monument that Mīr Mu’min designed to anchor Hyderabad, the new capitol of the Quṭb Šāhī realm, the Čārmīnār. The structure is a tower with four minarets placed at the crossroads marking the center of the city; it incorporates a madrasa and mosque, but its unique shape resembles both a taziya (model of Imām Ḥusayn’s tomb that is carried in Muḥarram processions commemorating his martyrdom) and its placement resembles a čawbara or local Hindu town-center for meetings at the main crossroads.15 The Čārmīnār manages to be simply Islamic, specifically Shi‘i, and significant for local Hindus. with such unique rituals and sacred places, Quṭb Šāhī rulers encouraged the local acculturation of a continual stream of immigrants who came as traders, soldiers, scholars and administrators to the Deccan from Persianate lands (Iran, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan and outlying zones). The policy worked also in reverse, bringing diverse « Hindu » groups (like Marathas, Telugus, Rājputs, Gujars along with various tribal groups) with 14. Naqvi - Rao 2004 and Ruffle 2007, p. 137; Hyder 2006, pp. 84-85 discusses the lack of solid boundary between Sunni and Shi‘a in Muḥarram rituals, at least until the influence of British colonialism. In this sense, « conversion » as an analytic concept may be misplaced. In my estimation, more important was « transposition » in which religious communities could identify their own sacred landscape with those of other communities. Key to « transposition » was the tendency of religious groups to see rituals of deference to spiritual heroes or holy persons as more important than adherence to theological doctrine. The holy person of one religious community could be easily « transposed » into the holy person of another community, allowing easy co-existence in society or co-participation in rituals without raising the issue of religious boundaries and conversion. 15. wagoner 2006.

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different languages, cultures and religious practices into a common culture under the umbrella of Islamic rule.16 The policy was largely successful and allowed the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty to rule with great prosperity for 170 years, with little internal dissent, sectarian violence or open revolt. However, it did not work fully, for some immigrants from Persianate lands, especially from strongholds of the Safavid polity, resisted the « vernacularizing » trend toward adopting specifically Deccani idioms. They became known locally as āfāqīs, those who came from afar and did not adopt the local culture. « The rise of the Safavid state, which made Shi‘ism the official creed of Iran in 1502, intensified sectarian recrimination; » coupled with Safavid warfare against the surrounding Sunni empires – the ottoman and Uzbek – and diplomatic tussles with the Mughals, and « any suggestion of a Sunni-Shi‘i dialogue, still less of a conciliation, could be no more than wishful thinking. »17 Thus some immigrants to the Deccan from Safavid realms maintained a cultural and religious chauvinism which saw Persian language as superior and Safavidstyle Shi‘ism as purer in comparison to the local hybrid of Hyderabad and the wider Quṭb Šāhī realm. Such Persian chauvinists were sometimes jurists or religious scholars, whose textual orientation led them to disparage the popular rituals which constitute the heart of « Desi » Shi‘i devotion. If such chauvinists became too outspoken against local practices or tried to stir up antagonism against Sunnis in the realm, they were often criticized as agitators who undermined the local cultural consensus upon which peace in the realm rested. Starting with the reign of Ibrāhīm, the fourth Quṭb Šāh (ruled 957-988/15501580) realm of Golconda experienced a period of peace and prosperity. These conditions attracted many Shi‘i scholars, literati and religious teachers to Hyderabad. The fifth king, Muḥammad Qulī (ruled 1580-1612) governed with the Iranian immigrant scholar Mīr Mu’min as pešwā, and he attracted many others from Safavid Iran to immigrate as he was a great patron of arts and letters. In the reign of the next king, ‘Abd Allāh Quṭb Šāh (ruled 1626-1672), the Iranian immigrant scholar Muḥammad ibn Ḫātūn al-Amūlī took the positions of wakīl and pešwā.18 This Shi‘i theologian taught about Qur’ān, philosophy and mathematics, and authored a book on Shi‘i doctrine, Kitāb al-imāma, among other works on religion. These leading scholars who were also administrators drew to court many able scholars and writers, and through

16. Naqvi 1982, pp. 73-74 cites court poetry of Bijapur and Golconda that list the various races and castes among the Persian-speaking immigrants (āfaqiyān) and the Indian populations (dekkaniyān). 17. Enayat 1988, p. 76. 18. He is known popularly as Ibn Ḫātūn.

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their work Shi‘i doctrine was strengthened. But we can say that Shi‘ism did not spread through Persian books written by Iranian immigrants. Rather, it spread through popular rituals which accommodated to the local landscape and ritual expectations of the Deccani population, a process of « vernacularization » of Shi‘ism. Even at the height of Quṭb Šāhī power, though Shi‘a dominated in court, administration and literary elites, they were probably a minority among Muslims in the kingdom. For this reason, Shi‘i rule depended upon developing a shared devotional and ritual culture which attracted Hindus and embraced Sunnis who were also devoted to ‘Alī and the Prophet’s family. The career of Ḥusayn Šāh walī (d. 1035/1626) illustrates this dynamic.19 Ḥusayn Šāh walī was a Sunni with a Sufi orientation, for he was a descendent of Muḥammad Ḥusaynī GīsūDarāz (d. 1422 at Gulbarga).20 Ḥusayn Šāh walī was born in Bidar but came to Golconda as a young man. He was well received by the king, Ibrāhīm, who though his courtiers where mainly Shi‘a, welcomed this Sunni with Sufi leanings and appointed him to a high position. Ḥusayn Šāh walī became renowned as a builder and architect, and he was in charge of building the reservoir north of Hyderabad that became known as « Ḥusayn Sāgar » in 969/1562. He married the Quṭb Šāhī king’s daughter, though how he did this without becoming Shi‘a himself is left unexplained. one later chronicler of Sufis in the Deccan explains his position in this way: « Though the Quṭb Šāhī kings became openly Shi‘a [...] it was their policy to treat Sunni and Shi‘a as equals. But in their kingdom, Sunnis were more numerous than Shi‘a, so they feared lest any disturbance should shake their rule [...] In order to keep any conflict between Sunni and Shi‘a from breaking out, Ibrāhīm Quṭb Šāh would honor and praise the scholars and Sufis from among the Sunnis, and give them employment or grants. So when Ibrāhīm Quṭb Šāh learned that Ḥusayn Šāh walī had come to Golconda [...] the king offered him a noble position commanding 10,000 troops with provision to build residences and offered the hand of his daughter in marriage [...] Those who were Sunni were very pleased that the king had demonstrated his attitude of reconciliation (ṣulḥ-i kull) and protecting the rights of all [...] It was the policy of the Quṭb Šāhī rulers to protect reconciliation between different sects and kept their distance from those who wanted to sow dissent and strife. Sometimes, between 19. There is great disagreement over his date of death. Malkāpūrī 2001, vol. 1, pp. 277-278 cites a historical source that gives the date 1035/1626, but he disparages this as a scribal error and gives the date 1068/1658; he gives a poetic chronogram (raft az dunyā Ḥusayn pāk dīn) but that does not seem to add up to 1068. 20. He is popularly known as Banda-Nawāz and Gīsū-Darāz, and his tomb at Gulbarga is the most popular Sufi pilgrimage place in the Deccan.

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these two sects strife did break out, but the actual cause of this was foreign scholars from Iran. Many times, reckless Mullās did spark communal strife and violence, but the wise and far-sighted Quṭb Šāhī kings would find good ways to manage the situation and extinguish the fires of strife [...] Gradually, the power of the Imāmī Shi‘a in the Deccan increased, while the power of Sunnis decreased. But despite the lesser numbers of Sunnis, the Shi‘a did not enforce any discriminatory policy. »21 According to this Sunni historian, this policy is partly because of the wisdom of the Quṭb Šāhī kings and partly because of the subtle influence of Sunni leaders like Ḥusayn Šāh walī, who as Sufis found common elements between their mystical devotion and Shi‘i doctrine of rule in the name of ‘Alī and his descendants; they also came together in more practical ways for projects that would benefit the public. « Ḥusayn Šāh walī chose to get so close and intimate with the kings of his age so that by means of his influence, the common people might have their needs met and their rights protected, so that each one, whether rich or poor, can have his cares conveyed to the king. outwardly he was a prince, but inwardly he was a Sufi. »22 As this Sufi Sunni courtier oversaw the building of the reservoir, there appears to have been friction between him and his Shi‘i patron. The king desired the reservoir be named « Ibrāhīm Sāgar » after himself, but the people called it « Ḥusayn Sāgar » after the builder. As royal proclamations tried to assert its proper name, a popularity contest ensued which neither side had instigated. « The king proposed that the reservoir be named Ibrāhīm Sāgar, but when laborers were asking where there was work to be found, others would answer that jobs were to be found at Ḥusayn Sāgar. So before the reservoir was even built, it had already become widely known by that name. No matter how hard the nobles and royalty tried to change the name to Ibrāhīm Sāgar, none of their labor changed the situation. The tongue of common people proved to be the authoritative pronouncement of God, and Ḥusayn Sāgar remained its name. »23 Luckily, the Sufi Sunni courtier’s name was Ḥusayn and whose family descended from Imām Ḥusayn, so the king could without much embarrassment relent and the reservoir was left with a name that respected the Imāms, like Hyderabad itself.24 Reverence for ‘Alī and his son Ḥusayn among Sufis allowed for this compromise which otherwise could have ignited into Shi‘i-Sunni rivalry.

21. Malkāpūrī 2001, vol. 1, pp. 272-273. 22. Malkāpūrī 2001, vol. 1, p. 274. 23. Malkāpūrī 2001, vol. 1, p. 275. 24. The Quṭb-Šāhī king relented and built another reservoir further from the main city that he named « Ibrāhīm Sāgar » which watered a new settlement he called « Ibrāhīmpatan » (the Town of Ibrāhīm).

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Ḥusayn Sāgar reservoir was built to provide water for a new settlement at its banks, which benefited Sunni commoners as well as Shi‘i nobility and scholars. The new settlement was established around the palace of the Quṭb Šāhī king’s daughter, Ḫayrat al-Nisā’ Begum but it also watered the fields of peasants who settled there in the new town known as Ḫayratābād. The new town contained architectural legacy of this Shi‘i-Sunni compromise, which still remain standing. Ḫayrat al-Nisā’ had a Shi‘i scholar as her tutor, named āḫūnd Mullā ‘Abd al-Mālik. By her aegis, he gifted the Quṭb Šāhī king a Qur’ān that had been beautifully written by Yāqūt (evidently a Shi‘i court eunuch, and probably the same one who was instrumental in founding a Shi‘i shrine dedicated to Imām ‘Alī as detailed below). In response, the king gave him a land grant in Ḫayratābād, and the princess further had a monumental mosque built for him. when she died, a tomb was built for her next to his mosque, and the Sufi Sunni courtier, Ḥusayn Šāh walī, was entrusted to build its dome.25 His tomb is still a popular pilgrimage place for the local Sunni population, and is unusual for a Sufi tomb in having a raised pavilion or naqqār-ḫāna built before its gate where kettledrums used to be played, as a mark of royalty. Such a drum pavilion had been built for the royal ‘āšūr-ḫāna of the Quṭb Šāhī kings. The story of Ḥusayn Šāh walī reveals the power of the composite culture that was formed in Hyderabad, in which Sufi Sunnis and « Desi » Shi‘a found ways of coexisting. Shared reverence for ‘Alī and Ḥusayn was the lynchpin that allowed them to not just coexist but also cooperate while attracting the admiration and allegiance of Hindus. Shi‘i rule in the Deccan was threatened by more chauvinist forms of Shi‘ism which sometimes threatened this local consensus. Indeed, one western scholar has noted the contemporary persistence of Hindu-Muslim unity during Muḥarram rituals in Hyderabad, and contrasted this with the tendency for Muḥarram to ignite communal riots in Shi‘i communities in South Asia.26 In fact, Ḥusayn Šāh walī represents almost a mirror image of Māh Laqā Bāī in terms of the position she would occupy politically. In the Quṭb Šāhī era, he served as a Sunni courtier in a Shi‘i court, but was able to succeed in achieving high status, leave a built legacy behind, and develop a reputation for piety within his sectarian milieu. In the Niẓāms’ era, Māh Laqā 25. About the tomb there is disagreement. Malkāpūrī 2001, vol. 1, p. 277 says that it was built by Ḥusayn Šāh walī at the order of Ibrāhīm Quṭb Šāh to house his daughter’s body, but that her coffin was later removed from there and carried to Karbala. Bilgrami 1992, p. 57 claims that the tomb was built by the Shi‘i tutor, āḫūnd Mullā ‘Abd al-Mālik for himself, though he died in Mecca and was not buried there. Both the mosque and the empty tomb still exist in the Hyderabad neighborhood still known as Ḫayratābād but are in danger of encroachment by a new neighborhood that has grown up around the railroad tracks that were built near them. 26. Pinault 1992, pp. 157-165.

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Bāī served as a Shi‘i courtier in a Sunni court, but was able to succeed with high status, leave a legacy of buildings and literature, and achieve respect for her piety in her sectarian milieu. Sufi Sunnis and « Desi » Shi‘a shared a common element of devotion to ‘Alī. The Iranian Shi‘i and Sufi scholar, Seyyed Hossein Nasr, has pointed this out in a general discussion of the both traditions, above any detailed concern with Islamic culture in the Deccan: « Yet the case of ‘Alī, the reverence in which he is held by Shi‘a and Sufis alike, shows how intimately Shi‘ism and Sufism are connected together. »27 Both defined their spiritual practice as absorption of qualities of ‘Alī, who defined the ideal human being and most powerful charismatic channel for divine presence in Islamic society. Their positive approach to ‘Alī, as a spiritual figure whom one emulates or loves, meant that they did not highlight a negative approach through ‘Alī, as a political figure to whom one submits or gains power. Through their mutual devotion to ‘Alī, Sufi Sunnis and « desi » Shi‘a found a way to not just co-exist but to cooperate.28 So strong was this common devotion to ‘Alī and his family that the first congregational mosque built by an independent Deccan kingdom (the Bahmani kingdom’s jum‘a masjid at Gulbarga in 1367) bears the names of the five pure panj tan family of the Prophet and lineage of the Imāms as well as the three names of the other ḫalīfas, combining Sunni and Shi‘i iconography. In the center are calligraphic representations of Allāh, Muḥammad, Fāṭima, ‘Alī, Ḥasan and Ḥusayn, while slightly lower to the right are those of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, and on the left are those of ‘Uṯmān and ‘Alī (a second time, showing his place in the Sunni list as the fourth ḫalīfa).29 Likewise, the Bahmani kings patronized the tomb of the Čištī saint, Muḥammad Ḥusayni Gīsū-Darāz at Gulbarga, whose tomb is surrounded by a wooden railing set with silver tear-drop shaped medallions bearing the names of the twelve Imāms, which are highly reminiscent of ‘alam designs. The devotion to ‘Alī and his family among Gīsū-Darāz and his followers, who largely set the tone for Sufi Sunni devotion in the Deccan, was so strong that some historians falsely report that the Čištī Sufi master was a Shi‘a.30 As the Bahmani kingdom fractured and its governors became independent, like the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty at Golconda, the mutual devotion to ‘Alī continued to play out. The hilltop shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī is a material location in the Quṭb 27. Nasr 1988, p. 103. 28. For Sufis, the musical performance of Qawwālī was a powerful way to ritually draw close to the figures of ‘Alī and Ḥusayn; see Hyder 2006, pp. 105-136 and Kugle 2009, forthcoming, pp. 139-178. 29. Hollister 1988, p. 106. 30. Hollister 1988, p. 105.

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Šāhī region where this mutual devotion was quite intense. It is also central to Māh Laqā Bāī’s personality, since it played a role in her birth, gave her a devotional focus while alive, prospered by her patronage of buildings and rituals there, and provided the place for her burial. The shrine is called Kūh-i Mawlā ‘Alī and consists of a rocky hillock about ten miles away from Hyderabad which rises about 2000 feet above the surrounding plateau. It is one of the most important Shi‘i shrines of the region, having been built in 986/1578 during the reign of Ibrāhīm. In his palace was a eunuch servant (ḫwāja sarā) named Yāqūt. Yāqūt left the city to stay at a village called Lalaguda (located near the present Malkajgiri, not far from the hill of Mawlā ‘Alī) for health reasons, for at this time the fortress-city of Golconda was overcrowded and Hyderabad had not yet be established to lessen the population crush. one Thursday, on 17 Rajab as Yāqūt slept, he saw a dream vision of an Arab dressed in green, who said that ‘Alī was calling him. In the dream, Yāqūt rose and followed the green-clad Arab to a hillock, upon which he saw ‘Alī sitting on a high rock, upon which he rested his right hand. Yāqūt paid respects to ‘Alī, but before he could speak, the vision disappeared and Yāqūt woke. He took his companions on a walk to the nearby hill that appeared as if it were the one in his dream, and on climbing the hill they found the high rock with the trace of the impression of ‘Alī’s right hand. Upon seeing this, Yāqūt ordered stone-cutters to carve into the rock along these traces and create a deeper recess in the shape of ‘Alī’s hand. He then placed this rock in an archway (riwāq) built on top the hill. He then returned to the Quṭb Šāhī court to inform the king of this miraculous trace of ‘Alī’s visit. The Quṭb Šāhī king, Ibrāhīm, believed in this vision and made the journey to venerate the handprint; since then the annual pilgrimage has continued.31 The king ordered buildings established around the site, and devoted the revenue of certain lands to pay for its upkeep and for the ‘urs celebrations. For many centuries afterwards the site continued to grow with devotional buildings, pilgrim rest-houses, ‘āšūr-ḫāna and graveyards coming up on the top of the hill, mid-way in the long climb, and around the base of the hillock. It became a sign of royal prestige to patronize building at the shrine, with kings, nobles, courtiers and courtesans – whether Shi‘a, Sunni or Hindu – dedicating funds for such projects. The shrine is not simply an ‘āšūr-ḫāna, though it functions as one during Muḥarram. It is more accurately a dargāh, a shrine housing a body relic of a holy person, in this case the hand-print of ‘Alī. It is a place of pilgrimage all year round rather than a building for venerating ‘alam and 31. Prasad 1986, pp. 132-134. Another more pious version that stresses Yāqūt’s devotion to ‘Alī and neglects to mention that he was a eunuch is found in Naqvi 1982, pp. 25-26.

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hosting majlis for mourning during Muḥarram alone. The only difference is that the shrine at Mawlā ‘Alī is called a bargāh by the Shi‘a, rather than a dargāh which is more closely associated with the tomb of Sufi saints; but both terms have the same linguistic meaning as the « royal court » of holy person. The pilgrimage is especially intense during the mawlid celebrating the birthday of ‘Alī (on 13 Rajab) and the ‘urs celebrating the discovery of his relic (on 17 Rajab). In the case of the latter, the celebration of the ‘urs contains many of the same rituals that Sufi Sunnis practice during the ‘urs rituals to venerate the bodily relic – primarily the tomb – of revered saints (awliyā’), especially the processions in which devotees bring drapery cloth (čādar), incense (sandal), sweets and other offerings most closely associated with wedding rituals. A major difference is that a Sufi ‘urs usually happens on the death anniversary of the saint, while the ‘urs at Mawlā ‘Alī occurs just after his birth anniversary (this chronology is actually accidental, for the ‘urs celebrates when the site of ‘Alī’s handprint was discovered, an event independent from his birthday – in two celebrations blend together because they are only a few days apart, but in practice it is mainly Shi‘a who commemorate the mawlid on 13 Rajab while the ‘urs is much wider in popularity with both Shi‘a, Sunnis, caste Hindus and tribal Hindus participating in the pilgrimage from 15-17 Rajab). But clearly, the ‘urs rituals of Sufi Sunnis in the Deccan and around Golconda pre-date the ‘urs rituals at Mawlā ‘Alī, and probably provided a model for the pilgrimage. The ‘urs of Mawlā ‘Alī shares a celebratory and rapturous ambiance with the Sufi ‘urs. This is because both ritual occasions rejoice in the continuing presence of the holy figure at the site of his bodily relic, in contrast to most other important Shi‘i rituals that are more somber as they commemorate the martyrdom of holy figures (the Imāms and the Prophet’s family) with an ambience of loss and mourning. Qawwalī singing which is normally performed at the tombs of Sufi masters, in a predominantly Sunni audience, is also presented during the ‘urs of Mawlā ‘Alī. Qawwalī is sung during the processions of the sandal and offerings through the old city of Hyderabad before they are taken up the hillock and bargāh of Mawlā ‘Alī (though it is unclear whether Qawwalī is recent addition to the ritual or was always present).32 Many songs in the Qawwalī repertoire are devoted to ‘Alī, praising his virtue, his intimacy with the Prophet, his reflection of divine light, and his excellence above other followers of the Prophet. A classic Qawwalī song, the very foundation of the genre, is a musical setting of the famous ḥadīṯ: 32. Naqvi 1982, p. 33 cites the sixteenth century source, Ḫwāja Ġulām Ḥusayn, Gulzār-i Āṣafiyya, who describes the « sandal » or offerings of sandal-wood paste, perfumes, incense, flowers and other precious substances that are carried on the heads of devotees to venerate the shrine.

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The Prophet after the farewell pilgrimage « took ‘Alī’s hand and placed him on his right side. Then he said, “Am I the authority whom you obey?” They answered, “we obey your directions.” Then he said, “For whomever I am his master and the authority whom he obeys, ‘Alī will be his master. oh God! Be friendly with the friends of ‘Alī and the enemy of the enemies of ‘Alī.” »33 Among Čištī Sufis and those influenced by them, all Qawwalī performances traditionally begin with the song, Man Kuntu Mawlā, based upon this ḥadīṯ.34 In performance, the ḥadīṯ in Arabic is sung to a set tune, followed by a Persian explication of it and often a Hindi amplification of it, concluding with a complex and ecstatic tarāna or joyfullchain of syllables. (In Arabic) Whomever has me as his master, this is ‘Alī, take him as master. (In Persian) ‘Alī is my master, I’m a slave of ‘Alī Let a thousand lives be sacrificed in the name of ‘Alī I am a follower of Ḥaydar, a drunken wandering Qalandar I am a slave of him with whom God is satisfied, of ‘Alī I am the ring-leader of love-drunken revelers I am a stone in the alley of the lion of God35 (In Hindi) Venerable ‘Alī, you are the hero The strong warrior, the master of this world You, who rescue the distressed, are most dear to God Your dazzling display is so bewildering Who can say exactly who you are? Some say you are the man who keeps the faith Some say you are the original cosmic soul ‘Alī is the master, the master, the master36

Such Qawwalī songs are sung at various places in the old city of Hyderabad where the night-time sandal procession carries the offerings that will, in the morning, reach the hilltop shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī. The songs and the singers 33. Tabataba’i 1988, p. 160. 34. For a discussion of the ḥadīṯ as the « basic ritual song of Sufism in India, » see Qureshi 1986, pp. 21-22. 35. one of ‘Alī’s praise-names is Asad Allāh, the Lion of God, which in this Persian quatrain is rendered as « Šer-i Yazdān. » Another praise-name appearing a few lines above is Ḥaydar, from « Ḥaydar-i Karrār, » the Lion of Repeated Attack. Another is « Murtaḍā, » the one with whom God is Satisfied. 36. Kugle 2009, forthcoming.

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developed in a « soft Sunni » environment with a strong Sufi orientation, and there is no sense of disjuncture when they are offered as blessings to be showered over the offerings going to a « desi » Shi‘i shrine. There is other indication that the sandal ceremony during the ‘urs – in which an incense made of sandal-wood paste – has a Sufi origin. There is a legend that a Sufi used to live on the hillock, before the vision of Yāqūt the eunuch associated the place with ‘Alī. Upon the Sufi’s death, one of his devotees named Rang ‘Alī Šāh used to celebrate his ‘urs by carrying sandal offering from his Sufi hospice (takiya) in the city of Hyderabad up to Mawlā ‘Alī. That practice got transposed into carrying sandal offerings up the shrine after it became associated with the handprint of ‘Alī, in a Shi‘i adaptation of Sufi ritual.37 However, until today during the ‘urs of Mawlā ‘Alī, there are three separate sandal processions which circle neighborhoods of the city all night before converging on the hillock shrine in the morning, and one of these is from the neighborhood known as « Takiya Rang ‘Alī Šāh » (the other two are from Kūh-i Qadam-i Rasūl and from Malkajgiri).38 The rituals involved in the ‘urs of Mawlā ‘Alī are a prime illustration of the success of « desi » Shi‘i devotion to overlap creatively with both Sufi Sunni devotion and Hindu devotion. This shrine was the pivot point for a syncretic religious culture that characterized Hyderabad and the wider Deccan region in pre-modern times.

PowER: SHI’I CoURTESANS AND THE REVIVAL oF SUNNI HYDERABAD So far, this essay has established the contours of Hyderabad’s local « desi » Shi‘i devotion which developed under Quṭb Šāhī patronage and the importance in it of the site of Mawlā ‘Alī’s hilltop shrine. Having done this, the essay turns from the issue of patronage to that of power. Hyderabad entered the early modern era with a disaster – the Mughal invasion under Awrangzeb (d. 1707). The city revived slowly in the late eighteenth century. In its revival, female courtesans played a conspicuous role, foremost among them Māh Laqā Bāī. This section will analyze how her family came to positions of power through their wiles and seductive performance as courtesans. They helped to re-affirm

37. Ġulām Imām Ḫān, Tārīḫ-i rašīd al-dīn relates this story, though it is disparaged in Naqvi 1982, p. 32. 38. Naqvi 1982, p. 33. Takiya Rang ‘Alī Šāh is in the old city of Hyderabad, near the neighborhood of Yāqūtpūra. Malkajgiri is the current name of the village of Malik Arjuna Giri, where Yāqūt was sleeping when the eunuch experienced the vision of Mawlā ‘Alī on the hill.

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Shi‘i devotion in Hyderabad even though political power had passed into Sunni hands in the post-Mughal dispensation. After Mughal conquest, the Shi‘i character of Hyderabad was thrown into crisis. The Mughal emperors were Sunni and their army relied for its strength and loyalty on « Turānī soldiers » who were Sunni Turks from Central Asia (though Mughal nobility included some Shi‘i families who rose to distinction). Although earlier Mughal emperors tried to develop a secular dynastic ethos, in which Hindu Rājput warriors and Shi‘i Iranian statesmen could rise in rank as courtiers, the later Mughal emperors drifted toward a « harder » Sunni identity. This trend was exacerbated by imperial border skirmishes with the aggressively Shi‘i Safavid empire in Iran. The Sunni chauvinist trend peaked under the emperor Awrangzeb, who dedicated himself to a Mughal conquest of the Deccan kingdoms. This entailed a decades-long military campaign, which Awrangzeb justified as a Sunni conquest of heretical Shi‘i rulers, like the Quṭb Šāhī of Golconda, who had dangerously subversive ties to the competing Safavid empire. In his official court history, Awrangzeb justified his conquest of this Deccan kingdom by attacking the morality, sectarian loyalty and political allegiances of the Quṭb Šāhī king, Abū al-Ḥasan Tānā Šāh (d. 1707 in Mughal prison at Aurangabad). His historian writes that Abū al-Ḥasan, the ruler of Hyderabad, was stupid and sunk in sinful lust; misled by his evil fortune, he shut his eyes to the sins punishable in the next world, and made the vagabond Hindus the managers and administrators of the affairs of his State, and gave currency to the rites of that accursed race. And, those travelers in the wrong path of futile wondering and ignorance, those carrion-eating demons of the wilderness, namely the Persians (Shi‘a) with the support of that worthless sect (Hindus) began to practice there publicly all kinds of shameful sins. No respect was left for Islam and its adherents; mosques were without splendor, while idol-temples flourished, the requisites of canonical practice remained closed under bolts, while the gates of innovative practices (bid‘at) were flung open. In the excess of his intoxication with the wine of negligence, Abū al-Ḥasan did not distinguish the night from the day.39

In reality, what made Awrangzeb invade the Golconda kingdom was Abū al-Ḥasan’s policy of covertly supporting the Maratha Hindu chieftains with financial and military aid in their daring raids against Mughal domains. But this simple political cause was elaborately obscured by a Sunni sectarian explanation: the Quṭb Šāhī king was a Shi‘a, which corrupted his morality, allowed him promote Hindus over Muslims, made him welcome immigrants 39. Sarkar 1986, p. 174.

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from Shi‘i Iran, and led him to have the sermons during Friday congregational prayers read in the name of the Safavid monarch. After decades of warfare in the Deccan that chipped away at the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty’s strength, Awrangzeb finally ordered a direct assault after the end of Ramadan in 1686. The Mughal forces pillaged Hyderabad and wrecked its palaces and gardens, while Quṭb Šāh forces holed up in the high citadel of Golconda, just outside the city. A protracted and bloody siege followed which lasted over eight months, until Abū al-Ḥasan finally surrendered and Hyderabad became absorbed into the wider Mughal province of the Deccan with its capital far off to the north at Aurangabad. Historically, the end of the reign of Awrangzeb (ruled 1658-1707) marks the border between the late medieval period and the early modern period for the Indian regions under Mughal sway. Therefore, the Deccan region’s transition into the early modern period was marked by a grave crisis in its Shi‘i ethos, as Shi‘a rulers fell to an aggressively Sunni campaign. The buildings of the Shi‘i rulers of Hyderabad were largely destroyed by the Mughal assault. Palaces were demolished and the ‘āšūr-ḫāna were looted of their ritual objects. Some contemporary authors note that Awrangzeb used as a prison house the Bādšāhī ‘āšūr-ḫāna, or royal mourning hall that was built beside the Ḫudā-dād Maḥal or royal palace at the very foundation of Hyderabad city. As Naqvi notes, « Unfortunately we have no account of what had happened to the belongings of the [Bādšāhī] ‘āšūr-ḫāna and the ‘alam after the downfall of the Quṭb Šāh. »40 The ‘alam had been forged of gold and studded with jewels and were wrapped in gold brocade cloth with Qur’anic verses woven into them. The pillage of the city and the fall of its Shi‘i rulers meant the closure of many Shi‘i shrines and interruption of their rituals. Awrangzeb’s official historian described the state of destruction of Hyderabad after the siege saying, « of the men of Hyderabad, not a soul remained alive. Houses, river and plain became filled with the dead [...] The survivors did not hesitate to eat the carrion of men and animals. Mile after mile, the eye fell on only mounds of corpses. The incessant rain melted away the flesh and the skin [...] After some months when the rains ceased, the white ridges of bones looked from a distance like hillocks of snow. »41 For almost a century, Hyderabad languished as a crippled city, stripped of the rulers who had appeared legitimate in local eyes and bereft of any royal patronage. Aurangabad was the capital of the Deccan province under Mughal rule; that north-western city flourished with a renaissance of religious life, civic building 40. Naqvi 1982, p. 18. 41. Sarkar 1986, p. 178.

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and literary ferment, while the south-eastern city of Hyderabad languished, with a huge loss of population, a deep decay of civic structures, and the closure of many religious sites and rituals. Mughal governors kept a tight control on Shi‘i public rituals and let the city decline as a punishment for the resistance of the Quṭb Šāhī rulers, who withstood a bloody Mughal siege for well over a year, bleeding dry the Mughal army and its coffers. The list of Mughal nobles who were injured or killed in the siege of Golconda is long, and includes the family of Niẓām al-Mulk (ruled 1724-1748), the first āṣaf Jāh who came to rule Hyderabad as an independent realm during the crumbling of Mughal power: his grandfather was killed in an assault on the besieged Golconda fort and his father was shot with two arrows and humiliated by failure to scale its walls. In this environment, the hillock shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī gained even greater importance. Being outside the city and away from Quṭb Šāhī palaces, it was not plundered. Mawlā ‘Alī did not have precious ‘alam that were easily removed, but rather had a sacred stone and thick doors covered with embossed silver that could not be removed. It escaped the Mughal destruction of Hyderabad and its civic core. During the long years of decay, Mawlā ‘Alī provided a respite for beleaguered Hyderabadis, and the pilgrimage to its hill allowed them to escape the misery into which their city had fallen. only on this hill, the print of ‘Alī’s right hand remained as if to signify the persistence of Shi‘i devotion in the Deccan despite the fall of Shi‘i dynasties. with the shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī as their lofty sign that their spirit was resilient, the Shi‘a of Hyderabad weathered the hard decades from 1724 until 1763. In that year, the fourth son of Niẓām al-Mulk consolidated his position against others who claimed to rule as Niẓām. He, Niẓām ‘Alī Ḫān ruled as the second āṣaf Jāh (from 1762-1803). During his reign, Shi‘i devotional sites again received royal patronage, this time by a post-Mughal Sunni ruler who tailored his dynastic ethos to expectations of the local population, including a large and influential Shi‘i population of Hyderabad. The second āṣaf Jāh had new ‘alam made and erected in the Bādšāhī ‘āšūr-ḫāna during Muḥarram. His successor, Sikandar Jāh (ruled 1803-1829), had English and French glass lamps installed to enhance the building’s beauty.42 The burst of building activity was patronized by Māh Laqā Bāī and her circle, including her adopted courtesan daughter Ḥusn Laqā Bāī and her music professor Ḫūš-Ḥāl Ḫān Kalāwant. on the east side of the hill, where the stairs cut into the rock of the hill begin, is a ceremonial archway build by Ḫūš-Ḥāl Ḫān. Its inscription reads: To decorate the lofty shrine, with pure intent and sincerity / he built a mosque, an ‘āšūr-ḫāna and grand archway // what a good 42. Naqvi 1982, p. 18.

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fate that Ḫūš-Ḥāl Ḫān has built // on this noble hill with good planning and sacrificial soul.43 The last line of this quatrain gives in abjad notation the date of construction: 1238/1822.44 Māh Laqā Bāī had the tomb complex of her mother built at the base of the hill, next to the ceremonial gateway that leads up the hill. In the center of the compound is the tomb, surmounted by a bāra-darī pavilion (in which her own tomb was later added), surrounded by a walled garden, in which are two pleasure pavilions on either side, a well and reservoir, and a mosque. Poetic inscriptions at these buildings give the dates of their construction: her mother’s tomb in 1208/1793-94 and an elaborate well in 1218/1803-04 while Māh Laqā Bāī was still alive, the walled garden with gateway in 1240/1824-25 after her death.45 Māh Laqā Bāī also had extended and repaired the dīwān originally built by Sikandar Jāh and Nāṣir al-Dawla (the third āṣaf Jāh and his uncle), a dalān or covered hall beside the mosque of the shrine on the top of the hill. Her daughter, Ḥusn Laqā Bāī has built a reservoir for cool drinking water (ābdār-ḫāna) at the arch built midway up the stairs at the back of the hill. Māh Laqā Bāī spent her time and money building up the hillock shrine which represented the court of ‘Alī. It was a sacred place but was modeled upon a secular structure, a royal court. It had the right hand print of ‘Alī, signifying his ruling power as the first rightful Imām with both temporal authority and spiritual charisma. The handprint was set in stone, like an immovable royal throne, housed behind heavy silver doors, like the privileged entryway to the dīwān-i ḫāṣṣ, set before an open courtyard, like the dīwān-i ‘āmm. Here devotees could come as petitioners to ask for just intervention, intimate counsel, and acceptance of offerings. It was a court of higher authority, structured around the paraphernalia of a king but accessible to all who came with sincere hearts. Though Māh Laqā Bāī was only one of throngs who came to Mawlā ‘Alī to express their love and distress, she expressed more profoundly and eloquently 43. In Persian the inscription reads: « kamān wa masjid wa ‘ āšūr-ḫāna ḏī’l-šān / tarāz-i masjidi ‘ālī ze-rāh-i ṣidq wa ṣafā // zahī naṣīb keh Ḫūš-Ḥāl Ḫān bi-kūh-i šarīf / binā nihād bi-qānūn Ḫūb wa rūḥ fizā. » The stone with its inscription still exists, hidden face-down near the tomb of ḪūšḤāl Ḫān, just across the road from the tomb of Māh Laqā Bāī. 44. Naqvi 1982, p. 28 gives the abjad equivalent as 1293 Hijri, but this cannot possibly be correct. This error can be attributed to the numerous printing mistakes in Naqvi. My own calculation of the abjad gives the date 1238/1822-23. Ḫūš-Ḥāl Ḫān died in Māh Laqā Bāī’s own mansion where he was staying in the women’s quarters in order to impart musical skill to the young women being trained there. This implies that he died before her, and my calculation of the date shows that he died two years before she died in 1240/1824. 45. Naqvi claims that the well was built in 1294/1877; however, a chronogram and date given in the most authentic account of her life (Jawhar, Tajalliyāt-i māh, p. 228) written during her lifetime gives the date as 1218 Hijri.

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than most the ambivalent emotions of one who loves ‘Alī. This is because she did so from the position of a courtesan and dancer in the actual royal court down in the city far below. This gave her voice a particular eloquence, since she was raised in the highly aesthetic climate of the royal courtesans. It also gave her voice a particular strength, because her words were amplified by her wealth and status as a noble at court. Finally, it gave her words a unique intensity, as she composed poetry expressing her love of ‘Alī as a perpetually single woman, beyond the routine roles patriarchy assigns to women as daughter, wife, mother and widow. Such roles are all defined around marriage, and the courtesan is, by definition, unmarried and unmarriageable. So the love of Māh Laqā Bāī for the heroic leader and spiritual guide, ‘Alī, is more intense in its personal expression than that of other women, for she can relate to him as a lover with no other male figure intervening. It is also more intense than that of men, who have to suppress the male ego that patriarchy insists they must assert in order to draw close to a male charismatic figure like ‘Alī. within a patriarchal culture, the courtesan is a paradox. She is a desirable outsider. She is an arrogant servant. She is an artist whose medium is her own body. In the eyes of men, she is alluring – she is pleasure as one draws close but danger if one gets too close. In the eyes of women, she is both a model of aesthetic excellence and an object of righteous resentment. In South Asia, she can be a seductress with spiritual insight, for her vocation as a courtesan and her avocation as a religious devotee were not seen to be in contradiction.46 For an illustration of this, there is nothing better than Māh Laqā Bāī’s own poetry: It appears from where I stand that I am always in your absence Though in my heart and soul I am ever in your presence Why would the nightingale fly away from roses’ aroma and hue Has some home-wrecker broken through the garden fence? I’m oppressed remembering the fleeting flash of someone’s unveiling My tears seem to lessen this downpour that once was immense In this world the only true man is one guided by feeling Who each moment seeks his love with his heart’s eye intense Let not Čandā’s head bow before anyone in this world Such a wish of ‘Alī’s servant-girl is her one proud pretence 46. For insights into the spiritual role of courtesans in South Asia, especially in early Buddhist texts, see Young 2004, pp. 105-119.

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what does Čandā mean by being ‘Alī’s servant girl? why does she write in ġazal form, in the form of seducing a lover who is present or longing for a lover who is absent? why does she not in the maṯnawī form for heroic admiration (manqaba) of ‘Alī’s virtues, or in lamenting sorrow (marṯiya) for ‘Alī’s and his family’s martyrdom? The answers to these questions lie in her social position as a courtesan. South Asian and Iranian norms overlapped in the role of courtesans. Both social models were adopted fairly seamlessly by Islamic society in the premodern period, which accepted courtesans and concubines as part and parcel of the elite class and aristocratic courts. The distinction between courtesan and concubine was a subtle but important one. Concubines were female servants who were owned by men primarily for sexual satisfaction. Courtesans were females who were raised by other women in order to be artists, performers and seductresses of wealthy male patrons; they were not owned by men though they might charm support from men or, in lower class circles, rent themselves to men for entertainment of artistic, conversational and possibly sexual nature. The courtesans thrived in the appearance of independence from male control (which may have been actually an illusion, since they were most often financially supported by royal courts or noble estates). Through the early-modern period, both concubines and courtesans were distinct from mere prostitutes. with prostitutes, the sexual gratification of men was directly related to monetary payment, unmediated by other structures. For a concubine, sexual relation with men was mediated by ownership, which made intercourse with them legal under Islamic law. For a courtesan, sexual relation with men was mediated by art and aesthetics, as their role was seen primarily as entertaining performance, erudite company and artistic refinement which may or may not include intimacy; if sexual relations occurred with courtesans, it was mediated by artistic pursuits (one might say it was hidden behind a screen of artistic performance). Since there was ambiguity in whether courtesans were involved in sexual relations with their patrons, it is no surprise that in Islamic society in South Asia, many courtesans were avowedly Shi‘i. The Shi‘i legal allowance for temporary marriage (mut‘a) regulated this tension, and provide legal and moral mechanisms to justify sexual relations if and when they might arise, without compromising the unmarried and unmarriageable allure of the courtesan, upon which her charm and social power depended. But in the modern period, these distinctions collapsed; both concubines and courtesans became lumped into the category of « prostitutes. » European colonial domination, the decay of royal court patronage, and the impact of Islamic

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reform movements created this change.47 Māh Laqā Bāī was fortunate to live in the early-modern period, before these social changes set in which erased the very possibility of her existence as a courtesan of high standing, artistic excellence and socially acknowledged spirituality. Most courtesans in Hyderabad had a special devotion to ‘Alī and were Shi‘a. It may be due to the popular belief that love of Imām Ḥusayn earns forgiveness for all other sins. This belief is based upon a legend to the effect that, as he lay dying, Imām Ḥusayn heard a divine voice say, « o Ḥusayn! Comfort yourself in that, for your sake, I shall forgive from among the number of sinners those who are your lovers, so that you may feel gratified. »48 This might be a potential reason why social minorities – who may be seen as engaging in sin because of stigma against them, such as prostitutes, dancers, musicians or eunuchs – were most often devotees of ‘Alī and Shi‘i partisans of his household. Though most courtesans were Shi‘a, Māh Laqā Bāī had an especially intense devotion to ‘Alī as the charismatic lord of Mawlā ‘Alī hill. This was certainly due to her mother’s influence and the circumstances of her birth. Māh Laqā Bāī’s mother was born in Gujarat. She was born with the name Mayda Bībī or « Miss Fine Fair, » and was the youngest of three sisters. Her father was an administrative officer under the Mughal governor of Ahmadabad (during the reign of the emperor Muḥammad Šāh who ruled from 1719-48).49 He wasted the governor’s money and was threatened with arrest. Like most men in trouble, he fled.50 His wife was reduced to utter poverty and left Ahmadabad with her three daughters and two young sons.51 They were adopted by a roving band that 47. Contemporary Urdu-language films in India illustrated the tensions in this transition, from the aesthetic masterpiece of Umrao Jan, set in mid-nineteenth century Lucknow, to the social satire of Mandi, set in mid-twentieth century Hyderabad. See Ali 2005. 48. Pinault 1992, p. 107. 49. Māh Laqā Bāī asserts her maternal grandfather was a sayyid of the Zaydi lineage resident in Barhah, a town in North India where many Shi‘a came from who were successful as nobles in the Mughal court after the death of Awrangzeb – see Cole 1988, chapter 3. According to Richards 1993, p. 20 soldiers and nobles from the town of Barhah began to be enrolled in the Mughal imperial system starting in 1560s, as indigenous Indian Muslim gentry who were known for their bravery in battle. Their ancestor had migrated from Iraq in the thirteenth century and claimed a sayyid lineage. 50. Gawhar 1904, p. 3. This Urdu source, written in 1894, is the most authoritative modern record of Māh Laqā Bāī’s life, is basically a translation of the Persian record that Māh Laqā Bāī herself commissioned in 1818 – Jawhar, Tajalliyāt-i māh, pp. 192-246. Later Urdu biographies display a considerable amount of apologetic tension over her profession as a courtesan, and downplay her sexuality while exaggerating her piety to fit modern notions of propriety; see for instance A‘ẓmī 1998. 51. Māh Laqā Bāī asserts her maternal grandmother was also a sayyid, from the Ḫwāja lineage of Kathiawar, Gujarat.

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sang and danced for a living – probably Hindus of a gypsy character (in Urdu, called bhagtiyān). with these wandering minstrels, the family wandered south into the Deccan. The girls learned music and dance from the minstrels who protected them, but on the way, their brothers were separated from them and their mother died. The three sisters supported themselves by dancing in public, though the sources display great reticence in admitting this fact.52 At Burhanpur – the city that acted as gateway to the Deccan – the sisters joined the Mughal army under the command of Niẓām al-Mulk, the first āṣaf Jāh. They traveled with the army south to Aurangabad, most likely as dancers who entertained soldiers.53 Then all three sisters changed their names, adopting stage names befitting royal courtesans. Mayda Bībī became known as « Rāj Kanwar Bāī » (Madame Prince’s Reign) while her two daughters became known as « Māhtāb Kanwar Bāī » (Madame Prince’s Moonlight) and « Mān Kanwar Bāī » (Madame Prince’s Pride). once the family of females settled in Aurangabad, they had a greater chance of securing patronage from high-ranking Mughal nobles, rather than common soldiers or local chiefs. Mayda Bībī’s eldest daughter used her seductive skills as a courtesan to attract the attention of a high-ranking noble, Mīr Mūsā Ḫān (known by his titles of Rukn al-Dawla and Iḥtišām-i Jang) who rose to be prime minister of the āṣaf Jāhī dynasty.54 She managed to convert her sex appeal as a courtesan into the stable social status of a wife. It is not clear from the sources whether she was an official wife by formal marriage (nikāḥ) or by informal « temporary » marriage (mut‘a), but she was certainly not his first and primary wife. The oldest Urdu source simply says, « Iḥtišām-i Jang Rukn al-Dawla Bahādur, the prime minister of the āṣaf Jāhī dynasty, became enamored of the God-given beauty of Māhtāb Kanwar Bāī. Thus after making sure her mother, Rāj Kanwar Bāī, approved, he took her as wife in a legal marriage (‘aqd-i 52. Many state that the two eldest daughters danced and sang so that their youngest sister, Mayda Bībī (who was to become the mother of Māh Laqā Bāī) could remain in dignified parda. There is some evidence that she was being held in reserve to be given to a powerful man who might pull the family out of their vulnerable poverty. Along the way, this youngest daughter was given as a concubine to a local Hindu Rajput chieftain, Rājā Sālim Singh, and bore him a child, but the family was driven out by the chieftain’s first wife. 53. Along the way Mayda Bībī became pregnant to an anonymous father, and gave birth to a second daughter. 54. He was appointed prime minister by the second āṣaf Jāh, Niẓām ‘ālī Ḫān in 1765 and served in that position until 1775, see Alikhan 1990, p. 92. After his assassination, Mīr Mūsā Ḫān « Rukn al-Dawla » was buried in a family graveyard at the foot of Mawlā ‘Alī hill, revealing that he was a Shi‘a. He is not to be confused with Mīr Mūsā Ḫān Mahaldār, the royal architect of ‘Abd Allāh Quṭb-Šāh who built the Tolī Masjid in Hyderabad.

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šar‘ī). »55 of course, in Shi‘i circles both a formal marriage and temporary marriage are considered legal (šar‘ī). He addressed her by the title Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba, or « Respected Lord’s Madame » and out of love for her, she accompanied him « touring and hunting, while traveling or at court, and even in war. »56 After Rukn al-Dawla was killed, Māhtāb Kanwar Bāī « chose to live at home like a properly veiled noble woman, in accord with her pure ancestry and noble station. She always observed the five-times prayers, kept the days of fasting, made daily recitation, litanies, and glorification of God during her whole life. »57 This woman’s life story depicts the family’s great success in securing status. She began life as Māhtāb Bībī, the daughter of a Muslim concubine taken in by a Hindu chieftain, then transformed into Māhtāb Kanwar Bāī, a courtesan who probably danced for soldiers, and ultimately rose to become Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba, the respected wife of a powerful noble in the Deccan court of Hyderabad.58 Her mother Mayda Bībī (now known as Rāj Kanwar Bāī) successfully negotiated the dangerous terrain of moving from courtesan to wife. Rāj Kanwar Bāī must have maintained considerable allure as a courtesan herself. At age fifty, she also married a nobleman in the Mughal ruling elite of Hyderabad, Basālat Ḫān.59 Her story reveals that the courtesan’s allure is not simply nubile sexual attraction. It derives also from qualities that a woman takes with her into maturity and elderly age like grace, wit, erudition, poetic eloquence, singing skill and ability to negotiate with court etiquette and intrigue. The oldest Urdu source stresses her union of beautiful appearance and elegant virtues, which made her a successful courtesan. « Most of the āṣaf Jāhī nobles began to long for and love Rāj Kanwar Bāī, because she was in comparison with her two sisters of a more beautiful appearance and better manners – indeed she had good virtues and noble disposition. But because of someone’s base accusation, Rāj Kanwar Bāī could not reach her desired destination [of marrying into a good household]. In accord with the decree of the divine scribe, the sketch of 55. Gawhar 1904, p. 9. 56. Gawhar 1904, p. 9. 57. Gawhar 1904, p. 9. 58. Mayda Bībī’s second daughter, Mān Kanwar Bāī, was courted by many nobles of the early āṣaf Jāhī dynasty even at a very young age, and was « taken in » to the house of the brother of Mīr Niẓām ‘Alī Ḫān (the second āṣaf Jāh). She entered the public arena of male desire too early, before she had the cleverness to act as a courtesan and manipulate men’s desire into women’s profit. She was taken as a concubine or simply raped by a high-ranking noble, and died giving childbirth while too young to bear it. Gawhar 1904, p. 10. 59. The man she married served as a forward commander in the Mughal army of the first āṣaf Jāh, Niẓām al-Mulk, and then was promoted to the treasury position of baḫšī-yi ṣarf-i ḫāṣṣ.

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Rāj Kanwar Bāī’s intimate companionship came to occupy the tablet of heart of Mīr Nāmdār Nawāb Basālat Ḫān Bahādur, the baḫšī of the āṣaf Jāhī dynasty. »60 Rāj Kanwar Bāī married this noble and found protection from the kind of « base accusation » that circled around her when she was simply a dancing girl earlier in life. She bore a dangerous pregnancy so late in life, after the age of fifty, and gave birth to a girl named « Čandā Bībī » (Miss Silvery Moon), who became known later as Māh Laqā Bāī. Rāj Kanwar Bāī almost died in this pregnancy, and her miraculous survival attests to her family’s strong links to Shi‘ism and to the persistence of local « desi Shi‘i » devotion in Hyderabad despite the ostensibly Sunni rule of the āṣaf Jāhī Niẓāms as a post-Mughal dynasty. « During the time when Rāj Kanwar Bāī was pregnant with Māh Laqā Bāī, she once went to the mount of Mawlā ‘Alī for ziyārat to Amīr al-Mu’minīn [‘Alī]. She was with Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī, the author of Tuzuk-i Āṣafiyya, who was a scholar and sage and calligrapher and painter, who was unique in his era for wit and wisdom. He was riding along with her because of his relation to her as depending on her patronage. Suddenly, the signs of an impending miscarriage came over Rāj Kanwar Bāī and she began to bleed. Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī immediately rushed into the holy court of Murtaḍā [‘Alī]. He took from there some pieces of string and some burning incense. He came out and tied the string around Rāj Kanwar Bāī’s waist and wafted the incense toward her. By these simple actions, there occurred a miraculous intervention by ‘Alī, the conquering Lion of God, may peace be upon him. The blood stopped flowing and the fetus stayed firmly in place. »61 Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī (1739-1800) was a noted poet, calligrapher and painter in the court of the second āṣaf Jāh, and the book, Tuzuk-i Āṣafiyya or « Pomp and order of the āṣaf Jāhī Dynasty, » was written and illustrated by him; this book is a beautiful depiction of the restoration of Hyderabad as an Islamic capital, with Mughal designs on an earlier Deccani foundation beyond the political control of Delhi. The incident of their crisis at Mawlā ‘Alī illustrates the persistence of an overlapping « desi-Shi‘i » and « Sufi Sunni » devotional life in Hyderabad. Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī was ostensibly a Sunni but, as a Sufi in the Čištī ṭarīqa, he was deeply devoted to ‘Alī as a charismatic leader and spiritual guide. He accompanied Rāj Kanwar Bāī, a Shi‘i courtesan turned wife of a Sunni Mughal noble. She patronized his art, for courtesans were highly involved in cultural and artistic life of the city. As friends, they could make the pilgrimage together to the shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī where sectarian differences were muted in the radiance of ‘Alī’s spiritual presence in the local landscape. 60. Gawhar 1904, pp. 19-20. 61. Gawhar 1904, pp. 19-20.

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Thanks to the healing touch of the Sufi artist and the miraculous intervention of ‘Alī, Rāj Kanwar Bāī survived her miscarriage crisis. Thus on 20 Ḏū’ al-qā‘da, 1181/April 4, 1768, a girl was born and named Čandā Bībī.62 For complex reasons, her mother gave the girl away to be raised by her eldest daughter, Māhtāb Kanwar Bāī – who was known by the title Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba. Perhaps she gave the girl over in charity, after Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba’s husband, the prime minister, was assassinated and she had not given birth to any children. Perhaps she gave the girl away knowing that her elder daughter could provide a richer and securer home than she herself could. or perhaps she gave the girl away in order to retire from worldly cares, as she was already an elderly woman by standards of the age and wished to pursue religious devotions. The sources are ambiguous on the exact reasons: « Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba, who was originally named Māhtāb Kanwar Bāī (and who was the wife of Iḥtišām-i Jang Rukn al-Dawla Bahādur), did not give birth to any male offspring. Because of this, Rāj Kanwar Bāī gave her daughter, Čandā Bībī, to Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba bosom to be raised as her own child. Rāj Kanwar Bāī dedicated herself to worship and invoking God. Although Mayda Bībī – also known now as Rāj Kanwar Bāī – has had her name recorded in the register of professional earners (kasabī), she always retained the good judgment and moral refinement of her pure pedigree. As long as she lived, she kept the five-times daily prayers, and continually engaged in litanies, recitations, glorifications and praises for God. She was a devoted follower of pious sages and learned scholars. In the end, her companionship with pious ascetics (ahl-i sulūk) and mystics (ahl-i bāṭin) rubbed off on her. She took on their qualities such that most of her time was spent in the hard work of intuitive understanding, contemplation and mystical imagination. She would stay up to the end of the night reciting her litany (waẓīfa), and would speak with nobody. »63 with her mother retired from the world and focused on God, Čandā Bībī grew up in the lap of her elder step-sister, Ṣāḥib-Jī Ṣāḥiba, who raised her in a mansion called Zenāna Dewṛī or women’s Manor. She must have received the best aesthetic education that money and prestige could buy. She was taught Persian, wrote poetry in Urdu, learned dance and studied classical music under her Ustād, Ḫūš-Ḥāl Ḫān Kalāwant. He was a Shi‘i musician who, as indicated by his title « Kalāwant » was an exponent of Dhrupad and Khayal styles of singing and who wrote Hindi poetry under the pen-name « Anup » (meaning « incomparable » in Sanskrit). She also associated with her mother’s old friend, Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī, the poet, historian and illustrator. As she matured and began to 62. Gawhar 1904, p. 20. 63. Gawhar 1904, p. 21.

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avidly compose Urdu poems in the ġazal form, she took advice and correction from an Ustād named Sayyid Šer Muḥammad Ḫān, the most famous Urdu poet of his age in the Deccan. He composed under the pen-name « Īmān » and wrote a musaddas poem extolling her beauty and grace64: She whose name is Moon Cheek has world-wide fame More beautiful than Šīrīn, her servants are a bed of rose That bloom in the spring breeze that trails her as she goes When she goes out riding, all the on-lookers exclaim « Lifting her palanquin are so many lovers energetic Does Laylā on a camel compare? That’s so pathetic! » When her ruby lips speak words as if scattering pearls To catch them, the world’s ears, like oysters, open wide Hearing her sweet discourse, even parrots run off to hide Her words contain soul-ravishing hints in their swirls Your lips’ eloquence makes us dumb-struck stare Even the healing kiss of Jesus cannot compare

That poem begins with these first two stanzas, and goes on to describe how her poetry Ustād fell helplessly in love with her. It seems hers was the most unorthodox of poetry lessons, for she was the object of her teacher’s admiration rather than the object of his critique. As she matured, Čandā Bībī came to court and the aristocratic public as a courtesan and dancer, attracting the fond attention of the second āṣaj Jāh, Mīr Niẓām ‘Alī Ḫān, who took her as a confidant and companion. During the celebration of one victory at war, Čandā Bībī was the star performer. After her dance, the Niẓām gave her the formal court title Māh Laqā Bāī or « Madame Moon Cheek » in recognition of her role in court and civic life. Along with a title, she was given extensive landgrants (jāgīr) both within the city and in the countryside, which made her independently wealthy.

PoETRY: ERoTIC AND SPRITUAL LoVE woVEN INTo ĠAZAL As a courtesan, Māh Laqā Bāī’s role at court was multi-dimensional. She was a dancer, musician, wit, advisor, and patron in both religious and artistic 64. Imān 1987, pp. 426-429. « Īmān » was an official historical chronicler (wāqi‘a-nigār) for the Niẓām’s court, as was his father before him. In poetry, he was a student of Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī, who is mentioned above as a friend of Māh Laqā Bāī’s mother.

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pursuits. As a dancer, she was also extremely adept in court politics.65 Her poetry reflects these many roles, and each of her ġazal integrates Shi‘i spirituality into the seemingly secular activities of courtly life, dance and romantic love. She chose to write only in the ġazal form, a short lyric used to depict the various states of love both spiritual and erotic. Yet her every ġazal consists of only five couplets, reflecting the five members of the holy family (panj tan): the Prophet, his daughter Fāṭima, her husband ‘Alī, and their two sons Ḥasan and Ḥusayn. Also, the final fifth couplet of each ġazal is devoted to praising ‘Alī. The final couplet shows its author, Māh Laqā Bāī with the penname Čandā, in a posture of intimacy with ‘Alī, as his servant, supplicant, extoller or loyal partisan. It is possible to explore her personality through her poems, even though as ġazal, the poems are not in general autobiographical. one can see Māh Laqā Bāī’s experience as a dancer in this poem66: Cups of crimson wine are circling in rounds of dance If the beloved is glimpsed, this party abounds in dance God made this beloved peerless in my view Everything before my eyes resounds with dance You captivate beasts and birds along with people low and high Each in its way obeys your command in bounds of dance Leave the party of my rivals and come over to mine I’ll show you a star whose very name sounds like dance Why shouldn’t Čandā be proud, O ‘Alī, in both worlds? At home with you she eternally astounds with dance

It is as a dancer that Māh Laqā Bāī crafted a public role for herself in Hyderabad. As a dancer, she gained access to the court and through dance she could become intimate with various powerful nobles. In this poem, she alludes to her own role as court dancer in many different ways. In a secular setting, she entertained drinking parties: « Cups of crimson wine are circling in rounds of dance. » The dance in the court was not merely entertainment but also 65. The assistant to the British Resident (equivalent to an ambassador to the Niẓām’s court sent by the British East India Company in Calcutta) commented that dealing with Māh Laqā Bāī was the key to getting anything accomplished in the Hyderabad court. 66. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 59, p. 19.

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political spectacle. The beauty and grace of the performer was meant to reflect the wealth, power and dominance of the patron; in this poem above, the king on the throne is the center of a vast dance where all are subject to his control – « You captivate beasts and birds along with people low and high / Each in its way obeys your command in bounds of dance. » The ruler is compared to archetypal Islamic sovereign, the Prophet Sulaymān (King Solomon) whose command subjected even birds, beasts and forces of nature. But the dancer also has her own agenda, to charm and to seduce the powerful men in the audience, as she teases, « Leave the party of my rivals and come over to mine... » Finally, Māh Laqā Bāī ends on a spiritual note, addressing the apparent contradiction between humility required before Imām ‘Alī and the proud display needed for a dancer. She achieves a resolution by attributing her every success, even in public performance, to her intimacy with ‘Alī – « At home with you she eternally astounds with dance. » Dance performances were integral parts of court ceremony to mark victory celebrations after war, the yearly nawrūz festival that was celebrated with great pomp, and court gatherings to impress visiting diplomats or conduct negotiations with rivals. The paintings in Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī’s masterpiece, Tuzuk-i Āṣafiyya, show female dancers and musicians accompanying the Niẓām in affairs of war, trips for hunting, diplomatic envoys, and other events of state.67 one image shows the Niẓām and courtiers, including Aristū Jāh the prime minister, ready to enjoy a dance performance of Māh Laqā Bāī on the banks of the Ḥusayn Sāgar reservoir in Hyderabad, after a hunting expedition with the palace women.68 Her art as a dancer thus gave Māh Laqā Bāī a public role in warfare. She accompanied the second Niẓām on various campaigns, and is reported to have ridden with him on his elephant. when not fighting against the state’s enemies, the Niẓām and his courtiers were fighting against animals in the wilderness, to prove their armed expertise. He took her with him, as she was an expert archer as well. Hunting also was a prime metaphor for romantic pursuits, in which Māh Laqā Bāī also excelled, as witnessed by this poem69:

67. Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī, Tuzuk-i Āṣafiyya, pp. 156, 251, 259, 295 and 317 contains images of dancing courtesans at court and in diplomacy. 68. Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī, Tuzuk-i Āṣafiyya, p. 251; in this illustration, Māh Laqā Bāī – identified by a crescent moon symbol over her head – leads a dance troupe of female dancers on this occasion dated May 14, 1782. 69. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 39, p. 13.

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In a flash I’d release from captivity each prey If I could hunt my hunter, O God, for just a day News of spring’s arrival comes to me in my cage Not a feather is left intact in my excited fray What net of curls could capture such a clever heart? Its fated hour comes, it gets caught without delay Except for you, no other has ever caught my eye Yet you captured this gazelle, my heart, from far away Let Čandā be ever your captive, not that of her enemies Mawlā ‘Alī, for only this in all the world does Čandā pray

Between hunting for wild gazelles and being hunted by lovers, Māh Laqā Bāī’s ġazal poetry unfolds. In this particular poem, she takes the point of view of the captive victim of a skillful hunter. The speaker in the poem imagines wistfully how to change the ways of the world « if I could hunt my hunter, o God, for just a day. » But later, the speaker revels in being caught, and reveals that her lover’s glance is the most skillful weapon to capture a heart. Finally, as always, she rises to a spiritual register and prays to be the prey of ‘Alī, that valiant warrior and marksman. If so, then all others who hunt her will miss their mark. of course, Māh Laqā Bāī had reason to mention her enemies. Succeeding at court was not just a matter of dancing to impress others, but also depended upon outmaneuvering enemies, rivals and detractors. As a court noble of high standing, she was subject to the intrigues and jealousies of rivals. As a courtesan, she could fully trust no man as a patron or protector, and there is evidence in her witticisms that have been preserved that she had to parry derision and criticism in court and in public, aimed at her vulnerability as a single woman and public performer.70 The only male figure she could rely upon was ‘Alī, her spiritual patron and the essence of masculinity in her view, as reflected in this poem71:

70. Gawhar 1904, pp. 33-34. 71. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 40, p. 13.

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If my sigh would just have an effect on you, my hunter There’d remain in the heart no trace of your injustice, my hunter It was I myself who got caught up in your net, because When have you ever thought of catching me, my hunter? Since forever my fluttering heart desired only your snare Won’t you forget your neglect and pass this way, my hunter? With an exhilarating shudder, your quarry now gives up the soul Another breath might come when you take notice, my hunter This is all I ask of you, O ‘Alī, just let this moment be Dawn for Čandā and sunset for her enemies, my hunter

Hunting is a dangerous game, just like politics. These poems display the overtly political aspects of Māh Laqā Bāī’s life at court. She petitions ‘Alī for protection and for victory over her rivals, in the very same poems in which she speaks of romance and intimacy between lover and beloved. As a courtesan, her love games with men were always a veiled form of manipulating them to get wealth, status and power. There is no firm count of how many powerful men Māh Laqā Bāī charmed or seduced. But primary among them are two prime ministers of Iranian immigrant ancestry in the court of the second Niẓām, who were probably the most powerful men at court. The first is Ġulām Sayyid Ḫān, known by the title Aristū Jāh (served as prime minister 1778-1804). Māh Laqā Bāī became first attached to his private court, before he presented her at the court of the Niẓām. At his request, her ġazal were collected into a dīwān, beginning in 1213/1798-99.72 He was succeeded as prime minister by Sayyid Abū al-Qāsim, known by the title Mīr ‘ālam (served 1804-1808) who composed a long maṯnawī in Persian as a head-to-toe (sar-ā-pā) description of Māh Laqā Bāī’s beauty. That maṯnawī begins like this73: O Moon who shares the heavens’ intimacy Head to foot you’re a heart-captivating fantasy You are a person whose very eye is passion From head to toe you’re a charm of affection 72. Hāšimī 1940, p. 24. 73. Mīr ‘ālam, « Sarāpa-yi Māh Laqā » (Hyderabad, ‘Ahd-i āfirīn Barqī Press, n.d.).

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Your entire form with the heart’s pen is presented Your body with the soul’s essence is fermented Your image is like that of a foreign beauty Your form is carved by ingenious sorcery Your beauty captivates hearts in passion Your reflection displays love’s abandon Until I set your beauty in my inner heart Love for you with senses takes full part Passion for you sets the world quivering My every vein’s exposed like lute string My words don’t display my yearning for you Hidden in my soul is my burning for you Your beauty adorns my heart, and so In love I’m burning from head to toe

It is impossible to judge from these poetic sources whether her intimacy with these prime ministers, along with the second Niẓām whom they served, was one of friendship, artistry or sexual intercourse. It is in the ambiguous space between these three possibilities that the power of a courtesan lies.

PIETY: CoURTING ‘ALĪ THRoUGH SPIRITUAL LoVE As a courtesan, Māh Laqā Bāī performing for men was always a form of manipulating them to get wealth, status and power. The one exception to this rule of relations with men was her spiritual relationship with ‘Alī. That could be one of pure love and unalloyed sincerity. Beyond being a courtesan who manipulates men and being a noble who exercises power at court, Māh Laqā Bāī was a Shi‘i woman who courted ‘Alī in a devotion of spiritual love. Her Shi‘i devotion verged on mysticism, as the devotee’s love affair with ‘Alī. In this way, her devotion to ‘Alī was not simply about finding strength to face the vicissitudes of court power. It was also a way of courting ‘Alī through loving devotion, which might grant her power in more worldly realms as a reflection of her self-abnegating devotion to ‘Alī. For Māh Laqā Bāī and many

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other Shi‘a, walāya – the act of supporting the status of ‘Alī as walī – was more than mere sectarian partisanship. It was love that had mystical elements, causing the ego to dissolve in the overwhelming presence of the loved one, in this case ‘Alī as the anchor in the chain of all the Imāms. « Shi‘ism is the religion of the walāya [...] [and] the religion of the walāya is the religion of spiritual love. [...] The Shi‘a were fully aware through the teaching of their Imāms that their Shi‘ism was basically a devotion of love [...] Moreover, the profession of this love, of this walāya, takes precedence over all the obligations of the šarī‘a, not only in the sense that it alone authenticates the performance of these obligations but also because it can compensate for failure to meet them. »74 That is why the ġazal – as a love poem – can bridge seamlessly with a poem of longing for a charismatic religious leader and yearning for mystical absorption in God. Such bridging into a mysticism of love is depicted in this poem of Māh Laqā Bāī75: Go pass by her alley and deliver this, my messenger Just a sigh from me to show what’s amiss, my messenger I wrote for him a colorful account with my heart’s blood But how can one effect a heart so merciless, my messenger? How will these « noble scribes » learn the state of my heart? How can others get my news before I dismiss my messenger? He laughs as he asks how I am in this lonely exile Present an eye’s mist and cool sigh’s kiss, my messenger On behalf of Čandā’s plea, « O King of Najaf! » quickly Bow your head and his noble doorstep kiss, my messenger

The first two couplets present images from romantic love poetry. The alienated lover tries to overcome the distance by sending a messenger, often the cool spring breeze, to send news of her suffering and perseverance. The lover writes her story in blood, « But how can one effect a heart so merciless, my messenger? » The third couplet shifts focus to mystical love. The « noble scribes » (kirāman kātibīn) refers to angels who record one’s good and bad deeds, as described in the Qur’ān (LXXXII:11). But how can they judge her 74. Corbin 1988, pp. 167-169. Diacritics and transliteration of Arabic terms in this quotation were altered by S. Kugle to conform to usage in the rest of this essay. 75. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 41, pp. 13-14.

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actions without knowing the state of her heart? when her love is concealing deep in her heart, so deep that she herself cannot fathom it, how can others learn of her state, even if the others are angels? The fourth couplet expression this mystical insight in devotional fervor – the only acceptable demonstration of love is sighing and weeping. Her poems reveal that Shi‘i devotion pivots on the central point of love. Her love’s outer demonstration is zealous loyalty to ‘Alī and his political cause, with its inner dimension is absorption in the light of the Imāms through which one achieves union with God. If Shi‘i devotion is centered upon love, then it has a common language with Sufism as cultivated in a Sunni environment. The stations of love mark the stages in spiritual refinement and mystical ascension, as displayed in this poem76: My sleepless night’s accompanied by rising fortune’s star thus far From his house toward mine, my lover’s come just thus far Nothing but Moses’s miracle-working staff could ever Raise up your self-intoxicated narcissus eyes just thus far You’ve left me with heart broken and gut torn, but I still hope You cruel beloved, you’ll come again my way just thus far Why should seeing the dewdrops fill my eyes with hope? My tears have kept the whole bed of roses fresh thus far On hearing his name, Čandā’s mind flies to the heavens, but still Seeking ‘Alī persists no matter how high one’s come thus far

From the perspective of Islamic mysticism, the importance of love is that self-preoccupation is lost and union with the other is found. This is the case whether the mysticism is in a Shi‘i or Sufi environment. The other could be another person in romantic love, a spiritual leader in devotional love, or the divinity of God in absolute love. In Islamic mysticism, none of these levels cancels the others out. Rather, the strategy is to let one level lead onward and upward to the next, with love as the bridge linking each of these stages. Mystical love has both negative and positive expressions. In its negative sense, love marks an urgent goal not yet reached, and its metaphors are separation (firāq) and lonely longing (ištiyāq). This mood is expressed in the

76. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 77, p. 24.

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poem above – « You’ve left me with heart broken and gut torn, but I still hope // You cruel beloved, you’ll come again my way just thus far. » In its positive sense, love conjures up an alluring experience that is present, and its metaphors are union and intoxication. This positive expression of love is displayed in this following poem which addresses Imām ‘Alī by his nickname, Abū Turāb or « Man of the Dust. »77: Since the heart sipped someone’s glance like wine from love’s urn Abandoned wanders the heart, drunk and sunk in love’s no-return The wine-pourer’s visage can’t hold a match to your flaming gaze Whose hot cheek gave my heart passion’s light and love’s burn For what purpose have I offered my own head as a gift If you still keep your heart veiled and my love spurn? Since my eye lingered on your sigh-inspiring cheek My soul is upset and my heart flutters with love’s yearn In both worlds, Čandā’s only plea is this, Abū Turāb Keep me by your side at each twist of love’s turn

This particular poem expresses a Shi‘i mysticism which has many parallels with Sufi mysticism as cultivated in a Sunni environment. The poem’s radīf or rhyming phrase is the word « heart » (dil) plus a word ending in « -āb » (ḫarāb for abandoned, kabāb for burned, ḥijāb for veiled, iḍṭirāb for upset and Abū Turāb for ‘Alī); this series of words marks the stations of love or in Māh Laqā Bāī’s words, « each twist of love’s turn. » The stations of love start with the call to self-abandonment, move to suffering from passion’s heat, to lamenting 77. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 78, p. 24.

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alienation, to persisting despite agitation, to finally ending up in the dust – but with the hope of union with a divine lover, like ‘Alī, who will come to the rescue. He is nicknamed Abū Turāb or « Man of the Dust » by the Prophet himself, for whenever ‘Alī quarreled with Fāṭima, he would restrain his anger and go outside to throw dust over his head. Representing Shi‘i devotion as love mysticism, in a language that had many common elements to Sufism, was not just an expression of the essence of Shi‘ism; it was also an astute strategy for a Shi‘i minority in an ostensibly Sunni court like that of the Niẓām in the post-Mughal period. In the following poem, Māh Laqā Bāī praises the Sunni ruler, Mīr Niẓām ‘Alī Ḫān, the second āṣaf Jāh who ruled Hyderabad. The poem has the timbre of a qaṣīda or praise poem but in the form of a ġazal or love lyric. However, unusually for her ġazal, she does not explicitly cite ‘Alī in the closing couplet. It is as if this poem were meant to be recited in court, as her gift to the ruler, in an environment where one’s Shi‘i loyalty needed to be veiled. Yet she claims that the Niẓām’s reign is blessed by the line of Imāms – a subtle indication of tension between a Sunni ruler and Shi‘i courtiers around him:78 Spring is here, with wine’s arousal and waves of blossoms kissing With God’s bounty of luxury, rapture and bliss nothing’s missing Great God in heaven, how should I describe his dwelling place? He whose party has been ordained tonight by fate’s impressing He fulfills whatever desires anyone’s heart may harbor In this era, the generosity of no one is more promising The savior of us all, Niẓām of the realm, called Āṣaf Jāh May he live long as Ḫiḍr, with the twelve Imāms’ blessing Čandā always hopes you’ll give from your platter of bounty She asks only to never turn to another in moments distressing

In court, she may have to veil her veneration of ‘Alī in order to not antagonize Sunni nobility. But she can rightly praise the ruler who, despite being Sunni, provides the stability and peace of a reign which allows rank and status for loyal nobles regardless of their sect or creed. In fact, prime ministers and noble families who were Shi‘a could rise to the peak of power and influence; prime examples of this were the prime ministers who were her 78. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 124, p. 37.

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patrons, Aristū Jāh and Mīr ‘ālam (who were most likely her lovers). They along with Māh Laqā Bāī saw the reign of the Sunni Niẓāms as one which allows justice for the common man, prosperity for the diligent, and patronage of Shi‘i shrines without persecution. During this era it was not just Shi‘i nobles, like Māh Laqā Bāī and her circle, who patronized building projects on the hilltop shrine of Mawlā ‘Alī. The Niẓāms, despite their Sunni creed, also had building built there for pilgrims, as did their Hindu nobles as well.

CoNCLUSIoN Despite her lyric poetry, her expression of Shi‘i devotion and her avid love of building, Māh Laqā Bāī was first and foremost a courtesan dancer. As a courtesan, it is not just her profession but her art to seduce men, trick them, enchant them, entertain them to cajole from them financial gain and political favor. But in all these love games, she must never be caught up in love with a man, for that would spell the end of her powerful allure that is based on haughty independence. In compensation, it is ‘Alī whom she can truly love. From reading her poetry, I understand that her attitude to men can be described thus: from other men, one can expect appreciation and patronage, then infidelity and separation, but from ‘Alī, one can expect constant loyalty and eternal generosity. In this poem, she expresses this final bargain and its promise of compensation. She portrays a love affair that starts with attraction, culminates with fulfilling passion, decays into cruel betrayal, ends in despair, and gives rise to a renewed devotion to ‘Alī, the constant lover:79 Last night our meeting finally happened Thank God such kind generosity happened She came and I gave her my very soul As if for a guest, such hospitality happened Forget henna, she decorates her feet with my blood I had complained before when her cruelty happened You promised, I swear by bright face and black tresses, To come today, but night’s come – infidelity happened If you ask sincerely of one who is God’s hand, Čandā Know that the answer to your plea’s already happened 79. Māh Laqā Bāī 1324; Ġazal 119, p. 36.

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In the poem above, « God’s hand » (dast-i ḫudā) refers to ‘Alī whose every act as Imām forcefully manifests the will of God. To the end, Māh Laqā Bāī remained ambivalent toward actual men but remained ardent in her love of ‘Alī, the ideal man. It is as if she always remembered her family history, which is one of women being betrayed by men – as she said in the poem above, he promised to « come today, but night’s come – infidelity happened. » Her grandmother, after whom she was named Čandā Bībī, suffered from her husband’s wayward spending and abandonment. Her mother suffered as a concubine in her early life, and had to raise her two eldest daughters with no male support. Māh Laqā Bāī was spared such trauma while growing up in luxury and educated refinement, but she always knew she was being raised to be a courtesan not a wife. Later in life, she invested her hope in other women, not in men. In her mansion, called Ḥāṣṣa Rang Maḥal, she trained hundreds of girls in the arts of music and dance. She adopted the best as her daughter, raised her to be a courtesan, gave her the name Ḥusn Laqā Bāī, and assigned her to be madame of the household. « Ḥusn Laqā was – like Māh Laqā Bāī – raised in impeccable manners, cultivated and educated, a good judge of culture and a font of generosity. Her grand manor house and garden is still existent on Nampally Road... As long as Ḥusn Laqā Bāī remained alive, the courtesans’ way of life continued in good order. After her, the courtesans split up in the separate groups under the two dancing girls named Pyāran Jī and Bānū Jī. »80 At the time this source was written, in 1894, the courtesans’ houses were still active and were supported by financial grants from the Niẓāms. The Niẓāms continued in power until 1948 as the largest « princely state, » and thus the tradition of courtesans could continue longer in Hyderabad than in other areas of South Asia where British Victorian values were more influential. By the mid-twentieth century, these mansions had been transformed into a girls’ school in the Nampally neighborhood. But the fact that in 1894 they were known more as « dancing girls » than courtesan artists gives one the sense that the tradition was changing.81 If they were simply dancing girls or prostitutes, there was no possibility that they, like Māh Laqā Bāī before them, could be social leaders, influential politicians, or respected artists whose spiritual aspiration earned her wide-spread acclaim. In the modern period, it was impossible to be a courtesan, for without a court in which to dance, it was impossible to court the love of ‘Alī in quite the same way. 80. Gawhar 1904, pp. 31-32. 81. See Brown 2007 for a case study based in Pakistan on continuities between early-modern courtesans and modern prostitutes.

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The Influence of Rawḍa-Ḫwānī on The DevelopmenT of nawḥa In The Deccan Andreas D’Souza

abstract: Many centuries of contact between Iran and the Deccan has resulted in the development of rich intellectual, political, cultural and religious heritage noticeable even today. In this paper I discuss one such Iran inspired development, namely the nawḥa literature and show how Mullā Ḥusayn Vā‘iẓ-i Kāšifī’s (d. 910/1504) Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ exerted an influence on the composition and recitation of this particular form of elegy. The word nawḥa is a verbal noun derived from the verb « naḥa, » meaning to lament, to cry, and it is used to describe a type of poetry, usually in Urdu, which laments the tragic death of the members of Prophet’s family. As a distinct genre of devotional poetry, the nawḥa was first written during the reign of the Quṭb Šāhī sultans (1518-1687) of Golconda. A remarkable feature of the nawḥa compositions is the poets’ efforts to adapt the writing to the local society by using cultural elements borrowed from the Hindu practice.

The centuries old exchange between Iran and the Deccan has given rise to a rich intellectual, cultural and religious heritage, which is evident in various aspects of life in the Deccan even today. This intermingling of two cultures, Iranian and Indian started already in the 14th century by the founding of the Bahmanī kingdom. ‘Alā’ al-Dīn Ḥasan Bahman Šāh (1347-1358), the founder came from a Persian dynasty and encouraged migration of many Persians to his kingdom. He made Persian court language and appointed some of these Persian migrants to high posts in his army and administration. Although the successive Bahmanī Sulṭān (1347-1538) remained Sunnis, many renowned Shi‘as found royal patronage and contributed to the educational, cultural and societal life of the kingdom without affecting the faith of the kings or their subjects, which remained Sunni. However, when the Bahmanī rule came to an end, the two new kingdoms, Bijapur and Golconda adopted Shi‘i Islam as state religion reflecting a similar change in Iran under the Safavids. With this the Persian influence included religious aspect as well. The Quṭb Šāhī (1518-1687) introduced Shi‘i aḏān and ḫuṭba in the mosque and the practice of mourning during the month of Muḥarram the martyrdom of Ḥusayn in the battle of Karbala. Sulṭān Qulī Quṭb Šāh was the first to organize

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a majlis (assembly or gathering). The Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ (The Garden of Martyrs) composed by Mullā Ḥusayn Vā‘iẓ-i Kāšifī in 1502, narrating the martyrdom of the Prophet’s family became a standard source for mourning rituals in Iran during the Safavid dynasty. When Quṭb Šāhī made Shi‘i Islam the state religion, first in Golconda, and then in Hyderabad Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ played a crucial role in providing inspiration for the development of majlis. The excerpts from it used during the majlis were called rawḍa-ḫwānī and the reciter was known as rawḍa-ḫwān. In this paper I will show how nawḥa, a genre of elegy composed by the Ḥaydarābādī poets and recited during mātam (literally, mourning, and specifically the mourning ritual) owes its inspiration to rawḍa-ḫwānī that was particularly adapted to the Deccan during the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty. I will look at a couple of contemporary Ḥaydarābādī nawḥa and demonstrate how these mournful poems while remaining true to the present context of the Shi‘a have close ties with its Iranian source, the Rawḍat al-šuhadā’. A few years ago, early on `āšūrā morning, I was waiting under a colourful šamīyāna (open-air tent) for the šamšīr zanī (cutting of the forehead with swords) to start. Tables were neatly laid out with bandage materials and bottles of antiseptic, and the air was heavy with the pungent smell of blood and rose water. From the courtyard of Bargāh-i `Abbās,1 just out of sight down a small alley, the plaintive wailing of nawḥa could be heard. Since dawn, groups of mourners had been engaged in rhythmic self-flagellation, marking the cadence of the nawḥa with heavy blows to the chest (sīna zanī). On nearby rooftops and terraces, black-clad women and girls clustered tightly in groups, while on the streets, crowds of men and women moved with expectancy. There was a sense of something terrible about to happen. I turned to my friend Anṣār ‘Ābidī, a physically disabled police officer who was a devout Shi‘a. Despite being confined to a wheelchair, Anṣār was very active. We had become friends a few years earlier during a period of violence and curfew in the Old City. As a part of an inter-religious peace group, we had traveled from street to street, house-to-house, distributing food and clothing to the riot – and curfew – affected poor.2 For many years Anṣār had been organizing a medical camp on this particular day for, as he said, « Young men sometimes get carried away and go beyond their limits. » I asked Anṣār to 1. In Hyderabad, an ‘āšūr-ḫāna (literally, « the house of the tenth, » which is the ritual site of the majlis mourning assembly, where the ‘alam, battle standards representing members of Imam Ḥusayn are kept) is known by various names, including bargāh, imāmbāṛa and dargāh. 2 For a report of this and other work of the Aman-Shanti Forum, see Interaction, the semiannual newsletter of the Henry Martyn Institute of Islamic Studies, especially vols. 13-16. For a broader context see, D’Souza 1992.

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explain what moved men to inflict serious sword and knife wounds upon themselves. Going back in time, Anṣār took me step by step through the tragic events of the day when all but one of the male members of Prophet Muḥammad’s family were massacred by an unjust usurper. « This is what is in the hearts and minds of these men as they transport themselves back to the banks of river Euphrates, to the fields of Karbala. Mentally they are re-living the suffering and agony of innocent martyrs as, one by one, they are cut down with the sword of injustice. They feel the thirst of ‘Alī Akbār, the infant son of Imām Ḥusayn, whose parched neck was pierced by an enemy arrow. They feel the suffering of the half-brother of Imām Ḥusayn, al-‘Abbās ibn ‘Alī, the standard bearer who was mercilessly cut down by an enemy sword. Many of these young men you see here are not really here. In their minds they have traveled back to Karbala. They are waiting for the battle to start. »3 Anṣār continued his narration, returning to the start of the battle when ‘Abbās had so boldly carried forward Imām Ḥusayn’s standard. As he vividly described the scene, I felt a change come over me, a transformation, which helped me understand the air of expectancy and sorrow so heavy all around me. The plaintive voice of the nawḥa-ḫwān (one who recites lamentation), the answering echo of a thousand voices and hands, and the piercing noise of the sharpening of knives only added to the sense of terribleness conveyed by my friend’s words. At a given moment, one of the custodians of the shrine approached the raised platform where an ‘alam – the revered battle standard, in this case dedicated to ‘Abbās – has been displayed for veneration. Lifting it high and turning to the crowd, he makes his way slowly forward as the nawḥa gain a heightened pitch and young men start frantically striking their foreheads with well-sharpened knives. Blood flows at a faster pace, spraying the bodies of the mātamī gurūh (group performing mātam) as mourners surge forward to touch the advancing ‘alam. For a moment there is utter confusion, as young men slash at their foreheads, while others struggle to wrench the knife away. Back at the health camp there is a sudden flurry of activity as men are bought in blinded by the blood of a too-deep head wound, stumbling on a leg with a foot-long gash, clumsily cradling a mutilated thumb. It is a veritable battlefield scene, with the same intensity, the same searing pain, and the same sense of tragedy. The only difference is that these wounds are all self-inflicted in a moment when boundaries between the ninth century and the twentieth dissolve and disappear. 3. The above is a paraphrase of Anṣār ‘Ābidī’s narration; details may differ in certain places from other accounts. For a comprehensive retelling of the Karbala story, see Veccia-Vaglieri 1971; Majlisī 1305/1926, pp. 140-300; Shayk al-Mufid 1962, pp. 197-253.

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The plaintive recitation of nawḥa contributes deeply to this spiritual transformation, assisting Shi‘i men and women to intensely experience the tragedy of Karbala.

THE DEVELOMENT OF NAWḤA The word nawḥa is a verbal noun derived from the verb « naḥa, » meaning to lament or more precisely to cry. In the present-day Indian context it is used to describe a type of poetry – usually in Urdu – which laments the tragic death of the members of Prophet’s family. As a distinct genre of devotional poetry, the nawḥa was first written during the reign of the Quṭb Šāhī sultans of Golconda.4 Developed and performed in the context of the grief, grew out of the mourner’s need to poetically express his or her grief. Sadiq Naqvi notes that, the first nawḥa was written by Ġawaṯī, the mālik šu‘arā (poet laureate) of Sulṭān Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh (r. 988-1020/1580-1612), the founder of Hyderabad. According to Riyāẓ Fāṭima the nawḥa developed from the much longer elegiac poetry known as marṯiya, the history of which goes back to pre-Islamic times.5 The pre-Islamic marṯiya was meant to immortalize the memory of a great king or a hero in a battle defending his tribe. This lengthy poetic composition consisted of various parts, last of which is called the bayn (crying). This finale described the lamentation of the women over the dead king or hero. Fāṭima thinks that it is this concluding part of the marṯiya, which gave rise to the nawḥa.6 Initially the distinction between marṯiya and nawḥa was simply one of content and length: marṯiya being considerably longer and the nawḥa being shorter and focusing only on a single event. Both were composed in the poetic form known as ġazal and served a similar function, namely, to honour and lament the death of a martyr. Over time, however, the distinction between these two genres of poetry has become much sharper. Even though few modern Shi‘as, even those who are well educated or informed, are able to explain what distinguishes a nawḥa from a marṯiya, several things set them apart. Unlike the marṯiya, which is written only in the musadda (six lines) form, nawḥa are composed in a variety of forms including musadda, muḫammas (five lines), rubā‘ī (four lines), muṯallaṯ (three lines) as well as the original ġazal form of 4. Naqvi 1982, p. 208; Mīr Ḥusayn concurs that marṯiya evolved out of majālis held in ‘āšūrḫāna under the Quṭb Šāhī patronage, Mīr Ḥusayn, Forward to Naqvi 1982, p. 6. 5. See Fāṭima 1995. 6. For a discussion of the different parts of the marṯiya, as well as its role and function in the Shi‘i community, see D’Souza 1993.

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two lines.7 In fact, nawḥa – at least those that I have been able to examine – seem to have few stylistic restrictions with regard to length or form. In other words, unlike marṯiya, they do not follow a set style.8 The one thing common to all nawḥa is that they are composed with the specific purpose of making people cry and are always performed with the mātam. A heart-rending scene on the battlefield or in the tent may be painted with little supporting explanation or context. The point is more the pathos of the martyrdom, and less a historically accurate recapitulation of the event. The first line of the nawḥa repeated again and again throughout the recitation, usually identifies the martyr being mourned for and sets the tone. For example, one nawḥa in rubā‘ī (four lines) form begins with a picture of the two sons of Zaynab seeking the blessing of Ḥusayn before facing an army, which outnumbers them by thousands: Zaynab ke lāl laṛke maydān meṅ jāte haiṅ, Lene ko iḏn māmūn ke ḫidmat meṅ āte haiṅ.9 Zaynab’s darling boys are going to the battlefield, They’ve come to their uncle to seek his permission [to go to battle].

The nawḥa goes on to detail their death at the hands of merciless enemies, Ḥusayn’s retrieval of their bodies, and his placing them at the feet of Zaynab. The whole family of the prophet is inconsolable at the loss: « Sab ahl-i bayt rote haiṅ ānsū bahāte haiṅ. » Even more pathetic is a nawḥa dedicated to the eight-month old Aṣġar, which begins by recalling the mother and her hapless infant: Kahtī thī ro ro kar mādar ā jā‘o Dūdh pīlā’ūṅ āye Aṣġar ā jā’o Ā’o hamārī minnantoā wāle ā’o Mere piyāre Aṣġar ā jā’o10 7. I am grateful to Dr. Riyāẓ Fāṭima and Dr. Zahrā Begum for helping me to clarify this. For a detailed study of marṯiya see Fāṭima 1995, for a similar in-depth study of salām see Begum 1994. Both works provide extensive and comprehensive bibliographic information on the Urdu sources. 8. This is in contrast to what Naqvi reports, i.e. that marṯiya are written in the form of musadda and nawḥa in the ġazal form, see Naqvi 1982, p. 213. For a clear example of this wide variety of styles see the popular nawḥa collection called Karbalā-wālā first published in 1980 by Anjuman-i Parwāna-yi Šabbīr, one of Hyderabad’s important mātamī groups, see ‘Alī 1989. This particular volume contains 135 nawḥa written by different poets. None of them are similar in form or length. 9. Mašhadī n.d., p. 88. 10. Mašhadī n.d., p. 89.

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The mother weeping and weeping says, « Come, Aṣġar, come, I will give you [my] milk to drink. Come, you who have vowed [to stay by us], My beloved Aṣġar, come. »

In a majlis, a skilled nawḥa-ḫwān accompanied by a well-trained group of chanter can elevate the haunting nawḥa to a powerful pitch. As the gathered mourners voice the chorus again and again, the sense of tragedy intensifies the resounding beat of the mātam and random wailing help to dissolve borders of time and space. The event, the sorrow, the grief, is no more distant, but real as, for a timeless moment, the body of little Aṣġar comes vividly to mind. In the Ḥaydarābādī context of the majlis, nawḥa are usually the last performative element, followed only by the final prayer of blessing on the Imāms. An ordinary majlis, which can last, anywhere from forty-five minutes to several hours in length, usually begins with initial poetic recitations of soz (short lament), salām (eulogy),11 and marṯiya, followed by the main event: an oration (ḏikr or ḥadīṯ), which includes a narration of the tragedy of Karbala. When the ḏākir (orator) has whipped up people’s passions to a stormy climax, the ḏikr concludes and the recitation of nawḥa begins. The style in which nawḥa are chanted differs from group to group and from nawḥa to nawḥa, but there is always an alternating between lines recited by a nawḥa-ḫwān (or, less commonly, two or three acting together) and the lines repeated by the assembly. Thus, for example, in the muḫammas style of nawḥa, the assembled group echoes the last two lines of each five-line stanza. The leading reciter (nawḥa-ḫwān) chants the full five lines, the whole group then repeating the last two lines antiphonally before returning to the first line refrain. The style of chanting would be different for a nawḥa in a rubā‘ī form in which the group repeats every third and first line.

AN ExEMPLE OF NAWḤA The following nawḥa, written by the contemporary poet Jāwid Maqṣūd, is entitled « Uṭho zamīn-i garam se beṭā uṭho uṭho, » or, « Rise from the burning earth [my] son. Rise, rise! » It consists of four verses (bands) of five lines each (i.e., the muḫammas form) with three lines following one rhyming scheme, and the last two lines – those which are repeated by the whole group-following another: 11. Soz: « short lament, usually expressing one emotion intensely and concisely, chanted solo with group providing a sung drone or support for the soloist; » salām: « salutation or eulogy, often reflective or didactic in character, consisting of couplets with refrain, » see Qureshi 1981, p. 45.

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Pahuṅche Ḥusayn Qāsim bekas kī lāš par Dekhā woh ḥāl kar na sake dūsrī naḏar Pahlū meṅ baiṭh kar ye ṣadā kī bechašam-e tar Ham lene āye haiṅ tumheṅ dulhā uṭho uṭho Uṭho zamīn-e garam se beṭā uṭho uṭho! Qāsim tumhārī māṅ ko tumhārā hai intiḏār Ḫīmeh ke dar pe bālī Sakīna hai beqarar Dādā kā nām leke utho mere jān niṯar Sote nahīṅ haiṅ ḫāk pe dulhā uṭho uṭho Uṭho zamīn-e garam se betā uṭho uṭho! Taṣvīr-e dard ban gayī Kubrā kī zindagī Jagah hī thā naṣīb ke taqdīr so gayī Kaṅgnā abhī ḫulā nahīṅ awr māṅg jaṛ gayī Kubrā banā’ī jātī hai bewāh uṭho uṭho Uṭho zamīn-e garam se dulhā uṭho uṭho! Fawj-e sitam še‘ār baṛā ḏulm kar gayī Kyā phūl se badan pe qiyāmat guḏar gayī Bhā’ī kī yādgār zamīn par bikhar gayī Dil ḫuṅ ho rahā hai hamārā uṭho uṭho Uṭho zamīn-e garam se dulhā uṭho uṭho!12

Translation: Ḥusayn arrived at the helpless corpse of Qāsim He saw [his] state and could not look again. Sitting by his side, he cried with tear-filled eyes, We have come for you, bridegroom – Rise, rise! Rise from the burning earth, [my] son – Rise, rise! Qāsim, your mother is anxiously waiting. Young Sakīna is restless at the door of the tent. Take the name of your grandfather [and] rise, my darling! A bridegroom does not sleep on the ground – Rise, rise! Rise from the burning earth, [my] son – Rise, rise! 12. Reproduced in ‘Alī 1989, pp. 33-34. I have written this in the form in which it is recited, i.e. with verses and chorus; the placement of the lines in the written is somewhat different.

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Kubrā’s life has become a picture of pain. Fortune had just awakened [yet] fate is already asleep. The bracelets are broken, the sindūr13 is removed. Kubrā is going to be made a widow – Rise, rise! Rise from the burning earth, bridegroom – Rise, rise! The notorious army of oppression has committed a terrible crime. How could death have touched this flower-like body? [My] brother’s memory is scattered on the earth. My heart is bleeding – Rise, rise! Rise from the burning earth, bridegroom – Rise, rise!

By vividly recounting the scene, the poet aspires to make Karbala come alive for his or her listeners. For them, the goal is to relive the agonies of the holy Ahl-i Bayt (people of Prophet’s family), to transcend the boundaries of separation, and to be united in tragedy and loss with the upholders of the faithful. We will take a look at the following nawḥa written by Ḥakīm Ḥilmī Ḥaydarābādī:14 Bane kā lāsha paṛā hai ban meṅ banī kā bāzu bandhā rasan meṅ Bad taṣvīroṅ kī hā’e šādī ‘ajab hū’ī Karbala ke ban meṅ ‘Ajab yeh qismat zada hai dulhā Fiḍā ne kucch der hai na choṛā Ke sar pe sehrā bandhā hū’ā hai libās shādī kā hai badan meṅ Dulhan agarche nahīṅ hai gūyā magar hai ye bekasī kā lahja Ye merī qismat ke sāz o samān maiṅ muṅh dikhā’ūn to kyā waṭan meṅ ‘Ajīb shādī huī ḫudāyā paṛā hu’ā hai bane kā lāsha ‘Iwaḍ meṅ kaṅgne ke jo dulhan kī kalā’ī bāndhī ga’ī rasan meṅ 13. Sindūr is a line of red kum kum (vermillion) powder, which a married woman, usually Hindu, who, each day, applies to the part in her hair. 14. Ḥilmī Ḥaydarābādī 1987. Ḥilmī is a composer of nawḥa, who resides in Hyderabad.

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Udhar hai bint-e Ḥusayn-e ‘ālā andhere zindān meṅ hā’e Ḥilmī Idhar jo ibne Ḥasan kā lāsha paṛā hai karb-o-balā ke ban meṅ.15

Translation: The groom’s dead body lies in the forest, And the bride’s arms are bound with ropes; This is a strange wedding of the unfortunate That happened in the forest of Karbala. Strange is this groom unfortunate Death did not spare any time The groom’s chaplet is on the head The wedding dress is on the body Though the bride is not speaking But this the voice of the destitute This is the totality of my fate How can I show my face to my countrymen? A strange wedding took place Oh God Lying is the body of the groom Instead of bracelet the bride’s Wrist is tied with ropes There is the daughter of Ḥusayn the great In this dark prison – O! Ḥilmī, Here lies the dead body of Ḥasan’s son In this forest of excruciating pain.

A nawḥa-nigār (nawḥa poet) always selects one or other of the martyrs to be the main subject of his or her nawḥa. Here we find a commemoration of the death of nineteen year-old Qāsim, one of Ḥasan’s sons and the fairest of his generation. Following his father’s death by poisoning, Qāsim was raised by al-Ḥusayn as his own son. On the eve of tragic martyrdom, a hasty marriage was performed between Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā, Ḥusayn’s daughter. The next morning the battle begins, and al-Ḥusayn’s followers are killed one by one, Qāsim among them:

15. Ḥilmī Ḥaydarābādī 1987, pp. 61-62.

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A young lad came out against us. His face was young like the first splinter of the new moon and he carried a sword [...] ‘Umar b. Sa’d b. Nufayl al-Azad said to me: « Let us attack him. » I said: « Praise be to God, what do you want to do that for? Leave him. While even one of the families of al-Ḥusayn remains, that will be enough to take vengeance on you for his (death). » But he insisted: « By God, let me attack him. » So he rushed against him and did not turn back until he had struck his head with his sword and split it in two. The young lad fell face downwards and he called out: « O, uncle! »16

Now, let us take a quick look at the description of the same event in Rawḍat al-šuhadā’: In the battle he was wounded twenty seven times, and blood was flowing freely. He seized his horse and said, « Thirst! It has gotten me! » When his cry of anguish reached Imām Ḥusayn (peace be upon him) he got on his mount and, having broken through the line of foot soldiers and cavalry, he saw Qāsim drowning in dust and blood, and Shabas was standing over his head, wanting to carry away his blessed head. Imām Ḥusayn struck him at the waist, cutting him in two. Then, seizing Qāsim, he brought him to the door of the tent, and there was still a breath remaining in his body. Imām Ḥusayn cradled his head in his arms, kissing him on the face. His mother and bride were standing there weeping. Qāsim opened his eyes and gazed at them. Smiling, he surrendered his life to the Creator of Life (peace be upon him.) A lament arose from the court of the Imāmate. The veiled women of the Ahl-i bayt began weeping, and the mother of Qāsim said, « you, whose mother is oppressed! Alas! For the moon of your face, which in the heaven of youth was the world-illuminating sun! Before that time when it should illuminate the face of the earth with its rays of manifestation, it was afflicted with the eclipse of separation. Woe to the spring of the life of abundant blessings, which was the source of the drops of splendor and majesty, before it refreshed the thirsty ones in the deserts of longing. It was destroyed with rubbish and was muddied. »

Suddenly, the rose of the garden of fortune became Withered in the early part of the day. Qāsim, open your eyes! See your uncle’s daughter. The new husband’s grief remains in your heart. Sorrowfully you departed this fleeting world; An uneaten fruit, you departed from life. 16. See Mufid 1984, p. 140.

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The daughter of Imām Ḥusayn (peace be upon him) rubbed her hand in Qāsim’s blood and smeared it on her head and face, and she thus spoke, revealing her emotional state: Those bereft ones, whose beloved is killed, They have rouged their faces with the blood of their beloved. They, the new brides who washed the murdered saint; Thus they dye themselves from head to foot.17

CONCLUDING REMARKS As I said in the introduction nawḥa is a genre of poetry developed in the Deccan and can be traced back to Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ as its source and inspiration. When we compare the modern nawḥa used in Hyderabad during the two months and eight days of mourning (Muḥarram, Ṣafar and the first 8 days of Rabī` al-awwal) by the Shi‘i community of Hyderabad we notice certain similarities between Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ of Kāšifī and the nawḥa I have cited above. It is evident that the two samples of nawḥa we have seen above are inspired by the text of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’. The modern composer of nawḥa, like Kāšifī, the author of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, has a single goal for his composition: evoking grief and mourning among his listeners. Compare, for example, the following verses quoted above taken from Jāwid Maqṣūd: Qāsim, your mother is anxiously waiting. young Sakīna is restless at the door of the tent.

A similar strain is expressed in following couplet taken from Kāšifī: Qāsim, open your eyes and see the daughter of your uncle. The grief of being a new husband remains in your heart.

Like Kāšifī the nawḥa-nigār selects one single event from the battle of Karbala and makes that event so vivid and descriptive that his listeners are bound to respond with loud weeping or beet their chest with greater vigour. One only has to be present at a majlis to notice the thud of mātam to the rhythm of a nawḥa. There are other similarities.

17. I am grateful to Karen Ruffle for allowing me to use her translation of this passage of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’. For further reference see Ruffle 2007, p. 264.

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It may be too early to say to what extant modern poets use Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ as a model for their composing nawḥa. Nevertheless even a superficial reading together of the two shows that Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ played an inspirational role and still does for the Shi‘as in Hyderabad. A number of similarities can be noted. For example, like Kāšifī the nawḥa-nigār aims at evoking grief and weeping. Neither the author of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ nor the modern poet look for historic accuracy but an impulse for crying; thus, it is unlikely that Ḥusayn sat next to the body of his nephew and pleaded, « Come, Qāsim, your mother is waiting, your sister is restless, they are about to make your wife a widow. » Observe how similar is a passage I quoted above from Rawḍat al-šuhadā’: « Imām Ḥusayn cradled his head in his arms, kissing him on the face. His mother and bride were standing there weeping. » It is also remarkable that the poet adapts his poetry of lament to the local society by using cultural elements borrowed from the Hindu practice. According to Naqvi, the sultan Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Shāh, himself a poet, was the first to « reduce » Persian and Arabic marṯiya (elegy) into Deccani Urdu and adapt them to India’s socio-cultural conditions.18 The selection of words and images which we have mentioned above evoke a typical Indian scene; for example, the references to māṅg, the sindūr (vermillion) worn by the bride on her wedding day, or the ceremonial institution of the state of widowhood: breaking the bangles, removing the maṅgalsūtra (the necklace tied on the bride by the groom), and discontinuing the use of sindūr in the parting of the hair. This custom of ceremonially instituting widowhood is not Islamic but is borrowed from Hindus. Like Kāšifī a poet’s goal is not only to narrate history but to relate the events of Karbala to the present day context of believers so that by transporting them to the past the present is brought alive.

18. He notes that previously marṯiya were recited from Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, subsequently Indian poets started to compose their own marṯiya as well as other forms of elegies like salām, soz, and nawḥa, see Naqvi 1982, pp. 208-209.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

‘Alī, Mīr Muḥammad, 1989 : Karbalā-wālā. Hyderabad, Anjuman-i Parwāna-yi Šabbīr. Begum, Zahrā, 1994 : « Urdū meṅ salām go’ī kī riwāyat ». PhD dissertation, Hyderabad University, Hyderabad. D’Souza, Andreas, – 1992 : « Muslim-Christian Relations in India », in : J. Paul Rajashekar H. S. Wilson, eds., Islam in Asia. Geneva, Lutheran World Federation, pp. 6883. – 1993 : « Love of the Prophet’s Family: The Role of marathin in the Devotional Life of Hyderabadi Shi‘ahs ». Bulletin of Henry Martyn Institute, 12, 3-4, pp. 3147. Fāṭima, Riyāẓ, 1995 : « Ḥaydarābād meṅ rasā’ī šā‘irī, 1857- 1957 ». PhD dissertation, Osmania University, Hyderabad. Ḥilmī Ḥaydarābādī, Ḥakīm, 1987 : Maddāḥ-i āl-i nabī. Hyderabad, Kutūbḫāna Ḥaydarī, part 1 (3rd edition). Majlisī, Muḥammad Bāqir, 1305š./1926-27 : Biḥār al-anwār. Tehran, vol. 10. Mašhadī, Āqā Naṣīr (ed.), n.d. : Ibn al-Zahrā. Hyderabad, Jafari Group. (al-) Mufid, Šayḫ, 1962 : al-Iršād. Najaf. Naqvi, Sadiq, 1982 : Qutb Shahi ‘Ashur Khanas of Hyderabad City. Hyderabad, Bab-ul-Ilm Society. Qureshi, Regula Burkhardt, 1981 : « Islamic Music in an Indian Environment: The Shi‘a Majlis ». Ethnomusicology, 25, 1, pp. 41-71. Rizvi, Sayyid Muhammad, 1984 : Imam Husayn: The Saviour of Islam. Richmond, Canada, n.p. Ruffle, Karen, 2007 : « A Bride of One Night, A Widow Forever: Gender and Vernacularization in the Construction of South Asian Shi‘i Hagiography ». PhD Dissertation, University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. Veccia Vaglieri, L., 1971 : « (Al-)Ḥusayn b. ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib ». Encyclopaedia of Islam, New Edition, vol. 3, pp. 628-636.

Karbala in the indo-Persian imaginaire: the indianizing of the Wedding of QĀsim and fĀṬima KubrĀ Karen G. Ruffle

Abstract: According to hagiographic traditions popular in the South Indian city of Hyderabad, Fāṭima Kubrā, the eleven year-old daughter of the third Imām Ḥusayn was married to her thirteen year-old cousin Qāsim, the son of the second Imām Ḥasan, at the battle of Karbala in 61/680. Integrating Deccani-Urdu devotional literature and ethnographic field research, this essay focuses on two particular moments: one textual and the other performative to demonstrate how Fāṭima Kubrā and Qāsim are transformed by Maulānā Riḍā Āqā in the maṣā’ib (or recollection of the troubles of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā) that he delivered in the mehndī kī majlis in 2005, and by Mīr ‘Ālam in his Deccani-Urdu Dah Majlis, from historical figures into imitable, idealized Hyderabadis. Through their participation in customary traditions and embodiment of the values of a vernacular Deccani Shi‘ism, Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā teach men and women the rules of social, familial, and religious life, thus ensuring both individual and communitarian faith and allegiance to the spiritual excellence and bravery of the Ahl-i Bayt.

According to hagiographic traditions popular in the South Indian city of Hyderabad, Fāṭima Kubrā, the eleven year-old daughter of the third Imām Ḥusayn was married to her thirteen year-old cousin Qāsim, the son of the second Imām Ḥasan, at the battle of Karbala in 61/680.1 Shi‘ism is practiced by 1. This essay has benefited from the critical reading and comments of a number of professors and colleagues. I would like to thank Carl W. Ernst, Tony K. Stewart, Bruce Lawrence, Miriam Cooke, Anna Bigelow, Andreas D’Souza, Muhammad-Reza Fakhr-Rohani, G. A. Lipton, Youshaa Patel, and Scott Kugle for their valuable comments and questions that have helped me to clarify my argument and analysis. A number of organizations and institutions have provided generous support that has made it possible for me to complete this research: The American Institute of Iranian Studies, the Council of American Overseas Research Centers, a Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Fellowship, the Royster Society of Fellows and the Center for Global Initiatives at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, the North Carolina Center for the Study of South Asia, and from the University of Miami, Dean Michael Halleran and the Department of Religious Studies have provided research support for travel to Iran and India in summer 2007.

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approximately 10-15% of the global Muslim population and it has an especially deep and rich history in Iran and both North and South India (the kingdoms of Awadh and the Deccan, respectively).2 The Shi‘a are the « partisans of ‘Alī » who believe that, following the death of the Prophet Muḥammad in 10/632, his cousin and son-in-law ‘Alī was divinely designated to be the political and spiritual leader of the Muslim community. Shi‘i identity is expressed through devotion and loyalty to the descendants of the Prophet Muḥammad through his daughter Fāṭima al-Zahrā and her husband ‘Alī, that is, the Imāms and other members of this exemplary family. The suffering and martyrdom of the Prophet Muḥammad’s grandson at the battle of Karbala is the focal point around which the Shi‘i structure their spiritual, devotional and ethico-moral lives. Kubrā is going to be made a widow – rise, rise! Rise from the burning earth, bridegroom – rise, rise!3 The widow of Karbala, who has broken her bangles and removed her nose ring in grief, the youthful groom, whose hands have been decorated with blood rather than the traditional bridal mehndī or henna – such are the images that are repeatedly invoked in the devotional practices and literature of the Shi‘i communities throughout South Asia, particularly the cities of Lucknow, Chennai (Madras), and Hyderabad, where this event has become one of the most important days in the ten-day Muḥarram cycle culminating with Imām Ḥusayn’s martyrdom on ‘āšūrā.4 This battlefield wedding is traditionally observed by Indian Shi‘as on the seventh day of the Muslim month of Muḥarram. On this day in the majlis-i `azā or mourning assemblies held in Hyderabad’s Old City, the battlefield heroics of Qāsim and the tragic fate of his young bride-widow Fāṭima Kubrā are recounted in marṯiya and nawḥa mourning poems, and in the oratory speeches of the ḏākir. The performed remembrance of these events in the majlis depict stylized, Indianized scenes of joy, followed by the rending grief a woman feels in her transformation from fortune-bearing wife to inauspicious widow – a particularly traumatizing change in status for Indian women, where the Hindu taboo of widow remarriage has influenced the Muslim community. What is most striking is that a distinctly Indian worldview is expressed in both the devotional literature and majlis rituals commemorating the wedding of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā. 2. Nasr 2006, p. 34; Cole 1988. 3. D’Souza 1997, p. 91. 4. For a description of the 7 Muḥarram mehndī rituals commemorating the wedding of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā, see Ali [1832] 1973, pp. 73-82.

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The hero(in)es of the battle of Karbala, such as Fāṭima Kubrā and Qāsim, « are held up as paradigms of behavior »5 not only by the global Shi‘i community, but for two reasons these two figures and their experiences are especially meaningful to the Shi‘a of the South Indian city of Hyderabad. Foremost is that the marriage of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā at Karbala is narrated for the first time in hagiographical textual tradition in 908/1502 by the Iranian writer Mullā Ḥusayn Vā‘iẓ-i Kāšifī (d. 910/1504) in his maqtal Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, which came to the Deccan with the waves of poets, religious scholars, and politicians who came to seek fame and fortune in the Shi‘i court of the Quṭb Šāhī at Golconda. The second reason for the enduring popularity of the wedding of Karbala is intimately connected to the first: this event was easily vernacularized into an Indian socio-religious idiom, transforming Fāṭima Kubrā into an idealized bride and widow, and Qāsim into the ultimate warriorbridegroom in the model of the great Indian warrior-saint Ġāzī Miyān, who was martyred on his wedding night.6

MOURNING THE BRIDEGROOM OF KARBALA: THE ‘ABBāS ṢāḤIB MeHnDī Kī MAjlIS Each year on 7 Muḥarram, Hyderabadi Shi‘as remember and re-enact Qāsim and Fatima Kubrā’s battlefield wedding in a special mehndī kī majlis or henna mourning assembly. In 17 February 2005, I attended the ‘Abbās Ṣāḥib mehndī kī majlis, one of the most famous 7 Muḥarram mourning assemblies held in the Yaqutpura locality in Hyderabad’s Old City. For the past 50 years Dr. M. M. Taqī Ḫān, a prominent scientist and popular ḏākir or majlis orator, and his family have hosted the annual mehndī kī majlis in the large ‘āšūr-ḫāna and courtyard located behind their house.7 The men’s or mardāna majlis starts around one o’clock in the afternoon and attracts an audience of up to five thousand men and women, who principally constitute the middle – and lower-classes of Hyderabad’s Old City.8 The ḏākir 5. Schubel 1993, p. 21. 6. ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Čištī’s Mir’āt-i Mas`ūdī (The Mirror of Mas`ūd) was composed during the reign of the Mughal emperor Jahāngīr (1014-1037/1605-1627), and is one of the most extensive hagiographical accounts of Ġāzī Miyān’s life. For more contemporary accounts, please see Suvorova [1999] 2004, pp. 155-161. Romila Thapar examines the tangled, ambiguous portrayals of Ġāzī Miyān’s as both friend and foe of Hinduism. See Thapar 2004. 7. Moosvi - Fatima 2003, p. 128. 8. There is a women’s or zanānī majlis directly following the men’s mourning assembly at the Khan family’s ‘āšūr-ḫāna that is much smaller. This women’s majlis usually begins around 3:30 or

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Maulānā Riḍā āqā, one of the city’s most prominent Shi‘i religious scholars, delivered a moving discourse, ḫuṭba, extolling Fāṭima Kubrā as a good woman. Riḍā āqā moved the crowd to tears as he described Kubrā simultaneously as a bereaved widow and a valiant, brave bride who sacrificed her husband for the cause of Islam and justice. At the beginning of his oration or ḫuṭba Riḍā āqā declares, « Surely you have observed this very fact that in the whole world there are so many martyrs, but there are two figures whose martyrdom is observed in the majlis more than any others… Sakīna Bībī and the orphan (yatīm) of Ḥasan… »9 The intensity of remembering Karbala and its hero(in)es begins to build only on the seventh of Muḥarram. On the seventh Imām Ḥusayn and his entourage were denied access to the waters of the Euphrates River causing them to suffer from terrible thirst. Riḍā āqā compels the majlis participants to grieve for the « [marriage] procession of the thirsty groom and thirsty bride [that] has gone out. » Riḍā āqā conjures an inverted image of this ritual,10 which in India is called the barāt or wedding procession in which the bridegroom goes from his home to that of his bride on horseback, wearing a turban or ‘imāma, a fine širwānī or long coat. The wedding procession is accompanied by a brass band (bājā), fireworks and frolicking boys. There is noise, merriment and the ribald knowledge that a young man is going to his bride. The Karbala barāt in which the bride and groom are downcast, suffering and thirsty, Riḍā āqā’s description reminds the majlis participants of the tragedy that will befall this newly married couple. In his ḫuṭba Riḍā āqā conjures dissonant memories in the minds of the majlis participants. The dissonance results from the actual auspiciousness and happiness that a wedding is supposed to generate, particularly because marriage continues to be nearly universal in South Asia. Every man, teenager and boy who sits in the majlis and weeps for Qāsim and his bride Fāṭima Kubrā, not only weeps for the tragedies that befell these two, but also because they have learned that a bride should never become a widow virtually simultaneously – that is a binary pairing that ideally should exist along a broad life-cycle continuum with motherhood and grandmotherhood bridging the gap. The status of Fāṭima Kubrā as an auspicious bride and her rapid transformation into an inauspicious widow is an important theme in Riḍā āqā’s ḫuṭba. At the midpoint of the maṣā’ib or recollection of the troubles of Qāsim 4 in the afternoon and coincides with another much larger assembly held at the Bayt al-Qā’im ‘āšūr-ḫāna in the Purani Haveli locality of Hyderabad’s Old City that is attended by several thousand women. 9. āqā 2005. 10. āqā 2005.

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and Fāṭima Kubrā, Riḍā āqā makes an abrupt shift in the narrative: Qāsim approaches his new bride and gives her a piece of his sleeve and assures her that this will be a sign of recognition for one another on the Last Day (qiyāmat). Drawing the moment of Karbala into the general present, Riḍā āqā continues his ḫuṭba declaring, « When a wedding takes place, people say, “Pray to God that the bride retains her wifely status. Oh God! Let not separation come between and groom and bride!” What kind of a wedding is this? The bride is not a wife with a living husband (suhāgan)! She has become a widow…What has befallen this Karbala wedding? »11 While Riḍā āqā’s account of the wedding of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā emotionally appeals to the majlis participants, we may also discern a deep intertexuality that is expressed through the localized and customary Shi‘ism of Hyderabad, which weaves together beliefs and values of Islam and the veneration of the Imāms with the worldview of Indic South Asia. As I listened to Riḍā āqā’s maṣā’ib and that of many other ḏākir and ḏākira (majlis orators) on 7 Muḥarram in Hyderabad, I was astonished by the influence of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, Mullā Ḥusayn Va‘iẓ-i Kāšifī’s early-16th century Persian account of the battle of Karbala. While the details of the wedding had been translated into a Deccani Indian form, the framework of the narrative composed by Kāšifī was obvious. In the first months of my fieldwork in Hyderabad, I assumed that all majlis orators either knew the text of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ or were at least familiar with it and had heard of it before – I was wrong.

TRANSLATING KARBALA On numerous occasions, I was asked by ḏākirs and ḏākirahs what I thought of their majlis oration. Several times I commented that their ḥadīṯ and maṣā’ib corresponded very closely to the structure and content of Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’. I anticipated then having stimulating and enlightening discussions about Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, but the orators often gave me a blank look and would state, « I don’t know what book this comes from, but it is the account of the events of Karbala that I know. »12 As Andreas D’Souza indicates in his essay on 11. āqā 2005. 12. Such statements are not unique to the Shi‘a of South Asia. In his extensive studies of the Rāmāyaṇa traditions of South Asia, A. K. Ramanujan has observed with regard to the Rāmāyaṇa story-telling tradition: « In India and in Southeast Asia, no one ever reads the Ramayana or the Mahābhārata for the first time. The stories are there, ‘always already’. » For further discussion of this point, please refer to Ramanujan 1991, p. 46. Similarly, in the context of the ritual practice of Shi‘i Iraqi women in the exilic context of the Netherlands, Tayba Sharif has noted that children are

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the Urdu nawḥa tradition, for nearly four centuries, Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ has been the foundation for Hyderabadi Shi‘i devotional literature and rituals. Thus, it was in the 16th century, when the development of the Shi‘i sacred literature of remembrance, including prose-narrative hagiography and poetic forms such as the marṯiya, benefited from the close relations between the Shi‘i kingdoms in Safavid Iran and the ‘ādil Šāhī (895-1097/1489-1686) and Quṭb Šāhī (924-1098/1518-1687) kingdoms of the Deccan region of South-Central India. Royal patronage of religious writing by the kings of Iran and the Deccan created an environment in which Shi‘i devotionalism blossomed. With the movement of scholars, poets and merchants between Iran and India, religious literature, thought, and ritual was brought by Iranians to the Deccan, where such Shi‘i leaders as Sulṭān Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh (r. 9881020/1580-1612) and Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min Astarābādī (d. 1034/1625), actively integrated the religious and aesthetic sensibilities of the non-Muslim majority into the world of Karbala. Impressed with the erudition and piety of Mīr Mu’min, an āfāqī from Iran, Sulṭān Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh appointed him pešwā (chief minister) in 1585. Mīr Mu’min’s appointment was most significant for the development of Shi‘i devotionalism in the Deccan. According to S. A. A. Rizvi, Mīr Mu’min endeavored to introduce and propagate Shi‘ism in the Deccan: As if the construction of Hyderabad itself was not enough, Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min founded many villages as centers of Shi‘i and Islamic life. In them he constructed reservoirs, mosques, caravanserais, `ašūr-ḫāna and planted gardens. The mosques and `ašūr-ḫāna brought the Hindu villagers into contact with the Islamic and Shi‘i way of life. The `alams and other symbols of the tragedy of Karbala were introduced by Mīr Mu’min into these villages where they aroused Hindu curiosity and helped to convert them to Shi‘ism.13

The religio-cultural ecumenicism advocated and practiced Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh and Mīr Mu’min certainly facilitated the spread of Shi‘ism, or at the very least Muḥarram devotional rituals throughout the Deccan. Although Shi‘ism was the religion of state in the Deccan, the Quṭb Šāhī kings actively avoided forced conversion of the local Hindu population.14 In this movement brought to the majlis at an early age, and grow up being exposed to the episodic stories of Karbala told in the marṯiya poems. They become « literate » in the narrative tradition from an early age through participation in the majlis. For more on the rich Rāmāyaṇa performance traditions of South Asia, please see Richman 2001. For a more focused analysis of Iraqi Shi‘i women’s rituals, please see Sharif 2005, pp. 132-154. 13. Rizvi 1986, pp. 311-312. 14. Cole 2002, pp. 26-27.

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of scholars, literature, and holy people from Iran to India, two Persian hagiographical texts (one verse and the other prose) were introduced into the Deccan by the 17th century, where they were translated from Persian into Urdu (and even Telugu), and eventually being vernacularized to reflect the environmental, cultural, aesthetic values of village and city in Telangana.15 By the 17th century, both Muḥtašam Kāšānī’s (d. 996/1587-88) Karbalānāma16, and Mullā Ḥusayn Va‘iẓ-i Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ had been introduced in the Deccan and were being used by the Shi‘a to structure the remembrance of Karbala in the majlis-i ‘azā’ at both Golconda and Bijapur.17 Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ and Muḥtašam’s Haft band were models of imitation, but such imitation was not blind. Muḥtašam’s Karbalā-nāma was recited in the majlis mourning assemblies, particularly under the patronage of ‘Alī ‘ādil Šāh II (r. 1656-1672) of Bijapur and Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh of Golconda. While the ‘ādil Šāhī and Quṭb Šāhī sultans were enthusiastic sponsors of poets writing about the events of Karbala, their literary role models (Muḥtašam and Kāšifī), however, composed their narratives and poetry in the Persian language, which was not accessible to the Telugu and Deccani-Urdu speaking majority in the Deccan, who were active participants in the commemorative events of Muḥarram. In order to make the recitation of the Karbala narrative understandable to those who only knew the local languages of Deccani and Telugu, the Persian writings of Muḥtašam and Kāšifī needed to be translated and transformed to reflect the tragedy of Karbala through a distinctively Indic idiom and worldview. The Quṭb Šāhī kings were quite savvy in this regard, for they realized that the ritual remembrance of Karbala was a meaningful, powerful way to unite the Hindus and Muslims of the Deccan. By sponsoring translations of 15. Telangana refers to the sub-region in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. During the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty, the capitol at Golconda was located in Telangana. As a Muslim of the Telangana region of the Deccan, Muḥammad Qulī Quṭb Šāh not only wrote poetry in the Islamicate languages of Deccani-Urdu and Persian, but he was also an accomplished poet in Telugu, a Dravidian language indigenous to the area. 16. Muḥtašam’s marṯiya is most popularly known as the Haft band, although in my M.A. thesis, « ‘Verses Dripping Blood’: A Study of the Religious Elements of Muhtasham Kashani’s Karbalanameh » I gave the poem a title that better reflects its function rather than its structural form. In Persian, the word « nāma » refers to a written chronicle or account of an event. Thus, Muḥtašam’s marṯiya is a poetic chronicle of the events of Karbala. Haft band, on the other hand, refers to the marṯiya’s stanzaic structure. Furthermore, this is a title that has been bestowed upon Muḥtašam’s marṯiya by literary historians who may have more interest in the meter, form, and linguistic structure of the poem, whereas the alternate title Karbalā-nāma indicates to the reader what the poem is about. For a more extended presentation of this argument, please see Ruffle 2001. 17. Naqvi 1982, p. 62.

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Kāšifī and Muḥtašam’s writings about Karbala into local languages guaranteed that these writings would merely experience a brief moment of popularity and then faded into obscurity. In fact, quite the opposite occurred. Just as in Iran, Muḥtašam’s Karbalā-nāma « became a source of elegy emulation for…Indian poets of ensuing generations. »18 The repeated imitation and translation of the Karbalā-nāma and Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ attests to the fact that these two styles of Shi‘i devotional literature created a literary and imaginal link for the Shi‘as of the Deccan to remember the events of Karbala. Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ appeared in the Deccan sometime in the mid-to late-17th century, and within a couple of decades countless writers were translating this narrative account of Karbala into Deccani-Urdu. One of the Deccan’s earliest composers of Shi‘i hagiographical literature was a Hindu. Rama Rao, whose pen name (taḫalluṣ) was Śaiva, was the first Hindu writer of marṯiya in the Deccan. He received the patronage of ‘Alī ‘ādil Šāh of Bijapur. In addition to writing marṯiya, Rama Rao completed one of the first Deccani translations of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ in 1681.19 With even Hindus participating in the composition of Shi‘i devotional literature, the remembrance of Karbala in the Deccani was bound to reflect an Indian worldview and its social, aesthetic, and gender values. Shi‘i devotional literature continued to flourish in all parts of the Deccan. With the collapse of the Quṭb Šāhī dynasty following the Mughal Emperor Awrāngzeb’s (r. 1068-1119/1658-1707) lengthy siege of Golconda Fort in 1687, the succeeding āṣaf Jāh (1137-1367/1724-1948) dynasty was Sunni, although in both leadership and aesthetics, they exhibited a definite predilection for Shi‘ism. If Hyderabad’s archives can serve as a barometer of what sort of Shi‘i hagiographical literature was being commissioned and composed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in the Deccan, it is a fair assessment that Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ was one of the most popular Shi‘i devotional texts of the period. Writers in Deccani and later Urdu found Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ to be a malleable text in which the narrative framework remained the same, yet the entire world of Karbala was transformed from 17th century Arab Iraq to early modern Hyderabad and the surrounding countryside. Some authors chose to retain the Persianate title of Kāšifī’s work, yet many others in the process of vernacularizing the hagiographic text (and related performance traditions) also adorned their work with a new title. One of the most popular titles given by authors for their translations of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ is Dah Majlis (The Ten Assemblies), referring to the number of chapters in the text as well as high18. Hyder 1994. 19. Husain 2002.

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lighting its ritual utility in providing topics for the majlis-i ‘azā’ – one for each day of Muḥarram leading up to Imām Ḥusayn’s martyrdom on ‘āšūrā’. This title also imitates the structure of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, which is composed in ten chapters. With these Deccani-Urdu translations of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ two transformations in the telling of Karbala were effected. At the most basic level, translating Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ from Persian to Urdu rendered the text linguistically understandable to the average Deccani Indian, who may not have known any Persian. The second transformation effected in the devotional literature of Karbala is effected through the translation of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, which transformed the ecology of Karbala and its hero(in)es to reflect an Indic worldview. In short, Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ was vernacularized, constructing a memory of Karbala that was refracted through the lens of India.

THE SHI‘I VERNACULAR At the most general level, I use the term vernacular in reference to the myriad forms and contexts in which Islam is practiced by Muslims outside of the Central Arab Muslim lands of Arabia and the Middle East.20 The center of the Muslim cosmopolitan is located in the holy cities of Mecca and Medina where ḥajj and ‘umra are performed, and we might say that a basic Muslim religious identity is, as John Bowen has suggested, « tied to the Arabic language and the Arabian Peninsula by a genealogical theory of religious practice, Muslims […] conceive of their religion in highly universalistic terms. »21 While all Muslims do look (and pray) toward Mecca as the locus of their global communitarian (umma) identity, I suggest that for the Shi‘a, this identifying locus is de-centered and relocated to Karbala and Iran. John Bowen’s 20. Islamic studies scholars are increasingly becoming more aware of and interested in the ways in which Islam is manifested and practiced outside of the Central Arab lands. Richard Bulliett’s Islam: The View from the edge (1994) has prompted considerable scholarship on Islam outside of the Central Arab lands. For other scholarship focusing particularly on the history and cultures of Islam in South Asia, please refer to the following: Eaton 1993; Gilmartin - Lawrence 2000; Gottschalk 2000; and Flueckiger 2006. 21. Sheldon Pollock’s work on the Sanskrit cosmopolitan exerts a subtle yet significant influence in the formulations of questions that I have asked of my ethnographic data, and the Persian and Urdu texts that I am engaging in this chapter. In particular, please see Pollock 2000, pp. 591-625. John Bowen has also examined this issue in a global Islamic context through the analogous categories of universal (cosmopolitan) and local (vernacular). Especially useful is the first paragraph of his introductory essay, « What is ‘Universal’ and ‘Local’ in Islam? » Please see Bowen 1998, p. 258.

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characterization of what he calls the universal nature of Islam and Muslim identity is accurate to a certain extent, yet it does not take into account historical and devotional contingencies of the Shi‘a, nor does it allow for the particularity of Islam as it is manifested in its myriad vernacular, customary forms. In her ethnography of Sufi healing practices in Hyderabad, Joyce Flueckiger seeks to reveal « the potential flexibility and creativity of Islam, a tradition that is often viewed by Muslims and non-Muslims alike to be universal, singular, and monolithic. »22 The vernacular is often the site of the dynamic transformations and adaptations that Islam undergoes in order to perpetuate and remain relevant and meaningful for the average person. Thus, for a Shi‘a in Hyderabad, there are several degrees of vernacularization that are enacted in order to make Islamic theology and spiritual practice meaningful in an Indic context. Like the term vernacular, the use of the word « Indic » is multivalent, and ambiguous, often leading to obfuscation rather than specificity. In the style of Marshall G. S. Hodgson who coined the term « Islamicate » to refer « not directly to the religion, Islam, itself, but to the social and cultural complex historically associated with Islam and the Muslims, both among Muslims themselves and even when found among non-Muslims, » I wish to similarly extend the religio-cultural connotations of « Indic » to include all groups that have contributed to the construction of some sort of essential South Asian identity, worldview and ethos (necessarily including, but not limited to, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Iranians, and Europeans).23 In the case of the enculturation of Shi‘i devotional literature and ritual in the Deccan, the foundation of the tradition is Iranian, but the structure and its adornments are Indian. We can especially see this process of vernacularizing Karbala to reflect an Indic worldview through the story of the warrior-bridegroom Qāsim, which in its Deccani-Urdu literary and ritual expressions incorporates the marriage rituals, attire, and taboos shared by all Indians, whether they are Hindu, Sikh, or Muslim.

DECORATING THE HANDS WITH BLOOD, NOT MeHnDī So far, we have traced the broad contours of the development of Shi‘i devotional literature about Karbala as it was transformed into a genre of its own in 16th century Safavid Iran and then brought to the Deccan where it is 22. Flueckiger 2006, p. xii. 23. Hodgson 1974, p. 59.

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transformed yet again melding the historical narrative of Karbala, veneration of Imām Ḥusayn and his family with the social customs and values of South India. Through the processes of vernacularization, the hero(in)es of Karbala became remembered as idealized Indian men and women. As Shi‘ism became firmly enculturated in the Deccan, the literature and majlis events invoked a memory of Karbala that reflected the social, cultural and domestic worlds of the Deccani Shi‘as. In the discourses of the majlis, the marṯiya and nawḥa poems, and in the Deccani prose narratives based upon Rawḍat al-šuhadā’, Fāṭima Kubrā and Qāsim especially, are explicitly remembered as the idealized Indian Muslim couple who do what is mandated by the customary traditions and worldviews of the Deccan, however trying the circumstances. One of the most visible markers of the vernacularizing impulse in the Indian Deccan can be seen in the devotional literature and the ritual commemoration of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā’s wedding in the 7 Muḥarram mehndī kī majlis. In the cultural context of South Asia, the Indic articulation of elaborately constructed and defined rules of marriage and strict rules on the taboo of widow remarriage make marriage in any circumstance a partnership that is fraught with uncertainty and risk, the battlefield wedding of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā resonates. Fāṭima Kubrā’s suffering, particularly her immediate widowhood, establishes an emotional bond that both men and women can forge with her.

MĪR ‘āLAM’S INDIC WEDDING OF KARBALA The widowing of Fāṭima Kubrā is a popular theme for writers of Karbala literature in the Deccan. Usually, however, Fāṭima Kubrā’s experience is a subplot in such Karbala narratives as Rawḍat al-šuhadā’. In the course of archival research at the Oriental Manuscripts Libraries and Research Institute in Hyderabad (OML&RI), I had requested the chapter, « Ḏikr-i Šahādat-i Ḥaḍrat-i Qāsim, » from a manuscript of Dah Majlis composed by Mīr ‘ālam in Muḥarram 1196/1781. Quickly skimming the beginning of the chapter, it seemed to be similar to the twenty other manuscript sections that I had gathered from Deccani-Urdu Karbala manuscripts. Upon closer examination, however, I discovered that this narrative was unique.24 The information contained in the colophon and in some notes in the margin at the beginning of the manuscript, 24. Here, I use the word « unique » because Andhra Pradesh Oriental Manucripts Library and Research Institute appears to possess the only copy of this manuscript. I have not found a duplicate version of Mīr ‘ālam’s manuscript in other archives in Hyderabad. I also consider this manuscript to be unique because Mīr ‘ālam’s narratological approach to Qāsim’s martyrdom is unlike any that I have encountered in manuscript form. Mīr ‘ālam’s account of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā is

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I discovered that the author was Mīr ‘ālam, who was the Prime Minister (dīwān) during the reign of the Niẓām Sikandar Jāh from 1218-1222/18041808. Abū al-Qāsim Sayyid Mīr ‘ālam was the son of Sayyid Riḍā who immigrated to the Deccan from Iran. In his youth, Mīr ‘ālam studied Persian literature and the fundamentals of Shi‘i thought and belief.25 This early education instilled in Mīr ‘ālam a deep knowledge of Shi‘ism and love for the Ahl-i Bayt. Mīr ‘ālam was a prominent supporter of Hyderabad’s Shi‘i community, and he also wrote one of the most significantly vernacularized, and Indianized of the Deccani-Urdu Karbala narratives composed since the 17th century. Mīr ‘ālam’s Dah Majlis and the account of Qāsim’s martyrdom that it contains is an ideal example of how the narrative of Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ has been translated to accommodate the customs and worldview of the Deccan, which ultimately transforms the Ahl-i Bayt into the paragons of Hyderabadi social, familial and ethical virtue. In this chapter, Mīr ‘ālam focuses almost exclusively on the rituals of an Indian wedding, Indic anxieties about widowhood, and through Fāṭima Kubrā’s example, offers the majlis participants lessons on how to be a good daughter-in-law. Fāṭima Kubrā’s emotional world and status as a bride/widow is what Mīr ‘ālam imagines. It is Fāṭima Kubrā, who through her speech and actions engages the audience to share in her experience, to weep for her sacrifice and Islam, and to connect with her as though she is something more than a religious role model – both Mīr ‘ālam and Riḍā āqā transform Fāṭima Kubrā through their narrative strategies into a woman who is as real, intimate and, perhaps most importantly, as Hyderabadi, as one’s sister, mother or aunt.

THE ACCOUNT OF THE MARTYRDOM OF ḤAḍRAT-I QāSIM In the following vignettes that I have translated from Mīr ‘ālam’s Dah Majlis, I hope to illustrate how Deccani writers have translated Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ and transformed the environment of Karbala and the heroes and heroines of the Ahl-i Bayt into the social, physical and religious world of the Indian Deccan. Mīr ‘ālam introduces the chapter with a dramatic statement in which he proclaims that he is about to tell of a wedding unlike any other: strikingly similar to Riḍā āqā’s ḫuṭba in its expression of emotion through extensive use of feminine voices. Mīr ‘ālam, Dah Majlis, MS Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh Oriental Manucripts Library and Research Institute, Urdu Ta. 437, copied in 1196/1781. 25. Moosvi 1989, p. 87.

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In this manner, the majlis of the seventh day has been written, From this grievous event, the rituals of the wedding were changed. In the place of gaiety, there is bloodshed. The Ahl-i Bayt is invoked and their suffering is brought into focus when the narrator asks the audience: How can I describe the effulgence of the Holy Five,26 Whose wedding garments are like a shroud. lovers (of the Ahl-i Bayt), here is the account of the death; now, listen! This is the moment of the bridegroom Qāsim’s šahādat! The lament is for the martyrdom of this newly fledged bridegroom, just as it is for Fāṭima Kubrā, the new bride. The Shi‘a, who are the lovers of the Ahl-i Bayt are called upon by the narrator to join the wedding party. Each man and woman is able to imagine his or her participation in Fāṭima Kubrā’s tragic wedding. After being drenched in her dying husband’s blood, the crimson sāṛī that is customarily worn by most Indian brides is transformed into Fāṭima Kubrā’s shroud of widowhood – for widowhood is a state of social death in the customary traditions of the Deccan. No bride’s wedding dress should be dyed with the crimson blood of her newly fledged groom. The narrator effects another transition in the action by introducing Ḥasan and Ḥusayn’s sister Zaynab who is portrayed as a far more practical and actionoriented character. Imām Ḥusayn is incapacitated by his grief and he summons his sister who enters into the scene. She heaves a sigh, speaks and moves Qāsim along his fated path of matrimony and martyrdom: When Imām Ḥusayn (sarvar) summoned that sister Zaynab, In that manner she filled up with sighs and began to say, « now, Ḥasan’s house is destroyed, Qāsim has gone to battle so that he may be beheaded. » « I had one wish for this marriage, That I could see the garlanding (sehrā bandhāna) of the bride and groom. » « now, go and take him to the encampment Make my Qāsim into a bridegroom. » 26. The Panj tan-i pāk refers to the Prophet Muḥammad, his daughter Fāṭima, her husband the first Shi‘i Imām ‘Alī, and their two sons Ḥasan and Ḥusayn.

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« Quickly make the wedding preparations for the bride, The rider on the battlefield who has a bloody shroud.27 » « This bridegroom is a guest for but a moment; I shall see him again when he is in the grave. » Zaynab’s poignantly speaks of her own wishes and aspirations for the marriage between her niece and nephew. The manner in which Zaynab speaks of her only wish being able to see the bride and groom garlanded (sehrā bandhāna), which is customarily performed in Muslim marriage following the completion of the nikāḥ or marriage contract. The bride and groom are brought together for the first time after the nikāḥ and they sit together for the ‘arsī mušhāf or the revealing of the wife in a mirror’s reflection. As the bride and groom sit side-by-side, women from both families approach the couple and place heavy, fragrant garlands of flowers around their necks. Often, it is difficult to see the bride and groom’s faces for the profusion of rose and jasmine garlands. While a joyous, laughter-filled event for onlookers, it is a somber occasion for the new couple as this marks the final event in the lengthy marriage ceremony. It is this very event that Zaynab laments not being able to witness that is certain to provoke the grief of the majlis participants. Zaynab sighs in grief and speaks, thus moving Qāsim along his fated path of matrimony and martyrdom. Zaynab’s speech is particularly moving because she speaks of her own thwarted wishes and aspirations for the marriage between her niece and nephew. The drama is further heightened because Zaynab is able to see Qāsim’s fate. She knows that the bridegroom will be martyred on the battlefield and there will be no offspring produced by the marital union between Imām Ḥasan’s son and his brother Ḥusayn’s daughter. The fruitlessness of this marriage and the incipient slaughter on the battlefield are the means by which the « house of Ḥasan » is to be destroyed. Zaynab’s words establish another inversion in which this wedding is not the joining together of a man and woman in a permanent relationship, but rather one that is fleeting and tragic. Zaynab’s speech exaggerates the temporality of this marriage because the « bridegroom is a guest for but a moment/I shall see him again when he is in the grave. »

27. This bloody shroud is the color of a traditional wedding sāṛī – crimson red. In this case, the wedding is once again being attached to its binary pair of a funeral and death. We have already seen the wedding procession (barāt) transformed into its binary opposite of funeral procession in Riḍā āqā’s ḫuṭba that I describe at the beginning of the chapter.

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now the mother’s offspring was snatched away, to whom she came in order to make into a groom. « now, make the daughter, too, a bride Bring her quickly to the place of the bridegroom Qāsim! » Bānū said, « How can I bring Kubrā? Woe! How can I make her a bride? » She groaned, « What kind of a marriage is this about to be? He has gone and is about to be beheaded! » Saying this, she went to Kubrā. She said, « All of my hopes for my daughter are dashed. » « I have come in order to tie the kaṅgnā28 to your wrist, I have come to make you a bride, my dear. » Kubrā said, « now, I desire nothing else. The marriage contract ceremony is enough for me. » This vignette reflects a tension between the wish of the mothers of Qāsim and Kubrā to provide them with all of the customary Indian rituals of Muslim marriage. The mothers of the bride and groom have been robbed of their opportunity to lavish the new couple with jewels, ritual performances and the joyful laughter, jokes and togetherness that enjoins the events of an Indian wedding. The elder women of the Imām’s family lament not only their imminent doom on the battlefield of Karbala, but also that they must participate in and perform an inverted marriage ceremony. Fāṭima Kubrā understands the direness of the situation and implores the women to perform the minimum requirements for the marriage, which is the signing of the marriage contract or ‘aqd-i nikāḥ. The greatest wish that the wedding participants express is an impossibility considering Qāsim’s imminent martyrdom: The moment at which the bride approached her groom, Their love was sacrificed. every one began to pray, « Oh God! Do not bring widowhood upon the bride! May not the home of the bride become ruined! nor should the groom sleep in the place of death! » 28. The kaṅgnā or kaṅgan is a sort of bracelet that binds together the wrists of the bride and groom on their wedding day. S. N. Dar explains the ritual in which « the right wrist of the man and the left one of the girl are bound round a few days before marriage with a string (kaṅgan) or a ‘piece of cloth containing particles of different things that are supposed to possess a hidden virtue.’ This bracelet which is not loosened until the marriage is consummated is an amulet as well as a union charm. » For further description of this ceremony, please see Dar 1969, p. 140.

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It is now the moment of marriage and Imām Ḥusayn returns to the scene in order to perform the nikāḥ of Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā. This scene further emphasizes the unique and transcendent status that members of the Ahl-i Bayt possess. Mīr ‘ālam opens this scene with the invocation of a popular Persian and Urdu term for bridegroom. Qāsim is referred to by the author as the nawšāh or « new king, » which is a popular term for the bridegroom who, by virtue of marrying and bringing a new bride into the extended family household gives honor to himself and his family. Mīr ‘ālam invokes regal imagery with Imām Ḥusayn referring to him as « šāh » or king, which is in imitation of the 16th century Persian poet Muḥtašam Kāšānī whose marṯiya depicts Ḥusayn as the « King of Karbala » and the « Prince of the Martyrs. »29 Both Muḥtašam and by way of imitation, Mīr ‘ālam draw upon Iranian royal pre-Islamic history exemplified by the Sasanian dynasty. Going to the nawšāh, Šahrbānū cried out, « The bride Kubrā has come; look at your bride! » « Come into the tent ṣāḥib, and listen, Please consent to this. » Hearing these words, Ḥusayn then came to the tent. He looked at the bride and groom and said, Consider, at that very moment the Šāh Ḥusayn was overcome, And he cried out an appeal to the Prophet of God (yā nabī Allāh). Having given her away to Qāsim, Imām Ḥusayn said, « now, bridegroom, this bride is yours, take her. » « either leave her here or take her and go, beloved. This is your trust, for which you are responsible. » Saying this, he left Qāsim in the ḥaram. He was stood his ground, thirsty-lipped among the people of oppression. In the scene following the marriage, Qāsim asks for leave from his wife to go into battle. Qāsim’s departure for the battlefield results in his martyrdom. The narrator devotes minimal attention to Qāsim’s martyrdom because it is inevitable and the focus of this narrative is being told through the voices and experiences of the women of Imām Ḥusayn’s family. Mīr ‘ālam devotes approximately ten couplets to Qāsim’s actual participation in battle and death. In the denouement of Mīr ‘ālam’s account, Fāṭima Kubrā has become a widow and the women of Imām Ḥusayn’s family must address this unfortunate girl. Just as Riḍā āqā cried out in his ḫuṭba, the worst thing that can happen is 29. For further discussion of Muḥtašam Kāšānī, please see Ruffle 2001.

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that a woman becomes bevāh or « without marriage » – that is, a widow – particularly so soon after the ‘aqd-i nikāḥ was performed yet the marriage remained unconsummated. Fāṭima Kubrā is not easily consoled by her widowhood and the protections it is intended to give her following the battle of Karbala. Reflecting the status of widows in South Asian cultures in which the wife becomes socially « dead » following her husband’s death, Fāṭima Kubrā’s mother realizes that along with Qāsim her daughter has died, too. Fāṭima Kubrā affirms her social death when she says to her mother, « I am joining now with his corpse. »

CONCLUSION This wedding introduced in Kāšifī’s Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ and translated to reflect vernacular worldviews and values has assured the enduring popularity of this hagiography of the hero(in)es of the battle of Karbala. As many of the Shi‘as whom I interviewed in Hyderabad explained to me, the mehndī kī majlis and the remembrance of the sacrifices made by Fāṭima Kubrā and Qāsim for the sake of Islam is deeply important in structuring the orientations of their personal, familial and spiritual worlds. For them, the marriage of Fāṭima Kubrā to Qāsim and her subsequent widowhood is a matter of the heart, not of the mind. For the Shi‘a of Hyderabad, I was told repeatedly that the mehndī kī majlis helps them to remember the battle of Karbala, and heroes like Fāṭima Kubrā and Qāsim remind them of their family members and friends who suffer bad marriages, poverty or widowhood. In this essay we have explored the ways in which Riḍā āqā in the maṣā’ib that he delivered in the mehndī kī majlis in 2005, and in Mīr ‘ālam’s DeccaniUrdu Dah Majlis, transform Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā from historical figures into imitable, idealized Hyderabadis. Through their participation in customary traditions and embodiment of the values of a vernacular Deccani Shi‘ism, Qāsim and Fāṭima Kubrā teach men and women the rules of social, familial, and religious life, thus ensuring both individual and communitarian faith and allegiance to the spiritual excellence and bravery of the Ahl-i Bayt. It is impossible for the Shi‘a of Hyderabad to forget the sufferings of Imām Ḥusayn and his family because they can imagine and feel the tragedy of Karbala in a truly tangible and immediate fashion, which is Deccani, Indian, and Muslim.

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‘ālam, Mīr, Dah Majlis. MS Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh Oriental Manuscripts Library and Research Institute, Deccani-Urdu Ta. 437. Ali, Mrs. Meer Hassan, [1832] 1973 : Observations on the Mussalmans of India. Karachi, Oxford University Press. Bowen, John R., 1998 : « What is ‘Universal’ and ‘Local’ in Islam? ». ethos. 26, 2, pp. 258-261. Bulliet, Richard, 1994 : Islam: The View from the edge. New York, Columbia University Press. Cole, Juan R.I., – 1988 : Roots of north Indian Shi‘ism in Iran and Iraq. Religion and State in Awadh, 1722-1859. Berkeley, University of California Press. – 2002 : « Iranian Culture and South Asia, 1500-1900 », in : N. Keddie R. Mathee, eds., Iran and the Surrounding World: Interactions in Culture and Cultural Politics. Seattle, University of Washington Press, pp. 15-35. Dar, S. N., 1969 : Costumes of India and Pakistan: A Historical and Cultural Study. Bombay, D. B. Taraporevala Sons & Co., Ltd. D’Souza, Andreas, 1997 : « ‘Zaynab I am Coming!’ The Transformative Power of nawḥah ». The Bulletin of the Henry Martyn Institute of Islamic Studies, 16, 3-4, pp. 83-94. Eaton, Richard M., 1993 : The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204-1760. Berkeley, University of California Press. Flueckiger, Joyce Burkhalter, 2006 : In Amma’s Healing Room: Gender and Vernacular Islam in South Asia. Bloomington, Indiana University Press. Gilmartin, David - Lawrence, Bruce B. (eds.), 2000 : Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia. Gainsville, University of Florida Press. Gottschalk, Peter, 2000 : Beyond Hindu and Muslim: Multiple Identity narratives from Village India. New York, Oxford University Press. Hodgson, Marshall G. S., 1974 : The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization. Chicago, University of Chicago Press, vol. 1. Howarth, Toby M., 2005 : The Twelver Shîʿa as a Muslim Minority in India: Pulpit of Tears. London, Routledge.

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Husain, Intizar, 20 May 2002 : « Hindu Contributions to the Marsiya ». Shia news. http://www.shianews.com/low/articles/politics/0000238.php (accessed on June 27, 2005). Hyder, Syed Akbar, – 1994 : « Recasting Karbala in the Genre of Urdu Marsiya ». SAGAR: South Asia Graduate Research journal, 1, n.p. – 2006 : Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory. New York, Oxford University Press. Moosvi, Rasheed, 1970 : Dakkan meiṅ Marṯiya aur ‘Azādārī, 1857-1957. New Delhi, Taraqqi Urdu Bureau. Moosvi, Rasheed - Riaz, Fatima, 2003 : Ḥaydarābād kīʿ‘Azādārī meiṅ Ḫawatīn kā Ḥiṣṣa. Hyderabad, n.p. Naqvi, Sadiq, 1982 : Qutb Shahi Ashur Khanas of Hyderabad City. Hyderabad, Bab-ul-Ilm Society. Nasr, Vali, 2006 : The Shia Revival: How Conflicts within Islam Will Shape the Future. New York, W.W. Norton & Company. Pollock, Sheldon, 2000 : « Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in History ». Public Culture, 12, 3, pp. 591-625. Ramanujan, A.K., 1991 : « Three Hundred Rāmāyaṇas: Five Examples and Three Thoughts on Translation », in : P. Richman, ed., Many Rāmāyaṇas. New Delhi, Oxford University Press, pp. 22-49. Richman, Paula, – 1991 : Many Rāmāyaṇas. New Delhi, Oxford University Press. – 2001 (ed.) : Questioning Ramayanas: A South Asian Tradition. Berkeley, University of California Press. Rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas, 1986 : A Socio-Intellectual History of Ithnā `Asharī Shi`is. Canberra, Maʼrifat, vol. 1. Ruffle, Karen G., 2001 : « ‘Verses Dripping Blood’: A Study of the Religious Elements of Muhtasham Kashani’s Karbala-nameh ». M. A. Thesis, University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. Schubel, Vernon James, 1993 : Religious Performance in Contemporary Islam: Shi`i Devotional Rituals in South Asia. Columbia, University of South Carolina Press. Sharif, Tayba Hassan al-Khalifa, 2005 : « Sacred Narratives Linking Iraqi Shiite Women across Time and Space », in : M. Cooke - B. Lawrence, eds., Muslim networks: From Hajj to Hip-Hop. Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, pp. 132-154.

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Suvorova, Anna, [1999] 2004 : Muslim Saints of South Asia, the eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries. Translated by M. Osama Faruqi. London - New York, Routledge Curzon.

interviews and majlis Performances: āqā, Maulānā Riḍā, 7 Muḥarram 1426/17 February 2005 and 7 Muḥarram 1427/7 February 2006, ‘Abbās Ṣāḥib Mehndī kī majlis ḫuṭbah, Yaqutpura, Hyderabad. Ḫān, M. M. Taqī, 2005, series of personal interviews and conversations at his residence inYaqutpura, Hyderabad.

Une interprétation mystiqUe de la šarī‘a selon Šayḫ aḥmad sirhindī1 Alberto Ventura

abstract: Šayḫ Aḥmad Sirhindī (971/1574-1034/1624) is one of the most influential figures of Indian Islam and Sufism during the Moghul Period. This article deals with one of the central themes of his thought: the šarī‘a and its status in the doctrine of the mystical quest. Indian history often portrays Sirhindī as the « champion » of the reestablishment of Islamic religious orthodoxy. Nevertheless, Sirhindian teaching about the šarī‘a is not a purely legalistic and external vision of the law. The letter from the Maktūbāt-i Imām-i Rabbānī, which is translated here, shows that Sirhindī invites us to interpret the profound meaning of the law in the light of an esoteric exegesis. The law is normally conceived of in its formal and external parts, but, says Sirhindī, that is only the outward part of the law, its « form » (ṣūrat-i šarī‘at). In fact, another way of conceiving of it exists, that is to say its « essential reality » (ḥaqīqat-i šarī‘at). In this conception the law loses its formal connotations and is seen in its the true dimension; it is the source of external law which is like the former’s shadow.

Šayḫ Aḥmad Sirhindī (971/1574-1034/1624), connu également comme le Mujaddid-i Alf-i Ṯānī, le « Rénovateur du Deuxième Millénaire », est l’une des figures les plus influentes et les plus controversées de l’islam et du soufisme indien à l’époque moghole. Lui et son maître Muḥammad Bāqī bi-llāh (m. 1012/1603) ont joué un rôle central dans l’implantation de la Naqšbandiyya en Inde. La branche Mujaddidiyya fondée par Sirhindī devint la plus influente de l’ordre dans le sous-continent et se diffusa également dans d’autres régions du monde musulman. La doctrine de Sirhindī est demeurée très in-fluente en Inde jusqu’à l’époque coloniale et même jusqu’à nos jours. Plusieurs études lui ont été consacrées dans les dernières décennies et l’on renverra à ces dernières pour plus d’informations concernant sa vie, son œuvre et l’évolution de son ordre en Inde après sa mort2. 1. Traduction de l’italien par Alessandra Marchi. 2. Parmi ces études cf. en particulier Fārūqī 1397/1977 ; Friedmann 1971 ; Ansari 1986 ; Ventura 1990 ; Ter Haar 1992 ; Damrel 2000 ; Alvi 2005.

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La question que nous nous proposons d’aborder plus en détail ici, est l’un des thèmes centraux de la pensée de Sirhindī : la šarī‘a (la loi religieuse exotérique) et son statut dans la doctrine de la quête mystique. Sirhindī a souvent été présenté dans l’histoire de l’Islam indien comme le « champion » du rétablissement de l’orthodoxie religieuse et de sa loi, à l’époque moghole. Le discours rigoriste s’est radicalisé à l’époque coloniale, sous l’influence des mouvements religieux réformistes qui regardaient Sirhindī comme un de leurs précurseurs en dépit de leur opposition au soufisme, accusé de dévier de l’orthodoxie islamique. Cependant la doctrine sirhindienne de la šarī‘a ne consiste pas dans une vision purement légaliste et extérieure de la loi. Sirhindī, comme le démontre le texte traduit ici, invite à interpréter la signification profonde de la loi, à la lumière d’une exégèse ésotérique. Dans la doctrine soufie, et notamment dans celle de Sirhindī, le trinôme šarī‘a-ṭarīqa-ḥaqīqa est indissoluble et indique la voie du chemin spirituel qui part de la dimension extérieure pour pénétrer de plus en plus dans l’intérieur et arriver enfin à son but. La šarī‘a est la loi à laquelle tous doivent se soumettre, en respectant les actions rituelles, les préceptes et les interdits ; la ṭarīqa, la voie initiatique réservée à ceux qui possèdent les qualités nécessaires, est cet ensemble de doctrines et de méthodes qui favorisent le développement spirituel de l’être humain; la ḥaqīqa, enfin, est la « réalité essentielle » qui constitue le but ultime de la réalisation spirituelle. Dans son acception la plus restreinte, donc, la šarī‘a constitue la sphère la plus extérieure, le point de départ duquel on s’achemine vers le voyage initiatique (sulūk). Mais le terme šarī‘a est parfois compris par les maîtres du soufisme selon une signification beaucoup plus ample, qui transcende les confins des normes extérieures. En tant qu’œuvre du Législateur suprême, cette loi peut aussi être comprise de façon plus universelle, c’est-à-dire comme la « Voie » principielle, d’où tout commence et vers laquelle tout revient. Il serait en effet erroné de croire que dans le soufisme, le processus initiatique consiste dans la « rupture » de la loi et dans son dépassement. Si une certaine complémentarité entre šarī‘a et ṭarīqa, c’est-à-dire entre exotérisme et ésotérisme, est effectivement inévitable, il est tout aussi vrai qu’entre ces deux éléments il ne peut exister aucun conflit réel, et surtout qu’aucun conflit ne peut exister au niveau de la ḥaqīqa, de la réalité essentielle, qui se situe au-delà de toute dualité. Ainsi, toutes les antinomies sont résolues en elles-mêmes. La complexité des rapports entre la loi, la voie et la réalité, ressort particulièrement dans l’enseignement de Šayḫ al-Akbar Muḥyī al-Dīn ibn ‘Arabī (m. 638/1240), dont la pensée a joui d’un important retentissement dans les milieux mystiques du sous-continent indien. L’opposition entre la doctrine sirhindienne de la waḥdat al-šuhūd et celle akbarienne de la waḥdat al-wujūd

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est un autre argument qui a été souvent exagéré ; pour ce qui concerne l’interprétation de la šarī‘a, on pourrait difficilement considérer les visions de ces deux mystiques comme étant opposées. Ibn ‘Arabī s’est occupé très largement de la šarī‘a dans son œuvre, et notamment dans les Futūḥāt al-makkiyya, en montrant l’inconsistance de l’accusation qu’il lui est souvent adressée, à savoir rendre vaine la šarī‘a, au profit d’une seule interprétation ésotérique de l’écriture. Dans la traduction anthologique des Futūḥāt, publiée il y a quelques années déjà3, Cyrille Chodkiewicz a édité une partie, justement intitulée La Loi et la Voie, dans laquelle de longs extraits de l’œuvre principale d’Ibn ‘Arabī sont présentés, concernant le rôle de la loi. En présentant les textes traduits, Chodkiewicz souhaite que le lecteur puisse considérer les deux termes choisis comme titre du recueil – c’est-à-dire « Loi » et « Voie » – comme fondamentalement synonymes, puisque, selon ses mots, « la Loi ou la Voie sont une seule et même chose. Mieux encore: la Loi, qui est la Voie, reconduit à elle-même. Elle est le point de départ, le chemin et le point d’arrivée »4. Ensuite, Chodkiewicz observe, encore plus explicitement : « Il n’est pas de voie supérieure à la Loi révélée. La šarī‘a n’est pas une coque qu’il faudrait briser pour découvrir la ḥaqīqa : “la Loi révélée”, écrit-il ailleurs [Ibn ‘Arabī], “est identique à la réalité essentielle”. “Elle est intérieurement identique à ce qu’elle est extérieurement”. Elle est la Voie. Elle est aussi le terme et le but de la Voie »5. On ne peut évidemment pas résumer ici toute la pensée d’Ibn ‘Arabī sur une telle question ; ce serait aussi superflu, vue la richesse des suggestions déjà présentes dans le chapitre de l’anthologie des Futūḥāt al-makkiyya mentionnée plus haut. Ce qui est important de souligner est que l’accusation de ibāḥa, de permissivité en matière de préceptes légaux, si fréquemment adressée au soufisme par ses adversaires, était généralement infondée. Ces accusations semblent encore plus incorrectes quand elles sont adressées à Ibn ‘Arabī et à ses partisans qui ont toujours prêté une grande attention aux normes de la šarī‘a, non seulement du point de vue général, mais aussi avec une réflexion sur ses détails les plus minutieux. Il suffit de parcourir les pages des Futūḥāt al-makkiyya consacrées à l’interprétation des actes du culte pour avoir une idée de la richesse de la conception akbarienne à ce propos. Chaque précepte juridique et chaque aspect du rite sont analysés dans le détail et ramenés à leurs principes essentiels, qui en constituent la validité et le fondement ultime. Les détails des prescriptions de la prière (ṣalāt), par exemple, qui peuvent 3. Ibn ‘Arabī 1988. 4. Ibn ‘Arabī 1988, p. 188. 5. Ibn ‘Arabī 1988, p. 224.

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apparaître comme une expression des aspects les plus formels, deviennent dans l’interprétation akbarienne, des manifestations évidentes d’une doctrine métaphysique sous-jacente à chaque élément du rituel6. C’est dans ce cadre qu’il faut entendre le sens des pages suivantes qu’on a traduit ici. Pour Aḥmad Sirhindī également, la šarī‘a n’est pas seulement le point de départ extérieur du développement spirituel, mais, au moins dans son acception la plus profonde, elle représente aussi le but ultime de ce développement. Normalement, la loi est conçue dans ses aspects formels et extérieurs, c’est-à-dire comme un ensemble de préceptes pertinents à la sphère corporelle de l’individu, mais celle-là, dit Aḥmad Sirhindī, est seulement la partie externe de la loi, sa « forme » (ṣūrat-i šarī‘at). Il y a en réalité une autre façon de la concevoir ; c’est-à-dire selon sa « réalité essentielle » (ḥaqīqat-i šarī‘at), dans laquelle elle perd ses connotations formelles et est considérée dans sa vraie dimension de « Voie » universelle et principielle. Selon Sirhindī elle constitue la « Loi » réellement divine ; elle est la source (aṣl) de cette loi qu’on aperçoit comme extérieure, qui est comme l’ombre (ẓill) de la première, dans le sens qu’elle est sa traduction la plus parfaite au niveau du domaine manifeste et sensible. La šarī‘a, arrive ainsi à être intimement liée à la nubuwwa, la « prophétie » : si d’une part, cette dernière peut être considérée dans sa fonction légiférante, c’est-à-dire, comme orientée vers le monde et visant à la diffusion d’une série de normes, d’autre part, dans son aspect le plus intime et essentiel, elle possède des valeurs qui vont bien au-delà de la simple réglementation individuelle et sociale7. La prophétie est le réceptacle de la révélation divine, qui, pour le Coran (III : 7), se manifeste selon deux modalités distinctes : il y a en fait des versets du Livre sacré qui ont une signification claire et bien établie (muḥkamāt) – et ces versets, selon Sirhindī, contiennent la forme de la loi – et d’autres qui au contraire sont « ambigus » (mutašābihāt), c’est-à-dire, d’interprétation non évidente, et dans ces derniers versets il faut justement rechercher la réalité de la loi. L’interprétation de cette partie moins évidente de la révélation est connue, encore selon le même verset du Coran, seulement par Dieu et par ceux qui sont « bien ancrés dans la science » (al-rāsiḫūn fī’l-‘ilm) et qui donc sont autorisés à comprendre la signification la plus secrète de l’écriture. Les versets clairs,

6. Une excellente analyse de ces aspects se trouve dans l’étude de De Luca, où chaque élément de la ṣalāt (positions, gestes, récitations) est reconduit à sa nature de transposition parfaite, ‘agie’ par les réalités métaphysiques, cf. De Luca 1993, pp. 63-81. 7. Sirhindī lui-même souligne la différence entre la mission des prophètes d’« appeler les créatures » (da‘wat-i ḫalq) et leurs fonctions ésotériques (mu‘āmalāt-i bāṭiniyya), cf. Ventura 1990, p. 75.

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selon l’interprétation de Sirhindī, sont les versets concernant les lois (šarā’i‘ wa aḥkām) et leur étude relève de la compétence des juristes exotériques (‘ulamā’-i qišr, littéralement : « les savants dans l’écorce »), tandis que les versets ambigus contiennent la science des réalités ésotériques et des mystères (ḥaqā’iq wa asrār). Ce sont les mystiques soufis qui ont la charge d’interpréter ces derniers versets. Seuls ces derniers sont en mesure d’aller au-delà des apparences et de comprendre que la šarī‘a est en même temps l’écorce et le noyau, la forme et la réalité, le reflet et le principe8. A la lumière de ces considérations, les mêmes concepts de foi (īmān) et de mécréance (kufr) ont une connotation différente de celle à laquelle nous sommes habitués. L’observance extérieure des préceptes, en fait, est définie par Sirhindī comme la forme la plus élémentaire de l’islam : l’islam de la loi (islām-i šarī‘at), en opposition à la mécréance commune, qui, par analogie, peut-être définie comme « mécréance légale » (kufr-i šarī‘at). Mais il y a un autre type de mécréance, celle de la vie soufie (kufr-i ṭarīqat), imputable à certaines étapes du chemin mystique, qui ne peut pas être assimilée à la mécréance commune ou légale, parce que, tout au long de la vie initiatique, peuvent se manifester des états qui sont apparamment en contradiction avec les normes de la loi extérieure. Il s’agit, dans ce cas, d’une « rupture » temporaire et – on le remarque – apparente de l’écorce formelle, qui est nécessaire pour parvenir à l’islam de la voie (islām-i ṭarīqat), c’est-à-dire à une modalité d’islam plus profond que le seul islam extérieur. Au-delà de cette opposition apparente, il y a finalement l’islam de la réalité essentielle (islām-i ḥaqīqat), qui est l’islam accompli, où il n’y a pas de contraste possible entre l’extérieur et l’intérieur, la loi et la voie, la forme et la réalité9. Le texte qu’on va présenter, est la 50ème lettre du deuxième volume des Maktūbāt-i Imām-i Rabbānī, qui est adressée à Mirzā Šams al-Dīn, un disciple de Sirhindī10. Il se focalise sur le thème que nous décrivons ici et il en constitue un approfondissement qui mérite une analyse. Dans les pages qui suivent, en fait, se trouvent des indications qui, à notre avis, permettent de considérer sous une nouvelle lumière le thème des rapports entre forme et réalité de la loi. Sirhindī est conscient du fait que, dans ce cas comme dans d’autres, il est porteur « d’un dévoilement et d’une intuition différents de ceux qui sont courants ». Cela rend parfois sa pensée difficile à traduire ; mais nous avons essayé, au moins en partie, de dénouer ces difficultés dans des notes

8. Cf. Ventura 1990, p. 20. 9. Sur ces concepts, plusieurs fois répétés dans les écrits de Sirhindī, cf. Sirhindī 1392/1972, vol. 2, pp. 230-232, lettre II, 95. 10. Sirhindī 1392/1972, vol. 2, pp. 135-140.

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explicatives, tout en choisissant de ne pas alourdir la traduction avec de nombreuses références textuelles. Le recueil des ces lettres (maktūbāt), divisé en trois volumes (daftar) et intitulé Maktūbāt-i Imām-i Rabbānī, constitue l’ouvrage le plus important de Sirhindī. Il s’agit de lettres adressées par Sirhindī à ses propres fils, à ses vicaires (ḫulafā’) et à ses disciples, où sont abordés les divers aspects de la doctrine. Certaines de ces lettres sont de brèves notes à caractère épistolaire, mais d’autres sont de véritables traités, écrits non seulement à l’usage du destinataire, mais avec l’intention de donner à certains enseignements une plus ample diffusion. Ainsi, les Maktūbāt devenus très tôt une référence essentielle de la doctrine naqšbandī, représentent le premier grand texte doctrinal de cet ordre depuis l’époque de sa fondation. Les Maktūbāt se sont affirmés par ailleurs comme l’un des textes soufis indiens les plus lus et les plus influents, et étaient connus également en dehors de l’Inde, à travers des traductions en arabe et en turc.

TEXTE « Louange à Dieu et paix sur Ses serviteurs qu’Il a élus » (Coran, XXVII : 59). La loi (šarī‘at) possède une forme (ṣūrat) et une réalité (ḥaqīqat). La forme de la loi consiste dans l’adhésion aux préceptes légaux après avoir acquis la foi en Dieu, dans Son Prophète et dans ce que Dieu a révélé11. Or, la foi qui co-existe avec les conflits de l’âme incitatrice au mal (nafs-i ammāra)12, avec les résistances, les prévarications et les manques propres à sa nature, est seulement une foi formelle. Il en est de même pour la prière rituelle et pour le jeûne, qui sont seulement une forme de prière et de jeûne, et ainsi pour ce qui concerne les autres préceptes légaux. L’âme (nafs) représente en fait le fondement de l’existence humaine (‘umda-yi wujūd-i insān) et elle est la chose 11. Selon la tradition islamique, la foi (īmān) détient la primauté sur l’action (‘amal). Pour cela, dans ses aspects formels, la loi en tant que pur accomplissement des préceptes et respect des interdictions, n’est pas suffisante en elle-même. Elle doit d’abord être illuminée par un profond assentiment du cœur (taṣdīq-i qalb) vis à vis des vérités révélées. 12. En s’inspirant de trois différents passages coraniques, le Soufisme a subdivisé le développement de l’âme en trois phases fondamentales: l’âme incitatrice au mal (nafs ammāra, cf. Coran, XII : 53) est l’âme dans sa condition ordinaire, qui incite au mal et aux désirs; l’âme qui ne cesse de se reprendre (nafs lawwāma, cf. Coran, LXXV : 2) est celle qui a accompli la conversion et s’est engagée dans son oeuvre de rectification; enfin, l’âme pacifiée (nafs muṭma’inna, cfr. Coran, LXXXIX : 27) est celle qui a achevé l’œuvre rectificatrice et a définitivement neutralisé et équilibré ses pulsions négatives.

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à laquelle chaque individu fait allusion par le mot « je » (anā)13 : comment estil possible qu’avec sa mécréance et ses contradictions, elle puisse accomplir la réalité de la foi et la réalité des actions méritoires ? C’est seulement par Sa miséricorde que Dieu accepte une simple forme comme gage pour entrer au paradis et c’est en raison de Sa bonté que, concernant la foi, Il se contente d’un assentiment du cœur (taṣdīq-i qalb) et qu’Il n’impose pas la soumission de l’âme ! Le paradis aussi implique une forme et une réalité : les gens de la forme participent à la forme du paradis et les gens de la réalité participent à sa réalité. Les deux, pourtant, cueillent le même fruit paradisiaque : ils en tirent simplement deux plaisirs divers. Les épouses pures, mères des croyants [c’est-à-dire les épouses de Muḥammad], par exemple, se trouvent dans le même paradis que le Prophète et partagent avec lui le même fruit ; mais le goût et le plaisir qu’elles ressentent est différent. Malgré cela, il est certain que les mères des croyants sont supérieures à tous les fils d’Adam, à l’exception de notre Prophète ; comme il est aussi certain que si quelqu’un est supérieur à quelqu’un d’autre, sa femme aussi lui sera supérieure, parce que la femme s’amalgame avec le mari et se fond en lui. La forme de la loi, à condition que celle-ci soit sincèrement respectée, est nécessaire pour la béatitude (falāḥ) et pour le salut (najāt) dans l’au-delà, et comme nous l’avons vu, elle assure l’entrée au paradis. Une fois que la forme de la loi a été réalisée, l’on possède la sainteté générale (walāyat-i ‘āmma) : « Et Dieu est le walī de ceux qui croient » (Coran, II : 257). A ce moment, l’itinérant (sālik) est prêt à mettre le pied sur la voie (ṭarīqa), à s’acheminer vers la sainteté particulière (walāyat-i ḫāssa) et à faire passer progressivement sa propre âme, de la concupiscence à la pacification (iṭmīnān). Mais tu dois savoir que même le parcours pour rejoindre la sainteté est lié à l’observance des œuvres prescrites par la loi. L’invocation de Dieu (ḏikr-i ilāhī) – Son Etat soit magnifié ! – qui est la base de cette voie, est, en fait, l’une des injonctions légales14 ; une condition nécessaire de la voie est de s’abstenir des choses interdites par la loi ; l’accomplissement des actes obligatoires est 13. Sirhindī remarque fréquemment dans ses écrits que le principe constitutif immédiat de la conscience individuelle, c’est-à-dire, ce qui nous amène à nous référer à nous-mêmes par le pronom « je », est pour ainsi dire l’âme rationnelle ou « parlante » (nafs-i nāṭiqa), qui est dans sa substance un élément purement négatif et sans réalité. Seulement quand dans cette entité non existante (‘adam) se reflètent les qualités divines, on peut la considérer à son tour comme douée de certaines qualités (comme les facultés de connaître, voir, sentir, etc.), qu’elle, en soi-même, ne possède absolument pas, cf. notamment Sirhindī 1392/1972, vol. 2, pp. 409-410, lettre III, 62. 14. Dans le sens que le Coran même souligne fréquemment le caractère nécessaire et juste de l’invocation de Dieu.

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l’une des choses qui rapprochent l’homme de Dieu (muqarribāt). La recherche d’un maître doué de connaissance dans la voie, qui est capable de guider vers elle, et qui puisse représenter un médiateur (wasīla), est, elle aussi, prescrite par la loi : Dieu dit en fait : « Et cherchez l’intermédiaire vers Lui » (Coran, V : 35). Enfin, il n’est pas possible de faire abstraction de la loi, dans sa forme comme dans sa réalité, parce que les préceptes légaux sont la base de toutes les perfections de la sainteté et de la prophétie : les premières sont le résultat de la forme de la loi et les deuxièmes sont le fruit de sa réalité, comme on le verra ensuite, si Dieu le veut. Le stade préparatoire de la sainteté est constitué par la voie, dont le but est la négation de ce qui n’est pas l’objectif (nafī-yi mā siwā-yi maṭlūb) et dont la finalité est l’élimination de tout ce qui est autre que son but (raf‘-i ḡayr wa ḡayriyyat-i maqṣūd). Quand, par la grâce divine, ce qui est autre que Lui est totalement refoulé de la perception et de la vision, et qu’il ne reste ni nom ni trace de l’« autre » on achève alors l’annihilation (fanā) ; la phase de la voie est arrivée à sa fin et le voyage vers Dieu (sayr ilā ’Llāh) est accompli. Après cela, le chemin continue dans le stade de l’affirmation (iṯbāt), par lequel on entend le voyage en Dieu (sayr fī ’Llāh) : c’est le stade de la permanence (baqā), qui est le domaine de la réalité essentielle (ḥaqīqat) et le but final de la sainteté15. C’est justement à cette voie et à cette réalité essentielle – lesquelles correspondent à l’extinction et à la permanence – que l’on peut attribuer proprement le terme de sainteté. L’âme concupiscente devient pacifiée, recèle sa propre mécréance et son désaveu (inkār). Elle se complait en son Seigneur et son Seigneur se complait en elle16. L’aversion (karāhat) propre à sa nature s’évanouit. Certains ont affirmé que, même quand elle est parvenue à la pacification, l’âme ne cesse de se révolter et de dominer : Même si l’âme est pacifiée, elle ne renonce pas toujours à ses qualités blâmables. Ils soutiennent que la grande guerre sainte (jihād-i akbar), dont on parle dans la tradition prophétique qui dit « nous sommes revenus de la petite guerre

15. Le chemin spirituel, selon la doctrine de Sirhindī, peut être assimilé au parcours des quatre « voyages ». Les deux premiers, déjà mentionnés ici, correspondent respectivement à l’annihilation (fanā) et à la permanence (baqā), qui sont les deux modalités fondamentales de la réalisation ascendante et qui permettent d’atteindre la sainteté (walāyat) ; les deux autres voyages, celui « de Dieu pour Dieu » (‘an Allāh bi ’Llāh) et celui « dans les choses » (dar ašyā’), représentent au contraire les deux phases principales de la réalisation descendante et sont en rapport étroit avec la prophétie (nubuwwa). Sur ce thème, cf. Ventura 1990, pp. 45-46. 16. Cf. Coran, LXXXIX : 28.

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à la grande guerre sainte »17, est la guerre contre l’âme. L’humble écrivain [Sirhindī lui-même], par contre, a eu un dévoilement et une intuition différents de ceux usuels : j’ai en fait trouvé qu’après la pacification de l’âme, il ne reste absolument ni résistance ni prévarication, mais que, au contraire, elle est solide dans l’obéissance. De plus, l’âme est comme le cœur bien solide (mutamakkin), qui a oublié la réalité non-divine, s’est détaché de la perception et de la cognition de l’« autre », de l’« altérité », et s’est libéré de l’amour pour les honneurs et les charges [publiques], des plaisirs et des souffrances. Comment peut-il donc représenter une cause de contraste et comment peut-il résister ? Si on affirme qu’avant la pacification, l’âme se prête à toutes sortes de résistances et de prévarications, fussent-elles réduites à la mesure d’un cheveu, la chose est admissible ; mais, après être parvenu à la pacification, il n’est plus possible de parler de résistance et de prévarication. L’humble écrivain a examiné la question profondément, a réfléchi sur le fait énigmatique de se trouver en désaccord avec ce qu’ont établi les soufis (qawm) ; pourtant – grâce à l’aide divine – il n’a pas repéré dans l’âme pacifiée, ne serait-ce qu’un cheveu de résistance et de contraste, et il n’a vu en elle rien d’autre qu’anéantissement (istihlāk) et dissolution (iḍmiḥlāl). Et quand l’âme se sacrifie pour son Seigneur, comment est-il possible qu’il y ait des résistances ? Et quand elle se complaît dans le Vrai et que le Vrai se complaît en elle, comment peut-il y avoir de la prévarication, si cette dernière est le contraire de la complaisance et qu’il n’est pas possible qu’une chose déplorable plaise au Vrai ? Il est donc possible – mais Dieu, qu’Il soit glorifié, en sait plus à ce sujet – de concevoir la grande guerre sainte comme la guerre contre le réceptacle corporel (qālab)18, qui est composé par des éléments en contradiction, dont chacun, par sa propre nature, désire une chose et en fuit une autre. La faculté d’être concupiscent et celle d’être irascible, par exemple, tirent leur origine du corps : ne vois-tu pas que les animaux, auxquels l’âme rationnelle fait défaut, possèdent aussi ces qualités blâmables et sont doués de concupiscence, de colère, d’avidité et de convoitise ? Cette guerre sainte est permanente. Elle ne cesse ni avec la pacification de l’âme ni avec la solidité du cœur. Il y a de 17. Ce très célèbre ḥadīṯ est rapporté dans de nombreuses versions. Dans cette forme, qui est la plus fréquemment citée dans les textes du soufisme, il apparaît dans les ‘Awārif al-ma‘ārif de Suhrawardī et dans le Iḥyā’ ‘ulūm al-dīn de Ghazālī ; Suyūṭī cite une version similaire qui est mentionnée par Ḫatīb Baġdādī et qu’on fait remonter au compagnon du Prophète Jābir ibn ‘Abd Allāh. 18. Le terme qālab (littéralement : « moule ») sert à désigner le corps dans son intégralité, avec tous ses principes et ses éléments constitutifs. Il ne s’agit donc pas seulement du corps perceptible aux sens (qui est plutôt appelé jism ou jasad), mais aussi de la forme « subtile » qui est le principe immédiat du corps physique. Cela justifie l’insertion du qālab parmi les centres subtils (laṭā’if) exposés dans la doctrine naqšbandī.

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nombreux avantages dans la persistance de cette guerre, qui se montrent dans la purification du corps, au point que d’elle dépendent fondamentalement les perfections de l’autre monde et les états de l’au-delà. Et si, dans ce monde, le corps suit le cœur, dans le monde de l’au-delà, les choses s’inversent et c’est le cœur qui suit le corps. Quand enfin, il se réalise dans ce monde l’intervalle (ḫalal) [entre la mort et la résurrection] et que l’on se prépare au monde à venir, la guerre est arrêtée et la lutte cesse. Quand l’âme – par la grâce divine – rejoint l’état de la pacification et se rend obéissante aux décrets divins, il est possible d’obtenir le vrai islam (islām-i ḥaqīqī) et de parvenir à la réalité de la foi (ḥaqīqat-i īmān). Après cela, tout ce qu’on fait est accompli selon la réalité de la loi : en exécutant la prière, c’est la réalité de la prière qu’on accomplit, si on jeûne, c’est de la réalité du jeûne dont il s’agit, le pélerinage est fait selon sa dimension réelle, et ainsi de suite pour les autres préceptes de la loi. La voie ainsi que la réalité essentielle représentent un état intermédiaire entre la forme et la réalité de la loi, et celui qui n’est pas gratifié par la sainteté particulière ne peut pas passer de l’islam métaphorique au véritable islam. Quand, par la grâce divine, l’on arrive à posséder la réalité de la loi et que l’on parvient au véritable islam, on est alors prédisposé à participer, de façon vaste et complète, aux perfections de la prophétie, à imiter les prophètes et à en être les héritiers19. Tout comme la forme de la loi est un arbre bénéfique dont les fruits sont les perfections de la sainteté, au même égard, la réalité de la loi est un arbre béni dont les fruits sont les perfections de la prophétie. Si donc, les perfections de la sainteté sont les fruits de la forme et les perfections de la prophétie sont les fruits de la réalité de cette forme, il est indiscutable que les premières constituent une forme des deuxièmes et que celles-ci, les perfections de la prophétie, sont la réalité des perfections de la sainteté. Tu dois savoir que la différence entre la forme et la réalité de la loi est imputable à l’âme, dans la mesure où, dans la forme, l’âme concupiscente prévaut et s’oppose, tandis que dans la réalité elle est pacifiée et assujettie. La différence entre les perfections de la sainteté, qui représentent la forme, et celles de la prophétie, qui représentent la réalité, dépendent par contre du corps, puisque dans le stade de la sainteté, les éléments corporels ne cessent pas de générer des contrastes et des résistances. L’élément feu, par exemple, même quand il y a pacification de l’âme, ne cesse de stimuler l’orgueil ; l’élément terre ne renonce pas à sa propre bassesse ni à sa vulgarité ; et il en est ainsi pour ce

19. Sur le concept de suivre les prophètes et d’en être de cette sorte les héritiers, concept central dans la doctrine islamique sur la sainteté et la prophétie, cf. Chodkiewicz 1986, pp. 95-110.

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qui concerne les autres éléments. Dans les perfections de la prophétie, au contraire, on rejoint aussi l’équilibre (i‘tidāl) des éléments corporels et on devient inaccessibles aux excès et aux intempérances. Peut-être est-ce à ce propos que le Prophète a dit : « Il s’est soumis, mon Satan » (aslama šaytānī)20. En effet, comme il y a un Satan dans le monde extérieur à l’homme (dar āfāq), il y en a également un dans son intérieur (dar anfus), et cela est représenté par l’élément du feu, qui pousse à se juger supérieur et incite à l’orgueil, à la présomption et à toutes les mauvaises qualités de ce genre21. La soumission [citée dans le ḥadīṯ] pourrait alors signifier la disparition de ces qualités inférieures. Dans les perfections de la prophétie se vérifient la fixation du cœur (tamkīn-i qalb), la pacification de l’âme et l’équilibre des éléments corporels, tandis que dans les perfections de la sainteté se vérifient la fixation du cœur et, après de longues tergiversations, la pacification de l’âme. J’ai dit « après de longues tergiversations » parce que la pacification de l’âme se vérifie dans sa modalité la plus complète et sans effort, seulement après que les éléments corporels se sont équilibrés. C’est pour cette raison que, pour ceux qui possèdent la sainteté, l’âme pacifiée peut acquérir à nouveau ses qualités humaines, justement parce qu’ils n’ont pas équilibré les éléments du corps, comme on l’a déjà dit. La pacification qui arrive après avoir équilibré les éléments corporels est au contraire à l’abri du péril de revenir aux qualités humaines. Le fait de revenir au moins à ces qualités négatives, dépend de la diversité des états et des connaissances acquises. Comme il est dit : « Chacun connaît ses propres états et parle de ce qu’il a trouvé ». Question : Quand les éléments corporels parviennent à l’équilibre et cessent de créer des résistances et des oppositions, comment est-il possible de concevoir une guerre sainte contre eux, puisque – en analogie avec le cas de l’âme pacifiée – chaque forme de lutte devrait cesser ? Réponse : La différence entre l’âme pacifiée et ces éléments consiste dans le fait que la première est caractérisée par l’anéantissement et la dissolution. Elle est entièrement prise par le Monde du Commandement22 et elle est complètement anéantie et ivre. Mais les éléments n’ont rien à voir avec l’ivresse

20. Ce ḥadīṯ ne se trouve pas sous cette forme dans les recueils canoniques ; cependant, il est rapporté, en termes partiellement différents, dans les recueils de Bazzār et de Bayhaqī. 21. Comme un écho de la faute de Satan, qui, en refusant d’adorer Adam, dit à Dieu : « Je suis meilleur que lui: tu m’as créé du feu et lui, tu l’as créé de l’argile » (Coran, VII : 12). 22. Dans la cosmologie naqšbandī l’univers manifeste, défini comme la ‘sphère de la contingence’ (dā’ira-yi imkān), est subdivisé en deux mondes: celui spirituel du Commandement (‘ālam-i amr) et celui individuel de la ‘création’ (‘ālam-i ḫalq).

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ou l’anéantissement, en vertu justement, de la conformité aux préceptes de la loi, fondés sur la sobriété. Celui qui est anéanti (mustahlik) ne peut éprouver aucune opposition, ni être sobre. Il est tout du moins possible qu’il y ait en lui une réticence apparente envers certaines choses, motivée par des avantages ou par des bénéfices personnels. Mais il est souhaitable – par la grâce de Dieu – que de telles réticences n’aillent pas au delà de l’omission des œuvres recommandées (istiḥbāb) et qu’elles n’excèdent pas l’accomplissement de quelques actes répréhensibles qui ne sont pas de nature grave (karāhat-i tanzīh)23. La guerre sainte est donc concevable au niveau du corps, même une fois qu’on a atteint l’équilibre de ses éléments constitutifs. Cependant, elle est impossible dans le cas de l’âme pacifiée. Le développement de cet argument a été déjà inclus dans la lettre du premier volume, adressée à mon défunt fils aîné, dans laquelle j’ai parlé en détail de la voie24 : si donc, quelque chose vous semble obscur, vous pouvez vous référer à ce texte. Si les perfections de la prophétie, qui sont le résultat et le fruit de la réalité de la loi, arrivent par la grâce divine jusqu’à leur but, c’est-à-dire à leur accomplissement, à ce moment-là, il n’y a plus d’ascension liée aux œuvres, parce que dans ce stade tout dépend de la faveur de Dieu et de Sa bonté : ici il n’y a plus de place pour les croyances, pour la science ou l’action, car tout est faveur et générosité [divine]. Relativement aux stades précédents, il s’agit d’un stade très élevé, doué d’une portée immense et d’une luminosité dont il n’y a pas de trace dans les degrés précédents. Ce stade est réservé exclusivement aux prophètes majeurs (anbiyā’-i ulū’l-‘azm). Mais tous ceux qui sont touchés par la sollicitude divine peuvent aussi en être gratifiés et honorés, en vertu du fait qu’ils suivent les prophètes et qu’ils en sont les héritiers. Chose qui n’est pas difficile à faire pour les Nobles ! Pourtant, on ne peut pas penser ou affirmer qu’à ce niveau, on se rende indépendant de la forme et de la réalité de la loi, et qu’il n’y ait plus besoin de respecter les préceptes légaux. Je peux en fait répondre que la loi constitue la racine et le fondement de cette condition : chaque fois qu’un arbre grandit, ou quand la construction d’un château ou d’un palais avance, on ne peut ab-

23. Dans le sens où l’on n’oublie pas les œuvres obligatoires et que l’on n’accomplit pas des actes de nature répréhensible (karāhat-i taḥrīm). 24. Il s’agit de la lettre I, 260, adressée justement au fils aîné de Sirhindī, Ḫwāja Muḥammad Ṣādiq, mort à vingt-cinq ans, en 1616, avec deux autres frères, à cause d’une épidémie de peste. Dans cette longue lettre, de nombreux aspects techniques du chemin initiatique (sulūk) sont approfondis.

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solument pas se passer des racines et des fondements, et leur nécessité intrinsèque ne cesse jamais. Par exemple, chaque fois qu’une maison est agrandie et devient plus haute et plus grande il n’est pas possible de se passer de sa partie inférieure. Si cette dernière venait à manquer, même la partie la plus élevée de la maison en subirait les conséquences, car s’il manque ce qui est en bas, ce qui est en haut vient à manquer aussi. La loi est ainsi nécessaire à chaque instant et dans chaque condition, et tous sont tenus à l’observance de ses préceptes. Quand ensuite, on procède encore au-delà de ce niveau et que par la grâce divine on passe de la faveur (tafaḍḍul) à l’amour (maḥabbat), à ce moment-là, on se trouve face à un stade élevé, réservé exclusivement au Sceau des Envoyés et à ceux qui, en le suivant et en héritant de lui, sont gratifiés d’une telle condition. Au centre de cette demeure – qui à cause de sa hauteur éloignée, semble étroite (tang) à contempler – j’ai trouvé le Véridique (Siddīq) [Abū Bakr], qui y demeure en vertu de sa nature d’héritier. Le Sagace (Fārūq) [‘Umar] a également eu accès à cette condition, tandis que parmi les mères des croyants j’ai vu demeurer avec le Prophète, en vertu de leur amour conjugal, Ḫadīja et la Véridique (Ṣiddīqa) [c’est-à-dire ‘Ā’iša]. Et à Dieu – qu’Il soit glorifié – appartient le commandement ! « Notre Seigneur, donne–nous de la miséricorde de Ta part et donne-nous rectitude dans l’action » (Coran, XVIII : 10)25.

25. La lettre se termine avec de brefs conseils à caractère personnel adressés au destinataire, que nous avons omis de traduire car ils ne sont pas pertinents pour notre thème principal.

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BIBLIOGRAPHIE

Alvi, Sajida, 2005 : « The Naqshbandī Mujaddidī Sufi Order’s Ascendancy in Central Asia Through the Eyes of its Masters and Disciples », in : T. Lawson, éd., Reason and Inspiration in Islam. Essays in Honour of Hermann Landolt. London, I.B. Tauris, pp. 418-431. Ansari, Mohammad Abdul Haq, 1986 : Sufism and Shari’ah. A Study of Shaykh Ahmad Sirhindi’s Effort to Reform Sufism. Leicester, Islamic Foundation. Chodkiewicz, Michel, 1986 : Le Sceau des saints. Prophétie et sainteté dans la doctrine d’Ibn Arabī. Paris, Gallimard. Damrel, David W., 2000 : « The ‘Naqshbandī Reaction’ Reconsidered », in : D. Gilmartin - B. B. Lawrence, éds., Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia. Gainesville, University Press of Florida, pp. 176-98. De Luca, G., 1993 : « Non sono Io il vostro Signore? ». I Quaderni di Avallon, 31, pp. 63-81. Fārūqī, Šāh Abū al-Ḥasan Zayd, 1397/1977 : Ḥaẓrat Mujaddid aur unke nā-qadin. Delhi, tr. anglaise : Hazrat Mujaddid and his Critics. Lahore, Progressive Books, 1982. Friedmann, Yohanan, 1971 : Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī. An Outline of his Thought and a Study of his Image in the Eyes of Posterity. Montreal, Mc Gill University of Islamic Studies. Ibn ‘Arabī, 1988 : Les Illuminations de la Mecque. Textes choisis, présentés et traduits sous la direction de M. Chodkiewicz avec la collaboration de C. Chodkiewicz et D. Gril, Paris, Albin Michel. Sirhindī, Aḥmad, 1392/1972 : Maktubāt-i Imām-i Rabbānī. Ġulām Muṣṭafā Ḫān, éd., Karachi, 2 vols. Ter Haar, Johann G. J., 1992 : « The Naqshbandi Tradition in the Eyes of Ahmad Sirhindī », in : M. Gaborieau - A. Popovic - Th. Zarcone, éds., Naqshbandis. Cheminements et situation actuelle d’un ordre mystique musulman. Istanbul, Isis, pp. 83-93. Ventura, Alberto, 1990 : Profezia e Santità secondo Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī. Cagliari, Università di Cagliari.

renewal of the Čištī order in eighteenth-Century punjab. Converging paths of two sufi Masters: Maulānā faḪr al-dīn aurangābādī and nūr MuḤaMMad Mahāravī

Sajida Sultana Alvi

Abstract: The rise of the Čištī chain of Sufi masters (silsila) in the eighteenth century in south-western Punjab is presented by examining the lives of two Sufi masters, Faḫr al-Dīn Aurangābādī (d. 1199/1785) and Nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī (d. 1205/1790). They came from two separate worlds; one from urban, formal and sophisticated Delhi, and the other from rural, more informal, flexible and intimate Punjab. This paper challenges the oppositional paradigm so often repeated in the literature by Orientalists. The life stories of Faḫr al-Dīn (master) and Nūr Muḥammad (disciple) highlight the contrasts in their backgrounds while illustrating the concurrent commonalities and links between them and their respective locales. This paper discusses the intimate interactions between the master and the disciple, Nūr Muḥammad’s spiritual and academic training, and the transmission of knowledge from master to disciple in part because of the reification of Sufism and the categorical opposition of rural versus urban in much of the scholarly literature on Islam. Nūr Muḥammad brought the intellectual, metaphysical and spiritual traditions of Aurangabad and Delhi to the Punjab. His encounter with Maulānā Faḫr al-Dīn led to a renaissance of the travellers on the Čištī path (ṭarīqa) in the rural Punjab five hundred years after it had peaked in India.

IntroductIon the perfect manifestation (maẓhar), the reflection of Maulānā [Faḫr al-dīn], the follower of his [Maulānā’s] wish (murād), the favoured and beloved of Allāh and His Prophet, the guide of the period, the leader of communities, the appointee of the Prophet to educate the masses, engaged in the search of the truth, indifferent to worldly attachments, our master (maḫdūm), Maulānā Ḫwāja nūr Muḥammad. May his exalted shadow carry on.1 1. niẓām 1315, p. 15.

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thus was nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī extolled by one of his ḫulafā’ (deputies), Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān niẓām, minister of the Mughal Emperor Šāh ‘Ālam II (r. 117-10/1759-106) and grandson of niẓām al-Mulk Āṣaf Jāh, founder of the niẓām dynastic rule in Hyderabad (deccan). Who was nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī? His name is not familiar to specialists of Islamic history in South Asia because he is one of those numerous Sufis, among eminent intellectuals and ‘ulamā of the later Mughal period, left in obscurity, not mentioned even in the encyclopaedias.3 nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī (d. 114/1790), known also as Qibla-yi ‘Ālam, was viewed by his contemporaries as the highest-ranking deputy (ḫalīfa) of the eminent Sufi master (muršid) Maulānā Faḫr al-dīn Aurangābādī. Faḫr al-dīn died in delhi in 1199/175 and was buried in Quṭb al-dīn Baḫtiyār Kākī’s shrine, where he had conducted nūr Muḥammad’s formal initiation some 34 years earlier. nūr Muḥammad died in Mahār (Punjab) in 105/1790, and was buried close to the shrine of Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar’s grandson, tāj al-dīn Sarwar, in the small township of Bastī tāj Sarwar near Mahār.4 nūr Muḥammad’s encounter with Faḫr al-dīn, truly a meeting of two minds and souls, deeply influenced nūr Muḥammad. He is credited for initiating the renaissance of the Čištī Sufi order (ṭarīqa) in rural Punjab five hundred years after its supposed decline began with the death of the eminent master of the movement’s « golden age », Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar (d. 663/165), also known as Bābā Farīd. this essay is an introduction to my book-length study of nūr Muḥammad and his four deputies (to be introduced later on), who carried forward his message, reinvigorating the social, religio-spiritual and intellectual spheres of rural society in the Punjab until the British takeover of the region in 149. during this period (114-165/1730-149), the south-western Punjab, because of its geographical location and the faltering Mughal imperial administrative . Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān niẓām moved to Mahār from delhi and died in Kālpī (Southern Punjab) in 115/100. Monzavī 194, p. 95; niẓāmī 194, p. 15. For details of niẓām al-Mulk, see note 15 below. 3. It was my review of Ernst - Lawrence 00, that influenced a shift in my research from the naqšbandī to the Čištī. While carefully reading this book, I noted an obvious void in this excellent work – the absence of any detailed analysis of an important development, that of the ascendancy of the Čištiyya order in south-western Punjab in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. david Gilmartin briefly discusses nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī and his descendants and the revival of Sufism in the Punjab; see Gilmartin 199, pp. 56-6. the only detailed work available on this subject, region and period is niẓāmī 194. It is a pioneering, introductory and descriptive work, published in 197 in urdu. there are also several works written in urdu after niẓāmī’s Tārīḫ but they are of hagiographical nature. 4. Bastī tāj Sarwar is now known as Čištiyyan Šarīf. For a description of the site and its picture, see Appendix 1.

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structure, became the playing field of rival forces. there were uprisings of local hereditary landowners and leaders of the communities (zamīndār); the revolts of the Sikhs; the onslaught of Iranians under the leadership of nādir Šāh Afšār who sacked delhi in 1151/1739, followed by the Afghan leader, Aḥmad Šāh durrānī in 1159/1747; and the collapse of the Mughal administration under Sikh rule. there was also infighting among various ethnic groups vying for power and control of resources.5 Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad came from two separate worlds; the former from urban, formal and sophisticated delhi, and the latter from rural, more informal, flexible and intimate agrarian Punjab. they were poles apart in social etiquette and manners, in the lifestyles, family backgrounds and educational experiences that shaped their intellectual makeup and worldviews. on the surface this divide appears consistent with an oppositional paradigm contrasting « great tradition » with « little tradition », literate/illiterate, « popular/traditional » and followers of « textual Islam » with illiterate rural Muslims typically understood as « swayed by superstition ». Validating this paradigm is not the purpose of this paper. Instead, the alternating accounts of the life stories of Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad highlight the contrasts in their backgrounds while illustrating the concurrent commonalities and links between these two individuals and their respective locales. this paper thus challenges the oppositional paradigm so often repeated in the literature by orientalists and the conservative standard-bearers of Islam. Ernst and Lawrence in their various writings have dispassionately discussed such misunderstandings and misrepresentations as well as the categorization of Sufi orders and their place in Islamic civilization.6 they are not concerned much with the urban-rural divide that is characteristic of the anthropologists writing about Africa, the Middle East and Indonesia. Asad, for example, notes: one way in which anthropologists have attempted to resolve the problem of diversity is to adapt the orientalist distinction between orthodox and unorthodox Islam to the categories of Great and Little traditions, and thus to set up the seemingly more acceptable distinction between the scripturalist, puritanical faith of the town, and the saint-worshipping, ritualistic religion of the countryside.

5. Some of the relevant sources on these crises are Alam 196; nijjar 197 and Singh 197. 6. carl Ernst and Bruce Lawrence refuse to apply the theory of classicism and decline or the periodization of ancient, medieval and modern used in Western historiography on Sufism. In their insightful study, Sufi Martyrs of Love, while they reject the orientalists’ theories of the rise, decline and fall of the Islamic civilization as well as of Sufism, they present their own periodization. For details see Ernst - Lawrence 00, pp. 11-14. Also see Ernst 1997, pp. 1-1; Ernst 003, pp. 1013.

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For anthropologists, neither form of Islam has a claim to being regarded as « more real » than the other. they are what they are, formed in different ways in different conditions. In fact, the religion of the countryside is taken as a single form only in an abstract, contrastive sense.7

ours is not an anthropological study. But it deals with the Čištī Sufis in rural Punjab and argues that the urban-rural divide of the Čištīs is not as wide as it is made to appear by the orientalists and others. the present study provides the accounts of these two masters, not as social biographies, but more as pages of history based on these Sufi masters’ congregational discourses, recorded by the first and second generations of their disciples and deputies, as well as on the records of their contemporaries and near contemporaries. Included in the profiles of the two Sufi masters is valuable information about their lineages, families and early educations. While we focus here on nūr Muḥammad’s education and spiritual training under Faḫr al-dīn’s supervision, leading to his emergence as a major Sufi master in the Punjab, the narrative also demonstrates that the Punjab was itself a region that nurtured intellectual activities well before the ascendancy of the Čištī ṭarīqa, and that its soil was already soaked in spirituality. It was largely through nūr Muḥammad’s efforts that the crosscurrents of the intellectual, metaphysical and spiritual traditions of Aurangabad and delhi were transmitted to the Punjab. At the same time, he revived the existing, unique local traditions.

FAḪr AL-dīn’S FAMILy BAcKGround Although providing a social biography of Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad is not primary concern here, I nonetheless incorporate biographical details in order to highlight several issues more strikingly. these issues include mapping the educational networks from which both Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad benefited; outlining the muršid-murīd relationship between Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad, as well as the muršid-murīd relationship nūr Muḥammad eventually established with his own ḫulafā’; and identifying the distinctive types of knowledge – speculative and practical sciences (‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī), and theory and practice for spiritual development (‘ulūm-i bāṭinī) – that both men mastered and taught. Each of these issues challenges the oppositional paradigm favoured by orientalists. nūr Muḥammad’s access to the network of teachers, including Faḫr al-dīn, demonstrates the existence of an educational infra7. Asad 196, p. 6. I duly acknowledge Junaid Quadiri for bringing this article to my attention.

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structure that extended well into rural areas. Such an infrastructure suggests that the transmission of knowledge throughout the south-western Punjab at this time was ongoing, not desiccated or non-existent. this educational network, linking rural sites and urban centres, served to transmit the spiritual traditions of Aurangabad and delhi to the Punjab. Faḫr al-dīn’s ancestors migrated from Ġaur (Afghanistan, near Qandahar) to Kākorī, near Lucknow, where his father, niẓām al-dīn, was born some time around 1060/1650.9 niẓām al-dīn completed his early education in his native township and came to delhi for higher education in ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī under Šāh Kalīm Allāh Jahānābādī (1060-114/1650-179), the scion of a family of mathematicians, architects and engineers. Kalīm Allāh himself received rigorous training in philosophy, metaphysics, astronomy, and medicine as part of ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī, in order to qualify for a position in the Mughal civil administration.10 He in turn trained niẓām al-dīn in ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī, with an emphasis on the primary importance of texts pertaining to ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī.11 Subsequently Kalīm Allāh initiated him in the Čištī ṭarīqa. Following the Čištī masters’ tradition of allocating regions of influence to their major ḫalīfa, Kalīm Allāh designated the deccan as niẓām al-dīn’s territory.1 niẓām al-dīn accompanied the Mughal army to the deccan in 1094/163,13 settled in Aurangabad and established his Sufi-complex (ḫānaqāh) there.14 He is credited with the revival of the Čištiyya ṭarīqa in the deccan in the eighteenth century, and had a large following among the masses and the Mughal ruling elite. the most noteworthy of his followers was niẓām al-Mulk Āṣaf Jāh, the first niẓām of Hyderabad.15

. Aḥmadpūrī 131, p. 10. 9. niẓām was born in the township Kākorī (or nagrā’on) and died in 1141/179, according to nūr Muḥammad’s later biographer, najm al-dīn Sulaymānī (d. 16/170), see Sulaymānī 131, p. 47. 10. For details of Šāh Kalīm Allāh’s familial background, see note 79 below. 11. niẓām 1315, p. 4. 1. Kalīm Allāh, in one of his letters to niẓām al-dīn, noted that though initially he had thought to attach him to Awrangzeb’s army in deccan, now God had elected him for the region of deccan (ṣāhib-i wilāyat-i Dakkan sāḫta ast) where he should complete that assignment by propagating the truth wherever he went, and should not hesitate to sacrifice his life and wealth for this cause. Kalīm Allāh 1301, Letter no. 1, p. 30. 13. digby 001, p. 66. 14. For more details on niẓām al-dīn’s life and activities as a major Sufi master, see niẓāmī 194, pp. 151-11. 15. niẓām al-Mulk had served as a wazīr of the Mughal emperor Muḥammad Šāh (r. 1719174) and as governor of the deccan under Mughal’s rule. the niẓam dynasty survived the British rule but ended in 16/194 when the Indian government annexed the territory, one year after the establishment of Pakistan. For details, see Heim 199-004, pp. 5-1.



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their closeness was manifested by niẓām al-dīn’s marriage to niẓām al-Mulk’s wife’s sister, Sayyid Begum. their first child was born in 116/1714 in Aurangabad. Šāh Kalīm Allāh named him Faḫr al-dīn with the title of Maulānā.

nūr MuḥAMMAd And HIS rurAL rootS nūr Muḥammad’s life-story takes us to an entirely different locale – the south-western Punjab, where his familial and ethnic heritage was deeply rooted in the soil. the third son of Hindāl and ‘Āqil Bībī, nūr Muḥammad, named Bābal or Behbal by his parents, was born on thursday, ramaḍan 14, 114/April , 1730, in Čoṭāla, a small settlement (bastī) in rural Punjab. His family was not known for learning or political influence; his father, Hindāl, belonged to the Kharal, an offshoot of a low-ranking rajput Panvār ethnic group, and engaged in agriculture and husbandry, considered a lowly vocation. His mother was a Čaṭṭha, one of the Jāt tribes in rural Punjab.16 thus, nūr Muḥammad belonged to two tribes that were relatively new converts to Islam. nūr Muḥammad’s great-grandson, Imām Baḫš Mahāravī (d. 199/1) reported that his ancestors converted to Islam about 6 generations ago.17 the names Hindāl and Behbal indicate that the Islamization process had not yet reached the point of giving Islamic names. Behbal received the name of nūr Muḥammad at the age of 1 from Faḫr al-dīn at the time of his initiation in the Čištī ṭarīqa in delhi.1 He is known as nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī because he grew up in the township of Mahār.19 According to legend, wandering dervishes and sages visiting Čoṭāla 16. the Jāt were regarded a lower class in social hierarchy. For example, Abū rayḥan al-Bīrūnī (d. after 44/1050) remarked that the Jāt were « cattle-owners, low Sudra people ». Bīrūnī 001, vol. 1, p. 401. Among other biographers, Imām Baḫš (nūr Muḥammad’s great-grandson) however, noted that his forefathers were among the ruling elite and traced his lineage to the most famous Sāsānian ruler, naušīrwān (r. 531-579). See Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 10; Mahāravī 1950, p. 11. 17. Among his forefathers, Kharal son of Khīwa was the first to convert to Islam. Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 9; Mahāravī 1950, p. 10, however, omits the information about Kharal’s conversion to Islam. 1. For details of his initiation and change of name, see Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 9. For the gradual transformation of the Punjabi male names into Islamic/Arabic names, see richard Eaton’s study of another clan in the Punjab, the Siyāl. Eaton 194, pp. 35-353. 19. It is noteworthy that the primary biographers provide the distances and geographical locations of important places. For example, najm al-dīn Sulaymānī thus described Čoṭāla, « a village (qarya), three kuroh [six miles] East of Mahār, dependency of the city of Bahawalpur ». See Sulaymānī 131, p. 54. Imām Baḫš, writing five years later, noted that the distance between « Čoṭāla and Mahār [a larger village of the township], was approximately four kuroh, in the vicinity of

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had fore-told his pregnant mother that the child she would bear would be a unique pearl (durr-o la’l-i yagāna), an axis of the age (quṭb-i zamāna), and a Sufi by birth (walī-yi mādar-zād).0 the childhood experiences and early education of nūr Muḥammad and Faḫr al-dīn also stand in sharp contrast. Maulānā Faḫr al-dīn came from a background of privilege and political power, and received rigorous education and training in ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī from his father, while simultaneously studying ‘ulūmi ẓāhirī, including martial arts from other prominent teachers. At the age of sixteen Faḫr al-dīn became his father’s major ḫalīfa and in 1141/179, succeeded his father after his death as the custodian of the ḫānaqāh. Faḫr al-dīn joined the army soon after donning the robe of a Čištī master, and thus was both a Sufi and a soldier, a not uncommon combination during that period.1 twelve years later, Faḫr al-dīn delegated the affairs of the ḫānaqāh in Aurangabad to his younger brother, and left for delhi, arriving there some time in 116465/1751-5. nūr Muḥammad spent his childhood in an impoverished home in rural Punjab during the politically, socially and economically tumultuous third decade of the eighteenth century, a complete contrast to Faḫr al-dīn’s milieu. At the tender age of four years and four months, nūr Muḥammad was enrolled at the local informal elementary school (masjid-maktab). He read the Qur’anic text and memorized it under the supervision of ḥāfiẓ Muḥammad Mas‘ūd Mahār, a pious and learned man. He was not interested in joining his father and elder brothers in tilling the land and breeding animals.3 Instead, to pursue his passion for learning, nūr Muḥammad moved to another village, Bihda, ten or twelve miles from Mahār.4 His next stop was the small township of Bablāna, Bahawalpur, approximately thirty-five kuroh, west of Pākpattan ». See Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 10; Mahāravī 1950, p. 11. 0. As told by his biographers. For more details of nūr Muḥammad’s childhood, see Sulaymānī 131, pp. 55-57; Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, pp. 11-14; Mahāravī 1950, pp. 1-14. the quality of « born Sufi » was not unique to nūr Muḥammad. Among the earlier Sufis, Sayyid Ašraf Jahāngīr Simnānī (d. 145) was also considered « a born saint », according to a later biographer, Ġulām Sarwar Lāhurī, see Lāhurī 1990, vol. , p. 51. For more details, see Ernst - Lawrence 00, p. 7. 1. For details, see digby 001, pp. vii-viii, -9. . there is a discrepancy in Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān niẓām’s citation of the year of Faḫr al-dīn’s arrival in delhi. In his work, the Manāqib, the date is 1160/1747. niẓām 1315, p. 11. However, in the verses that he composed on Faḫr al-dīn’s arrival in delhi, cited in Sulaymānī 131, p. 51, the year given is 1165/1751. It is considered to be accurate. 3. Sulaymānī 131, p. 5. 4. Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 16; Mahāravī 1950, pp. 15-16.

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in the vicinity of Pākpattan, a city on the river Sutlej where the shrine of Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar is located.5 there he studied with a certain Šayḫ Aḥmad Khokhar in Bablāna.6 details of the texts he studied with his teachers are unknown. to further his studies in the rational and transmitted sciences (‘ulūm-i ‘aqliyya va naqliyya), nūr Muḥammad travelled from Bablāna to the larger town of dera Ġāzī Ḫān, located between the river Indus to the west and the Sulaymān mountain-range to the east. At the local madrasa nūr Muḥammad studied Šarḥ-i Mullā, a standard text for the instruction of Arabic grammar written by the naqšbandī Sufi ‘Abd al-raḥmān Jāmī (d. 97/149).7 Here he met a high-ranking Sufi, Muḥkam al-dīn Saylānī (or Sayrānī), an initiate of the naqšbandī, uwaysī and Qādirī orders. this somewhat older man and nūr Muḥammad left for Lahore to study together, begging in the streets of the city to support themselves. they stayed in Lahore for a short time before nūr Muḥammad left for Pākpattan, and Muḥkam al-dīn wandered off somewhere else.9 this brief outline of nūr Muḥammad’s sojourns from village to village, from townships (qaṣba) to small towns, illustrates that despite political turmoil, the system of education in rural, pre-colonial south-western Punjab, though rudimentary, was still intact. It is also noteworthy that this pattern of moving from town to town and teacher to teacher was consistent with that followed by 5. the distance of Pākpattan from Mahār is about 65 miles. 6. Sulaymānī 131, p. 57. 7. Sulaymānī 131, p. 5. ‘Abd-al raḥmān Jāmī’s Šarḥ-i Mullā is a commentary on al-Kāfiya, a classic work on Arabic grammar by Ibn al-ḥājib (d. 14). the biographers do not provide the titles of other books that he studied or the names of his teachers. the only specific information we have is that at the time of nūr Muḥammad’s stay, the governor of dera Ġāzī Ḫān was nawāb Maḥmūd Ḫān Gūjar, Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 16; Mahāravī 1950, p. 15. . this is the first time that his disciple and biographer notes nūr Muḥammad’s difficulties in finding basic sustenance; ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 9v. the Ḫulāṣa al-fawā’id by the physician ḥakīm Qāżī Muḥammad ‘umar is an early important source on nūr Muḥammad. Such a situation could be attributed to disturbances created in Lahore by Aḥmad Šāh durrānī’s troops trying to recover the unpaid land revenue arrears from some districts in the Punjab. For details, Singh 1959, pp. 101-109. 9. In 17/1774, almost three decades later, nūr Muḥammad was regarded as the most celebrated master of the Čištī Faḫrī ṭarīqa in the Punjab. At one of his congregational meetings (majlis) in Mahār, when the news of Muḥkam’s death came, nūr Muḥammad reminisced « Muḥkam al-dīn was a very fine gentleman, immersed in God’s love (ṣaḥib-i šauq), and a sage, and a traveler (sayyāḥ), but had little tolerance for the masses because he was a celibate (mujarrad), and lived by himself. In my early years, Muḥkam al-dīn and I studied together in Lahore ». ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 5r.

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Muslim scholars in classical and pre-modern periods. A similar pattern is repeated even in the twentieth century in the life story of a qāżī in Morocco.30 If one wished to educate oneself, it was not the institution, but the teacher, that mattered. And a teacher’s stature, in the eyes of his peers, the community and members of the broader ethnic group, was determined not by institutional affiliation but by scholarship.31 It should be noted that the transmission of knowledge in the eighteenth-century Punjab, even at the elementary level, was based on mastery of the texts and not on memorization (with the exception of the Qur’anic text), unlike in twentieth-century Morocco, for example.3

nūr MuḥAMMAd In dELHI: In QuESt oF KnoWLEdGE nūr Muḥammad’s encounter with Faḫr al-dīn, a soldier, teacher, and major Sufi master in delhi, was a landmark in his life. Sometime in early 1164/1751, nūr Muḥammad, then a twenty-one year old student, arrived in delhi. In his words: « Initially, I was motivated by a keen desire for higher education. I set out from Lahore for delhi with Miyān Muḥammad Qā’im. Shortly after arriving there, Miyān Qā’im went to the East [i.e. Lucknow], while I stayed with Miyān Barḫurdār Jī, a resident of delhi, living in the madrasa33 […] and studying Quṭbī34 with him. Miyān Barḫurdār Jī was a kind and affectionate teacher with connection to God (ṣāḥib-i nisbat) ».35 Miyān Barḫurdār was a Čištī Sufi who received five rupees daily allowance (a considerable amount in 1164/1751), enough to support nūr Muḥammad as well.36 However, this arrangement was disrupted when Miyān Barḫurdār left 30. For details, see Eickelman 195, pp. 57-71. 31. For details, see Berkey 199, pp. 1-43. 3. Eickelman 195, pp. 59-6. 33. the madrasa Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān, an institution of higher learning (dār al-‘ulūm) established by niẓām al-Mulk Āṣaf Jāh’s father, Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān Firūz Jang (d. 170), located near Ajmeri Gate in delhi. For further details, see Pernau 006, pp. 4-7, and Koch 006, pp. 35-59. 34. A well-known work on logic, Taḥrīr al-qawā’id al-manṭiqiyya fī šarḥ al-Šamsiyya by Quṭb al-dīn Muḥammad ibn al-rāzī al-taḥtānī (d. 766/1364), taḥtānī 194. 35. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 7r. this conversation probably took place around thirty-five years later, after the death of his master, Faḫr al-dīn in 175 at one of his congregational meetings in Mahār. And, it was in reponse to ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar’s question to his master about his first visit to delhi, and the teacher with whom he studied prior to the arrival of his muršid, Ḫwāja Faḫr al-dīn, in delhi. 36. the source of daily allowance is not mentioned. their daily eating routines are given in detail in one of the majālis in a dialogue between ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar and nūr Muḥammad: « the Miyān ate only once in twenty four hours (ba‘d az haštum pās). He would bring from the

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delhi for his native place, leaving nūr Muḥammad quite perturbed. A fellow resident, ḥafiẓ Muḥammad Aṣlaḥ, suggested that nūr Muḥammad (then still called Bihbal) approach Maulavī Faḫr al-dīn, a reputable teacher who had recently arrived from the deccan and was staying in a large house (ḥavelī) close to Ḫānam Bāzār (vicinity of the red Fort in delhi).37 nūr Muḥammad described his subsequent first encounter with Maulavī Faḫr al-dīn as follows: When I arrived at the door, a doorkeeper was sitting there. I thought to myself that he did not know me; how might I enter? Since many people were coming and going, I too moved forward and saw that there was another door leading to the courtyard. From this opening, I could see ḥażrat Maulavī Ṣāḥib who was reclining against a big cushion on a raised large seat (taḫt) that was covered with a white sheet. And I looked at myself – wearing an old wrinkled long tunic and a sheet [wrapped around my waist] with long ruffled hair on my head. thinking of this daunting scene, I became anxious and prayed to God to grant me a chance to study with this Son of a Sufi master (pīr-zāda). Since I was standing across the door, he noticed me and asked me to move forward. When I came close to him, he stepped down the taḫt, showing great respect. He held me – this lowly person – in his arms, as if we were long-separated old friends meeting and embracing each other. He took my hand and had me seated near him on the taḫt. He then enquired about my place of residence. I told him that it was near Pākpattan. He was very pleased and delighted to hear the name of Pākpattan. He asked the reason of my coming to delhi. I submitted that I have heard him teach, and thus became hopeful [to study with him]. He asked, “Where have you studied in the past?” I told him that I studied with Miyān Barḫurdār Jī. [He] responded that he had suspended teaching for quite sometime and that I should continue with the Miyān and come to him only for review. I said that the distance for travel between us was great; and a lot of time would be wasted in coming and going. He smiled and recited this verse:

market 10 ounces (savā pā’o) of rice, eight ounces (one pā’o) of meat and one pā’o of flour. If he did not buy rice, he would buy sixteen ounces (nīm asār) of flour and make bread. I also ate with him. If he ate bread, he gave me rice and if he ate bread, he gave me rice ». nūr Muhammad also added that he and the Miyān cooked the food themselves. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 7r. It is interesting to note that in the description of weights and time, the terms used in this dialogue are in Arabic, Hindi/urdu and Persian. For example, pa’o is quarter ( ounces) and savā pā’o is pa’o and one quarter (10 ounces) of one ser weighing two pounds= thirty-two ounces. Instead of « ser », the author used « asār » its equivalent in Arabic. For twenty-four hours, he used Persian term « haštum pās ». 37. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, ff. 3v-4r.

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Mā barāyi waṣl kardan āmadīm Nay barāyi faṣl kardan āmadīm [rūmī] “We came to unite - not to divide, we came”. And then he added, “yes, you could study with me”. thus his instruction [to me] started. Praise be to Allāh, What an ocean of knowledge was he!3

Al-taḥtānī’s Taḥrīr al-qawā’id, which he had already studied with Miyān Barḫurdār, was the first text nūr Muḥammad studied with Faḫr al-dīn. Even before finishing the entire text Faḫr al-dīn suggested to his zealous student: « do not waste your time in studying ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī. [the text of Quṭbī that you have read] is sufficient for your needs. Engage yourself in acquiring the knowledge that you are worthy of ».39 By this, he meant the acquisition of knowledge and training pertaining to spirituality and Sufism. In his Ḏikr al-aṣfiyyā’, Gul Muḥammad Aḥmadpūrī (the ḫalīfa of nūr Muḥammad’s major ḫalīfa, Qāżī Muḥammad ‘Āqil) recorded that nūr Muḥammad received certification (ijāza) in ḥadīṯ from Faḫr al-din.40 Aḥmadpūrī also mentioned nūr Muḥammad’s solid training in Qur’anic exegesis (‘ilm al-tafsīr).41 the vibrant and stimulating intellectual milieu of delhi at the time was likely to have been a contributing factor in nūr Muḥammad’s intellectual development. He was surrounded by the ‘ulamā and Sufis such as Šāh Walī Allāh (d. 1175/176) and his sons, Mīrzā Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān (d. 1199/171), Qāżī Ṯanā Allāh Pānipatī (d. 14/110), and three master poets of the delhi school: Ḫwāja Mīr dard (d. 1199/175), Mīr Saudā (d. 1195/171), and Mīr taqī Mīr (d. 14/110).

trEAdInG tHE SPIrItuAL PAtH: nūr MuḥAMMAd’S InItIAtIon A few months after their initial meeting, Faḫr al-dīn took nūr Muḥammad, his first disciple since arriving in delhi, to the shrine of Ḫwāja Quṭb al-dīn Baḫtiyār Kākī (d. 63/135) in the small township of Mahraulī, eleven miles 3. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 4v. 39. Sulaymānī 131, p. 5 40. Aḥmadpūrī 131, pp. 179-10. 41. cited here is an anecdote from Aḥmadpūrī, who noted that during the last year of his life (1791), nūr Muḥammad did not speak much in the company of his relatives. one day when he was at home, some one asked him about his being less communicative. He responded, « My conversation is based on tafsīr and ḥadīṯ – with whom should I converse and who would understand? ». Aḥmadpūrī 131, p. 1.



Muslim Cultures in the Indo-Iranian World

away, to commemorate Kākī’s death anniversary (‘urs, lit. wedding). It was at the shrine of this Sufi master – one of the « Great ones » – that Faḫr al-dīn conducted nūr Muḥammad’s formal initiation ceremony (bay‘at).4 the next important milestone in nūr Muḥammad’s spiritual training and evolution was his first extended contact with Faḫr al-dīn during their travel to Pākpattan for the pilgrimage (ziyārat) to the shrine of Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar, Ḫwāja Baḫtiyār al-dīn Kākī’s major ḫalīfa.43 In october 1751, nūr Muḥammad prepared for this journey home to the Punjab from delhi, along with his muršid, one attendant, and a horse. In undertaking the pilgrimage, Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad followed a well-established tradition practised by emperors, nobles, Sufi šayḫ and common people alike, in the Indian subcontinent, Iran and turkic lands, of travelling long distances on foot for ziyārat at the shrines of Imāms and Sufi masters to commemorate anniversaries of their births and deaths.44 While heading towards Pākpattan, in order to attain spiritual blessings, they paid respects at the shrine of Imām nāṣir al-dīn in Sonepat and at the tombs of Bū ‘Alī Šāh Qalandar (d. 73/133) and Šams al-dīn turk (d. 714/1315 or 717/131) in Panipat. In the city of Lahore, they visited the shrine of Muḥtaram Allāh naqšbandī (d. 1101/1690). though their feet were badly blistered over the course of their arduous journey, they did not ride the horse they had hired, but rather used the horse to provide relief for exhausted fellow travellers.45 they arrived in Pākpattan in ḏū al-ḥijja, 1, 1164/november, 1, 1751, stayed for two months and eleven days and were in delhi on Ṣafar 13, 1165/January, 1, 175.46 their travels and experiences have been thoroughly documented by 4. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 5v. 43. It was Baḫtiyār al-dīn Kākī who had designated Pākpattan and surrounding regions to be Farīd al-dīn’s sphere of spiritual influence. 44. the emperors and nobility also followed the tradition of pilgrimage on foot. Mughal Emperor Akbar (r. 963-1013/1556-1605) traveled on foot from delhi to Sīkrī (later Fatehpur Sikri), near Agra, to receive the blessings of a living Sufi master, Šayḫ Salīm Čištī (d. 979/157). Likewise, Šāh ‘Abbās Ṣafavī (r. 995-103/157-169) followed a much more arduous and longer route, from Iṣfahān to ‘Alī riżā’s (d. 03/19) shrine in Mashhad (duration of travel,  days). these are just two examples of the rulers’ ziyārat on foot. controversy over this practice, however, arose in the nineteenth century with the rise of the Wahhābī in Arabia and the reformers’ criticism of Sufi practices. For details of arguments and the texts written on the topic, see the chapter « controversies over pilgrimage to Sufi Shrines », in : Ernst - Lawrence 00, pp. 90-9. 45. niẓām 1315, pp. 11-1. 46. Čištī 14, pp. 170, 176. For details of the activities and spiritual exercises of Faḫr al-dīn, see ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 5v; niẓām 1315, p. 1; Mahāravī Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, ff. 11-14; Mahāravī 1950, pp. 1-14.

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biographers,47 who have drawn particularly on Faḫr al-dīn’s very personal and confidential personal diary (bayāż) in which he recorded many of his spiritual experiences (wāridāt) in Pākpattan.4 From the details, it is clear that this period was of profound spiritual importance for both muršid and murīd.

SPIrItuAL trAInInG (TARbIyAT) After his sojourn to Pākpattan with Faḫr al-dīn, and for the next 17 or1 years, nūr Muḥammad spent six to nine months each year with his master in delhi, going to Mahār only for brief periods.49 It was during this time that he underwent intensive theoretical training in the Čištī ṭarīqa. Faḫr al-dīn assigned nūr Muḥammad three foundational speculative and devotional works of his own father’s muršid, Šāh Kalīm Allāh: Kaškūl-i Kalīmī, Muraqqa‘-i Kalīmī (an appendix to Kaškūl-i Kalīmī) and Sawā’ al-sabīl,50 but did not recommend his father’s own comprehensive work on Čištī practices and meditation techniques, Niẓām al-qulūb.51 the reason for this might be that Kalīm Allāh had developed a new framework for Čištiyya teachings and practices to be studied under the supervision of a muršid. other texts in nūr Muhammad’s course of study under Faḫr al-dīn included Fuṣūṣ-al ḥikam of Muḥyī al-dīn ibn ‘Arabī (d. 637/140), the Dīwān of Ḫwāja Šams al-dīn Šīrāzī (d. 79/137) and the Maṯnawī of Jalāl al-dīn rūmī (d. 671/173). While giving nūr Muḥammad the Faqarāt, a work of ‘ubayd Allāh Aḥrār (d.95/1490), Faḫr al-dīn instructed him thus: « you should review this book frequently. It is an intrinsic source of divine attraction (jaḏba) ».5 He also shared exclusively with nūr Muḥammad musings and observations from his personal diary (bayāż), where he documented major spiritual marvels (‘ajā‘ibāt-i kabīra), and states of mind and soul that he experienced on an earlier travel from Aurangabad to Ajmer in 1164/1751.53 Practices for spiritual 47. For details of the travel and their stay in Pākpattan, see Mahāravī Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, ff. 33-46; Mahāravī 1950, pp. 6-35. 4. Excerpts of this bayāż were published for the first time by niṯār Aḥmad Fārūqī, see Fārūqī 1997, pp. 7-5. 49. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 5v; Mahāravī 1950, p. 35. However, Imām Baḫš recorded that his great-grandfather spent a total of thirty-four years with the Maulānā. Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 156; Mahāravī 1950, p. 11. 50. For details of the contents of Kalīm Allāh’s works, see niẓāmī 194, pp. 100-14. 51. For details, see Ernst - Lawrence 00, pp. -3. 5. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 6v. 53. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 7r.

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development undertaken by nūr Muḥammad included: repetition of divine names (ḏikr), control of breath (ḥabs-i dam), meditation (murāqaba), asceticism (mujāhada) and listening to music (samā‘).54 these constituted the practical side of ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī. Moreover, the company of the muršid (ṣuḥbat-i šayḫ) was a great source of inspiration and contributed to spiritual practice. In his congregational meetings, nūr Muḥammad remembered his muršid with deep reverence and adoration on account of his kindness. the following statement by nūr Muḥammad, however, is intriguing: “ḥażrat Maulavī [Faḫr al-dīn], may Allāh be pleased with him, was a very cheerful person. But when I was present, he would be sombre. Also, when friends [nūr Muḥammad’s fellow disciples] used to his [Faḫr al-dīn’s] jovial nature would arrive, I would get up and leave [the room].” A member of the congregation then asked nūr Muḥammad the reason for Faḫr al-dīn’s seriousness in his presence. He responded, “His intuition (ḥikmat) was that the supervision should be in tune with the temperament of each member, and the same was applicable to instruction (talqīn). thus, all of my friends would sleep in the courtyard but I would get no space there. […] ḥażrat Maulavī suggested that I should have a separate space. So much so that he would teach me on a oneon-one basis in private. Afterwards, the Maulavī would go and all others would read together”.55

It is difficult to explain this preferential treatment given by the muršid to his disciple. It could be attributed to nūr Muḥammad’s unique spiritual and intellectual qualities or to his coming from the Punjab, the land of Bābā Farīd. Whatever may be the reason, Faḫr al-dīn was an extremely attentive and compassionate muršid. He took every possible care in nurturing his special disciple in ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī and ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī, as well as in his overall personal affairs (jamī‘-i umūr). nūr Muḥammad’s biographers inform us that even his marriage took place at Faḫr al-dīn’s prompting and probably with his financial support.56 the marriage occurred despite nūr Muḥammad’s preference for celibacy (tajarrud),57 a practice encouraged by some masters of the Čištī order.5

54. For details of Čištī core practices, see Ernst - Lawrence 00, pp. 7-49. 55. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 4r-v. 56. Sulaymānī 131/194, p. 61. 57. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. v. 5. Kalīm Allāh encouraged Faḫr al-dīn’s father, niẓām al-dīn, to practice celibacy but was permitted later on to get married. niẓāmī 194, pp. 177-17. For Kalīm Allāh’s views on the topic, see, Kalīm Allāh n.d., pp. 196-19.

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nūr MuḥAMMAd’S croWnInG AS A ḪALīFA And HIS rEturn to PunJAB After grooming nūr Muḥammad intellectually and spiritually for over eighteen years, Faḫr al-dīn bestowed upon him the robe of ḫilāfat in 113-4/1769-70. He designated nūr Muḥammad as his vice-regent (qā’im maqām), and advised him to establish a ḫānaqāh in Mahār.59 From that time onward, Faḫr al-dīn directed anyone who sought guidance in his search for God (dar ṭalab-i ḫudā) to nūr Muḥammad. After nūr Muḥammad’s departure to Mahār, Faḫr al-dīn is mentioned for often reciting the following Punjabi couplet (dohā), underlining their intimate spiritual connection:

Tan maṯkey, man jharnā, surt balovan hār Makkhan Punjābī lay-gayā, čhāčh pi’o sansār60 [My] body is unsteady, the heart is depressed, consciousness is evoking the Punjabi took away the essence [makkhan, butter] of the [congregation], what is left for us is whey [čhāčh]

Imām Baḫš, recorded that Faḫr al-dīn bade farewell to his great-grandfather nūr Muḥammad with these waṣāyā [testaments]: 1. When you receive the news of my death, do not come to delhi; . do not wear « Hindūstanī attire » (pāyjāma and tunic); 3. If someone hurts or harms you, forgive him and counter it with kindness; 4. When you settle in this region, the ‘ulamā, and the progeny of the Prophet (sādāt) and the descendants of Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar will be attracted to you; be respectful to them with all affability; 5. An Amīr (ruler) will be attached to your retinue; take care of him and his territory.

Imām Baḫš further noted that nūr Muḥammad acted upon all of these directives, and he conjectured that the final waṣiyyat concerning « an Amīr » probably referred to nawāb Muḥammad Bahāwal Ḫān II (r. 115-13/177109).61 the second waṣiyyat concerning dress recalls nūr Muḥammad’s

59. Čištī 199, p. 460. 60. Sulaymānī 131, p. 77. 61. Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, pp. 50- 5; Mahāravī 1950, pp. 3-39.

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self-consciousness at the time of his first meeting with Faḫr al-dīn.6 In the primary texts that we have used, there is only one reference to nūr Muḥammad wearing non-Punjabi attire, during his sojourn from delhi to Pākpattan with Faḫr al-dīn in october 1751. the muršid permitted nūr Muḥammad to leave Pākpattan and go to Mahār to meet his mother and other relatives. Sulaymānī depicted his arrival in Mahār thus: When he arrived near Mahār, there was a stream [that he had to cross] flowing next to the town. He was dressed like a Hindūstānī, wearing tight trousers (pāyjāma-i sarāwīl), a four-cornered cap (kulāh-i čahār tarkī)63 on his head, (our emphasis) and an earthen travel-bottle (āftāba-i gilī) on his shoulder. Some women of the township were washing clothes on the other side of the stream. one of them was nūr Muḥammad’s aunt. While he was crossing the stream, she asked, “o dervish! you are coming from Hindūstān. our son, named Bābal, who looks like you, has gone there. do you have any information about him?” He responded, “I am the one” the aunt immediately ran to nūr Muḥammad’s mother and gave her this news.64

nūr Muḥammad remained mindful of his humble, rural origins and was consistently self-effacing, as illustrated by the following anecdote: Having initiated nūr Muḥammad, the Maulānā [Faḫr al-dīn] told him, “you would serve the masses well”. nūr Muḥammad was taken aback. He responded, “I am a poor Punjabi; there are so many individuals better than me who are closer to you. How would I have the chance to serve?” However, [later developments] were exactly as the Maulānā wished. to this day, through him [nūr Muḥammad] and his disciples, astonishing things are happening.65

6. « And I looked at myself – wearing an old wrinkled long tunic and a sheet [wrapped around my waist] with long ruffled hair on my head… », ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 4v. 63. the four corners [of the cap] were supposed to represent: « (1) relinquishing the world (tark-i dunyā); () abandoning the hereafter (tark-i ‘uqbā) i.e. not worshiping God for rewards in the hereafter; (3) being lost in the contemplation of God (tark-i Maulā), i.e. the stage of annihilation in God (fanā fī Allāh); and (4) abandoning the abandoned (tark-i tark) reaching the stage of perfect tawḥīd, the declaration that God is one », Fārūqī 193, p. 34. 64. Sulaymānī 131, p. 59. 65. Sulaymānī 131, p. 59; niẓām 1315, p. 3.

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MAuLĀnĀ FAḪr AL-dīn And HIS PunJABI ḪuLAFā’ the life history of nūr Muḥammad is an entry point into the exploration of « memory and remembrance » of the great Sufi masters of the thirteenthcentury, and the ziyārat to their shrines by Sufi masters of the eighteenth and nineteenth-centuries. For nūr Muḥammad and his ḫalīfa, shrines such as the Ḫwāja Quṭb al-dīn Baḫtiyār Kākī complex symbolized their spiritual history and the role of remembrance in their contemporary Sufism. during one congregational meeting nūr Muḥammad recalled how on his second visit to delhi, following his initiation, he accompanied Faḫr al-dīn to Mahraulī for the ziyārat to the shrine of Quṭb al-dīn Baḫtiyār Kākī. there Faḫr al-dīn advised nūr Muḥammad: « remember this place where I initiated you ».66 nūr Muḥammad’s own ḫulafā’ also continued to revere that place. After his move to Punjab in 113/1770, until Faḫr al-dīn’s death in 1199/175, nūr Muḥammad visited his muršid in delhi for two or three months a year.67 As a major Sufi master in the Punjab, nūr Muḥammad trained some of his disciples to qualify for ḫilāfa. He then brought with him or sent his four major ḫulafā’ to delhi to study with Faḫr al-dīn: nūr Muḥammad nāro Wālā, Qāżī Muḥammad ‘Āqil Fārūqī, ḥāfiẓ Muḥammad Jamāl Multānī and Muḥammad Sulaymān taunsavī. nūr Muḥammad nāro Wālā (1133-103/171-179), a learned scholar of Islamic sciences, was nūr Muḥammad’s most senior ḫalīfa and studied Sufi texts with Faḫr al-dīn.6 Qāżī Muḥammad ‘Āqil Fārūqī (d. 19/114) visited delhi two or three times with nūr Muḥammad. He studied Kalīm Allāh’s Sawā’ al-sabīl and Šarḥ-i ‘Abd al-ḥaqq with Faḫr al-dīn. He also learned some techniques of Sufi practices (ašġāl) from Faḫr al-dīn in seclusion.69 At the time of his departure from delhi, Faḫr al-dīn gave Muḥammad ‘Āqil a gift of four books from his personal collection.70 Muḥammad ‘Āqil became the chief Qāżī in the state of Bahawalpur and established and taught at two madrasas. ḥāfiẓ Muḥammad Jamāl Multānī (d. 16/111) studied in delhi texts on Sufism with Faḫr al-dīn71 and he also learned Faḫr al-dīn’s method of teaching ḥadīṯ (dars-i ḥadīṯ).7 He was also a poet and established two madrasas in Multan. Muḥammad Sulaymān taunsavī 66. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 6r. 67. Sulaymānī 131, p. 107. 6. Sulaymānī 131, p. 11. 69. Aḥmadpūrī 131, pp. 194-195. 70. Sulaymānī 131, p. 11. 71. Mahāravī, Gulšan-i abrār, Ms. Kutubḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya, p. 7; Mahāravī 1950, p. 163. 7. Parhāravī n.d., pp. -3.

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(113/1770-166/150), the youngest and most prominent of nūr Muḥammad’s ḫulafā’ went to delhi to meet Faḫr al-dīn on the advice of nūr Muḥammad. unfortunately, three days before his arrival in delhi, Faḫr al-dīn passed away and was buried near Ḫwāja Quṭb al-dīn Baḫtiyār Kākī’s shrine in Mahraulī. Sulaymān went there and meditated and prayed in seclusion (i`tikāf) at Faḫr al-dīn’s grave until the fortieth day (čihalum) of mourning.73 Muḥammad Sulaymān was only sixteen when he was initiated by nūr Muḥammad and outlived his master for sixty years. He was known for his erudition, especially in jurisprudence, and he established a chain of madrasas in taunsa Šarīf, where he taught books on mysticism. Moreover, he held regular classes for women at his home in the afternoons, teaching them jurisprudence and Sufism. there was also an exchange of letters between Faḫr al-dīn and nūr Muḥammad, though only two of the letters to nūr Muḥammad are extant.74 For our present discussion, one of these letters, in which Faḫr al-dīn reiterated some of the crucial practices of the Čištī ṭarīqa, is noteworthy. He commenced by asking for detailed information about nūr Muḥammad’s friends (yārān) and their spiritual journeys. He then suggested that nūr Muḥammad would deeply influence his disciples simply by sitting and conversing (ṣuḥbat) with them. While cautioning nūr Muḥammad against associating with impudent (‘asiqmizāj) people, he also wrote: your sitting together with such people could help them come away from the precipice of ignorance. If one person takes your advice to remember God, it will be better than your mandatory acts of worshipping [God]... do you ever listen to mystical music (samā‘) or have you absolutely abandoned it, or is it that you listen to it only occasionally and without instruments? continue to develop strong concentration (tawajjuh) with passion, by joining the congregants for meditation sessions with the resolve to motivate the congregation. [Also remember that] the reverence that a disciple (murīd) expresses for the muršid, a student (šāgird) of practical sciences [‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī] does not do. Such has been the divine law and it should be maintained in this way.75

In another exchange of correspondence between them, nūr Muḥammad described in his two elegant Persian verses how both good and bad people turned to Faḫr al-dīn for his grace and generosity and how much impact Faḫr al-dīn’s spiritual beneficence had on him and hundreds of others like him, in 73. Sulaymānī 131, pp. 156-159. 74. In some letters that Faḫr al-dīn wrote to his other deputies, he made references to nūr Muḥammad. 75. Faḫr al-dīn 1991b, Letter 1, p. 119.

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addition to untangling his twisted affairs. Faḫr al-dīn responded with two urdu verses, stressing self-annihilation in order to experience existence (hastī), and self-effacement to attain the exalted stage (‘ālī-maqām) on the mystical path.76

MuRŠID, MuRīD And tHE trAnSMISSIon oF KnoWLEdGE: PArAdIGMS And PErSPEctIVES Questions of Islamic knowledge, its modes of transmission and Islamic institutions of learning, especially the madrasa, continue to gain increasing attention among scholars of Islamic studies.77 the transmission of knowledge from master to disciple merits attention in part because of the reification of Sufism and the aforementioned categorical opposition of rural and urban in much of the scholarly literature on Islam, but most importantly in view of the frequent references to ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī and ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī in the discourses of the Sufi masters who are the subject of this study. Faḫr al-dīn was not the first to compartmentalize knowledge into these two categories; as noted earlier, Šāh Kalīm Allāh had suggested to his disciple, Faḫr al-dīn’s father, that he should focus on studies pertaining to spiritual development rather than philosophy and metaphysics. this division is akin to the contemporary practice of delineating separate « secular » and « religious » bodies of knowledge. However, this compartmentalization of ‘ulūm did not reduce the range of knowledge and study required according to the Sufi masters. In the eighteenth century, a Čištī Sufi, be in rural Punjab or in cosmopolitan delhi, classified higher education in two categories: ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī and ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī. the ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī included Qur’ān and its memorization, exegesis (tafsīr) and its principles (uṣūl-i tafsīr), ḥadīṯ, philosophy, logic, including theology, science of dialectics and scholastics (‘ilmi kalām), the art of argumentation (munāẓara), metaphysics, mathematics, history, as well as Arabic, Persian and regional languages and literature (both poetry and prose). the ‘ulūm-i bāṭinī, on the other hand, focused on reading the foundational classics on mysticism, on spiritual training and practices, all undertaken with a Sufi master. Šāh Kalīm Allāh’s focus on both categories of knowledge exemplifies the inclusive and extensive nature of Čištī Sufi training and scholarship.7 Interestingly, Kalīm Allāh’s contributions to philosophy, metaphysics and medicine have gone mostly unnoticed, while his works on

76. Faḫr al-dīn 1991b, p. 11. 77. From Makdisi 191 to Hefner - Qasim Zaman 007. 7. For details of his education, teachers and initiation into Čištī order, see niẓāmī 194, pp. 91-94.

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aspects of Sufism were used by generations of Faḫr al-dīn’s and nūr Muḥammad’s ḫulafā’ are still in print. Kalīm Allāh is recognized and respected as the most prominent Čištī Sufi master of his time.79 His conceptualization of higher education was carried forward by generations of his spiritual descendants, from niẓām al-dīn Aurangābādī to nūr Muḥammad’s major ḫulafā’. It is important to underline some important differences in the approaches of nūr Muḥammad and Faḫr al-dīn as Sufi masters with respect to their disciples. nūr Muḥammad’s disciples came from the rural masses. they had free access to their muršid. At one congregational meeting, he explained his mission thus: I make sure to keep myself engaged in the crucial concerns of the people and pay attention to and converse with every person. or else only Allāh knows what would happen. otherwise, the most important mission, transmitting beneficence to the masses would be severed.

In this passage, the biographer, ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, mentioned his own conversation with nūr Muḥammad’s erudite and most senior ḫalīfa, nūr Muḥammad nāro Wālā. ‘umar said: “Most of the time ḥażrat Qibla [nūr Muḥammad] is attentively engaged in conversation with every person coming to him. He shows no aversion to reasonable or unreasonable conversations of the people attending”. nāro Wālā responded, “this attitude of the ḥażrat is a favour and good luck for us. What if […] Qibla-yi ‘Ālam [nūr Muḥammad] were not inclined to this approach, only Allāh knows what would have happened to us!”0

nūr Muḥammad described as follows his master’s interactions with his disciples: ḥażrat Maulavī [Faḫr al-dīn] kept himself [busy] with the teaching of branches of knowledge (‘ulūm) [to his disciples]. there were a lot of comings and goings of the people. In every spare moment, he would devote himself to reading books. Because he felt that if he did not teach and read books, only God knows what would have been his state of mind. He was drawn to this activity so that people would not be deprived of this benefit [i.e. knowledge].1 79. Šāh Kalīm Allāh’s ancestors came from Ḫujand (tajikistan). His grandfather, Šayḫ Aḥmad Mi‘mar was a mathematician and engineer. He designed the taj Mahal (in Agra) and red Fort (in delhi). Kalīm Allāh’s father, ḥājjī nūr Allāh, was also an engineer, a mathematician and a calligrapher. He prepared the drawings of the inscriptions for the Jāmi‘ Masjid in delhi. For more details of Kalīm Allāh as a Sufi and scholar, see rizvi 193, vol. , pp. 96-305. 0. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. r-v. 1. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. r.

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Faḫr al-dīn loved books, built up an impressive library and according to niẓāmī authored four books as well as a collection of letters to his disciples (Ruq`āt-i muršidī). Beside the Ruq`āt-i muršidī the only work still available is Faḫr al-ḥasan,3 consisting of a scholarly discussion between Faḫr al-dīn and Šāh Walī Allāh on the Čištiyya’s spiritual genealogy (silsila) going back to caliph ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib (d. 40/661) and ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 109/7). the work reflects Faḫr al-dīn’s erudition, containing many references to the ḥadīṯ collections, their commentaries, and a variety of other important sources.4 While nūr Muḥammad did develop an interest in collecting books during his time in delhi, he did not write much himself, and of his writings we have only a few letters still extant. this aspect of his contribution, however, requires further study. notably, at several congregational meetings, the issue of the paucity of writings by Čištī masters was raised. He responded that the Čištī Sufi masters (ḫwājagān) could hardly spend time writing books when they were so busy in « the absorption of the soul (istiġrāq) in God’s love ».5 As previously noted, the locales of these two masters were different; one urban, the other rural. the languages used in congregational gatherings, and in writing and teaching, were, in Faḫr al-dīn’s case Arabic, Persian, and urdu; while nūr Muḥammad, in addition to Arabic, Persian and urdu was well-versed in Punjabi and Sarā’ikī. Social etiquette and manners were more formal in Faḫr al-dīn’s urban setting of delhi, in contrast with nūr Muḥammad’s more intimate and informal approach in the context of rural Punjab. Interestingly however, both masters’ discussions, even of popular stories, were text-based. reflecting on the two Čištī ḫānaqāh, the discourses on Sufism and Islam taking place in urban and rural sites in Punjab are difficult to compare with those prevalent in Post-ottoman modern turkey6, Afghanistan and turkistan7. Mardin and Shahrani allude to the popularity of the Qur’ānbased love story of yūsuf and Zulayḫā among the rural turks and Afghans, transmitted to them by storytellers in the twentieth century. Both note that untutored and sometimes illiterate people, who could not read Arabic, managed to appreciate the relevance of sophisticated Islamic concepts within their daily lives through folklore. Mardin speculates that the production and reproduction of ottoman Islamic culture and its root-paradigms could not have been based on the knowledge of the Qur’anic text and must have therefore come from . niẓāmī 194, pp. 19-01. 3. Faḫr al-dīn 1993. 4. For more details of the content of this work, see niẓāmī 194, pp. 00-01. 5. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, ff. 17v-1r. 6. See Mardin 199, pp. 1-. 7. See Shahrani 1991, pp. 161-1.

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« knowledge transmitted in the family ». However, in the rural Punjab of the eighteenth century, where the story of yūsuf and Zulayḫā was also a popular topic at nūr Muḥammad’s congregations, these discussions took place not in the form of storytelling, but with reference to the Qur’anic text and its exegesis, and especially the Tafsīr-i nuqra-kār, written in Afghanistan by Mu’īn al-dīn Muḥammad Miskīn Farāhī (d. 907/1501-0).9 the distinction between the reliance on oral transmission by storytellers among the turks and Afghans and the text-based transmission in the Punjab makes evident a certain level of literacy, and hence education, in this rural region of north-western India.

concLuSIon to sum up, nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī emerged as a major Sufi master, attracting a large following in the Punjab. Even at this early stage of my research, nūr Muḥammad’s command of philosophy, metaphysics, logic, jurisprudence, šarī‘a, Qur’ān, tafsīr, ḥadīṯ and Sufism (taṣawwuf), history and literature, is clearly demonstrated in my survey of his explanations of issues raised by his deputies and other disciples at congregational meetings. He trained four major ḫulafā’ who collectively left a deep imprint on the history of the Čištiyya ṭarīqa in the eighteenth-century Punjab: nūr Muḥammad nāro Wālā, Muḥammad ‘Āqil Fārūqī, Muḥammad Jamāl Multānī and Muḥammad Sulaymān taunsavī. they were zealous in transmitting ‘ulūm-i ẓāhirī to enable their disciples to pursue their chosen vocations diligently, while also emphasizing spiritual training. Like nūr Muḥammad, his deputies were proficient in Arabic, Persian, urdu, Punjabi and Sarā’ikī. they could all quote the Qur’ān literally on any given social or ethical issue in their congregational discourses (malfūẓāt), cite Ibn ‘Arabī to explain the subtleties of waḥdat al-wujūd, and discuss the spiritual intricacies of rūmī’s Maṯnawī and Sulṭān Bāhū’s (d. 110/1691) Punjabi poetry. the lives and works of Faḫr al-dīn Aurangābādī and nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī point to an intricate, dialectical relationship between rural and urban, literate and unschooled, erudite scholarship and folk knowledge. this belies the orientalist and modernist paradigm opposing « great » and « little » traditions, and validates the resilience of Sufism through the centuries, rather than relegating it to the distant past or considering it as being exclusive to the « golden age » of the Čištī tradition, during 1th and 13th centuries.90 Faḫr al-dīn’s and nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī’s activities stand on . Mardin 199, p. 5. 9. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Ms. Punjab university, 670/1, f. 3r. 90. See Ernst 005, pp. 191-07.

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the contrary as an emblematic example of the important, but still seldom studied, developments that the Čištī teaching underwent in northern India several centuries after the so called « golden age » of the Čištī tradition. PoStScrIPt. this paper is an introduction to my book-length project, which covers three generations of the activities of the Čištī Sufis in Punjab in the 1th and 19th centuries, in order to highlight continuity and change in their roles in a rural society against the backdrop of socio-political and religious trends. the purpose here is to investigate whether networking by Sufi lieutenants linked various urban centers, and facilitated a shift whereby the Punjab evolved as a center of the Čišti Faḫriyya ṭarīqa. the sites of the muršids’ shrines, that is, their ḫānaqāhs are also identified to illustrate this inter-regional networking. the purpose of this analysis, spread over three generations, is to trace the phenomena of « memory and remembrance », as well as continuity and change in intellectual, spiritual, socio-political and economic spheres in the communities developed around the ḫānaqāh. the project is based on the textual and topical analysis of extensive foundational sources, which might be termed an attempt to carry out a « cultural, intellectual and spiritual mapping » of the Punjab over two centuries (see Appendix ).

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BIBLIoGrAPHy

Aḥmadpūrī, Gul Muḥammad, 131/194 : Ḏikr al-aṣfiyyā’ fī takmila siyar al-awliyā’. delhi, Maṭba’ riżvī. Alam, Muzaffar, 196 : The Crisis of Empire in Mughal Northern India: Awadh and the Punjab, 17071748. delhi, oxford university Press. Asad, talal, 196 : The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam. occasional Papers Series, centre for contemporary Arab Studies. Washington, d.c., Georgetown university. bahawalpur State Gazetteer, 1904. compiled and Published under the Authority of the Punjab Government, Lahore (with Maps). Berkey, Jonathan, 199 : The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo: A Social History of Education. Princeton, Princeton university Press. (al-) Bīrūnī, Abū rayḥan, 001 : Taḥqīq mā li’l-hind, tr. anglaise: Alberuni’s India,  vols., Edward c. Sachau, ed.. new delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal (1° ed. London, 1). Čištī, Iftiḫār, 199 : Ḥużūr Qibla-yi ‘ālam ḥażrat ḫwāja Nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī, aḥwāl wa manāqib. Faisalabad, Čištiyya Academy. Čištī, Muḥammad Ajmal, 14/001 : Tāj al-‘ārifīn. Čištiyyan Šarīf, Markaz-i ta‘līmāt-i Farīdiyya. digby, Simon, 001 : Sufis and Soldiers in Awrangzeb’s Deccan: Malfūzāt-i Naqshbandiyya. translated from the Persian and with an Introduction. new delhi, oxford university Press. Eaton, richard M., 194 : « the Political and religious Authority of the Shrine of Bābā Farīd in Pakpattan, Punjab », in : B. Metcalf, ed., Moral Conduct and Authority: The Place of ‘Adab’ in South Asian Islam. Berkeley, university of california Press, pp. 333-356. Eickelman, dale F., 195 : Knowledge and Power in Morocco: The Education of a Twentieth-Century Notable. Princeton, Princeton university Press. Ernst, carl, – 1997 : The Shambhala Guide of Sufism. Boston, Shambhala. – 003 : « Between orientalism and Fundamentalism: Problematizing the teaching of Sufism », in : B. M. Wheeler, ed., Teaching Islam. new york, oxford university Press, pp. 10-13. – 005 : « Ideological and technological transformations of contemporary Sufism », in : M. cooke - B. Lawrence, eds., Muslim Networks: From Hajj to Hip Hop. chapel Hill, the university of north carolina Press (Islamic civilization and Muslim networks Series, ), pp. 191-07.

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Ernst, carl - Lawrence, Bruce, 00 : Sufi Martyrs of Love: the Chishti Order in South Asia and beyond. Pelgrave Macmillan, new york. Faḫr al-dīn, Muḥammad, – 1991a : Ruq`āt-i muršidī. compiled by Muḥammad ‘Abd al- Ṣamad, Iftiḫār Aḥmad Čištī, ed., Faisalabad, Čištiyya Academy. – 1991b : Maktūbāt-i Faḫrī, Part  of Ruq`āt-i muršidī. compiled by Muḥammad ‘Abd al-Ṣamad, Iftiḫār Aḥmad Čištī, ed., Faisalabad, Čištiyya Academy. – 1993 : Faḫr al-Ḥasan. Arabic text with urdu translation, Iftiḫār Aḥmad Čišti, ed., Faisalabad, Čištiyya Academy. Fārūqī, niṯār Aḥmad, – 193 : Čištī ta‘limāt aur ‘aṣr-i ḥāzar mein unkī ma‘nawiyat. Lahore, diyā al-Qur’ān Publications. – 1997 : Foreword to Aḫlāq Aḥmad, Taḏkira-i faḫr-i jahān. Lahore, Miyān Aḫlāq Aḥmad Academy. Ghalvī, Muḥammad, Ḫayr al-aḏkār, Ms. Punjab university, Šairānī collection, 670/, copied in 14/16. Gilmartin, david, 199 : Empire and Islam: Punjab and the Making of Pakistan. delhi, oxford university Press. ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘umar, Ḫulāṣat al-fawā’id, Šairānī collection, Punjab university, 670/1, copied in 141/15. Hefner, robert W. - Qasim Zaman, Muhammad, 007 : Schooling Islam: The Culture and Politics of Modern Muslim Education. Princeton – oxford, Princeton university Press. Heim, Joseph charles, 199-004 : « Piety and Imperial reform: nizamu’l-Mulk Asaf Jah I and the Fate of Islam in Eighteenth century Mughal India ». Muslim & Arab Perspectives, nos. 5-11, pp. 5-1. Kalīm Allāh, – 1301/13 : Maktūbāt-i Kalīmī. delhi, Maṭba‘-i yūsufī. – n.d. : Tilka ‘ašra kāmila, Arabic with urdu tr. delhi, Āstāna Book depot. Koch, Ebba, 006 : « the Madrasa of Ghaziu’d-din Khan at delhi », in : M. Pernau, ed., The Delhi College: Traditional elites, the Colonial State, and Education before 1857. new york, oxford university Press, pp. 35-59. Lāhurī, Ġulām Sarwar, 1990 : Ḫazīnat al-awliyā’. tr. urdu. Lahore, Maktaba-yi nabawiyya. Mahāravī, Imām Baḫš, – Gulšan-i abrār (compiled in 13/166-67), Ms. Čištiyyān Šarīf, Kutub Ḫāna Čištiyya Farūqiyya. – 1950 : Gulšan-i abrār, tr. urdu as: Ḥadīqat al-aḫyār, Ṣāliḥ Muḥammad Adīb taunsavī, ed., Multan, Maṭba‘-i Ṣiddīqiyya.

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Makdisi, George, 191 : The Rise of Colleges: Institutions of Higher Learningin Islam and the West. Edinburgh, Edinburgh university Press. Mardin, Serif, 199 : Religion and Social Change in Modern Turkey: The Case of bediüzzaman Said Nursi. Albany, State university of new york Press. Monzavī, Aḥmad, 1990 : Fihrist-i muštarak-i nusḫahā-yi ḫaṭṭī-yi fārsī-yi Pākistān. Islamabad, Markaz-i taḥqīqāt-i Fārsī-yi īrān va Pākistān, vol. 11. nijjar, Bakhshish Singh, 197 : Panjab under the later Mughals, 1707-1759. Jullundur, new Academic Publishing co. niẓām, Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān, 1315/197 : Manāqib-i Faḫriyya. delhi, Maṭba‘-i Aḥmadī. niẓāmī, Ḫalīq Aḥmad, 194 : Tārīḫ-i mašāyiḫ-i Čišt. delhi, Idāra-yi Adabiyāt-yi dillī, vol. 5 (1° ed. 197). Parhāravī, ‘Abd al-‘Azīz, n.d. : Gulzār-i Jamāliyya. Khaneval, Maktaba-yi Jamāl. Pernau, Margrit, 006 : « Introduction », in : M. Pernau, ed., The Delhi College: Traditional elites, the Colonial State, and Education before 1857. new york, oxford university Press, pp. 4-7. ra’īs, Aḥmad (ed.), 197 : Ḫwāja-yi ḫwājagān. Karachi, Idāra-i ‘Āliya-i Sarkār-i Ġarīb nawāz Ajmerī. rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas, 193 : A History of Sufism in India. new delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal, vol. . Shahrani, M. nazif, 1991 : « Local Knowledge of Islam and Social discourse in Afghanistan and turkistan in the Modern Period », in : r.L. canfield, ed., Turko-Persia in Historical Perspective. cambridge university Press, new york, pp. 161-1. Singh, Bhagat, 197 : Sikh Polity in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. new delhi, oriental Publishers and distributors. Singh, Ganda, 1959 : Ahmad Shah Durrani: Father of Modern Afghanistan. London, Asia Publishing House. Sulaymānī, najm al-dīn, 131/194 : Manāqib al-maḥbūbayn. Lahore, Maṭba‘-i Muḥammadī. (al-) taḥtānī, Quṭb al-dīn al-rāzī, 194 : Taḥrīr al-qawā’id al-manṭiqiyya fī šarḥ al-šamsiyya. cairo, Muṣṭafā al-Bābī al-Halabī Press.

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appendiX 1 nūr MuḥAMMAd MAHĀrAVī’S SHrInE

the shrine is in Čištiyān Šarīf, Bahāwalnagar, approximately 141 km southeast of Multan. nūr Muḥammad had a special affinity to this location because of Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar’s grandson Bābā tāj al-dīn’s shrine. the land on which the shrine was built was donated by the descendants of Bābā tāj al-dīn Sarwar. Later on, nūr Muḥammad’s sons, and his two ḫulafā’, Muḥammad ‘Āqil and Jamāl Multānī contributed to the building of outer walls, of the dome over the tomb and of a small congregation hall (majlis-ḫāna).1 « the lintels and door of the shrine and the poles of the canopy of the tomb, all of the silver, and worth nearly rs. 11000, were offered by nawāb Muḥammad Bahāwal Ḫān III (d. 15) ».

1. For details, see Čištī 199, pp. 33-333. . bahawalpur State Gazetteer 1904, p. 177.

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appendiX 2 nEtWorKInG oF tHE ČIŠtīS In tHE EIGHtEEntH-nInEtEEntH cEnturIES: dELHI-dEccAn, dELHI-PunJAB

Šāh Kalīm Allāh (1059-1141/1650-179). Born and died in delhi. niẓām al-dīn Aurangābādī (1060?-114/1650?-1730) Born in Kākoravī, Lucknow and buried in Aurangābād.

first generation

Ḫwāja Faḫr al-dīn (115 ?-1199/1714 ?-175). Born in Aurangabad and died in delhi.

faḪr al-dīn’s Major ḫulAfā’

1. Ḫwāja nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī (114-105/1730-1791). Born in Čoṭāla, died in Mahār and is buried in Čištiyyān Šarīf. . Maulānā Żiyā’ al-dīn Jaipūrī, (1150-19/173-114). Born and educated in delhi, he is buried in Jaipūr. 3. Maulavī Jamāl al-dīn, (d. 139/14 or 140/15). Born in Lahore(?), he was educated in delhi and is buried in rampur. 4. Sayyid ‘Imād al-dīn, alias Mīr Muḥammadī, (d. 141/16). Born and educated in delhi, burial place unknown. 5. Maulānā ḥājjī La‘l Muḥammad, (d. 13/13). Probably educated in delhi at the Madrasa Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān. He is buried in delhi. 6. Šāh niyāz Aḥmad Barelwī (117-139/1759-14). Born in Sirhind and educated in Sirhind and dehli. He is buried in Bareilly. 7. Miyān ‘Alī ḥaydar (1101-1199/1690-175). A famous Punjabi poet born in Čoṭra and educated in Čoṭra and Multān. He is Buried in Bastī Qāżiyān, Čoṭra, district of Faisalabad. . nawāb Ġāzī al-dīn Ḫān niẓām (d. 114/100). Grandson of niẓām al-Mulk Āṣaf Jāh. Educated in Hyderabad, he served as vizier of the Mughal emperor ‘Azīz al-dīn ‘Ālamgīr II (r. 1167-117/1754-1759). took refuge in Mahār and died in Kālpī.

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seCond generation Ḫwāja nūr MuḤaMMad Mahāravī’s Major ḫulAfā’

1. nūr Muḥammad nāro Wālā, (1133-103/171-179). A member of the Parhār ethnic group, was a resident of ḥājjīpūr. He was educated in Multan and moved to nāro Wālā in dera Ġāzī Ḫān. Buried in ḥājjīpūr. . ḥāfiẓ Muḥammad Jamāl Multānī (d. 15/111). A member of the A’wān ethnic group. He was an ‘ālim, a teacher and an poet. He is buried in Multan. 3. Qāżī Muḥammad ‘Āqil Fārūqī (d. 1/114). coming from an educated family, he was the son of a qāżī, tracing his lineage to the second caliph, ‘umar al-Fārūq. Muḥammad ‘Āqil was the chief qāżī in the state of Bahawalpur and is buried in Kot Miṭṭhan (dera Ġāzī Ḫān) 4. Muḥammad Sulaymān taunsavī (113-166/1770-150). He was the most influential deputy of nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī. Muḥammad Sulaymān was a member of the raḥīmdānī tribe of the Afghan ethnic group of the ramadānī. A talented student, he completed his education in ‘ulūm-i zāhirī at the age of 16, and was an expert in jurisprudence. He is buried in taunsa (dera Ġāzī Ḫān) at the bank of Indus river, in a beautiful and elaborate complex.

third generation nūr MuḤaMMad nāro wālā’s ḫulAfā’

1. Maulavī Muḥammad Ghalvī. Author of the main biography of naro Wālā, entitled Ḫayr al-aḏkār. . ‘Abd Allāh Ḫān. A resident of dera Ġāzi Ḫān. 3. nūr Muḥammad Bādra Muḥammad Pūrī.

Ḥāfiẓ MuḤaMMad jaMāl’s ḫulAfā’

1. ḥafiẓ Ḫudā Baḫš Multānī Ḫayrpūrī (1150-149/173-134). He left for delhi and studied at the Madrasa-yi raḥīmiyya of Šāh Walī Allāh. . Maḫdūm Sayyid Zāhid Šāh (d. 145/130), author of Risāla asrār al-kamāliyya. 3. Maulānā ‘Abd al-‘Azīz Parhāravī (106-139/179-14). this prolific scholar who died at the age of 3, produced 103 titles on a wide variety of disciplines; most of them are non-extant. He is buried in Parhār West, near Kot Addū ( Muẓẓafar Gaṛh). 4. Munšī Ġulām ḥasan (d. 160/145). A soldier, scholar and poet, he wrote the biography of his master Jamāl Multānī. He wrote also on Sufism and Sufi terminology in Arabic and Persian, and poetry in Persian, Hindi, Punjabi, Sarā’ikī and urdu. He is buried in Multan.

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qāżī MuḤaMMad ‘āqil’s ḫulAfā’

1. Miyān Aḥmad ‘Alī Jeo (d. 130/115). He is buried in Kot Miṭṭhan. (rājan Pūr). . Miyān Ḫudā Baḫš (d. 169/153). He is the grandson of Muḥammad ‘Āqil and is buried in Kot Miṭṭhan. 3. Sulṭān Maḥmūd (d. 13/13). He was the foremost ḫalīfa of Muḥammad ‘Āqil. He is buried in Ḫanbaila (raḥīm yār Ḫān). 4. Muḥammad A‘ẓam (d. 139/14). 5. Miyān Šarīf al-dīn (d. 167-6/151-5). Buried in Šaydānī (raḥīm yār Ḫān). 6. Maulānā Miyān Muḥammad Šarīf (d. 16/15). He is buried in Šidanī, near Allahabad (Bahawalpur). 7. Ḫwāja Gul Muḥammad Aḥmadpūrī (d. 14/17). Buried in Aḥmadpūr (Bahawalpur).

MuḤaMMad sulayMān taunsavī’s ḫulAfā’

Muḥammad Sulaymān taunsavī had a large number of ḫulafā’, 99 by some accounts. Listed below are the major ones. 1. ḥāfiẓ Muḥammad ‘Alī Ḫayrābādī (d. 166/150). He is buried in Ḫayrābād (Awadh). . ḥājjī najm al-dīn Sulaymānī (d. 16/170). He was the main biographer of Sulaymān taunsavī and is buried in Fateḥpūr (rajasthan). 3. Ḫwāja Allāh Baḫš taunsavī (d. 1310/193). Buried in taunsa. 4. Maulānā Muḥammad Bārān Ḫān Kalāčavī (d. 153/13). He is buried in Kalāčī (dera Ismā‘īl Ḫān). 5. Maulānā Aḥmad taunsavī (d. 17/156). Buried in taunsa. 6. Maulānā Muḥammad ‘Alī Makhaddī (d. 15/137). Buried in Makhaddī Šarīf (Kambelpūr). 7. Ḫwāja Šams al-dīn Siyālavī (d. 199/1). Buried at Siyāl (Sargodha district). . Ḫwāja Fayż Baḫš Lillāhī (d. 1/166). Buried at Lillāh Šarīf (Jehlum).

The Qawā’im al-anwār of Rāz-i ŠīRāzī and Shi‘i SufiSm in QajaR PeRSia Leonard Lewisohn

abstract: Abū al-Qāsim Šīrāzī (d. 1286/1869; « Rāz » by taḫalluṣ) – was the 35th master of the Persian Ḏahabī Sufi Order – whose mastery of the mystical methods of the Sufi Path were highly praised by Riḍā Qulī Ḫān Hidāyat in the Riyāḍ al-‘ārifīn. His teachers in the exoteric sciences included Mullā Aḥmad Yazdī and ‘Alī Akbar Zarqanī. Abū al-Qāsim was described the « most prolific of all the Ḏahabī masters, » composing some forty works of prose and poetry. As a poet, in particular, Rāz attained considerable renown, composing some half a million couplets, thirty thousand of which belonged to his state of rapture (jaḏba) and the rest written from the quietude of spiritual attainment. His contribution to Persian Sufism and literature is highly praised in contemporary historical accounts (Fārs-nāma-yi Nāṣirī, āṯār-i ‘ajam), and even such a staunch Ni‘matullāhī source as Ma‘ṣūm ‘Alī Šāh praised him as being the « cream of the gnostics. » Having undergone numerous čillā (forty days seclusion) and spent some twenty years in a state of jaḏba, he was known for his intense spiritual fervour and longing. He authored several autobiographical accounts: two maṯnawī poems Taḏkira-yi rāz and Manāsik al-‘ašiqīn wa mašārib al-‘ārifīn and a prose treatise in Persian Qawā’im al-anwār wa ṭawāla‘ al-asrār. All of these contain fascinating anecdotes of the typical education, travels and visionary experiences of a Sufi in the mid-19th century. The Qawā’im al-anwār – a veritable compendium of Sufi contemplative disciplines devoted to the fourteen stations of sulūk, the composition of which Rāz claimed to be a product of direct divine inspiration – was the first work of this Order to be published. The present essay examines the Shi‘i character of the Qawā’im, published in 2004 in a new critical edition by Dr. Ḫayr Allāh Maḥmūdī (over 750 pages long) and discusses its structure, contents and place in the literature of 19th century Persian Sufism.

Born in the city of Roses and Nightingales: Shiraz, Capital of the province of Fars in southwestern Persia circa 1210/1795, Abū al-Qāsim Šīrāzī (d. 1286/1869 – « Rāz » by taḫalluṣ) was the 35th Ḏahabī Quṭb of the Persian Ḏahabī Sufi Order. Flourishing during the reigns of three Qājār monarchs: Fatḥ ‘Alī Šāh (r. 1797-1834), Muḥammad Šāh (r. 1834-1848) and Nāṣir al-Dīn Šāh (r. 1848-1896), he remained in Shiraz until the last six years of his life, when he travelled to northern Iran.

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Most of the important historians and authors of biographical compendia (taḏkira) of the day describe him as extremely learned.1 His contribution to Persian Sufism and literature is highly praised in contemporary historical accounts (Fars-nāma-yi Nāṣirī, Āṯār-i ‘ajam), and even such a staunch Ni‘matullāhī source as Ma‘ṣūm ‘Alī Šāh Šīrāzī praised him as being the « cream of the Gnostics, »2 while his mastery of the « mystical methods and manners of the Sufi Path (aḥwāl wa ādāb-i ṭarīqat) » were vaunted by the renowned Qajar homme de lettres Riḍā Qulī Ḫān Hidāyat in the Riyāḍ al-‘ārifīn.3 These favourable comments may be contrasted to the very critical view entertained of him by the Anglican missionary Henry Martyn who visited his house in Shiraz regularly and described him as « one of the most renowned Soofies in all Persia. »4 One Ramadan afternoon Abū al-Qāsim came secretly to the English cleric’s house in Shiraz and asked to drink wine, and after a few drinks he « promptly fell asleep. » When his astonished disciples showed up a few hours later, Martyn had made up his mind about the Ḏahabī leader: « The real state of this man seems to be despair, »5 he concluded. Rāz was the first Quṭb since pre-Safavid times to construct a formal ḫānaqāh in Shiraz for Ḏahabī fuqarā’, who formerly had only gathered in private houses. His eldest brother Mīrzā Faḍl Allāh had inherited custodianship of the Šāh Čirāġ complex and on the latter’s death in 1268/1851, Rāz personally took responsibility for custodianship of this Shi‘i shrine, the third most important pilgrimage site in Iran, adding further lustre to his ṭarīqa position. Henry Martyn, however, perceived the « filthy lucre » sustaining the « bright lustre » of the finances of this complex, and cast aspersions on its custodian « in whose family it has been for ages, and finds its supposed sanctity so abundantly profitable as he is said to make £2000 a year of it. »6 Rāz counted among his devoted disciples such high-ranking members of the Shi‘i ‘ulamā’ as Šayḫ Murtaḍā Anṣārī (d. 1281/1864)7 and Mīrzā Muḥammad Ḥusayn Šīrāzī (1230/1815–1312/1894), famous for his role in the tobacco movement and overthrow of British concessions in 1891.8 In addition to his numerous Sufi disciples, Rāz-i Šīrāzī boasted of numerous religious students in provinces all throughout Iran.9 One of Rāz’s most famous Sufi šayḫs 1. Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 11-18. 2. Ma‘ṣūm ‘Alī Šāh Šīrāzī 1345š., III, p. 456. 3. Hidāyat n.d., pp. 436-437. 4. Martin 1820, p. 394. 5. Martin 1820, pp. 408-409. 6. Martin 1820, p. 409. 7. On this famous Marja‘-i taqlīd, see Murata 1987, pp. 102-103. 8. Ḫāvarī 1362š., p. 380. 9. Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 23.

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was the mujtahid Mīrzā ‘Abd al-Karīm Rāyiḍ al-Dīn Zinġānī (known as U‘jūba and ‘Ārif ‘Alī Šāh, d. 1299/188210) who was given charge of the Ḏahabī dervishes in Azerbaijan and composed forty odd Sufi treatises, many of which are still quite popular and in print.11 Among these may be mentioned Zinġānī’s Šarḥ-i gulšan-i rāz,12 a commentary on Šabistarī’s Gulšan-i rāz, which is a short paraphrase and, for the most part, a complete plagiary of Muḥammad Lāhījī’s (d. 912/1517) famous commentary on the same work.13 An important disciple of U‘jūba was Parwīz Ḫān Salmāsī (Ṣafīr al-‘Ārifīn, d. 1336/1918) who succeeded U‘jūba as šayḫ of the Order in Azerbaijan by designation of the next Ḏahabī master.14 U‘jūba claimed to have personally seen several letters written by Murtaḍā Anṣārī to Rāz requesting practical spiritual guidance on the Sufi Path (dastūr al-‘amal-i ṭarīqatī),15 revealing an aspect of the relationship between Persian Sufism and exoteric Shi‘i Islam that deserves further research. A modern biographer rightly calls Abū al-Qāsim the « most prolific of all the Ḏahabī masters. »16 Indeed, his output – over forty works of prose and poetry – was prodigious. The subject matter of his prose works (twelve books/ treatises, risāla in Persian, and some twenty-five in Arabic) ranged from Qur’ān commentary (tafsīr), to Prophetic Traditions (ḥadīṯ), to works on Sufism. As a poet, Rāz attained considerable renown, composing some eight collections of Persian verse, all intensely mystical in content,17 consisting of « half a million couplets, thirty thousand of which belonged to his state of rapture (jaḏba) and the rest written from the quietude of spiritual attainment. »18 Having undergone numerous čillā (forty days seclusion) and spent some twenty years in a state of jaḏba, he was known for his intense spiritual fervour and longing (šawq).19 He authored several autobiographical accounts: two maṯnawī poems Taḏkira-yi 10. Gramlich 1965-1981, I, p. 21. 11. For example, his Persian Šams al-ḥaqīqat see Zinġānī 1341š. 12. Zinġānī 1334š. 13. Lāhījī 1371š. 14. Mākū’ī 1338š. 15. Cited by Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 23. 16. Ḫāvarī 1362š., p. 380. 17. For the names of his works see Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 30-33. 18. Ḫāvarī 1362š., pp. 380 and 575-680 for a lengthy discussion of his literary works and contribution to modern Persian Sufism. In the Qawā’im, Rāz writes that « while undergoing experiences of ecstasy, rapture, and wayfaring on the Path (jaḏba va sulūk), I wrote some 30,000 lines of poetry, consisting of maṯnawī, qaṣīda, both mystical and romantic ġazal in Persian and Arabic. » See Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 87. 19. Ḫāvarī 1362š., p. 374.

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Rāz20 and Manāsik al-‘ašiqīn wa mašārib al-‘ārifīn and a prose treatise in Persian Qawā’im al-anwār wa ṭawāla‘ al-asrār.21 Though of scant literary value, these works contain fascinating anecdotes of the typical education, travels and visionary experiences of a Sufi in the mid-19th century.22 The Qawā’im al-anwār, the subject of this essay, is a veritable compendium of Sufi contemplative disciplines devoted to the fourteen stations of sulūk (Sufi path), the composition of which Rāz claimed was a product of direct divine inspiration. It was the first major work of the Ḏahabī order to be published. In the last book that he wrote, called Mirṣad al-‘ibād, he claimed to have spent twenty years occupied in « acquiring diverse arts and traditional sciences and being attracted to God (funūn va ‘ulūm-i rasūm va jaḏba-i ilahī), and another thirty years after that engaged in the active life of methodical progress on the Sufi Path (sulūk), till today, when I am seventy years old. »23 On reaching the ripe old age of seventy, according to autobiographical remarks found in his maṯnawī poem Asrār al-wilāyat,24 Rāz decided to leave Shiraz. He travelled to northern Persia, where he spent the final six years of his life roaming from city to city, visiting among other places Tehran, Mashhad and Sabzavar. One source lists him as living in Tehran for five years, between 1281/1864 and 1286/1869.25 It was during this last trip that he died from cholera while travelling en route from Isfahan to Shiraz in 1286/1869. In 1271/1854, two years before his death, during his nine-month sojourn in Khurasan, Rāz-i Šīrāzī encountered the great mystical philosopher Mullā Hādī Sabzawārī (d. 1290/1873) who entertained him lavishly. As Rāz tells the story: The eminent and most learned of the transcendental philosophers Ḥājj Mullā Hādī Sabzawārī (may God prolong his graces) treated me with perfect respect and attention both when entering and leaving the province of Sabzavar, and entertaining me as a host on both occasions. He sent some ten to fifteen of his students as well as his son Āḫūnd Mullā Muḥammad to me. At his behest I inculcated and instructed them in the practice of ḏikr (silent invocation of God) and in moral self-development (sulūk). I remember two things that he said to me. One was: « When you are gone, I will do all my work meditating upon and remembering you. » Another sentence was: « I consider you as one familiar with 20. Rāz-i Šīrāzī n.d. 21. Composed in 1282/1865, the work was first printed in a lithograph edition in 1301/1883 with an introduction by Majd al-Ašrāf, his son: see Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 63, 66. 22. Other such works are given by Gramlich 1965-1981, I, p. 20. 23. Cited by Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 16. 24. Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 26. 25. Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 25.

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divine realities (ahl-i ḥaqā’iq) and myself one familiar with spiritual subtleties (ahl-i daqā’iq). I read your books and matnawī poems and enjoyed them. » He entreated me for my prayers. We discussed matters of divinity and the stations of the saints at length. He was in truth a very great and learned man.26

Sabzawārī’s veneration for the Shirazi Sufi was no doubt amplified by Rāz’s reputation as a thinker in the philosophical school of Mullā Ṣadrā, the same school to which Sabzawārī belonged.27

THE QAWĀ’IM Al-ANWĀR WA ṬAWĀlA‘ Al-ASRĀR (FEET OF LIGHT AND FLASHES OF MYSTERIES) As mentioned above, Rāz’s Qawā’im al-anwār wa ṭawāla‘ al-asrār, which may be translated as Feet of light and Flashes of Mysteries, was the first work of the Ḏahabī Order to be published in the modern period. I decided to undertake the present study of the Qawā’im when a new critical, annotated edition of the text was given me by its learned editor Dr. Ḫayr Allāh Maḥmūdī during a visit to Shiraz in late 2006. A revised version of Dr. Maḥmūdī’s doctoral dissertation at the University of Shiraz, this excellent new edition of the Qawā’im, which is over 750 pages long,28 inspired me to examine its contents and assess its place in the annals of 19th century Persian Sufism. The Qawā’im is a handbook of practical conduct in Sufism (dastūr al-‘amal sulūkī),29 a compendium of Sufi contemplative disciplines elaborating fourteen stations of methodical progress on the « via mystica » or ṭarīqa, the process of ascension and advancement (sulūk) – psychical, ethical and spiritual – which the Sufi « wayfarer » (sālik) experiences in his pursuit (ṭalab) of God. Rāz 26. Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 24-25. 27. Rāz recounts his efforts to master the thought of Sabzawārī’s Persian transcendentalist philosophy in one of his works as follows: « This poor devotee (faqīr) spent a long time studying the works of Mullā Ṣadrā following a process of spiritual inquiry while endeavouring to produce rational evidence to establish the truth of the matter (bi-ṭarīqa-yi taḥqīq va burhān). To this end, I studied under great masters learned in the Transcendental Philosophy such as Mawlānā ‘Alī Nūrī and Mawlānā Aḥmad Yazdī, and underwent a great deal of intellectual asceticism in order to master this subject, composing at their behest a number of marginal glosses on the Four Journeys [Mullā Ṣadrā’s main opus]. » See Rāz’s Ṭabāsīr al-ḥikmat, p. 87, cited by Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 18. Ṣadrā’s terminology and thought permeate certain sections of the Qawā’im, such that Rāz’s description of the four mystical journeys in Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 501ff. is directly adopted from the Ṣadrā’s Afsār. 28. See n. 1 above. In compiling his critical edition, Dr. Maḥmūdī Ḫayr Allāh had recourse to six handwritten MSS. and one lithographic edition. 29. Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 5 and Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 89.

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wrote the work in 1282/1865 at the age of 70 during his visit to Tehran and association with scholars and students and seekers of God there.30 He claims to have been commanded directly by Imām Riḍā (d. 203/817) to leave Shiraz and travel to Mashhad, Iraq, and finally Tehran,31 where he found himself in a large gathering of Sufis, scholars, clergymen, philosophers, writers, and government officials. After giving a sermon to the assembly, he was encouraged by his audience’s response. Among his listeners he found signs of interest in the Sufi path and many of them subsequently sought spiritual guidance from him. They were soon rewarded with success in their new spiritual practices, he announces, so that « it is now when it is the last tenth of the month of Ša‘bān of the year 1282/1865, and a number of them have been granted the aptitude to pursue the Path of Divine Unity and Friendship with God, and have had the eyes of their heart opened. »32 With this meeting in mind, after frequenting gatherings of other Sufis, theologians and scholars in Tehran, he began the composition of the Qawā’im al-anwār. Rāz explains his own motives underlying the work as follows: Since repeatedly I found the religious students and spiritual seekers (ṭullāb va sullāk) in these environs [Tehran] were ignorant of the soul’s career on the path of God, benighted regarding the stations and degrees of the esoteric advancement of man, at the request of some of the noble descendents of the Prophet (sādāt) and the grandees among those progressing on the Sufi Path (ahl-i sulūk), as well as at the entreaty of some trustworthy persons belonging to the great government of Iran and the confidents of the court of the Sulṭān, in particular Mīrzā Muḥammad Ḥasan Dabīr al-Mulk,33 …I decided to expound briefly on this subject by composing this short treatise, which discusses the esoteric knowledge that spiritual seekers and students of religion need in order to tread the path to God. This work is a handbook for them here in the seat of government, Tehran (dār al-ḫalāfat Tihrān).34

30. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 87-88. 31. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 87. 32. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 88-89. 33. I have not been able to identify who this is. Perhaps it was Nāṣir al-Dīn Šāh’s private secretary Naṣr Allāh Ḫān, whose court title was Dabīr al-Mulk as well. According to most sources, Rāz did not generally associate with royalty or members of the Qajar court, although during his trip to Tehran he met with Nāṣir al-Dīn Šāh who gave the title of « Glory of the Nobles » (Majd alašrāf) to his son and successor (see Maḥmūdī, « Introduction » to Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 28). Aside from this, like most of the literary Sufis of the period, he dedicated several of his prose and poetic works to various Qajar notables or members of government (Ibid.). 34. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 89.

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Rāz had originally entitled his work Šarāyiṭ al-ṭarīqat wa ma‘ārif al-ḥaqīqat (The Conditions of the Sufi Way and Lore of the Spiritual Truth), but subject to angelic dictation (surūš-i ġaybī),35 he claims that he was forced to change this title to Qawā’im al-anwār wa ṭawāla‘ al-asrār. Trying to interpret the meaning of this angelic directive, he boasted that the reason underlying this newly inspired title was that « so much light and so many mysteries relating to the Sainthood (wilāyat) of the Commander of the Faithful [Imām ‘Alī] and those of his saintly friends illuminate this book that the like cannot be found in any other work. »36 Furthermore, « in letting you know that this new title was inspired by an “angel of the Invisible” (surūš-i ġaybī) to me, » the author brags, « the majestic rank of this book in God’s eyes and its worth before the Almighty is apparent […] Hence, you should grasp the worth of this book that was composed by divine assistance and grace. So precious and rare is the subjectmatter of this work that among a million other works on theological and mystical knowledge the like of this composition cannot be found. »37 God knows best the angel’s mind. Practically speaking, we have the author’s confession that he intended to write a handbook for friends to whom he had given spiritual guidance in Tehran, so that they « might become informed of the conditions required to traverse the royal road to God, and thus understand the four esoteric levels of the soul (aṭwār-i bāṭiniyya nafsāniyya) and gain cognizance of the seven levels of the heart (aṭwār-i sab‘a-i qalb), which are also called the “seven verses” (Sab‘ al-maṯānī). »38 The technical term: « Seven Chapters » (Sab‘ al-maṯānī) here is extremely significant. Rāz uses the phrase throughout the text with three meanings, respectively scriptural, pedagogical and literary, the polysemic implications of all of which need be taken into account. The first connotation of the term is purely scriptural, referring either to the first section of the Qur’ān, comprising seven long chapters, or else, to the first surah of the Qur’ān, consisting of seven verses. One verse of the Qur’ān thus states: « We have given you the Sab‘ al-maṯānī and the mighty Qur’ān. » (XV: 87).39 35. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 90. 36. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 87. 37. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 101. 38. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 90. Rāz’s reference to the four levels of the soul are to the soul’s fourfold division in Islamic psychology: the « Commanding Soul » (nafs-i amārra), « Blaming Soul » or conscience (nafs-i lawwama), « Inspired Soul » (nafs-i mulhama), and « Soul at Peace » (nafs-i muṭma’ina); The seven levels of the heart are respectively: the breast (ṣadr), heart (qalb), pericardium (šaġāf), innermost core (fu‘ād), heart-kernal (ḥabbat al-qalb), heart-core (suwaydā), and heart’s spirit (mahjat al-qalb). For a good overview of this traditional Sufi spiritual psychology, see Nurbakhsh 1992. 39. Cited in Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 643.

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In its second connotation, the term Sab‘ al-maṯānī refers to the most important spiritual pedagogical idea sustaining to the book’s content and structure, namely the theme of « fourteen spiritual conditions » that all seekers must fulfil. As Rāz explains: There are fourteen great conditions necessary for the seeker to fulfil. Some of them he realizes by his own freewill and others apprehends innately by motherwit. So long as the aspirant to God does not realize and verify these fourteen conditions, which are also called the « seven verses » (Sab‘ al-maṯānī), he will be incapable of making any progress in spiritual things.40

He then adds that « these fourteen conditions of seven verses (šarāyiṭ-i čahārdah-gāna-i sab‘ al-maṯānī) depend upon the seeker’s understanding of the particular degrees of man-the-microcosm. »41 The term’s third connotation harbours a literary reference to the celebrated maṯnawī poem Sab‘ al-maṯānī written in Persian by the great 17th century Ḏahabī master Sayyid Najīb al-Dīn Riḍā’ī Tabrīzī (« Zargar, » 1047/16371108/1696)42 in the year 1093/1682. More than 18,000 couplets long and featuring some 287 different subject headings on Sufi themes, despite its generally poor literary quality, this poem is certainly one of the most important philosophical Persian poems ever composed by any Sufi of the Ḏahabī Order. Najīb al-Dīn claims the entire poem was written in the space of forty days directly by divine dictation,43 and fantastically boasts that his poem comprises the missing seventh Book of Rūmī’s Matnawī!44 40. Cited in Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 101. 41. Cited in Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 101-102. However, it remains unclear to me exactly how the numerals seven and fourteen here actually relate to each other hermeneutically. Najīb al-Dīn’s own explanation in his maṯnawī poem Sab‘ al-maṯānī (wich is cited in Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 271-272) is that the first heptad refers to the seven heavens of the human microcosm, and the second heptad to the seven astronomical heavens. However, this explanation still remains obscure since how these heptads relate to the Qur’anic sense of the term is unclear. 42. On Najīb al-Dīn, see Corbin 1986, pp. 435-436. 43. Istaḫrī 1338š., p. 407. 44. Despite lines of considerable spiritual insight, the Sab‘ al-maṯānī is a largely mediocre and poorly versified work with few memorable verses. After reading hundreds of lines from the poem, I can find nothing matching Rūmī’s sublime mastery of the art of maṯnawī verse, nor anything immortal enough to feature in print in an anthology of great Persian maṯnawī verse. Nayrīzī’s utterly tasteless boast is found in verses cited in the Qawā’im (Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 195-196). But Zarrīnkūb’s assessment that the poem’s verse style and content are « very feeble, common and ordinary » is quite unfair. As poetry, the verse indeed is feeble, but there can be found insights of uncommon spiritual depth especially regarding contemplation and the human macrocosm. See Zarrīnkūb 1362š., p. 266.

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Because the major part (chap. 2) of Rāz’s Qawā’im al-anwār wa ṭawāla‘ al-asrār is a prose gloss devoted to exposition of the mystical theology of Najīb al-Dīn’s poem Sab‘ al-maṯānī, this latter, third connotation of the term here is particularly important. In this respect Rāz’s text belongs to the same genre of philosophical prose summaries of poems like, for example, Nāṣir-i Ḫusraw’s Jāmi‘ al-ḥikmatayn, which is a commentary on the philosophical Qaṣīda by Aḥmad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Jurjānī. In view of the saintly status of Najīb al-Dīn, of whom he was also a direct physical and spiritual descendent,45 Rāz cites long swathes of his poem in order to illustrate each condition of spiritual progress. As stated above, the Qawā’im’s structure is built upon, and dedicated to the exposition of fourteen conditions of spiritual progress. The first twelve conditions are listed and expounded in chapter two, and conditions thirteen and fourteen explained in chapter three. These fourteen conditions are as follows: 1. Spiritual Aptitude (qābiliyyat) 2. Inborn Cardiologic Vision, being Congenitally Blessed in Having One’s « Eye of the Heart » (baṣīrat-i qalbī) Open 3. Eschewing Bad Company 4. Scrupulousness and Piety 5. Outward Guidance of a Perfect Spiritual Master 6. Inward Guidance of a Perfect Spiritual Master 7. Repentance 8. Inculcation with the « Remembrance of God (ḏikr) in the Heart and Tongue » by Love’s Master (pīr-i ‘išq) 9. Voluntary Renunciation of Wealth and Worldly Rank 10. Purification of the Seeker’s Spiritual Intention and Sincerity in one’s Faith 11. Contemplative Vigilance (murāqaba) 12. Performance of the Acts of Worship as Commanded by the Master of the Holy Law 13. Annihilation in Love’s Master Through Divine Attraction (jaḏba) 14. Annihilation of the Seeker in the Light of Saintship (nūr-i wilāyat) of the Progenitor of the Ḏahabī Order: the Eighth Imām [Riḍā] For each condition, Rāz provides a prose introduction varying in length, sometimes only a few pages long (conditions 3 and 4), and sometimes quite extensive (condition 9), followed by lengthy citations from Najīb al-Dīn’s Sab‘ al-maṯānī by way of poetic illustration. The main text of the book lies in the 45. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 106.

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second chapter where twelve conditions, which « the flight of spiritual vision and methodical progression on the Sufi Path (sayr va sulūk) » necessitate, each are enumerated. The book thus consists of an author’s introduction, followed by a short first chapter, two main chapters, and a lengthy conclusion. The introduction, twenty-three printed pages (pp. 79-102) long, contains some of the most personal parts of the book, featuring fascinating information about his own spiritual life. Vignettes from the introduction are translated below. The brief first chapter (pp. 103-109), entitled « An Exposition of the Degrees and Stations of the Essence of Man and the Terms Used for that Essence according to the Lexicon of the Mystics, » provides a précis of the allegorical characters in Najīb al-Dīn’s Sab‘ al-maṯānī with an overview of the mystical theology in the poem. The second chapter, entitled « An Exposition of the Fourteen Conditions, which are “Seven Chapters” (Sab‘ al-maṯānī) from the Tongue of Love’s Master, the Perfect Friend of God who is the Master of the Seekers after the Ka‘ba of Reality, » is by far the longest (267 pages: 131-398) in the Qawā’im. It is a commentary on the key Sufi concepts in Najīb al-Dīn’s Sab‘ al-maṯānī, featuring extensive quotations from this poem. Previously published by the Ḏahabī Order only in a poor lithograph edition,46 one of the highlights of Maḥmūdī’s edition is the printing of over a hundred pages from this poem in the text of the Qawā’im. Occasionally references to works by the other key Ḏahabī master Quṭb al-Dīn Nayrīzī (d. 1173/1759), whose presence permeates the book, are also given in this chapter.47 The third chapter (pp. 501-611) is a gloss on the Qaṣīda-yi ‘išqiyya (Erotic Ode) and Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya (Treatise on Love) by Nayrīzī. Rāz’s lengthy conclusion to the book (ḫātama al-kitāb: pp. 633-743) attempts to wrap up the fundamental notions discussed in the first three chapters, underlining especially his – by no means Nayrīzī’s – peculiar idea of the Shi‘i nature of the reality of love and love’s dependant relationship on the concept of the cycle of Friendship with God (wilāyat). He gives a lengthy exposition of the Presence of the Perfect Man (identified with Imām ‘Alī) in Ibn ‘Arabī’s Five Divine Presences,48 restricting the notion of human perfection 46. Najīb al-Dīn n.d. The work was printed along with a number of other works by Sufi authors (‘Aṭṭār, Rūzbihān, Sayyid Muḥammad Nūrbaḫš, Anṣārī, etc.) in the margins of the poem. I am grateful to Dr. Maḥmūdī for providing me a copy of this work. 47. Nayrīzī’s Risāla-yi ifāḍa-yi rūḥiyya which details the seven levels of the heart and intellect, and explains the meaning of the heart-intellect (‘aql-i qalb), Rāz cites extensively. See Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 185-187. 48. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 635.

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– which is unfortunately quite typical of Rāz’s narrow-minded religious exclusivism – solely to the Shi‘i denomination of Islam.49 Below I will discuss some of the spiritual and religious highlights of the Qawā’im.

THE MYSTICAL THEOLOGY OF THE QAWĀ’IM Al-ANWĀR Rāz-i Šīrāzī was so sure of his own powers of spiritual persuasion and realization that on the very first page of the Qawā’im he boasts, with a selfconfidence bordering on hubris, that, « if you were to divide up the experiences of divine rapture and the process of advancement by ethical and spiritual “wayfaring” that I have undergone in pursuit of God (jaḏba va sulūk) among a community of people, all of them would become enraptured with ecstasy and passion to pursue the way to God. »50 Similar fantastic claims fill the rest of the book.51 He also vaunts his numerous fasts, lasting sometimes half a year, and his frequent lengthy retreats.52 Such experiences are evidently meant to give assurance to the sceptical reader of the veracity of Rāz’s own claims to spiritual realization. The following two passages are typical: My dear son, you should know that the period of spiritual rapture (jaḏba) undergone by this poor wretch (faqīr) lasted fourteen years, during which I had peace neither day nor night, and enjoyed neither food nor sleep. During each 24-hour cycle of day and night I engaged in 35,000 different types of invocation (ḏikr) of praise, as well as occupying myself a bit with the Supreme Name of God (ism-i a‘ẓam-i ilāhī). I never spent more than two hours sleeping before noon, and besides this I had no other physical rest during each day and night cycle. During the latter part of those years, I was suddenly seized with rapture for divine unity and Friendship with God (jaḏba-yi tawḥīdī va wilāyat), and honoured by being received into the Presence of the Perfect Man (ḥaḍrat-i insāni kāmil) and Master of Divine Love (pīr-i ‘išq-i ilāhī). Thereafter, on certain nights I often saw myself in the presence of ‘Alī Ibn Mūsā al-Riḍā, the Progenitor of the Ḏahabī Kubrawī Order. On many occasions, I would behold Imām Riḍā, who had girded his loins tightly and entered this poor wretch’s residence as fast 49. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 643. 50. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 80. 51. 600 pages later on, he brags again: « If the ascetic exercises that I have undergone were divided among one hundred ordinary people, all of them would be transformed into ascetics transported with passion for God (majḏūb-i murṭāḍ). » See Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 667-668. 52. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 82.

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as an arrow, where he secretly indicated to me in my heart to follow him. He would soar ahead with me in hot pursuit. We travelled as swift as a speeding arrow, such that neither earth or sky, ocean or land, the plains or mountains, ever met the eye. We soared on and on. I never knew where we were going! Most of my nights were spent like this. Sometimes that master would be mounted and I would be running at his stirrup; at other times, he would be seated and would dictate to me instructions to note down. On some occasions I saw his blessed countenance appear within the mysterious core of my heart (sirr-i suwaydā-yi qalb) like a bolt of translucent lightning while engaged in the silent invocation of God (ḏikr-i ḫafī). This was a sign of [of the fact that I had attained] the seventh level of the heart which is the Black Light described by Šabistarī in his poem.53 *** God Himself is aware that this poor wretch (faqīr) spent fourteen years absorbed in spiritual rapture and methodically progressing (jaḏba va sulūk) upon the Path of God Almighty until the Gate of divine Friendship with God (wilāyati ilāhiyya) was finally opened to my heart so that I attained this supreme blessing and the eternal treasure of wisdom of the Divine Countenance which has been revealed to me.54

Following this last passage, he relates a vision of his ascension to the Great Gate of the Master of Universal Friendship with God (bāb-i a‘ẓīm-i ḥaḍrat-i ṣāḥib-i wilāyat-i kulliyya): Imām ‘Alī.55 Elsewhere, Rāz claims to have attained the ultimate, fourteenth level of « the Annihilation of the Seeker in the Light of Saintship (nūr-i wilāyat) of the Progenitor of the Ḏahabī Order: the Eighth Imām [Riḍā]. » Having reached that point, he brags how I surpassed and went beyond the seven levels of the heart (aṭwār-i sab‘a-i qalbiyya) and in the innermost core of my heart, which is the seventh level of the heart, I paid a visit to the blessed august countenance of the Presence of the Progenitor of the Ḏahabī Order: my Lord, ‘Alī ibn Mūsā al-Riḍā.56

Visions like these fill the pages of the Qawā’im. Following a lengthy narration of the story of the spiritual ascension (mi‘rāj) of Bāyazīd (or Abū Yazīd) Bisṭāmī (d. 234/848 or 261/875),57 perhaps the most famous of early Persian Sufis, widely renowned for his ecstatic sayings and extraordinary spi53. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 506. 54. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 250. 55. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 251. 56. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 668. 57. On Bisṭāmī see Lewisohn 2005.

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ritual discourses that are unsurpassed in depth and intensity by Sufis of either preceding or succeeding generations, Rāz relates several pages of his own visions to show that he himself had attained the same rank as the « King of the Gnostics » (Sulṭān al-‘ārifīn) Bāyazīd.58 Typically, Rāz’s bias towards Shi‘ism obtrudes into his imagination once again at this point, when he claims that at the final stage of Bāyazīd’s ascension, having realized the degree of annihilation in the Prophet Muḥammad (fanā fī al-rusūl), this was really an act of pious dissimulation (taqiyya) on Bāyazīd’s part, for the saint really referred to annihilation in Imām ‘Alī.59 In another place, he relates several visionary experiences and accounts of the angels who visited him after he experienced an opening of the Gate of divine Sainthood in his heart.60 His crowning experience of annihilation in the Eighth Imām, Riḍā, while engaged in the invocation of God (ḏikr) mentioned at the end of the book leads him to voice a characteristically Shi‘i (but hardly Sufi) doctrine, that « there is no act of worship or obedience like unto the sainthood of these great [Shi‘i] figures, nor one which better deserves to be requited with a positive response from God. »61 As can be seen from this summary, the Qawā’im functions as a handbook of Sufi ascetic theology (dastūr-i ‘amal-i ‘irfānī)62 illustrated by personal visionary experiences in which Rāz gives intricate descriptions of the methods by which the Sufi path can be traversed. In his introduction, he compares Sufi masters to custodians of treasures protected by magic talismans. Only Sufi masters understand how these « treasures, » which represent the same heavenly trust that man accepted to bear according to the Qur’ān (XXXIII: 72),63 can be disclosed and their magic talismanic seals broken. Three sorts of magic talismans exist, he explains: The first talisman pertains to one’s natural habits, that is, food and sleep, natural inclinations, carnal passions and physical desires. The wayfarer will never be able to shatter this talisman of nature until he occupies himself in following the directions of the divine physician and the perfect Friend of God (walī-yi kāmil) regarding ascetic discipline and the struggle against the soul’s passions. The second talisman is that of Imagination (ḫiyāl). Since Imagination is disengaged from matter (mujarrad), all-pervasive and encompassing in nature, 58. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 506-516. 59. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 504. 60. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 668. 61. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 670. 62. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 97. 63. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 98.

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it is of far greater strength than the first talisman. Since Imagination is not confined to just one place in the world, but travels freely of its own accord through every part of the universe in every instant, this makes it extremely difficult for the seeker to focus his thoughts upon his divine origin, concentrate his mind exclusively on God and protect himself against vain thoughts. The only way that this can be done is under the direction of the divine Friend of God (walīyi ilāhī), through his instructions given concerning ascetic exercises that allow the seeker to focus his mind exclusively on God. The third talisman is that of Serene Reason (‘aql-i matīn). Reason is much beloved by God due to certain characteristics created within it. Being the anchor of the divine commandments and obligations, Reason serves to bind man to God and is the instrument by which good from ill can be discerned. However, since Reason wishes to know God by means of its own partial intelligence and limited learning, which is impossible, in regard to understanding God (ma‘rifatu’llāh), Reason is deaf, dumb and blind. Just as one cannot weigh up an entire mountain on a scale meant to measure a load of a few kilos, so partial human reason cannot possibly understand God’s true measure, nor gain access to and assess divine wisdom.64

Unfortunately, those Sufi masters who are able to shatter the seals of these talismans of passion, imagination and reason which conceal the treasures of the vast interior worlds of man comprise not simply spiritual and esoteric elite. They are, according to Rāz, exclusively limited to a special ethnic and particular minority of Iranians, namely, the masters of the provincial Sufi Order of the Ḏahabiyya. Time and time again, Rāz underlines that Sufis of the Ḏahabī Sufi Order alone possess a real « Master of divine love » (pīr-i‘išq-i ilāhī)65 who can offer genuine spiritual guidance. He frequently characterizes all the rest of the Sufi orders in Iran, and by extension, all the rest of the Sufi orders in the Muslim world, having an inferior spiritual rank. Citing that most catholic of Sufi adages: the paths to God are as numerous as human souls (al-ṭuruq ilā Allāh bi-‘adadī anfās al-ḫalā’iq),66 he deliberately warps the ecumenical import of this saying and twists it into a Shi‘i sectarian and Ḏahabī Sufi dogma:

64. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 99-100. 65. The phrase Pīr-i‘išq-i ilāhī is perhaps the most important technical term in the book, referring to the sole person who can liberate the seeker from passion, reason and imagination, and enable him to transcend the external senses and interior faculties of the soul. See Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 185. 66. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 192.

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It should be understood that the Straight Path for all the seekers of God and for you too, my dear son, is the light of the divine sainthood of ‘Alī (wilāyat-i ‘alawiyya), and so you must make immense efforts to meet up with this master of divine love (pīr-i ‘išq-i ilāhī) who can be found in this great [Ḏahabī] Sufi Order. For this noble transcendental Path of spiritual progress (ṭarīqat-i šarīf-i ‘aliyya-i sulūk) does not exist in any of the other Orders: in them no great saints and masters endowed with such a high rank and stature can be found.67

Later on in the book, Rāz reaffirms Ḏahabī Sufi exclusivism with the following incredible statement: The true Path of spiritual poverty (faqr, i.e. Sufism) is exclusively restricted to the grandees of the august Ḏahabī-Riḍawiyya Order – a thousand blessings and praises upon its masters. … None of the seekers, students and enraptured mystics [on other mystical Paths] shall ever be able to achieve or attain that which the Perfect Masters of this Order have realized. As a consequence, all of them have remained outcast and excluded from the true Path of Muḥammadean Sufism (az ṭarīqa-i faqr-i Muḥammadī…maḥrūm māndanand), having no portion whatsoever of this great bounty and God-given fortune. So my dear son! Cherish and appreciate the value of the dervishes (fuqarā’) of this august Order! Race the steed of your yearning and love hard, running it into the field of pious devotion and pure dedication to God before these great masters so as to rival and outpace the students and seekers of other Orders…68

For this reason, despite the evidently high spiritual degree of Rāz-i Šīrāzī and the profundity of his thought, his work in general and this book in particular is of no avail to the cause of intra-religious dialogue today, insofar as he really is not concerned with any human religious group outside the Twelver Shi‘i community in Islam. In turn, within that Shi‘i sect, he concentrates upon the Shi‘i Sufis, and again, within all the Sufi Orders in Islam, pays no regard or respect to any other Sufi group other than his own Persian Ḏahabī Order. This passage is particularly interesting in revealing how the passions of religious exclusivism have animated – or better said deadened – the spirit of Persian Sufism in Iran during this period and how constant and all-pervasive was the intra-ṭarīqa rivalry between the Orders.69

67. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 193. 68. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 519. 69. For further elaboration of these aspects of Persian Sufism in Qajar Iran see Lewisohn 1999, pp. 51-52.

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As with the other Sufi Orders in Qajar Persia (particularly the Ni‘matullāhiyya70), Rāz’s mystical theology is pedagogically « master-centric. » The seeker’s success in the spiritual way would be unthinkable without the presence of the « master of divine love. » In the following passage, which is a prose paraphrase of several verses from Najīb al-Dīn Riḍā’s Sab‘ al-maṯānī on the same theme,71 he advises that the neophyte take up residence in the master’s Sufi centre (ḫānaqāh): Once the aspirant (sālik) has severed all his attachments to the world, refrained from following his desires, given up his property and wealth and renounced all social rank, he must choose a spot for himself in the house of God’s friend and the Master of Love (walī Allāh va pīr-i ‘išq). With the latter’s permission, in the ḫānaqāh of that great master he must lay down his sheepskin and find a corner for himself where he can spread out a prayer-rug (sajjāda) and perform his devotions in the presence of the Master of Love (pīr-i ‘išq). Once he has renounced all his worldly attachments and preoccupations, abstracted himself from all material interests and objects, and severed his relations with all but God, the seeker must then occupy himself with constant remembrance of God in contemplation and meditation (taḏakkur va tafakkur) and never let his master out of his sight as far as possible. Thereupon, following the aforementioned detachment, he may establish a connection with God’s Friends. The aspirant must have no other friend and confident than the Master of Love to companion him on the way.72

One of the most interesting aspects of Rāz’s work is his concentration on the poems and works of his Ḏahabī forebears, such as Najīb al-Dīn Riḍā’s (d. 1108/1696) poem Sab‘ al-maṯānī, huge portions of which illustrate the work. Like all works of the pen and mind that are tainted by religious prejudice, the Ḏahabī-intensive focus of the Qawā’im causes considerable collateral damage to the ecumenical nature of classical Persian Sufism. This wreckage is a direct product of the author’s intense bias towards Shi‘ism and favouritism towards the Ḏahabī Order of which he was the living incarnation. Evidently suffering from a lack of literary conscience – it is clear that Rāz does not have any lack of critical acumen otherwise – in the third and final chapter of the work, he cites the Qaṣīda-yi ‘išqiyya and Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya by Quṭb al-Dīn Nayrīzī,73 the 32nd master of his Order, in full, while claiming these two works by his ancestor are 70. See Lewisohn 1998. 71. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 216. 72. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 204. 73. Zarrīnkūb 1362š., p. 335; see Ḫāvarī 1362š., chap. 14 for a discussion of his literary works.

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the final word on the topic of divine Love in all of Islamic belles lettres!74 A vain boast if there ever was one! Nayrīzī’s Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya, of which I’ve given a brief summary below, is not a very original piece of thinking, and represents at best a minor contribution to the history of erotic theology in Islam in my view.75 Since it is virtually inconceivable that Rāz had not studied, or at least, was not acquainted with the other great works in Persian and Arabic about love written by Sufis such as Aḥmad Ġazālī, ‘Ayn al-Quḍāt, ‘Irāqī, Najm alDīn Rāzī, Jāmī, etc. ,76 his view that « no other member of the circle of adepts in mystical knowledge, either among the ancients or the moderns, ever made a better exposition of the reality of divine love and its hierarchical degrees than that grand mystic [Nayrīzī], »77 seems completely without justification on either spiritual, intellectual or literary grounds. This statement simply is typical, I think, of the tendency by the masters of this Order, as Zarrīnkūb points out,78 towards patrimonialism and nepotistic privileging of their own family members by this Order’s masters over everybody else on the face of God’s earth.79 Rāz then makes this extraordinary statement regarding the sectarian content of Nayrīzī’s Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya, further revealing his own Shi‘i partisanship: In particular, since the ancients (mutaqaddimīn) all lived during an era when pious dissimulation (taqiyya) was the norm, when it came to expounding the Cycle of Saintship belonging to Imām ‘Alī (wilāyat-i ‘alawiyya), the ancients were utterly incapable of using anything more than merely the bare term for « love » (lafẓ-i ‘išq). That is to say, all of the ancients except for Šayḫ ‘Aṭṭār the Gnostic who did not dissimulate regarding expressions [of his Shi‘ism] in his two poems Jawhar al-ḏāt and Maẓhar al-‘ajā’ib. In those works, he clearly manifested his Shi‘ism, mentioning « the Cycle of Saintship (wilāyat), and rent the veil of love to show that the denotation of love which previous mystics (‘urafā’yi salaf) spoke about referred to just which reality. » 74. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 516. 75. For an overview of the major authors and works on divine love in Islam see Lewisohn 2007. 76. Although Rāz and Nayrīzī seldom cite these authors. Thus, Rāz refers to ‘Ayn al-Quḍāt but once: Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 661, but not to any of these other authors as far as I can see. 77. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 516-517. 78. See Zarrīnkūb 1362š., pp. 265-266, 339, 349. Unfortunately, hereditary spirituality remains the bane of modern Persian Sufism in Iran today where the masters of all the main orders (in all their branches) feel no qualms at all in handing down the directorship of their disciples to sons or other close family members, endeavouring to establish a false sanctity for their own personal family clan on the basis of the hereditary principle, as if spiritual leadership could be inherited, like British royal titles, by birthright. For further comments on this nepotistic dervichisme, see Lewisohn 1999, pp. 53-54. 79. Lewisohn 1999, p. 40.

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At this juncture Rāz cites a verse from ‘Aṭṭār’s Maẓhar al-‘ajā‘ib as a prooftext to substantiate his point, Whatever I say about love transcends all of that [said before] [Whatever I say] concerns love for the « Commander of the Faithful ‘Alī. »80

Ultimately however, this verse does nothing to prove Rāz’s point, since the Maẓhar al-‘ajā‘ib belongs to the corpus of ‘Aṭṭārian apocrypha.81 However, the entire passage and verse do serve to underline the severe Alid nature of Rāz’s and Ḏahabī own Sufism and spirituality.82 However, a more important point should be underlined here, which is Rāz’s deliberate distortion and misinterpretation of Nayrīzī’s Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya. This treatise has absolutely no Shi‘i flavour at all and Rāz’s claim that the book has a Shi‘i bias is utterly untrue. In fact, Nayrīzī mentions Imām ‘Alī only twice during the entire Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya. In both places,83 only once in a single distich does he identify the Sufi notion of divine with the Shi‘i doctrine of Alid wilāyat (al-‘išq nūru ‘aliyya bul wilāyatihi).84 On the contrary, the figure of the Prophet Muḥammad is far more central and important to Nayrīzī’s exposition of divine love in Islam than that of Imām ‘Alī.85 For his own part, when discussing 80. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 516-517. 81. According to the majority of modern scholars of ‘Aṭṭār’s works at least; see Lewisohn - Shackle 2006, p. xix. I have not been able to locate this verse in Fāḍilī 1374š., s.v. « ‘Alī, » pp. 425-459. 82. Following the above quotation, Rāz (Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 517) observes that in order to establish the Alid foundation of doctrines of divine love or ‘išq in Sufism, Nayrīzī cited many verses from the poetry of « Mawlānā Rūmī » in his Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya. It is notable that Rāz Šīrāzī, the Persian, refers to the most universal Persian Muslim mystic as « Our Master Rūmī » (the Anatolian Master), rather than the « Master from Balkh, (Mawlānā Balḫī) » as Iranians insist on calling him today – or even worse, the « Afghan Master, (Mawlānā Afġānī) » as modern Afghan writers often do. Nonwithstanding his sectarian Shi‘i bias, at least Rāz was not afflicted with the prejudices of contemporary nationalist scholarship. 83. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 564, 570. 84. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 529. However, it is worth noting in the one place that he does cite a ḥadīṯ of Imām ‘Alī, (Ibid., p. 532), Nayrīzī cites maṯnawī verses by Šayḫ Bahā’ī and Rūmī (Ibid., pp. 532-535) to interpret the saying, without any reference at all to either the Sufi or the Twelver Shi‘i notion of wilāyat! 85. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 525, where Nayrīzī describes love as the light of the Prophet Muḥammad (al-‘išq nūr rasūl Allāh sayyidina [...]), this same verse is repeated on p. 529 or p. 528 where he says that love is the eternal illumination of Muḥammadean love (al-‘išq anwār ḥubb al-muṣṭafā abadān […]), or p. 531 where he claims love is the illumination of the Muḥammadean spirit (al-‘išq anwār rūḥ al-muṣṭafā […]), or on p. 588 where he states that the auroral illumination of our wisdom come from the love of our master Muḥammad: (išrāq ḥikmatinā min ‘išq sayyidina Muḥammad [...]).

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Nayrīzī’s theory of love, Rāz attaches nearly every mention of love in his book86 to the Shi‘i concept of the ‘Alid cycle of Friendship with God (wilāyat-i ‘alawiyya-i murtaḍawiyya). Thus where Nayrīzī in prose simply says that « the Straight Path, when investigated closely, is the faith of those who are enraptured with the light of love (nūr al-‘išq) »,87 Rāz embellishes this statement with a Shi‘i gloss interpreting it to signify that « the Straight Path of the religious Law (šarī‘at), the Sufi Path (ṭarīqat) and the divine Reality (ḥaqīqat), when investigated closely, is the faith of those who adhere to the cycle of Friendship with God and love (maḏhab-i ahl-i wilāyat va ‘išq), in whose hearts the theophanic illumination of the Friendship with God of the Prophet and his Deputy (waṣī) has been cast, and by means of this light they fare the path, and after this fashion are thus enabled to attain the most sublime esoteric degrees of the interior man. »88 Rāz’s avowed social purpose in citing Nayrīzī’s Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya is so that « the scholars, Sufis and enraptured mystics and religious students in the Seat of Government Tehran, as well as those in the provinces of Iraq, Khurasan and Azerbaijan, or rather all the men of learning and letters and Sufis in all Iran may receive the grace of reading this treatise. »89 Yet he also deliberately uses the occasion of citing Nayrīzī’s work to promulgate his own family tree and nepotistically aggrandize the status of his own spiritual position as Nayrīzī’s physical descendent and spiritual successor.90 The original sections of the Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya comprise (mostly Arabic, but occasionally Persian) verse composed by Nayrīzī, structurally subdivided into ten « symbolic allusions » (išāra), sometimes with a short prose introduction in Arabic. The long swathes of Nayrīzī’s Arabic poetry are interspersed by even lengthier citations of Persian maṯnawī verse drawn from different books of Rūmī’s Maṯnawī (and less often from Šayḫ Bahā’ī’s maṯnawīs) on the theme of love. The Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya begins out with an Arabic verse-translation-cumadaptation by Nayrīzī of a ġazal by ‘Aṭṭār, followed by his short Arabic Qaṣīda-yi ‘išqiyya. Nayrīzī’s quotations consist of hundreds of lines from Rūmī cut and sliced from various places from the six books of Rūmī’s Maṯnawī, then 86. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 646-648. 87. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 646. 88. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 646. 89. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 517. 90. Thus, he vaunts that he has quoted Nayrīzī’s book « because this wretched pauper is a descendent of that noble master (for which I wear the cap of honour upon my head) and, furthermore, since through him I take precedence over other people in matters relating to the religious law (šarī‘at), the Sufi Path (ṭarīqat) and divine Reality (ḥaqīqat). » See Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 517.

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mustered besides his Arabic lines, sometimes set completely out of context. The impression one gets is that Nayrīzī believed that Rūmī’s statements about love in the Maṯnawī required a copy-editor as clairvoyant as himself to instil some proper order into their haphazard arrangement. In certain places he translates Rūmī’s poetry into his own Arabic maṯnawī verse,91 and in other passages (five in all), cites ġazal from the Dīwān-i šams92 to cinch points or illustrate his arguments. Nayrīzī’s chapters occasionally deviate from this format. In chapter seven (išāra, pp. 553-573) for instance, he drops the lengthy quotations from Rūmī and features quotations from ḥadīṯ of the Prophet or Arabic proverbs, adages and verses of the Qur’ān, followed by his own Arabic verse commentary upon them (pp. 556-573) instead. While there is little original thinking concerning Islamic love mysticism in Nayrīzī’s Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya, from the point of view of literary history and the development of the intellectual tradition of Islamic philosophy and mysticism, a very important section of the treatise occurs in the eighth chapter (išāra), where (pp. 590-601) Nayrīzī delivers his strong riposte to Mīr Dāmād’s (d. 1041/1631) attack on Rūmī’s famous verse: Rationalists’ legs are just like stilts; How unfixed and stolid are feet of wood!93

Nayrīzī here, while making use of verses from ‘Aṭṭār’s Manṭiq al-ṭayr and Šayḫ Bahā’ī’s (d. 1031/1621) Maṯnawī-yi Nān va panīr, as well as verses of his own composition, demonstrates the difference between philosophers and Sufis’ use of and approach to reason and intellect (‘aql). In the following translation that I have made of a few verses94 from Nayrīzī’s riposte to Mīr Dāmād’s feeble satire on Rūmī, one can see how he defends the classical Persian Sufi tradition from the polemical anti-Sufi mystical theosophers of the School of Isfahan, and from Mīr Dāmād in particular95:

91. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 547. 92. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 534, 551, 577, 578. 93. Rūmī, 1925-40, I: 2127. 94. I previously translated these verses when editing the article by Nasr 1999, pp. 8-9. 95. On the anti-Sufi trend and rhetoric in Safavid Iran see Newman 1999a; Babayan 1996.

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O! You who jeer and sneer at Rūmī, How blind in mind you are, at loss To understand the Maṯnawī! – A book which sets the soul aglow, With flashes of the Spirit’s light illumines us; Its verses writ with mother-pearl And set in ruby-corral! If you, alas Had but the scope of mind to grasp This Maṯnawī, such taunts and scorn You’d never speak. For if in tones Of scorn the poet berated intellect, He meant not that Universal Intellect Which leads and guides us on every course And path; his aim was just man’s finite mind, The petty reason of philosophy that disdains The fair looks that lit Joseph’s face, A finite partial reason which poisons The mind with the gall of its delusions – It’s just that reason all the saints berate.96

CONCLUSION: RĀZ’S QAWĀ’IM Al-ANWĀR AND SHI‘I SUFISM IN QAJAR PERSIA The Qawā’im al-anwār by Rāz-i Šīrāzī constitutes not only an extremely valuable manual of Shi‘i Sufi ascetic theology, but also a very important record of personal visionary experiences by one of the major Sufi figures in 19th century Qajar Persia. The work represents a kind of summa of Ḏahabī spirituality and is an encyclopaedic summary of a Shi‘i-centric Sufi tradition that manifested itself in virtually a separate Sufi literary school, generating many profound works of prose and verse on Islamic spirituality and enduring for some three centuries, well down into early modern times. However, despite the broad literary scope and mystical depth of the work, there are certain religious aspects of the Qawā’im that restrict the intellectual scope of the text’s significance in the Sufi tradition. Rāz’s approach to Sufism, was probably, I believe, heavily biased and compromised by his custodianship of the Šāh Čirāġ mausoleum, one of the holiest Iranian Shi‘i shrines. In the Qawā’im we witness a fusion between a 96. Hādī 1363š., pp. 42-43.

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hyper-pietistic and baroque orthodox Shi‘i religiousity and classical Sufi antinomianism, in which the expression of the Sufi tradition is seriously misrepresentend, with Nomos prevailing over Eros each time they meet on the stage of his text. Rāz’s distortion and Shi‘ification of Quṭb al-Dīn Nayrīzī’s love theory in the Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya outlined above exemplifies this sectarian tendency. Perhaps the clearest example of Rāz’s Shi‘i bias in the Qawā’im and misrepresentation of the more aesthetic aspects of classical Sufism is found in his discussion of the Sufi practice of audition to song and music (samā‘). During his explanation of the last – fourteenth – condition required of the seeker in the third and concluding chapter of the book, Rāz defends the practice of mystical audition to the Word of God (i.e the Qur’ān) and mystical poems in praise of the Family of the Prophet (aš‘ār-i ‘ārifāna dar faḍā’il-i ahl-i bayt).97 His apologia for samā‘ is couched in a hyper-orthodox language. In order to defend the practice, for instance, he relates how his ancestor, the Ḏahabī master Quṭb al-Dīn Muḥammad Šīrāzī (d. 1199/1784) used to hold public classes during which he taught the Futūḥāt al-makkiyya to some 600-700 students in Najaf. Often losing his voice at the end of the lesson, he would entreat his favourite student to recite the Qur’ān to relieve him of his duties as a lecturer. It is only after this introduction, focusing on the art of Qur’anic cantillation, that Rāz dares give the one reference – the only one in the entire book – to the classical Sufi contemplative practice of samā‘ and mention Ḏū al-Nūn al-Miṣrī’s (d. 245/859) musical assemblies. Wholly disregarding and ignoring the rich tradition of samā‘ in Persian Sufism stretching back to Šayḫ Abū Sa‘īd ibn Abī’ al-Ḫayr (d. 440/1048), in which the Sufi practice of ḏikr or remembrance of God was embellished by music and song and thus attained its supreme aesthetic dimension, the entire purpose of samā‘, he says, is merely « to increase the light of wilāyat of ‘Alī in the heart… for it is by means of this sacred light, which is a theophany of the divine essence, that closeness to God may be obtained. »98 In this manner, since the only type of samā‘ which he seems to be aware (or condescends to approve) is the singing the praises and glorification of the virtues of Imām ‘Alī,99 Rāz completely bowdlerizes the classical Sufi doctrine of samā‘. His solicitude for Shi‘ism here, obviously biased by his support for this sect’s renowned juridical opposition to the Sufi arts of music and song,100 warps his appreciation of Eros – in particular the

97. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 673. 98. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 676. 99. See the stories and sayings related to this in Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., pp. 676-678. 100. Newman 1999b.

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custom of listening to the singing of the erotic poetry (ġazal) of Sa‘dī (d. circa 691/1292) and Šams al-Dīn Muḥammad Ḥāfiẓ (d. 791/1389), his great Shirazi poet forbears. This sectarian religious attitude leads him to entirely misrepresent the significance, practice and performance of samā‘, with or without music, in the classical Persian Sufi tradition.101 As already mentioned, the intense master-centricism and Shi‘i Ḏahabī bias of the Qawā’im also reduces the antinomian erotic dimension of Sufi esotericism and increases the nomocentric orientation of the work. Thus, when expounding the traditional Sufi doctrine of obedience to the Shaykh, and explaining that the Sufi seeker must submit himself to and repent before (tawba) the Perfect master of divine love (pīr-i kāmal-i ‘išq-i ilāhī) in whose hands he must remain « like a corpse in the hands of the mortician (kā’l-mayyiti fī yadī al-ġassāl), »102 he adds that this repentance and submission will be useless unless the one who administers the oath of repentance be « a Perfect Master of Love (pīr-i ‘išq-i kāmal) and Friend of God who has traversed the Path (walī-yi rāh-rafta) belongs to an Order (silsila) whose chain of transmission goes back to the Immaculate Imām, that is to say the Sulṭān of the Jinn and Men, ‘Alī Ibn Mūsā al-Riḍā. »103 Otherwise, states Rāz, his repentance will be rejected. No spiritual progress at all will be possible. In this fashion Sufism is dissolved without a trace into Shi‘ism and all the members of the Sunni Sufi Orders are effectively excluded from the purview of God’s mercy.104 The provincial sectarianism of Rāz’s Ḏahabī religious exclusivism reduces him to being merely a colourful figure of limited religious depth of the Qajar period rather a cosmopolitan thinker embracing the entire world of Islam. Nonetheless, despite these drawbacks, the Qawā’im al-anwār remains not only one of the most important texts of both theoretical and practical Sufism (taṣawwuf-i ‘amalī va naẓarī) in Qajar Persia, but also one of the central texts in all of Ḏahabī Sufi spirituality from the late Safavid period down to early modern times.

101. Lewisohn 1997. 102. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 179. 103. Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 180. 104. See Rāz-i Šīrāzī 1383š., p. 298, where he maintains that any Muslim who does not recognize the love of Saintship of (‘išq-i wilāyat) of ‘Alī will go astray and end up as a « Sunni of evil conduct » (sunnī-bad-fa‘āl), and teaches that Sunnism represents the path of God’s majestic rigour (jalāl) and Shi‘ism the way of divine beauty (jamāl).

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Babayan, Kathryn, 1996 : « Sufis, Dervishes and Mullas: The Controversy over Spiritual and Temporal Domination in Seventeenth-Century Iran », in : Ch. Melville, ed., Safavid Persia: The History and Politics of an Islamic Society. London, I.B. Tauris, pp. 117-139. Corbin, Henry, 1986 : Histoire de la philosophie islamique. Paris, Gallimard. Fāḍilī, Qādir, 1374š./1995 : Farhang-i mawḍū‘ī adab-i pārsī, mawḍū‘-bandī va naqd va barrasī-yi Muṣībatnāma va Maẓhar al-‘ajā’ib. Tehran, Ṭalā’iyya, vols. III-IV. Gramlich, Richard, 1965-1981 : Die Schiitischen Derwischorden Persiens. 3 vols., Wiesbaden, Franz Steiner. Hādī, Akbar, 1363š./1984 : Sharḥ-i ḥāl-i Mīr Dāmād va Mīr Findariskī. Isfahan, Mīṯam Tamār. Hidāyat, Riḍā Qulī Ḫān, n.d. : Riyāḍ al-‘ārifīn. Mihr ‘Alī Gurkānī, ed., Tehran. Ḫāvarī, Asad Allāh, 1362š./1983 : Ḏahabiyya: Taṣawwuf-i ‘ilmī, āṯār-i adabī. Tehran, Tehran University Press. Istaḫrī, Iḥṣān Allāh ‘Alī, 1338š./1959 : Uṣūl-i taṣawwuf.Tehran, Kānūn-i Ma‘rifat. Lāhījī, Muḥammad, 1371š./1992 : Mafātīḥ al-i‘jāz fī Šarḥ-i gulšan-i Rāz. Muḥammad Riḍā Barzgār Ḫāliqī - ‘Iffat Karbāsī, eds., Tehran, Zawwār. Lewisohn, Leonard, – 1997 : « The Sacred Music of Islam: Samā‘ in the Persian Sufi Tradition ». The British Journal of Ethnomusicology, 6, pp. 1-33. – 1998 : « An introduction to the history of modern Persian Sufism, Part I: the Ni‘matullāhī order: persecution, revival and schism ». The Bulletin of the School of Oriental & African Studies, 61/3, pp. 437-464. – 1999 : « An introduction to the history of modern Persian Sufism, Part II: A socio-cultural profile of Sufism, from the Dhahabī revival to the present day ». The Bulletin of the School of Oriental & African Studies, 62/1, pp. 36-59. – 2005 : « Bayazid Bistami », in : L. Jones, ed., The Encyclopædia of Religion. New York, Macmillan Reference & Thomson Gale, vol. II, pp. 955-957 (2nd Edition). – 2007 : « Divine Love in Islam », in : Y. Greenberg, ed., Encyclopædia of love in World Religions. New York, Macmillan Reference & Thomson Gale, vol. I, pp. 163-165. Lewisohn, Leonard - Shackle, Christopher, 2006 : « Introduction », in : L. Lewisohn - C. Shackle, eds., The Art of Spiritual Flight: Farid al-Din ‘Attar and the Persian Sufi Tradition. London, I.B. Tauris & the Institute of Ismaili Studies.

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Mākū’ī, Muḥammad Raḥīm Nuṣrat al-Mulk, 1338š./1959 : Maqālāt-i Ḥaḍrat-i Parwīzī. Tabriz. Martin, Henry, 1820 : A Memoir of the Rev. Henry Martyn. D. D. J. Sarjent, ed., Londres, J. Hatchard (4th Edition). Ma‘ṣūm ‘Alī Šāh Šīrāzī, 1345š./1966 : Ṭarā’iq al-ḥaqā’iq, M. J. Maḥjūb, ed., 3. vols., Tehran, Kitābḫāna-yi Bārānī. Murata, S., 1987 : « Anṣārī, Shaikh Mortażā b. Moḥammad Amīn (1214-81/1799-1864) ». Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. 2., pp. 102-103. Najīb al-Dīn, n.d. : Sab‘ al-maṯānī. A. Tabrīzī - M. ‘Imād al-Fuqarā’, eds., Shiraz, Maṭba‘-i Aḥmadī. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein, 1999 : « Sufism in the School of Isfahan », in : L. Lewisohn - D. Morgan, eds., The Heritage of Sufism, vol. 3: late Classical Persianate Sufism: the Safavid and Mughal Period. Oxford, Oneworld, pp. 3-15. Newman, Andrew, – 1999a : « Sufism and Anti-Sufism in Safavid Iran: The Autorship of the Ḥadīqat al-Shī‘a Revisited ». Iran, 37, pp. 95-108. – 1999b : « Clerical Perceptions of Sufi Practices in Late Seventeenth Century Persia: Arguments over the Permissibility of Singing (Ghinā’) », in : L. Lewisohn - D. Morgan, eds., The Heritage of Sufism, vol. 3: late Classical Persianate Sufism: the Safavid and Mughal Period. Oxford, Oneworld, pp. 135164. Nurbaksh, Javad, 1992 : The Psychology of Sufism. London, KNP. Rāz-i Šīrāzī, – 1383š./2004 : Qawā’im al-anwār wa ṭawāla‘ al-asrār. Ḫayr Allāh Maḥmūdī, ed., Shiraz, Daryā-yi nūr (First Lithograph edition: Tabriz, 1301š./1883 with an introduction by Majd al-Ašrāf). – n.d. : Taḏkira-yi Rāz, Shiraz. Rūmī, 1925-40 : The Mathnawī of Jalaluddin Rumi. R. A. Nicholson, ed., 8 vols., London, Luzac & Co. Zarrīnkūb, ‘Abd al-Ḥusayn, 1362š./1983 : Dunbāla-yi justujū dar taṣawwuf-i Īrān. Tehran, Amīr Kabīr. Zinġānī, Mīrzā ‘Abd al-Karīm Rāyiḍ al-Dīn, – 1334š./1955 : Šarḥ-i gulšan-i Rāz. Tabriz. – 1341š./1962 : Šams al-ḥaqīqat. Tehran, Ḫākpā-yi darvīšān-i Ḥājjī Šams al-Dīn Parwīzī.

« Wahhabisme » et modernisme : généalogie du réformisme religieux en inde (1803-1914) Marc Gaborieau

Abstract: This paper deals with the reform movements among Indian Muslims from 1803 to 1914, in the context of British colonization and in relation to the trends in vogue in the rest of the Muslim world during this period. As it is graphically shown in the chart attached to this paper, the whole religious landscape in Muslim India at that time was structured around the controversial figure of Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī (1786-1831). On the one side stand the unreformed who refused his teachings and eventually united under the label of Barelwīs. On the other side are found those who accepted his reforms and were nicknamed « Wahhabis » by their opponents: they had in common their refusal of the cult of saints and other popular devotions which went against strict monotheism. They in their turn subdivided along other criteria: the Deobandīs, who practiced submission (taqlīd) to the Hanafi school of law, were opposed to those who accepted independent reasoning (ijtihād). The later, were further divided between the Traditionalists, like the Ahl-i ḥadīṯ, who refused westernization, and the modernists, like the Aligarh school, who adopted Western education. By applying systematically these criteria, on can build a coherent genealogy of the Indian reform movements, which accounts for the major nuances in the religious debate up to the first World War.

Cette contribution traite du réformisme chez les musulmans sunnites de l’Inde de 1803 à 1914 en relation avec le contexte colonial, et avec les mouvements religieux qui agitaient le monde musulman de l’époque1. Les chiites encore mal connus, sur lesquels je n’ai aucune compétence, sont laissés de côté. La conquête de Delhi par les Britanniques en 1803 est prise comme point de départ : cette ville constitua dès lors le principal centre du réformisme musulman émergeant qui subit immédiatement l’influence coloniale. On ne peut guère parler de réformisme avant cette date : les clivages départageant les différentes écoles réformées se situent dans le XIXe siècle. Ces dernières 1. Cf. Matringe 2005 ; Gaborieau 2007b.

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connurent dès lors une évolution continue dans le cadre de l’État colonial triomphant jusqu’à la première guerre mondiale : ce qui se passe ensuite dans les années vingt et trente, à l’approche de l’indépendance, est d’une autre nature et ne sera évoqué qu’en passant ; nous en avons traité en détail par ailleurs2. On vit naître entre 1803 et 1914 une pluralité de mouvements qu’il semble au premier abord difficile de subsumer sous un nombre limité de concepts. C’est pourtant ce que nous allons essayer de faire en dressant une sorte de généalogie pour montrer qu’ils sont en résonance les uns avec les autres, car ils se définissent les uns par rapport aux autres après une phase initiale qui constitue en quelque sorte le degré zéro. Nous distinguerons trois phases principales, que nous replacerons chacune dans leur contexte historique. A chacune de ces phases, qui entraînèrent la naissance de nouveaux clivages, des thèmes de discussion différents arrivent au premier plan : en dressant cette généalogie, nous pourrons ainsi passer en revue les principaux objets de débat du réformisme indien.

PrÉLuDe Tous ces mouvements s’enracinent dans un terreau commun : le renouveau religieux de la seconde moitié du XVIIIe siècle. Il est exagéré d’y voir, comme John Voll à la suite de Joseph Fletcher, une « troisième vague de l’islam », coordonnée par ses réseaux de savants à l’échelle de l’ensemble du monde musulman, qui aurait radicalement changé la vision du monde des oulémas et des soufis3. On doit cependant reconnaître que de nouvelles préoccupations émergent un peu partout : l’accent est mis sur l’ijtihād, on tonne contre les abus dans les dévotions soufies en tenant compte des critiques d’Ibn Taymiyya (m. 728/1328), on se préoccupe de mettre davantage les enseignements de l’islam à la portée du commun des musulmans. Ces nouvelles tendances sont éminemment illustrées en Inde dans la seconde moitié du XVIIIe siècle par un lignage savant de Delhi – ville qui, malgré la désintégration de l’empire moghol, restait un haut lieu de la culture profane comme religieuse autour de la cour impériale pratiquement confinée dans sa citadelle du Fort rouge. Ce lignage devint célèbre avec Šāh Walī Allāh (1703-1762) qui fut pèlerin-étudiant à la Mecque et à Médine en 1731-1732. Il en revint en proposant des idées nouvelles comme la pratique de l’ijtihād, des critiques contre les pèlerinages aux tombes des

2. Gaborieau 2002a. 3. Levtzion - Voll 1987 ; Gaborieau - Grandin 1996.

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saints qu’il empruntait à Ibn Taymiyya4. Il eut aussi l’idée de traduire le Coran en persan pour le mettre à la portée des « artisans et des soldats », ce qui fut fait dès 17435. Ses deux plus jeune fils, rafī‘ al-Dīn (1750-1818) et ‘Abd al-Qādir (1753-1813) rédigèrent des traductions en ourdou du Coran, la langue véhiculaire de l’Inde du Nord en 1786 et 1790 respectivement. Mais c’est l’aîné, Šāh ‘Abd al-‘Azīz (1746-1824) qui est resté le plus célèbre en continuant l’œuvre de recherche et d’enseignement de son père à la tête de sa madrasa de Delhi, et en promulguant des fatāwā qui sont restées célèbres sur la situation des musulmans en Inde après la conquête anglaise6. Toutes les écoles sunnites qui se sont formées au XIXe siècle invoquent cet héritage commun, qu’elles soient considérées comme réformées, ce qui est le cas de la plupart d’entre elles, ou quelles soient étiquetées non-réformées, comme l’école Barelwī7 qui s’opposa à tous les mouvements réformistes et s’organisa en réaction contre eux, et qui se présenta comme la seule héritière authentique de Šāh ‘Abd al-‘Azīz8. en un sens, parce qu’ils prolongent le renouveau religieux du XVIIIe siècle, les Barelwīs sont réformistes comme le soutient usha Sanyal ; mais par rapport aux innovations introduites par les autres mouvements au cours du XIXe siècle, ils sont généralement classés comme non-réformistes ; c’est l’usage que nous suivrons ici.

PreMIère PHASe : rADICALISATION eT MODerNISATION Cette première phase correspond à la première moitié du XIXe siècle ; elle est marquée par l’impact d’un homme charismatique de stature exceptionnelle, Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī (1786-1831), qui va provoquer le premier grand clivage moderne de l’islam indien. Il opère dans le contexte de la domination coloniale. Nous sommes alors dans cette première moitié du XIXe siècle qui se clora par la grande révolte de 18579. Les Anglais, arrivant par l’est, s’étaient implantés d’abord au Bengale dès 1765 ; remontant le bassin du Gange, ils avaient conquis Delhi en 1803 et mis sous tutelle l’empereur moghol dont ils restèrent pourtant en théorie les vassaux jusqu’en 1857. Le dernier verrou céda en 1818 avec l’écrasement de la dernière grande puissance politique du sous-continent, la confédération 4. Baljon 1986 et 1989. 5. Baljon 1986, pp. 11, 149. 6. rizvi 1982, pp. 75-244 ; Gaborieau 2001a. 7. Sanyal 1996, 2005 et 2007. 8. Sanyal 1996, p. 229. 9. Hardy 1972, pp. 1-60 ; Bayly 1988 ; Markovits 1994, pp. 225-409.

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marathe qui contrôlait alors l’Inde occidentale. La puissance britannique est alors hégémonique : ne restent hors de sa portée que les provinces du Sind et du Panjab (grosso modo l’actuel Pakistan) qui ne tomberont qu’en 1843 et 1849. Tout en feignant de ne pas vouloir bouleverser la culture traditionnelle, ils introduisent des changements profonds. Ils démilitarisent et sédentarisent la société, contrôlant plus étroitement la gestion agraire pour maximiser les impôts : les affaires d’abord ! Mais leur influence sur le plan religieux et culturel est loin d’être négligeable : dès 1772, ils ont remplacé les cadis par des tribunaux coloniaux qui appliquent à leur façon le statut personnel hindou et musulman ; ils popularisent la science occidentale, répandent l’imprimerie, remplacent progressivement le persan – la grande langue de culture et d’administration de l’empire moghol – par les langues vernaculaires et l’anglais. enfin à partir de 1813 ils permettent aux missionnaires protestants, souvent très agressifs, de faire du prosélytisme et d’inonder le marché de bibles imprimées dans les langues locales10. C’est dans ce contexte de dégradation du pouvoir et de la culture islamique qu’émerge notre réformateur. Né en 1786 dans une famille de desservants de tombes affiliés à la confrérie Naqšbandiyya, Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī11 est, selon une tradition de lignage très commune à l’époque, formé à la fois comme soldat et comme mystique ; à demi illettré, il oscillera toute sa vie entre les deux vocations. D’abord maître soufi à Delhi, puis soldat de fortune dans les armées d’un aventurier afghan qui se taille une principauté au rajasthan, il est rendu à la vie civile en 1818 par la victoire britannique sur les Marathes qui démilitarise l’Inde occidentale. Il commence alors, à la faveur de la pax britannica, une carrière de réformateur religieux, toujours accompagné de son fidèle disciple et idéologue Šāh Ismā‘īl Šahīd (1779-1831) qui rédige en persan et en ourdou les différents manifestes du mouvement. Il pratique d’abord le prosélytisme pacifique. Puis il s’embarque à la fin de 1826 à la frontière du Nord-Ouest dans un jihād qui s’appuie sur l’Afghanistan et l’Asie centrale, région encore sous domination musulmane, pour prendre à revers les Sikhs qui occupent alors le Panjab et à plus longue échéance les Britanniques12. Ce projet à la fois utopique et médiéval de ramener l’Inde dans le dār al-islām est un fiasco ; son armée de mujāhidīn est taillée en pièce par les Sikhs en 1831. Comme son corps ne fut pas retrouvé, ses disciples crurent à une occultation et attendirent pendant des décennies son retour comme mahdī13. La postérité a retenu de lui deux aspects contradictoires. 10. Powell 1993. 11. Ahmad 1975 ; rizvi 1982, pp. 473-497 ; Gaborieau 1999a. 12. Gaborieau 1996 et 1999b. 13. Gaborieau 2000.

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D’un côté c’était un radical tourné vers le passé, que nous appellerions aujourd’hui un fondamentaliste. Son intransigeance occasionna le premier grand clivage religieux du XIXe siècle. elle se manifesta d’abord dans la critique radicale des abus du soufisme, comme le culte des saints, et des coutumes empruntées aux hindous : là où ses prédécesseurs se contentaient d’exhortations, il passait aux interdictions absolues, voire à la destruction des objets de culte14. ensuite il inaugura un prosélytisme actif qui était alors une innovation : loin d’attendre que les fidèles viennent à lui comme c’était la tradition, il parcourut tout le bassin du Gange de Delhi à Calcutta, exhortant infatigablement et drainant des milliers de disciples. enfin il prêchait l’exemple pour remettre en honneur ce qu’on pourrait appeler des « obligations oubliées », pour reprendre le langage des islamistes contemporains : il alla en pèlerinage à la Mecque avec « 600 disciples » (un nombre canonique) de 1821 à 1824 ; il remit surtout en honneur le jihād et il goûta le martyre avec des milliers de disciples, d’où l’épithète de šahīd accolée à son nom. Ce radicalisme, qui fut adopté sur certains, ou sur tous les points par ses disciples, les mit à part du reste des musulmans non-réformés. Tel est le premier grand clivage qui remonte donc aux premières décennies du XIXe siècle. Mais il ne faut pas l’interpréter seulement en termes de retour au passé. Ce personnage quasi-médiéval, se conduisant souvent comme un illuminé, a des aspects étrangement modernes. Il fut l’un des premiers pèlerins indiens à utiliser un bateau à vapeur pour revenir du pèlerinage. Il acheta les armes à feu les plus modernes pour sa guerre sainte. Il fut le pionnier de l’usage de l’imprimerie pour la dissémination des ouvrages religieux musulmans, montant sa propre presse qui publia à partir de 1823 ; il fit imprimer pour la première fois en Inde, en 1829, le texte arabe du Coran accompagné de la traduction ourdou de ‘Abd al-Qādir15. On peut d’ailleurs se demander si ce prosélytisme actif et l’usage systématique de l’imprimerie n’étaient pas une façon de rivaliser avec les missionnaires protestants qui ne cessèrent de provoquer les musulmans dans la première moitié du XIXe siècle16. N’en faisons pas pour autant un personnage exagérément moderne, une sorte de protonationaliste attaché à combattre le colonisateur comme on l’a souvent fait au Pakistan et en Inde17. Son combat pour la purification et l’extension de l’islam est enraciné dans une tradition islamique plus ancienne et se fait l’écho de discussions en honneur à cette époque dans d’autres parties du monde musulman. Ses arguments contre les abus du soufisme sont un écho 14. Gaborieau 1989 et 1999a. 15. Gaborieau 2001a. 16. Powell 1993. 17. Ahmad 1966.

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de ceux d’Ibn Taymiyya, qu’il a pu connaître à travers Šāh Walī Allāh qui les avait transmis en Inde. Son acharnement à détruire les objets de culte qu’il réprouvait, en l’occurrence une réplique de la tombe de l’Imām Ḥusayn portée en procession par des chiites, lui a valu le sobriquet de « Wahhabite » ; cependant aucune connexion directe avec les Wahhabites d’Arabie n’a jamais été prouvée, ni même mentionnée dans l’hagiographie de son mouvement. Par contre il est un savant arabe qui est cité à plusieurs reprises, c’est le Yéménite Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī al-Šawkānī (m. 1834) que nous retrouverons plus loin à propos des Ahl-i ḥadīṯ. Les critiques de Šawkānī contre le culte des saints, analogues à celle des Wahhabites, ressemblent étrangement à celle de notre réformateur indien ; on trouve aussi chez lui l’insistance sur l’ijtihād, et l’exhortation à retourner au texte des écritures18. On peut se demander s’il n’y a pas là l’inspiration ultime de ce mouvement de réforme, nous y reviendrons en conclusion. Le problème est cependant compliqué car la chronologie des manifestes du mouvement, qui furent écrits par Ismā‘īl Šahīd, a récemment été révisée19 : il semble avoir commencé à écrire dès les premières années du XIXe siècle. Il y a eu manifestement une division du travail entre Sayyid Aḥmad, qui apporta le charisme du soufi millénariste d’un côté et, de l’autre, Šāh Ismā‘īl qui a formulé la doctrine réformiste, laquelle se faisait l’écho d’idées en vogue à l’époque en Arabie, notamment du côté du Yémen. Au milieu du XIXe siècle donc, un certain nombre de traits durables du réformisme étaient acquis : la radicalisation ainsi que le militantisme et le prosélytisme qui vont avec elle ; une modernisation ingénieuse… Mais le trait commun de tous les réformés, qui devait leur servir d’étiquette jusqu’à ce jour par rapport aux Barelwīs, est la lutte contre les abus du soufisme, en particulier le culte des saints. Il ne faut pas croire pour autant qu’ils formaient un groupe doctrinalement homogène : il restait entre eux un certain nombre de points controversés, notamment en matière d’ijtihād, et d’usage de la raison, qui occupèrent les deux phases suivantes. La question du jihād – fallait-il ou non recourir à la lutte armée ? – resta pendante durant tout le XIXe siècle : elle sera évoquée seulement en épilogue de cette communication.

DeuXIèMe PHASe : IjTIHĀD Ou TAqlĪD ? Les années cinquante et soixante marquèrent un grand bouleversement20. La grande « Mutinerie » de 1857, ou révolte des Cipayes, fit chanceler un moment 18. Haykel 2003, pp. 127-138. 19. Gaborieau 1999a, pp. 456-457. 20. Hardy 1972, pp. 61-115 ; Markovits 1974, pp. 337-349.

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l’État colonial jusqu’alors administré par une compagnie de marchands, la east India Company. Cette dernière fut alors dissoute et l’Inde fut placée directement sous l’autorité de la couronne, en l’occurrence de la reine Victoria qui proclama ses prérogatives dès 1858, et fut solennellement couronnée « Impératrice de l’Inde » (qayṣar-i Hind) en 1877. La répression sauvage de la révolte permit aux Anglais de renforcer leur mainmise sur le pays en écartant les notables suspects pour les remplacer par des « loyalistes ». La pacification du pays fut achevée : les colonisateurs réduisirent les derniers combattants « Wahhabites », disciples de Sayyid Aḥmad qui faisaient encore le coup de feu à la frontière du Nord-Ouest récemment annexée en attendant son retour comme mahdī ; ils se livrèrent à une véritable chasse aux sorcières contre leurs sympathisants répandus sur toute l’Inde qui furent lourdement condamnés dans une série de procès anti-wahhabites, les fameux « wahhabi trials ». en 1872 ce processus arriva à son terme : cette année marqua l’établissement définitif de la pax britannica. C’est pendant cette période troublée, de façon subreptice, que les positions furent tranchées en matière d’ijtihād amenant un premier clivage au sein des réformés21. C’était une question largement débattue depuis le XVIIIe siècle aussi bien en Inde avec Šāh Walī Allāh qu’au Yémen avec Šawkānī. Parmi les disciples de Sayyid Aḥmad, il y avait un groupe basé dans le quartier de Ṣādiqpūr à Patna (ville moyenne située dans la vallée du Gange) qui avait la double singularité de prôner l’ijtihād, et d’être particulièrement actif dans l’organisation du jihād. Wilāyat ‘Alī (1790-1852), son chef de file détenait – le fait n’est pas sans intérêt pour la connexion yéménite que nous essayons de prouver – une ijāza de ḥadiṯ de Šawkānī22. Le plus brillant élève de ce groupe de Patna, Naḏīr Ḥusayn (1805-1902), fit carrière à Delhi et forma le premier noyau d’une école indépendante qui s’arrogeait le droit de contester les solutions fournies par les écoles de droit, en particulier celles du hanafisme qui est dominant en Inde, quand on pouvait leur opposer une tradition prophétique authentique23. C’est pourquoi les partisans de cette école prirent le nom de Ahl-i ḥadīṯ. Leurs adversaires, qui refusaient l’ijtihād et pratiquaient le taqlīd, c’est-à-dire s’en tenaient aux solutions reconnues par les écoles de droit, les appelèrent ġayr-muqallid. Les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ prirent comme signe distinctif le geste de lever les mains à la fin de la prière et de dire āmīn à voix haute, alors que les hanafites gardaient les mains baissées et disaient āmīn à voix basse. Mais la divergence substantielle était en matière de droit où ils prônèrent 21. Khan 1984, pp. 65-68 ; Metcalf 1982, pp. 268-296. 22. Ahmad 1966, p. 86 ; Ahmad 1975, pp. 300-310 ; Gaborieau 1999a, p. 466. 23. Baljon 1992.

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souvent des solutions novatrices notamment pour la défense des droits des femmes ; cette originalité continue pratiquement jusqu’à ce jour24. un des aspects les plus originaux de la principauté de Bhopal, leur principal bastion, est l’investissement officiel dans l’éducation des femmes : les Begums, les princesses qui se sont succédées sur le trône, ont multiplié les fondations d’établissements qui leur étaient destinés25 ; nous y reviendrons. D’abord influente en Inde orientale et à Delhi, la nouvelle école acquit un fort point d’ancrage plus à l’Ouest, en Inde centrale dans la principauté afghane de Bhopal, dirigée par une dynastie de femmes, où leur porte-parole le plus célèbre, Ṣiddīq Ḥasan Ḫān (1832-1890)26, devint le prince-consort de la reine Šāh Jahān Begum. Il obtint ainsi pour son école un patronage royal qui lui permit de diffuser très largement en Inde et dans les pays arabes son œuvre rédigée souvent en arabe. Il put aussi resserrer ses liens avec le Yémen grâce à deux savants originaires de ce pays, établis à Bhopal qui y popularisèrent l’œuvre de Šawkānī27. Nous avons ainsi une école traditionaliste solidement charpentée : comme tous les réformés, elle prêche un retour à la pureté de l’islam originel débarrassé des coutumes hindoues et des abus du soufisme ; elle ne craint pas d’innover en matière de droit ; elle promeut comme principale autorité non seulement Šawkānī, mais aussi et toujours Ibn Taymiyya qui reste un grand auteur de référence de ces réformateurs indiens28. Les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ restent toujours une école influente en Inde et au Pakistan ; ils se donnent volontiers l’épithète de salafī, qu’ils accolent aussi volontiers à leurs maisons d’éditions, soulignant ainsi leur parenté d’inspiration avec les salafistes du monde arabe, notamment avec leur inspirateur commun qui est Ibn Taymiyya. La question de l’ijtihād n’était pas confinée à ces petits cercles traditionalistes. elle était aussi largement agitée dans les cercles dits « modernistes », plus proches des Anglais, qui se mirent, surtout après 1857, à chercher une accommodation des musulmans avec la culture occidentale imposée par le colonisateur. Ils étaient souvent, comme leur chef de file Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān (1817-1898), issus eux aussi des milieux réformés où ils puisaient une justification de l’ijtihād qu’ils utilisaient pour réinterpréter l’islam dans un sens plus moderne29. Nous y reviendrons en étudiant la phase suivante. Ce qu’il faut retenir de cette deuxième phase c’est la scission très nette qui s’est opérée à l’intérieur des réformés entre, d’une part, une minorité des 24. Preckel 2000 et 2007. 25. Minault 1998. 26. Saeedullah 1973. 27. Preckel 2000, pp. 72-76. 28. Gaborieau 1989 ; Preckel 2000, p. 71. 29. Troll 1979, pp. 34-36 ; Lelyveld 1978, p. 131.

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réformés, traditionalistes ou modernistes, qui revendiquaient le droit de pratiquer l’ijtihād ; et d’autre part la majorité d’entre eux qui restèrent hanafites partisans du taqlīd, ou muqallid comme on les appelait généralement pour les distinguer des Ahl-i ḥadiṯ. Ils commencèrent à se regrouper dès 1867 dans l’école de Deoband30 sur laquelle nous reviendrons dans la partie suivante. On remarquera que les Deobandīs occupent une position médiane dans le tableau : du point du vue de la réforme des coutumes et de la critique des abus du soufisme, ce sont des réformistes en accord avec les deux écoles situées à gauche ; mais du point de vue juridique, ce sont des hanafites muqallid comme les non-réformés qui, nous allons le voir, vont se regrouper dans l’école des Barelwīs (cf. Tableau 1). La majorité des musulmans indiens, réformistes comme non-réformistes, est donc restée fidèle au système de jurisprudence traditionnel.

TrOISIèMe PHASe : rAISON eT rÉVÉLATION ; INSTITuTIONNALISATION L’établissement définitif de la pax britannica en 1872 marque le véritable début de l’Inde moderne31. Il permit aux réformistes de faire la paix avec les autorités coloniales, ou seulement pour certains de se soumettre en apparence. Ils purent alors préciser à loisir leur doctrine à l’occasion d’innombrables controverses ; ils en profitèrent surtout pour se réorganiser, généralement autour d’associations et d’institutions d’enseignement. Le paysage des écoles réformistes indiennes fut alors définitivement fixé. La grande question qui restait à clarifier était celle des limites de l’usage de la raison. elle se joua essentiellement à l’intérieur du petit groupe des partisans de l’ijtihād, qui se partagea alors définitivement entre les deux clans des modernistes et des traditionalistes. Mais les controverses contre les modernistes débordèrent largement sur l’ensemble des écoles réformistes comme nonréformistes. Les modernistes ne se contentèrent pas comme les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ de mettre en question les solutions toutes faites des écoles de droit. Ils contestèrent la méthodologie des oulémas qui fait des traditions prophétiques la seconde source du droit ; leur déniant toute crédibilité, ils affirmèrent que les obligations auxquelles les musulmans sont soumis, ne peuvent se déduire que du Coran ; et qu’elles ne concernent que le rituel ; tout ce qui a trait à la société et à la 30. Metcalf 1982. 31. Hardy 1972, pp. 116-167 ; Markovits 1974, pp. 415-560.

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politique reflète des circonstances historiques abolies ; on ne saurait en tirer des règles pour l’époque actuelle. Cette méthodologie fut mise au point par Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān dans son grand commentaire coranique publié après 187032 ; elle fut formalisée par son disciple Čirāġ ‘Alī (1844-1895) dans un ouvrage ambitieux proposant des réformes pour le monde musulman33. A ce niveau, les modernistes ressemblent à certaines écoles traditionalistes indiennes audacieuses qui, plus radicales que les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ, proposèrent de ne garder que le Coran en tant que source du droit, comme les Ahl-i Qur’ān du Panjab34. Mais ce qui distingue Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān de ces derniers, c’est qu’il ajouta à ses spéculations une dimension rationaliste, posant comme axiome que la parole de Dieu révélée dans l’Écriture ne pouvait être en contradiction avec l’œuvre de Dieu visible dans la nature que les sciences occidentales nous font comprendre. Il proposa donc une interprétation allégorique du Coran admissible pour les esprits modernes. Ce rationalisme apparemment naïf lui valut de la part de ses adversaires le sobriquet de « nečarī » (adjectif formé sur le mot anglais « nature », qu’on pourrait traduire par « naturaliste »). Il n’était cependant pas aussi naïf qu’il y paraît, car il rejoignait consciemment une grande tradition de l’islam médiéval, celle de la falsafa, prenant comme modèle Ibn rušd dans son « Traité décisif (faṣl al-maqāl) sur l’accord de la religion et de la philosophie » qu’il cite explicitement35. Il produit finalement une théologie rationaliste qui est certainement la plus audacieuse que le monde musulman moderne ait produite36. Les modernistes ont beaucoup en commun avec les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ et les Ahl-i Qur’ān et par leur origine dans leur premier réformisme de Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī, et par leur audace intellectuelle. Mais ce sont des frères ennemis, tournés les premiers vers le passé originaire de l’islam, les seconds vers le progrès moderne. Les premiers ont d’ailleurs fait cause commune avec les autres réformistes comme les Deobandīs, et même avec les non-réformés37. Toute madrasa qui se respecte dans le sous-continent indien a dans sa bibliothèque une section d’ouvrages réfutant les nečariyyāt, c’est-à-dire les « idées naturalistes » de Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān : mais ce sont sans doute les Deobandīs qui en ont fourni dans les années 1870 la réfutation la plus intellectuellement charpentée dans un pamphlet de Muḥammad Qāsim Nānotawī (1832-1879) intitulé Taṣfiyyat al-‘aqā’id (La purification des 32. Troll 1979. 33. Ahmad - Grunebaum 1970, pp. 49-54. 34. Metcalf 1982, pp. 289, 322-323. 35. Troll 1979, pp. 216-217. 36. Troll 1979, pp. 171-222. 37. Sanyal 1996, pp. 202-204.

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croyances)38 qui répondait aux déclarations de principe de Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān sur l’interprétation coranique39 ; il y arguait que l’on ne peut soumettre à l’aune de la raison les commandements divins qui relèvent de décisions insondables à l’entendement humain ; c’est bien plutôt la raison humaine qui doit se soumettre à ces ordres qui lui paraissent arbitraires, car elle n’a pas à en connaître les raisons, ni même à savoir s’ils sont fondés sur des raisons. Ces polémiques, qui permirent aux différentes écoles de se situer les unes par rapport aux autres, furent doublées d’une intense activité de fondation d’institutions, associations et établissements d’enseignement qui doivent beaucoup aux techniques d’encadrement des colonisateurs. Ce processus s’étala des années soixante à la fin du siècle. Les Deobandīs, qui ont toujours été, et qui restent les mieux organisés ouvrirent la marche en fondant dès 1867 leur maison-mère dans la ville de Deoband, au Nord de Delhi, dont ils tirent leur nom40. Ils rompirent avec le système traditionnel d’un enseignement personnalisé où les élèves étudiaient une série de livres avec une succession de maîtres sans programme fixe, et souvent sans lieu fixe, l’enseignant exerçant dans une mosquée où chez lui – système qu’on a pu voir fonctionner par exemple jusqu’au milieu du XXe siècle chez les oulémas du Farangī Maḥall à Lucknow41. Désormais il y a, comme dans l’Occident moderne, des bâtiments spécialement construits à cet effet, un curriculum fixe, des examens annuels et la remise d’un diplôme final. en l’espace de quelques décennies la maison-mère de Deoband fonctionna à plein rendement et couvrit l’Inde du Nord de filiales. Les leaders de l’école, fonctionnant solidairement, rassemblant un fort noyau d’anciens élèves, imposèrent un courant de pensée charpenté qui s’exprimait par de nombreuses publications lithographiées et s’imposant grâce à son bureau des fatāwā. résolument traditionaliste, l’école de Deoband choisit comme médium d’enseignement et de publication l’ourdou, variété d’hindi écrit en caractères arabo-persans et langue véhiculaire de l’Inde du Nord qui devint au XIXe siècle – en remplacement du persan – la langue de culture des musulmans indiens et leur symbole identitaire42. un effort organisationnel fut fourni dans la décennie suivante par les modernistes qui fondèrent en 1875, à une centaine de kilomètres au Sud de Delhi, le Collège anglo-musulman d’Aligarh, destiné à devenir au XXe siècle une université musulmane43. Œuvre de l’infatigable Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān, ce 38. Ahmad - Grunebaum 1970, pp. 60-76. 39. Troll 1979, pp. 21, 26-27, 276-278. 40. Metcalf 1982. 41. robinson 2001. 42. Gaborieau 1994. 43. Lelyveld 1978.

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n’était plus comme Deoband une madrasa où l’on enseignait les sciences religieuses traditionnelles, mais un « college » qui voulait rivaliser avec Oxford et Cambridge, et dont l’encadrement était en partie britannique. On y enseignait des disciplines profanes littéraires et scientifiques, dans le but de former les enfants des élites musulmanes pour en faire des cadres de l’administration coloniale. Les sciences religieuses étaient reléguées dans une faculté de théologie, où l’on évitait d’ailleurs d’enseigner la doctrine moderniste du fondateur de peur d’effrayer l’aristocratie musulmane bien pensante. Le Collège n’en contribua pas moins à former une élite moderniste qui sera active au siècle suivant dans la lutte nationale, et fournit en 1947 les cadres du Pakistan comme nous le verrons plus loin. Deoband et Aligarh furent jusqu’à la dernière décennie du XIXe siècle les deux seuls pôles vraiment charpentés. Les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ n’eurent jamais d’établissement d’enseignement central, et ne devaient se regrouper en association qu’en 191244. Les non-réformés restèrent eux aussi longtemps inorganisés. Ils trouvèrent cependant à la fin du siècle un porte-parole de taille en la personne d’Aḥmad riḍā Ḫān Barelwī (1856-1921), originaire de la ville de Bareilly, ‘ālim et soufi qādirī prestigieux, qui leur donna une justification doctrinale par ses fatāwā et ses livres polémiques, et qui leur fournit une étiquette, celle de « Barelwī », qui leur fut d’abord appliquée par leurs adversaires45. Galvanisés autour de sa personne, ses disciples commencèrent à s’organiser dans les années quatrevingt-dix, mais surtout après 190046. Se dénommant Ahl-i sunnat wa jamā‘at, ils eurent leurs madrasa, leurs journaux et, à partir de 1909, leur association tenant meeting annuel. Mais leur principal lieu de rassemblent resta les tombes de leurs saints où ils se rencontraient pour les pèlerinages annuels, car en opposition aux réformés ils réaffirmèrent la légitimité du culte des saints et des pèlerinages et restèrent les grands avocats du soufisme. On doit noter que certains ordres soufis, en particulier les Naqšbandīs du Nord-Ouest de l’Inde (actuel Pakistan) s’organisèrent sur le même modèle de l’association, créant une synergie entre les Barelwīs et les Naqšbandīs qui travaillaient en collaboration pour lutter contre la propagande des réformés, et diffusaient leur littérature jusqu’en Turquie47.

44. Inayatullah 1960 ; Preckel 2007. 45. Attention à ne pas confondre avec son ennemi juré, Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī (m. 1831), le chef de file des réformés étudié plus haut, qui était, lui, originaire de rae Bareilly, deux villes distinctes donnant une même nisba. 46. Sanyal 1996, pp. 68-127. 47. Buehler 1998.

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Cette généalogie des réformistes a jusqu’ici montré le développement des clivages et des écoles institutionnalisées qui en résultèrent. C’est un univers souvent difficile à suivre de controverses, de compétitions, de querelles et de polémiques incessantes. Il ne doit cependant pas faire oublier les tentatives de réconciliations et les institutions qui tentèrent de jeter des ponts. La principale d’entre elles, qui donna lieu à la création d’une institution qui perdure à ce jour, la Nadwat al-‘ulamā, vit le jour à Lucknow entre 1892 et 189448. Son principal instigateur fut un soufi de renom de l’Inde orientale, Sayyid Muḥammad ‘Alī Mongīrī (1846-1928)49. Son but était d’unir les efforts de tous les courants réformés comme non-réformés, traditionalistes comme modernistes, pour lutter efficacement contre les missionnaires chrétiens et assurer une place honorable aux musulmans dans l’Inde coloniale. Pour cela il établit à la fois une association d’oulémas et une madrasa qui devaient forger une nouvelle théologie musulmane, établir un curriculum des études modernisé, et mettre en vigueur une discipline de vie nouvelle empruntant à l’exemple des collèges britanniques et à Aligarh. Le succès fut partiel. La madrasa atteint un standard élevé avec en particulier la pratique de l’arabe comme une langue vivante, et l’inclusion de matières modernes dans le curriculum… mais elle ne put réellement réformer l’enseignement des sciences religieuses. Cependant l’institution échoua à rallier les non-réformés : les Barelwīs refusèrent de collaborer. Au début, la Nadwa balaya très large parmi les réformés, s’assurant la collaboration active des Ahl-i ḥadīṯ et attirant des penseurs frottés de modernisme dont deux sont restés célèbres. Le premier est celui qui passe pour le plus grand ‘ālim de son époque, Šiblī Nu‘mānī (1857-1914)50 qui avait enseigné à Aligarh et à Hyderabad avant de rejoindre la Nadwa, et qui atteignit presque le but de construire une théologie moderne acceptable pour l’establishment musulman – nous avons vu que celle de Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān, trop rationaliste, avait été refusée – tout en tenant compte du développement de la raison et des sciences modernes51. Il était aussi très préoccupé de la réforme du curriculum de l’enseignement : il fit pour s’informer sur le sujet un voyage en Turquie et en egypte dont il revint plutôt désabusé, notamment par sa visite à Al-Azhar ; il était persuadé – sans doute avec raison – que les musulmans indiens étaient en avance sur leurs coreligionnaires du Moyen-Orient52. Le second fut l’enfant terrible de ce début du

48. Metcalf 1982, pp. 335-347. 49. Gaborieau 1992. 50. Murad 1976. 51. Troll 1982. 52. Troll 1997.

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XXe siècle, Abū al-Kalām Āzād (1888-1958) : passionné d’abord par le rationalisme de Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān, il passa ensuite par une phase d’incroyance avant de revenir à un islam militant qu’il prêcha à partir de 1912 dans sa revue al-Hilāl, citant volontiers Ibn Taymiyya pour justifier ses appels au jihād, et maintenant des liens avec les salafistes égyptiens ; il lisait al-Manār et accueillit rašīd rid’a à Lucknow en 191253. Cette composante moderniste et salafiste s’estompa cependant après la première guerre mondiale : la Nadwa s’aligna de plus en plus sur Deoband, soutenant comme cette école un sunnisme hanafite peu original dont la meilleure illustration au XXe siècle fut Sayyid Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī Nadwī (1914-1999) qui se tailla une grande réputation au MoyenOrient. A la veille de la première guerre mondiale l’islam indien avait ainsi trois pôles majeurs : d’un côté les non-réformés grands partisans de dévotions soufies désormais organisés dans l’école des Barelwīs. De l’autre côté deux pôles réformés : l’un hanafite animé par le tandem Deoband-Nadwa, l’autre moderniste avec Aligarh. Les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ resteront toujours un courant original mais mineur. Il est enfin un thème que nous avons à peine effleuré, c’est celui de l’éducation des femmes : nous l’avons seulement évoqué en passant à propos des Ahl-i ḥadīṯ de Bhopal. Il prit cependant une importance grandissante après 1857. Les réformistes étaient des hommes et leurs institutions d’enseignement, toutes tendances confondues, étaient d’abord destinées aux garçons. Cependant très tôt se fit jour la préoccupation de donner aux femmes une instruction religieuse ; c’était la principale motivation explicite des premiers manuels d’instruction religieuse et des traductions du Coran publiés dans la première moitié du XIXe siècle en ourdou, langue vulgaire, accessibles à celles qui n’avaient pas étudié l’arabe ni le persan. Après 1857, la préoccupation se fit jour, dans toutes les écoles, de donner aux femmes une véritable éducation qui ne fût pas seulement religieuse. Ce furent d’abord des hommes qui œuvrèrent en ce sens en fondant des institutions ou en écrivant des livres spécialement destinés aux femmes. Célèbre est restée la somme rédigée à l’intention de ces dernières par le Deobandī Ašraf ‘Alī Ṯānawī (1863-1943), sous le titre « Les ornements célestes »54, qui est toujours un best-seller. Mais progressivement des femmes de toutes écoles, à commencer par les reines de Bhopal, se prirent en mains et fondèrent leurs institutions d’enseignement, leurs revues et leurs associations qui formèrent un réseau à l’échelle du sous-continent55. 53. Douglas 1988. 54. Metcalf 1990. 55. Minault 1998 ; Dedebant 2003.

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ÉPILOGue : jIHĀD, DA‘WA, POLITIQue Il reste deux thèmes qui courent sur toute la période et que nous n’avons pas encore traités : le « combat sacré » ou jihād ; le prosélytisme aujourd’hui subsumé sous les termes da‘wa ou tablīġ, qui cependant n’étaient pas d’usage courant au XIXe siècle. Ces thèmes ont été relégués en finale pour deux raisons : ce n’est pas autour d’eux que se sont faits les clivages entre les écoles ; il est difficile dans la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle d’établir clairement la position de chaque école en matière de jihād, car le terme était après 1857 considéré par les autorités coloniales comme séditieux, la possession d’opuscules qui en faisaient l’apologie pouvant entraîner la déportation aux îles Andaman de l’autre côté du Golfe du Bengale ; le thème ne sera plus traité ouvertement avant le début du XXe siècle. Ces deux thèmes sont étroitement liés. Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī faisait alterner combat sacré et prédication. Avant 1914, les oulémas de Deoband et de la Nadwa, obligés d’oblitérer le thème du jihād renchérissaient sur la prédication et la controverse avec les missionnaires chrétiens. Tout au long du XXe siècle ces deux thèmes furent en relation l’un avec l’autre, la da‘wa étant souvent un substitut pacifique du jihād guerrier toujours tenu pour un devoir56. Quelle est la position des différentes écoles sur la question ? une seule, non encore mentionnée, prendra sans ambiguïté position contre le combat sacré : c’est celle des Aḥmadiyya qui date de la fin du XIXe siècle. Son fondateur, Mīrzā Ġulām Aḥmad (c. 1838-1908) arguera que la paix apportée par les Britanniques et la liberté de conscience qu’ils ont établie, rend possible l’expansion de l’islam par la seule prédication pacifique. Se proclamant lui-même mahdī, il déclare aboli le jihād guerrier, « par l’épée », seul le combat sacré « par la langue » (bi-l-lisān) étant désormais licite57. Mais cette position reste isolée58 : les positions variables et nuancées des autres écoles ne concluront pas à l’abolition totale du combat armé59. Les modernistes, avec Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān et surtout Čirāġ ‘Alī qui y consacra un livre entier60, ont développé une théorie apologétique du combat sacré comme purement défensif, pour neutraliser les critiques des missionnaires et des autorités britanniques qui accusaient les musulmans de propager leur religion par l’épée ; certains oulémas des Ahl-i ḥadīṯ les suivront sur ce point. Pour les

56. Clémentin-Ojha - Gaborieau 1994 ; Gaborieau 2001b et 2007a. 57. Friedmann 1989, pp. 165-186 ; Friedmann 2007. 58. Gaborieau 2001b et 2007a. 59. Peters 1979 ; Friedmann 1989, pp. 167-172 ; Sanyal 1996, pp. 268-300 ; Jalal 2008. 60. Ahmad - Grunebaum 1970, p. 5.

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autres, Deobandīs comme Barelwīs, la doctrine classique qui permet le jihād non seulement pour la défense, mais aussi pour l’expansion de l’islam, ne sera jamais abolie. Mais son expression restera prudente jusqu’à la première guerre mondiale de peur de s’attirer les foudres des autorités britanniques : il fut déclaré officiellement que tant que les colonisateurs concéderaient la liberté de pratique religieuse, il n’était pas question de se révolter contre eux. Les choses ne commencèrent à changer qu’avec la montée en force du mouvement national et la lutte pour l’indépendance61. Āzād fait dès 1912, nous l’avons vu, l’apologie du jihād guerrier ; en 1927 Mawdūdī (1903-1979) écrit son premier livre dans le même sens prenant sans ambiguïté position contre la doctrine apologétique des modernistes qui veulent n’y voir qu’une guerre défensive ; les oulémas de Deoband applaudissent alors62. Ces derniers, qui resteront à la pointe du combat pour l’indépendance en alliance avec les partis du Congrès, concevront cette entreprise comme un jihād. D’une façon générale, ils seront les plus militants, dominant l’Association des oulémas indiens (Jam‘iyyat al-‘ulamā-yi Hind) qu’ils créèrent fin 1919 pour seconder la lutte nationaliste. Les Barelwīs resteront quiétistes, refusant de s’insurger contre les colonisateurs qui leur garantissaient la liberté religieuse. Les modernistes d’Aligarh seront aussi en majorité loyalistes, mais ils eurent un rôle important dans la gestion du clivage hindous/musulmans : la demande d’une représentation politique séparée avait été le grand cheval de bataille de Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān ; elle entraîna la création au début du XXe siècle d’un parti63 politique séparé, la Ligue musulmane, et mènera finalement à la création du Pakistan.

CONCLuSIONS Les clivages qui ont conduit à la formation des courants réformistes concernent surtout le culte des saints, la pratique de l’ijtihād, et les limites de la raison. D’autres thèmes connexes sont apparus comme la réforme du curriculum des études, la création d’une nouvelle théologie, et surtout la discussion sur le combat sacré, le jihād, dont le prosélytisme, da‘wa, qui se développe alors spectaculairement, est souvent le substitut. Au terme de ce parcours de la généalogie du réformisme, plusieurs questions se dégagent concernant son origine, son évolution et le poids relatif des différentes tendances. 61. Gaborieau 2001b, pp. 38-40. 62. Douglas 1988, p. 100 ; Nasr 1996, p. 23. 63. Shaikh 1989.

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On ne peut manquer de s’interroger sur les origines de ces nouvelles préoccupations. Certaines d’entre elles peuvent s’expliquer par le contexte local en réaction à la présence britannique et à celle des missionnaires chrétiens : ceci vaut pour la réforme du curriculum des études, la création d’une nouvelle théologie et surtout pour la montée du prosélytisme. Ce dernier développement cependant ne s’explique pas seulement par la présence européenne, mais aussi par la crainte du revivalisme hindou qui apparaît de plus en plus menaçant pour les musulmans à partir de la fin du XIXe siècle64. Nous n’avons cependant pas eu la place ici de faire la lumière sur cet aspect de l’évolution qui ne viendra vraiment au premier plan qu’au XXe siècle. Mais il est un versant de cette recherche des origines que nous ne pouvons laisser de côté ; il concerne surtout les débats sur le culte des saints et sur l’ijtihād. Il est toujours de bon ton dans le sous-continent, par nationalisme mal placé, de lui assigner une origine purement endogène : on y voit une réaction de courants locaux à la présence britannique. L’étiquette de « wahhabisme » est violemment repoussée : ce n’est pas sans raison car rien ne prouve une influence directe avec les partisans de la pensée d’Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhāb. Mais cela ne veut pas dire pour autant que le réformisme indien s’est développé en vase clos. Nous avons vu que Šāh Walī Allāh avait étudié à Médine et y avait lu, entre autres auteurs, Ibn Taymiyya, introduisant en Inde un nouveau courant de critique des abus du soufisme. Nous avons surtout constaté aux différentes étapes de l’évolution la référence récurrente à des auteurs yéménites, c’est-à-dire à Šawkānī et à ses disciples. C’est sans doute par leur canal que les réformistes indiens ont connu les idées moyen-orientales qu’ils ont adoptées : on ne peut manquer d’être frappé par la ressemblance entre le livre le plus virulent d’Ismā‘īl Šahīd, la Taqwiyyat al-imān, contre le culte des saints et autres dévotions s’adressant à d’autres qu’Allah, et la doctrine de Šawkānī sur le sujet65. Il est cependant difficile d’apporter une preuve décisive car, comme le souligne Bernard Haykel, les idées de Šawkānī portent la marque des Wahhabites et de leur inspirateur Ibn Taymiyya ; elles auraient donc pu atteindre l’Inde par un autre canal. Mais comme les références à Šawkānī sont récurrentes dans les textes indiens, plus fréquentes que celles d’Ibn Taymiyya, et comme les Wahhabites ne sont jamais directement nommés, c’est la filière yéménite qui est la plus probable. en suivant jusque dans le XXe siècle l’évolution du réformisme indien, on remarque une cristallisation de l’islam indien autour de deux pôles majeurs : les Deobandīs et les Barelwīs. Les premiers, qui ont phagocyté la Nadwat 64. Clémentin-Ojha - Gaborieau 1994. 65. Haykel 2003, pp. 127-138.

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al-‘ulamā, sont indubitablement devenus au cours du XXe siècle l’école la plus importante, non par le nombre – c’est une minorité agissante – mais par l’influence acquise par son investissement dans les institutions d’enseignement et dans la politique. elle est dominante en Inde où elle est le porte-parole officieux de la communauté musulmane. elle est vite passée au devant de la scène au Pakistan en y créant une association d’oulémas, devenue après 1956 un parti politique, la Jam‘iyyat al-‘ulamā-yi Islām ; ce sont les séminaires Deobandīs qui ont formé les Talibans. enfin c’est autour de Deoband et de la Nadwa que s’est développée la grande organisation prosélyte qu’est la Tablīġī Jamā‘at aujourd’hui répandue dans le monde entier66. Les Deobandīs, par leurs investissements incessants, sont devenus incontournables. Les Barelwīs – qui représentent la majorité silencieuse – sont nous l’avons vu des non-réformés. Mais ils ont à la fin du XIXe siècle essayé d’adopter pour se défendre les modes d’organisation des réformistes. Mais beaucoup plus quiétistes, moins enclins à l’activisme politique, ils sont restés au second plan sauf au Pakistan (et en Angleterre) où l’opposition Deobandīs/Barelwīs structure la compétition pour le contrôle des mosquées et se manifeste dans le champ politique : les Barelwīs y ont leur association d’oulémas devenue parti politique, la Jam‘iyyat al-‘ulamā-yi Pākistān. en Inde ils sont inorganisés et n’ont pratiquement pas de poids au niveau national. Face à ces deux pôles majeurs, les deux autres écoles du XIXe siècle ne font plus le poids. Les Ahl-i ḥadīṯ, minoritaires mais toujours bien organisés, ne font guère parler d’eux qu’au Pakistan. Les modernistes qui furent, rappelons-le, à l’origine du Pakistan, n’ont plus de pôle de ralliement comme l’était Aligarh avant 1947. Même s’ils ont de nombreux penseurs et hommes politiques modernistes au Pakistan comme en Inde, ils ne forment pas un groupe de pression organisé. Le paysage de l’islam réformiste dans le sous-continent indien est donc resté pour l’essentiel le même depuis le début du XXe siècle, à l’exception d’un nouveau venu, le néo-fondamentaliste Mawdūdī67, qui prenant le relais du radicalisme de jeunesse d’Abū al-Kalām Āzād, a mis au premier plan le devoir du jihād, et l’utopie d’un État intégralement islamique. Il a été à l’extérieur, notamment à travers Sayyid Quṭb (m. 1966), l’un des inspirateurs de l’islamisme contemporain. Au Pakistan il s’est imposé comme le catalyseur des débats sur l’islamisation de l’État ; l’organisation qu’il a créée en 1941 et qui est devenue un parti politique en 1956, la Jamā‘at-i islāmī, est un acteur incontournable de la vie politique68, comme elle l’est aujourd’hui au Bangladesh. 66. Gaborieau 1997, 2002b, 2001b et 2006 ; Masud 2000. 67. Nasr 1996. 68. Nasr 1994.

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en Inde cette organisation doit adopter un profil plus bas, se rabattant sur le prosélytisme. Ce dernier fait montre, nous l’avons vu plus haut, que da‘wa et jihād, sont complémentaires, et que le premier n’est souvent que le substitut du second69 ; il prouve aussi que l’une des innovations majeures du monde musulman dans les deux derniers siècles a été – plus que la naissance de l’islamisme qui est un fait récent – la « montée du prosélytisme »70, et la création d’institutions missionnaires destinées à contrecarrer le prosélytisme chrétien et l’influence occidentale : amorcé dans la période étudiée ici, ce phénomène a pris sa pleine mesure dans le courant du XXe siècle.

69. Troll 1994. 70. Clémentin-Ojha - Gaborieau 1994.

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tableau 1 : généalogie du réformisme indien

Phase 0 1740-1803 Šāh Walī Allāh (1703-1762) et ses fils, dont: Šāh ‘Abd al-‘Azīz (1746-1824)

Phase 1 1803-1857 rÉFOrMÉS Sayyid Aḥmad Barelwī (1786-1831) Šāh Ismā‘īl Šahīd (1779-1831)

NON-rÉFOrMÉS

Phase 2 1857-1872 ijtihād Modernistes Sayyid Aḥmad Ḫān (1817-1898)

taqlīd Ahl-i ḥadīṯ Naḏīr Ḥusayn (1805-1902)

Phase 3 1872-1914 ALIGArH, 1875sq Čirāġ ‘Alī (1844-1895)

BHOPAL Ṣiddīq Ḥasan Ḫān (1832-1890)

DeOBAND 1867 sq

eSSAI De SYNTHèSe : NADWAT AL-‘uLAMĀ Muḥammad ‘Alī Mongīrī (1846-1928) Šiblī Nu‘mānī (1857-1914)

BAreLWĪS Aḥmad riḍā Ḫān (1856-1921)

La défense de L’enseignement de L’arabe au cours du mouvement constitutionneL iranien (1906-1911)1 Denis Hermann

Abstract: The author analyzes a short Persian treatise (Maqāla dar javāb-i rūznāmayi Ḥabl al-matīn) written during the Constitutional Movement (1906-1911) by the šayḫī kirmānī master Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī (d. 1360/1941) which aims to defend Arabic teaching in Iran, essential for those Muslims who wanted to appreciate the guidance of the Shi‘i Imams. The debates concerning the choice of language for instruction in Iran took a controversial direction at the end of the 19th and the first decade of the 20th century. Several intellectual nationalists took a position that Arabic should not be taught to the Iranian population anymore, or at least its intensity should be decreased compare to the past. The Author will argue that this treatise uncovers the traditional attitude of the Iranian Shi‘i ‘ulamā concerning Arabic teaching in Iran, and it reveals the systematic defiance of the Šayḫī Masters and Šayḫī School toward politics. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān clarifies his mistrust toward the Constitutional Movement and politics altogether. This confirms that the members of the šayḫī kirmānī school kept their distance from political involvement during this time. At last, this treatise was an opportunity for Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān to critize the religious teaching apparatus pro.

IntroDuctIon La seconde moitié du XIXe siècle et le début du XXe siècle ont connu de profonds bouleversements linguistiques en Iran et en Inde, où le statut du persan a profondément été modifié. Alors qu’en Inde la révolte des cipayes contre le pouvoir britannique en 1857 fut suivie d’une baisse de l’influence du persan, ce dernier se développa dans de mutiples régions d’Iran où l’enseignement était jusque-là aussi assuré dans les nombreuses langues vernaculaires régionales comme l’azéri, le kurde, l’arabe, le turkmène, etc. Déjà très influent en Inde à la période pré-moghole, le persan acquit sous les premiers moghols une 1. L’auteur tient à remercier Vanessa Martin pour ses commentaires sur la première version de l’article.

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importance capitale, à la fois en tant que langue administrative de cour et comme langue de savoir pour les lettrés musulmans ainsi que pour un grand nombre d’hommes de lettres et de sciences hindous et même chrétiens2. Pour des raisons notamment démographiques l’on comptait d’ailleurs beaucoup moins de persanophones alphabètes en Iran au cours des XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles qu’en Inde3. L’influence du persan en Inde diminua cependant au cours du XIXe siècle et au début du XXe siècle face à l’influence croissante de l’anglais et de l’ourdou ainsi que de l’arabe. Si l’on continua à rédiger de nombreux traités en persan dans le sous-continent indien au cours du XIXe siècle, l’anglais le remplaça comme langue officielle de l’administration en 18354. Au cours du XIXe siècle, l’ourdou acquit parallèlement une autorité religieuse et scientifique qu’il ne possédait pas auparavant5. Les courants religieux réformistes, eux, privilégiaient particulièrement l’apprentissage de l’arabe en lieu et place du persan et encourageaient les publications en langue vernaculaire ourdoue6. cet appel à une formation plus solide en arabe classique s’inscrivait aussi dans une lutte contre le soufisme, notamment critiqué pour encourager le culte des saints7. Ainsi, l’ourdou remplaça progressivement le persan comme langue d’instruction dans les madrasa du sous-continent au cours de la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle8. De nombreux soufis commencèrent également à écrire en ourdou et à traduire des textes classiques du persan vers l’ourdou9. cet engouement pour l’ourdou au cours du XIXe siècle fut aussi encouragé par d’autres groupes sociaux comme l’East India company, les missionnaires chrétiens ou les sociétés savantes10. Ainsi, au début du XXe siècle, l’apprentissage du persan disparut progressivement des matières d’enseignement principales dans le sous-continent indien11. A l’inverse de l’Inde, ce fut l’enseignement de l’arabe qui s’affaiblit en Iran. Les nationalistes iraniens critiquaient particulièrement l’accent mis sur l’étude de l’arabe dans le système traditionnel d’enseignement dominé par les

2. Alam 1998, pp. 324-328 ; Alam 2003, pp. 166-170 ; cole 2002, pp. 15-18, 22. Sur des textes scientifiques en persan et en ourdou composés par des savants hindous voir l’article de F. Speziale « Les traités persans sur les sciences indiennes : Médecine, Zoologie, Alchimie » dans ce volume. 3. cole 2002, p. 18, 31. 4. cole 2002, pp. 30-31 ; Gaborieau 1994, p. 171. 5. Gaborieau 1994, p. 170. 6. Gaborieau 1994, pp. 172-182 ; Metcalf 1982, pp. 44, 214, 338. 7. Pearson 2008. 8. Gaborieau 1994, p. 172. 9. Speziale 2007a ; Speziale 2007b. 10. Gaborieau 1994, pp. 182-184. 11. Pernau 2004, pp. 267, 270, 272-273.

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oulémas12. ces polémiques furent très intenses à la fin du XIXe siècle sous l’influence d’auteurs et d’essayistes iraniens comme Mīrzā Fatḥ ‘Alī Āḫūndzāda (m. 1295/1878), Mīrzā Āqā Ḫān Kirmānī (m. 1314/1897) ou Mīrzā ‘Abd al-raḥīm Ṭālibuv-i tabrīzī (m. 1328/1910-11)13. ces revendications aboutirent notamment à l’émergence dans les années 1890 de « nouvelles écoles » (madrasa-yi jadīd) minimisant l’enseignement de l’arabe et celui des sciences religieuses et prônant au contraire l’enseignement des langues européennes, en particulier l’anglais et le français, ainsi que des sciences plus séculières comme la géographie ou l’histoire14. ces controverses concernant l’enseignement de l’arabe et plus largement la réforme du système éducatif s’accentuèrent au cours du mouvement constitutionnel iranien (1906-1911), notamment à la suite de l’appui qu’apportèrent certains anjuman à la fondation d’écoles séculaires pour garçons (dabistān)15. Lors du débat sur la loi supplémentaire, au début de l’année 1325/1907, un article fut adopté par le parlement afin d’entériner la réforme éducative et d’institutionnaliser les nouvelles écoles. Il s’agissait de l’article n°1816. Si les clercs demeuraient profondément divisés sur la question de l’intégration des sciences « modernes » et des langues européennes dans le système éducatif existant et encore largement sous leur autorité, ils défendaient l’enseignement de l’arabe, langue des principaux textes de références comme le coran et les ḥadīṯ et considérée comme la langue de révélation de l’islam. une partie des oulémas s’opposait en particulier à l’ouverture d’écoles pour filles ainsi qu’à l’enseignement de nouvelles disciplines ou méthodes, principalement d’origine européenne. L’importation d’un tel enseignement, avec le dessein de parvenir à combler le retard technique et technologique du monde musulman, posait plusieurs problèmes. Le développement de ces sciences en Europe était accompagné d’un discours idéologique et culturel le plus souvent soutenu par le sécularisme. Il était alors difficile de favoriser l’enseignement de ces sciences sans éviter la confrontation avec les principes culturels et idéologiques qui sous-tendaient cette dynamique en Europe. Il s’agissait d’un défi particulièrement ardu pour les oulémas, comme pour 12. Menashri 1992, pp. 40-42. 13. Pour une présentation générale de ces intellectuels voir Fathi 1980. concernant Mīrzā Fatḥ ‘Alī Āḫūndzāda voir Kia 1995 ; Algar 1969 ; Sanjabi 1995. Sur Ṭālibuv-i tabrīzī voir Kia 1994. concernant Mīrzā Āqā Ḫān Kirmānī voir Bayat 1971 ; Bayat 1974a ; Bayat 1974b. 14. Sur ces nouvelles écoles et les principaux changements éducatifs en Iran sous les règnes de nāṣir al-Dīn Šāh (r. 1848-1896) et Muẓaffar al-Dīn Šāh (r. 1896-1907) voir Arasteh 1968 ; ringer 2001, pp. 173-178. 15. Afary 1996, pp. 79-80. 16. Pour une présentation détaillée des articles contenus dans la constitution voir Arjomand 1993.

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l’ensemble de la société qajare17. Au début du mouvement constitutionnel, en 1906, un groupe d’oulémas de Karbala et de najaf ont même émis une fatwa prohibant l’enseignement des langues étrangères, proclamant qu’un tel enseignement allait corrompre la morale et affaiblir l’islam18. La fin du mouvement constitutionnel en 1911 n’a pas marqué la fin de ces débats au sein des oulémas chiites et celui-ci s’est poursuivi au cours de la première partie du XXe siècle. A partir des années 1920, certains oulémas ont même plaidé pour l’intégration obligatoire de ces sciences « modernes » dans le programme d’étude des ṭullāb (étudiants en sciences religieuses)19. nous étudierons dans cet article la réaction des šayḫī kirmānī au cours du mouvement constitutionnel quant aux menaces qui pesaient sur l’enseignement de l’arabe en Iran. nous sommes déjà revenus dans notre thèse sur l’opposition des maîtres de l’école sous le règne de nāṣir al-Dīn Šāh (r. 1484-1896) à l’influence occidentale en Iran et notamment à la fondation du Dār al-Funūn à téhéran au mois de rabī‘ al-awwal 1268/décembre 185120. c’est uniquement sur la question de l’enseignement de l’arabe que les šayḫī kirmānī sortirent de leur réserve habituelle au cours du mouvement constitutionnel pour s’opposer aux projets d’abandon de l’enseignement de l’arabe en Iran alors en vogue chez certains réformistes. cette étude permet par ailleurs de relever le rôle des religieux chiites nonuṣūlī au cours du mouvement constitutionnel. S’il existe quelques études sur le rôle des minorités non-musulmanes au cours du mouvement constitutionnel, peu d’attention a été porté aux religieux chiites non-uṣūlī21. toutefois, étant donné l’importance de l’œuvre doctrinale des šayḫī kirmānī, et le succès populaire des confréries soufies dans la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle, la question des religieux chiites non-uṣūlī nous semble être tout à fait essentielle pour une compréhension de l’attitude des différentes composantes de la société qajare vis-à-vis de ce mouvement politique. L’attitude des maîtres soufis différa semble-t-il selon les branches et les régions22. Le militantisme pro17. A ce sujet voir les remarques de ringer 2001, pp. 251-272 ; ringer 2000. 18. ringer 2001, p. 141. 19. Voir notamment les positions du savant libanais Šayḫ Muḥsin Šarāra analysées par Mervin 2000, pp. 216-225. 20. Hermann 2007a, pp. 195-198, 201, 209. 21. Sur le rôle des minorités non-musulmanes au cours du mouvement constitutionnel voir oberling 1978. 22. S’il semble que certains religieux ni‘matullāhī ṣafī ‘alī šāhī éminents se sont engagés en faveur du constitutionnalisme, les ni‘matullāhī sulṭān ‘alī šāhī, au contraire, sont demeurés plus quiétistes. A ce sujet voir Van den Bos 2002, pp. 66-67 ; Lewisohn 1998, p. 458 ; Anwār 1987. A

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constitutionnaliste et réformiste des élites religieuses šayḫī tabrīzī comme de leurs fidèles est cependant mieux connu23. En dépit de l’immense littérature composée par Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī (m. 1360/1941), le maître šayḫī kirmānī lors de l’avènement du mouvement constitutionnel, un seul de ses traités, à notre connaissance, comporte une relation avec les changements en cours en Iran. ce dernier s’intitule Maqāla dar javāb-i rūznāma-yi Ḥabl al-matīn24. Il s’agit d’un opuscule d’une dizaine de pages pour défendre l’enseignement de la langue arabe en Iran alors remise en cause par de nombreux réformateurs développant des thèses nationalistes. Si ce traité fut rédigé en réaction à la publication d’un article dans le journal pro-constitutionnaliste Ḥabl al-matīn prônant la fin de l’enseignement de l’arabe, il reflète également l’attitude méfiante des šayḫī kirmānī vis-à-vis de toute idéologie, en particulier pour le cas du constitutionnalisme.

LE SHAYKHISME Le shaykhisme est une école religieuse chiite duodécimaine dont la fondation est attribuée à Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī (m. 1241/1826). originaire de l’Est de la Péninsule arabique, il a étudié dans les ‘atabāt (villes saintes chiites d’Irak) à la fin du XIIe/XVIIIe siècle et au début du XIIIe/XIXe siècle. Le shaykhisme a émergé parallèlement au déclin de l’école traditionaliste aḫbārī et apparaît dans sa composante la plus importante, l’école šayḫī de Kerman, comme une continuité partielle de l’akhbarisme car elle poursuit la critique des « principes du droit religieux » (uṣūl-i fiqh) adoptés par l’école rationaliste (uṣūlī). D’autre part, comme les aḫbārī, les šayḫī kirmānī se sont déclarés opposés aux philosophes et aux théologiens. cependant, tandis que les aḫbārī critiquaient ces derniers à l’aide d’une lecture littéraliste des traditions, Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī a formulé son rejet avec des arguments théosophiques et ésotériques25. Sa réflexion à propos des sources, restreintes au coran et aux ḥadīṯ des imâms est plus herméneutique que dialectique. En 1221/1806, à l’âge de 53 ans, Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī a pris la décision de partir en pèlerinage à

propos du rôle des ḏahabī au cours du mouvement constitutionnel voir les remarques de Lewisohn 1999, pp. 42-43. 23. Voir Fatḥī 1352š./1973-74 ; Kasravī 1376š./1997-98 ; Hermann 2007a, pp. 255-347, 352-383. 24. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74. 25. A ce sujet voir notamment les commentaires formulés par cole 1987, surtout pp. 196-197.

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Machhad sur la tombe du huitième imām ‘Alī riḍā (m. 203/817). Dès lors, il est resté en Iran où son enseignement est devenu célèbre et reconnu. toutefois, en 1239/1824, un conflit émergea à Qazvin suite à un débat sur la « philosophie sadrienne »26 et à propos de la question de la résurrection (ma‘ād) en islam. L’un des oulémas de Qazvin, Mullā Muḥammad taqī Baraġānī, prononça un takfīr (excommunication) contre Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī27. ce dernier quitta alors l’Iran. Il mourut deux ans plus tard à Médine au cours de l’accomplissement du pèlerinage aux lieux saints28. c’est après son excommunication et sa mort qu’est née à proprement parler l’école šaykhī. celle-ci s’est organisée et structurée sous la direction de l’un des plus fidèles élèves de Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī, Sayyid Kāẓim raštī (m. 1259/1843)29. ce dernier avait enseigné à Karbala. La communauté chiite a alors été marquée par une nouvelle fracture. La majorité adhéra à l’école rationaliste tandis qu’une minorité se rallia à cette jeune école en gestation, désormais dirigée par Sayyid Kāẓim raštī. A sa mort, la plupart de ses étudiants quittèrent Karbala, devenue trop hostile, et développèrent le shaykhisme dans leur région d’origine. Il s’agissait d’étudiants iraniens, arabes et indiens. La branche šayḫī kirmānī, celle qui nous intéresse ici, fut fondée par Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī (m. 1288/1871) à la mort de Sayyid Kāẓim raštī30. D’une part, elle affirme revenir aux fondements de l’islam chiite, c’est-à-dire à l’enseignement du prophète et des imâms contenu dans les ḥadīṯ31, d’autre part, elle souligne le fait que la science de Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī et de Sayyid Kāẓim raštī était inspirée par le prophète et les imâms, et en particulier par l’Imām du temps (Imām zamān)32. 26. L’on entend par philosophie sadrienne les concepts développés par Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī (m. 1050/1640), principale figure de l’école d’Ispahan. Sur cette dernière voir corbin 1972, pp. 54122 ; nasr 1986 ; rizvi 2007. 27. Pour plus d’informations sur Mullā Muḥammad taqī Baraġānī voir MacEoin 1988 ; Momen 2003, surtout pp. 320, 321, 323, 324. 28. Pour plus d’informations sur Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī voir corbin 1972, pp. 215-231 ; MacEoin 1984 ; Momen 1991 ; Bausani 1960. 29. Pour plus d’informations concernant la vie et l’œuvre de Sayyid Kāẓim raštī voir corbin 1972, pp. 232-236 ; Algar 1978. 30. A la même période d’autres élèves de Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī et Sayyid Kāẓim raštī fondèrent une autre branche šayḫī connue sous le nom de tabrīzī. Il s’agit de Mullā Muḥammad Māmaqānī (m. 1269/1852) et Ḥājj Mīrzā Šaftī’ Ṯiqat al-Islām-i tabrīzī (m. 1301/1884). A ce sujet voir Werner 2000, pp. 81-82, 122-126, 224-228, 252. 31. concernant la lecture des traditions du prophète et des imâms chez les šayḫī kirmānī voir Amir-Moezzi 1997, pp. 33-39. 32. Les šayḫī kirmānī ont souligné ces derniers points dans de nombreux ouvrages. Voir notamment Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī 1387/1967-68 ; Sayyid Kāẓim raštī s.d. ; Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1380a/1960-61, p. 14 ; Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1380b/1960-61, pp. 62-67, 71-73, 116.

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Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān et ses successeurs étudièrent puis enseignèrent au sein de l’école Ibrāhīmiyya de Kerman. La connaissance de l’arabe, des ḥadīṯ comme de la théosophie (ḥikmat) se trouvait au cœur de l’enseignement ce qui explique aussi la vaste littérature doctrinale composée en arabe par les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī33. Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān et ses successeurs étaient très attachés au mode traditionnel d’enseignement et critiquèrent la fascination croissante pour l’occident en ce domaine. A ce titre, Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān et son successeur Muḥammad Ḫān Kirmānī (m. 1324/1906), s’opposèrent à l’enseignement proposé par le Dār al-Funūn, le jugeant en rupture avec les sciences islamiques34. certains šayḫī kirmānī éminents ont cependant approuvé et soutenu la création des « nouvelles écoles » au début du XXe siècle. Ainsi, le représentant šayḫī kirmānī en Azerbaïdjan, Ḥājj ‘Alī Asġar Sayf al-‘ulamā (m. 1321š./1942-43), a fondé l’une de ces madrasa dans sa ville de Bunāb en 1337/1918-1935. La foi dans la doctrine šayḫī kirmānī implique naturellement l’apolitisme. Le manque de légitimité accordé au clergé comme représentant collectif (nā’ib al-‘amma) de l’Imām du temps sur terre, la foi dans une hiérarchie occulte en contact avec le 12ème imâm (le rukn-i rāba‘)36, la réfutation du recours à l’ijtihād en matière de fiqh37 et la négation de l’application des ḥudūd (peines légales) au cours de l’occultation sont autant d’éléments marquant l’apolitisme des šayḫī kirmānī. Même le devoir d’« ordonner le bien et de prohiber le mal » (al-amr bī al-ma‘rūf wa al-nahy ‘an al-munkar) semble être limité au cours de l’occultation. ces positions ont été résumées par Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān à de nombreuses reprises et notamment dans son Sī faṣl dar javāb-i īrādāt-i ba‘ḍ mūridīn bar silsila-yi jalīla-yi šayḫiyya :

33. Au sujet de l’école Ibrāhīmiyya comme centre spirituel de l’école voir Hermann - rezai 2007. 34. Hermann 2007a, pp. 195-198, 201, 209, 216-217, 221. 35. Il s’agit de la Faḫrīyya. A ce sujet voir Sayf 1384š./2005-06, p. 73. 36. Parmi les principaux ouvrages sur la doctrine du rukn-i rāba‘ composés par les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī voir Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1354-55š./1975-77 ; Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1368a/1948-49 ; Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1310/1892-93 ; ‘Abd al-riḍā Ḫān Ibrāhīmī 1400/1979-80. Voir également corbin 1971, pp. 274-286 ; Amir-Moezzi 2001 ; Hermann 2007a, pp. 47-51, 61-62, 95-103 ; Hermann 2007b. 37. L’ijtihād signifie littéralement l’effort. Il s’agit, ici, de l’effort d’interprétation juridique lorsque ni le coran ni le ḥadīṯ n’apporte de réponse à une question de droit posée. celui qui est considéré apte à accomplir l’ijtihād est désigné sous le titre de mujtahid. Sur la réfutation de l’ijtihād par les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī voir en particulier Abū al-Qāsim Ḫān Ibrāhīmī 1362/1943-44.

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comment peut-on nous accuser [les šayḫī kirmānī] de chercher le pouvoir dans ce monde, d’aimer la puissance ou de pousser les gens à la révolte, alors que durant l’occultation, le jihād n’est pas légitime ? Pour déclarer le jihād, la présence de l’imâm est obligatoire (vājib). Si le temps présent était propice au jihād l’imâm lui-même surgirait. toutes ces revendications proviennent de l’amour du pouvoir (ḥubb-i riyāsat) et de ce monde. ceci ne correspond pas au mode de vie des oulémas. ce qui est le plus important aujourd’hui pour les oulémas est de rester à l’écart de ce monde et de pratiquer l’ascèse dans celuici. Selon la doctrine de nos maîtres, les mujtahid ne peuvent pas appliquer les peines légales (ḥudūd), comme tuer, lapider ou flageller. Même ordonner le bien et prohiber le mal (al-amr bī al-ma‘rūf wa al-nahy ‘an al-munkar) sont interdits dans la plupart des cas et cela jusqu’à la parousie de l’imâm. ceci est notre religion et notre ligne de conduite. nous savons que certains des mujtahid qui appliquent les peines légales, comme tuer, lapider ou flageller commettent une erreur. […]. A cette époque, le signe distinctif du savant pieux et ascète est la solitude et la retraite, le fait de transmettre la lumière des imâms par la science et sinon, éviter les gens38.

Le choix de Šayḫ Aḥmad al-Aḥsā’ī de refuser dans un premier temps l’invitation à la cour de téhéran par le souverain Fatḥ ‘Alī Šāh (r. 1797-1834) est par ailleurs considéré par les membres de l’école comme une volonté de la part du Šayḫ de marquer dès l’origine, le caractère quiétiste de son mouvement. A ce titre l’on s’aperçoit qu’aucune figure politique majeure parmi les oulémas šayḫī kirmānī et leurs disciples n’a émergé au cours des XIXe et XXe siècles. Si l’apolitisme fut prôné par l’ensemble des religieux šayḫī kirmānī, c’est le maître ‘Abd al-riḍā Ḫān Ibrāhīmī (m. 1979) qui a rédigé en 1972 la synthèse la plus claire à ce sujet dans son Siyāsat-i mudun39. Généralement, toute recherche du pouvoir politique par le chiite est assimilée par les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī à une trahison de la cause des imâms le menant à sa perdition.

LES ŠAYḪĪ KIrMĀnĪ LorS Du MouVEMEnt conStItutIonnEL Il existe peu de sources à propos de la réaction des šayḫī kirmānī face au mouvement constitutionnel. L’on constate que la vaste littérature šayḫī kirmānī de plus d’un millier d’ouvrages est exclusivement doctrinale. Ainsi, les maîtres de l’école comme leurs élèves ont rarement fait mention des faits politiques et sociaux de leur époque. A ce titre, la rhétorique de Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān et 38. Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1368b/1948-49, pp. 37-39. 39. ‘Abd al-riḍā Ḫān Ibrāhīmī 1350š./1971-72.

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de Muḥammad Ḫān dans leur réfutation du babisme40, ainsi que leur réaction à la prise du port de Bandar Buchehr par les forces britanniques en 1273/185641, ont constitué des opportunités pour exposer et compléter leur doctrine et par ailleurs réaffirmer leur conviction dans le fait que l’apolitisme et le quiétisme forment une partie intégrante de la foi chiite. Si le babisme était considéré par les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī comme un danger potentiel pour l’islam les obligeant à sortir de leur réserve habituelle, nous remarquons par ailleurs que les traités šayḫī anti-bābī insistent sur l’obligation pour les oulémas de ne pas s’engager en politique42. nous retrouvons ces mêmes mises en garde concernant la politisation des religieux dans le Risāla-yi nāṣiriyya dar jihād43 de Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān qui traite de l’obligation religieuse des musulmans iraniens à mener une guerre défensive contre les Britanniques suite à leur conquête de Bandar Buchehr44. Il est donc naturel que les chroniques historiques du mouvement constitutionnel soient discrètes en ce qui concerne les šayḫī kirmānī. ce phénomène étant amplifié par le fait que les historiens ne se sont que peu intéressés au Sud de l’Iran, moins politisé que le nord. on peut, à ce titre, citer les remarques de l’ambassadeur du royaume-uni en Iran, Sir Spring rice (m. 1918), à ses collègues de Londres, au cours du mouvement constitutionnel : un voyageur qui voyage du Sud vers le nord du pays, au fur et à mesure qu’il avance, remarque que la façon dont le peuple s’exprime devient de plus en plus libre et que son hostilité à l’égard du Šāh et du gouvernement s’accentue45.

Ainsi, dans ses chroniques Tārīḫ-i mašrūṭa-yi Īrān46 et Tārīḫ-i hijdah sāl-i Āḏirbāyjān47 Aḥmad Kasravī (m. 1946) a insisté essentiellement sur la situation à tabriz et très peu de passages sont consacrés à Kerman. Mahdī Malikzāda a lui aussi considéré Kerman comme une ville secondaire48. Seul niẓām al-Islām-i Kirmānī, originaire de la région, a consacré quelques développements à la situation à Kerman49.

40. Hermann 2007a, pp. 148-190. 41. Hermann 2007a, pp. 190-227. 42. Hermann 2007a, p. 177. 43. Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1386/1948-49. 44. Hermann 2007a, pp. 203-208, 219-221. 45. Spring rice à E. Grey, 23 mai 1907, F.o. 416/32, dans Mu‘aṣir 1352š./1973-74, p. 340. 46. Kasravī 1362š./1983-84. 47. Kasravī 1350š./1971-72. 48. Malikzāda 1327š./1948-49. 49. niẓām al-Islām-i Kirmānī 1332š./1953-54.

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Les chercheurs ont alors souvent interprété l’attitude distante des šayḫī kirmānī vis-à-vis du mouvement constitutionnel comme un soutien franc au féodalisme50. L’intervention de l’Etat face aux exactions à l’encontre des šayḫī à Kerman en 1324/1905 et l’appartenance de ses maîtres à la famille qajare a certainement favorisé ce sentiment. Il nous semble pourtant erroné de considérer les šayḫī kirmānī comme étant anti-constitutionnalistes au sens strict du terme, car ils n’ont rédigé aucun traité politique à l’encontre du constitutionnalisme, et ont évité de se prononcer sur les évènements politiques ayant bouleversé l’Iran à partir de l’ouverture du Parlement, en 1906.

ZAYn AL-‘ĀBIDĪn ḪĀn Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān a succédé à son frère Muḥammad Ḫān à la tête de l’école šayḫī kirmānī en 1324/1906, au tout début du mouvement constitutionnel. Il est né le 7 rajab 1276/30 janvier 1860 et est décédé le 5 jumādā al-awwal 1360/1er juin 1941. Il n’avait que douze ans à la mort de son père, Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān, et a donc été éduqué par son grand frère Muḥammad Ḫān. Il a reçu le même mode d’éducation que ces deux derniers. celle-ci consistait notamment à rédiger des essais à propos des livres et matières étudiés et ce, dès le plus jeune âge51. Son ijāza la plus importante lui a été délivrée par son frère, Muḥammad Ḫān. Il possédait également des ijāza de Sayyid Ḥusayn Yazdī, religieux šayḫī kirmānī auteur d’un vaste commentaire coranique (tafsīr), et Šayḫ ‘Alī Baḥrānī qui fut un élève de Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān52. 154 ouvrages sont attribués à Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān dont un grand nombre concerne la doctrine (‘aqāyid)53. A notre connaissance, seul son court Maqāla dar javāb-i rūznāma-yi Ḥabl al-matīn fait référence au mouvement constitutionnel. Le simple usage du terme « maqāla » (article) au lieu de « risāla » (traité) généralement d’usage nous indique qu’il n’a peut-être pas accordé à ce traité une importance similaire à celle que ses autres ouvrages revêtaient à ses yeux. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān ne mentionne pas à la fin du traité à quelle date il rédigea cette réponse mais seulement dans quel numéro du journal pro-constitutionnaliste Ḥabl al-matīn fut publiée cette attaque à 50. L’on peut notamment se référer à Scarcia 1963, en particulier aux pp. 200, 232, 233 ; Bayat 1982, pp. 84, 86, 178. 51. corbin 1971, pp. 237-238 ; Manoukian 1996, pp. 164-166. 52. corbin 1971, p. 247. 53. Pour une présentation de son œuvre par thème voir le catalogue d’Abū al-Qāsim Ḫān Ibrāhīmī s.d., pp. 672-736.

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l’encontre de l’enseignement de la langue arabe. Il s’agit du 12ème numéro54. or Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān ne précise pas s’il s’agit de la version imprimée à téhéran ou à calcutta. Etant donné que nous n’avons pas trouvé cet article dans l’édition de téhéran maintenant imprimée l’on peut supposer qu’il s’agit donc de celle de calcutta55. nous ne possédons aucune indication sur les échos qu’a eus cet opuscule en Iran au cours du mouvement constitutionnel ni même si l’auteur de l’article paru dans Ḥabl al-matīn a répondu ou non à Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān. L’on peut cependant supposer que ce court traité a peu circulé en dehors des cercles šayḫī kirmānī.

ÉtuDE Du trAItÉ défiance envers le mouvement constitutionnel Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān était naturellement opposé à la fin de l’enseignement de l’arabe en Iran. Il s’est en introduction, déclaré contraint d’apporter une réponse à cet article et de réfuter les arguments avancés par son auteur56. or ce traité est aussi pour lui une occasion de critiquer l’enseignement religieux généralement dispensé en Iran57. Si Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān n’évoque pas directement le mouvement constitutionnel en soi, il conclut cependant l’introduction et la conclusion de son traité par deux phrases offensives à l’encontre de ce qu’il nomme la révolution (inqilāb) et l’amour du commandement (ḥubb-i riyāsat) ce qui révèle plus généralement sa méfiance envers tout mouvement et idéologie politiques : ceci [le mouvement constitutionnel] est devenu plus problématique que n’importe quelle maladie contagieuse. nous avons vu à nouveau que ceux qui sont faibles se sentent malades en voyant des gens contaminés. Ils réagissent comme s’ils étaient malades et ils vomissent. Il est nécessaire de rappeler que seul Dieu guérit58. 54. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 434. 55. Pour la version de téhéran voir maintenant Yawmīya-yi Ḥabl al-maṭīn-i Tihrān, 2 vols., téhéran, 1383š./2004-05. 56. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 434. 57. nous savons que les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī ont principalement critiqué le peu d’importance accordé au ḥadīṯ et le rôle central accordé à la raison (‘aql) dans l’élaboration du droit (fiqh). 58. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 435. nous ne savons pas s’il s’agit d’un verset coranique ou d’un ḥadīṯ. cette citation est en tout cas en langue persane. Elle ressemble particulièrement à ce passage du coran : « Pour celui qui est révolté, pour celui qui aura préféré la vie de ce monde, la fournaise sera un refuge » (Le coran, LXXIX : 37-39).

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Mais ce que vous avez déclaré [soit l’auteur de l’article paru dans Ḥabl al-matīn et peut-être plus généralement, les idéologues du mouvement constitutionnel] provient de l’amour du commandement (ḥubb-i riyāsat), de la protection d’intérêts et de richesses. Il est clair qu’il existe beaucoup de sortes d’hommes et que Dieu est informé des intentions et des actions de chacun. Il [Dieu] a déclaré : « celui qui a l’amour du commandement dans son cœur périra dans le feu »59.

cette dernière citation en conclusion indique clairement que plus qu’une prise de position contre un mouvement politique et idéologique identifié, soit en l’occurrence le mouvement constitutionnel iranien, il s’agit là davantage d’une nouvelle proclamation de foi dans le quiétisme politique. D’ailleurs, Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān n’a pas collaboré avec les oulémas anti-constitutionnalistes comme Šayḫ Faḍl Allāh nūrī (m. 1327/1909). ce dernier cherchait pourtant des relais à l’extérieur de téhéran et appelait les oulémas de provinces à le soutenir60. Le maître kirmānī est convaincu qu’il est nécessaire de se méfier de tout mouvement politique de masse précédant la parousie du Messie comme de ses partisans. Dans ce sens ces deux passages sont en résonance avec de nombreux ḥadīṯ des imâms à ce sujet sur lesquels les maîtres šayḫī kirmānī sont d’ailleurs revenus dans plusieurs de leurs traités. Pour les šayḫī kirmānī, ce sont les imâms Ḥasan et Ḥusayn qui ont, dès la mort de l’Imām ‘Alī, imposé le quiétisme tel un « pilier de la foi »61. L’argumentation de Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān pour la défense de l’étude de l’arabe en iran L’auteur de l’article publié dans Ḥabl al-matīn justifiait la nécessité d’abandonner l’enseignement de l’arabe en Iran, ne la considérant pas comme une langue vernaculaire du pays. Aux côtés de l’apprentissage de la langue et de la littérature persane, l’arabe était traditionnellement la première matière enseignée en Iran62. L’auteur de l’article niait aussi l’intérêt d’apprendre l’arabe pour étudier l’islam et prônait pour l’Iran la rédaction d’ouvrages sur la religion musulmane en persan exclusivement. c’est précisément ce que Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān a réfuté63. De fait, au début du XXe siècle, une large partie de la population iranienne ne parlaient pas couramment le persan. De nombreux réformateurs 59. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, pp. 442-443. 60. Martin 1987, p. 45. 61. ‘Abd al-riḍā Ḫān Ibrāhīmī 1350š./1971-72, pp. 56-57 ; ‘Abd al-riḍā Ḫān Ibrāhīmī 1400/1979-80, pp. 76-77. 62. nasr 1997. 63. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, à la p. 434.

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et nationalistes considéraient l’imposition du persan comme une urgence, dans la perspective d’asseoir l’autorité de l’Etat-nation iranien, dominé par la culture et la langue persane. c’est à cette période que les concepts de « langue », de « nation » et de « race » sont devenus particulièrement en vogue en Iran. une partie de ces nationalistes développèrent ainsi des théories raciales dominées par l’antisémitisme, soit l’exécration des populations juives et arabes, ainsi que par la valorisation des populations définies comme « aryennes », auxquelles ils associaient les habitants du plateau iranien64. L’argumentation de Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān consiste principalement à démontrer l’importance de l’enseignement de l’arabe en Iran. S’il reconnait la possibilité et l’utilité d’écrire sur l’islam dans d’autres langues que l’arabe, et notamment en persan, la connaissance de l’arabe reste selon lui indispensable pour l’ensemble des musulmans65. La raison principale provient du fait que c’est dans cette langue que la révélation coranique et le ḥadīṯ ont été transmis aux hommes : « […] l’arabe est la langue de Dieu et la totalité de la révélation divine a été faite en arabe »66. De plus, comme pour rejeter les arguments antiarabes en vogue, il se plaît à rappeler que cinq prophètes nommés dans le coran étaient arabes. Il s’agit de Hūd, Ṣāliḥ, Šu‘ayb, Ismā‘īl et bien entendu Muḥammad67. comme lors de l’argumentation à l’encontre de l’ijtihād et du taqlīd réglé sur le mujtahid que prônent les uṣūlī, c’est au nom du besoin de certitude (yaqīn) en matière de connaissance religieuse que le maître kirmānī a affirmé la nécessité pour les musulmans d’apprendre l’arabe68. ceci est indispensable afin que le croyant puisse se confronter lui-même aux sources islamiques les plus importantes. c’est aussi le meilleur moyen pour le musulman consultant des livres sur l’islam dans d’autres langues que l’arabe de pouvoir distinguer les auteurs qui sont fidèles à la révélation coranique et à l’enseignement du prophète. Ainsi, Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān assure que la fin de l’enseignement de la langue arabe égarera de nombreux musulmans :

64. Sur l’élaboration des théories raciales en Iran voir Vaziri 1993, pp. 13-54. 65. De fait, environ la moitié de l’œuvre de Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān est en persan. Voir Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, pp. 435-436. 66. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 436. 67. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 436. 68. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 437. Plus largement sur la nécessité pour le croyant de vivre dans la certitude (yaqīn) chez les šayḫī kirmānī voir Abū al-Qāsim Ḫān Ibrāhīmī, 1362/1943-44, pp. 65-66, 117-119, 206.

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ceux qui veulent comprendre l’islam et vivre dans la certitude (yaqīn) doivent-ils étudier suffisamment l’arabe, dans le but de distinguer entre les auteurs qui expliquent l’islam en accord avec le livre de Dieu et la tradition du prophète (que le salut et la paix de Dieu soient sur lui) de ceux qui écrivent des mensonges et des erreurs ? Doivent-ils étudier [l’arabe] ou peuvent-ils se contenter d’accepter les déclarations de n’importe qui ? tu peux constater qu’il y a un grand nombre de gens qui écrivent des erreurs dans leurs livres, les attribuant à Dieu et au prophète. Ils ne font que mentir et si l’homme étudie et tente de réfléchir sans disposer d’une connaissance élémentaire de l’arabe, le résultat sera finalement le même que s’il n’avait pas étudié l’arabe. Il deviendra ce que tu constates et n’appartiendra plus à la religion musulmane69.

Dans sa condamnation, Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān tenta de tourner en ridicule l’argumentation nationaliste de l’auteur de l’article en rappelant notamment que la majorité des termes persans sont d’origine arabe. Ainsi, le projet consistant à ne pas enseigner l’arabe affaiblira par conséquence le persan : Vous voulez tellement renforcer votre origine ethnique, votre nation et votre langue, or vous ne vous rendez pas compte que cette même langue [le persan] que vous parlez et écrivez est peut-être au quatre cinquième (čahār-i ḫamsiš) arabe, de sorte que si vous écrivez en ancien persan (fārs) il y aura certainement très peu de musulmans qui comprendront ce que vous avez écrit70.

Dans le but de souligner l’influence de l’arabe sur la langue persane, il choisit délibérément de mélanger les chiffres arabes et persans. Pour le cinq, au lieu du « panj » persan il utilise le terme arabe « ḫams », connu par les Iraniens. Par le terme « fārs » il se réfère à un persan « épuré » de la langue arabe prôné par les nationalistes71. Afin de démontrer la mauvaise foi des revendications de l’auteur de l’article, Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān l’interpelle pour l’interroger sur ses positions concernant d’autres langues que l’arabe72. Il lui demande notamment si un Iranien dont la langue maternelle est le persan peut apprendre d’autres langues. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān veut, par exemple, savoir si un Iranien souhaitant étudier la médecine peut apprendre le français afin de pouvoir lire les livres de références à ce sujet. cette question suppose que les intentions de l’auteur de l’article vis-à-vis de l’islam sont négatives. L’on peut ici présumer que ce dernier prônait l’enseignement des langues européennes en Iran en lieu et place 69. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 437. 70. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 437. 71. Sur les volontés de certains nationalistes iraniens d’« épurer » le persan de ses influences arabes voir Kia 1998. 72. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 438.

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de l’arabe. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān indique ainsi que l’auteur de l’article considère la religion comme une question de second ordre, voire même un obstacle au développement de l’Iran. nous savons que beaucoup des chantres du nationalisme iranien ne refusaient pas seulement l’enseignement de l’arabe, l’existence même d’une éducation religieuse était critiquée par ces derniers en raison du fait qu’ils considéraient l’islam comme une religion étrangère à l’Iran et une anomalie dans l’identité iranienne. Dans son Maktūbāt-i Kamāl al-Dawla Mīrzā Fatḥ ‘Alī Āḫūndzāda fut au XIXe siècle l’un des premiers penseurs iraniens modernes à exécrer la langue arabe et accuser les Arabes d’avoir entraîné la perte de l’Iran en mettant fin au règne des anciens rois persans73. L’on peut aussi citer plusieurs passages significatifs de Mīrzā Āqā Ḫān Kirmānī relevant de la même rhétorique : « A quoi cela me sert, à moi, un Iranien, de tout savoir à propos de Khālid b. Walīd ou de Yazīd b. Mu‘awīya ? A quoi cela me sert de tout lire sur ‘Alī et sur son fils ou sur l’amour et la haine envers ‘Abbās ? »74. Mīrzā Āqā Ḫān Kirmānī aussi accusait l’islam et les Arabes d’avoir détruit la nation iranienne : « Ô Iran ! Qui a eu tous ces rois, qui était paré de justice, d’équité et de munificence, qui était décoré avec pompe et splendeur, as-tu disparu ? Depuis ce moment où les barbares, les sauvages bédouins arabes ont vendu la fille de votre roi dans la rue et au marché, tu n’as pas eu un seul jour de clarté et es demeuré dans l’obscurité… »75 ; « Je hais les arabes ! Honte à ces traîtres qui ont attaqué une grande nation comme celle-ci, si heureuse, l’Iran. L’Iran était jalousé par toutes les nations »76. Généralement, ces nationalistes accusaient également l’enseignement religieux de provoquer et d’entretenir la stagnation intellectuelle et technique de l’Iran77. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān termine son traité en expliquant que s’il est autorisé de prononcer des supplications (du‘ā) en persan ou en toute autre langue, la prière canonique (ṣalāt) ne peut pour sa part, qu’être accomplie en arabe78. Il affirme que le fait de prétendre le contraire reviendrait d’une façon ou d’une autre à sortir de la tradition révélée (naql) pour proclamer la liberté (āzādī), qui fut associée par Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān à l’ordre occidental et la suppression de la šarī‘a79 :

73. Kashani-Sabet 2002, p. 165. 74. cité et traduit par Bayat 1974a, p. 40. 75. Bayat 1974a, p. 49. 76. Bayat 1974a, p. 49. 77. Kia 1998, pp. 39-40. 78. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 442. 79. Hermann 2007a, pp. 201-221.

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[…] L’on ne peut pas accomplir la prière en persan et nous ne connaissons pas de raison qui puisse l’autoriser. nous n’autorisons pas la prière en persan. Et si vous rédigez une fatwa pour l’autoriser cela n’est pas en accord avec la tradition. La liberté du peuple est souvent causée par ces choses là. Si vous êtes si attachés à votre nation et à votre peuple que vous ne pouvez laisser votre langue nationale et prier en arabe, tandis que Dieu et le prophète (que le salut et la paix de Dieu soient sur lui) sont autrement plus importants, cela signifie que votre comportement va à l’encontre de leurs traditions et que vous êtes maintenant devenu un innovateur80.

concLuSIon Malgré la taille réduite de ce traité et son importance minime dans l’exposé doctrinal des šayḫī kirmānī, celui-ci est à notre avis riche d’enseignements. Le seul ouvrage ayant une certaine dimension politique que Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān ait rédigé au cours du mouvement constitutionnel est un plaidoyer pour défendre l’enseignement de la langue arabe en Iran, comme dans tout pays musulman non arabe, dans un contexte marqué par l’émergence des nationalismes et la critique du poids de l’enseignement religieux. ce traité révèle également deux constances dans la littérature šayḫī kirmānī. D’une part, la critique d’une partie des clercs pour leur manque de fidélité à l’enseignement du prophète et des imâms et, d’autre part, la foi dans l’apolitisme s’exprimant ici à travers une méfiance envers le mouvement constitutionnel. Quelques décennies plus tôt Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān avait déjà affirmé que seul l’Imām du temps instaurerait un ordre politique juste81. La soumission au souverain ou au régime en place est alors considérée comme étant la meilleure manière, pour les šayḫī kirmānī, de respecter l’enseignement des imâms et leur appel au quiétisme. ceci permet d’éviter toute idéologisation de la population, ce qui est considéré comme l’expression d’une conjecture (ẓann)82 éloignant immanquablement le peuple de la religion et le menant à sa perte.

80. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān Kirmānī 1352š./1973-74, p. 442. 81. Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān Kirmānī 1368b/1948-49, p. 39. 82. La condamnation du recours aux conjectures (ẓann) est une question centrale dans la littérature šayḫī kirmānī. A ce sujet voir Hermann 2007a, pp. 209, 225-227.

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– 1974b : « religion and Government in the thought of Mirza Aqa Khan Kirmani ». International Journal of Middle East Studies, 5, pp. 381-400. – 1982 : Mysticism and Dissent: Socio-Religious Thought in Qajar Iran. new York, Syracuse university Press. cole, J.r.I., – 1987 : « rival Empires of trade and Imami Shi‘ism in Eastern Arabia, 1300-1800 ». International Journal of Middle East Studies, 19, pp. 177-204. – 2002 : « Iranian culture and South Asia, 1500-1900 », in : n. r. Keddie r. Matthee, eds., Iran and the Surrounding World. Intereactions in Culture and Cultural Politics. Seattle and London, university of Washington Press, pp. 15-35. corbin, Henry, 1972 : En Islam Iranien. Aspects spirituels et philosophiques. Paris, Gallimard, vol. 4. Fathi, Asghar, 1980 : « role of the traditional Leader in Modernization of Iran. 1890-1910 ». International Journal of Middle East Studies, 11, pp. 87-98. Fatḥī, nuṣrat Allāh, 1352š./1973-74 : Zindigīnāma-yi Šahīd-i Nīknām Ṯiqat al-Islām-i Tabrīzī. téhéran. Gaborieau, Marc, 1994 : « Late Persian, Early urdu: the case of ‘Wahhabi’ Literature (1818-1857) », in : F. Delvoye, ed., Confluences of Culture. French Contributions to Indo-Persian Studies. Delhi, Manohar, pp. 170-196. Hermann, Denis, – 2007a : « Aspects de l’histoire sociale et doctrinale de l’école shaykhī en Iran au cours de la période qājār (1843-1911) ». thèse de doctorat, Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes (Vème section), Paris. – 2007b : « Quelques remarques à propos de l’interprétation du sens du rokn-e rābe‘ chez Moḥammad Bāqer Hamadānī, le fondateur de l’école shaykhī hamadānī ». Journal Asiatique, 295/2, pp. 461-491. Hermann, Denis - rezai, omid, 2007 : « Le rôle du vaqf dans la formation de la communauté shaykhī kermānī à l’époque qājār (1259-1324/1843-1906) ». Studia Iranica, 36/1, pp. 87-131. Ibrāhīmī, ‘Abd al-riḍā Ḫān, – 1350š./1971-72 : Siyāsat-i mudun. Kerman, Sa‘ādat. – 1400/1979-80 : Dūstī-yi dūstān. Kerman, Sa‘ādat. Ibrāhīmī, Abū al-Qāsim Ḫān, – 1362/1943-44 : Ijtihād va taqlīd. Kerman, Sa‘ādat. – s.d. : Fihrist-i kutūb-i mašāyiḫ-i ‘iẓām. Kerman, Sa‘ādat (3e éd). Kashani-Sabet, Firoozeh, 2002 : « cultures of Iranianness: the Evolving Polemic of Iranian nationalism », in : n. r. Keddie - r. Matthee, eds., Iran and the Surrounding World. Interactions in Culture and Cultural Politics. Seattle and London, university of Washington Press, pp. 162-181. Kasravī, Aḥmad, – 1350š./1971-72 : Tārīḫ-i hijdah sāl-i Āḏirbāyjān. téhéran.

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– 1362š./1983-84 : Tārīḫ-i mašrūṭā-yi Īrān, 2 vols.. téhéran. – 1376š./1997-98 : Qiyām-i Šayḫ Muḥammad Ḫiyābānī. téhéran. Kia, Mehrdad, – 1994 : « nationalism, Modernism and Islam in the writings of talibov-i tabrizi ». Middle Eastern Studies, 30/2, pp. 201-223. – 1995 : « Mirza Fath Ali Akhundzade and the call for Modernization of the Islamic World ». Middle Eastern Studies, 31/3, pp. 422-448. – 1998 : « Persian nationalism and the campaign for language purification ». Middle Eastern Studies, 34/2, 1998, pp. 9-36. Kirmānī, Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān, – 1310/1892-93 : Tawḥīd, nubuwwa, imāma, šī‘a. tabriz. – 1368a/1948-49 : Rukn-i rāba‘. Kerman, Sa‘ādat. – 1368b/1948-49 : Sī faṣl dar javāb-i īrādāt-i ba‘ḍ mūridīn bar silsila-yi jalīlayi šayḫiyya. Kerman, Sa‘ādat. – 1380a/1960-61 : « risāla-yi javāb-i šaḫṣ-i Iṣfahānī », in : Majma‘ al-rasā’il-i fārsī (15), Kerman, Sa‘ādat, pp. 2-107. – 1380b/1960-61 : Hidāyat al-ṭālibīn. Kerman, Sa‘ādat. – 1386/1948-49 : « risāla-yi nāṣiriyya dar jihād », in : Majma‘ al-rasā’il-i fārsī (1), Kerman, Sa‘ādat, pp. 295-398. – 1354-55š./1975-77 : Iršād al-‘avāmm. 4 vols., Kerman, Sa‘ādat. Kirmānī, niẓām al-Islām, 1332š./1953-54 : Tārīḫ-i bīdarī-yi Īrāniyān. téhéran. Kirmānī, Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫān, 1352š./1973-74 : « Maqāla dar javāb-i rūznāma-yi Ḥabl al-matīn », in : Majma‘ al-rasā’il-i fārsī dar javāb-i su’ālāt (10). Kerman, Sa‘ādat, pp. 434-443. Le Coran. 1967, introduit et traduit par Denise Masson, Paris, Gallimard. Lewisohn, Leonard, – 1998 : « An introduction to the history of modern Persian Sufism, Part I: the ni‘matullāhī order: persecution, revival and schism ». The Bulletin of the School of Oriental & African Studies, 61/3, pp. 437-464. – 1999 : « An introduction to the history of modern Persian Sufism, Part II: A socio-cultural profile of Sufism, from the Dhahabī revival to the present day ». The Bulletin of the School of Oriental & African Studies, 62/1, pp. 36-59. MacEoin, Denis, – 1984 : « Aḥsā’ī, Shaikh Aḥmad b. Zayn-al-Dīn ». Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. 1, pp. 674-679. – 1988 : « Baraḡānī, Mollā Moḥammad-taqī ». Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. 3, p. 740. Malikzāda, Mahdī, 1327š./1948-49 : Tārīḫ-i inqilāb-i mašrūṭiyyat-i Īrān. téhéran. Manoukian, Setrag, 1996 : « Fatvas as asymmetrical dialogues: Muhammad Karim Khan Kirmani and his questions », in : M. Kh. Masud - B. Messick - D. S. Powers, eds., Islamic legal interpretation: mufti and their fatwas. cambridge, Harvard university Press, pp. 162-172.

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The MaTheMaTical ScienceS in Safavid iran: QueSTionS and PerSPecTiveS Sonja Brentjes

Abstract: Safavid mathematical sciences have found little attention until recently when George Saliba and David King pointed to some important texts written at the beginning of the Safavid period and some remarkable instruments produced at its end. The perspectives both scholars offered for situating these products are part of a larger issue that configures our views of Safavid science – the evaluation of scientific activities and their results in early modern Islamic societies on the basis of those undertaken under their historical predecessors several centuries earlier. As a result, the focus is on a vertical, not a horizontal historical investigation. It is content and technique that matter, not the context. In my paper I will try to demonstrate what kind of insights might be gained when supplementing the vertical approach with a diachronic study. I will talk about dedicated manuscripts and their contexts.

IntroductIon the issue, which I wish to address in this paper, can be formulated in a variety of ways. It results from the lack of interest in this period among historians of science in Islamic societies and their conviction that research should focus on earlier periods since it was then when truly interesting work took place in the mathematical sciences. As a result very little is known about the activities in the mathematical sciences in Iran between 1500 and 1700. the little that is known has been dismissed as elementary, repetitive and boring. Hence, one way to pose the problem is to ask whether there should be a history of the mediocre and if so how to study and write about it. recently a mutakallim of the early Safavid period has been found whose contributions to planetary theory George Saliba praised as outstanding – Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī (d. ca. 957/1550), one of the favored scholars of the first Safavid Šāh.1 david A. King appreciated the Mecca-centered world map on three compound astrolabes from the late Safavid period as of great value since it was 1. Saliba 2004, pp. 55-66.

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made with a projection that keeps angles and distances invariant. King argued that Ḥabaš al-Ḥāsib (third/ninth century) might have invented this projection.2 Hogendijk suggested on the basis of newly found manuscript evidence from the tenth century that the arcs seen on the instruments might in fact not be arcs of circles as standard on medieval instruments, but arcs of ellipses.3 these discoveries challenge our perceptions of and attitudes towards the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran. Hence, another way to phrase the issue I am going to address in this paper is to enquire which mathematical ideas, theories or methods created by scholars in earlier periods were taken up and perhaps even rediscovered by writers and instrument makers of the Safavid Empire. the simplest form of my question is to ask who worked where in the Safavid Empire with which mathematical sources. A more difficult question is to investigate which problems these students of mathematical literature worked on. Its higher difficulty results from the fact that most extant mathematical texts seem to be teaching texts and hence allow no direct access to the problems that were of interest. the most complicated version of this question is to ask for the cultural contexts of the mathematical sciences between 1500 and 1700. this question can be made more accessible by dividing it into sub-questions such as in which institutions did the authors of mathematical texts work in this period, who gave the means for their work and which place did their mathematical work occupy in their entire scholarly biographies. Questions resulting from the particular intellectual configurations under the Safavids are whether the turn to philosophers of the classical period and their works had an impact on the study of the mathematical sciences and whether changes and conflicts in the religious sphere influenced these sciences. Since there is little to no systematic research available, I will begin with a discussion of why we know so little about the mathematical sciences in the Safavid period, i.e. I will briefly summarize the main methodological approaches applied today in history of science at large and the issues linked to the approach that is preferred in history of science in Islamic societies. the main body of my paper presents the preliminary results of my search for mathematical texts written in the Safavid period and addresses the question how to evaluate these texts. I focus on texts since I do not work about scientific instruments such as astrolabes. the prevalent approach to the history of the mathematical sciences in Islamic societies operates with a vertical perspective. It looks at history as a sequence of events embodying either progress or decline across time. It 2. King 1999, pp. 345-358. 3. King 2004, pp. 842-845.

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investigates and writes this history as a process that aims to find objective truth about the past, which is independent of our interests, theories, methods and values. It focuses on intellectual achievements and their inner-scientific relevance. It concentrates its attention on works by major scholars, a qualifier determined primarily in relationship to ancient Greek contributions to the mathematical sciences and occasionally in relationship to results achieved by scholars in early modern and modern catholic and Protestant societies in Europe. As a consequence, it downplays or overlooks the thousands of manuscripts of an elementary nature, considers many contextual issues as either superfluous or beyond the boundaries of the discipline and ignores many aspects of representation. In the last forty years, the vertical approach to history of science in Islamic societies has been concerned primarily with restoring the sciences – in a modern understanding of the word – to history and public knowledge, with chasing evidence for innovation in these sciences and with pushing the time limit for progress and the beginning of decline through the centuries closer towards the present.4 two opposite trends characterize the works done in this period, one that argues for understanding the sciences in Islamic societies as universally acceptable and accepted bodies of culturally unspecific knowledge; the other emphasizing the impact of scientific problems derived from and to be solved for religiously prescribed behaviour. the success of scholars working within this vertical approach in regard to locating new scientific theories, methods and results in manuscripts and instruments produced in Islamic societies, above all between the third/ninth and the seventh/thirteenth centuries, but in specific areas of knowledge also long after the thirteenth century, is remarkable. the body of knowledge about the sciences in past Islamic societies and the achievements of their practitioners has considerably deepened and broadened. three issues inherited from early twentieth-century historiography, however, continue to plague the field to which Muslim scholars added a fourth issue since the 1960s: ◾ the belief in a Golden Age or a renaissance; ◾ the acceptance that the sciences in Islamic societies should be situated primarily in relationship to ancient Greek sciences and medieval Latin sciences; ◾ the identification of the sciences in terms of language, ethnicity or modern nationhood; ◾ the identification of the sciences in terms of religion. 4. For a substantial, but not exhaustive bibliography see: http://facstaff.uindy.edu/~oaks/Biblio/IslamicMathBiblio.htm.

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As a result very little work has been done on the mathematical sciences in Islamic societies in Iran after the Mongols with the exception of uluġ Beg’s activities in Samarkand. A few texts such as Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s (9541030/1547-1622) Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb were edited and commented on. But we know next to nothing about the why, how and what of the mathematical practices under the various post-Ilkhanid dynasties that ruled in various parts of Iran, the relationship of those who studied, taught and used mathematical knowledge to instrument makers, scholars of other disciplines, administrators, artists and the military elites or the exchange of texts, instruments and knowledge with the neighbours of the Safavids and visitors to the country. A different approach to history of science characterizes today the study of the sciences in Western societies that operates with a horizontal perspective. It looks at history as contingent, discontinuous and local. It understands investigating and writing history as socially constructed and resulting in competing narratives told from different perspectives. this approach is prevalent in the study of the natural and the life sciences, but has gained entrance into the study of the mathematical sciences too. It focuses on practices of knowing, doing and speaking in the various scientific fields and thus studies science in and as culture. Its practitioners are fascinated with many contextual aspects, with power relations, language and diverse practitioners of scientific knowledge independent of their visibility, status and locus in regard to institutionalized science. Applying such a horizontal approach to the study of the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran or any other Islamic society can considerably enrich the knowledge gained from applying the vertical approach. Such an approach necessitates surveying, identifying and analyzing the scientific activities and products in a specific period and locality. It asks for contextualizing these activities and products, i.e. to understand them in the terms of their specific time and locality. It allows discovering and appreciating changes in visual and discursive representation, function, usage, ownership and reputation of the mathematical sciences at large or some of its disciplines in addition to the focus on content privileged by the vertical approach.

HoW to SItuAtE tHE MAtHEMAtIcAL ScIEncES oF tHE SAFAvId PErIod? From the perspective of a horizontal approach, there are two basic possibilities for situating the mathematical sciences of the Safavid period, which are not mutually exclusive, but should be applied concomitantly. one

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approach compares the mathematical sciences in the Safavid period with those of the dynasty’s immediate predecessors in Iran and adjacent territories, in particular the timurids and Aq Koyunlus, one of which the Safavids emulated and with the other of which they were affiliated by marriage. the other approach compares the mathematical sciences under the Safavids with those under their contemporary neighbours, rivals and allies, in particular the ottomans, the Mughals and the Quṭb Šāh dynasty. the purpose of this survey is not to do justice to the activities in the mathematical sciences under these predecessors and contemporaries of the Safavid dynasty. Such a goal is not only beyond the scope of a paper. It is also impossible to achieve because of lack of reliable research results for all of them except the ottomans and one timurid prince, i.e. uluġ Beg (r. 851-853/1447-1449). All that I am setting out to do here is to outline some of the trends that I see in regard to these sciences based on the partial results available in history of science, art history and manuscript catalogues. Given the current research situation, I will focus primarily on the timurids and the ottomans. In addition I will sketch what I know about the Aq Koyunlu and Mughals. I will have to leave aside the mathematical sciences under the Quṭb Šāh dynasty of Golconda since I am not aware of any research done on them, except for a few brief remarks based on information I found while searching for data about the Safavid period.5 responding to beliefs held among historians about the exclusion of the non-religious sciences from the endowed teaching institutes and the disappearance of courtly patronage for these sciences after either the Ilkhanids or uluġ Beg, I will outline trends for two main social loci of the mathematical sciences – the courts and the endowed teaching institutes. The mathematical sciences under the Timurids the timurids had strong interests in astrology and its theoretical basis defined as ‘ilm al-hay’a, i.e. planetary theory. these two interests brought with them attention for geometry, trigonometry and arithmetic as the tools needed for calculating horoscopes and developing planetary models. numerous timurid rulers and princes, beginning with timur, patronized scholars at their courts who cast horoscopes for male and female members of the family, determined the beginnings of military campaigns and battles or found the auspicious day 5. dr. S. Sharma, an expert in in medieval and early modern astronomy and astrology in India, confirmed that there is no research done on the mathematical sciences in the reign of the Quṭb Šāh. I thank dr. Sharma for his help concerning the Mughal court. de Young’s paper on the impact of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb focuses primarily on the eighteenth century, de Young 1986, pp. 1-15.

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for a marriage and other festivities. Horoscopes of several members of the timurid dynasty have survived, among them those for Iskandar Sulṭān (r. 811818/1409-1414), his half-brother rustam ibn ‘umar Šayḫ (r. 818-828 or 829/1414-1423 or 25) and uluġ Beg’s son ‘Abd al-‘Azīz (d. 854/1449). All these activities included a solid amount of theoretical knowledge of planetary theory and practical skills in geometrical constructions, calculations and the usage of tables and instruments.6 Scholars skilled in astrology, astronomy, geometry and arithmetic wrote introductions to or surveys on planetary theory, astronomical instruments and astrology for individual timurid princes and members of their courts. Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī (d. 833/1429) composed between ca. 814/1411 and 818/1415 for Iskandar Sulṭān at least two such introductory texts on ‘ilm al-hay’a and a text on instruments for astronomical observations.7 Qāżīzāda rūmī (d. 815/1412) wrote in 815/1412 a commentary on the introduction into mathematical cosmography, al-Mulaḫḫaṣ fī ‘ilm al-hay’a, by Maḥmūd al-Čaġmīnī (fl. ca. 620/1223) for uluġ Beg. rukn al-dīn ibn Šaraf al-dīn Ḥusaynī Āmulī (ninth/fifteenth century) wrote in 860/1456 a treatise on the astrolabe in fifty chapters and dedicated it to Abū al-Qāsim Bābur Ḫān Bahādur (r. 851-862/1447-1457). A commentary on naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī’s Bīst bāb dar ma‘rifat al-asṭurlāb was dedicated to the timurid vizier ‘Alīšīr navā’ī (845907/1441-1501). In addition to writing introductions and elementary surveys for the purpose of education, scholars at timurid courts in Shiraz, Samarkand and Herat composed astronomical handbooks that served as database for ephemerides, horoscopes etc. Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī wrote at Iskandar Sulṭān’s court in Shiraz parts of his Zīj-i ḫāqānī with the aim to improve the Zīj-i īlḫānī. uluġ Beg’s cooperation with Qāżīzāda rūmī, Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī, Mu‘īn al-dīn Kāšī (ninth/fifteenth century) and ‘Alī Qušjī (d. 879/1474) for producing a new astronomical handbook based on new observations and its outcome, the Zīj-i jadīd-i sulṭānī, are well known. ‘Alī Qušjī wrote one of the most important commentaries on it.8 A set of simplified planetary tables derived from this Zīj was prepared by ‘Imād al-dīn ibn Jamāl al-dīn Buḫārī (ninth/fifteenth century) who started his work possibly on order of uluġ Beg.9 He apparently finished it 6. See for instance van dalen, « Mathematical commentary on the Horoscope of Iskandar », forthcoming. 7. Kāšī’s Muḫtaṣar fī ‘ilm al-hay’a is part of the anthology MS London, British Library, Add. 27261. His Lubāb-i Iskandarī is extant in MS Qom, Kitābḫāne-yi ‘umūmī-yi Ḥażrat-i Āyatollāh al-‘uẓmā Mar‘ašī najafī, 1015, ff. 272b-278b. His Ālāt-i raṣad, written in 818/1415 on order of Iskandar Sulṭān, is extant in MS Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh oriental Manuscript Library and research Institute, riyāḍī 129. 8. I rely in this evaluation on Benno van dalen’s as of yet unpublished new survey of Arabic, Persian and other Zīj works. 9. I thank Benno van dalen for this information.

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only after uluġ Beg’s death, since a copy preserved in Qom is dedicated to Abū Sa‘īd Gürägān (r. in Samarqand 855-863/1451-1459 and Herat 864-874/14591469).10 two other Zīj were compiled in Shiraz and Herat by rukn al-dīn Āmulī who dedicated one of them to Abū Sa‘īd Gürägān.11 only one taqwīm is known that was dedicated to a timurid prince and contained his horoscope, the Zā’iča compiled by Mu‘īn al-dīn Kāšī’s son ‘Abd al-razzāq (ninth/fifteenth century) for uluġ Beg’s younger son Jalāl al-dawla al-‘Azīz.12 that the interests of these scholars and uluġ Beg did not stop here, but included planetary theory beyond the elementary level, has been discovered in the last years.13 In Mashhad is a unique copy of a work on planetary theory by Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī, which so far nobody has analyzed.14 ‘Alī Qušjī wrote at least two, if not three treatises that tackle issues of planetary theory. He refers explicitely to Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī’s al-Tuḥfa al-Šāhiyya in al-Risāla fī aṣl al-ḫārij yumkinu fī al-sufliyyayn.15 It is possible that the commentary on this work by Šīrāzī that is attributed in some copies to ‘Alī Qušjī and in other copies to an unidentified name was indeed written by Qušjī.16 Qušjī dedicated one of these texts dealing with Mercury to uluġ Beg, i.e. the Risāla fī ḥall iškāl mu‘addil li-l-masīr.17 Iskandar Sulṭān, ‘Abd al-Laṭīf ibn uluġ Beg and ‘Alīšīr navā’ī may also have shared this kind of theoretical interest, since all of them received formal education in astronomy. ‘Alīšīr navā’ī’s teacher, for instance, was Fasīḥ al-dīn Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Karīm niẓāmī Kūhistānī (d. 937/1530) who wrote a commentary on Čaġmīnī’s introduction into astronomy, three treatises on instruments, a supercommentary on Qāżīzāda rūmī’s commentary on Šams al-dīn Samarqandī’s Aškāl al-ta’sīs and a book on astrology.18 Furthermore, Ṭūsī’s Takmila and Zubda and Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa were available and copied in Shiraz, Herat and Samarkand during the ninth/fifteenth century.19 In addition to astronomical and astrological works, a few geometrical and arithmetical texts were also part of timurid courtly patronage of the mathematical sciences. one of Iskandar Sulṭān’s anthologies contains a very brief extract from Euclid’s Elements taken from Muḥammad ibn Maḥmūd Āmulī’s 10. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1373, vol. 23, p. 169, nr 9014. 11. I thank Benno van dalen for this information. 12. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1374, vol. 24, pp. 178-179, nr 9402. 13. See, for instance, Saliba, 1993 and ragep, 2005. 14. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 486. 15. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 35. 16. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 36; King 1986, p. 153, dH7, G88. 17. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 35; Saliba 1993. 18. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, pp. 533-534. 19. dāniš-pažūh - Anvarī 1976, p. 365, nr 578.

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(d. ca. 753/1352) encyclopedia Nafā’is al-funūn fī ‘arā’is al-‘uyūn dedicated to the last Inju ruler Abū Isḥāq (d. 754/1353). Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī dedicated his major mathematical work, the Miftāḥ al-ḥisāb, in 830/1427 to uluġ Beg. He also dedicated his commentary on Šams al-dīn Samarqandī’s Aškāl al-ta’sīs, a revision of Book I of Euclid’s Elements, to this ruler.20 But in general, although works on geometry, arithmetic, number theory or algebra served as tools in astronomy and astrology, they did not occupy a major position in courtly cultural politics. In contrast, texts on astronomy and astrology together with instruments were a visible part of this politics. they were integrated into courtly patronage of the arts and princely gift giving. Expression of this integration of astronomy and astrology in timurid cultural politics was also the copying of several astronomical and astrological texts of scholars from earlier periods, in particular those who had worked at the Ilkhanid courts, for timurid princes because this served to buttress timurid claims of their descent from the Ilkhanids and the continuation of their politics. the Zīj-i īlḫānī by naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī (597674/1201-1274) and his collaborators were for instance copied on order of Šāhruḫ (r. 808-851/1405-1447) and Iskandar Sulṭān. Several timurid copies of ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī’s (290-376/903-986) Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita are extant, one of them produced for uluġ Beg’s library based on a copy made by or for naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī.21 uluġ Beg’s art workshop also produced fine copies of his Zīj.22 Abū Sa‘īd Gürägān followed this example and sent a beautiful version of the Zīj-i jadīd-i sulṭānī as a gift to Abū al-Qāsim Bābur.23 Beside the instruments built for the observatory in Samarkand an astrolabe and brass rings were commissioned by or dedicated to uluġ Beg.24 In contrast to this comparatively rich evidence for timurid courtly patronage of the mathematical sciences, there is little information known so far that illustrates the study of these disciplines and their works at madrasas and other endowed teaching institutes in the timurid realm. one exception is the well known case of the madrasa sponsored by uluġ Beg in Samarkand where Qāżīzāda rūmī and Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī taught and ‘Alī Qušjī first studied and then taught. In ninth/fifteenth-century Herat several astronomical texts, among them naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī’s Zubda fi-l-hay’a and Bīst bāb dar asṭurlāb and Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī’s al-Tuḥfa al-Šāhiyya, were copied.25 In two cases, the 20. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 7. 21. richard 1997 p. 78. 22. Lentz - Lowry 1989 p. 374. 23. Lentz - Lowry 1989 p. 367. 24. Lentz - Lowry 1989 p. 374; charette 2006. 25. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1372, vol. 21, pp. 33-4, nr 8021; dāniš-pažūh - Anvarī 1976, p. 365, nr 578.

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copyist was affiliated with a madrasa, the Jalāliyya madrasa and the Madrasayi marḥūm-i Sulṭān Āqā.26 In ninth/fifteenth-century Yazd, the more practical astronomical texts of Ṭūsī like the Bīst bāb and the Sī faṣl were copied in the Ḥāfiẓiyya madrasa together with an anonymous Zawā’id al-taqwīm.27 The mathematical sciences under the aq Koyunlu the Aq Koyunlu appear to have had little interest in the mathematical sciences, although this claim needs to be taken with strong caution since next to no research has been done so far on this subject. despite their strong interest in the arts and their non-negligible support for philosophical works, no copies of astronomical, astrological and mathematical texts produced in a courtly art workshop seem to be extant. only one commenting edition of naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī’s Taḥrīr of Euclid’s Elements is known that was made for an Aq Koyunlu ruler, the work by Ilḥāq ibn Abī Isḥāq dedicated in 886-7/1481-2 to Sulṭān Ya‘qūb Bahādur Ḫān (r. 884-896/1479-1490).28 twelve years before Ibn Abī Isḥāq wrote his notes on the Elements, ‘Alī Qušjī spent time at Ūzūn Ḥasan’s (r. 857-883/1453-1478) court as an honoured guest scholar. He brought with him a copy of the Zīj-i jadīd-i sulṭānī, which he then took with him when he went from tabriz to the ottoman court of Mehmed Fātih (r. 848-850/14441446, 855-886/1451-1481). this transport of the mathematical sciences from the timurid to the ottoman realm and the travel of the Zīj produced in Samarkand may explain an otherwise impossible claim in a copy of this work preserved today in cairo according to which uluġ Beg sent a copy of this Zīj to the ottoman Sultan Bayezid II (r. 886-918/1481-1512).29 there is almost nothing known about the presence of the mathematical sciences at madrasas and other endowed teaching institutes in the sphere of power of the Aq Koyunlu. the vivacious intellectual climate in fourteenthcentury tabriz, for instance, included the study of texts from all the mathematical disciplines as shown by the material comprised in the Safīne-yi Tabrīzī. It is likely that this was also the case in the following century, but I am not aware of manuscripts that would support this assumption.

26. Abbāsi 2001, pp. 151, 158; dāniš-pažūh - Anvarī 1976, p. 365, nr 578. 27. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1372, vol. 21, pp. 33-34, nr. 8021. 28. MS London, British Library, or. 1514. there are two other copies of this text extant in Istanbul in the Archaeological Museum and the Süleymaniye Library, which I have not seen though. 29. King 1986, p. 119, d139.

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The mathematical sciences in the ottoman empire our knowledge of the mathematical sciences under the ottomans is much richer than that for the two previous dynasties. We owe this better knowledge to the work mainly of turkish colleagues and david A. King on whose books I rely in the following reflections. the mathematical sciences in the ottoman Empire in the period I am discussing here, i.e. the second half of the fifteenth century to the early eighteenth century, were shaped to a considerable degree by four traditions from outside the Empire. the mathematical sciences as exercised in the Mamluk realm constituted one of these traditions. A second major influence came from timurid scholars. the third component was formed by scholars from Iran who migrated in the early years of the emergence of the Safavid dynasty. the fourth influence stems from a new group of migrants in the seventeenth century who introduced works of Safavid scholars to ottoman circles. A major heritage of the Mamluk mathematical sciences was the new profession of the muwaqqit. A person called muwaqqit held a position at a mosque, a madrasa or a Sufi ḫānaqāh and was responsible as an expert in spherical astronomy, trigonometry and the design of astronomical and mathematical instruments for determining prayer times, prayer directions and the new month. the term evolved in the late seventh/thirteenth and early eighth/fourteenth century in Mamluk Egypt and Syria. In the second half of the ninth/fifteenth century, the first muwaqqits appeared at the ottoman court, apparently without being attached to a mosque or another religious institute. After the conquest of the Mamluk realm, muwaqqits can be found at many ottoman mosques and madrasas, in particular in Istanbul, Edirne, Bursa, Mecca and in continuation of Mamluk practice in Syria and Egypt. ‘Ilm al-mīqāt became a regular part of teaching in the ottoman Empire and emerged as one of the disciplines in which treatises were increasingly written in turkish. the timurid component came above all with ‘Alī Qušjī to the ottomans. After he had arrived in Istanbul and received a professorship for teaching the mathematical sciences in one of the eight madrasas founded by Mehmed Fātih, he translated two of his works written in Samarkand and dedicated to uluġ Beg, his introduction into arithmetic and geometry and his elementary survey on mathematical cosmography, from Persian into Arabic for Mehmed Fātih.30 In addition to this straightforward rewriting of formerly successful texts for the new environment, ‘Alī Qušjī also took up courtly discussions about specific mathematical points. His Risāla fi-l-zāwiya al-ḥādda reflects one kind of 30. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 21, 25; Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 29, 33.

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interest in mathematical knowledge that reigned supreme in the courtly sphere – entertainment provided by problems that sounded strange, surprising or inaccessible to common sense. the problem that ‘Alī Qušjī had discussed in a courtly session with Mehmed Fātih was « the strange problem […] that when one side of an acute angle was moved towards the side of obtuseness an obtuse angle resulted » without an intermediary, i.e. right, angle coming between the two.31 It relates to theorem III,15 in Euclid’s Elements, i.e. the angle formed between an arc of a circle and a tangent. It was an issue that had drawn the attention of the mutakallimūn since the ninth century who used it in their debates about atomism and continuity. When Mehmed Fātih had heard Qušjī’s explanations he was amazed and demanded him to write it up for all the scholars and virtuous people in his realm.32 Sinān Paşa (d. 891/1486) who had studied astronomy and other mathematical sciences possibly in Sivrihisar, Bursa and Istanbul participated in this discussion between the sultan and the scholar and wrote a commentary on Qušjī’s treatise.33 Almost one hundred years later, Muṣṭafā ibn Maḥmūd al-tosyavī (d. 1004/1596) was puzzled by comments on this problem by Sa‘d al-dīn al-taftazānī (722-793/1322-1390) in his commentary on najm al-dīn al-Kātibī’s (seventh/thirteenth century) Šamsiyya on logic. He discussed it with students in Bursa and found access to it after reading Abū rayḥān Bīrūnī’s (364-440 ?/973-1048 ?) Kitāb al-tafhīm on astrology.34 this implies a limited understanding of elementary mathematics and a lack of familiarity with basic source works on geometry such as Euclid’s Elements. translations of Persian texts into Arabic and of Persian or Arabic texts into ottoman turkish formed an important field of ottoman courtly patronage for the mathematical sciences. one of the first mathematical texts in ottoman turkish was dedicated to Bayezid II by Muḥammad ibn Hacı Atmaca al-Kātib (fl. 899/1494). called Macma‘ al-Qavā‘id, it addressed primarily administrators and other practitioners giving a survey on Indian arithmetic and administrative practices of calculation and siyāq based on Arabic and Persian texts.35 the same sultan was also the addressee of Persian and Arabic texts on arithmetic and planetary theory, of ephemerides in Persian, commentaries on uluġ Beg’s Zīj and of texts on ‘ilm al-mīqāt and instruments.36 the texts on planetary theory 31. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 26. 32. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 26-27. 33. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 27-28. 34. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 104. 35. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 29-30. 36. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 35, 47; Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 40, 42, 47, 65, 91.

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ranged from commentaries on the introductory al-Mulaḫḫaṣ fī al-hay’a by Čaġmīnī to a commentary on the advanced models discussed by Ṣadr al-Šarī‘a (d. 748/1347) in his Ta‘dīl al-‘ulūm.37 two presenters of texts on instruments and ‘ilm al-mīqāt were muwaqqit at the court of Bayezid II (al-muwaqqit bi-bāb al-sulṭān) and his successors Murad and Süleyman – Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf (fl. 916/1510), possibly the first known ottoman muwaqqit, and Muḥammad ibn Kātib Sinān (d. 930/1523-4).38 Similar types of texts were dedicated to ottoman sultans in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, although – given the dedications mentioned in the surveys of ottoman astronomical and mathematical literature on which most of my claims are based – the number of dedicated texts decreased significantly in these two centuries.39 this steady decrease – if this is indeed what happened – may reflect the moving away of the muwaqqit from the courts into the mosques and madrasas in the course of the sixteenth century and the extension of the net of endowed teaching institutes. In both cases, regular salaries may have decreased the need for the scholars to ask or pay for courtly patronage with dedicated books. Such an interpretation may find support in the fact that the few listed works of the seventeenth century that were dedicated to a sultan were ephemerides produced by the müneccimbašı who lived in the palace. the müneccimbašı was the head astrologer, an office installed at court in the early ottoman period. He was responsible for horoscopes, the production of taqwīms, the determination of fortunate and unfortunate days and the supervision of the lower ranking astrologers and muwaqqits. Horoscopes of several sultans are extant today, among them that of Murad II (r. 824-855/1421-1451) in Paris.40 occasionally, muwaqqits such as Muṣṭafā ibn ‘Alī (d. 945/1538) also wrote and dedicated works on mathematical geography to a sultan.41 In addition to the sultans, ottoman princes such as Ahmad and Korkut ibn Bayezid II, viziers and other courtiers such as Ayas Paša (d. 946/1539), Sokullu Mehmed Paša (911-987/1505-1579), Köprülü Fazıl Ahmed Paša (1045-1087/1635-1676) and Kara Mustafa Paša (d. 1095/1683) and religious or military dignitaries such as the Šeyḫülislam or the Sadr also received dedicated astronomical or mathematical works.42 37. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 95. 38. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 70-1, 85-87, 94, 95-97, 98-100. 39. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 55, 96-71, 99, 153-154; Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi, pp. 85, 87, 89, 97, 110, 195, 212, 214, 241, 251-252, 282, 292. 40. MS Paris, BnF, Supplément persan 367. 41. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 162. 42. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 74, 100, 155; Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 70, 73, 161, 266, 269, 292, 336, 352.

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In the late ninth/fifteenth and early tenth/sixteenth centuries, the court was not the only social locus for the mathematical sciences, including discussions about planetary theory, in the ottoman Empire. Scholars working at madrasas also studied planetary models. the main basis for this interest was formed by Ṭūsī’s and Šīrāzī’s texts. the intermediaries through which for instance the knowledge of the Taḏkira and Šīrāzī’s Nihāyat al-idrāk was channelled were the commentaries by al-Sayyid al-Šarīf Jurjānī (741-816/1340-1413) and niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī (thirteenth/fourteenth century) and texts by Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī and ‘Alī Qušjī.43 Since niẓām al-dīn Birjandī (d. 935/1528) was in 911/1505 in trabzond where he wrote a treatise on the city’s qibla for Selim I, he probably composed his commentary on Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira written two years later also in the ottoman Empire.44 It was a further text on planetary theory that was studied repeatedly by later ottoman scholars. other texts studied, used and in some cases translated into turkish or Arabic include Qusṭā ibn Lūqā’s treatise on the astrolabe, texts by muwaqqits from Mamluk Syria and Egypt such as Šams al-dīn al-Ḫalīlī (720? – 782?/1320? – 1380?), Ibn al-Majdī (767-850/1365-1447), Ibn al-Šāṭir (694-777/1304-1375) and Sibṭ al-Māridānī (d. 912/1506), texts on arithmetic and algebra by Ibn al-Hā’im (d. 815/1412) from Mamluk Jerusalem, uluġ Beg’s Zīj, Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī’s treatise on sin 1˚, his Miftāḥ al-ḥisāb and one of his texts on ‘ilm al-hay’a written for Iskandar Sulṭān, naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī’s Sī faṣl and Risāla fī manāzil al-qamar, niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī’s Šamsiyya on arithmetic and ‘Alī Qušjī’s Muḥammadiyya on arithmetic and geometry.45 classical texts like Euclid’s Elements and the Kutub al-Mutawassiṭāt are conspicuously rare or absent. over time, the amount of texts written on ‘ilm al-mīqāt topics and treatises based on uluġ Beg’s Zīj grew considerably, while works on planetary theory apparently became less relevant except for Čaġmīnī’s introductory text and its commentaries, in particular that by Qāżīzāda rūmī. In the early eleventh/seventeenth century migrants from Safavid Iran such as the physician Muḥammad Bāqir ibn ‘Imād al-dīn Maḥmūd (eleventh/seventeenth century) brought copies of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s treatises to the ottoman Empire and wrote commentaries on them.46 the texts that 43. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 44-5, 48. 44. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 110. According to Ziriklī, he was in Istanbul in 1525, but Ziriklī gives no source for this claim, Ziriklī 1979, p. 30. I thank Lutfullah Gari, Yanbu‘, for pointing this out to me. other authors believe he lived in Herat or at the court of Ismā‘īl. See for instance Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 541. 45. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 55-56, 90-93, 155; Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 65, 74, 89, 213, 222, 225, 239, 249, 293, 309, 345, 352, 403. 46. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 336.

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became the most prominent were Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb and Tašrīḥ al-aflāk.47 Among the newly written texts by authors who worked in the ottoman Empire, the well-known work of taqī al-dīn (d. 993/1585) is outstanding, but other texts like the Miṣbāḥ al-ṭālib wa-munīr al-muḥibb al-kāsib of the ophtalmologist Mūsā ibn Ibrāhīm al-Yaldāvī (d. ca. 926/1520) also deserve attention. Al-Yaldāvī did not only survey the mathematical rules and methods needed for designing astronomical instruments, he also gave their proofs and discussed philosophical problems related to the question whether a line was composed of points and to the fourth postulate about the equality of right angles.48 A certain preference for ancient classical names of individual mathematical sciences seems to surface in the eleventh/seventeenth century in manuscripts as well as in biographical dictionaries. this may have been an aspect of a renewed interest in Ibn Sīnā’s works among some ottoman scholars. An example for this link is the treatise on number theory written by the head astrologer Ahmed dede (d. 1113/1702). He called the discipline ‘ilm al-arithmāṭīqī and relied in its discussion on Ibn Sīnā’s Kitāb al-Šifā’ and ‘ubaydallāh Jūzjānī’s mathematical chapter in the Kitāb al-najāt.49 He was also one of the very few ottoman scholars in this period who wrote a commentary on Euclid’s Elements.50 the arts were a further domain where the mathematical sciences received ottoman patronage, albeit in a limited manner. A few astrological poems and prose texts were beautifully illuminated and dedicated to the court. A well-known example is ‘Alā’ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī’s poem Šāhinšāh-nāme, which he dedicated to Murad III (r. 982-10003/1574-1595) discussing the founding and shutting down of the observatory.51 Another example is Mehmed Su‘udi’s Maṭālī‘ al-Sa‘ādāt, produced in Istanbul in 990/1582 and illuminated by the painter osman with 122 wonderful miniatures, among them the zodiacal signs and a portrait of Murad III in his study with a European clock and an astrological or astronomical manuscript in front of him.52 However, ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī’s Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita was only rarely copied in the ottoman period. A manuscript produced in Egypt in 922/1516 is preserved in

47. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, pp. 138, 140, 145, 151, 155, 159; Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 336. 48. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 76-83. 49. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 162. 50. Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 163. 51. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 191. 52. MS Paris, BnF, Supplément turc 242, ff. 7v, 8v, 10v, 12v, 14v, 16v, 18v, 20v, 22v, 24v, 26v, 28v, 30v.

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Paris.53 other, less expensive artistic decorations of mathematical texts include colourful ‘unwans and some calligraphy. Such adorned texts were destined for personal libraries in the palaces as well as in the houses of the urban elites. collecting and displaying finely illustrated scientific manuscripts was part of ottoman elite cultures in the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth centuries. A new element in ottoman scientific culture emerged in the tenth/sixteenth century, when the exchange of gifts and knowledge, including scientific instruments, in particular telescopes, and books, with scholars and diplomats from catholic and Protestant countries in Europe began to flourish. ottoman princes ordered world maps in venice. Italian scholars, printers, officers, newly established rulers and ambassadors sent manuscripts of their works, maps and translations to the ottoman court in hope for patronage, recognition and alliances.54 the vivacious mutual exchange of knowledge and its products as part of commerce, embassies and other kinds of travel was particularly effective in cartography where both sides profited from each other. In the eleventh/seventeenth century, elements of Western astrology were incorporated by ottoman practitioners of the field into their writings, among them head astrologers of the court. one ottoman scholar is credited for having used a telescope in his observations, although the used term – dürbünü – does not need to signify necessarily this instrument, since it was also used for the simple, long known sighting tube mounted occasionally on an astrolabe or quadrant.55 In the second half of the eleventh/seventeenth century, French astronomical handbooks were translated into Arabic and turkish.56 visitors from various catholic and Protestant countries in Europe observed eclipses, measured solar and stellar altitudes and calculated latitudes in rhodes, cairo, Istanbul, trabzond and other ottoman cities. other travellers questioned scholars in Istanbul about their interests in mathematics and planetary theory. they reported about various new scientific developments in their own countries and the Republic of Letters at large such as Galileo Galilei’s (1564-1642) new mechanical works and tycho Brahe’s (1546-1601) new cosmological system. Merchants sold telescopes, microscopes and clocks across the Empire.57 the 53. MS Paris, BnF, Arabe 2490. 54. An example is the fascinating history of the multiple dedications of Francesco Berlinghieri’s Geographia (1482) to Mehmed Fātih, Federico da Montefeltro, Bayezid II, Sultan cem and Lorenzo de’ Medici. 55. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, p. 280. 56. Osmanlı Astronomi Literatürü Tarihi 1997, pp. 304-305, 327, 340-345; Osmanlı Matematik Literatürü Tarihi 1999, p. 153. 57. Paul Lucas (1664-1737), for instance, sold during his travels at the beginning of the eighteenth centuries such items together with jewelry and other goods.

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main loci of this exchange were the houses of christian ambassadors and their secretaries in Istanbul, houses of consuls and missionaries in the provinces and the bookshops and other market places in major ottoman cities. The mathematical sciences in Mughal india the Mughals brought Muslim and Hindu astrologers to their courts and regarded horoscopes as relevant to matters of state. As in other areas of courtly politics, Mughal support for the mathematical sciences consisted of three main components – the continuation of timurid precedences, the integration of mathematical works by scholars from Iran and the enrichment of the mathematical sciences through cross-cultural exchange primarily with their Hindu subjects, but also with some of their visitors from Europe. the courtsponsored translation of mathematical and astronomical works from Hindu scholars into Persian began in the reign of Akbar (963-1014/1556-1605) and was continued under his grandson Šāh Jahān (1037-1068/1628-1658), but was of very limited scale. Its impact on Muslim scholars has not been well studied. Winter and Mīrzā have pointed to the existence of several copies of the Persian translation of Bhāskara’s Lilāvatī for Akbar by the poet Fayżī in 995/1587 in manuscript collections in London, Manchester and Berlin, most of which were produced in the late eighteenth century.58 the Hindu scholar dhārma narāyāṇ wrote in 1074/1663 a Persian commentary on the translated text, which he dedicated to Awrangzeb (r. 1658-1707).59 But it is not known whether Muslim scholars studied either of these two texts or the Persian translation of Bhāskara’s Bījāgaṇita made for Šāh Jahān in 1044/1634-5 by ‘Aṭā Allāh rašīdī ibn Aḥmad nādir (eleventh/seventeenth century), the eldest son of the architect of the tāj Maḥal.60 Akbar’s opening of the endowed teaching institutes to Hindu students and the prescription of a broad range of disciplines to be taught there, including some of the mathematical sciences, was unique in the early modern Islamic world. nothing comparable with regard to the inclusion of non-Muslim students into the endowed teaching institutes took place in Safavid Iran, although the inclusion of various philosophical and mathematical disciplines or texts into the teaching at madrasas in the Mughal capital resulted from the recommendations of Akbar’s great vizier Faṭḥ Allāh Šīrāzī (d. 997/1589).61 Faṭḥ Allāh Šīrāzī had studied in Shiraz with a student of Jalāl al-dīn dawānī (830908/1426-1502) and with Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī (d. 948/1542), among 58. Winter - Mirza 1952, pp. 2-3. 59. Ethé 1903, c. 1233. 60. Maulavi 1925, cc. 1112-1113; rahman 1982, p. 391. 61. de Young 1986, p. 7.

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other things the mathematical sciences. He taught in his native town where one of his students was Farīd al-dīn Mas‘ūd dihlavī (d. 1039/1629) who later worked at the Mughal court in Lahore.62 Farīd al-dīn compiled for Šāh Jahān the new Zīj-i Šāh-Jahānī.63 thus Akbar’s commands for changing the teaching content at the madrasas in his realm reflect experiences and standards of Safavid and indirectly also timurid Shiraz. It is not very likely though that the inclusion of Hindu students into the madrasa training had a greater impact on how the mathematical sciences were practiced by Muslim scholars in Mughal India than the Persian translations of Sanskrit mathematical and astronomical texts. Although all Mughal rulers of the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth centuries patronized the endowed teaching institutes and a number of disciplines, there are only a few works in the mathematical sciences known that were dedicated to them by scholars who worked at the court. Examples are a poem summarizing Euclid’s Elements written by ‘Aṭā Allāh Qārī for dārā Šikōh (1025-1069/1615-1659), the Zīj written for Šāh Jahān mentioned above and a beautifully written commentary on Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s Tašrīḥ al-aflāk by Muḥammad rašīd al-dīn for rāḍī al-dīn ‘Alī, a grandson of Jahāndār Šāh (r. 1124-1125/1712-1713).64 Encyclopedias were a literary genre that Mughal scholars considered suitable for dedications to rulers. Muḥammad Fāżil ibn ‘Alī ibn Muḥammad Miskīnī Qāżī Samarqandī eulogized Humāyūn (r. 937-963/1530-1556) in the preface of his encyclopedia Jawāhir al-‘ulūm-i Humāyūnī which he dedicated to the ruler shortly after his return to power in 962/1554.65 He modeled his encyclopedia after the work of major predecessors, in particular the Nafā’is al-funūn by Muḥammad ibn Maḥmūd Āmulī and the Ḥadā’iq al-anwār by Faḫr al-dīn rāzī (d. 606/1209). In its third book, he devoted thirty three chapters to the mathematical sciences including planetary theory, astronomical instruments, Ṣūfī’s star constellations, astrology, mathematical geography, arithmetic, surveying, Euclidean geometry, the Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt (Middle Books), mechanics, optics, music and magic squares. He also integrated a series of occult sciences such as geomancy, dream interpretation, alchemy or a Hindu type of occult science called dam o daham into the class of mathematical sciences.66 Another multi-volume encyclopedia dedicated to a Mughal ruler is

62. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 572. 63. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 594. 64. rahman 1982, p. 424. 65. Maulavi 1925, cc. 144-150. 66. Maulavi 1925, c. 149.

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the Šāhid-i Ṣādiq by Muḥammad Ṣādiq ibn Muḥammad Ṣāliḥ Iṣfahānī Āzādānī (1018-1059/1609-1651). It covers a vast array of topics from religion over philosophy, ethics and cosmography to astronomy, astrology, the occult sciences, geography and history. It is well known today for its numerous maps, although they are not much appreciated due to their lack in precision and accuracy. In Book III, which is named On reason, knowledge, efficiency and deficiency, seven out of 80 sections deal with planetary theory, astrology, the astrolabe, arithmetic, surveying and administrative practices of numeration and calculation. Book v on the universe, time, life, death and other topics dedicates 30 out of 96 sections to astronomy and geography. thus, while some basic elementary knowledge on arithmetic and geometry is included in this encyclopedia, the primary interest of the author was directed towards mathematical cosmography.67 despite the lack of dedications – which may reflect rather the limitations of cataloguing styles than Mughal practice –, Mughal court astrologers produced a number of texts on mathematical cosmography, astronomical handbooks, astrology and ephemerides. Examples are the Risāla dar hay’a by ‘Abd al-Majīd ibn Muḥammad Quṭb al-dīn, an astrologer of Akbar, Mullā chand’s astronomical handbook Tashīlāt written as court astrologer of Akbar, Ṭayyib ibn Ibrāhīm dihlavī’s Risāla dar taqvīm, a brother of Farīd al-dīn dihlavī and like him affiliated to Akbar’s court, or Mullā tarzī’s astronomical handbook Ma‘ādin al-jawāhir compiled for Jahāngīr (1014-37/1605-27).68 An important family of scholars of the mathematical sciences was founded by Jahāngīr’s architect Aḥmad Lāhūrī (d. 1059/1649). His eldest son was ‘Aṭā Allāh mentioned above. His second son Luṭf Allāh Muhandis (eleventh/seventeenth century) studied with his father and brother. He translated Ṣūfī’s Ṣuwar al-kawākib into Persian, wrote about number theory and commented on Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb.69 Luṭf Allāh’s sons commented on Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s Tašrīḥ al-aflāk and Birjandī’s commentary on Ṭūsī’s Bīst bāb, translated Ṭūsī’s Taḥrīr of Euclid’s Elements and of Ptolemy’s Almagest into Persian and wrote a treatise on the astrolabe.70 Mughal princes and courtiers on their side did not always wait for dedications, but ordered translations of well-known mathematical texts from Arabic into Persian, asked for copies and commanded introductions into arithmetic, planetary theory and other topics. In 1034/1624, a certain 67. Maulavi 1925, cc. 159-169. 68. rahman 1982, pp. 276, 335, 368. 69. rahman 1982, pp. 404-405. 70. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, pp. 614-615; Maulavi 1927, pp. 62-63.

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Muḥammad rustam ibn Muḥammad Ḫalīfa asked in Agra for a copy of niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī’s Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira.71 In 1092/1681, Luṭf Allāh Muhandis wrote an abridged Persian version of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s Ḫulāṣa for some Mīr Sayyid Muḥammad Sa‘īd Mīr Muḥammad Yaḥyā.72 In 1107/1696, a Mughal governor called ‘Abd al-Waḥḥāb-Ḫān Bahādur ordered a copy of a Persian translation of Bahā’ al-dīn’s work as well as a copy of a commentary on the Ḫulāṣa written by Luṭf Allāh Muhandis in 1092/1681.73 Similar to the ottoman Empire, the mathematical sciences in Mughal India profited from the migration of Iranian scholars. In the later sixteenth century, Muṣliḥ al-dīn Lārī (d. 979/1571), another student of Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Šīrāzī, moved to Humāyūn’s court and dedicated to him his commentary on ‘Alī Qušjī’s introduction into mathematical cosmography.74 Humāyūn himself is also credited with a mathematical treatise which he wrote for his son Jalāl al-dīn, the later Akbar. the text explains the concept of great circles on a sphere.75 In the early eleventh/seventeenth century, nūr Allāh Šuštarī (d. 1019/1610) moved from Iran to the Mughal court. In addition to his qualification in Shi‘i law and kalām, he also was the author of a treatise on the astrolabe.76 With him came a manuscript to Mughal India that contained a text on arithmetic and algebra much appreciated by Safavid scholars, al-Fawā’id al-Bahā’iyya by ‘Abd Allāh ibn Muḥammad al-Ḫuddāmī Baġdādī (eighth/fourteenth century). the manuscript included also a commentary on the text by a student of the author as well as a commentary by Kamāl al-dīn Fārisī (d. 720/1320), a student of Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī. the special value of the manuscript is marked by the fact that it was written by niẓām al-dīn Birjandī.77 In the second half of the seventeenth century, works by Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī became influential among Mughal scholars, primarily in the form of commentaries by ‘Āmilī’s students like Muḥammad Javād ibn Sa‘d al-Kāẓimī (eleventh/seventeenth century) and Šams al-dīn Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī Ḫalḫālī (eleventh/seventeenth century) or Muḥammad Ašraf ibn Ḥabīb Allāh al-Ḥasanī al-Ḥusaynī Ṭabāṭabā’ī (eleventh/seventeenth century), a student of a student of ‘Āmilī.78 ‘Iṣmat (or ‘Āṣim) Allāh ibn ‘Aẓīm ibn ‘Abd al-rasūl (eleventh-twelfth/seventeentheighteenth centuries) for instance stood in this tradition with his commentaries 71. Maulavi 1937, pp. 38-39. 72. Ethé 1903, c. 1229. 73. Ethé 1903, cc. 1227, 1229. 74. Subḥānī - Āq Sū 1374, p. 176. 75. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 553. 76. rahman 1982, p. 342. 77. Maulavi 1937, pp. 11-13. 78. Maulavi 1937, pp. 18, 20, 49.

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on the Ḫulāṣat (1086/1675) and the Tašrīḥ (1087/1676). He is seen as one of the leading scholars of the mathematical sciences in Mughal India in the second half of the eleventh/seventeenth century.79 In the eleventh/seventeenth century, Jesuit missionaries resided in Agra. Some of them brought mathematical and astronomical printed books and instruments to the Mughal Empire and taught some of their knowledge to converts and other interested students. one outcome of these efforts was the translation of christopher clavius’ (1538-1612) Gnomonices and of some theorems from his new edition of Euclid’s Elements into Persian by rustam Beg Ḥārithī Badaḫšānī (eleventh/seventeenth century).80 Mughal patronage of the arts included several lavishly illuminated works on astrology.81 Astrologers and geomancers are repeatedly depicted in Mughal miniatures.82 A copy of rašīd al-dīn’s (645-618/1247-1318) Jāmi‘ al-tavāriḫ made for Akbar in 967/1559-60 shows Ṭūsī and his colleagues in a rich setting observing the sky.83 ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī’s Ṣuwar al-kawākib was copied and illuminated by Mughal painters.84 But I have not come across illuminated Mughal manuscripts of other astronomical and mathematical texts in my studies in Indian manuscript libraries or in books on Mughal art history. Mughal rulers and their administrators were, however, keenly interested in such texts, even if only as objects of their libraries. Several mathematical and astronomical manuscripts carry ownership marks from Mughal rulers and courtiers. An example is al-Šarīf Jurjānī’s commentary on naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira written in 811/1409 in Shiraz that is extant today in the Khuda Bakhsh Library in Patna. It carries a seal of Maḥābat Ḫān, a noble at the court of Šāh ‘Ālam Bahādur Šāh (r. 1119-1124/1707-1712).85 Some of these ownership marks indicate that substantial efforts had been undertaken for obtaining such manuscripts, in particular when they were several centuries old. Mathematical and astronomical manuscripts seem to have served as cultural objects linking the Mughals to previous Islamic dynasties, in particular in India, as well as to their timurid relatives.

79. Maulavi 1937, pp. 18-19, 49. 80. MSS London, British Library, or 975 and Add 14332. 81. An example is a copy of Kitāb-i Sā‘āt made near Patna on 21 Šawwal 991/7 november 1583 for Akbar’s foster brother Mirzā ‘Azīz Koka (d. 1035/1624). Sothebys 1997, pp. 26-29. 82. See for instance Hajek, 1960, plate 18, p. 82, náprstek Museum, Prag. 83. this copy is preserved in the Golestan Museum, tehran. 84. Schmitz - desai 2006, I.2 for a Mughal copy produced between 1000/1590 and 1019/1610. 85. Maulavi 1937, p. 40.

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While research on Mughal texts of the mathematical sciences has not gone very far yet, our knowledge of Mughal scientific instruments is much more solid, primarily thanks to the work of Sreeramula r. Sarma. He has surveyed extant specimens and information found on and about them regarding their makers and their relationship to the Mughal dynasty. He showed that Humāyūn had not only a substantial interest in these instruments, but possessed a solid knowledge of their composition and functions and patronized the emergence of a rich and long tradition of astrolabe making in Lahore.86 the court of the Quṭb Šāh dynasty (1518-1687) at Golconda patronized apparently in the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth century several scholars interested in the mathematical sciences. Abū Isḥāq ibn ‘Abd Allāh composed in 964/1555 a commentary on niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī’s Šamsiyya, which he dedicated to Amīr ‘Abd al-Karīm.87 texts of prominence in the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran attracted also the attention of scholars in Golconda. Beside the Šamsiyya, texts copied, studied or commented on in Golconda were Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī’s encyclopedia Durrat al-tāj, including its mathematical chapters (in 1017/1607), and Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s Tuḥfe-yi Ḥātimiyye, al-Ṣafīḥa and al-Kur and Ṭūsī’ Bīst bāb (in 1073/1662-3, all in one manuscript).88 But the migration of texts and scholars did not go exclusively in one direction, i.e. from Iran to India. the manuscript compiled in Golconda in 1073/1662-3, for instance, was owned four decades later, in 1119/1707-8, by Muḥammad taqī Ḥusaynī ibn Muḥammad Bāqir in Mashhad.89

tHE MAtHEMAtIcAL ScIEncES durInG tHE SAFAvId PErIod the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran show several similarities, but also differences in comparison to what took place under the predecessors and contemporaries of the dynasty. there were no muwaqqits in Safavid Iran and hence mathematical treatises devoted specifically to the determination of prayer times and related issues, except for determining prayer directions, are relatively rare although some knowledge of writings by Mamluk muwaqqits can be found in Safavid Iran. these topics were often included in texts about astrolabes and later in the eleventh/seventeenth century in works that discuss prayer times or auspicious and inauspicious days from the perspectives of ḥadīṯ, fiqh, astrology

86. Sarma 2003, pp. 7-9, 18-19, 34-52. 87. rahman 1982, p. 384. 88. Maulavi 1927, vol. 11, pp. 139-142. 89. Monzavī 1341, vol. 2, p. 294.

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and astronomy. Among the instruments, Safavid scholars apparently preferred the astrolabe and thus texts about the numerous instruments developed by Mamluk muwaqqits are also not widespread. But like the ottomans and Mughals, the Safavid dynasty patronized astrology directly at their courts. Several astrologers counselled the šāhs about auspicious days, cast horoscopes and dedicated astrological as well as astronomical writings to them. the position of the head astrologer was institutionally recognized by its integration into the courtly protocol and the list of officially prescribed titles. As under the timurids and ottomans, a good number of astronomical, astrological, geometrical and arithmetical treatises were dedicated to Safavid Šāhs and occasionally to a vizier, a governor or a eunuch. In contrast to what is known so far for the timurids and ottomans, the primary focus of texts dedicated to the Safavid court is on descriptions on how to work with an astrolabe, on astrological compendia, on copying, translating and newly illustrating ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī’s Ṣuwar al-kawākib and on ephemerides. unique for the Safavid period is the integration of images of star constellations in the style of rīżā ‘Abbāsi in two astronomical texts, Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī’s al-Tuḥfa al-Šāhiyya and an anonymous text on the astrolabe. occasionally, an edition of Euclid’s Elements was also dedicated to a member of a Safavid court. In the second half of the eleventh/seventeenth century, a beautifully illustrated and written collection of extracts of writings on a broad array of disciplines, among them geometry, number theory, algebra, arithmetic, astrology, mathematical cosmography, mathematical geography and images of star constellations, was allegedly ordered by two great viziers Ḫalīfa Sulṭān (d. 1064/1653) and ‘Alī Ḫān Muḥammad Ḫān for each of their respective Šāhs, ‘Abbās II (r. 1052-1077/1642-1666) and Sulaymān (r. 1077-1105/1666-1694).90 Predominantly of very elementary quality and often incomplete, these texts cannot have served to educate the rulers. the spatial arrangement of the manuscript is of a kind that reading them as continuous texts is not an easy task. reading one page after the other was not the purpose of the collection since most single pages are covered by three sets of text in different sizes – one text with big letters and one text with small letters written interlinearly into the first text are placed in the center of the page. one or more texts are written in the margins, running from top to bottom. the two center texts move in different speed, i.e. begin and end at different folios, and hence cannot be read concurrently. If one wished to read the marginal texts, the manuscript needed to be turned in different directions. the artistic quality of the illustrations and the fascinatingly complex spatial arrangements derive from 90. MS cambridge, Mass., Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard university, 1984.463.

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timurid and Safavid precedents, which were less complex in their arrangements, but in the case of some of the timurid anthologies more suited for education. Examples for less complex, but related spatial divisions can be found in one of Iskandar Sulṭān’s anthologies extant in the library of Istanbul university and in a copy of Sa‘dī’s Gulistān in the British Library.91 the impact that this kind of artistic presentation of intellectual matters and its inscribed practices of reading may have had on the mathematical sciences has not even been raised as a question, let alone analysed. Further dedicated texts combine subjects of the mathematical sciences with ḥadīṯ and literature. one such text is the Angušt-i šumārī written for Šāh Ṣafī (r. 1038-1052/1629-1642) by a student of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī. It comments on a couplet by Firdawsī (325-410/935-1020) taking it as a starting point for explanations of arithmetical rules.92 other texts bring together what david King has called folk astronomy, i.e. rules based on pre-Islamic traditions, ḥadīṯ and legal interpretations for determining prayer times, the directions for prayer and the beginning of the new month, with standard themes of mathematical astronomy and geography. An example for this kind of text is Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Muḥammad taqī Majlisī’s (1037-1110/1628-1699) Iḫtiyārāt-i ayām. It consists of forty chapters in which recommendations for electing days are combined with quotes from ḥadīṯ about solar and lunar eclipses and the rules for Muḥarram and a number of scientific themes among them astronomical rules for eclipses and explanations of their causes, the movement of the sun and the position of the stars, the determination of the qibla and other themes of mathematical geography such as distances on earth and the size of its diameter, a survey of the seven climates and a description of the seas, rivers and lakes.93 While no new knowledge is expected to be found there – the text has not been studied yet by a historian of the mathematical sciences – the integration of this kind and amount of scientific knowledge into a work about astrological practices of daily life in the Safavid period and its justification on religious grounds is worthy of attention. In addition to the study of dedicated texts and instruments, a study of dated copies of texts brings several new informations about the state of the mathematical sciences in the Safavid period. It reveals a focus on works by naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī, Maḥmūd ibn Muḥammad Čaġmīnī, Qāżīzāda rūmī, Abū rayḥān Bīrūnī, Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī, Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī, ‘Alī Qušjī, niẓām al-dīn Birjandī, Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī, and Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī. texts by a few other 91. MSS Istanbul, Istanbul university Library, IÜF 1418; London, British Library, or. 24944. 92. Subḥānī - Āq Sū 1374, p. 137. 93. Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, p. 11.

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early scholars of the mathematical sciences such as Qusṭā ibn Lūqā, Ṯābit ibn Qurra, Abū Ma‘šar, ‘Alī ibn ‘Isā al-Asṭurlābī, Abū Sahl Kūhī, Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn ‘Abd al-Jalīl Sijzī and Kušyār ibn Labbān were also copied and occasionally commented on in the Safavid period, albeit less often than those by the previously named writers. A study of the colophons, ownership marks and waqf certificates indicates that students of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī and Mullā Ṣadrā (980-1050/1571-1640) were among those who copied or collected such mathematical texts during the eleventh/seventeenth century. Students of the former with mathematical interests like Muḥammad ibn Bāqir Zayn al-‘Ābidīn (d. ca. 1047/1637) wrote themselves treatises on mathematical themes and worked as astrologers. Students of the latter like Muḥsin ibn Murtaḍā Fayḍ Kāšānī (d. 1091/1680) worked at madrasas and wrote primarily about religious topics. the study of colophons also reveals a rich geography of copying mathematical, astronomical and astrological texts across Safavid Iran. the most significant observation among all these results may however be the discovery of a continued interest in planetary theory. copies of Ḫafrī’s commentary on Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira were not only made until the later eleventh/seventeenth century, but Safavid astrologers and madrasa teachers, among them Muẓaffar ibn Muḥammad Qāsim Gunābādī (d. 1024/1615), Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī, Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Zayn al-‘Ābidīn, Muḥammad Ṣanī‘ and ‘Alī riżavī, studied Ḫafrī’s work together with the commentaries by commentators from earlier periods and wrote themselves glosses and supercommentaries. Mathematical texts with miniatures and other artistic illustrations Safavid courtiers and other wealthy circles had a remarkably strong interest in depictions of the star constellations in the tradition of ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī’s Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita. Several Safavid copies of the Arabic version of the work were produced in the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth centuries.94 Around 1040/1630, a sumptuously illustrated Arabic copy of the Ṣuwar al-kawākib was produced. It is today preserved in Majlis Šūrā’ Library of tehran.95 As I have argued elsewhere, the colour palette and the background decoration link its paintings rather with Indian, possibly deccani miniature painting of the late tenth/sixteenth and early eleventh/seventeenth centuries,

94. Examples are MSS St Petersburg, Public Library, Ar. 119, Paris, BnF, Arabe 4670 and Geneva, Sadruddin Aga Khan collection, MS 9. For the last manuscript see Welch, 1972, vol. 2, p. 69. 95. vesel 2001, p. 296.

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although the human figures and their dress point to a Safavid model.96 Safavid manuscripts that are clearly related to this model contain Persian translations of Ṣūfī’s text. one of these translations was made in 1043/1633 by Ḥasan ibn Sā‘d Qā’inī for Manūchihr Ḫān (d. 1046/1636), the governor of Mashhad. two copies of this fresh translation by Manūchihr’s court astrologer are known to exist, one in new York and the other in cairo.97 A third manuscript that has been linked earlier to these two copies is MS tehran, Malik Library, 6037. dated 1008/1598 the manuscript is more than thirty years older than either of the two other manuscripts. Hence, it contains another Persian version. Whether it is the same version as in MS Paris, BnF, Supplément 1551, which is said to be an anonymous abridged version, needs to be investigated.98 A copy of a possibly further anonymous translation is preserved in new York.99 Miniatures of a distinct colouring and figurative style from another Safavid version in Persian of Ṣūfī’s book are held by the royal ontario Museum.100 In addition to these complete copies and translations, fragments and summaries of Ṣūfī’s work were integrated into collections and other astronomical texts or exist as single leafs. Examples are the collection of short texts made for ‘Abbās II and copied for Sulaymān extant in the Arthur M. Sackler Museum at Harvard university as well as in another version in the British Library in London, the copy of Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa in the riżā ‘Abbāsī Museum in tehran, the copy of an anonymous treatise on the astrolabe at the British Library and the single leaf of Boötes in the former riefstahl collection. the integration of star constellations from Ṣūfī’s book in a style very similar to that of the Tuḥfa and the leaf of the former riefstahl collection into the anonymous treatise on the astrolabe has come to my attention only recently when I checked the manuscript for its chapters on timekeeping and astrological matters. the paper on which the images were painted as well as the changes incorporated in the original text make clear that the illustrations were added at a later stage into a formerly unadorned manuscript. the new owner wished to make it appear that the images were a genuine part of the manuscript. this suggests that he considered the images as a fitting addition to a straightforward, elementary description of the astrolabe and its areas of application. Such an evaluation of image and educational text may have been the result of a new 96. Brentjes Safavid art, science, and courtly education in the seventeenth century, forthcoming. 97. MSS new York, new York Public Library, Spencer 6; cairo, dār al-Kutub, MMF9; see King 1986, pl. III; Edwards 1982, p. 13; Schmitz 1992, p. 123. 98. MS Paris, BnF, Supplément Persan 1551. 99. MS new York, new York Public Library, Spencer 25. 100. MS toronto, royal ontario Museum, Inv. no. 971.292.13. I thank the curator of Islamic decorative Arts, Karin rührdanz, for this information.

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attitude towards the mathematical sciences and the arts in the eleventh/seventeenth century. So far only these two astronomical works with high quality paintings of images from another text are known to exist. the other text whose author already incorporated several constellations from Ṣūfī’s book is Zakariyā’ Qazvīnī’s ‘Ajā’ib al-maḫlūqāt. As a rule, the images of these constellations are small-scale and often of a different iconographic style than those of the Ṣūfī traditions. there are, however, two folios of a ninth/fifteenthcentury Iranian manuscript of an Arabic version of Qazvīnī’s work that show a constellation taken indeed from the Ṣūfī cycle.101 Although this is not an exhaustive survey of all possible Safavid copies of Ṣūfī’s Ṣuwar al-kawākib that exist today in manuscript libraries across the world, these few bits of information available from published literature and manuscript catalogues indicate that there was a strong interest in the text and its illustrations. the strength of this twofold interest in astronomical information and artistic presentation seems to be unique in the period, although there are also several copies of the work made in different Indian regions such as Gujarat, the deccan, delhi and possibly the Panjab. As under the timurids and ottomans, Safavid copies of Euclid’s Elements or treatises on planetary theory could be adorned with beautiful ‘unwans and set in gilden frames. An example for this integration of mathematical and astronomical texts in the production of luxury goods is the copy of Ḫafrī’s Muntahā al-idrāk fī mudrāk al-aflāk, a commentary on Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa, preserved in Qom.102 activities in the mathematical sciences in the Safavid period In order to gain an overview on the various kinds of activities undertaken in the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran I extracted information on dated manuscripts from catalogues of manuscript libraries in Iran, in particular Qom, Mashhad, tehran, Qazvin and Yazd that were available to me. I supplemented the study of these catalogues by information about manuscripts from collections in London, Paris, Berlin and cairo. this survey is not exhaustive since catalogues of major Iranian libraries were not available to me. It is also not meant to be exhaustive since my aim here is rather modest. I want to offer some preliminary views on possible focal points, trends and affiliations in the mathematical sciences during the Safavid period. In addition to the practical

101. MS cambridge, Mass., Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard university, 1919.131 and 1919.131v. 102. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī, vol. 4, p. 65, nr 1260.

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problems, my approach suffers under several intrinsic limitations caused by the different styles in which catalogues were produced in the last two centuries. In a first round, I chose manuscripts that are dated, affiliated to a place and identified by a scribe, addressee, owner or donor in the Safavid period. Since not all catalogues provide however this range of information I included in a second round manuscripts that lacked one or two of these elements. Manuscripts that lack an affiliation to a place are of course difficult to situate. Scribes, owners or some of the addressees with a nisba linking them to localities in Iran may not have lived in an Iranian city or village. I have tried to limit the uncertainties caused by this lack of information about localities by including in such cases only manuscripts from Iranian libraries. this choice does not completely remove the problem since libraries like the Public Library of Āyatullāh Mar‘ašī in Qom bought manuscripts from abroad. the disciplines and topics which I included in this survey are geometry, surveying, arithmetic, algebra, number theory, magic squares, mathematical cosmography, astronomical handbooks, instruments, ephemerides, prayer times, qibla, new moon and astrology. the results of this survey are found in table 1 in the appendix. this table reflects interesting similarities with the mathematical sciences under the predecessors and contemporaries of the Safavids as summarized above. It also highlights some major differences. the timurids, ottomans and Safavids shared major authorities in the mathematical sciences, in particular naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī, uluġ Beg, Qāżīzāda rūmī, Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī and ‘Alī Qušjī. the authors and copyists of mathematical texts in the ottoman and the Safavid Empires shared a major interest in texts on the astrolabe and ephemerides. In difference to the situation under the ottomans, the impact of Mamluk mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran is almost negligible. the lack of the institution of the muwaqqit is reflected by the almost complete lack of specialized texts on topics from ‘ilm al-mīqāt which are treated rather in texts on the astrolabe and in texts on astrological themes. the scholars in Safavid Iran like their timurid predecessors paid continuous attention to texts on planetary theory. dedicating texts on the mathematical sciences to rulers and a few of their relatives and courtiers is a further feature common to scholarly practices under the three dynasties. Like during ottoman times, dedication patterns vary over time significantly and tend to focus in the later decades more and more on astrological themes relevant for daily life matters and on ephemerides. the interest of Safavid scholars in classical texts, mostly in their edition by naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī, seems to have been stronger than among their peers under the timurids, ottomans and Mughals. In difference to Mamluk patterns where interest in theoretical geometry focused primarily, albeit not exclusively on Šams al-dīn Samarqandī’s Aškāl al-ta’sīs

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and parts of Euclid’s Elements, Safavid scholars and scribes in particular in the eleventh/seventeenth century had a broader outlook that included several texts of the so-called Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt. the differences between the texts contained in the various collections of these Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt deserve further study and reflection.103 In difference to the efforts of some patrons, dignitaries and scholars in the timurid, ottoman and Mughal Empires to produce new astronomical handbooks and carry out new astronomical observations, the inclination among Safavid rulers for engaging in this kind of projects was apparently feable and even scholars were rarely interested in compiling their own Zīj works. A few previous Zīj works though were occasionally copied by Safavid scholars or scribes. Migration patterns of texts and scholars into Safavid Iran also seem to have differed from those moving out of it. there was apparently only one scholar who had left Iran very early in the Safavid era for the ottoman Empire whose texts were of major relevance to the work of Safavid scholars – niẓām al-dīn Birjandī. no information was registered in the catalogues that would describe the people and ways through which Birjandī’s texts returned to Iran. the table indicates merely that it happened very soon after Birjandī had composed his works. the material compiled in the table also suggests that the major locus for theoretical texts on the various mathematical disciplines in Safavid Iran was the madrasa, not the court as apparently was the case in timurid Iran and central Asia. Furthermore it indicates that the mathematical sciences were well established in a few centres, but spread – at least on the more elementary levels – beyond them. this geography of the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran deserves further investigation. When going beyond the criteria of date and location including more broadly texts that are affiliated with one or more names of patrons, scholars or scribes from the Safavid period, a few more interesting aspects for a future history of the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran can be discovered. In the eleventh/seventeenth century, several scholars who did not work as astrologers or are not known (yet?) as teachers of any of the mathematical sciences acquired a basic education in these sciences, collected a set of texts, occasionally wrote their own treatises on the one or the other topic from arithmetic, algebra, geometry, astrology or astronomy and donated them as waqf. Among these scholars were students of Mullā Ṣadrā who became leading representatives of the rational sciences in their own rights such as Muḥsin Fayḍ 103. compare also Kheirandish’s report on copies of the Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt in Iranian Libraries, Kheirandish, 2000.

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Kāšānī and sons, grandsons and great grandsons of well-known scholars such as Qiwām al-dīn Ḥusayn, a son of Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī, Muḥammad Hādī, a son of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī, Kalb ‘Alī, a son of Javād Kāẓimī, Muḥammad, a son of Muḥsin Fayż Kāšānī or Muḥammad ibn Ḥusayn and Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Muḥammad Ḥusayn, a grandson and great grandson of Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Zayn al-‘Ābidīn. other names appear repeatedly as scribes or owners of texts on the mathematical sciences which suggests that these texts were copied probably for teaching or studying purposes. Examples are Šayḫ Asad Allāh Muḥammad ibn Ḫātūn (waqf 1067/1656), Muḥammad ‘Alī Māzandarānī, Qurbān ‘Alī ibn ramaḍān Šams al-dīn Ṭabasī (fl. between 1080 and 1090/1670 and 1680), Sayyid Muḥammad Masīḥ Ḥusaynī Šīrāzī (fl. between 1070 and 1090/1660 and 1680) and Āqā Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Ḫādim Šarīf Iṣfahānī (waqf 1166/1753).104 A closer study of such names, the persons they represent and the mathematical, astronomical and astrological texts they owned, studied or copied is an important task for the future. A further group of buyers of treatises on topics from the mathematical sciences can be identified through ownership marks – physicians. While this is not surprising in the light of earlier centuries, the fact that so few physicians appear as owners of mathematical, astronomical and in particular astrological texts raises interesting questions about their access to the needed information, their qualification to interpret such information and their relationship to the astrologers. A topic that I have not pursued due to lack of access to material and time is the engagement of a few princes, governors and viziers with the mathematical sciences not merely on the level of education and entertainment, but as authors in their own rights. Studies of planetary theory and astronomical handbooks As already indicated briefly in my introductory summary on the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran, I consider the observation that texts on planetary theory by Ṭūsī, Šīrāzī, niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī, Birjandī and Ḫafrī were copied, studied and commented on throughout the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth centuries as one of the major results of my exploration of catalogues and their information about colophons, ownership marks and glosses. the texts that drew the attention of Safavid scholars and copyists were Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira, Zubda, Mu‘īniyya and Ḥall-i muškilat-i Mu‘īniyya, Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa and Nihāya, nīšābūrī’s Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira, Birjandī’s Šarḥ al-Taḏkira and Ḫafrī’s 104. Ibn Ḫātūn went from Iran to India where he became vizier in Hayderabad, deccan. He donated 400 manuscripts to the Shrine of Imām riżā in Mashhad; Šākirī 1367, pp. 92-93. For Āqā Zayn al-‘Ābidīn see velā’ī 1380, p. 37.

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al-Takmila fi-l-Taḏkira. they were studied in Isfahan, Shiraz and Mashhad, mainly in madrasas. A particular interest in planetary theory seems to have existed in Shiraz. If the information given in a manuscript extant today in Patna is reliable this interest started with Šīrāzī himself when he wrote in this city in 682/1283 his Nihāyat al-idrāk for the vizier Šams al-dīn Muḥammad Juvaynī (d. 683/1284). A copy made from the autograph in 687/1289 remained for some three hundred years in Shiraz. In the ninth/fifteenth century it was in the hands of Jalāl al-dīn dawānī (830-908/1426-1502), who was, however, not the only scholar in Shiraz at that time who studied Šīrāzī’s astronomical works.105 ŠāhMīr Šīrāzī (d. 898/1492-3) studied in Shiraz and wrote a commentary on ‘Alī Qušjī’s Hay’a called Tanqīḥ-i maqāle va tavżīḥ-i risāle. It consists of a maqṣid on the supralunar world, followed by a maqṣid on the sublunar world and a survey of the knowledge needed from geometry and natural philosophy.106 Some of his knowledge Šāh-Mīr derived from Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira and Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa and Nihāya.107 It may be however that he wrote this text in Gujarat.108 In the first half of the tenth/sixteenth century Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī acquired Šīrāzī’s manuscript of Nihāyat al-idrak copied in 687/1289. during the rule of Akbar, the manuscript was brought to India. For almost one hundred years, nothing is known about its whereabouts. then, in 1104/1692, a member of Awrangzeb’s court bought it. After his death it was sold to a scholar from Lucknow.109 Whether the manuscript was studied at the Mughal court is unknown. But in Shiraz the interest in planetary theory did not stop with the move of this manuscript to Mughal India. Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī is said to have studied the mathematical sciences with Ṣadr or Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī, including planetary theory. Since Ḫafrī wrote a commentary on Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa it may well be that he also studied Šīrāzī’s Nihāya. While no later information about the study of Šīrāzī’s texts in Shiraz was available to me, Ṭūsī’s texts continued to be of interest to teachers and students until the later eleventh/seventeenth century. In 1074/1663, for instance, a certain Muḥammad rīżā copied Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira in the Ismā‘īliyya Madrasa of Shiraz for Mīrzā Ibrāhīm, his teacher and head of the madrasa.110 In Isfahan, Šīrāzī’s Tuḥfa was copied in 990/1582.111 In the same city, Ṭūsī’s Zubda, Mu‘īniyya and Ḥall-i muškilat-i Mu‘īniyya were copied in 1068/1658 in 105. Maulavi 1937, pp. 42-43. 106. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1364, vol. 11, pp. 131-2. 107. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1357, vol. 6, p. 141. 108. See rahman 1982, p. 313. 109. Maulavi 1937, pp. 41-43. 110. Maulavi 1937, p. 41. 111. university of Pennsylvania, Schoenberg center, Smith collection.

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combination with two parts of Ibn Sīnā’s Kitāb al-najāt, the parts on natural philosophy and metaphysics.112 While this alone does not justify a claim about a possible impact that interest in medieval philosophy in eleventh/seventeenthcentury Isfahan had upon the study of the mathematical sciences, other manuscripts also bring together these two fields. thus, the possibility of such a link should at least be formulated as a question for further research. Ḫafrī’s commentary on Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira proved more attractive to Safavid scholars than the master’s work itself. A copy of Ḫafrī’s al-Takmila fī Šarḥ al-Taḏkira written in Ṣafar 932/november-december 1525, only a few weeks after the autograph (Muḥarram 932/october-november 1525), was owned by Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī who annotated it.113 A further copy was produced in 960/1552-3. It contains glosses by unspecified authors.114 A third copy was made in Isfahan in 1074/1664. It contains glosses and extracts from other commentaries on the Taḏkira by niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī, Sayyid Šarīf Jurjānī, Birjandī, Muẓaffar Gunābādī, Muḥammad Bāqir Yazdī, Muḥammad Ṣanī‘ and ‘Alī riżavī.115 In addition to manuscripts with glosses and marginalia, other copies of Ḫafrī’s al-Takmila fi-l-Taḏkira were produced in Isfahan, Shiraz or elsewhere in Iran until the end of the Safavid period, for instance in 1001/1591, 1059/1649, 1063/1653, 1066/1656, 1074/1664, 1112/1700 and 1120/1708.116 niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī’s and niẓām al-dīn Birjandī’s commentaries on Ṭūsī’s Taḏkira were also copied by Safavid scholars. ‘Alī ibn Mas‘ūd Ḥusaynī tafrīšī, who seems to have lived in Qom, produced a copy of the former in 1041/1631 and Muḥammad Sa‘īd ibn Muḥammad Amīn Kāšānī made a copy of the latter in 1061/1651.117 Some scholars of the Safavid period also wrote their own texts on ‘ilm al-hay’a among them Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī, Muṣliḥ al-dīn Lārī, Abū al-Ḫayr taqī al-dīn Muḥammad al-Fārisī (tenth/sixteenth century), Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī and Mīr dāmād (d. 1041/1630).118 Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī also is ascribed a work on the Almagest. But almost none of these texts have been analyzed yet. In contrast to the continued interest in planetary theory, new astronomical handbooks were only rarely produced in the Safavid period. one such Zīj was made by an anonymous scholar in tabriz around 957/1550.119 two other new 112. dāniš-pažūh - Anvarī 1976, p. 14. 113. dāniš-pažūh 1351, Kitābḫāne-yi Gawharšād, nr 186. 114. naqšbandī - Abbas 1982, p. 46, nr 933,2. 115. dāniš-pažūh - Anvarī 1976, p. 268, nr 464; see also Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1372, vol. 21, pp. 167-168; 1376, vol. 27, p. 129. 116. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1368, vol. 17, p. 95; Afšār - dāniš-pažūh 1352, pp. 164-165. 117. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1367, vol. 15, p. 31; 1370, vol. 20, p. 159. 118. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, pp. 552, 553, 559, 582, 594. 119. I owe this information to Benno van dalen.

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astronomical handbooks were compiled by Maẓhar al-dīn Muḥammad ibn Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Alī Qārī in Shiraz in 960/1553.120 A fourth new Zīj was produced more than one hundred years later in 1078/1668 in Mashhad for Šāh Sulaymān by Zamān ibn Šaraf al-dīn Ḥusayn Mašhadī.121 However, the study of major Ilkhanid and timurid Zīj works was paid more attention to among scholars of the Safavid period. commentaries on uluġ Beg’s Zīj were written by Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī under the title Mafātīḥ al-munajjimīn in the first half of the tenth/sixteenth century and Maẓhar al-dīn Qārī in Shiraz. A commentary on Ṭūsī’s Zīj-i īlḫānī was composed by Muḥammad Ašraf ibn Muḥammad Ja‘far Iṣfahānī in 996/1586 in Yazd.122 Kāšī’s Zīj-i ḫāqānī and uluġ Beg’s Zīj were copied once each in the eleventh/seventeenth century in Isfahan. the person who copied Kāšī’s Tables was some Zayn al-‘Ābidīn.123 uluġ Beg’s Zīj was copied in Isfahan’s Masjid-i Jāmi‘-i Jadīd-i ‘Abbāsī.124 Dedicated works on the mathematical sciences In the first decades of Safavid rule, no mathematical, astronomical or astrological treatise is known at the moment that was dedicated to a šāh except for one text on siyāq dedicated to Ismā‘īl.125 Patronage of these disciplines may not have yet focused on the court. A few treatises on planetary theory on the one end of the spectrum and on surveying on the other were dedicated to local dignitaries.126 In the late tenth/sixteenth and early eleventh/seventeenth century dedicating texts of the mathematical sciences to a šāh became more widespread. But not every šāh was considered equally worthy of the honour. As in the case of the ottoman sultans, certain Safavid šāhs received more dedications than others. In difference to the picture projected by ottoman manuscripts, there is no clear trajectory that could link this fact to other social and cultural developments. It rather seems that in the Safavid case the number of dedications reflected the support of certain of the mathematical sciences given or hoped for by a particular ruler. Most of the mathematical, astronomical and astrological texts were apparently dedicated to two šāhs – ‘Abbās I and Ḥusayn. Some other male members of the family and occasionally a great vizier or governor also received dedicated texts. the dedications mostly recognized 120. Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, p. 58; Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 568. 121. King 1986, G76. 122. dāniš-pažūh 1351, Kitābḫāne-yi Gawharšād, nr 338; Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, pp. 552, 568. 123. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1372, vol. 21, p. 136. 124. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī, 1357, vol. 7, p. 195. 125. See Appendix, table 1. 126. See Appendix, table 2.

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received patronage. occasionally they were part of a relationship that provided education. court astrologers such as Mullā Muẓaffar ibn Muḥammad Qāsim Gunābādī wrote texts on the astrolabe (1005/1595; a commentary on Ṭūsī’s Bīst bāb), astrology (1014/1604) and the qibla (1019/1609) for Šāh ‘Abbās I and his great vizier Ḫwāja naṣīr al-dīn Ḥātim Beg.127 Gunābādī’s treatise on the qibla outlines four elementary methods that were known since a long time. Ḥātim Beg was the recipient of another dedicated astronomical treatise written for him by Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī. It explains in seventy chapters the components of the astrolabe and their functions. It emulates naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī’s Bīst bāb and is seen as part of the astronomical teaching Bahā’ al-dīn gave to the interested great vizier.128 While Safavid courtly patronage for the mathematical sciences in the eleventh/seventeenth century appears to have been fairly stable, if also without major highlights, in the tenth/sixteenth century dedications of one and the same text could address different members of the dynasty. this fluidity of dedications may reflect instable patronage conditions that occurred in particular when a patron died. Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī’s famous Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb, for instance, carries in some manuscripts a dedication to Šāh Ṭahmāsb and in others a dedication to Mīrzā Ḥamza ibn Muḥammad Khudābanda, a grandson of Ṭahmāsb.129 Bahā’ al-dīn’s al-Kur on fiqh and arithmetic was originally dedicated to Ṭahmāsb. In some manuscripts this dedication has been changed to ‘Abbās I.130 Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī was the most successful writer of mathematical treatises in the Safavid period in terms of patronage relationships he accrued and in terms of posterior influence and recognition of his texts. In addition to the works he dedicated to Ṭahmāsb, Ḥamza and Ḥātim Beg, he wrote two astronomical treatises for ‘Abbās I, Tašrīḥ al-aflāk and al-Ṣafīḥa. Both explain the astrolabe, its construction and functions.131 Šāh Ḥusayn was the addressee of dedicated texts on the solar and lunar months (Miftāḥ al-šuhūr, 1109/1698) by Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Muḥammad taqī Majlisī, several ephemerides by court astrologers and a Persian translation of Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Zayn al-‘Ābidīn’s opus on arithmetic, number theory and algebra ‘Uyūn al-ḥisāb.132 In addition to dedicated texts, a few astronomical 127. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1355, vol. 5, p. 213; 1368, vol. 17, p. 75; 1368, vol. 18, p. 117. 128. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1357, vol. 7, p. 78. 129. Maulavi 1937, p. 14; Ethé 1903, nr 758. 130. Monzavī 1341, vol. 2, p. 203; Maulavi 1937, p. 16; a manuscript with a dedication to Ḥamza is for instance MS London, British Library, I.o. Islamic 758. 131. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1354, vol. 1, p. 169. 132. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1354, vol. 1, p. 187; 1364, vol. 11, p. 145; Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, pp. 6162.

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works were asked for or commanded by a šāh, a vizier or a governor. this applies in particular to the lavishly illustrated copies of the Persian translations of ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī’s Ṣuwar al-kawākib and the collection of texts for ‘Abbās II and Sulaymān discussed previously. Copies of mathematical texts by ancient scholars and scholars from pre-Safavid Islamic societies the texts by ancient authors copied in the Safavid period comprise of Euclid’s Elements, most often, but not exclusively in the edition by Ṭūsī, and a good number of texts from the Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt, i.e. treatises by theodosios, Aristarchos, Archimedes, Autolykos, Menelaos, Hypsikles and several scholars from Islamic societies. An anonymous paraphrase of the Elements was dedicated in 1003/1593 to a eunuch of Šāh ‘Abbās’ I’s court in Qazvin. this is the only information available at the moment about an interest in the Elements by a member of the Safavid court.133 Much greater was the interest in the Elements in Safavid cities and their madrasas, for instance in Yazd and Isfahan and presumably also in Shiraz. Šams al-dīn Khafrī commented on tūsī’s edition.134 MS Add. 2357 of the British Library contains a copy of the Persian translation of Samarqandī’s Aškāl al-ta’sīs and copies of several texts from the Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt. While the copy of the Persian translation of the commentary on the Elements is undated, the editions of texts by Autolykos and theodosios were copied in Yazd by Abū al-Qāsim Yaḥyā Astarābādī in 1014/1605 for his own use.135 the astrologer Muḥammad Bāqir ibn Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Yazdī commented in Isfahan on the Elements. He may have done this in different formats, since three manuscripts with different titles are extant in tehran – one called a commentary on the Taḥrīr of the Elements, i.e. most likely tūsī’s edition, another one on Books I to X and the third on Book X alone.136 He also commented on and copied other classical texts such as Menelaos’ Spherics, theodosios’ Spherics, Archimedes’ On Sphere and Cylinder and Ṭūsī’s edition of Apollonios’ Conics.137 He obviously acquired a very solid training in the basic textbooks of ancient 133. this may, however, change when more catalogues and manuscripts will be checked. A reason for this assumption is the fact that nādir Šāh donated in 1154/1741 several mathematical texts to the Āstān-i Quds riżavī library in Mashhad which include two short extracts from Euclid’s Elements, two texts from the Kutub al-Mutawassiṭāt (Hypsikles and Abū Sahl Kūhī), Ṯābit ibn Qurra’s treatise on two mean proportionals and an anonymous text on the qibla. 134. Sezgin 1975, p. 113. 135. MS London, British Library, Add 2357, ff. 31-133. 136. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 590. 137. Matvievskaya - rozenfel’d 1985, p. 590.

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mathematics. In this, he may have been a lonely bird among Safavid astrologers, but we also may simply know too little about the education of these professionals yet. that the latter may perhaps be the case is indicated by an ownership mark by Muẓaffar Gunābādī in MS Mashhad, Āstān-i Quds riżavī 3157. this manuscript contains a copy of Ṭūsī’s edition of Menelaos’ Spherics made in the tenth/sixteenth century.138 Ḏu al-ḥijja 1068/August 1658, twenty years after Yazdī’s death, Ṭūsī’s edition of the Elements was copied in Isfahan in the Šayḫ al-Islām madrasa by al-‘Abd al-Ġarīq for his professor al-‘Ālim ibn ‘Abd al-Ġanī ‘Abd al-Karīm raštī Gīlānī.139 MS India office Islamic 923 contains another series of texts from the Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt, i.e. Autolykos’ On the Moving Sphere, theodosios’ On Habitations and On Days and Nights, Aristarchos’ On the Sizes and Distances of the Sun and the Moon and Euclid’s On Heaviness and Lightness. It also includes a Persian version of Book I of Euclid’s Elements. Although the manuscript is undated and has no colophons, its calligraphy and illustration speak for a possible Safavid origin, may be even a courtly environment or at least the wealthy environment of urban bibliophiles. the Persian version of Book I in this manuscript is a modified copy of Šīrāzī’s Persian text of the Elements. the modifications are mostly philological in nature, replacing certain of Šīrāzī’s Arabic terms by Persian expressions.140 there are several other Safavid copies of Ṭūsī’s Taḥrīr of the Elements, Šīrāzī’s Persian translating edition of this Taḥrīr, Ṭūsī’s edition of the Kutub al-mutawassiṭat, Ptolemy’s Almagest and Apollonios’ Conics, both too mostly in Ṭūsī’s editions, available in libraries in tehran, Mashhad, Qom and other libraries in Iran. table 3 in the appendix gives an impression of when, where and occasionally also for whom such texts were copied. Beside works of ancient authors, Safavid students of the mathematical sciences also read books by scholars who had lived between the third/ninth and the eighth/fourteenth centuries in Iraq, Egypt, Iran, central Asia and northern India. they privileged scholars from the seventh/thirteenth to the early tenth/sixteenth centuries, in particular naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī, Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī, Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī, Qāżīzāda rūmī, Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī, ‘Alī Qušjī and niẓām al-dīn Birjandī. In addition to Ṭūsī’s Taḥrīrs of works by ancient and medieval authors as well as his and Šīrāzī’s works on planetary theory, Ṭūsī’s texts on the astrolabe and the ephemerides were often copied or commented on. this attention was seconded by copying commentaries on Ṭūsī’s Bīst bāb dar asṭurlāb, in particular that by Birjandī. Ibn Abū Šukr’s astrological writings 138. Afšār - dāniš-pažūh 1352, p. 113. 139. MS London, British Library, Add. 21952, ff. 149a, 9-15. 140. MS London, British Library, India office, Islamic 923, ff. 71b-95a.

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were most often copied, but his text on the astrolabe also attracted some attention. Miftāḥ al-ḥisāb was the text of Kāšī that was most often copied by Safavid scribes, students, and scholars. His Muḥīṭ al-dā’ira was also studied by at least one Safavid scholar who copied it from an autograph – Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī.141 Since ‘Āmilī also owned a very early copy of Ḫafrī’s autograph of his Takmila it will be useful to pay more attention in future to the type of manuscripts owned by Safavid scholars. It may well be possible that an antiquarian interest stimulated their collecting and copying of various works on the mathematical sciences. Qāżīzāda rūmī’s commentary on Čaġmīnī’s elementary introduction into planetary theory seconded by Birjandī’s supercommentary and ‘Alī Qušjī’s elementary introductions into arithmetic and planetary theory were the most often copied and commented upon works of these two colleagues of Kāšī. the only author who lived before the seventh/thirteenth century and one of whose treatises on the astrolabe was repeatedly copied in the Safavid period is Abū rayḥān Bīrūnī. texts by a few other early scholars of the mathematical sciences were also copied, albeit less often than those by the previously named writers. Some of them appear in collections of the Kutub al-mutawassiṭāt such as a text by Ya‘qūb ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī (d. ca. 260/873) about the errors that happen in optics, the text of the Banū Mūsā (third/ninth century) about plane and solid figures, Ṯābit ibn Qurra’s constructions of two mean proportionals or Abū Sahl Kūhī’s treatise on the size of what can be seen of the heaven and the sea. others such as Qusṭā ibn Lūqā’s treatise on the astrolabe, Ṯābit ibn Qurra’s text on parabolas, Abū al-Wafā’ Buzjānī’s book on geometrical constructions for craftsmen respectively commentaries on or abbreviations of it or Sijzī’s treatise on the crab-like astrolabe are transmitted as independent works. these copies deserve to be investigated for glosses and other signs that could elucidate whether the copying reflected also an interest in these works that went beyond the preservation of old manuscripts. on the geography of the mathematical sciences in Safavid iran the data compiled for this paper shows that the mathematical sciences were present through copying, teaching and studying in major cities of the Safavid realm. centers of previous dynasties continued to offer opportunities for the mathematical sciences under Safavid rule as did the capitals of the Safavid šāhs. religious centers, in particular Mashhad, also attracted scholars skilled in these sciences. 141. Hogendijk 2007, pp. 190, 199.

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Several mathematical, astronomical and astrological texts were copied, taught, commented on or dedicated by scribes and scholars in tabriz, Qazvin and Isfahan. Scholars with interest in the mathematical sciences also lived in Shiraz, Mashhad, Yazd, Kashan, Shirvan, Herat, Bistam, tiflis, Ganja, Shamakhi and Barvan.142 While there is little surprise that this was the case in cities with famous scholars and madrasas like Shiraz, Mashhad and Herat, there is no apriori reason to assume that all madrasas across Iran had a teacher competent in these disciplines and students interested in studying them. there were, nonetheless, a good number of places and madrasas were the mathematical sciences were taught and studied. Ṭūsī’s Bīst bāb was copied in 996/1598-9 in Bistam.143 Between 1020/1611 and 1024/1615, Abū al-Qāsim Istajlū studied two poems on astrology by or ascribed to naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī, a taqvīm, a treatise on music and letters by contemporary Janid and Safavid rulers in the capital of daylam.144 Mathematical, astrological and astronomical texts were even copied in Šāh ‘Abbās’ I summer residence Farahabad and in villages near Qa’in, Bistam and Lahijan. ‘Alī Qušjī’s Risāla fi-l-ḥisāb, for instance, was copied in a village near Qa’in.145 In 1039/1629 Muḥammad taqī Mašhadī Ḥusaynī copied Qāżīzāda’s commentary on Čaġmīnī’s Mulaḫḫaṣ in a fortress called Aḥmad Bakr.146 on 28 Ṣafar 1031/18 January 1622 a scribe finished in Farahabad the copy of a text on astrology by Muḥammad ibn Ayyūb Ḥāsib Ṭabarī (fourth or fifth/tenth or eleventh century), one of the earliest authors who wrote mathematical and astrological texts in Persian.147 Almost four months later, he copied the Persian translation of Kušyār ibn Labbān’s work Mujmal al-uṣūl in the same town.148 In rajab 1089/August 1678 Ṣādiq ibn Maḥmūd Kiyādehī copied ‘Alī Qušjī’s Hay’a in a madrasa in Khayrabad near Lahijan.149 A further extentsion of this kind of search will surely bring forth other locations where texts on the mathematical sciences were copied, read, commented on or bought.

142. See Appendix, table 1. 143. Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, p. 38. 144. Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, pp. 12, 226-227, 235, 252, 256, 293-294. 145. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1374, vol. 24, pp. 276-277. 146. Ṭāyār 1378, vol. 1, p. 154, nr. 119. 147. Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, p. 16. 148. Monzavī 1341, vol. 1, p. 304. 149. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1374, vol. 25, p. 188.

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contacts with aspects of the early modern mathematical sciences from catholic and Protestant europe A major difference to the activities undertaken by some scholars and courtiers in the capitals of the ottoman and Mughal states is the lack of impact that the encounters between Safavid scholars and catholic and Protestant visitors from various European countries left on the mathematical sciences in eleventh/seventeenth-century Iran. Although scientific instruments and occasionally a mathematical book were part of the gifts brought by embassies to the Safavid court and despite the fact that several travellers and numerous missionaries undertook observations of astronomical events such as the repeated appearances of comets and eclipses, studied Persian astrological texts and collected information about the mathematical literature and authors studied by Safavid scholars, discussed occasionally matters of planetary theory with local astrologers and claimed to have found their Safavid hosts often very keen in learning about the mathematical sciences in Europe, there are no substantial traces found in Safavid writings on such subjects. neither the court astrologers with whom some of the missionaries claimed to have conversed nor the scholars from Lar who in 1032/1622 took care of the sick Pietro della valle (1586-1652) reflect these encounters in their writings. the two texts, for instance, that Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy ibn ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī (fl. in the 1030s/1620s) wrote between 1017/1607 and 1037/1627 stand within the tradition of discussing astronomical and astrological events based on uluġ Beg’s Zīj.150 the more comprehensive treatise of the two, Ḥall va ‘aqd, was very successful as the many copies indicate that are extant today in libraries in particular in Iran and India, but also in Europe and north America. It consists of two chapters and a postface talking on the creation of an ephemeris, the casting of a horoscope and the ascent of the horoscope.151 It remains to be seen if this picture will change when more Safavid mathematical and astronomical texts will be investigated.

PErSPEctIvES I hope I could illustrate the rewards that a horizontal approach brings to a history of the mathematical sciences during the Safavid period. the information that I compiled for this paper while incomplete and in need of methodological refinement shows that the activities in the mathematical sciences undertaken in 150. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1355, vol. 5, pp. 210-211. 151. Mar‘ašī - Ḥusaynī 1355, vol. 5, p. 210.

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Safavid Iran were in various ways surprisingly rich. their comparison with analogous activities under some of the immediate predecessors as well as contemporary neighbours of the dynasty opens new ways for looking at the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran and thus frees them from the focus on mathematical creativity and progress as the only option for evaluation. the comparison also indicates that there is no unified history of the mathematical sciences in the Islamic world at large, not even in its core territories. there were rather histories specific to times and localities. once the similarities and differences of these histories are better known the difficult question of whether these variant histories were shaped by the politics of the particular dynasties which I took here as my very preliminary criterium of classification or whether the impact of these policies was rather negligible in comparison to much more local forces such as families of scholars and notables in a particular city can be addressed. the comparison that I carried out for the sake of this paper shows that the activities in the mathematical sciences in Safavid Iran shared features with those undertaken under some of the dynasty’s main predecessors and contemporaries. the Safavid šāhs and scholars took up timurid patterns, in particular in regard to the fields, texts and authorities studied, preferred and preserved. Several timurid works that are known today in unique copies were for instance preserved thanks to the interest that Safavid patrons and practitioners of the mathematical sciences took in them. But Safavid šāhs and scholars did not follow timurid precedences in all respects. the little interest in Zīj literature and astronomical observations is one of the major differences. If the timurid madrasas indeed failed to include the mathematical sciences on a larger scale as the current scanty data about teaching, studying or copying mathematical, astronomical or astrological texts in such environments may imply, this would be another feature that sets the mathematical cultures under the two dynasties apart from each other. the differences between the mathematical sciences under the Safavids and the ottomans concern the professionalization of parts of astronomy at mosques, the study of theory and the kind of activities that were undertaken at courts and those that were pursued in madrasas. the spreading of mathematical literature through the cities of the realm, in particular to the northwest, perhaps following the expansion into the caucasus Mountains, and their presence even in some of the villages may be another particularity of the mathematical sciences in the Safavid period. Peculiar features could be seen in an antiquarian interest in old manuscripts of privileged texts and in an interest in apocryphal astrological treatises that surfaced without predecessors or successors in 1084/1674, but may, perhaps, be contextualized within a survey of apocryphal texts on the occult sciences. A

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more detailed and comprehensive tracking of these and other specific features of the mathematical sciences in the two Safavid centuries is a much needed work for the future. only then the suggestions and preliminary interpretations that I have offered in this paper can be substantiated, rejected or accepted. Major issues that need to be clarified relate to the loci of the activities, the persons involved in these activities, the content of the activities and their dependence on their specific contexts, the place of the mathematical sciences in the general intellectual landscape of the Safavid period and the connection of their study with political, military and religious events and changes. It remains to be seen whether the current preliminary impression of a relatively late interest of the Safavid dynasty in the mathematical sciences and the limitation of Safavid courtly patronage for these sciences to some of the šāhs, viziers and governors will be sustainable. the role of specific families and their support for madrasas and other endowed teaching institutes in regard to the preservation of texts and instruments and the continuation of opportunities for teaching and studying the mathematical sciences is a topic that needs to be investigated for gaining a better understanding of the local particularities of the mathematical sciences in the Safavid period and for elucidating the ways in which scientific activities from earlier times were continued, altered or recast. Another important question that needs to be investigated is to what extent the relatively great number of copies of texts by ancient authors as well as by scholars who lived before the eighth/fourteenth century led to new mathematical studies and results among Safavid scholars or whether this care for old texts reflects other cultural trends such as an antiquarian interest in manuscripts. the documentation of the geographical spread of the mathematical sciences across Safavid Iran and the clarification of the functions of the mathematical sciences in different localities is a precondition before other issues of political, military, economic or religious contexts outside the main centres of Safavid rule can be addressed. the continuous production and reproduction of mathematical texts and their occasional co-existence with texts on natural philosophy, metaphysics and logic as documented in the catalogues of Qom, Mashhad and tehran challenge the widespread belief among historians of Safavid intellectual life that the mathematical sciences and natural philosophy were of little relevance to Safavid scholars. the relationship between these disciplines and the attitudes that different of their representatives held over time is a topic that deserves attention in the future. the migration of illumination from one type of astronomical literature to other kinds of astronomical texts as a peculiar phenomenon of the relationship between the arts and the mathematical sciences during the Safavid period is an issue that will profit from a more systematic exploration of this relationship in general, a domain where some research was

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done in the last years.152 the patterns of migration of scholars and texts from and to Iran and their impact on the activities in the mathematical sciences within Iran is another domain which only recently began to attract some attention. So far the research focused primarily on the moves of scholars from Iran to India and the ottoman Empire. Itineraries of texts and ideas coming from the neighbours of the Safavid dynasty and their overseas visitors are a field of study that has remained much less explored but deserves serious attention. And finally, the situation of the mathematical sciences during the last years of the Safavid dynasty is a topic that has not been dealt with yet.

152. vesel 2009.

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The Mathematical Sciences in Safavid Iran: Questions and Perspectives

Ziriklī, Ḫayr al-dīn, 1979 : al-Ā‘lam. Beirut, dār al-‘ilm li-l-malāyīn, vol. 4.

c. Websites http://facstaff.uindy.edu/~oaks/Biblio/IslamicMathBiblio.htm

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372

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aPPendix

the following three tables present the data on which my paper relied. table 1 surveys dated copies of mathematical, astronomical and astrological works made in the Safavid period. In column one the author of the text if known, the name of an editor if applicable, and the name of an eventual commentator are given. the next column gives the title of each work. columns three and four list the year and place of the copy. In the last column, all other additionally known information about scribe/s, addressee/s, owner/s etc. is registered. table 2 lists dedicated mathematical works of the Safavid period. columns one to four follow the usage of table 1. column five gives the names of people to whom the text was dedicated. table 3 brings together Safavid copies of mathematical works by ancient authors. column one to four follow the pattern of table 1. column five contains names of addressees, owners, and copyists.

919

Tarjama-yi ṯamara-yi Baṭlamyūs? al-Ḥisāb Šarḥ al-Taḏkira

al-Takmila fi-l-Taḏkira Šarḥ Aškāl al-ta’sīs Sī bāb dar asṭurlāb

Ḥāšiya ‘alā šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Ḥāšiya ‘alā šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Taḥrīr al-Majisṭī

Ptolemy - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Abū Muḥammad b. Aḥmad Bihištī Isfarā’aynī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

Qāżīzāda rūmī

anonymous

Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī - Qāżīzāda rūmī, Čaġmīnī

Mīr Ḥusayn b. Mu‘īn al-dīn Maybudī - Qāżīzāda rūmī, Čaġmīnī

Ptolemy - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Jumāda 956

954

954

Ṣafar 941 or 961

937

Ṣafar 932

929

7 Jumāda II 927

918

Šarḥ-i Sī faṣl

Anonymous - Ṭūsī

year of coPy

TiTle

auThor

Qazvin

Shiraz, Madrasa-yi Manṣūriyya

Shiraz, Madrasa-yi Manṣūriyya

Kashan

Shamakhi

Place of coPy

Muḥammad Ḥusayn b. ‘Alī

copyist Aḥmad b. Muḥammad naṣr Allāh

copyist Aḥmad b. Muḥammad naṣr Allāh

copyist Muḥammad Ḥusayn

with glosses by Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Muḥammad Amīn

copyist Ḥasan b. Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Astarābādī

copyist Aḥmad Iṣfahānī

addiTional inforMaTion

tABLE 1. dAtEd coPIES oF MAtHEMAtIcAL, AStronoMIcAL And AStroLoGIcAL WorKS MAdE In tHE SAFAvId PErIod

975 2 Ḏū al-ḥijja 976

al-Tuḥfa al-Šāhiyya

Hay’a

Ab‘ād wa-ajrām

Bīst bāb dar aṣṭurlāb

Bīst bāb dar taqvīm

Ḥall al-taqwīm

Faṭḥiyya

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Ajrām-i suflī va avẓā‘-i ajrām-i ‘ulvī Misāḥa

Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī

‘Alī Qušjī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

Abū al-Ḫayr Muḥammad taqī Fārisī

‘Alī Qušjī

Qāżīzāda rūmī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

anonymous

1 Ramażān 981

975

971

971

971

961

961

25 Rabī‘ II 960

960

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

956

Risāla dar ḥisāb va jabr o muqābala

Abū ‘Alā’ Bihištī Isfarā’aynī

Mashhad

Mashhad

Isfahan

copyist Ġulām ‘Alī b. darvīš ‘Alī Mašhadī

copyist Muḥammad Bāqir b. ‘Abd al-Qādir b. Hibat Allāh Ḥusaynī

copyist Muḥammad Mu’min Aḥmad; donor to Mashhad Āqā Zayn al-‘Ābidīn, 1166; same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Jalāl al-dīn Muḥammad; donor to Mashhad Āqā Zayn al-‘Ābidīn, 1166

copyist Sa‘d al-dīn Muḥammad b. Kamāl al-dīn Iṣfahānī

copyist Muḥammad Ṣādiq

Risāla dar ḥisāb

Muḫtaṣar rawḍ al-janān Ḥall al-taqwīm Taqvīm Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

Misāḥa

Šarḥ al-Taḏkira Šarḥ-i Sī faṣl Ṭūsī Šarḥ-i Zīj-i īlḫānī Bīst bāb al-Šamsiyya

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

anonymous

Abū al-Ḥasan b. Aḥmad Šarīf Qā’inī

taqī al-dīn Abū al-Ḫayr Muḥammad b. Muḥammad Fārisī

anonymous

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Muḥammad Ṭabasī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī - Ṭūsī

Jalāl al-dīn dawānī (?) - Ṭūsī

Muḥammad Ašraf b. M. Ja‘far Iṣfahānī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

4 Ḏū al-qa‘da 1001

999

996

Rajab 996

2 Ḏū al-qa‘da 990

987

19 Ramażān 986

11 Rab‘ī II 986

19 Ša‘bān 986

983

17 Rajab 982

Bistam

Yazd

Mashhad

Shiraz

copyist ‘Alī b. ni‘mat Allāh Ḥusaynī; dedicated to Ḫwāja niẓām al-dīn Mīrijān; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist ‘Abd al-Fattāḥ b. Maṣ‘ūd Šarīf, for Sayyid Sa‘īd

copyist ‘Alī b. ni‘mat Allāh Ḥusaynī; from the same manuscript as previous text

copyist ‘Alī b. ni‘mat Allāh Ḥusaynī

copyist Malik Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad Ṭabasī

copyist Ṣadr al-Islām Ibn ‘Alī al-Mawālī; owner Mīrzā Ḥakīm; worked on rules of arithmetic with his teacher ‘Abd al-raḥīm

1008 Ramażān 1009

Risāla dar ma‘rifat-i aṣṭurlāb

Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita Bīst bāb Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

Taḥrīr al-uṣūl, Books XIv-Xv Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira Hay’a Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb Šarḥ-i Zīj-i Uluġ Beg

Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

nūr Allāh b. Muḥammad Ḥusaynī

‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Euclid - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī - Ṭūsī

‘Alī Qušjī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

1012

Rajab 1014

1012

1009

1009

1008

Ḏū al-ḥijja 1006

1006

5 Ša‘bān 1006

Risāla fī ma‘rifat al-aṣṭurlāb

anonymous

1005

al-Rub‘ al-mujayyab

Qāżīzāda rūmī

Bistam

copyist ‘Alī b. Aḥmad nabāṭī

copyist Muḥammad Zamān b. Ḥusayn Ḫātūnābādī

copyist ‘Alī b. Aḥmad nabāṭī

copyist ‘Ināyat Allāh Ḥusayn Iṣfahānī

copyist Ismā‘īl

1015

Taḥrīr Kitāb al-kura wa’l-ustuwāna; Taḥrīr Kitāb al-ukar; Taḥrīr Kitāb Mānālā’ūs fī al-aškāl al-kuriyya Hall va ‘aqd

Risāla dar ḥisāb Šarḥ-i Zīj-i Jadīd-i sulṭānī Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ Risāla dar ḥisāb

Ġāyat al-idrāk fī dirāyat al-aflāk Tuḥfat al-munajjim

Archimedes, theodosios, Menelaos - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

Abū al-‘Alā’ Muḥammad Bihištī Isfara’aynī

‘Alī Qušjī

Qāżīzāda rūmī

‘Alī Qušjī

Aṯīr al-dīn al-Abharī

Jalāl al-dīn Muḥammad b. ‘Abd Allāh Yazdī

1021

1021

1020

24 Muḥarram 1019

1018

1018

Mashhad

Ganja

Qom

Lar

copyist and owner Abū al-Qāsim Yaḥyā Astarābādī; in the same manuscript as the previous text

Yazd

1014

Fī al-masākin

theodosios

Rabī‘ II 1017

copyist and owner Abū al-Qāsim Yaḥyā Astarābādī; in the same manuscript as the previous text

Yazd

1014

Taḥrīr Kitāb al-ukar, Book III

copyist ‘Abd al-Ġaffūr b. Maṣ‘ūd al-Ḫāqānī

copyist Muḥammad Qulī

in the same manuscript as the texts copied in 1014 in Lar

‘Alī Jān b. Ḥaydar ‘Alī Haravī

copy of autograph by Abū al-Qāsim Yaḥyā Astarābādī

theodosios

Yazd

1014

al-Ṣafīḥa

copyist Muḥammad Zamān b. Ḥusayn Ḫātūnābādī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Rajab 1014

Šarḥ-i Zīj-i Uluġ Beg

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

Muḥarram Rabī‘ I 1022

Taḥrīr al-masākin; Taḥrīr Kitāb al-mafrūḍāt; Taḥrīr Ma‘rifat misāḥat al-aškāl; Taḥrīr al-kura wa’l-ustuwāna; Taḥrīr Maqālat Aršimīdīs fī Taksīr al-dā’ira

Iḫtiyārāt-i Muẓaffarī

Sī faṣl

Kašf al-qinā‘ ‘an asrār šakl al-qattā‘

Taḥrīr al-Majisṭī

Zīj-i ḫāqānī dar takmīl-i Zīj-i īlḫānī

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Tanbīhāt al-munajjimīn

theodosios, Archimedes, Banū Mūsā - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Ptolemy - Ṭūsī

Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Kāšī

Qāżīzāda rūmī - Čaġmīnī

Muẓaffar b. Muḥammad Qāsim Gunābādī

1031

8 Ḏu al-ḥijja 1039

1028

1027

13 Jumāda I 1022; compared in 1024

1023

1023

2 Rabī‘ I 1021

Ma‘rifat-i taqvīm

Maḥmūd or Muḥammad Sirāj

1021

Lavā’iḥ al-qamar

Ḥusayn Kāšifī

Qal‘a-yi Aḥmad Bakr

Isfahan

Isfahan

capital of daylam

copyist Muḥammad taqī Mašhadī Ḥusaynī

copyist Zayn al-‘Ābidīn Yazdī

copyist Abū Ja‘far Kāfī b. Muḥtašam b. ‘Amīd b. Muḥammad Šāhinšāh Qā’inī who studied the work in Isfahan

copyist Muḥammad b. Ṭāhir Fāżil Kāšānī; from the same manuscript as the previous texts

copyist ‘Alī b. Šāhīd ‘Alī turkumānī

copyist Maṣ‘ūd b. Ḥabīb Allāh

copyist Muḥammad b. Ṭāhir Fāżil Kāšānī

annotated by Abū al-Qāsim Istajlū

Istiḫrāj

Tarjama-yi Mujmal al-uṣūl (Rajab 809)

Risāla dar ḥisāb

al-Durūs al-falakiyya

Hall va ‘aqd al-Hay’a

al-Šamsiyya

Šarḥ Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Arba‘ maqālāt = Mujmal al-uṣūl

Arba‘ maqālāt

Muḥammad b. Ayyūb Ḥāsib Ṭabarī

Kušyār b. Labbān

‘Alī Qušjī

Qāżī Kāšif Ardakānī Yazdī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

anonymous

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī

Amīr Mu‘īn al-dīn Muḥammad Ašraf b. Ḥabīb Allāh Šīrāzī

Ptolemy - Kušyar b. Labbān (?)

Ptolemy

in the same manuscript as the previous text; manuscript has a note by Muḥammad b. Ḥājjī, secretary of Šāh Ḥusayn; has two seals of Muḥammad raḥīm Munajjim from 1120 and 1125 (see table 2, p. 397) 26 Ḏū al-ḥijja 1038

student of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Aḥmad taqī b. Faqīh Muḥammad Aṣma‘ī copied for himself; glosses from Miftāḥ al-ḥāsib (sic)

begins with an introduction by a certain Šayḫ Abū ‘Abd Allāh b. ‘Abd al-Karīm

Isfahan

Isfahan

copyist Muḥammad rīżā b. Ḥajjī Sulṭān Muḥammad tabrīzī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

dār al-Salṭanat-i Farahabad

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Muḥammad rīżā rāzī, student of the author, copied the text from an autograph

copyist Muḥammad rīżā b. Sulṭān Muḥammad tabrīzī

dār al-Salṭanat-i Farahabad

1038

9 Ḏū l-Qa‘da 1038

1037

13 Jumāda I 1037

28 Ḏū al-qa‘da

Rajab 1032

1031

Jumāda II 1031

28 Ṣafar 1031

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ fī al-hay’a

Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira

Risāla dar ḥisāb

Muḫtaṣar al-Majisṭī

al-Ḥisāb

Miftāḥ al-munajjimīn

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Persian translation of Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita

Persian translation of Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita

Mu‘īniyya

Jāmāsb-nāma

Qāżīzāda rūmī - Maḥmūd b. Muḥammad Čaġmīnī

niżām al-dīn nīšābūrī

‘Alī Qušjī

Muḥammad Ḫāzinī

Mīrzā Muḥammad Ṭahir b. Ḥusayn Ḫān vāḥid Qazvīnī (d. 1112)

Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī

Qāżīzāda rūmī

Ḥasan b. Sa‘d Qā’inī ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī

Ḥasan b. Sa‘d Qā’inī ‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Jāmāsb, vizier Guštasb (ascribed) / translator Mīrzā ‘Abd Allāh Efendī Iṣfahānī (ascribed)

1049

17 Šawwāl 1049

1044

1043

1043

Rabī‘ II 1042

composed in 1042

1041

1041

4 Rajab 1041

8 Ḏū al-ḥijja 1039

Mashhad, court of Manūchihr Ḫān (?)

Mashhad, court of Manūchihr Ḫān (?)

dār al-salṭanat Isfahan, Madrasa Luṭf Allāh

Qal‘a-yi Aḥmad Bakr

copyist ‘Abd al-Bāqī Muḥammad Akbar

copyist Ḥasan Muḥammad taqī

copyist ‘Alī b. Maṣ‘ūd Ḥusaynī tafrīšī Qummī

copyist Muḥammad taqī Mašhadī

al-Fawā’id al-Bahā’iyya fī al-qawā‘id al-ḥisābiyya

Ḥāšiya fī al-Fawā’id al-Bahā’iyya

al-Kur

Šarḥ-i Bīst bāb

Taḥrīr al-Majisṭī

al-Aṣṭurlāb

al-Rub‘ al-mujayyab

al-Aṣṭurlāb

Tasṭīḥ al-aṣṭurlāb

Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

al-Jāmi‘

‘Abd Allāh b. Muḥammad b. ‘Abd al-razzāq Ḥāsib

anonymous

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Anonymous - Ṭūsī

Ptolemy - Ṭūsī

‘Alī b. ‘Īsā al-Aṣṭurlābī al-Ḥarrānī

anonymous

Abū Ma‘šar

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

anonymous

1052

1052

1051

1051

1051

1051

Muḥarram 1051

Muḥarram 1051

Ḏū al-ḥijja 1050

Ḏū al-ḥijja 1050

Ḏū al-ḥijja 1050

Mashhad

Mashhad

Mashhad

Mashhad

Mashhad

copyist Ġulām Lafīnī

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Ḥaydar Ḥusaynī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Ḥaydar Ḥusaynī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Ḥaydar Ḥusaynī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Ḥaydar Ḥusaynī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad Ṣādiq b. ‘Abd al-‘Alī taršīzī; copy is from the manuscript copied by Abū Ja‘far Qā’inī in Isfahan in 1027

from the same manuscript as the previous text

from the same manuscript as the previous text

Rabī‘ I 1055 1055

Ramażān 1055

al-Ṣafīḥa

Taḥrīr Kitāb al-ukar

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Kitāb yuštamilu ‘alā risāla min ‘ilm al-aḥkām

Risāla fī iqtirānāt al-kawākib wa-mā yadullu bihā

Zīj-i jadīd-i sulṭānī

Tuḥfat al-munajjimīn

Taḥrīr al-kura al-mutaḥarrika

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

theodosios naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Qāżīzāda rūmī

Sayyid Šarīf Jurjānī - Čaġmīnī

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

uluġ Beg et al.

Jalāl al-dīn Muḥammad b. ‘Abd Allāh Yazdī

Autolykos - Ṭūsī

1056

1056

22 Ramażān 1056

1054

Muḥarram 1053

1053

Isfahan

Mashhad

Isfahan Masjid-i Jāmi‘-i ‘Abbāsi

rūstā-yi Jab‘

copyist M. rašīd Ḥasanī; owner Qāżī M. Šarīf b. Mullā Musṭafā, Šayḫ al-Islām, Ardelān

copyist Kalb ‘Alī b. Mullā Javād Kāẓimī

copyist Kalb ‘Alī b. Mullā Javād Kāẓimī

copyist Muḥammad Ḥasan Ḥurr ‘Āmilī

copyist Ḥusayn b. Ḥājj Muḥammad al-Kāẓimī

from the same manuscript as the previous text

28 Ḏū al-qa‘da 1052

al-Aḥkām al-juz’iyya

anonymous

from the same manuscript as the previous text

1052

al-Aḥkām al-nujūmiyya

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

Ḏū al-ḥijja 1057

1057

1057

Kitāb al-isti‘āb li’l-wujūh al-mumkina fī ṣīnā‘at al-aṣṭurlāb

Nujūm (?)

Aḥkām taḥāwīl sīnī al-‘ālam

Aḥkām-i qirānāt-i kawākib

Aḥkām-i iḫtirāqāt

Taḥrīr al-Mu‘ṭayāt

Taḥrīr Manālā’ūs fī al-aškāl al-kuriyya

Dalīl al-munajjimīn

Abū rayḥān Bīrūnī

anonymous

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

anonymous

anonymous

Euclid - Ṭūsī

Menelaos - Ṭūsī

Ḥāfiz Ḥasan b. Šujā‘ b. Muḥammad b. Ḥasan tūnī

19 Rajab 1058

1057

1057

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1057

1057

6 Ḏū al-qa‘da 1057

Zīj-i jadīd-i sulṭānī

uluġ Beg et al.

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Aḥmad ‘Alī Mašhadī

copyist Muḥammad Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad Yūsuf Ṭāliqānī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad Yūsuf Ṭāliqānī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad Yūsuf Ṭāliqānī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad Ḥusayn b. Muḥammad Yūsuf Ṭāliqānī; collection was written for the astrologer Muḥammad rīżā b. Muḥammad taqī

copyist ‘Abd Allāh al-Laṭīf Muḥammad Šarīf b. Hājjī Maqṣūd ‘Alī al-Iṣfahānī

copyist Muḥammad taqī

Taḥrīr al-Ma’ḫūḏāt

Tarjama-yi Mujmal uṣūl al-aḥkām

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

Taḥrīr Kitāb al-ukar

Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Šarḥ al-Taḏkira

Maṭla‘ al-anvār

Tuḥfa-yi Ḥātimiyya

al-Ḥāšiya ‘alā Kitāb al-ukar

Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

Archimedes - Ṭūsī

anonymous – Kušyār b. Labbān

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī - Ṭūsī

theodosios - Ṭūsī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

niżām al-dīn Birjandī - Ṭūsī

Muḥammad Bāqir b. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Muḥammad Bāqir b. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn - theodosios

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī - Ṭūsī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

copyist ‘Azīz Allāh b. Yūsuf Ṭabātabā’ī

copyist Muḥammad Qāsim b. Muḥammad Ṭāhir Iṣfahānī

10 Jumādā II 1062

1063

copyist Muḥammad Sa‘īd b. Faḫr al-dīn; from the same manuscript as previous text

dedicated to Ḥātim Beg; copyist Muḥammad Sa‘īd b. Faḫr al-dīn; from the same manuscript as previous text

dedicated to Ṣafī; copyist Muḥammad Sa‘īd b. Faḫr al-dīn

copyist Muḥammad b. Sa‘īd b. Muḥammad Amīn Kāšānī

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Aḥmad ‘Alī Mašhadī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

22 Rajab 1061

1061

1061

Rabī‘ I 1061

1059

Muḥarram 1059

7 Muḥarram 1059

3 Muḥarram 1059

1058

Tarjama-yi Ṣuwar al-kawākib

Ḥāšiyat Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Bīst bāb dar aṣṭurlāb

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

Šarḥ-i Hay’a

Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Davā’ir-i a‘ẓām

Mu‘īniyya

Hay’a

Ḥall-i Muškilat-i Mu‘īniyya

Bīst bāb dar aṣṭurlāb

Ḥall-i Muškilat-i Mu‘īniyya

Bīst bāb dar aṣṭurlāb

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī (ascribed)

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

Muṣliḥ al-dīn Lārī - ‘Alī Qušjī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

anonymous

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

‘Alī Qušjī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1070

beginning of Ša‘bān 1068

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1070

beginning of Ša‘bān 1068

1068

beginning of Ša‘bān 1068

1 Ša‘bān 1067

1067

1066

Rabī‘ I 1066

1065

1063

1063

Isfahan

Isfahan

Isfahan

in the same manuscript as previous text

in the same manuscript as previous text

copyist Muḥammad b. Amr Allāh Yazdī

copyist ‘Alī b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Gurgānī Qummī

Rub‘-i mujayyab

Mir’āt al-anwār fī ma‘rifat sā‘āt al-nahār

Šarḥ-i Hay’a

Hay’a

Ḥāšiyat Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Ḥāšiya Taḥrīr Uṣūl Uqlīdis

Šarḥ al-Taḏkira

Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira

al-Jāmi‘ al-ṯābita

al-Madḫal al-kabīr

Šarḥ-i Sī faṣl

Kāšif al-dīn Muḥammad Ardakānī Yazdī

Muḥammad Bāqir b. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn

Muṣliḥ al-dīn Lārī - ‘Alī Qušjī

‘Alī Qušjī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

anonymous

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī - Ṭūsī

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī - Ṭūsī

Abū naṣr Aḥmad b. Ibrāhīm b. Fāris b. Ḥasan [Ḥusayn]

Abū Ma‘šar Balḫī

Muḥammad b. Muḥammad Kašġārī

1073

1073

1073

1072

16 Šawwāl 1072 proofread 8 Rabī‘ I 1079

Ḏū l-Qa‘da 1071

1071

1071

1071

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1070

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1070

tabriz

tiflis

tiflis

copyist ‘Alī taqī b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Amīn Qārī Sāravī; in the same manuscript as the previous text

in the same manuscript as the previous text

in the same manuscript as texts by Abū l-Qāsim ‘Alī b. Aḥmad Balḫī, Aristotle and Hermes, copied in 1084

copyist ‘Abd al-Ġanī Ḥusaynī, see copy of ‘Alī b. riḍwān’s commentary on Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos, 1079

copyist Ḥamza b. Abū Bakr

dedicated to Humāyūn

in the same manuscript as the previous text

in the same manuscript as previous text

Ḥisāb = Mīzān al-ḥisāb = Zubdat al-ḥisāb

Ḥisāb al-ḍarb

al-Ṣafīḥa

Sī faṣl

al-Jabr wa-l-muqābala

Ḥisāb

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

Taḥrīr Kitāb al-ukar

al-Fawā’id al-Bahā’iyya fī al-qawā‘id al-ḥisābiyya

Šarḥ-i Sī faṣl

Tuḥfa-yi Niẓām i = Šarḥ-i Sī faṣl

‘Alī Qušjī

anonymous

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

anonymous

‘Alī Qušjī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī - Ṭūsī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī - Ṭūsī

theodosios - Ṭūsī

‘Abd Allāh b. Muḥammad b. ‘Abd al-razzāq Ḥāsib

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī - Ṭūsī

‘Abd al-Qādir ruyānī Lahījī

Rajab 1076

Rajab 1076

1074

1074

1074

1074

1074-75

17 Ramażān 1074

12 Ša‘bān 1073

Ṣafar 1073

1072 (1073?)

Rabī‘ II 1073

dedicated by author to Sulṭān b. Sulṭān Yaḥya Kiyā of tabaristan; in the same manuscript as previous text

copyist Ja‘far b. Muḥammad Mu’min

copyist Muḥammad Ṣāliḥ b. Pīrzāde

copyist Muḥammad rīżā Šīrāzī, transcribed work for his teacher Mīrzā Ibrahīm, the head of the madrasa

Shiraz, Madrasa-yi Isma‘iliyya Isfahan

copyist Muḥammad Masīḥ Ḥusaynī Šīrāzī

copyist Muḥammad Mu’min b. niẓām al-dīn ‘Alī

copyist ‘Alī taqī b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Amīn Qārī Sāravī; in the same manuscript as the previous text

Isfahan

Qariyat-i Ḫunk, near Qa’in

Mashhad

in the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist ‘Alī taqī b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Amīn Qārī Sāravī; in the same manuscript as the previous text

1082

1083

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Hay’a

Ḥāšiya ‘alā Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ fī al-hay’a

Hay’a

Sirr al-asrar = al-Nukat fī al-tasyīr wa’l-istimrār

Aḥkām al-kawākib

Asrār al-nujūm

Muḫtaṣar Asrār al-nujūm

Qāżīzāda rūmī

‘Alī Qušjī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

‘Alī Qušjī

Abū al-Qāsim ‘Alī b. Aḥmad Balḫī

anonymous

Aristotle (ascribed)

anonymous - Abū Ma‘šar

in the same manuscript as the previous text

in the same manuscript as the previous text

5 Jumāda II 1084

1084

copyist Muḥammad ‘Alī b. Āḫūnd Mullā Babāyān damġānī

copyist Sayf al-dīn Maḥmūd b. Ḥājjī Ibrāhīm

copyist Šaraf al-dīn Ḥusayn

copyist Qurbān ‘Alī b. ramażān Šams al-dīn Ṭabasī

in the same manuscript as the previous text

Isfahan

Herat

Isfahan, Madrasa-yi nawwab

copyist Ḥabīb Allāh Mazandārānī; dedicated to Jalāl al-dawla al-‘Azīz b. uluġ Beg

copyist ‘Abd al-Ġanī Ḥusaynī Yazdī

1084

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1084

Muḥarram 1084

1082

11 Ṣafar 1080

Zā’iča

‘Abd al-razzāq b. Muḥammad Mu‘īn Kāšānī

Ramaẓān 1078 Rabī‘ I 1081 3 Rajab 1079

Tawḍīḥ al-Taḏkira

Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī b. riḍwān Šarḥ al-Arba‘ Maqālāt li-Baṭlamyūs Ptolemy

niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī - Ṭūsī

al-Āsās = al-Ḫamsa wa-ṯamanūn bāban

al-Fuṣūl

Kitāb ṣuwar al-kawākib al-ṯābita

Taḥrīr Uṣūl Uqlīdis

Bīst bāb

Hay’at

Tanbīhāt al-munajjimīn

Zubdat al-hay’a

A‘dād-i mutaḥābba

Panjāh bāb-i sulṭānī

Iḫtiyārāt al-ayām

al-Kur

Hermes (ascribed)

Hermes (ascribed); Iṣlāḥ by Ḥasan b. Aḥmad b. ‘Abd Allāh Ṣūfī

‘Abd al-raḥmān Ṣūfī

Euclid - Ṭūsī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

‘Alī Qušjī

Muẓaffar b. Muḥammad Qāsim Gunābādī

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Sayyid Masīḥ Ḥusaynī

rukn al-dīn Ḥusayn Āmulī

Muḥammad Bāqir Majlisī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

21 Ṣafar 1088

5 Muḥarram 1088

1088

beginning of Rajab 1087

Ṣafar 1087

1086

copyist Sayyid Masīḥ Ḥusaynī for himself

copyist Ibn Amīr ‘Abd al-Karīm Muḥammad Muḥsin Ḥusaynī

25 Jumāda II 1086 Ḏu al-ḥijja 1086

copyist Muḥammad Zamān b. Kuttāb Allāh Awjānī

copyist Qāsim b. Ḥusayn b. Zāl

in the same manuscript as previous text

in the same manuscript as the previous text

Ramażān 1085

Ramażān 1085

1084

1084

Madḫal-i manẓūm

al-Ṣafīḥa

Taḥqīq jihāt al-qibla

al-Kur

al-Nukat al-Šamsiyya fī l-qawā‘id al-ḥisābiyya

Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

al-Ṣafīḥa

Hay’at

Šarḥ-i Hay’a

Šarḥ-i Bīst bāb

Ibṭāl aḥkām al-nujūm

Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī (ascribed)

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Abū Zayn al-Ḥasan Fārisī (?) al- niẓām al-dīn nīšābūrī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

‘Alī Qušjī

Muṣliḥ al-dīn Lārī

anonymous

Abū naṣr al-Fārābī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

1092

10 Ša‘bān 1092

20 Jumāda I 1092

1091

15 Rajab 1089

1089

1089

11 Ḏū al-ḥijja 1088

1088

1088

Ḏū al-qa‘da 1088

1088

Isfahan, Madrasa-yi nawwab

Shiraz

Lahijan, Madrasa Khayrabad

Isfahan

copyist Qurbān ‘Alī b. ramażān Šams al-dīn Ṭabasī

copied for Muḥammad b. Muḥsin b. Murtażā Fayż Kāšānī

dedicated to ‘Alīšīr navā’ī

copyist Muḥammad Ṣadiq b. Maḥmūd Kiyādehī

copyist ‘Alī b. Ḫiẓr

copyist Muḥammad Ašraf b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Yazdī; from the same manuscript as the other texts by ‘Āmilī copied by the same scribe in 1088

dedicated to Šams al-dīn Muḥammad b. Bahā’ al-dīn; copyist Šayḫ ‘Alī b. ‘Abd al-Wahhāb

copyist Muḥammad Ašraf b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Yazdī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad Ašraf b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Yazdī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Muḥammad Ašraf b. Ḥājjī Muḥammad Yazdī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

Taḥrīr al-Majisṭī

Taḥrīr al-Majisṭī

Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

al-Ṣafīḥa

Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Taḥrīr al-masākin

Risāla dar taḥqīq qibla

Aḥkām al-nujūm

Ḥisāb

Šarḥ Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Šarḥ Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Ptolemy - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Ptolemy - naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

theodosios - Ṭūsī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

anonymous

anonymous

Fāżil Javād Kāẓimī Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Muḥammad Bāqir Yazdī Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

1099

1099

24 Rabī‘ II 1098

1097

1096

21 Ḏū al-ḥijja 1095

1095

1095

1095

1094

Ša‘bān 1093

Mašhad-i Ḥusayn

Mašhad-i Ḥusayn

copyist Ibn Muḥammad raḥim Muḥammad Ṣāliḥ

copyist Muḥammad Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad taqī tabrīzī for Āqā Muḥammad Masīḥ Lāhījānī

copyist Maḥmūd b. Ibrāhīm b. ‘Abd Allāh najafī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Maḥmūd b. Ibrāhīm b. ‘Abd Allāh najafī

copyist Muḥyī al-dīn Muḥammad Kātib was in possession of rustam b. Šāh vīrdī

8 Ḏu al-ḥijja 1104 Muḥarram 1105

Ġunyat al-anām fī ma‘rifat al-sā‘āt wa’l-ayyām

Aškāl al-ta’sīs

Šarḥ Maqālat Ibn al-Hayṯam fī ma‘rifat al-ašḫāṣ al-qā’ima waā‘midat al-jibāl wa-irtifā‘ al-ġuyūm

Šarḥ Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Risāle dar ḥisāb

al-Ṣafīḥa

al-Tabṣira fī ‘ilm al-hay’a

Ḥisāb al-farā’iḍ

Ḥall va ‘aqd

Muḥsin b. Murtażā Fayż Kāšānī

Šams al-dīn Samarqandī

anonymous

Šams al-dīn ‘Alī Ḥusaynī Ḫalḫālī - Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Luṭf Allāh Ḥusaynī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Šams al-dīn Abū Bakr Muḥammad b. Aḥmad Marwazī

Ḥusayn Šabākī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

22 Ṣafar 1108

1107-1108

1107

1106

1105

1105

Rabī‘ I 1104

12 Rabī‘ II 1101

Kifāyat al-ta‘līm fī ṣīnā‘at al-tanjīm

Abū al-Maḥāmid Muḥammad b. Maṣ‘ūd b. Muḥammad Ġaznavī Buḫārī

Ṣafar 1101

al-Tuḥfa al-Šāhiyya

Quṭb al-dīn Šīrāzī

Isfahan

Shiraz, Madrasa-yi Manṣūriyya

copyist Muḥammad taqī b. Muḥammad Aqdaṣ Šarīf ‘Āmilī Andijānī

copyist Muḥammad rīżā b. ‘Azīz Allāh tūnī

copyist Muḥammad rafī‘ b. Muḥammad Šarīf Ḥusaynī

copyist Muḥammad Sa‘īd b. Muḥammad Mu’min tabrīzī; owners Abū al-Ḥasan b. ‘Abd al-Qādir al-Šarīf al-Ṭabīb + Muḥammad ‘Alī al-Šarīf al-Ṭabīb

Šams al-dīn Muḥammad b. Ḥusayn Sijistānī

copyist Hadī b. Muḥammad ‘Alī b. Ḥājjī Malik Qāsim

copyist Favāris damāvandī

Šarḥ Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Šarḥ-i Bīst bāb

Ḥall va ‘aqd

al-Madḫal al-mufīd …

Aḥkām taḥāwīl sīnī al-‘ālam

Ḥall va ‘aqd

Taḥrīr Uṣūl Uqlīdis

Kitāb al-šifā’ (all four parts)

Risāla dar taḥqīq qibla

Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

al-Safīr

al-Takmila fī al-Taḏkira

Ja‘fariyya dar masā’il-i ḥisābiyya

Mīr Ḥusayn Maybudī Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Muẓaffar al-dīn Gunābādī Birjandī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

Ibn Abū Šukr al-Maġribī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

Euclid - Ṭūsī

Ibn Sīnā

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī

Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

Qivām al-dīn Ḥusayn b. Šams al-dīn Ḫafrī

23 Ḏū al-qa‘da 1120

Jumāda I 1120

1118

1118

1116

1116

1114

24 Rajab 1113

1113

1113

1112

1111

1109

Shiraz

Kirman

Isfahan

copyist Muḥammad ‘Alī b. Muḥammad Ḥusayn

copyist Muḥammad Ṣādiq Iṣfahānī

copyist Muḥammad Ṣādiq Iṣfahānī

copyist rafī al-dīn Muḥammad Ḥusaynī Ṭabasī

copyist Muḥammad Qāsim b. Bāqir ‘Ūsjānī

copyist Muḥammad Mu’min

Šarḥ-i Bīst bāb dar taqvīm

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ fi l-hay’a

al-Ḥāšiya ‘alā Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ

Lubāb al-ḥisāb

Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Šarḥ al-Mulaḫḫaṣ fi l-hay’a

Taqvīm

Taqvīm

Taqvīm

Muẓaffar al-dīn Gunābādī Birjandī

Qāżīzāda rūmī - Čaġmīnī

niẓām al-dīn Birjandī

Sayyid Muḥammad Manṣūr

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Qāżīzāda rūmī - Čaġmīnī

anonymous

anonymous

anonymous

1131

for Šāh Ḥusayn

for Šāh Ḥusayn

for Šāh Ḥusayn

1129

1130

copyist ‘Alī taqī b. Mullā valī Ganja’ī

tiflis?

copyist Ḥasan b. ‘Abd al-Ġaffūr b. Jāmī Ḥusaynī; from the same manuscript as the previous text

copyist Ḥasan b. ‘Abd al-Ġaffūr b. Jāmī Ḥusaynī

copyist Muḥammad Hadī b. Šayḫ Bahā’ al-dīn Muḥammad Mi‘mār Iṣfahānī

1129

1127

1125

1125

1125

1124

Muḥammad Ḫudābanda; ‘Abbās I

Ḥātim Beg

Risāla dar ḥisāb al-Kur Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb

Tuḥfa-yi Muḥammadiyya/Tuḥfa-yi ‘Abbāsiyya

Tuḥfa-yi ḥātimiyya = Haftād bāb dar aṣṭurlāb

Muḫtaṣar Taḥrīr Kitāb Uqlīdis

Šarḥ-i Bīst bāb dar ma‘rifat-i taqvīm

Qānūn al-idrāk fī tašrīḥ al-aflāk

Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Abū Isḥāq Muḥammad ‘Āšiqī Kirmānī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Mīrzā Qāżī Ibn Kašīf al-dīn Muḥammad Ardakānī Yazdī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

anonymous

al-Muẓaffar Muḥammad b. Qāsim Gunābādī - Birjandī

Muḥammad Ṣādiq al-tunikabānī; student of Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

1007

1005

1003

973/1563

Isfahan

Isfahan

Qazvin

Ṭahmāsb; Mīrzā Ḥamza

Risāla dar ālāt-i raṣdiyya

‘Abd al-Mun‘im ‘Āmilī

‘Abbās I

‘Abbās I

a eunuch of the court

Ṭahmāsb

Ṭahmāsb

Ṭahmāsb

Ismā‘īl

Ḫwāja niẓām al-dīn Mīrijān

Jāmi‘ al-qirānāt

19 Ramażān 986

Muḥyī al-dīn b. Badr al-dīn al-Avārī

dedicaTed To

Misāḥa

Place of coPy

Muḥammad Ṭabasī

daTe of coPy

TiTle

auThor

tABLE 2. dEdIcAtEd MAtHEMAtIcAL tEXtS oF tHE SAFAvId PErIod

Tanbīhāt al-munajjimīn

Ḥall va ‘aqd

Tuḥfa-yi Ḥātimiyya Tašrīḥ al-aflāk al-Ṣafīḥa Ḥall al-masā’il Maṭla‘ al-anwār

Tuḥfa-yi Sulaymāniyya (Zīj)

Tafrīḥ al-idrāk fī taqḍīḥ Tašrīḥ al-aflāk

Mir’āt-i Sulaymān

Taqvīm

al-Muẓaffar Muḥammad b. Qāsim Gunābādī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

al-Muẓaffar Muḥammad b. Qāsim Gunābādī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Bahā’ al-dīn ‘Āmilī

Quṭb al-dīn ‘Abd al-Ḥayy b. ‘Izz al-dīn Ḥusaynī Lārī

Muḥammad Bāqir b. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn

Zamīn b. Šaraf al-dīn Ḥusayn al-Mašhadī

Mīr Ṣadr al-dīn Muḥammad b. Muḥammad Ṣādiq Ḥusaynī Qazvīnī

Muḥammad ‘Alī b. Muḥammad Qāsim

Muḥammad Kāfī b. Abū al-Ḥasan Qā’inī

1103

1085

1083

1078

1037

1019

Rabī‘ II 1017 (?)

1014 or 1024 (?)

Qazvin

Mashhad

Isfahan

Lar/Shiraz

Isfahan

Lar

Isfahan

Sulaymān?

Sulaymān

Zunīl Ḫān, governor of Qazvin

Sulaymān

Ṣafī

Amīr Abū al-Ḥasan, governor of Fars

‘Abbās I

‘Abbās I

Ḥātim Beg

‘Abbās I

‘Abbās I

Taqvīm

Tarjama-yi ‘Uyūn al-ḥisāb

Taqvīm

Miftāḥ al-šuhūr Taqvīm Taqvīm Taqvīm Taqvīm

Muḥammad Ašraf Munajjim b. Muḥammad Ṣādiq

Muḥammad Bāqir b. Zayn al-‘Ābidīn; translator: Muḥammad Bāqir b. Mīr Ismā‘īl Ḥusaynī Ḫātūnābādī

Muḥammad Ḥusayn Munajjim b. Abū al-Ḥasan Munajjim Gunābādī

Muḥammad Bāqir b. M. taqī Majlisī

Muḥammad raḥīm Munajjim

Anonymous

Anonymous

Anonymous

Ḥusayn Ḥusayn

1131

Ḥusayn

Ḥusayn

Ḥusayn

Ḥusayn

Ḥusayn

Sulaymān

1130

1129

1111

11 Ša‘bān 1109

1107

1103

Data Spherics Spherics Optical errors Phainomena Habitations Risings and Settings On Days and Nights On Risings Knowledge of the size … On two mean proportionals

Spherics Spherics Habitations Optics Data

Elements, Books XIv-Xv

no 4009 Qom theodosios Autolykos theodosios Euclid Euclid

no 12091 Mashhad Euclid

Almagest

no Add 23392 London Ptolemy

no 7580 Qom Euclid theodosios Autolykos Ya‘qūb b. Yūsuf al-Kindī Euclid theodosios theodosios Hypsikles Hypsikles Abū Sahl Kūhī Ṯābit b. Qurra

TexT

auThor

Ramażān 1009

18 Ša‘bān 1009

28 Muḥarram 960

Muḥarram 955

daTe of coPy

Isfahan

Qazvīn?

Place of coPy

tABLE 3. SAFAvId coPIES oF tEXtS BY AncIEnt AutHorS

addressee: Āqā Jalāl Muḥammad

diagrams were added in Qazvīn Jumādā II, 956 by Muḥammad Ḥusayn b. ‘Alī

addreSSee/oWner/coPyiST

Spherics, Book III

On Habitations Favā’id-i Jamālī Persian translation of Aškāl al-ta’sīs

Add 2357 London theodosios

no 134/207, tehran, Majlis Archimedes theodosios Menelaos

Ṣafar 1015

On Risings Lemmata Sphere and Cylinder

Hypsikles Archimedes Archimedes

Sphere and Cylinder Spherics On spherical figures

Yazd

1014

Habitations Risings and Settings

theodosis theodosios

theodosios Muḥammad b. Muḥammad b. Qivām al-dīn Qāzī valištānī Haravī Šams al-dīn Samarqandī

Yazd

1014

Lemmata Phainomena On Days and Nights

Ṯābit b. Qurra Euclid Hypsikles 1010

Spherics Spherics

no 4921 Qom theodosios Autolykos

copyist ‘Alī Jān b. Ḥaydar ‘Alī Haravī

copyist and owner: Abū al-Qāsim Yaḥyā Astarābādī

13 Jumāda I 1022

Measuring the Circle

On the Transversal Figure

Spherics Habitations Data On Days and Nights On Risings

Muḫtaṣar al-Majisṭī

Almagest

Archimedes

naṣīr al-dīn Ṭūsī

no 5386 Mashhad Autolykos theodosios Euclid theodosios

Hypsikles

no 5387 Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb Muḥammad Ḫāzinī - Ptolemy

no 3389 Mashhad Ptolemy

Muḥarram 1051

1041

1026 or 1066 or 1096

Rabī‘ I 1022

On Sphere and Cylinder

Archimedes

Muḥarram 1022

Other Proof on theorem 7 of the Book of the Banū Mūsā

Habitations Lemmata Measuring of figures

anonymous

no 66477 tehran, the center for the Great Islamic Encyclopedia theodosios Archimedes Banū Mūsā

Mashhad

copyist Muḥammad Ṣādiq b. ‘ Abd al-‘Alī taršīzī

donated as waqf in 1166 by Āqā Zayn al-‘Ābidīn

copyist Muḥammad b. Ṭāhir Fāżil Kāšānī

Spherics

Spherics

Spherics

Data

Lemmata

Spherics

Elements

Elements

no 944 tehran, university theodosios

no 5259 Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb Autolykos

no 5256 Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb Menelaos

no 5257 Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb Euclid

no 5396 Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb Archimedes

no 3215 Mashhad theodosios

nr 6465 Qom Euclid

Add 21952 London Euclid 1068

22 Rajab 1063

Muḥarram 1059

1058

1057

1057

1053

Muḥarram 1053

Isfahan Šayḫ al-Islām Madrasa

Isfahan

copyist: al-‘Abd al-Ġarīq addressee: his teacher ‘Alī b. ‘ Abd al-Ġanī raštī Gīlānī

copyist: Mīrzā Muḥammad b. M. Šarīf

Spherics

Elements

Almagest

Almagest

Habitationes

Elements

Habitations Optics Body of the Two Luminaries

no 3293 Mashhad theodosios

no 8380 Qom Euclid

no 5455, Mashhad Ptolemy

no 3653 Mashhad Ptolemy

no 5401 Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb theodosios

no 4 riyāḍiyyāt Mashhad Madrasa-yi nawwāb Euclid

nr 9325 Qom theodosios Euclid Aristarchos

1117-1122 (?)

1114

1096

1094

Ša‘bān 1093

4 Rabī‘ I 1080

1074

Isfahan

Isfahan

copyist Muḥammad Qāsim b. Bāqir ‘Ūsjānī

copyist Muḥyī al-dīn Muḥammad Kātib was in possession of rustam b. Šāh vīrdī

owner: rīżā b. Muḥammad Hāšim Musavī

copyist Muḥammad Ṣāliḥ b. Pīrzāde

Les traités persans sur Les sciences indiennes : médecine, zooLogie, aLchimie

Fabrizio Speziale

Abstract: This article discusses the production of Persian and Urdu texts on Indian sciences in early-modern and modern India, by focusing on the works composed in the field of medicine, zoology and alchemy. It examines the main grounds, trends and works that characterized this movement of studies, which had already emerged during the sultanate period and endured until the Colonial epoch. This can be considered as one of the major movements of scientific studies dealing with a pre-Islamic tradition that took place in the Muslim world. Several of these works were produced for Muslim nobles. However, the writing of these treatises, especially the medical ones, was to a large extent stimulated by practical reasons, such as identify drugs in the local pharmacopoeia. Studying Indian pharmacopoeia became a way to adapt Muslim physicians’ practice to local conditions. Moreover, scientific texts in Persian and later on in Urdu were composed by Hindu scholars. During the Colonial epoch, Persian works on Indian sciences and English translations from Persian were made for and by the British; works on the subject appeared in Urdu as well.

IntroductIon : la tradItIon avIcennIenne en Inde les historiens de la médecine dans le monde musulman ont nourri l’idée que la première modernité est une période de déclin pour les études médicales, caractérisée par une production littéraire de second plan qui ne serait qu’une copie stérile de textes classiques arabes écrits avant le treizième siècle, tel le Qānūn d’Ibn Sīnā (m. 370/980), textes qui eurent par ailleurs, une grande résonance dans le monde latin. cette « idéologie du déclin » repose sur le mythe d’un « âge d’or » de la médecine dans le monde musulman, dont la fin coïnciderait plus ou moins avec la chute du califat

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abbasside1. cette périodisation est implicite dans la vision de la plupart des œuvres majeures sur l’histoire de la médecine dans le monde musulman, œuvres qui consistent le plus souvent en l’histoire des textes écrits en arabe jusqu’au début du mouvement de leur traduction en latin et de leur absorption par le monde européen. or, l’époque du déclin de la production médicale en langue arabe correspond à celle du développement des études médicales musulmanes en Inde, dont la vaste production littéraire en persan n’a encore jamais fait l’objet d’une étude exhaustive. une analyse plus approfondie des sources montre qu’il serait en effet injustifié de définir le corpus de la littérature médicale indo-persane comme une production manquant d’originalité par rapport à la littérature arabe. au contraire, la production médicale en langue persane de l’Inde, marquée par des traits indianisants, est précisément caractérisée par son identité spécifique vis-à-vis de l’héritage de la littérature arabe. Plusieurs traductions et commentaires persans de textes arabes furent composés dans le sous-continent indien, l’intérêt des auteurs se concentrant surtout sur le Qānūn d’Ibn Sīnā et ses abrégés. or en même temps, en Inde, des textes tels le Kāmil al-ṣinā‘at al-ṭibbiyya d’al-Majūsī (m. environ 384/994), le Kitāb al-Manṣūrī et le Kitāb al-ḥāwī d’al-rāzī (m. 313/925) ou le Kitāb al-kulliyat de Ibn rušd (m. 595/1198) n’ont jamais fait l’objet de traductions ou de commentaires remarquables en persan. on peut observer le même phénomène pour ce qui concerne la littérature médicale de l’Iran safavide. les versions intégrales de certains textes classiques arabes circulèrent bien davantage en traduction latine qu’en traduction persane. le Kitāb al-ṣaydana d’al-Bīrūnī (m. après 442/1050) avait été traduit par abū Bakr al-Kāšānī durant le règne du sultan de delhi Iltutmiš (r. 1211-1236), mais par la suite, on ne connaît pas une seule traduction persane intégrale d’un texte classique médical arabe qui ait été réalisée en Inde durant l’ensemble de la période du sultanat de delhi, soit environ trois siècles. c’est seulement à partir du XvIe siècle que se multiplièrent en Inde les traductions et les commentaires des ouvrages classiques arabes, dont la plupart concernent le Qānūn d’Ibn Sīnā et ses abrégés. le commentaire persan le plus diffusé parmi les médecins indo-musulmans d’un abrégé du Qānūn, ne fut composé qu’au début du XvIIIe siècle par akbar arzānī. 1. cette vision se retrouve soutenue soit par des auteurs qui ne prêtent aucune attention à la production d’origine indo-persane, tels Bürgel et Weisser, soit par un auteur comme elgood qui mentionne au contraire plusieurs traités d’auteurs ayant vécu en Inde, mais conclut en affirmant que : « a further consideration arises on this subject of Moghul translations and compositions. this is the pathos of their efforts, the waste of their labours. the System of Medicine [sic] upon which they spend hours and hours transcribing and translating was already dying and outdated ». elgood 1970, p. 88, et aussi pp. 19, 87 ; Bürgel 1998, pp. 53-54 ; Weisser 2002.

Les traités persans sur les sciences indiennes

405

cyril elgood avait tenté de donner une explication – très peu vraisemblable cependant2 – de cette tendance spécifique de la production littéraire indienne, si on la compare notamment aux textes composés dans l’Iran safavide. l’examen des bibliographies présentes dans certains textes indo-persans, des manuscrits des textes arabes copiés ou circulant en Inde, et des textes médicaux faisant partie du cursus des madrasas indiennes, sans oublier les traductions indo-persanes d’ouvrages arabes, indique que les médecins indiens lisaient et connaissaient très bien les manuels classiques de la tradition arabe3. le fait que parmi les médecins indo-musulmans ces textes circulaient en version arabe constitue évidemment l’une des raisons fondamentales des limites du processus de traduction en persan de certains ouvrages arabes très connus en occident latin. l’analyse des textes médicaux écrits en Inde, ainsi que de la gamme des connaissances qu’ils véhiculaient, impose d’élaborer des formes de réflexion sortant des schémas habituels centrés sur la production en arabe, au sein desquels le rôle de la science médicale dans le monde musulman est essentiellement perçu au travers de ses relations avec le savoir grec puis avec le monde latin. les ouvrages sur les médecines avicennienne et indienne composés en persan, et par la suite en ourdou, en Inde, aux époques moghole (1526-1858) et coloniale (1858-1947) constituent l’un des corpus de textes médicaux les plus riches produits dans le monde musulman durant ces époques. Pendant plusieurs siècles, d’éminents médecins iraniens migrèrent vers les villes indiennes, attirés par le patronage qui leur était réservé. Il se trouvait beaucoup plus de lecteurs persanophones en Inde moghole qu’en Iran safavide et post-safavide4. les savants hindous également, rédigèrent des textes scientifiques en persan, et par la suite en ourdou. les principautés indiennes qui émergèrent avec le déclin des Moghols, continuèrent à patronner les médecins avicenniens et leurs ouvrages ; sous les derniers niẓāms de Hyderabad, le modèle classique du patronage de cour fut abandonné et les médecines traditionnelles indiennes furent intégrées dans les départements modernes de l’etat. en Inde britannique, 2. « By Safavid times […] very few changes were made or could be made. a few new drugs were added […] In consequence the old text-books were well able to meet the requirements. Had these text-books been available to the Moghul doctors, I do not think that they would have laboured to write the huge and lengthy volumes that I have just described. But for the most part they were not available. a refugee does not carry with him many heavy books. only consider the distance between north Persian and delhi. First there are many miles of rough country or desert to traverse before reaching Herat […] », elgood 1970, p. 87. 3. de plus, les médecins indo-musulmans lisaient les ouvrages majeurs composés en persan par les médecins de l’Iran safavide, tels ‘Imād al-dīn Maḥmūd Šīrāzī (fl. moitié du XvIe siècle) et Mīr Mu’min tunakābunī (fl. deuxième moitié du XvIIe siècle). 4. la population de l’Inde à l’époque moghole était nettement supérieure à celle des territoires des Safavides, cf. cole 2002, pp. 16, 18 ; Gaborieau 2007, p. 40.

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la perte de la position privilégiée dont les médecins avicenniens avaient joui durant sept siècles sous le règne des musulmans, fut suivie par la naissance d’institutions et de collèges privés, souvent empruntés aux modèles coloniaux.

leS aSPectS et l’orIentatIon deS étudeS en PerSan Portant Sur leS ScIenceS IndIenneS les contacts avec les sciences indiennes s’étaient amorcés assez tôt dans le monde musulman et les savants musulmans avaient déjà connaissance de certains éléments scientifiques d’origine indienne bien avant l’instauration de dynasties musulmanes dans le sous-continent. des médecins indiens avaient été actifs dans le monde musulman durant la période abbasside, lorsque les textes de caraka, Suśruta et vāgbhaṭa furent traduits du sanscrit5. ‘alī ibn Sahl rabban al-Ṭabarī (moitié du IXe siècle) consacre une section entière à la médecine indienne dans le Firdaws al-ḥikmat. Son élève al-rāzī, mentionne lui aussi des sources indiennes dans le Kitāb al-ḥāwī. cette activité produisit déjà quelques exemples en langue persane, Ibn al-nadīm rapporte que la première traduction de caraka avait été réalisée dans cette langue. la pharmacopée indienne est traitée dans le dictionnaire des drogues en persan, le Kitāb al-abniya ‘an ḥaqā’iq al-adwiya, composé aux alentours de 975 par Muwaffaq ibn ‘alī al-Harawī. Il faut cependant remarquer que les textes sur la médecine indienne composés au cours de la période abbasside n’eurent apparemment aucune résonance en Inde à la période musulmane. Même la section sur la médecine indienne du Firdaws al-ḥikmat ne fit pas l’objet de traductions ou de commentaires importants en persan : les ouvrages réalisés en persan sur les sciences indiennes en Inde étaient surtout de nouveaux traités. la phase indienne des traductions et des traités en persan sur les sciences indiennes commença après l’instauration du sultanat de delhi, fondé au début du XIIIe siècle. les traductions du sanscrit ne concernaient pas seulement les sciences, mais également des domaines tels que les Purāṇa, la mystique, les belles-lettres, l’épopée et la musique. les ouvrages concernant certaines disciplines comme la mystique, ont notamment fait l’objet d’un certain nombre d’études récentes, or aucune étude n’a encore été spécifiquement consacrée à la production à caractère scientifique6. la rédaction de textes scientifiques commença déjà à s’affirmer dans l’Inde pré-moghole : l’Aṣṭāṅgahṛdayasaṃhitā 5. cf. Ibn al-nadīm 1970, vol. 2, p. 710 ; Sezgin 1970, pp. 187-202 ; verma 1992. 6. cf. en particulier la vue d’ensemble de la recherche sur le sujet qui est proposée par ernst 2003a ; cf. aussi Habibullah 1938.

Les traités persans sur les sciences indiennes

407

de vāgbhaṭa et des sources sur l’hippologie et l’hippiatrie furent traduites du sanscrit ; quelques autres traités en persan comprennent des descriptions du savoir local et utilisent le lexique médical et pharmacologique indiens. ce mouvement se développa notamment durant l’époque moghole, plusieurs textes appartenant à la période moghole tardive. le courant d’études en persan, puis en ourdou, portant sur la médecine et les sciences indiennes doit être considéré comme l’un des grands mouvements de transfert du savoir scientifique réalisés dans le monde musulman. en ce qui concerne la médecine et les sciences de la nature, les études en persan et en ourdou portant sur le savoir indien constituent dans le monde musulman de la première modernité et à l’époque moderne, le mouvement le plus important de ce type à avoir été réalisé à partir d’une tradition préislamique. Parmi les matières scientifiques indiennes, la médecine fut le domaine sur lequel se concentra le plus l’attention des savants musulmans. Bien que l’on trouve quelques traductions importantes d’ouvrages sanscrits sur les mathématiques, le nombre des textes sur ces disciplines apparaît bien moindre que celui des ouvrages portant sur la médecine. en dehors de quelques rares cas, les textes majeurs de l’époque moghole furent tous composés en persan. le texte médical le plus important à avoir été rédigé en arabe est assez tardif : il s’agit de la première version du Taḏkira al-hind, composée par Maḥmūd ‘alī ibn Ḥakīm Ḥażrat allāh, version complétée par la suite et traduite de l’arabe en persan par son fils riżā ‘alī Ḫān, vers 1237/18227. on remarque à la fois des similitudes et des différences notables vis-à-vis du processus de traduction des sources grecques vers l’arabe, réalisé à l’époque de la genèse des sciences musulmanes. la période au cours de laquelle se développèrent les descriptions en persan et en ourdou de la médecine indienne, soit du XIve au XXe siècles, fut sûrement plus longue, mais vit en même temps un processus plus lent que celui concernant le passage du grec vers l’arabe. comme au tout début de l’apparition des sciences musulmanes, ce processus se réalisa aussi grâce à la contribution d’auteurs non-musulmans. l’adaptation en persan du savoir médical indien accomplie en Inde eut certes, une portée plus grande et plus durable que celle des traductions des sources indiennes réalisées à l’époque abbasside. Plusieurs traités persans sur les sciences indiennes furent composés pour des sultans indo-musulmans ou leur furent dédiés. on en trouve déjà des exemples réalisés pour des sultans de l’Inde prémoghole, et cela jusqu’au début du XvIe siècle. dans la production littéraire composite du sous-continent, on 7. le récit sur les versions différentes de l’ouvrage est rapporté par riżā ‘alī Ḫān dans l’introduction, riżā ‘alī Ḫān 1353/1935, pp. 4-5 ; l’ouvrage garde la préface originale en arabe de Maḥmūd ‘alī, aux pp. 1-3.

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trouve également quelques exemples d’ouvrages scientifiques persans commandés par des nobles non-musulmans et par les anglais, telles les tables astronomiques Zīj-i Muḥammad-šāhī (1140/1728), rédigées sur ordre du mahārāja Jai Singh et dédiées au moghol Muḥammad Šāh (r. 1719-1748), ainsi que le Timṯāl-i ašyā’ wa azhār al-adwiya de Ḥakīm Ġulām ‘alī, composé pour le mahārāja ranbīr Singh (r. 1857-1885)8. Il faut examiner le rapport existant entre ces ouvrages scientifiques et la politique culturelle indianisante de certains Moghols, qui, dès la deuxième moitié du XvIe siècle, ont patronné plusieurs œuvres en persan sur les traditions indiennes. l’un des ouvrages les plus emblématiques en est l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī d’abū al-Fażl (m. 1011/1602), vaste description de l’Inde moghole sous akbar (r. 1556-1605), incluant d’importants exposés des traditions et des savoirs locaux, et d’éléments à caractère scientifique également, sur lesquels l’on reviendra. les deux traductions les plus importantes concernant les mathématiques furent celles des textes de Bhāskara : la Līlāvatī, sur l’arithmétique et la géométrie, traduite en 995/1587 par Fayżī (m. 1004/1595) à la requête d’akbar, et le Bījagaṇita, sur l’algèbre, traduit par ‘aṭā’ allāh rašīdī en 1044/1634-35, et dédié à Šāh Jahān (r. 1627-1658). les textes médicaux produits pour les Moghols semblent notamment remettre en question certains lieux communs au travers desquels la politique culturelle des différents Moghols a été habituellement décrite. Pour ce qui concerne la sphère médicale, on peut en effet noter que sous akbar – à part une tentative de traduction de l’Atharvaveda9 – on ne trouve pas de traductions sur le savoir indien qui aient été commandées par lui ou qui lui furent dédiées. en revanche, on retrouve trois ouvrages persans sur la médecine indienne dédiés à awrangzeb (r. 16581707) ou dont il est l’éponyme. À dārā Šikōh (m. 1069/1659) fut dédié le Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikohī de nūr al-dīn Šīrāzī, dans lequel un effort remarquable a été fait pour inclure le savoir indien au sein d’une encyclopédie médicale persane de souche avicennienne. le Mu‘ālajāt-i hindī, ou Qarābādīn-i hindī, est un texte plus tardif, rédigé par le médecin indien Šayḫ Ḥaydar Miṣrī. Il s’agit d’un ouvrage commandé par le troisième niẓām de Hyderabad, Sikandar Jāh (r. 1803-1829), et qui recueille les prescriptions ayurvédiques expérimentées personnellement par le même niẓām10. cependant, il faut bien préciser que l’assimilation du savoir local dans la littérature indo-persane, bien que se présentant comme une tendance scien8. cf. naushahi 1998. 9. Badā’ūnī 1986, vol. 2, p. 216. 10. Ḥaydar Miṣrī, Mu‘ālajāt-i hindī, ms. Hyderabad, andhra Pradesh oriental Manuscript library and research Institute, pers. 339. la première partie de l’ouvrage, sur les propriétés et les doses des drogues, a été traduite en anglais par Husain - Prasad - narayana 2003, pp. 93-111.

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tifique parfaitement insérée dans la politique culturelle de l’époque moghole, n’était pas essentiellement le produit de cette politique. d’autres raisons importantes justifiaient ces études faites par les médecins musulmans. de plus, on peut noter que par rapport à d’autres traditions et savoirs indiens, la médecine et les sciences jouèrent probablement un rôle moins important au sein de cette politique culturelle. Les recherches sur la pharmacopée indienne l’intérêt des médecins musulmans pour l’ancien savoir indien provenait surtout de l’exigence consistant à étendre le champ de leurs connaissances thérapeutiques et d’en renforcer l’efficacité, en les adaptant au contexte indien. l’assimilation des connaissances locales dans les textes indo-persans fut alimentée par des nécessités pour lesquelles les livres des grands maîtres des traditions arabe et grecque n’offraient pas de solutions efficaces. ce fut dans les domaines de la thérapeutique et de la pharmacologie que les médecins avicenniens expérimentèrent en Inde, les limites de la connaissance transmise par les textes de la tradition arabe médiévale. les médecins indo-musulmans rencontraient des difficultés considérables à adapter leurs remèdes aux conditions locales et à identifier et obtenir les substances simples utilisées dans les textes arabes et persans. certaines évidemment ne poussaient pas en Inde, et il était ainsi nécessaire de trouver des substituts locaux, en dehors des remèdes pour les affections typiques du monde indien. ce n’est probablement pas par hasard que la seule traduction persane connue d’une pharmacopée arabe réalisée sous le sultanat de delhi fut celle du Kitāb al-ṣaydana d’al-Bīrūnī, un traité sur les remèdes simples qui incluait les noms indiens de plusieurs substances. la nécessité de présenter le lexique indien et d’identifier les remèdes dans la pharmacopée locale constitue une thématique introduisant différents ouvrages en persan portant sur la médecine ayurvédique. ainsi l’explique Miyān Bhuwa Ḫān au début du Ma‘dan al-šifā’-i Sikandar-šāhī, composé vers le début du XvIe siècle. Miyān Bhuwa remarque la difficulté causée par le fait que les noms des remèdes étaient d’origines persane et grecque, et que les médecins musulmans n’arrivaient souvent pas à trouver les remèdes dont ils avaient besoin11. trois siècles plus tard, nāfi‘ al-Ṣiddīqī al-Jā’isī explique avoir composé son traité Anīs al-aṭibbā’ à cause des difficultés rencontrées par les médecins indiens lors de l’utilisation des pharmacopées persanes12. on retrouve 11. Bhuwa Ḫān 1294/1877, p. 3. 12. Il s’agit d’un dictionnaire des remèdes composé en 1202/1787-88, Ṣiddīqī al-Jā’isī, Anīs al-aṭibbā’, ms. BnF, supplément persan 1088, f. 1r.

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un discours semblable dans le Muntaḫab al-adwiya, composé en 1252/1837 à Hyderabad, dans lequel l’auteur, Muḥammad Qamar al-dīn Ḥusayn, écrit que les noms en persan, arabe et grec n’étaient pas utilisés par les pharmaciens indiens, et qu’il composa alors son ouvrage en insistant particulièrement sur la description des remèdes d’origine locale et en utilisant toujours la nomenclature ourdoue13. Il faut ainsi préciser l’une des raisons fondamentales de l’incorporation du savoir pharmacologique indien dans les textes médicaux persans : celle-ci constitua en premier lieu un moyen d’adapter l’école médicale avicennienne au monde indien. vraisemblablement, telle est également l’une des raisons pour lesquelles on ne retrouve qu’une seule traduction importante en persan, exclusivement consacrée à la partie du Qānūn concernant la thérapeutique, et qui fut réalisée en Inde à l’époque moghole par Sayyid ‘abd al-Fattāḥ14. on peut ajouter que le commentaire indien le plus diffusé d’un abrégé du Qānūn, le Mufarriḥ al-qulūb d’akbar arzānī, n’incluait pas les chapitres sur la pathologie et la thérapeutique15. les médecins musulmans furent confrontés en Inde à des exigences nouvelles qui imposaient la recherche de solutions nouvelles. ainsi, c’est justement la pharmacologie du savoir indien qui attira le plus l’intérêt des médecins avicenniens. la rencontre avec la riche pharmacopée indienne porta les médecins musulmans à engager une recherche empirique sur les remèdes locaux, ce qui se manifestait souvent dans la composition de « remèdes expérimentés » (mujarrabāt), qui étaient ensuite fréquemment recueillis dans des textes. la recherche empirique et lexicale sur la pharmacologie indienne, et l’intégration de la pharmacopée et du lexique médical indiens dans la littérature persane, puis dans la littérature ourdoue, figurent parmi les développements scientifiques les plus importants réalisés par les médecins indo-musulmans aux époques moghole et coloniale. Pour donner un exemple, le Qānūn d’Ibn Sīnā incluait une seule formule d’iṭrīfal16 – correspondant au triphalā de la tradition ayurvédique –, tandis que la Qarābādīn-i Qādirī d’akbar arzānī, composée dans la deuxième décennie du XvIIIe siècle, incluait six formules, et la Qarābādīn-i A‘ẓam d’Ḥakīm a‘ẓam Ḫān décrit au XIXe siècle environ vingt iṭrīfal différents17. 13. Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 173-174. 14. cf. Ẓill al-raḥmān 1383 š./2004, pp. 154-155. le même Sayyid ‘abd al-Fattāḥ composa le Bustān-i afrūz, sur les plantes (nabātāt) indiennes, dans lequel il remarque la rareté des remèdes yūnānī disponibles pour les pharmaciens locaux, Bustān-i afrūz, ms. lahore, Kitābḫāna-yi ‘umūmī-yi Panjab, 240/2, f. 18v. 15. Il s’agit d’un commentaire en persan du Qānūnča de Čaġmīnī. 16. un électuaire à base de myrobolans. 17. Ibn Sīnā 1417/1996, p. 23 ; arzānī 1277/1860, pp. 3-4 ; a‘ẓam Ḫān 1996 pp. 2-8.

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Les formes d’intégration du savoir certaines caractéristiques des formes et des tendances marquant l’assimilation du savoir indien dans la littérature persane sont à préciser. la synthèse des connaissances indiennes concerne surtout le domaine de la pratique, dont le cas le plus important est celui de la pharmacologie, et dans une moindre mesure la doctrine médicale. l’intégration du savoir indien devait avant tout servir à faciliter l’adaptation de la pratique avicennienne en terre indienne, il ne se traduisit pas par un mouvement de pensée tendant vers une synthèse doctrinale des deux écoles. les deux traditions étaient déjà caractérisées par certaines similitudes doctrinales, à commencer par le fait de posséder toutes deux une physiologie et une pathologie de type humoral, ce qui allait se refléter dans la traduction persane des termes et des concepts indiens. cependant, il existait des différences très significatives, en particulier pour ce qui concerne la qualité et la quantité des éléments et des principes humoraux. on retrouve quelques réflexions intéressantes à caractère doctrinal concernant le rôle du vent (bād) par rapport aux autres humeurs. À ce propos, il faut rappeler qu’il s’agissait d’une notion qui n’était pas complètement étrangère à la tradition grecque ancienne. ce sujet est notamment exposé dans le traité sur les Vents du corpus hippocratique, alors que dans le Timée (84d-86a) de Platon est proposée une division tripartite de la pathologie humorale comprenant le pneuma, la bile et le phlegme18. a l’époque musulmane, on peut noter que le vent (rīḥ) est mentionné dans certaines traditions des imams chiites concernant les humeurs et leur division19. au XIve siècle, le médecin indien Šahāb al-dīn nāgawrī proposa dans son Ṭibb-i Šahābī une nouvelle division de la pathologie humorale, selon laquelle les deux biles – comme dans la tradition indienne – sont traitées comme une seule humeur (talḫa), tandis que la place restante est occupée par le vent20. l’éclaircissement sur le rôle du vent donné vers le début du XvIIIe siècle par akbar arzānī, dans le début du Mīzān al-ṭibb, montre que les médecins indo-musulmans continuaient à débattre sur ce sujet. Il faut noter que le Mīzān al-ṭibb n’était pas un traité sur la médecine indienne, mais un manuel médical thérapeutique à caractère didactique. arzānī mentionne en bref le sujet lorsqu’il expose la doctrine des quatre humeurs. Il explique que le bād est une fumée (duḫān) froide produite par les autres 18. cf. sur le sujet Filliozat 1964, pp. 196-237, et aussi richter-Bernburg 1989. 19. cf. Speziale 2009, pp. 40-41. 20. Šahāb al-dīn nāgawrī pratiquait à la cour du sultan du Gujarat et compléta le traité en vers intitulé Ṭibb-i Šahābī en 790/1388, nāgawrī 1272/1855-6, p. 5. une classification analogue des humeurs, comprenant le sang, la bile, le vent (rīḥ) et le phlegme, se retrouve dans une tradition attribuée à l’imam Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq, cf. Speziale 2009, pp. 40-41.

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humeurs, surtout le phlegme et la bile noire. cependant, arzānī précise que le bād ne doit pas être considéré comme semblable au pneuma (rūḥ) de la tradition avicennienne, car le vent n’entre pas dans le processus de la constitution corporelle, tandis qu’au contraire rūḥ, qui est aussi une vapeur produite par les humeurs, est le principe sur lequel repose la vie du corps21. Plusieurs aspects du savoir indien étaient ainsi adaptés à la forma mentis des médecins avicenniens. les auteurs musulmans utilisaient efficacement le lexique physiologique arabo-persan pour traduire et expliquer les concepts de la doctrine indienne. les remèdes indiens pouvaient être présentés et classifiés selon le principe az sar tā qadam (de la tête aux pieds) de la nosographie pathologique des livres musulmans ; les prescriptions dérivées de l’iatrochimie indienne étaient incluses dans la classe des élixirs (iksīr). la pénétration du savoir indien dans les textes persans passa aussi par son insertion dans des ouvrages pseudonymes attribués à des figures tels Ibn Sīnā et le soufi indien Šayḫ Sulaymān Mandawī (m. 944/1537-38). Sous le nom d’Ibn Sīnā circulait le Tuḥfat al-‘āšiqīn, un compendium médical sur la sexologie, contenant des connaissances d’origine indienne. l’ouvrage fut composé en réalité à l’époque moghole22 et fut ensuite imprimé quelques fois en persan, en Inde, dans la deuxième moitié du XIXe siècle. on trouve en sus un court écrit en persan attribué à Ibn Sīnā, intitulé Dastūr al-‘amal ba-qawl aṭibbā’-i hindī, traitant du climat de l’Inde, des saisons et de leurs effets sur la constitution humaine ainsi que des recommandations pour les équilibrer, selon les médecins indiens23. c’est à Sulaymān Mandawī qu’était attribué l’un des chapitres de Haft aḥbāb, un traité sur l’alchimie intégrant plusieurs descriptions du savoir indien24. Il faut remarquer une tendance importante concernant les principaux genres d’écrits composés et circulant en persan sur la médecine indienne. les traductions intégrales de livres médicaux sanscrits en persan ne furent pas nombreuses. en revanche, les ouvrages persans qui s’imposèrent furent les nouveaux manuels de synthèse du savoir indien ainsi que les traités sur la pharmacologie. Il semble donc que la production de nouveaux ouvrages et de chapitres de synthèse, et non la traduction directe des textes antérieurs, constitua la principale forme d’intégration du savoir indien dans la littérature 21. arzānī 1268/1851, p. 3. 22. le texte cite des auteurs vivants au XvIe siècle, tels Ḥakīm Walī Gīlānī et ‘Imād al-dīn Maḥmūd Šīrāzī, Ibn Sīnā 2001, pp. 74-75. Monzavī signale plusieurs auteurs possibles de ce traité : nūr al-dīn Muḥammad, abū Muẓaffar Hibat allāh ibn Muḥammad ibn ardšīr et Mīrān Ḥusaynī, Monzavī 1382š./2003, p. 3342. 23. ethé 1903, vol. 1, c. 1507. 24. Sur le Haft aḥbāb cf. Speziale 2006.

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médicale persane. le savoir indien circulait également à travers des chapitres et discussions inclus dans les textes persans portant sur la médecine avicennienne. Plusieurs auteurs de textes de médecine avicennienne montrent leur connaissance du vocabulaire médical indien et surtout du lexique de la pharmacopée. la littérature persane sur la médecine indienne fut principalement composée en prose. on trouve cependant quelques textes en vers, telle la Qaṣīda dar luġāt-i hindī de Yusūf ibn Muḥammad, poète et médecin à la cour de Bābur (r. 1526-1530) et de Humāyūn (r. 1531-1540 et 1555-1556), auteur de textes médicaux très diffusés. la Qaṣīda dar luġāt-i hindī est un bref glossaire hindipersan des termes médicaux, anatomiques et pharmacologiques, qui compte parmi les ouvrages mineurs de cet auteur25. on peut supposer que ce type de composition rimée visait également à favoriser la mémorisation des termes indiens. la traduction basée sur le savoir du Kokaśāstra de Muḥammad Jāmī et certains traités sur la physiognomonie indienne (sāmudrika) furent aussi composés en vers. certains ouvrages étaient parfois illustrés. on retrouve en particulier deux types de textes accompagnés de miniatures et qui étaient des traductions se référant au Kokaśāstra et au Śālihotra, le premier portant sur la sexologie, le deuxième sur l’hippologie et l’hippiatrie. Les traditions islamiques et le savoir indien l’assimilation du savoir indien dans la littérature scientifique indo-persane se faisait également à travers la référence à l’autorité des sources religieuses de l’islam, et notamment des traditions du prophète Muḥammad louant l’importance de la médecine26. Selon diverses traditions musulmanes, la première transmission des sciences et des arts remonte aux anciens prophètes du monothéisme. cette vision permettait en même temps de rattacher idéalement l’archétype de la tradition musulmane à l’ancienne science d’origine préislamique, comme dans les cas de la médecine et de l’alchimie. les paroles du prophète louant la quête de la science et de la médecine pouvaient ainsi constituer un symbole légitimant même l’étude d’une tradition non musulmane. le rapprochement que les auteurs indo-musulmans opérèrent entre les traditions médicales de Muḥammad et le savoir indien ne constituait pas un cas unique de ce genre. cela est similaire, sous plusieurs aspects, au discours de 25. Yusūf ibn Muḥammad, Qaṣīda dar luġāt-i hindī, ms. téhéran, Kitābḫāna-yi dānišgāh, 2569/3, ff. 22v-24r. 26. À partir du IXe siècle, les traditions du prophète Muḥammad comprenant des indications à caractère médical furent réunies dans des recueils et des commentaires monographiques en arabe sur la médecine prophétique (ṭibb al-nabawī), constituant un genre littéraire dont plusieurs traités furent également composés en Inde, en persan et par la suite en ourdou.

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certains traités en arabe sur la médecine prophétique (ṭibb al-nabawī), comme celui d’Ibn al-Qayyim al-Jawziyya (m. 751/1350) et celui attribué à al-Ḏahabī (m. 748/1348), qui exposent en même temps les traditions de Muḥammad et la doctrine d’origine hippocratique, en y indiquant les analogies. Parfois l’on retrouve aussi des indications sur les traditions des indiens, comme dans l’ouvrage attribué à al-Ḏahabī, à propos des habitudes liées à l’alimentation27. au début du paragraphe sur la démonologie médicale indienne de Firdaws al-ḥikmat, ‘alī ibn Sahl rabban al-Ṭabarī, contestant l’opinion de ceux qui doutent de ces croyances – tels les philosophes grecs –, avait souligné que l’existence des jinn est bien mentionnée par les prophètes dans les livres de la révélation28. les auteurs de plusieurs traités persans sur la médecine indienne, tels Miyān Bhuwa, Firišta, amān allāh Ḫān, abū al-Fatḥ Ḫayrī, Šāh ahl allāh, mentionnent une ou quelques traditions prophétiques au début de leurs textes. la tradition du prophète Muḥammad rappelée le plus fréquemment par ces médecins est celle affirmant que « la science est de deux sortes : la science des corps [c’est-à-dire la médecine] et la science de la religion ». comme les textes sur les sciences musulmanes, certains de ces traités étaient introduits par des louanges sur dieu et sur le prophète, parfois sous forme de paragraphe, comme dans le traité en vers Qiyāfa-šināsī, sur la physiognomonie, de Fażl allāh. l’une des discussions les plus significatives que l’on puisse retrouver dans un texte médical indo-persan sur des traditions prophétiques, est justement celle présente dans un traité sur le savoir indien, le Ma‘dan al-šifā’-i Sikandaršāhī de Miyān Bhuwa. ces traditions sont discutées dans le premier paragraphe du livre, sur la « définition de la science médicale et sa noblesse ». cette définition repose entièrement sur les traditions prophétiques, les paroles de Muḥammad invoquées servant à célébrer la noblesse (šaraf) et la supériorité de la science médicale29. la vision religieuse fournit ainsi dans le discours de Miyān Bhuwa une justification, voire même une exhortation en vue du projet portant sur l’étude du savoir indien. en même temps, à travers certaines traditions prophétiques, sont implicitement présentées des analogies avec la médecine indienne, tel le rôle fondamental de la diète30. le Mu‘ālajāt-i nabawī 27. cf. elgood 1962, pp. 53, 58, qui attribue d’une façon erronée le texte à al-Suyūṭī (m. 911/1505). 28. Ṭabarī 1996, vol. 2, pp. 693, 695. 29. un exemple de cette rhétorique est fourni par le commentaire de la tradition de Muḥammad déjà mentionnée, divisant la science en médecine et religion, ce qui est habituellement interprété comme une affirmation de l’éminence du savoir médical, car la médecine y est mentionnée avant même la religion, Bhuwa Ḫān 1294/1877, p. 4. 30. Bhuwa Ḫān 1294/1877, pp. 4-5.

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de Ġulām Imām, qui réalisa son œuvre vers la deuxième moitié du XvIIIe siècle, constitue un texte très particulier et probablement unique en son genre. le Mu‘ālajāt-i nabawī est un dictionnaire de médicaments consacré, comme le dit l’auteur dans l’introduction, « aux dires du prophète et aux médicaments indiens », un sujet, remarque-t-il, qui n’est pas traité dans d’autres livres31. les traditions de Muḥammad créent ici le cadre du livre et fournissent un prétexte pour sa rédaction, mais en réalité elles ne sont mentionnées qu’en relation avec un nombre limité de substances et d’aliments. un autre exemple de cette tendance, concerne les traditions des prophètes sur les chevaux qui sont mentionnées dans le premier chapitre du Faras-nāma, sur l’hippologie indienne, réalisé pour ‘abd allāh Ḫān Fīrūz-Jang (m. 1054/1644). on trouve une copie de ce traité, transcrite vers le début du XvIIIe siècle, incluant également des miniatures des chevaux mentionnés dans les traditions prophétiques référées dans le texte32. rahbar Fārūqī mentionne un autre manuscrit, copié en 1058/1648, d’une traduction persane se référant au Śālihotra et illustré avec des miniatures des chevaux des prophètes33. Le milieu médical indien certaines caractéristiques marquent le milieu scientifique persanophone de l’Inde moghole, où opéraient différents groupes de traducteurs et d’auteurs de textes médicaux. Il est intéressant d’examiner notamment notre sujet au regard de l’autre grand mouvement de traduction d’ouvrages médicaux, de textes arabes vers le persan, qui se réalisa dans la culture musulmane de l’Inde. Plusieurs siècles durant, l’élite médicale indo-musulmane compta de nombreux émigrés iraniens et persanophones ; parmi ces savants, plusieurs étaient chiites et occupaient des postes importants dans l’administration des royaumes indomusulmans. cette classe d’étrangers, surtout composée d’iraniens, apporta une contribution essentielle à la formation des traits iranisants du milieu scientifique et philosophique indo-musulman. concernant la médecine, son influence fut fondamentale pour le développement des traductions du Qānūn et des

31. Ġulām Imām, Mu‘ālajāt-i nabawī, ms. rampur, Kitābḫāna-yi rażā, pers. 1440, f. 2r. 32. ‘abd allāh Ḫān, Faras-nāma, ms. BnF, supplément persan 1554, ff. 4v-10r, cf. f. 7r et f. 8r pour deux miniatures des chevaux mentionnés dans les traditions prophétiques, la deuxième montrant le cheval bai (kumait). le premier chapitre traite de la création et des couleurs du cheval, et mentionne comme source un Faras-nāma composé à l’époque du sultan Maḥmūd de Ghazni (m. 421/1030). 33. cette copie fut réalisée pour amīr Sayyid ‘alī ibn amīr Ibrāhīm ; il s’agit d’une copie de la traduction qui avait été réalisée à Gulbarga par ‘abd allāh ibn Ṣafī à la requête du sultan aḥmad Walī Bahmanī (r. 1422-1435), Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 135-136.

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classiques arabes dans le milieu littéraire indien. la mode des traductions persanes et des commentaires des classiques médicaux arabes, qui se développa en Inde, à partir du XvIe siècle, constitua au début une création de cette classe d’émigrés. Par contre, les sources indiquent que ce groupe de médecins étrangers exerçant dans les cours indo-musulmanes ne donna pas de contribution importante à la rédaction d’ouvrages sur le savoir médical indien. c’est probablement là, l’une des raisons expliquant la rareté des ouvrages en persan sur la médecine indienne composés par les médecins de la cour d’akbar, l’un des grands mécènes des traductions du sanscrit vers le persan. la cour d’akbar était dominée par la présence d’éminents médecins d’origine iranienne. une autre question se pose concernant le rôle que la langue persane parvint à détenir au sein du monde scientifique indien à l’époque moghole34. À cette époque, les textes médicaux et scientifiques en persan étaient non seulement composés par des savants musulmans, mais aussi par des médecins et savants hindous, cela surtout à partir de la moitié du XvIIe siècle. de nombreux hindous, dans le but de se qualifier pour les postes administratifs, étudiaient comme munšī (secrétaire) dans les madrasas musulmanes35, dont le cursus incluait l’étude des textes scientifiques. À l’époque coloniale, des médecins hindous rédigèrent ensuite des textes médicaux en ourdou. Quelques hindous écrivaient en persan et en ourdou sur les sciences de la tradition musulmane également36. Parmi les ouvrages persans sur les sciences indiennes réalisés par des auteurs hindous, on peut mentionner le Badā’i‘-i funūn (1074/1663-64) de dhārma narāyāṇ, basé sur la Līlāvatī37, le Rāḥat al-faras, sur l’hippologie, d’anand rām Muḫliṣ (m. 1164/1751) et le Mu‘ālajāt-i hindī rédigé par Šayḫ Ḥaydar Miṣrī38. Il est possible que le Ma‘dan al-šifā’-i Sikandar-šāhī de Miyān Bhuwa Ḫān ait été réalisé avec la collaboration de savants locaux39. Quelques médecins chrétiens également écrivirent en Inde, des textes médicaux en persan et on trouve même un dictionnaire des remèdes indiens, intitulé Mufradāt-i hindī, composé par José da Silva, vers le début du XIXe siècle40. 34. Sur le rôle de la langue persane à l’époque moghole voir notamment alam 1998. 35. cf. alam 1998, pp. 327-328. 36. dont un exemple est donné dans Maḫzan al-‘ulūm de vraja Mohana (Brij Mōhan), un court abrégé des sciences rationnelles et traditionnelles, composé avant la moitié du XIXe siècle, vraja Mohana 1867. 37. composé à etawah ; ethé a écrit que l’ouvrage a été dédié à awrangzeb, ethé 1903, vol. 1, c. 1233, cf. aussi Ivanow 1984, p. 701 ; Blochet 1934, p. 144. 38. Miṣrī, c’est-à-dire celui qui habite dans une ville, était le nom utilisé souvent par les musulmans pour indiquer les médecins indiens, cf. à ce propos Fārūqī 1420/1999, p. 92. 39. cf. à ce sujet la description donnée par rizq allāh Muštāqī, rizq allāh 1993, p. 83. 40. da Silva, Mufradāt-i hindī, ms. aligarh, Ibn Sina academy of Medieval Medicine and Sciences.

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le Ṭabaqāt-i Akbarī et l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī incluent les noms de plusieurs hindous parmi les éminents médecins de l’époque d’akbar41. on retrouve quelques mentions de médecins et de remèdes indiens qui furent employés aux cours mogholes. l’Akbar-nāma relate que lorsqu’akbar fut blessé, à cause d’une chute de cheval, Ḥakīm ‘alī Gīlānī (m. 1018/1609) traita les blessures avec une huile qui lui avait été donnée par des médecins indiens, et que le même jour, il y eut une amélioration42. or à une autre occasion, lorsqu’akbar fut atteint de douleurs internes, abū al-Fażl rend compte de l’opposition qui divisa les partisans du traitement proposé par les médecins persans de la cour et ceux qui étaient favorables à l’opinion des médecins indiens. À la fin, akbar eut recours au laxatif recommandé par les médecins persans, et fut guéri43. le Tūzuk-i Jahāngīrī indique que nūr Jahān (m. 1055/1645), au cours d’une maladie, fut traitée par des médecins musulmans et hindous44. dans un autre passage, on raconte que les médecins hindous et musulmans étaient convaincus de la mort imminente de Šarīf Ḫān, un dignitaire de l’époque de Jahāngīr, qui cependant se rétablit45. Fārūqī mentionne le chirurgien Jag Jīvan Jarrāḥ parmi les médecins de la cour de Šāh Jahān46. des médecins ayurvédiques furent également employés dans l’hôpital établi à etawah par le nawwāb Ḫayr andīš Ḫān, dans la deuxième moitié du XvIIe siècle. Par la suite, des médecins hindous furent employés au service de Sikandar Jāh (r. 1803-1829) de Hyderabad et dans son administration. ainsi la circulation du savoir indien fut favorisée par le rôle que les savants hindous jouèrent au sein du milieu scientifique musulman de l’Inde. cependant, il faut remarquer que la grande partie des ouvrages majeurs sur la médecine indienne composés en persan furent rédigés par des médecins musulmans et non par des hindous persanophones. ces auteurs musulmans étaient surtout des savants nés en Inde et plus rarement des médecins étrangers émigrés vers le sous-continent. Muḥammad Qāsim Firišta (né à astarābād vers 978/1570), auteur du Dastūr al-aṭibbā’, était un émigré de la première génération qui cependant avait quitté l’Iran avec son père lorsqu’il était encore enfant. Parmi ces auteurs, il y avait des membres de familles aristocratiques et de savants, qui très souvent faisaient remonter leur lignage à de nobles musulmans 41. Sans pourtant offrir des détails sur leurs liens avec la cour, niẓām al-dīn aḥmad 1996, pp. 713-714 ; abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 1, p. 613. la mort des médecins indiens nārāyaṇ et Bhīm nāth est relatée dans l’Akbar-nāma, cf. abū al-Fażl 2000, vol. 3, p. 866. 42. abū al-Fażl 2000, vol. 3, p. 866. 43. abū al-Fażl 2000, vol. 3, pp. 583-584. 44. Jahāngīr, 1978, vol. 2, p. 53. 45. Jahāngīr, 1978, vol. 1, p. 130. 46. cf. Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 111.

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d’origine étrangère. on retrouve des fils d’éminents médecins, tels nūr al-dīn Šīrāzī et Muḥammad Šarīf Ḫān. nūr al-dīn Šīrāzī (fl. première moitié du XvIIe siècle), auteur d’ouvrages médicaux dédiés aux Moghols, était le fils de ‘ayn al-Mulk Šīrāzī (m. 1003/1595), médecin et ophtalmologue illustre qui était au service d’akbar ; tandis que de son côté maternel, nūr al-dīn était le neveu de Fayżī (m. 1004/1595) et d’abū al-Fażl47. Muḥammad Šarīf Ḫān (m. vers 1222/1807), l’auteur de Ta’līf-i Šarīfī, était issu d’une famille de médecins ayant été au service des Moghols et qui faisaient remonter leurs origines à l’éminent maître soufi ‘ubayd allāh aḥrār (m. 895/1490, Samarkand)48. certains auteurs firent leur carrière comme dignitaires et non pas en tant que médecins de la cour. Miyān Bhūwa ibn Ḫawāṣṣ Ḫān était le fils d’un noble de la cour de Sikandar lodī (r. 1489-1517) alors que lui-même était un vizir du sultan. Selon une chronique du XvIe siècle, Miyān Bhūwa invita des savants indiens et étrangers, et avait à son service des scribes pour réaliser les copies d’ouvrages49. un autre exemple est fourni par celui d’amān allāh Ḫān (m. 1046/1637), traducteur du Madanavinoda, qui fut avec nūr al-dīn Šīrāzī l’auteur le plus important d’ouvrages médicaux en persan dans l’Inde moghole de la première moitié du XvIIe siècle. amān allāh Ḫān était le fils de Mahābat Ḫān (m. 1044/1634), un haut commandant de l’armée moghole, et fit comme son père une brillante carrière dans l’administration moghole ; il fut vicegouverneur de Kaboul puis gouverneur des provinces du Bengale, Malwa et Bālā Ghāt50. Plusieurs auteurs musulmans de traités persans sur la médecine indienne étaient liés aux milieux religieux et soufis. Il faut noter qu’en Inde, les soufis furent parmi les savants musulmans qui contribuèrent le plus aux contacts entre l’islam et la culture indienne, et certains en arrivèrent jusqu’à affirmer que la fonction de Brahma et des avatāra hindous était comparable à celle des prophètes et des saints de l’islam51. la vision religieuse de médecins tels Miyān Bhūwa, nūr al-dīn Šīrāzī et Ġulām Imām apparaît dans leurs ouvrages. nūr al-dīn Šīrāzī discuta des traditions prophétiques et des imams dans son encyclopédie médicale dédiée à dārā Šikōh, et composa un traité, le Marātib al-wujūd, sur la doctrine mystique de l’unicité de l’être (waḥdat al-wujūd). darwīš Muḥammad, l’auteur de Ṭibb-i Awrang-šāhī se déclare au début de ce

47. cf. Ḥasanī 1411/1990, p. 407. 48. cf. Siddiqi 1982, pp. 6-10. 49. rizq allāh 1993, p. 83. Miyān Bhūwa tomba en disgrâce sous le règne d’Ibrāhīm lodī et mourut en prison, rizq allāh 1993, p. 169. 50. cf. nawāz Ḫān 1999, vol. 1, pp. 211-219. 51. Friedmann 1986, pp. 84-85, cf. aussi ernst 2005.

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texte comme un disciple spirituel (murīd) du mystique čištī Farīd al-dīn Ganj-i Šakar (m. 664/1265)52. un affilié du même ordre soufi, abū al-Fatḥ Čištī, fut traducteur d’un autre traité persan sur la médecine indienne, Mir’āt al-ḥukamā’-i Awrang-šāhī, dont awrangzeb est l’éponyme53. Šāh ahl allāh (m. 1190/1776), le frère de l’influent théologien et soufi naqšbandī de delhi Šāh Walī allāh, composa le Takmila-yi hindī, un traité sur la médecine indienne54. Muḥammad Šarīf Ḫān, qui étudia à delhi dans la Madrasa raḥīmiyya dirigée par la famille de Šāh Walī allāh, compte parmi les premiers traducteurs en ourdou du coran55. on peut présumer qu’un certain nombre de ces auteurs musulmans apprirent le sanscrit. Quelques-uns donnent des informations précises sur les textes sanscrits utilisés pour la compilation de leurs traités, par exemple, Miyān Bhuwa rapporte avoir consulté plus de treize textes sanscrits parmi lesquels ceux de caraka, Suśruta, Jātūkarṇa, Bhoja, vāgbhaṭa, vṛnda56. Miyān Ṭāha, un savant et dignitaire de l’époque d’Ibrāhīm lodī (r. 1517-1526), apprit par cœur 4000 vers sur la médecine indienne et on dit que même les brahmanes allaient étudier la médecine avec lui57. on peut en même temps supposer que l’étude du sanscrit et des sources sanscrites n’était pas la seule forme, et peutêtre même pas la principale sous laquelle les médecins indo-musulmans assimilaient des éléments du savoir indien. la connaissance passait également par d’autres formes, à commencer par l’apprentissage oral et l’enseignement privé, notamment au travers d’autres idiomes comme l’ourdou/hindi. les médecins musulmans basaient souvent leurs descriptions du savoir indien, dont sa riche pharmacopée notamment, sur une connaissance et une pratique empiriques de ce savoir. l’instruction privée chez un maître était à cette époque la voie principale pour la transmission du savoir médical. on trouve ainsi des savants musulmans qui étudiaient chez des maîtres indiens, tels Muḥammad Qāsim Firišta, qui eut parmi ses professeurs de médecine caturbhuj al-Hind58. Muḥammad Jāmī, auteur d’une traduction persane portant sur la sexologie indienne, raconte qu’il se mit au service de yogis et d’ascètes itinérants (saiyāḥ), 52. darwīš Muḥammad, Ṭibb-i Awrang-šāhī, ms. rampur, Kitābḫāna-yi rażā, pers. 1338, f. 3a. 53. cf. Keshavarz 1986, p. 159. 54. une indication sur l’enseignement soufi transmis par Šāh ahl allāh est donnée dans la traduction commentée en ourdou du Qawl al-jamīl de Šāh Walī allāh, qui fut rédigée en 1844 par Ḫurram ‘alī, cf. Walī allāh s.d. pp. 83-84. 55. cf. Iṣlāḥī 2004. 56. Bhuwa Ḫān 1294/1877, p. 3. 57. rizq allāh 1993, p. 193. Mais dans une autre anecdote relatée par rizq allāh Muštāqī, Miyān Ṭāha considère comme absurde la mythologie indienne entière ! rizq allāh 1993, p. 195. 58. Ḥasanī 1411/1990, p. 396.

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suite aux difficultés qu’il avait rencontrées dans la rédaction de son ouvrage59. a l’époque coloniale encore, on peut mentionner le cas du médecin Hari Govind, qui à Hyderabad comptait parmi ses élèves Ḥakīm Muḥammad ‘alī Ḫān naqšbandī60 et Ḥakīm Bāqir Ḥusaynī61.

leS teXteS Sur la MédecIne et la PHarMacoloGIe les disciplines qui dominèrent le mouvement des études en persan sur le savoir scientifique indien furent la médecine et la pharmacologie. Grâce à l’apport du savoir indien, la pharmacologie fut probablement la discipline à s’être le plus développée au sein du milieu scientifique musulman de l’Inde et ce par rapport à l’héritage de la tradition avicennienne précédente. les ouvrages persans les plus répandus furent de nouveaux traités généraux sur la médecine et la pharmacopée indienne. le premier manuel important en persan sur la médecine indienne composé à partir du XvIe siècle, fut le Ma‘dan al-šifā’-i Sikandar-šāhī de Miyān Bhuwa Ḫān. l’ouvrage, également appelé Ṭibb-i Sikandarī, fut composé en 918/1512 et était dédié au sultan de delhi Sikandar lodī. la première partie de cet ample traité examine les principes de base du traitement (muqaddamāt-i ‘ilāj) de la médecine indienne ; la deuxième analyse l’embryologie et l’anatomie ; la dernière discute les symptômes des maladies et leurs traitements, en commerçant par la fièvre, et comporte un chapitre sur la calcination des métaux et des pierres précieuses62. au siècle suivant, Šayḫ Ḥasan Muqarrab Ḫān (m. 1056/1646), médecin et aristocrate de l’administration moghole, composa le ‘Ain al-šifā, un traité sur la pharmacopée basé sur l’ouvrage de Miyān Bhuwa63. a l’époque coloniale, le texte du Ma‘dan al-šifā’ fut imprimé en persan, vers la fin du XIXe siècle, et traduit ensuite en ourdou par Šayḫ Muḥammad ‘aẓīm allāh. un autre manuel important sur la médecine indienne, le Dastūr al-aṭibbā’, était également connu sous le titre d’Iḫtiyārāt-i Qāsimī, du nom de son auteur Muḥammad Qāsim Hindūšāh Firišta. Plus que 59. les premiers vers de cette traduction sont reproduits en persan dans Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 147-150. 60. Muḥammad nāṣir 1944, p. 129. 61. Bāqir Ḥusaynī était le troisième fils de Ḫwāja Maḥbūb allāh (m. 1895), un maitre soufi notoire de la ville, cf. Muḥī al-dīn Qādirī 1992, p. 241. 62. Bhuwa Ḫān 1294/1877. une traduction en latin de la table des matières se retrouve dans un manuscrit du XvIe siècle de l’ouvrage, conservé à Hambourg ; cette table des matières en latin fut éditée par F. r. dietz en 1833 et elle est reproduite dans Fonahn 1910, pp. 19-21. cf. also Hass 1876. 63. cf. Fārūqī 1420/1999, p. 103 ; rahman et al. 1982, p. 160 ; sur Muqarrab Ḫān cf. rezavi 2004.

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comme médecin, Firišta fut davantage connu pour être l’auteur d’un ouvrage en persan important sur l’histoire de l’Inde, le Tārīḫ-i Firišta, il fut au service des cours d’ahmadnagar et d’Ibrāhīm ‘Ādil Šāh II (r. 1580-1627) de Bijapur. la muqaddima du Dastūr al-aṭibbā’ est dédiée aux principes et règles fondamentales de la doctrine indienne, découlant de la théorie des éléments et des humeurs. le premier chapitre du livre, sous forme de dictionnaire, présente les remèdes simples et les aliments ; le deuxième analyse les remèdes composés, le dernier s’occupe de la pathologie et du traitement des maladies64. Parmi les ouvrages sur la médecine indienne dont awrangzeb est l’éponyme, le Ṭibb-i Awrang-šāhī, composé par darwīš Muḥammad Īminābādī, fut le plus copié. ce manuel est divisé en sept chapitres : le premier étudie les éléments, les humeurs et l’anatomie ; le deuxième traite des maladies et de la thérapeutique, en commençant par les affections du cœur ; le troisième, divisé en vingt-et-un paragraphes, est dédié aux maladies des femmes ; le chapitre suivant, en dix paragraphes, décrit la calcination des métaux (kuštan-i dhāthā) ; le cinquième traite la purgation, la phlébotomie, le clystère et le cautère ; le sixième s’occupe des remèdes composés, tels les électuaires (ma‘jūn), poudres (safūf), sirops, pilules, stomachiques (jawāriš), onguents et iṭrīfal. le dernier chapitre analyse les remèdes simples, présentés en ordre alphabétique65. le Takmila-yi hindī de Šāh ahl allāh (m. 1190/1776) constitue un autre exemple de ce type de manuel, mais plus abrégé. l’introduction présente quelques concepts de base du savoir indien, la première partie donne une description des remèdes simples selon l’ordre alphabétique, la deuxième est consacrée à la thérapeutique des maladies, à commencer par la fièvre, puis ordonnées a capite ad calcem, avec des paragraphes sur les maladies spécifiques des hommes et des femmes66. Plusieurs monographies sur la pharmacopée et les remèdes indiens furent produites à l’époque moghole tardive, tels le Mu‘ālajāt-i nabawī de Ġulām Imām, l’Anīs al-aṭibbā’ de nāfi‘ al-Ṣiddīqī al-Jā’isī, le Bustān-i afrūz de Sayyid ‘abd al-Fattāḥ, le Mu‘ālajāt-i hindī de Šayḫ Ḥaydar Miṣrī, le Muntaḫab al-adwiya de Muḥammad Qamar al-dīn Ḥusayn, et l’ample traité sous forme de dictionnaire de Muḥammad Šarf al-dīn ibn Qāżī Šams al-dīn, intitulé Mufradāt-i hindī67. l’un des dictionnaires persans les plus renommés de la materia medica indienne était le Ta’līf-i Šarīfī de Muḥammad Šarīf Ḫān de

64. Firišta, Dastūr al-aṭibbā’, ms. téhéran, Kitābḫāna-yi Majlis, pers. 5521/1. 65. darwīš Muḥammad, Ṭibb-i Awrang-šāhī, ms. rampur, Kitābḫāna-yi rażā, pers. 1338. 66. Šāh ahl allāh, Takmila-yi hindī, ms. rampur, Kitābḫāna-yi rażā, pers. 1526b. 67. Muḥammad Šarf al-dīn, Mufradāt-i hindī, ms. aligarh, Ibn Sina academy of Medieval Medicine and Sciences.

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delhi. la traduction anglaise du Ta’līf-i Šarīfī, réalisée par G. Playfair, fut publiée quelques décennies seulement après la mort de Šarīf Ḫān68. un autre traité persan sur ce sujet apparut à la même époque, le Taḏkira al-hind, qui fut complété vers 1237/1822 par riżā ‘alī Ḫān, un médecin en service dans l’administration de l’état princier de Hyderabad. cet ouvrage est un dictionnaire des médicaments indiens dont les premiers chapitres traitent des concepts de base telles la constitution et la physiologie du corps humain, l’alimentation et les poids69. les musulmans s’intéressaient aussi à l’alimentation indienne ; les analyses des aliments et des règles diététiques furent incluses dans des travaux persans sur la médecine indienne, et les livres indo-persans de cuisine comportaient des descriptions des plats locaux70. a ce propos, le Madanavinoda, un dictionnaire (nighaṇṭu) des médicaments et des aliments ayant été composé en 1375 pour le rāja Madanapāla, fut traduit du sanskrit. cette traduction persane fut réalisée par amān allāh Ḫān (m. 1046/1637), sous le titre de Dastūr al-hunūd71. Parmi les traductions d’ouvrages, il faut rappeler également celle d’un traité sur la diagnose et la pathologie, appelé Nidān, qui fut réalisée en 1079/1668 par abū al-Fatḥ Čištī, sous le titre de Mir’āt al-ḥukamā’-i Awrangšāhī72. certains ouvrages eurent vraisemblablement une diffusion limitée, à en juger par les copies qui nous sont parvenues, tels la traduction d’abū al-Fatḥ Čištī et le Dār al-šifā’-i Awrang-šāhī d’abū al-Fatḥ Ḫayrī, un autre traité sur la médecine indienne dédié à awrangzeb, et essentiellement consacré à la thérapeutique des maladies73. un autre exemple intéressant de ce type est le Ṭibb-i hindī attribué à akbar arzānī, un auteur dont la plupart des livres eurent au contraire, une très grande diffusion. le Ṭibb-i hindī est un recueil de prescriptions provenant de la médecine indienne, qui débute par les maladies de la tête74. certains ouvrages persans sur la médecine avicennienne comprenaient des descriptions du savoir médical indien. deux exemples significatifs en sont fournis par les ouvrages majeurs d’amān allāh Ḫān et de nūr al-dīn Širāzī : 68. cf. Šarīf Ḫān 1280/1863. 69. riżā ‘alī Ḫān 1353/1935. 70. cf. Storey 1977, pp. 389-393. 71. cf. abdul Bari 2003, et aussi Pingree 2001a, p. 702. on fait mention d’une deuxième traduction persane du Madanavinoda, réalisée par Muḥammad Čirāġ al-dīn lāhawrī, sous le titre de Mufradāt-i Bikramī, cf. Storey 1971, p. 326. 72. cf. Keshavarz 1986, p. 159. 73. dont, comme pour la traduction d’abū al-Fatḥ Čištī, on connaît une seule copie, abū al-Fatḥ Ḫayrī, Dār al-šifā’-i Awrang-šāhī, ms. delhi, Jāmi‘a Hamdard, pers. 1973. 74. arzānī, Ṭibb-i hindī, ms. aligarh Muslim university, pers. 353.

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le Ganj-i bād-āward et le Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī. le Ganj-i bād-āward d’amān allāh Ḫān est l’un des plus vastes traités indo-persans de pharmacologie. Parmi les sources consultées pour la rédaction de son livre, amān allāh Ḫān mentionne Suśruta, Bhoja, le Yogaratnāvalī (Ṭibb-i jog-ratnāwalī), le Ṭibb-i Sikandarī et sa traduction du Madanavinoda. le deuxième chapitre de la deuxième section du Ganj-i bād-āward est dédié en particulier aux prescriptions des médecins indiens et se trouve divisé en cinq paragraphes traitant les propriétés (ḫawāṣṣ) de quelques médicaments indiens, les remèdes composés (murakkabāt), les venins, tandis que les deux derniers sont consacrés aux formules iatrochimiques du rasāyana75. le Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī de nūr al-dīn Širāzī, complété en 1056/1646-47, est le plus ample traité médical à caractère encyclopédique rédigé en persan en Inde. l’ouvrage est dédié au prince moghol dārā Šikōh, l’une des grandes figures du mouvement d’études persanes sur les traditions indiennes. le Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī comprend des paragraphes et des descriptions sur le savoir indien concernant le traitement et la pharmacopée, l’analyse du pouls, les aliments utilisés par les médecins locaux, l’iatrochimie, les systèmes de mesure, et également des chapitres sur la musique indienne et sur les méthodes pour le contrôle du souffle des yogis. le savoir indien n’est pas traité dans un seul chapitre de l’ouvrage, nūr al-dīn présente le sujet disséminé dans diverses sections, en l’intégrant dans l’ordre thématique des matières de son manuel76. Parmi ces textes, il faut aussi mentionner le Tuḥfa al-mu’minīn de Mīr Mu’min Ḥusaynī tunakābunī, un traité sur les médicaments composé en Iran qui était également très lu dans le monde indien. l’ouvrage était dédié au Safavide Šāh Sulaymān (r. 1666-1694). au début de son livre, Mīr Mu’min déclare qu’il a aussi utilisé des textes indiens, parmi lesquels ceux de Suśruta et de vāgbhaṭa77. rieu remarque que la connaissance des remèdes simples indiens exposés dans cet ouvrage indique bien que son auteur vécut « a considerable time » en Inde78, cependant il faut noter que les sources assez détaillées de l’époque faisant mention des médecins iraniens éminents qui migrèrent en Inde, n’incluent jamais Mīr Mu’min parmi ceux-ci. les textes persans décrivaient également des connaissances et des pratiques médicales d’origine indienne à caractère magique et religieux. on en trouve des exemples dans la littérature médicale comme dans d’autres genres de textes. les adaptations en arabe et en persan du traité de yoga intitulé Amṛtakuṇḍa

75. amān allāh Ḫān, Ganj-i bād-āward, ms. rampur, Kitābḫāna-yi rażā, pers. 1460, ff. 4v, 279v-291v. 76. Šīrāzī, Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī, ms. téhéran, Kitābḫāna-yi Majlis, pers. 6224. 77. Mīr Mu’min Ḥusaynī 1376 š./1997, p. 5. 78. cf. rieu 1881, p. 477b.

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comprenaient des sujets tels la constitution et la physiologie mystiques du corps humain, le contrôle du souffle en cas de maladie, la posture méditative pour soigner les maladies de la peau et d’autres pratiques pour guérir les yeux et le mal de tête79. abū al-Fażl donne dans l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī une description de la science du karmavipāka et des maladies déterminées par les fautes commises dans les vies antérieures80. Pour ce qui concerne les ouvrages médicaux, on peut rappeler la traduction du Madanavinoda d’amān allāh Ḫān et du Ta’līf-i Šarīfī de Šarīf Ḫān, qui mentionnent les propriétés anti-démoniaques de plusieurs substances81. le Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī de nūr al-dīn Širāzī décrit les concepts de la physiologie yogi du souffle, tel le rapport entre les narines, le soleil et la lune. akbar commanda à Badā’ūnī la traduction de l’Atharvaveda, mais Badā’ūnī rencontra des difficultés, ainsi Fayżī et ensuite Ḥājjī Ibrāhīm Sirhindī furent à leur tour chargés de traduire le texte, cependant il semble que le travail ne progressa pas82.

SeXoloGIe et PHYSIoGnoMonIe en Inde, on composa en persan plusieurs recueils sur la sexologie et sur les prescriptions destinées à traiter les troubles inhérents et en particulier à accroître la virilité. l’intérêt regardant cette matière constitue certes un des facteurs expliquant l’attention que les auteurs musulmans accordèrent en sus aux sources indiennes. l’ouvrage sanscrit signalé comme source principale des traductions persanes concernant la sexologie indienne83 est le Kokaśāstra (ou Ratirahasya), du nom de son auteur Pandit Kokkoka, un titre qui cependant deviendra progressivement une dénomination générique pour les traités du genre. ainsi, il est probable que le Kokaśāstra de Kokkoka ne fut pas en réalité le seul texte de ce type à avoir été connu des auteurs musulmans. ces traductions persanes étaient fréquemment intitulées Laḏḏat al-nisā’, et l’on retrouve plusieurs copies ayant été illustrées par des miniatures. le texte de Pandit Kokkoka incluait un chapitre sur les remèdes et les prescriptions, ce qui constitue également un sujet récurrent dans les traductions en persan. le Laḏḏat al-nisā’ attribué au soufi Żiyā’ al-dīn naḫšabī (m. vers 751/1350-51), dont on retrouve plusieurs copies réalisées et illustrées aux époques moghole et postmoghole, compte parmi les ouvrages persans les plus importants se référant 79. cf. Husain 1928, pp. 297-299 ; ernst 2003b, pp. 213, 216-219. 80. abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 3, pp. 235-244. 81. Sur la traduction de amān allāh Ḫān cf. abdul Bari 2003, pp. 56, 58. 82. Badā’ūnī 1986, vol. 2, p. 216, cf. aussi abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 1, p. 111. 83. Pour une liste de ces traductions cf. Monzavī 1382 š./2003, pp. 3658-3659, 3663-3667.

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aux instructions du Kokaśāstra. une adaptation en vers de l’enseignement du Kokaśāstra fut composée par Muḥammad Jāmī à Golconde, vraisemblablement à l’époque du sultan ‘abd allāh Quṭb Šāh (r. 1626-1672)84. toujours au deccan, une autre paraphrase persane en fut rédigée à Bidar par Ḫwājagī Šīrwānī, à la période de la dynastie des Barīd Šāhī (1492-1619)85. d’autres Laḏḏat al-nisā’ furent réalisés par Faqīr allāh ibn Muḥammad ‘azīz, à l’époque d’awrangzeb, puis par Maḥmūd ‘alī Ḫān ibn Ḥakīm Ḥażrat allāh (XIIIe/XvIIIe-XIXe siècles)86. rahbar Fārūqī signale une traduction en dakhnī, ou proto-ourdou, réalisée à Golconde vers le XvIIe siècle par Pīrzāda Mīrān Ḥusaynī, sous le titre de Tuḥfat al-‘āšiqīn, probablement à partir d’une version persane antérieure87. Il s’agirait du premier texte connu à caractère médical à avoir été rédigé en langue ourdoue. d’autres traités persans incluaient des descriptions ou des éléments du savoir indien sur le sujet tel le pseudonyme Tuḥfat al-‘āšiqīn attribué à Ibn Sīnā. amān allāh Ḫān mentionne le Kāmaśāstra parmi les sources de son Ganj-i bād-āward et nūr al-dīn Širāzī le Laḏḏat al-nisā’ dans la bibliographie du Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī. c’est à la sexologie qu’est consacré le sixième chapitre du Tuḥfat al-hind, un traité sur les arts et les sciences indiennes composé à l’époque d’awrangzeb par Mīrzā Ḫān ibn Faḫr al-dīn, pour l’instruction du prince moghol Jahāndār Šāh88. la physiognomonie indienne, dont la chiromancie était une branche, fit l’objet de quelques descriptions en persan très peu connues jusqu’à présent. ce savoir était appelé par les musulmans sāmudrik (ou sāmudrīk), du sanscrit sāmudrika, du nom du savant Samudra, auteur d’un traité en la matière dont la version originale n’est pas conservée89. abū al-Fażl explique dans l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī que le sāmudrika s’occupe de prévoir les événements à partir de l’observation des caractéristiques des membres et de leurs mouvements, des lignes et des marques présentes sur le corps, et ajoute que les résultats sont généralement précis90. Il s’agit donc d’une discipline semblable à la firāsa, ou qiyāfa, la physiognomonie des auteurs musulmans, qui justement traduisaient

84. cf. Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 147-150. 85. cf. ashraf 1991, p. 49 ; Monzavī 1362 š./1983, p. 702. 86. cf. Monzavī 1362 š./1983, pp. 706-707. 87. Fārūqī 1420/1999, p. 150. le nom du traducteur et le lieu de sa tombe (langar ḥawẓ) indiquent qu’il était très probablement l’un des successeurs (pīrzāda) du maître soufi Mīrān Ḥusayn Ḥamawī (m. 1049/1638, Golconde). 88. ce chapitre inclut un paragraphe final sur les prescriptions médicales, Mīrzā Ḫān, Tuḥfat al-hind, ms. BnF, supplément persan 387, ff. 240v-267v. une brève discussion sur le sujet est également donnée dans l’abrégé des sciences de vraja Mohana, vraja Mohana 1867, pp. 155-161. 89. cf. Pingree 2001b, pp. 814-815. 90. abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 3, p. 252.

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souvent sāmudrika par qiyāfa. le dernier chapitre du Tuḥfat al-hind est consacré par Mīrzā Ḫān ibn Faḫr al-dīn au ‘ilm-i sāmudrīk. cette section du Tuḥfat al-hind est divisée en deux parties, la première portant sur les caractéristiques des hommes et la deuxième sur celles des femmes, les deux divisées en paragraphes analysant les différentes parties du corps, y compris les lignes des mains et des pieds. le paragraphe sur les hommes est plus détaillé et suit l’ordre allant de la tête aux pieds, celui sur les femmes est arrangé selon le sens inverse, az pāy tā sar91. Quelques traités sur le sāmudrika furent réalisés en vers, tel le Qiyāfa-šināsī, traitant en sus de chiromancie et composé vers la fin du XvIIe siècle par Fażl allāh, qui dans la conclusion du livre relate qu’il a appris cette science d’un Indien du nom de Gōpāl92. un autre traité en vers, le Mir’āt al-qiyāfa, est attribué à vraja Mohana Maḥsūrī, probablement le même vraja Mohana auteur du Maḫzan al-‘ulūm, et qui était un érudit dans cette matière93. comme la section du Tuḥfat al-hind, le Mir’āt al-qiyāfa est également divisé en deux chapitres, le premier sur les hommes et le second sur les femmes94. d’autres ouvrages, tels le Sāmudrikaṛkṣā, traduit par Muḥammad Ismā‘īl, et le Tarjuma-yi pothī sāmudrik du savant indien Balarao95, traitent de ce sujet.

ZooloGIe et MédecIne vétérInaIre le domaine de la zoologie et de la médecine vétérinaire fut caractérisé par la traduction de quelques traités indiens sur le cheval et sur l’éléphant. l’assimilation du lexique local des médicaments pour les animaux commença très tôt, comme le montre le Ṭibb-i Fīrūz-šāhī, un traité sur la thérapeutique du faucon composé en 680/1281-82, et utilisant environ cinquante noms hindoustanis de remèdes simples, sans toutefois donner leur traduction en persan96. en Inde, la production de traités en persan sur la zoologie et la médecine vétérinaire fut dominée par les monographies sur le cheval (farasnāma) et le faucon, or cette tendance constitua certainement l’une des raisons 91. Mīrzā Ḫān, Tuḥfat al-hind, ms. BnF, supplément persan 387, ff. 267v-283r. 92. Fażl allāh, Qiyāfa-šināsī, ms. lahore, Kitābḫāna-yi ‘umūmī-yi Panjab, 8. d’autres copies de l’ouvrage sont mentionnées par Sachau - ethé 1889, c. 770 ; Monzavī 1362 š./1983, p. 458. 93. un chapitre de Maḫzan al-‘ulūm est dédié à la qiyāfa et à la chiromancie, vraja Mohana 1867, pp. 134-142. 94. Sachau - ethé 1889, cc. 1083-1084. voir aussi un maṯnawī anonyme sur la sāmudrika, dont les deux copies connues ont été transcrites vers le XIXe siècle, cf. Monzavī 1362 š./1983, p. 459. 95. cf. Habibullah 1938, p. 178. 96. cf. Ẓill al-raḥmān 1986-1987, pp. 11-12.

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principales de l’intérêt porté à l’hippologie indienne. on retrouve plusieurs traductions en persan d’un traité sanscrit appelé Śālihotra (Sālōtar), sur l’hippologie et l’hippiatrie. cependant, il ne semble pas que sous ce titre fût uniquement connu et traduit l’ouvrage original et homonyme de Śālihotra, qui était regardé en Inde comme un manuel fondamental sur le sujet97. Il semble au contraire plus probable que les traducteurs persans eurent également connaissance d’autres textes circulant sous le même titre, ou qui étaient basés sur le Śālihotra98. comme l’indique abū al-Fażl, le terme śālihotra était également considéré comme un synonyme de médecine vétérinaire et d’hippologie99. Plusieurs copies des ces adaptations persanes furent illustrées par des miniatures exposant les différents types de chevaux. la première de ces traductions, réalisées à partir du XvIe siècle, fut le Farasnāma de Zayn al-‘Ābidīn ibn abū al-Ḥasan Karbalā’ī Hāšimī. l’ouvrage fut rédigé en 926/1520 à la requête du sultan Muẓaffar Šāh II (r. 1511-1526) du Gujarat, qui chargea un savant indien d’aider Hāšimī dans la traduction100. la version qui fut rédigée par des pandits pour ‘abd allāh Ḫān Fīrūz-Jang (m. 1054/1644), un autre descendant de ‘ubayd allāh aḥrār qui migra en Inde à l’époque d’akbar, et fut gouverneur d’allahabad, fut essentiellement basée sur la traduction de Hāšimī101. la traduction de Hāšimī et sa réédition pour ‘abd allāh Ḫān constituent l’ouvrage persan sur ce sujet à avoir été le plus souvent copié, tandis que la version réalisée pour ‘abd allāh Ḫān fut également traduite en anglais vers la fin du XvIIIe siècle. cet ouvrage était divisé en deux parties. la première sur l’hippologie, s’occupe des races et des couleurs des chevaux, des boucles (pīč) des chevaux, de l’âge du cheval et de sa dentition, de sa vitesse, de l’art de monter à cheval, des qualités et de la physiognomonie (firāsa) du cheval, de ses dimensions, de son odeur, des tempéraments (ṭabā’ī‘), des effets des différentes saisons sur sa santé et des indications sur l’alimentation. la deuxième partie, en trente-huit chapitres, est consacrée à la pathologie et au traitement, incluant dans l’ordre : les maladies de la tête, des yeux, les blessures de la bouche et la fièvre, les troubles du bād (en plusieurs paragraphes), de la bile et du sang, la dyspnée (żīq al-nafas), les troubles du 97. le traité de Śālihotra fut également traduit en tibétain et en hindi. Sur Śālihotra et ses ouvrages cf. Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, pp. 575-576, vol. IIb, pp. 609-10. 98. Sur ces ouvrages cf. Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, pp. 558, 565-568, 575, 579, et vol. IIb, p. 609, n. 755. 99. abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 3, p. 274. 100. cf. Monzavī 1362 š./1983, pp. 447-448 ; Ivanow 1984, p. 741 ; ashraf 1991, pp. 179-180. 101. ‘abd allāh Ḫān, Faras-nāma, ms. BnF, supplément persan 1554, cette copie du début du XvIIIe siècle, est illustrée par vingt et une miniatures de chevaux. Sur ‘abd allāh Ḫān cf. nawāz Ḫān, 1999, vol. 1, pp. 97-105.

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ventre, des dents, les enflures (āmas), la toux, le hoquet, les problèmes causés par l’ingestion de certaines substances, les troubles du thorax et des testicules, la toxicologie102. les sujets traités sont analogues à ceux de l’ouvrage de Śālihotra, cependant la présentation des matières ne se conforme pas fidèlement à l’ordre caractérisant ses huit sections103. on peut noter que la division des chapitres de la première partie de la version de Hāšimī et de ‘abd allāh Ḫān rappelle celle de l’ouvrage Aśvacikitsita de nakula, texte basé sur le traité de Śālihotra, et qui était également connu sous le titre de Śālihotra104. Sur le même sujet fut réalisé en 1061/1650 le Tuḥfa al-faras de Qāżī Ḥasan dawlatābādī, un ouvrage divisé en dix chapitres, et dont les deux derniers sont dédiés à la pathologie et à la thérapeutique105. le Śālihotra est aussi considéré comme constituant la source du Tuḥfa-yi kān-i ‘ilāj-i asp de Muḥammad Qāsim ibn Šarīf Ḫān, un ouvrage en cinquante-neuf chapitres ayant été réalisé ou copié vers 1076/1665106. anand rām Muḫliṣ (m. 1164/1751) réalisa une autre traduction persane sous le titre de Rāḥat al-faras. ce savant indien était un munšī, membre d’une famille Khatrī de lahore, et l’un des plus éminents auteurs et poètes hindous écrivant en persan107. durant l’époque moghole et post-moghole furent en outre produites des copies de la traduction qui avait été rédigée par ‘abd allāh ibn Ṣafī (Xve siècle), et qui fut également illustrée108, ainsi que de la traduction (Qurrat al-mulk) réalisée pour le sultan Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Šāh Ḫaljī (r. 1469-1500) de Malwa109. Quelques traités sur l’éléphant émanant d’auteurs indiens représentent une contribution originale dans le domaine des études en persan sur la zoologie. certains médecins musulmans de l’époque moghole étaient notamment considérés comme des experts dans le traitement des éléphants, tels le chirurgien Šayḫ Bīnā ibn Ḥasan et son fils Ḥasan Muqarrab Ḫān (m. 1056/1646), le 102. ‘abd allāh Ḫān, Faras-nāma, ms. BnF, supplément persan 1554. 103. cf. Mukhopadhayaya 2003, vol. 2, pp. 383-392. 104. cf. Mukhopadhayaya 2003, vol. 2, p. 495, Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, p. 567. Meulenbeld note en sus qu’une grande partie des vers du Śālihotra de Bhoja se retrouve dans l’Aśvacikitsita de nakula, Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, p. 558. 105. Monzavī 1382 š./2003, pp. 3803-3804 ; ashraf 1991, p. 182. 106. cf. Ivanow 1984, p. 742. 107. cette traduction fut réalisée à la requête d’Himmat Ḫān, cf. Schmitz - desai 2006, pp. 117118, et pl. 200 pour une miniature montrant un cheval noirâtre (nīla), tirée d’une copie réalisée vers la fin du XvIIIe siècle, probablement au Bengale. dans une autre copie de la traduction d’anand rām Muḫliṣ, réalisée toujours vers la fin du XvIIIe siècle, on retrouve une miniature montrant Śālihotra qui explique son livre à un raja, Schmitz - desai 2006, p. 118. 108. cf. rieu 1881, pp. 480b-481b ; Storey 1977, p. 394 ; Monzavī 1362 š./1983, pp. 448-449 ; ashraf 1991, pp. 177-178 ; Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 135-136. 109. rieu 1883, p. 1011b.

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commentateur du Ma‘dan al-šifā’110. les descriptions présentes dans la littérature non scientifique de l’époque moghole témoignent également de l’intérêt porté envers cet animal, à commencer par les mémoires de Bābur, rédigées originalement en turc, et par celles de Jahāngīr. lorsque la faune indienne est évoquée dans le Bābur-nāma, cela s’ouvre par la description de l’éléphant, tandis que Jahāngīr ordonna de calculer la période de gestation de cet animal111. les musulmans regardaient souvent les indiens comme des savants dans l’art d’élever et de conduire les éléphants. À ce sujet, l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī d’abū al-Fażl présente dans le chapitre sur les éléphants des étables d’akbar une description intéressante du savoir et du lexique indiens112. abū al-Fażl, soulignant que les hindous ont composé de nombreux traités sur l’éléphant et son traitement, décrit la gestation et l’embryologie, les classifications physiques et tempéramentales des éléphants formulées par les indiens, ainsi que quelques croyances astrologiques et mythologiques les concernant. Il inclut en outre, la définition du gaj-śāstra, la connaissance de l’éléphant et de son traitement, dans sa description des savoirs indiens113. le Fīl-nāma wa šikār-nāma-yi Šāh-Jahāndat est un traité détaillé sur le sujet, composé par Sa‘d akbar ibn awliyā ibn Ḥasan Ḥakīm, et dont on garde une copie transcrite vers le XIIIe/XIXe siècle114. Sa‘d akbar indique avoir basé sa traduction sur le Bṛhaspatimata (Brapastmandī) de Bṛhaspati115, le joignant à des éléments tirés du traité de Pālakāpya (Bālakābī)116. l’ouvrage est divisé en deux parties : la première consacre soixante-huit chapitres à la connaissance de l’éléphant, la deuxième comprend douze chapitres sur la façon de s’occuper de cet animal et en particulier de celui qui a été récemment capturé. la conclusion s’occupe du traitement des maladies. les sujets traités dans cette traduction comprennent la naissance de l’éléphant, les différents types d’éléphants – bhadra, manda et mṛga117 – et ceux qui proviennent de leur croisement, la 110. niẓām al-dīn aḥmad 1996, p. 713 ; Badā’ūnī 1986, vol. 3, p. 237 ; nawāz Ḫān, 1999, vol. 1, p. 616. 111. Bābur 1998, pp. 488-489 ; Jahāngīr, 1978, vol. 1, p. 265. 112. abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 1, pp. 123-139, cf. aussi vol. 1, pp. 295-296 sur les métodes pour capturer les éléphants. 113. abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 3, p. 273. 114. Sa‘d akbar, Fīl-nāma wa šikār-nāma-yi Šāh-Jahāndat, ms. Hyderabad, Sālār Jang Museum and library, bet. 21. l’ouvrage fut composé pour un personnage non identifié, appelé Imām-i ‘Ādil abū al-Mujāhid al-Muẓaffar Ḥażrat Ẓill allāh fī al-arż Sulṭān al-Islām Bādšāh. S‘ad akbar atteste être un descendant de Šayḫ Jalāl Pānīpatī al-Kāzirūnī al-‘uṯmānī. 115. Sur cet ouvrage cf. Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, p. 559, IIb, pp. 572-573, n. 53. 116. l’ouvrage de Pālakāpya est l’Hastyāyurveda, un manuel sur le traitement de l’éléphant, cf. Mukhopadhayaya 2003, vol. 2, pp. 399-424 ; Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, pp. 570-574. 117. Sur ces types d’éléphants voir aussi abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 1, pp. 125.

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distinction des éléphants par rapport à leur forêt d’origine et par rapport à leur couleur, la description des membres, à commencer par la trompe, les forces et les faiblesses de l’éléphant, la course et la vitesse, l’âge, la transpiration, le barrissement et enfin les éléphants de combat118. le ‘Ilāg al-afyāl, rédigé par Hardāyal en 1753, a été signalé comme la traduction d’un ouvrage appelé Gajčaksa, un titre qui paraît indiquer le Gajacikitsā119. rappelons également que quelques ouvrages en persan traitent de la faune, de la flore et de l’agriculture de l’Inde120. on trouve la description de plusieurs animaux, fruits et fleurs de cette région dans les mémoires du premier moghol Bābur121. des ouvrages à ce sujet furent réalisés au XIXe siècle, dans certaines régions de l’Inde. c’est dans l’Inde du sud que fut composé le Jāmi‘ al-ašyā’, sur la flore et la faune, par Ḥakīm Bāqir Ḥusayn Ḫān (m. 1248/1832-33), et qui fut achevé par nūr Muḥammad Ḫurāsānī122. en 1286/1869-70, fut rédigé le Timṯāl-i ašyā’ wa azhār al-adwiya d’Ḥakīm Ġulām ‘alī, une encyclopédie naturaliste illustrée du cachemire, écrite pour le mahārāja ranbīr Singh123.

alcHIMIe des éléments de l’alchimie indienne circulaient dans divers milieux du monde indo-musulman. on en trouve des témoignages intéressants dans quelques sources liées au milieu moghol. ainsi l’Ā’īn-i Akbarī décrit les méthodes et le lexique indiens regardant le raffinage de l’or et de l’argent dans le chapitre sur la frappe impériale, à l’époque d’akbar124. dans un farmān, awrangzeb demanda à l’abbé anand nāth du monastère de Jakhbar (Punjab), de lui envoyer du vif-argent de qualité supérieure, lui garantissant sa protection125. on peut noter à cet égard que l’on retrouve des chapitres sur la calcination dans deux des ouvrages sur la médecine indienne dédiés à awrangzeb : le Ṭibb-i Awrang-šāhī de darwīš Muḥammad et le Dār al-šifā’-i

118. S‘ad akbar, Fīl-nāma wa šikār-nāma-yi Šāh-Jahāndat, ms. Hyderabad, Sālār Jang Museum and library, bet. 21. 119. Ishrat s.d., pp. 57-58. Sur le Gajacikitsā cf. Meulenbeld 2000, vol. IIa, pp. 559, 567. 120. Sur l’agriculture voir l’anonyme Kitāb-i zirā‘at, composé avant le XIXe siècle, Browne 1896, pp. 226-227, cf. aussi Storey 1977, pp. 374 n. 629, 375 n. 632 (2, 3), 376 n. 4, 377 n. 12. 121. Bābur 1998, pp. 488-515. 122. Ḥusayn Ḫān 1950. 123. cf. naushahi 1998. 124. abū al-Fażl 2001, vol. 1, pp. 21-27, cf. aussi vol. 3, p. 253 sur la définition de l’alchimie indienne (rasavidyā). 125. cf. Goswamy - Greewal 1967, pp. 120-124.

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Awrang-šāhī d’abū al-Fatḥ Ḫayrī. ces textes décrivent les procédés indiens pour la calcination (kuštan) de l’argent, de l’or, du mercure, du cuivre, du plomb, du fer, de l’acier et du talc. Il faut remarquer que la circulation du savoir alchimique d’origine indienne dans les textes scientifique persans se réalisa principalement par le biais de l’iatrochimie. les traités persans sur la médecine indienne incluaient des descriptions détaillées des opérations pour la calcification des minéraux, des métaux et sur les préparations mercurielles et herbo-métalliques. d’importants exemples se trouvent dans le Ma‘dan al-šifā’-i Sikandar-šāhī de Miyān Bhuwa126, le Dastūr al-aṭibbā’ de Firišta, le Takmila-yi hindī de Šāh ahl allāh, le Ṭibb-i Awrang-šāhī de darwīš Muḥammad et le Mu‘ālajāt-i hindī de Šayḫ Ḥaydar Miṣrī127. les propriétés des substances de l’iatrochimie indienne sont également décrites dans le Ta’līf-i Šarīfī de Šarīf Ḫān. Par exemple, le mercure (pārā) est chaud, il renforce la vue, est utile pour combattre la lèpre et les vers intestinaux ; le soufre (gandak) est utile pour les troubles du vent (bād) et du phlegme et renforce la virilité, l’estomac et le cerveau128. de plus, l’on trouve des descriptions à ce sujet dans des textes médicaux principalement consacrés à la tradition avicennienne, et notamment dans le Ganj-i bād-āward d’amān allāh Ḫān et dans le Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī de nūr al-dīn Širāzī129. dans les textes médicaux persans, on trouve en même temps des indications prônant une utilisation prudente des ces substances. Šarīf Ḫān, à propos de l’oxyde d’arsenic (sumbul-khār), souligne la différence existant entre l’opinion des médecins indiens, qui l’utilisent fréquemment, et celle des musulmans qui au contraire préconisent de ne pas employer ce type de substances toxiques, sauf en association avec des substances correctives (muṣliḥāt)130. akbar arzānī fait réfèrence dans le Qarābādīn-i Qādirī à une différence d’opinion analogue entre les médecins indiens et musulmans à propos de l’utilisation du litharge (murdārsang)131. le Haft aḥbāb est un important ouvrage alchimique persan traitant aussi du savoir indien. cet ouvrage pseudonyme est attribué à un groupe de sept savants qui en réalité vécurent à des époques différentes, tels les soufis Ḥamīd al-dīn 126. le Ma‘dan al-šifā’ mentionne parmi ses sources le traité alchimique Rasaratnākara, Bhuwa Ḫān 1294/1877, p. 3. 127. ce sujet est exposé dans la deuxième partie de cet ouvrage, Ḥaydar Miṣrī, Mu‘ālajāt-i hindī, ms. andhra Pradesh oriental Manuscript library and research Institute, pers. 339, pp. 2-25. 128. Šarīf Ḫān 1280/1863, pp. 51-52, 162. 129. les prescriptions de l’iatrochimie indienne (murakkabāt-i rasāyana) sont exposées dans la ḫātima du Ṭibb-i Dārā Šikōhī, qui est surtout dédiée à la pharmacologie. 130. Šarīf Ḫān 1280/1863, pp. 124-125. 131. cf. abdul Bari 2002, pp. 29, 31.

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nāgawrī (m. 643/1246) et Sulaymān Mandawī (m. 944/1537-38)132. on rapporte que Sulaymān Mandawī fut instruit sur le traité yoga Amṛtakuṇḍa par le maître čištī ‘abd al-Quddus Gangohī (m. 944/1537)133. le deuxième chapitre, intitulé haft sāgar, est le plus étendu de l’ouvrage : il est attribué à Gyān nāth Sa‘ādatmand, présenté comme un yogi nāth134 converti à l’islam par les autres auteurs présumés du traité. cette section décrit les préparations à base de mercure, les élixirs pour créer l’or et l’argent, les substances végétales qui sont utilisées en alchimie, et présente quatre-vingt-huit dictons sur l’alchimie, en vers hindi avec des gloses en persan, attribués à Gūrū Gorakhnāth, le fondateur de l’école yoga portant son nom135. dans le chapitre suivant, attribué à Sulaymān Mandawī, on retrouve une description du pātanayantra (pātāl-jantra), instrument typique de l’alchimie indienne. Il s’agit d’un appareil de sublimation à deux chambres qui est notamment utilisé pour l’extraction du mercure à partir du cinabre et qui se compose de deux vases superposés136. le chapitre attribué à Mīr Muḥammad Hāšim Buḫārī, le quatrième du traité, expose des méthodes pour la solution (ḥall) des substances, dont on rapporte qu’elles furent transmises au soufi Ẓahīr al-dīn rūmī par le yogi dayā nāth. le texte de Haft aḥbāb inclut des indications à caractère magique, comme des prescriptions permettant de rendre la jeunesse (kāyākalpa) et pour la production du guṭkā, une pilule conférant l’invisibilité137. un paragraphe traitant du savoir des indiens se retrouve dans le Maḫzan-i iksīr d’Imām al-dīn ibn Pīr Muḥammad Pākpattanī, composé en 1274/1857-58138. le Maqālīd al-kunūz d’aḥmad ibn arslān est un autre ouvrage persan incluant le savoir et le lexique indiens, il s’agit d’un traité général d’alchimie comportant un chapitre dédié aux appareils (jantra, bhaṭṭī)139. on trouve de surcroît quelques traités anonymes sur ce sujet140. des 132. rieu a avancé l’hypothèse que le personnage auquel est attribué le cinquième chapitre de l’ouvrage, Mīrān Sayyid Ṭaiyib awdhī, est Mīr Sayyid Ṭaiyib Bilgrāmī, qui mourut en 1066/1656, rieu 1881, p. 486. on peut noter qu’on ne retrouve pas de copies datées du Haft aḥbāb ayant été transcrites avant l’époque moghole. 133. cf. digby 1975, p. 36. 134. Sur les contacts entre les yogis nāth et le monde musulman en Inde voir l’article de véronique Bouillier « dialogue entre les nāth yogīs et l’Islam » dans ce volume. 135. Sur les nāth et le savoir alchimique cf. White 1996. 136. cf. Speziale 2006, p. 28, pour une illustration du pātanayantra tirée du ms. de leiden. 137. Haft aḥbāb, ms. leiden, universiteitsbibliotheek, or. 22.768, cf. aussi Speziale 2006. 138. Monzavī 1362 š./1983, p. 793. 139. ethé 1903, vol. 1, c. 1507. le lexique indien est également employé dans le traité alchimique attribué à un certain ‘abd al-Ġafūr, dont les seules copies connues remontent aux XIIe et XIve siècles de l’hégire, cf. Monzavī 1362 š./1983, p. 786. 140. cf. al-Kīmiyā ba ṭarīq-i ahl-i hindī, et un traité sur le mercure dont il est fait référence par Monzavī 1382 š./2003, pp. 3955 n. 4, 3976.

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éléments du savoir indien sont également référés dans la description des substances alchimiques qui est faite par le soufi Ḫūb Muḥammad Čištī dans le traité mystique Ḥifẓ-i marātib, composé en 1009/1600-01141.

l’éPoQue colonIale Suite aux changements intervenus dans le milieu scientifique de l’Inde coloniale, des éléments nouveaux caractérisèrent la production de textes sur les savoirs indiens, composés dans les langues de la tradition musulmane. les Britanniques commandèrent des textes en persan portant sur les savoirs locaux et traduisirent en anglais des traités persans sur le sujet. des textes apparurent également en ourdou, qui à l’époque coloniale, commença à se substituer au persan en tant que langue des études scientifiques musulmanes dans le souscontinent. les textes en persan furent parmi les premières sources que les européens utilisèrent dans leur découverte des traditions et du savoir indiens142, y compris dans le domaine scientifique. les anglais gardèrent en Inde le persan comme langue officielle de l’administration pendant plus d’un demi-siècle, jusqu’en 1835. en 1856, le médecin James thornton rapporte qu’il était obligatoire de passer un examen de conversation en hindoustani avant de pouvoir être qualifié comme officier médical pour des postes locaux de l’Indian Medical Service143. des études récentes ont montré qu’au début de la présence coloniale, les occidentaux rencontrèrent des difficultés pour adapter leur savoir et leurs remèdes aux conditions indiennes et qu’au moins pendant une certaine période, ils s’intéressèrent aux substituts et aux remèdes locaux144. cette situation est analogue à celle à laquelle avaient auparavant été confrontés les médecins musulmans, lors du processus d’adaptation de la pratique avicennienne au climat local. un ample traité médical sanscrit fut traduit pour un anglais, peut-être William Blaguire, par Ḥasanī al-Kirmānī en 1210/1803. le titre original de l’ouvrage est transcrit ‫ نیکسین مهارنت‬et sa traduction persane, en quarante-huit chapitres, fut intitulée ‫ مهاساگر نیکسین‬145. la Medical and Physical Society of calcutta publia en 1833, la traduction anglaise du Ta’līf-i Šarīfī de Šarīf Ḫān, réalisée par George Playfair, chirurgien en service au Bengale. dans

141. Ḫūb Muḥammad Čištī, Ḥifẓ-i marātib, ms. téhéran, Kitābḫāna-yi Mellī, 4176, ff. 40v-41-r. 142. cf. ernst 2003a, pp. 187-193. 143. thornton 1895, pp. 6-7. 144. cf. arnold 2000, pp. 65-71 ; Harrison 2006. 145. Pertsch 1888, pp. 1032-1033.

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son introduction, Playfair souligne que les médicaments des médecins indiens avaient des effets très bénéfiques pour de nombreuses maladies pour lesquelles la pharmacopée européenne n’avait pas de remèdes adéquats146. vers la fin du XvIIIe siècle, des traités en persan sur l’agriculture de l’Inde et du Bengale furent composés pour Sir John Murray ; Muḥammad Ṣādiq rédigea pour lui le Ḏaḫīrat al-fu’ād, sur le Bengale, et Āqā ‘alī le Majma‘ al-fawā’id, qui traitait en sus de l’élevage des animaux et de quelques autres sujets147. le colonel James Skinner (m. 1841), un écossais, fils d’une mère rājput, compléta en 1825, un traité proto-ethnographique en persan sur les castes et les professions indiennes, illustré par des artistes locaux, et qui était fondé sur des sources sanscrites qu’il avait fait traduire en persan. l’ouvrage, intitulé Tašrīḥ al-aqwām, comprend des descriptions des castes des astrologues (gaṇaka), des conducteurs d’éléphants (fīl-bān), des barbiers (ḥajjām), des chirurgiens (jarrāḥ), des forgerons (āhangar), des orfèvres (zargar), des médecins (baid) et des oculistes (sathiyā)148. Joseph earles publia à calcutta en 1788, la traduction anglaise du traité sur l’hippologie et l’hippiatrie indiennes réalisé pour ‘abd allāh Ḫān, tandis que d. c. Phillot travailla à l’édition du texte persan de la version d’Hāšimī, qui fut imprimée en 1910149. Zūrāvar Singh traduisit en persan pour Warren Hastings (m. 1818) le Purāṇārthaprakāśa, sur la chronologie et la cosmologie, dont l’original sanscrit avait été commisionné au pandit rādhākānta tarka par le même Hastings. le texte fut ensuite traduit en anglais par nathaniel Halhed (m. 1830)150. Munšī Karpārām, qui était un érudit dans le savoir indien, et également dans les langues persane et arabe, rédigea pour Hastings un traité persan – dont le titre n’est pas connu – sur la cosmogonie, la géographie, l’astronomie et quelques autres sujets, fondé sur des sources sanscrites151. l’adaptation persane du Bījagaṇita de Bhāskara qui avait été composée au XvIIe siècle par ‘aṭā’ allāh rašīdī, fut traduite en anglais par edward Strachey et publiée en 1813. Strachey remarque qu’il eut une fois

146. Playfair « Preface » à Šarīf Ḫān 1833, p. iii, cf. Šarīf Ḫān 1280/1863. des enseignements sur les médecines indiennes furent insérées dans le programme des cours de la native Medical School de calcutta, instituée en 1824, et de celle de Bombay (dès 1826), établies afin de former du personnel auxiliaire local pour l’Indian Medical Service. cependant, ces écoles eurent une vie très courte, la native Medical School de calcutta fut fermée en 1832 et celle de Bombay trois années après, cf. arnold 2000, p. 62. 147. cf. Pertsch 1888, pp. 594-596. 148. l’ouvrage était dédié à Sir John Malcolm, rieu 1879, pp. 65a-67a. 149. cf. Storey 1977, pp. 395-396. 150. rieu 1879, pp. 63b-64a ; Browne 1896, p. 94. 151. rieu 1879, p. 63. la cosmogonie indienne est aussi exposée dans le Daḫīrat al-fu’ād, qui fut commandé à un auteur inconnu, en 1796, par Sir John Murray, Pertsch 1888, pp. 1020-1021.

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également à sa disposition une version sanscrite du texte, mais qu’il ne connaissait pas cette langue et n’eut aucun moyen de se faire expliquer le texte152. dans la dernière partie du XvIIIe siècle, furent également réalisées des traductions persanes sur la médecine et sur la cosmologie bouddhistes, à partir de sources en langue mugh153. la période coloniale ne vit pas la disparition des contacts entre médecines ayurvédique et yūnānī ; yūnānī ṭibb, médecine grecque, étant le terme qui s’imposa à cette époque en Inde pour désigner l’école médicale avicennienne154. certaines formes du rapport entre les milieux ayurvédique et yūnānī reflètent les tendances réformistes qui s’affirmèrent à cette époque, au sein d’une fraction influente des médecins traditionnels indiens. la confrontation avec la science et l’administration coloniales, la perte du rôle hégémonique pluriséculaire que les médecins locaux avaient détenu dans les cours indiennes, minaient le pouvoir et l’autorité scientifique des médecins traditionnels. dans ce contexte, ceux-ci créèrent de nouvelles formes d’association, d’instruction et d’expression scientifiques empruntées aux modèles occidentaux, tels les associations, collèges, revues et confèrences. de nombreux médecins yūnānī et ayurvédiques étudiaient également la médecine allopathique155. en 1910, fut fondée l’all India vedic and Yunani tibbi conference (aIvYtc), dans le but d’unir, sur un plan d’action partagée, les efforts des médecins ayurvédiques et yūnānī. attewell a récemment analysé l’activité de l’aIvYtc, montrant que ses membres revendiquaient l’existence d’une médecine nationale commune ou desī ṭibb, et affirmaient l’importance de la recherche sur la materia medica locale156. Ḥakīm ‘abd al-laṭīf, un membre de l’influente famille de médecins yūnānī des ‘azīzī de lucknow, souligne dans son ouvrage Hamārī ṭibb men hindūon kā sājhā (la relation de l’Inde avec notre médecine), que la ṭibb, la médecine, n’est pas simplement une yūnānī ṭibb, une médecine grecque, mais une synthèse des médecines grecque, arabe, iranienne et indienne, et que d’un point de vue historique, l’origine indienne est prédominante157. l’un des fondateurs de l’aIvYtc était ajmal Ḫān (m. 1346/1927), un descendant de Šarīf Ḫān et homme politique favorable à la collaboration avec les hindous. ajmal Ḫān fonda à delhi une importante école de médecine yūnānī où la médecine ayurvédique 152. Strachey « Preface » à ‘aṭā’ allāh rašīdī 1813, p. 10. 153. Pertsch 1888, pp. 1039-1043. 154. Sur la dénomination yūnānī ṭibb cf. Speziale 2005. 155. Plusieurs médecins étaient également favorables à l’intégration dans le savoir traditionnel, d’éléments tirés de la science occidentale, surtout dans les disciplines les plus accusées de retard scientifique par la médecine moderne, telles l’anatomie et la chirurgie. 156. attewell 2007, pp. 147-192. 157. ‘abd al-laṭīf s.d., p. 1.

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était également enseignée158. en 1913, l’ayurved Mahamandal lui accorda un prix en reconnaissance des services rendus à la médecine ayurvédique159. la médecine ayurvédique reçut un certain soutien dans le plus grand état princier musulman de l’Inde, celui des niẓāms de Hyderabad. des médecins indiens, Jagannāth Miṣrī, veṅkaṭ rām, rāmacandra et Ḥaydar Miṣrī, avaient été employés à l’époque de Sikandar Jāh (r. 1803-1829)160 et au cours de la première moitié du XIXe siècle, des ouvrages en persan sur la pharmacopée indienne furent rédigés par Ḥaydar Miṣrī, riżā ‘alī Ḫān et Muḥammad Qamar al-dīn Ḥusayn. en 1906, Ṣādiq Ḥusayn, un autre élève de Hari Govind161, ouvrit à Hyderabad une école privée de médecine ayurvédique, en collaboration avec des collègues hindous162. À partir des années 1920, sous le dernier niẓām, Mīr ‘uṯmān ‘alī Ḫān (r. 1911-1948), quelques cabinets ayurvédiques privés commencèrent à recevoir des subventions de l’état. en 1936-37, un financement particulier fut assigné à la médecine ayurvédique163. le gouvernement de Hyderabad reconnut officiellement vingt institutions académiques ayurvédiques en Inde, et en 1941 le niẓām ayurvedic college and Ṣadr dawā-ḫāna de Hyderabad fut intégré dans le département sanitaire de l’état164. concernant les ouvrages en ourdou sur le savoir indien, plusieurs textes nouveaux furent composés dans cette langue, et en outre quelques traductions à partir d’autres langues virent le jour. le Ma‘dan al-šifā’-i Sikandar-šāhī de Miyān Bhuwa fut traduit en ourdou par Šayḫ Muḥammad ‘aẓīm allāh, sous le titre de Mujarrabāt-i Ṭibb-i Sikandarī, et publié à Kanpur en 1902. Pandit Pyarelal traduisit l’Amṛtasāgar, dont la version originale avait été composée pour le raja Pratap Singh (r. 1778-1803) de Jaipur en langue mārvāṛī. Il s’agit d’un traité notamment consacré à la pathologie et à la thérapeutique, comportant des chapitres sur l’analyse du pouls, les troubles mentaux, les maladies des femmes et des enfants, l’iatrochimie, les prescriptions pour la virilité (quwwat-i bāh), et un appendice sur les mantras et les talismans (yantra)165. 158. abdur razzack 1987, p. 25. 159. attewell 2007, p. 164. 160. cf. Fārūqī 1420/1999, p. 165. 161. cet éminent médecin ayurvédique de Hyderabad étudia le persan et l’ourdou, et était aussi un savant en médecine yūnānī, cf. Šifā-yi Ḥaydarābādī 1952, pp. 196-198. 162. Husain - Bhatnagar 2002, pp. 117-118. 163. Report on the Administration of H.E.H. the Nizam’s Dominions, for the year 1346 Fasli (6th October 1936 to 5th October 1937), p. 143. 164. Report on the Administration of H.E.H. the Nizam’s Dominions, for the year 1351 Fasli (6th October 1941 to 5th October 1942), pp. 140-141. 165. la traduction en ourdou du pandit Pyarelal fut imprimée plusieurs fois à l’époque coloniale. cette traduction ne fut probablement pas réalisée à partir de la version en mārvāṛī, mais à partir d’une traduction antérieure dans une autre langue, qui avait été sollicitée par l’éditeur Munšī nawal Kišor, Pyarelal 1970, p. 2.

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Ḥaṣīn al-dīn aḥmad traduisit du persan le traité alchimique Haft aḥbāb166. des traductions du Kokaśāstra, apparemment faites à partir du sanscrit, furent réalisées par Ḥakīm Sa‘īd aḥmad Ḫān et par Ḥakīm Bhakta rām167. de nouveaux traités sur la médecine ayurvédique furent composés en ourdou tant par des médecins musulmans que par des savants hindous. on trouve aussi des hindous parmi les éditeurs des nouvelles revues médicales publiées en ourdou168. les descriptions biographiques et les ouvrages en ourdou des médecins hindous indiquent que plusieurs parmi ceux-ci étaient également compétents dans le traitement yūnānī. les biographies (taḏkira) attestent que plusieurs médecins hindous étudiaient encore le persan et les textes médicaux dans cette langue. Mirzā aḥmad aḫtar, qui étudia la médecine ayurvédique avec pandit Bhasker rao à vidisha, proche de Bhopal, composa deux traités sur les remèdes ayurvédiques : le Qarābādīn-i vaidik, qui fut publié à delhi en 1889, et le Mufradāt-i vaidik169. Ḥakīm Muḥammad Fīrūz al-dīn, un éminent médecin yūnānī de lahore qui éditait des revues médicales et prit part aux activités de l’aIvYtc, publia en 1913 un travail détaillé sur la pharmacopée ayurvédique intitulé Dawā-yi hindī170. entre 1926 et 1930, Krishna dayal, un vaidya d’amristar, composa le Maḫzan-i ayurved. cet ouvrage est un ample traité sur le traitement ayurvédique, incluant également l’iatrochimie ; il fut publié à amristar en cinq volumes, pour un total d’environ deux mille cinqcents pages171. Parmi les autres ouvrages, on peut mentionner le Kāmil sannyāsī de tārā candra cabber, sur la pathologie et la thérapeutique, qui comprenait aussi des mantras et des talismans pour la guérison172. Plusieurs textes traitaient soit du savoir ayurvédique soit du savoir yūnānī, tels le Tuḥfat al-aṭibbā’, sur la thérapeutique, de Sayyid Mušarraf Ḥusayn, et le Mufīd al-ajsām, un recueil de prescriptions rédigé par Mīr Fażl ‘alī, qui furent publiés à lucknow par nawal Kišor, respectivement en 1868 et en 1887. Parmi les autres ouvrages de ce genre, on peut mentionner le Ṣiḥḥat kī dawlat de nārāyaṇ dās, un traité sur le diagnostic qui fut imprimé à Hyderabad en 1890, le Qarābādīn-i Luṭfī (delhi, 1905) de ‘abd al-Sattār luṭfī, le Hama-dān ṭabīb 166. la deuxième édition de cette traduction fut imprimée à lahore en 1913. 167. le deux traductions étaient illustrées, celle de Sa‘īd aḥmad Ḫān fut imprimée à Kanpur en 1913, cf. Quraishi 1991, p. 121. un autre traité intitulé Kokaśāstra, incluant aussi des mantras thérapeutiques, fut composé par Babu Pyarelal et publié à aligarh en 1909, cf. Husain - Bhatnagar - ali, 1998, pp. 154-155. d’autres traités en ourdou sur la sexologie indienne sont mentionnés par Husain - Bhatnagar - ali 1998, pp. 156-157 ; Husain - Bhatnagar - ali 1999, p. 151. 168. a‘ẓmī 2004, pp. 24-27. 169. Husain - Bhatnagar - ali 1998, pp. 155-156. 170. Quraishi 1991, p. 121. 171. cf. ali 1988 ; Husain - Bhatnagar 2002, pp. 110-117. 172. Husain - Bhatnagar - ali 1998, p. 155.

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(1914) de Bhakta rām, et le Kāmil ḥakīm (lahore, 1910), sur la pharmacologie, de Ḥakīm rām Kišan, qui composa aussi un traité sur la pharmacopée yūnānī intitulé Maḫzan-i ḥikmat173. a l’époque coloniale, les auteurs musulmans compilèrent en ourdou des recueils de biographies (taḏkira) des médecins qui incluaient aussi les médecins ayurvédiques. Ḥakīm Muḥammad Fīrūz al-dīn de lahore inséra les biographies des médecins ayurvédiques de son époque dans le Rumūz al-aṭibbā’, faisant les portraits des médecins de plusieurs régions indiennes et en particulier de celle de l’auteur174. un autre médecin éminent de lahore, Ḥakīm Ġulām Gīlānī (m. 1926), publia le Tārīḫ al-aṭibbā’, dont la dernière partie est dédiée aux grandes figures de la tradition ayurvédique175. dans les années 1930, le médecin et soufi naqšbandī Ḥakīm Šifā-yi Ḥaydarābādī rédigea le Taḏkira-yi aṭibbā’-i ‘ahd-i ‘uṯmānī, qui était consacré aux médecins du deccan contemporains de l’auteur et présentait plusieurs médecins hindous176. des descriptions de la médecine ayurvédique et de son patronage à l’époque abbasside furent inclues dans l’Islāmī ṭibb šāhānah sarparstiyūn men de rahbar Fārūqī, la première histoire importante en ourdou de la médecine avicennienne en Inde177.

concluSIon on a présenté ici une vue d’ensemble des traits marquant la production des textes en persan et en ourdou sur le savoir médical et scientifique indiens, réalisée en Inde aux époques moghole et coloniale. nous nous sommes particulièrement concentrés sur certains aspects et tendances dominants de ce processus, analysant plus en détail un groupe d’auteurs et d’ouvrages emblématiques. le but n’était certes pas d’offrir une vision complète de ce domaine et des sources qui furent composées sur le sujet, considérant notamment qu’une partie importante de cette littérature reste malheureusement encore très peu connue. en conclusion, je souhaiterais récapituler et préciser 173. cf. Quraishi 1991, pp. 118-121, 124 ; Husain - Bhatnagar - ali 1999, p. 152. 174. Fīrūz al-dīn 1913. 175. Ġulām Gīlānī était également un expert en médecine allopathique et son ouvrage mentionnait les médecins de la tradition grecque ancienne et les médecins européens modernes, Ḥakīm Ġulām Gīlānī 1912. 176. Šifā-yi Ḥaydarābādī 1952. les biographies de quelques médecins hindous furent également incluses dans le Tīr ba-hadaf, compilé à Hyderabad par Muḥammad Ẓafar al-dīn nāṣir, Muḥammad nāṣir 1941. 177. l’ouvrage, comportant une première partie sur la médecine dans le monde musulman, fut publié en 1936 à Hyderabad. Fārūqī était qāżī (juge) et initié de l’ordre soufi Qalandariyya, Fārūqī 1420/1999, pp. 13-23.

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certains points émergeant de cette première analyse. l’examen du corpus de textes persans et ourdous sur la médecine indienne montre la limite de certains axiomes de l’historiographie de la médecine dans le monde musulman : notamment l’idée de l’hégémonie absolue de l’influence des textes classiques arabes sur la production postérieure, et l’idée que les médecins musulmans de l’époque post-médiévale étaient incapables de donner une direction nouvelle aux études médicales. l’analyse du milieu scientifique pluriculturel indien aux époques moghole et coloniale, impose d’élaborer des perspectives prenant en compte les spécificités historiques, sociales et linguistiques du sous-continent, où les disciplines scientifiques et la médecine étaient encore enseignées dans les madrasas, où étudiaient aussi des savants hindous, et où les langues de la tradition musulmane ne véhiculaient pas seulement les savoirs transmis par les musulmans. l’étude du savoir médical indien n’était pas uniquement motivée par le seul intérêt culturel et littéraire, mais surtout par des raisons pratiques importantes. ainsi, la rencontre avec la science indienne eut un impact important sur la pratique des médecins indo-musulmans, et non sur leur vision de la doctrine médicale. Plusieurs siècles durant, les contacts avec l’ancien savoir indien et sa pharmacopée raffinée élargirent le champ des ressources thérapeutiques disponibles pour les médecins indo-musulmans, la pharmacologie étant sans doute la discipline médicale pour laquelle ces contacts déterminèrent le plus important renouvellement de connaissance, si l’on compare cela à l’héritage de la tradition arabo-persane plus ancienne. un autre aspect intéressant en est que le milieu religieux mystique indo-musulman ne constitua pas une force visant à s’opposer aux études scientifiques portant sur une tradition non musulmane. au contraire, les médecins liés aux cercles soufis apportèrent une contribution considérable à la production de traités médicaux sur le savoir indien. en même temps, les traditions prophétiques faisant l’éloge de la médecine pouvaient devenir un élément du discours rhétorique des auteurs musulmans motivant l’importance d’étudier le savoir local. la période d’awrangzeb, que l’on a l’habitude de considérer comme celle de la victoire des courants islamiques extrémistes et intolérants envers les hindous, est en réalité caractérisée par la production de plusieurs ouvrages persans sur les traditions indiennes. ces quelques réflexions nous montrent ainsi la nécessité d’élargir la perspective au travers de laquelle a été habituellement perçu le développement des études médicales dans le monde musulman, en ce qui concerne l’apport donné par les traductions tirées des traditions scientifiques préislamiques. l’assimilation du savoir scientifique étranger ne s’acheva pas avec la grande phase des traductions des textes grecs vers l’arabe qui marqua la naissance des études scientifiques dans le monde musulman. Si la période des traductions

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médicales vers l’arabe de l’époque abbasside a été dominée par l’influence des textes grecs, la scène littéraire persane et ourdoue de l’Inde aux époques moghole et coloniale a en revanche, été marquée par la production d’ouvrages sur la médecine indienne. remarquons cependant que les études sur le savoir indien n’eurent sûrement pas la même importance ni la même influence qu’avait eues l’assimilation du savoir grec pour le développement de la médecine et des sciences musulmanes. toutefois, cela généra un mouvement de production de textes scientifiques, qui en termes quantitatifs, au vu des sources existantes, vient seulement en deuxième position par rapport à la production qui avait caractérisé le processus de traduction des sources grecques. l’intégration des connaissances locales au sein de la littérature scientifique persane et ourdoue de l’Inde connut un caractère et des effets plus importants et plus durables, que lors des premiers contacts avec le savoir indien réalisés à l’époque abbasside, et dont le corpus de textes composés sur les sciences indiennes connut une circulation assez limitée aux époques postérieures. le fait que son impact resta essentiellement confiné au milieu scientifique du sous-continent et n’eut pas une influence significative sur le reste du monde musulman – sauf peut-être en ce qui concerne une partie des médecins iraniens, qui eurent des contacts plus directs avec le monde indien et lisaient les textes persans produits en Inde – constitua certainement une limite importante du mouvement d’études en persan et en ourdou portant sur la science indienne. cela souligne en même temps, et une fois encore, l’importance du fait de considérer les caractéristiques spécifiques du milieu et de la production scientifiques de l’Inde moghole, par rapport notamment à l’Iran safavide et post-safavide d’une part et à l’empire ottoman d’autre part. vis-à-vis de l’Iran safavide, le monde musulman indien connut des conditions intellectuelles et sociales uniques pour le développement des études scientifiques en langue persane, dans la direction que l’on a essayé de décrire dans cet article. enfin, on a montré que ces contacts se prolongèrent jusqu’à l’époque britannique, lorsque le sous-continent demeurait probablement le centre le plus actif pour les études médicales avicenniennes dans le monde musulman, et lorsque les traditions ayurvédique et yūnānī se retrouvèrent toutes deux confrontées à la montée de l’hégémonie scientifique coloniale.

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Goswamy, B. n. - Greewal, J. S., 1967 : The Mughals and the Jogis of Jakhbar: Some Madad-i-Ma’ash and Other Documents. Simla, Indian Institute for advanced Studies. Habibullah, a. B. M., 1938 : « Medieval Indo-Persian literature relating to Hindu Science and Philosophy, 1000-1800 a.d. ». Indian Historical Quarterly, XIv, 1, pp. 167-181. Harrison, Mark, 2006 : « Medicine and orientalism: Perspectives on europe’s encounter with Indian Medical Systems », in : B. Pati - M. Harrison, éds., Health, Medicine and Empire. Perspectives in Colonial India. new delhi, orient longman, pp. 37-87 (1e éd. 2001). Hass, e., 1876 : « Über die ursprünge der indischen Medizin mit besonderen Bezug auf Sušruta ». Zeitschrift des Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 30, pp. 617670. Husain, S. a. - Bhatnagar, v. K., 2002 : « ayurvedic literature in urdu. Part III ». Bulletin of the Indian Institute of History of Medicine, XXXII, 2, pp. 109-119. Husain, S. a. - Bhatnagar, v. K. - ali, M., – 1998 : « ayurvedic literature in urdu ». Bulletin of the Indian Institute of History of Medicine, XXvIII, 2, pp. 151-158. – 1999 : « ayurvedic literature in urdu. Part II ». Bulletin of the Indian Institute of History of Medicine, XXIX, 2, pp. 149-154. Husain, S. a. - Prasad, P. v. v. - narayana, a., 2003 : « Moalejat-e-hindi: a compilation of ayurvedic Formulations tested by nizam III of Hyderabad ». Bulletin of Indian Institute of History of Medicine, XXXIII, 1, pp. 93-111. Husain, Y., 1928 : « Ḥauḍ al-ḥayāt, la version arabe de l’amratkund ». Journal Asiatique, 213, pp. 291-344. Ishrat, amrit lal, s.d.: A Descriptive Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the Banaras Hindu University Library. varanasi. Iṣlāḥī, Ḥakīm ‘ubayd al-raḥmān, 2004: « Ḥakīm Muḥammad Šarīf Ḫān, urdū kā pahlā mutarjim-i Qur’ān », in : a. a‘ẓmī, éd., Ṭibb-i yūnānī awr urdū zabān wa adab. new delhi, Hamdard, pp. 129-134. Ivanow, W., 1985 : Concise descriptive catalogue of Persian Manuscripts in the Collection of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. calcutta (1e éd. 1924). Keshavarz, F., 1986 : A Descriptive and Analytical Catalogue of Persian Manuscripts in the Library of the Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine. london, the Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine.

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Meulenbeld, Jan G., 2000 : A History of Indian Medical Literature. Groningen, vols. IIa, text ; IIb, annotation. Monzavī, aḥmad, – 1362 š./1983 : Fihrist-i muštarak-i nusḫahā-yi ḫaṭṭī-yi fārsī-yi Pākistān. Islamabad, Iran Pakistan Institute of Persian Studies, vol. 1. – 1382 š./2003 : Fihristwāra-i kitābhā-yi fārsī. téhéran, vol. 5. Mukhopadhayaya, Girindranath B., 2003 : History of Indian Medicine. 3 vols., delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal (1e éd. calcutta, 1922-1929). naushahi, arif, 1998 : « timṯāl-i ašyā’ va azhār al-adviya. a 19th century encyclopaedia on Medical Herbs of Kashmir », in : Ž. vesel - H. Beikbaghban - B. thierry de crussol des epesse, éds., La science dans le monde iranien à l’époque islamique. téhéran, IFrI, pp. 279-289. Pertsch, Wilhelm, 1888 : Verzeichniss der Persischen Handschriften der königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin. Berlin. Pingree, david, – 2001a : « I professionisti della scienza e la loro formazione ». Cina, India, Americhe. Storia della Scienza vol. II. rome, Istituto della enciclopedia Italiana, pp. 690-707. – 2001b : « divinazione e astrologia ». Cina, India, Americhe. Storia della Scienza vol. II. rome, Istituto della enciclopedia Italiana, pp. 813-820. Quraishi, Salim al-din, 1991: Catalogue of the Urdu Books in the India Office Library (1800-1920). london (1e éd. 1982). rahman a., et al., 1982 : Science and Technology in Medieval India. A Bibliography of Source Materials in Sanskrit, Arabic and Persian. delhi, Indian national Science academy. Report on the Administration of H.E.H. the Nizam’s Dominions, for the year 1346 Fasli (6th October 1936 to 5th October 1937). Hyderabad, 1939. Report on the Administration of H.E.H. the Nizam’s Dominions, for the year 1351 Fasli (6th October 1941 to 5th October 1942). Hyderabad, 1945. rezavi, Syed ali nadeem, 2004: « an aristocratic Surgeon of Mughal India: Muqarrab Khān », in : I. Habib, éd., Medieval India 1. Researches in the History of India 1200-1750. new delhi, oxford university Press, pp. 154-167 (1e éd. 1992). richter-Bernburg, l., 1989 : « Bād ». Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. 3, pp. 350-351. rieu, charles, – 1879 : Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum. london, vol. 1. – 1881 : Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum. london, vol. 2.

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– 1883 : Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum. london, vol. 3. Sachau, e. - ethé, H., 1889 : Catalogue of the Persian, Turkish, Hindūstānī, and Pushtū Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library. oxford, vol. 1. Schmitz, Barbara - desai, Ziyauddin, 2006 : Mughal and Persian Paintings and Illustrated Manuscripts in The Raza Library. rampur – new delhi. Sezgin, Faut, 1970 : Geschichte der Arabischen Schrifttums. leiden, band 3. Siddiqi, tazimuddin, 1982 : « the Khwājgān Family of theologians and Physicians ». Studies in History of Medicine, vI, 1, pp. 1-36. Speziale, Fabrizio, – 2005 : « linguistic strategies of de-Islamisation and colonial science: IndoMuslim physicians and the yûnânî denomination ». International Institute for Asian Studies Newsletter, 37, p. 18. – 2006 : « de zeven vrienden. een Indo-Perzische verhandeling over alchemie », in : P. Hoftijzer - K. van ommen - G. Warnar - J. J. Witkam, éds., Bronnen van kennis. Wetenschap, kunst en cultuur in de collecties van de Leidse Universiteitsbibliotheek. leiden, Primavera Pers, pp. 23-31. – 2009 : « Introduzione », in : F. Speziale - G. Giurini, éds., Il trattato aureo sulla medicina attribuito all’imām ‘Alī al-Riḍā. Palerme, officina di Studi Medievali, pp. 9-58. Storey, c. a., – 1971 : Persian Literature. A Bio-bibliographical Survey, vol. 2, pt. 2 e. london. – 1977 : Persian Literature. A Bio-bibliographical Survay, vol. 2, pt. 3. london. thornton, James Howard, 1895 : Memories of seven campaigns : a record of thirty-five years’ service in the Indian medical department in India, China, Egypt, and the Sudan. Westminster, archibald constable and co. verma, r. l., 1992 : « Indo-arab relations in Medical Sciences », in : P. v. Sharma, éd., History of Medicine in India. new delhi, Indian national Science academy, pp. 465-484. Weisser, u., 2002 : « la medicina nel mondo islamico », in : r. rashed, éd., La Civiltà islamica. Storia della scienza vol. III, rome, Istituto della enciclopedia Italiana, pp. 714717. White, david Gordon, 1996 : The Alchemical Body. Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. chicago – london, the university of chicago Press. Ẓill al-raḥmān, Sayyid Ḥakīm, – 1986-1987 : « Ṭibb-i Fīroz Shāhī by Shāh Qulī, Introduction and edited text ». Studies in History of Medicine and Science, X-XI, pp. 1-79. – 1383š./2004 : Qānūn-i Ibn Sīnā, šārḥān wa mutarjamān-i ān, tr. persane, ‘abd al-Qādir Hāšemī, éd., téhéran.

Mīr DāMāD anD the Debate on ḥudūṯ-i dahrī in inDia Sajjad H. Rizvi

abstract: While a number of historians have commented on the role of the rational sciences in the Indian madrasa and the formation of what is known as the Dars-i niẓāmī as a means for training the elite professional class of empire in India during the 18th and 19th centuries, little attention has been paid to the content of the curriculum, the texts and the ideas that were debated. The formulation of school texts in metaphysics signalled a thorough engagement with the intellectual renaissance of Safavid Iran and in particular with the philosophical schools associated with Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī (d. c. 1045/1635), and his teacher Mīr Muḥammad Bāqir « Dāmād » Astarābādī (d. 1041/1631). The school of Mullā Ṣadrā was evident in the commentary culture of his exegetical treatment of al-Hidāya of Aṯīr al-Dīn al-Abharī and through his school al-ḥikma al-muta‘āliyya. The school of Mīr Dāmād was known as al-ḥikma al-yamāniyya. The first major figure who promoted this school critically and entered into the debate on his key doctrine of the eternal creation of the cosmos was Mullā Maḥmūd Fārūqī Jaunpūrī (d. 1652), perhaps the paramount philosopher of 17th century India who may have been a student of Mīr Dāmād. This paper focuses on the debate on this idea of perpetual creation (ḥudūṯ-i dahrī) as a way of understanding the school of Mīr Dāmād in India.

INtRoDuctIoN the history of Islamic philosophy and theology in India has yet to be properly written. the learned culture of the high Mughal period has increasingly attracted attention, focusing on the role of the Dars-i niẓāmī curriculum, devised in the 18th century to produce cohorts of capable imperial administrators, and on the intellectual life of Delhi, Lucknow and the Doab in the middle to late Mughal period.1 Some have indentified the significant role of Mīr Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī (d. 997/1589), a philosopher trained in the school of Shiraz, a student of the philosopher and sometime ṣadr of the Safavid empire, Mīr Ġiyāṯ al-Dīn Manṣūr Daštakī (d. 949/1542), and emigrant to the court of 1. Malik 1997; Robinson 2001; Nadwī 2006; Nizami 1983.

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Akbar (r. 1556-1605). Numerous works, of an academic and popular nature, stress his role as the foremost philosopher and scientist of his time in the Persianate world, and attribute to him a series of important technological innovations, reforms of the administration (including the adoption of Persian as the official language of the Mughal chancellery) and the madrasa curriculum, and as the main conduit for the serious study of philosophy and theology in India, laying the foundations for the 18th century curriculum Dars-i niẓāmī that emphasised the study of the rational disciplines (‘ulūm ‘aqliyya). It is common, therefore, for intellectual historians of Islamic thought in India to trace a lineage from Šīrāzī (and indeed from the išrāqī Avicennan tradition that he inherited) to the « founder of the Dars-i niẓāmī », Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn Sihālvī Farangī Maḥallī (d. 1161/1748).2 It was in this early Mughal period that Islamic philosophical traditions seriously began to penetrate Indian scholarly circles.3 Šīrāzī is praised in the biographical literature by friend and foe; the universal approval reflects his significant political status at the court of Akbar.4 His friend Abū al-Fażl wrote: He was so learned that if all the previous books of philosophy disappeared, he could have laid a new foundation for knowledge and would not desired what had preceded.5

2. Ḥasanī 1992, vol. VI, pp. 394-396; Malik 1997, pp. 86-95; Anṣārī 1973, p. 42 presents the following important intellectual lineage for the philosophical curriculum in India: Mullā Muḥammad Niẓām al-Dīn Sihālvī (d. 1161/1748) – his father, Mullā Quṭb al-Dīn Sihālvī (d. 1121/1710) – Mullā Dāniyāl Čawrāsī – ‘Abd al-Salām Dēwī (d. 1039/1629) – ‘Abd al-Salām of Lahore (d. 1037/1627) – Mīr Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī (d. 997/1589) – Jamāl al-Dīn Maḥmūd Šīrāzī – Jalāl al-Dīn Dawānī (d. 1502) – Muḥyī al-Dīn Kūšktārī – Ḫwāja Ḥasan Šāh Baqqāl – Šarīf ‘Alī Jurjānī (d. 816/1413) – Mubārak-Šāh Buḫārī (d. 740/1340) – Quṭb al-Dīn Rāzī taḥtānī (d. 766/1364). one could continue this lineage to Avicenna in the following manner: taḥtānī – the eminent Shiʻi theologian ‘Allāma ibn Muṭahhar al-Ḥillī (d. 725/1325) – his teacher the Shiʻi theologian, philosopher and scientist Ḫwāja Naṣīr al-Dīn Muḥammad Ṭūsī (d. 1274) – Farīd al-Dīn Dāmād Nīsābūrī – Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Saraḫṣī – Afḍal al-Dīn ‘umar al-Ġaylānī (d. after 523/1128) – Abū al-‘Abbās al-Lawkarī (d. after 503/1109) – Bahmanyār ibn Marzubān (d. 458/1066) – Avicenna (d. 428/1037). 3. Šīrāzī was one of number of students of the « school of Shiraz » who found fame and fortune in India. others included Abū al-Fatḥ Gīlānī (d. 997/1589), Šayḫ Aḥmad thattavī (d. 996/1588), Sayyid ‘Ināyat Allāh Šīrāzī (d. 988/1580), Šayḫ Muḥammad Yazdī (d. 998/1588), Mīr Murtaḍā Šarīfī (d. 972/1564), and Šayḫ Hibat Allāh Šīrāzī. See Ḥasanī 1992, vol. II-III, pp. 11-12, 26-27, 223-224, 293, 312, 346. 4. Badā’ūnī 1379š./2000, vol. III, p. 105. cf. Rizvi 1986, vol. II, pp. 196-197; Ḥasanī 1992, vol. II-III, pp. 226–227. 5. Abū al-Fażl 1873-87, vol. III, 401; cf. Rizvi 1986, vol. II, p. 197.

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Another contemporary and an official historian at court, Ḫwāja Niẓām al-Dīn Aḥmad Baḫšī (d. 1594) wrote: He was superior to all the ‘ulamā of Persia, Iraq and India in his knowledge of the scriptural and rational sciences. Among his contemporaries, he had no equal. He was an expert in the occult sciences including the preparation of talismans and white magic.6

Šīrāzī played a critical role in the dissemination of the works and teachings of the key figures of the philosophical school of Shiraz, the Daštakīs and Dawānī; it is no accident that establishing their work in the curricula of educational institutions accounts for the numerous manuscript copies of their philosophical, logical and theological works in Indian libraries. But arguably his most important legacy was bequeathing a curriculum of combining the study of the scriptures, the traditional religious sciences and the rational sciences that laid the basis for the Dars-i niẓāmī. For this lineage, his foremost student was Mullā ʻAbd al-Salām of Lahore (d. 1037/1627). the 18th century intellectual Mīr Ġulām ʻAlī Āzād Bilgrāmī (d. 1785) claimed that Šīrāzī was the leading teacher of the rational sciences in his time and his curricular reconciliation of the traditional (naqlī) and the intellectual (manqūlāt, ma‘qūlāt) was his great achievement that he transmitted to his student ‘Abd al-Salām of Lahore, who was also an eminent Mughal jurist judging cases and teaching in Lahore.7 once the taste for philosophical speculation became critical to the Indian sunni madrasa, it was the twin schools of Mullā Ṣadrā (d. c. 1045/1635)8, particularly disseminated through the study of his Šarḥ al-hidāya, and of Mīr Dāmād (d. 1040/1631) that dominated the intellectual curriculum of the late Mughal period. this chapter is a study of the later and the debates that arose on the nature of God’s creative agency that were inspired by the doctrine of the perpetual incipience of the cosmos (ḥudūṯ-i dahrī). I will first examine briefly Mīr Dāmād’s teaching and give an overview of his argument. I will then discuss the formation of a school of « Yemeni philosophy » in India and finally move onto the analysis of elements of the debate on the argument within the learned culture of the North Indian towns loosely within the framework of the Dars-i niẓāmī and its Lucknow and Ḫayrābād variants.

6. Niẓam al-Dīn Aḥmad 1927-29, vol. II, p. 357. 7. Bilgrāmī 1971, pp. 226, 228-229; Ḥasanī 1992, vol. V, pp. 243-244. 8. For an argument in favour of this revised date for Mullā Ṣadrā’s death, see Rizvi 2007, pp. 2830.

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MĪR DĀMĀD AND tHE ARGuMENt Mīr Muḥammad Bāqir Dāmād Astarābādī (d. 1041/1631) was an eminent philosopher of the Safavid period, a companion of Šāh ‘Abbās I (r. 1587-1629) and later Šayḫ al-Islām of Isfahan, involved in the coronation of Šāh Ṣafī in January 1629.9 Accompanying the Šāh to the shiʻi shrine cities in Iraq (the ʻatabāt), he later died there in 1631 and was buried in the precinct of the shrine of Imām ‘Alī in Najaf. He trained a number of prominent thinkers, not least the most famous philosopher of the Safavid period Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī. However, it was his son-in-law Sayyid Aḥmad ‘Alawī (d. 1651) and Mullā Šamsā Gīlānī (d. 1687) who are best known for perpetuating his school of thought, not least his doctrines on the nature of existence and the thorny problem of the relationship between being and time, or rather how to reconcile the Neoplatonizing Aristotelian account of the cosmos that is an instrumental, even logical product of a Principle, an unmoved Mover with the Islamic and Qurʼanic account of a personal God who creates volitionally. A prolific if rather obscure philosopher prone to an opaque and rather baroque style of writing, he was best known for his metaphysical doctrines relating to time and creation, returning to the topic repeatedly in his works. In particular, he was known for his theory that divine creative agency is neither temporal in this world nor eternal in the world of immutability but rather takes place in an intermediate mode of time and existence known as perpetuity (dahr). this is the concept of perpetual creation or ḥudūṯ-i dahrī.10 the theory is expounded in his two major works. Al-Qabasāt (Blazing Brands or Qabasāt ḥaqq al-yaqīn fī ḥudūṯ al-‘ālam), which remained more popular in Iran, is notoriously obscure in some of its formulations and was written in a six-month period at the beginning of 1625.11 It was extensively commented upon and glossed by his students Sayyid Aḥmad ‘Alawī, Mullā Šamsā Gīlānī, Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī-Riḍā Āqājānī, as well as other major philosophers of the Safavid and Qajar periods such as Āqā Ḥusayn Ḫwānsārī (d. 1687), Mullā ‘Alī Nūrī (d. 1831), and Mīrzā Abū al-Ḥasan Jilva (d. 1896).12 Al-Ufuq al-mubīn (the clear Horizon), however, was an earlier, incomplete text, covering the totality of the issues within metaphysics, that he abandoned before 1025/1615 but became a major school text in India and glossed by members of the Farangī Maḥall family as well as the Ḫayrābādī philosophers as we shall see shortly.13 9. the best accounts are Awjabī 2004 and Mūsawī-Bihbahānī 1998. 10. For a more detailed study, see Brown 2006; Rahman 1980; Rizvi 2006. 11. Mūsawī-Bihbahānī 1998, pp. 165-166. 12. ʻAlawī 1997, pp. 26–27. 13. ʻAbd Allāh Nūrānī published a non-critical edition of the text in Iran in 2006. Ḥāmid Nājī Iṣfahānī, who edited Sayyid Aḥmad ʻAlawī’s Šarḥ al-Qabasāt, has prepared a critical edition of

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Dāmād’s theory represents a conscious middle path between the medieval philosophers and theologians, an attempt by a thinker to articulate an « Islamic » philosophy, a prophetically-inspired way of wisdom, as the concept of « Yemeni philosophy » indicated. theologians in Islam had broadly insisted that the Qurʾanic notion of a creator God was one who produced the cosmos ex nihilo in time.14 Inspired by John Philoponus’ famous attack on Proclus (d. 485) and Aristotle’s defence of eternalism, they have asserted that not only was the concept of an eternal cosmos coeval with God absurd, it was also heretical; Ġazālī (d. 505/1111) in his Tahāfut al-falāsifa (Incoherence of the Philosophers) anathemized philosophers for believing precisely this.15 Philoponus (d. c. 570), as a christian, was followed by other theologians in using Aristotelian principles to deconstruct the argument for eternity.16 His refutation relied on three premises. First, if the existence of something requires the pre-existence of something else, then the first thing will not come to be without the prior existence of the second. this was a major axiom in later Islamic metaphysics and was known as the « rule of subordination » (qā‘ida far‘iyya). Second, based on sound Aristotelian science, an infinite number cannot exist in actuality, nor be traversed in counting, nor be increased. the medieval rule that actual infinites do not obtain was upheld. third, something cannot come into being if its existence requires the pre-existence of an infinite number of other things, one arising out of the other. From these Aristotelian premises, Philoponus deduced that the conception of a temporally infinite universe, understood as a successive causal chain, is impossible. the celestial spheres of Aristotelian theory have different periods of revolution, and in any given number of years they undergo different numbers of revolutions, some larger than others. the assumption of their motion having gone on for all eternity leads to the conclusion that infinity can be increased, even multiplied, which Aristotle too held to be absurd. Dāmād’s solution is not primarily concerned with this strand of the argument. Influenced by Avicenna, he was convinced by the argument that God does not create in time since that leads to a petitio principii; the cause of time must transcend time. Avicenna reduces the relationship of the cosmos to the world to one of contingency (imkān) dependent on the Necessary Existent one al-Ufuq al-mubīn which is in press. Despite the many manuscripts of the text in India, there is neither a lithograph nor a modern edition of the text. 14. For a wonderfully creative study of how Islamic intellectual traditions have shifted from an initial « Qur’anic creator paradigm », see Netton 1989. the standard reference for the arguments for and against eternity in medieval Islam is in Davidson 1987. 15. Ġazālī 2000, pp. 12-46. 16. on Philoponus’ argument, see Sorabji 1983, pp. 193-231; Sambursky 1962, pp. 154-175.

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(wājib al-wujūd). Further, he distinguishes three levels of « temporality », or rather conscious states that entities possess: zamān, dahr, and sarmad. In al-Ta‘līqāt, a late work based on discussions and questions of his close students, Avicenna wrote: the intellect grasps three types of entities. the first is in time (zamān) and expressed by « when » and describes mutables that have a beginning and an end, although its beginning is not its end but necessitates it. It is in permanent flux and requires states and renewal of states. the second is being with time and is called perpetuity (dahr) and it surrounds time. It is the existence of the heavens with time and time is in that existence because it issues from the motion of the heavens. It is the relationship of the immutable to the mutable although one’s imagination cannot grasp it because it sees everything in time and thinks that everything is « is », « will be » and « was », past, present and future, and sees everything as « when » either in the past or the present or the future. the third is the being of the immutable with the immutable and is called eternity (sarmad) and it surrounds perpetuity… Perpetuity is a container of time as it surrounds it. time is a weak existence as it is in flux and motion.17

our linguistic limitations make these notions of temporality rather difficult to grasp, especially as our language makes and represents our experience and our world that is inexorably tensed. these three degrees of temporality also indicate three increasingly intense modes of existence. For Avicenna, radical contingents are utterly dependent on the Necessary and in a sense somewhat unreal or non-existent. the higher intelligible beings are more real and ultimately the Necessary is the Real. In simple terms, sensibilia are purely temporal, intelligibilia are perpetual and « share » in eternality, and God is eternal. the eternality of the cosmos is borrowed and a reflection of an eternal God and his eternal agency as creator in the higher world of intelligibles. In effect, Avicenna does not retain the neat tripartite division and tends to collapse the distinction between eternal and perpetual.18 Mīr Dāmād insists on separating the levels and expresses this hierarchy and how human consciousness conceives of it in al-Qabasāt in the following manner:

17. Avicenna 1974, pp. 141-142; cf. Mīr Dāmād 1977, pp. 7-8. 18. Mīr Dāmād 1997, pp. 326-329.

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In existence that obtains, there are three types of containers: (i) the container (wi‘ā) of an existence that has extension and is in flux and a non-existence that is continuous and has extension that belong to mutable entities insofar as they are mutable in time (zamān); (ii) container of a pure existence that is preceded by pure non-existence and that transcends the horizon of extension and nonexistence and belongs to immutables insofar as they are immutable while embracing actuality is perpetuity (dahr); (iii) container of a pure Real immutable Existence absolutely devoid of accidentally of change and transcendent above any sense of being preceded by non-existence, pure and sheer activity, is eternity (sarmad). Just as perpetuity transcends and is more vast than time, so too is eternity higher, more majestic, more holy and greater than perpetuity.19

contingency is therefore defined not by what did not exist at a prior point in time but rather as being preceded by non-existence. these three levels of temporality lead to three conceptions of existence (and indeed of nonexistence). Before Mīr Dāmād, there was a basic dichotomy: either the cosmos has a beginning in time in which case it possesses temporal incipience (ḥudūṯ-i zamānī) or it is purely preceded by non-existence and not by time in which it merely logically succeeds the divine essence in which case it possesses ḥudūṯ-i ḏātī. God as the purely immutable existence only acts at the level of the eternal and interacts with immutable intellects. He does not intervene in this world of sensibilia nor does he know the particularity of things in this world; rather, his omniscience is mediated by an Aristotelian epistemology of essences and universals through which one knows and recognises particulars. this absolute alterity of the divine and his « inability » to intervene in the mutable and the temporal because he is neither mutable nor temporal posed a major problem not least for our understanding of theodicy and the relationship between God’s knowledge and his agency. Mīr Dāmād’s concept of the cosmos unfolding at the level of perpetuity is thus a compromise intended to save the face of divine agency and divine knowledge. He does not deny that there are types of contingents that have a beginning in time. But the cosmos and creation as such has a beginning in perpetuity and neither in time or in the fleeting moment extensively glossed by Avicenna. the contingency and incipience of the world lies at the level of perpetuity, a mode of temporality that is meta-temporal yet not eternal. Just as the theological doctrine of creation in time was rejected by him, so too did he want to avoid the Avicennan notion of contingency based on the priority of an essential non-existence (sibq bi-l-‘adam al-ḏātī). In al-Qabasāt, which is his 19. Mīr Dāmād 1977, p. 7.

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most extensive discussion of the problem, he presents six arguments for perpetual creation. the first proof is based on three kinds of creation (ḥudūṯ) and non-existence and the postulation of three modes or containers of existence or temporality, namely, time, perpetuity and eternity that draw on Avicenna. the second is founded upon an analysis of the relationship between essence and existence in contingents and Mīr Dāmād’s position on the ontological priority of essence and three types of priority. the third examines types of posteriority. the fourth proof is scriptural corroboration from the Qur’ān and the sayings (ḥadīṯ) of the Prophet and the Imams. the fifth is based on the notion of pure, unqualified natures. the sixth is founded upon the continuities of time, space and motion. Here, I will concern myself with the first of which is based on the twin premises of three types of creation and the different senses of non-existence.20 His solution is to allow for contingents in this world to be preceded not by conceptual or essential non-existence but by a « real non-existence » (‘adam ṣarīḥ) that is located at the level of perpetuity (dahr) and that constitutes a real contradictory for existence.21 this is a level of ontological consciousness devoid of extension or change and rather difficult for the mind to grasp, a point repeatedly made by Mīr Dāmād’s opponents. It can only make sense if we accepts Mīr Dāmād’s position that essences are ontologically prior (aṣālat al-māhiyya), meaning that within the conceptual dyads that are contingents composed to existence and essence, it is the latter that is the prior principle and the former only obtains once the thing possesses actuality.22 His student, Sayyid Aḥmad ‘Alawī explains the point.23 the everyday notion of non-existence considers something that is devoid of extension and matter either in this world or in the supra-lunary world and thus it is a conceptual version that is opposed to existence found in this world. But Mīr Dāmād is concerned with a real and not conceptual type of non-existence that has neither space nor time and is beyond extension. But his solution allows one to insist upon the unreality of everything other than the one posited by monism yet at the same time affirm true plurality of contingents. thus, contingents possess within themselves a temporal beginning as well as a perpetual eternality (al-ḥudūṯ al-zamānī wa-lazaliyya al-dahriyya). In this sense, the concept of ḥudūṯ-i dahrī is akin to his student Mullā Ṣadrā’s attempt at resolving the opposition of monism and pluralism through his dynamic twinned conception of substances in processual motion existing within a singular but graded hierarchy of existence (ḥaraka 20. cf. Brown 2006, pp. 66-149. 21. Mīr Dāmād 1977, pp. 220-226. 22. Mīr Dāmād 1997, p. 323. 23. ‘Alawī 1997, pp. 472-473.

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jawhariyya, taškīk al-wujūd). At the end of the argument, Mīr Dāmād demonstrates that all things that are contingent (or possible in themselves) are preceded by a real, contradictory non-existence and this requires their actualization at the level of perpetuity and denies the possibility of their existence at the level of eternity which is unique to God.24 this is the primary achievement of his school of Yemeni philosophy.

tHE « YEMENI » PHILoSoPHY the school of Mīr Dāmād was known as the Yemeni philosophy (al-ḥikma al-yamāniyya). His method involved a presentation of philosophy that existed before him primarily from the school of Avicenna, which he labels as « Greek philosophy » (al-ḥikma al-yunāniyya) and then a critical exposition of the position replacing it with his improved argument which he described as « ḥikma yamāniyya » based on the famous saying attributed to the Prophet: « Faith is Yemeni and wisdom is Yemeni (al-īmān yamānī wa-l-ḥikma yamāniyya) ».25 He considered all previous schools of thought (Peripatetic and Illuminationist philosophy, Aš‘arī theology, and even twelver Shi‘i theology) to be incomplete and unreliable and their understanding of reality. His Yemeni position is not a purely ratiocinative one and extends knowledge and understanding beyond the confines of discourse (baḥṯ) and reason to the non-propositional, intuitive (ḏawq), immediate and mystically disclosed (kašf). often he presents his argument by stating that he will first examine the « Greek » philosophical position and then move onto the Yemeni one. As his primary concern is with the philosophy of theistic creation, his Yemeni philosophy is deployed to solve the problems of time and creation. In Jaḏavāt wa mawāqīt (Flaming Embers and Epiphanies), a thoughtful contemplation written in Persian (his only major work in that language) of Moses’ encounter with the theophany of the burning bush on Mount Sinai, he describes different conceptions and level of creation: causation – which is a term for emanation, « making » and bringing into existence – in the doctrine of « those rooted in knowledge » (rāsiḫīn ‘ulamā) and the metaphysicians of Greek philosophy (ḥikmat-i yūnānī) and of Yemeni philosophy (ḥikmat-i yamānī) is of four types: ibdā‘ (origination, creatio ex nihilo), iḫtirā‘ (production), ṣun‘ (fashioning or creation in the higher intelligible world) and takwīn (generation or creation in the sub-lunar world).26 24. Brown 2006, p. 504. 25. Awjabī 2004, p. 97. 26. Mīr Dāmād 2001, p. 99.

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Later in the same text, he analyses the « Yemeni » understanding of numerical order and the existence of Platonic numbers as first-order emanations from the one, an important element of the argument concerning levels of creation from the one.27 In one of his most important works on philosophical theology which like many others remained unfinished, primarily concerned with the problem of creation, al-Ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm (the Straight Path), Mīr Dāmād set out what he intended to do in the work: the one most desirous among creation for his Lord the Self-Sufficient, Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad known as Bāqir Dāmād al-Ḥusaynī – may God make his afterlife good – presents to you, o brothers of mysticism, and expounds for you, o brothers of retreat and solitude, a solution to the confusion caused in you by the mass of teachers attempting to reveal the difficult relationship between the Eternal and the incipient, and [aims] to ease its difficulties with clear thought according to the method of Greek philosophy and of Yemeni philosophy and to investigate the discourse of those expounders and to wither them away with form writing and forthright exposition.28

He clearly thought that those who had written before him on the issue of creation and time, including Avicenna, had failed to convince and he felt that he could produce a more robust argument and pin his Yemeni philosophy on the central doctrine of perpetual creation. Later in the text before he embarks on the main discussion of the doctrine, he distinguishes three types of prior non-existence based on Yemeni philosophy: According to what we have acquired from the mature Yemeni philosophy ripened by the faculty of the intellect, obtained through demonstrative syllogisms and divine inspirations, it appears that incipience has three possible meanings: First of them is the priority of the existence of a thing by essential non-existence and this is named according to the philosophers « essential creation » (ḥudūṯ-i ḏātī)… the second of them is the priority of a thing by its non-existence in perpetuity and eternity that is atemporal such that the thing is non-existent in a real sense through pure non-existence that is not qualified by continuity and its opposite. It then moves from this pure non-existence to existence and would appear to be the most appropriate to be termed it [incipience], that is perpetual creation (ḥudūṯ-i dahrī).

27. Mīr Dāmād 2001, p. 170. 28. Mīr Dāmād 2002a, p. 3.

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the third of them is the priority of the existence of the thing by its non-existence in time so that its existence is preceded by an element of time and this is called by the theologians temporal creation (ḥudūṯ-i zamānī).29

the very notion of perpetual creation is directly related to his school of Yemeni philosophy. In al-Ufuq al-mubīn (the clear Horizon), the text which was so popular in India, he begins by saying that the work on the nature of the metaphysics of theistic creation is the result of what came to him from « matured Yemeni philosophy and the pure, ecstatic philosophy of faith ».30 the first person to take up the school systematically in India and to engage fully and critically with the theory of perpetual creation was the leading philosopher of the Mughal period, Mullā Maḥmūd Jaunpūrī to whom we now turn.

MAḤMŪD JAuNPŪRĪ AND PHILoSoPHY IN ŠĪRĀZ-I HIND Following from the legacy of Mīr Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī, Jaunpur in the Gangeatic plain in North India became an intellectual centre in the 17th century and was famously described as « Šīrāz-i Hind » by the emperor Šāh Jahān (r. 1627-1658).31 the key figure in this process was Maḥmūd ibn Muḥammad Fārūqī who was born in Vālidpūr in A‘ẓamgarh district in Ramaḍān 1015/1603.32 A child prodigy, he had mastered the rational sciences with his maternal grandfather Šayḫ Šāh Muḥammad (d. 1032/1623) and a renowned philosopher in Jaunpūr, Šayḫ Muḥammad Afḍal (d. 1062/1652) by the age of seventeen, and was already teaching philosophy by twenty. Bilgrāmī describes him as the unique and probably greatest of the ‘ulamā of the East (of Delhi) and as the best one who combined the methods of the Illuminationists (išrāqiyyīn) and the Peripatetics (maššāʼiyyīn).33 Jaunpūrī was allegedly the student of Mīr Findiriskī (d. 1050/1640), the itinerant savant who spent many years in India. on his behest, and on his way to the ḥajj pilgrimage, he apparently stopped in Isfahan to study with Mīr Dāmād and imbibed the « ḥikma yamāniyya » as his main work al-Šams 29. Mīr Dāmād 2002a, p. 195. 30. Mīr Dāmād 2006, p. 5. 31. Bilgrāmī 1971, p. 12; Khan 1996, p. 1059; Hasan 2004, p. 24. 32. Subḥānī 2002, pp. 622-627; Bilgrāmī 1972, vol. II, pp. 142-170; Ḥasanī 1992, vol. V, pp. 429-431 mentions a birth year of 993/1585; Brockelman 1943-1949, vol. II, p. 554, Suppl II, p. 621. 33. Bilgrāmī 1972, vol. II, p. 142.

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al-bāziġa is influenced by al-Ufuq al-mubīn.34 Bilgrāmī stresses that al-Šams is a work in the tradition of ḥikma yamāniyya.35 Sources particularly note the disagreement on the question of creation, ḥudūṯ-i dahrī; in fact, Bilgrāmī, among others, replicates the whole critique of Jaunpūrī to which we will return later.36 In order to promote the new capital of Šāh Jahānābād as an intellectual and imperial centre, Šāh Jahān collected around himself a coterie of intellectual figures including the famous Sufi from Lahore, Miyān Mīr (d. 1045/1635), the philosopher and theologian ‘Abd al-Ḥakīm Siyālkūtī (d. 1067/1656) and Maḥmūd Jaunpūrī.37 the latter was invited to built a new observatory in Delhi by the courtier Āṣaf Ḫān.38 However, as Šāh Jahān was soon distracted by matters of state and in particular the Balkh campaign in the West against the uzbeks in 1645-48 for recovery of the Mughals’ ancestral homelands, Jaunpūrī returned to his hometown where he established a seminary, the Madrasa-yi Maḥmūdiyya, which specialised in the study of the rational sciences.39 there he designed a school text for the study and dissemination of philosophy entitled al-Ḥikma al-bāliġa on which he wrote his own commentary al-Šams al-bāziġa.40 Although the text was intended to be a comprehensive encyclopaedia much akin to al-Hidāya of al-Abharī and its famous commentary by Mullā Ṣadrā comprising a section on logic, physics and metaphysics, it was only the physics section that was ever completed. It is in fact one of the peculiarities of the rational sciences in India that physics remained the focus of the philosophical curriculum well into the late 19th century.41 34. Awjabī 2006, p. 84; Robinson 1997; and Khan 1996, p. 1065 cite this but do not provide any source. 35. Bilgrāmī 1972, vol. II, p. 145. 36. Bilgrāmī 1972, vol. II, pp. 145-162. 37. Bilgrāmī 1972, vol. I, pp. 170-172. Siyālkūtī is famed for his commentary on three major works of philosophical theology, the glosses of Aḥmad al-Ḫayālī (d. 870/1465) and Jalāl al-Dīn al-Dawānī (d. 907/1501) on the creed of Najm al-Dīn ‘umar al-Nasafī (d. 537/1142), Šarḥ al-Mawāqif of al-Jurjānī (d. 816/1413), and Ṭawāli‘ al-anwār min maṭāli‘ al-anẓār of al-Bayḍāwī (d. 685/1286). He also wrote a gloss on the philosophical commentary of Mīr Ḥusayn Maybudī on al-Hidāya of al-Abharī. See Ḥasanī 1992, vol. V, pp. 229-231; Brockelman 1943-49, vol. II, p. 550. 38. As noted in the famous account of Jaunpūrī’s student Muḥammad Ṣādiq Iṣfahānī Ṣubḥ-i ṣādiq, fol. 521 and reported in Ḥasanī 1992; and Bilgrāmī 1972, vol. II, p. 144. 39. For discussions on the Balkh campaign and its failures, see Gommans 2002, pp. 179-187; Ali 2006, pp. 327-333; and Richards 1993, pp. 132-133. 40. Apart from the many manuscripts, the text was printed in lithograph in 1280/1863 in Lucknow by Niẓāmī Press along with the glosses of Ḥamd Allāh on the margins. there is no modern critical edition of the text, although Sayyid ‘Aqīl Riżvī Ġaravī in Delhi has begun to undertake it based on an autograph manuscript in the Ḫudā Baḫš Library in Patna. 41. Al-Šams al-bāziġa is one of four important original Islamic philosophical texts produced in India. the others are al-‘Urwā al-wuṯqā, a short epitome of philosophy written by Kamāl al-Dīn

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Later, Jaunpūrī became the tutor of Šujā‘, the son and would-be heir of Šāh Jahān and accompanied him in the governorate of Bengal. there he is reported to have met the Sufi šayḫ Ni‘mat Allāh Fīrūzābādī and to have taken the ṭarīqa from him in 1052/1641. Prominent students of his included Abū Ṭālib Šāʼista Ḫān, Šayḫ Nūruddīn Jaunpūrī, and Šaḫ ‘Abd al-Bāqī Ṣiddīqī, author of popular commentary on the rhetoric and polemics of Samarqandī entitled al-Ādāb al-bāqiya.42 Bilgrāmī notes that he had a humble style of teaching and was renowned for his reflective and thoughtful approach to learning. contemporaries biographers in their style would note that there are two famous Fārūqīs in Indian history: Sirhindī known for his Sufi teachings, and Jaunpūrī for his teaching of philosophy and literature. He died on the 21st of Rabī‘ al-awwal 1062/2 March 1652. the popularity of his text is attested by the many manuscripts of the work available in Indian and Indian-sourced libraries (like the British Library).43 It has also repeatedly been published in lithograph from the 19th century and then offset by printers such as Niẓāmī in Lucknow. Later al-Šams al-bāziġa and the rehearsal of philosophical dogma was considered to be symptomatic of intellectual stagnation. the famed reformer Sayyid Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afġānī (d. 1897) condemned the study of the text as Sihālwī (d. 1760), al-‘Ujāla al-nāfi‘a a most detailed excursus on metaphysics by the famous philosopher of Farangī Maḥall ‘Abd ‘Alī Baḥr al-‘ulūm (d. 1810), and al-Hadiya al-sa‘īdiyya by the 19th century philosopher of Delhi, Fażl-i Ḥaqq Ḫayrābādī (d. 1861). Another short text from the late 19th century which is somewhat like a student’s primer is Taswīlāt al-falāsifa by the Patna philosopher Abū Sa‘īd Ẓuhūr al-Ḥaqq ‘Aẓīmābādī of which an autograph copy is MS Patna, Ḫudā Baḫš 2742. these texts are all commonly found in Indian library collections. 42. cf. MS London, British Library, Delhi Arabic, 1550, ff. 76v-169v. 43. there are far too many copies of al-Šams al-bāziġa to provide a full inventory (and in the absence of a critical edition it is worth referring to the manuscript traditions) but here are some of the manuscripts that I have consulted or I am aware of: London, British Library, India office Islamic 201 (129 ff, nasta‘līq-šikasta, 1129/1717); Delhi Arabic 1618 (175 ff, nasta‘līq, 1263/1847); Delhi Arabic 1624 (19th century?); Delhi Arabic 1672 (19th century?). Patna, Ḫudā Baḫš 2393 (81 ff, nasta‘līq, 18th century); 2394 (251 ff, nasta‘līq of Najaf ‘Alī Riḍvī, 1246H, gold borders inscription of lisān al-Sulṭān Maḥmūd al-Dawla Munšī Ṣafdar ‘Alī ḪānBahādur); 2395 (134 ff, nasta‘līq, 19th century); 2399 (gloss of Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn Sihālwī, 107 ff, nasta‘līq, 19th century); 2400 (gloss of Mullā Ḥasan Lakhnawī d. 1189/1783, 198 ff, nasta‘līq, 19th century). calcutta, Asiatic Society, calcutta Madrasa, collection Arabic 58 (170 ff, nasta‘līq, 18th century). Rampur, Rażā Library 3616 (67 ff, nastaʾlīq, 1251/1835); 3617 (135 ff, nasta‘līq, 19th century); 3549 (232 ff, nasta‘līq, 19th century). Princeton, Princeton university Library, New Series, 379 (131 ff, nasta‘līq, 19th century); 547 (incomplete, nasta‘līq of Mīrzā ‘Abbās, 1249/1834); 1845 (incomplete, 19th century). Hyderabad, Sālār Jang Museum and Library, Arabic 80, 81.

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irrelevant to the new intellectual and scientific challenges of the modern world that Muslims faced.44 certainly, the advent of the new learning and the new science which came with the colonial encounter, especially after the 1857 revolt, did seem to make the Ptolemaic cosmology on which much of the metaphysics and physics were predicated seem increasingly obsolete. Jaunpūrī’s critique covers various elements.45 He begins by presenting Mīr Dāmād’s argument and agreeing that creation cannot be temporal as the idea of priority based on temporal units or temporal continuity is absurd because it requires there to be a time before time. temporal non-existence that precedes existence is not a true contradictory of it. His presentation is based on aspects of Mīr Dāmād’s first, third and sixth proofs.46 First, he examines the notions of priority. Real and opposing notions of priority and posteriority require the conception of some continuity, whether it is real or imagined (muḥaqqaq aw mawhūm). It is difficult for the mind to imagine continuity outside of temporal units and thus tends to make an absolute distinction between non-existence and existence. But then the question arises: whence creation, because Aristotelian philosophy does not permit something out of nothing?47 Second, if perpetuity is a container beyond temporal existence and beyond both continuity and lack of continuity, then how can existence obtain in it after it was not? the absurdity of the situation relates to the example of a point in time and whether two bodies can obtain the same place in the small point in time within the paradoxical need to divide infinitely units of time. Besides, non-existence cannot exist at the same point or priority as existence by definition. It is even more problematic to associate that priority in which the non-existence of the cosmos is with the priority in which the existence of God obtains. For Jaunpūrī, perpetuity is not a container in which God can at times be manifest and at others not devoid of notions of continuity.48 the law of non-contradiction applies to this point. Non-existence qua non-existence and existence qua existence do not possess the properties of priority and posteriority. So what arises in perpetuity? If it is the notion of a prior non-existence associated with the posterior existence, then one is left with the coincidence of contradictories. But in this objection, Jaunpūrī is not taking into consideration Mīr Dāmād’s position on essence which allows for a real non-existence in perpetuity to obtain. 44. Kurzman 2002, pp. 106-107. 45. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, MS London, British Library, ff. 127v-135v. 46. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, MS London, British Library, ff. 127v-129v. 47. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, MS London, British Library, ff. 129v-130r. 48. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, MS London, British Library, f. 130v.

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third, he moves onto the God-world relationship. one of the theological problems with perpetual creation is that it seems to posit a class of contingents (such as the higher intellects) that are eternal and perpetual with God such that there is no relation of them being preceded by a prior state. this seems to pose a problem for the monotheist. there cannot be a difference in number for a temporal thing between its temporal existence and its occurrence in perpetuity. It makes no sense for a thing to have existence in perpetuity before its existence after its creation.49 once again, an assumption that essences are ontological prior would obviate the objection. Further, he argues that if we say that God can only precede contingents either by perpetuity or eternity not by time, then we face a problem in their definitions. the state in which God is together with those contingents in perpetuity negates the possibility of notion of prior and posteriority. « togetherness » (ma‘iyya) cannot contain within it the idea of some being prior and posterior in the relation. We would therefore be left with a position in which we cannot affirm that God is prior to the world.50 Jaunpūrī thinks that Mīr Dāmād is too harsh on the Peripatetic position. one possible objection to Jaunpūrī is that the notion of ma‘iyya need not be so monological. His contemporary, Mullā Ṣadrā, after all, allows for the togetherness of God and the world as well as graded stages of priority and posteriority pertaining to the same pyramid of being. Finally, Jaunpūrī makes a comment that was re-iterated by a recent Iranian philosopher, Sayyid Jalāl al-Dīn Āštiyānī (d. 2005) relating to the nature of causation.51 If an effect is dependent upon its cause, then following the rules of Aristotelian science, it must exist in a more perfect state at the stage of the existence of its cause. therefore, the creation cannot be totally non-existent or possess pure non-existence at the level of eternity. this amounts to a defence of the traditional Avicennan doctrine of essential creation (ḥudūṯ-i ḏātī). Jaunpūrī praises the effort of the intellectually dextrous and able Mīr Dāmād to solve the problem but for him it is rather simpler. the real question for « believing philosophers » (al-muʼminūn min al-falāsifa) is to reconcile the Qurʼanic account and sayings (ḥadīṯ) of the prophets and « those who have arrived at the unseen » which seems to talk about temporal creatio ex nihilo with ḥudūṯ-i ḏātī. But in that they should follow al-Fārābī (d. 950) in whose al-Jam‘ bayna raʼyay al-ḥakīmayn he shows Plato’s reconciliation of creation and emanation.52 For Jaunpūrī, there are two senses of essential creation, one 49. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, MS London, British Library, f. 132v. 50. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, MS London, British Library, f. 133v-134r. 51. Āštiyānī 1971, pp. 17-19. 52. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, fol. 134v. cf. Fārābī 1999, pp. 126-150: the reconciliation is made easier because he was comparing Plato to the Neoplatonic pseudo-Aristotle of the Theologia.

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invalid because it instrumentalizes God and makes creation eternal as such and in itself with a continuity from the divine, and the second valid which insists upon the radical contingency of creation because only God is everlasting and self-sufficient (al-bāqī) and all else is perishing (hālik). the only reason that prophets spoke the language of temporal creation was because of the need to communicate their utter dependence on God in simple, communicative language. It is always open for intelligent interpreters to make sense of the scripture as they will, even to defend ḥudūṯ-i dahrī (as indeed Mīr Dāmād did in his fourth proof which Jaunpūrī does not discuss).53 Jaunpūrī’s critique is representative of a school gloss and shows how traditions can be intellectually dynamic.54 He praises the master, is fair in his evaluation and even agrees with the sentiment but begs to differ on specific points. the real test of an argument in philosophy is whether it is logically sound; after all, the mastery of logic that was central to the rational sciences in India precluded the easy reliance upon rhetorical argumentation. thus despite, his remaining unconvinced by Mīr Dāmād’s solution to the problem of time and creation, Jaunpūrī remained very much a follower of his school tradition. In the later debate, he had his own followers: Muḥammad Barkat Ilāhābādī (d. 1780) wrote a short treatise Risāla fī ḥudūṯ al-ḏāt which defended Jaunpūrī’s only interpretation of the Avicennan doctrine.55

tHE INDIAN ScHooL oF MĪR DĀMĀD the school of Mīr Dāmād in India is primarily associated with the Ḫayrābādī philosophers of the 19th century who had settled in Delhi. But this famous family were not the first to comment on these works. Around a century after Mīr Dāmād, an Iranian philosopher named Anwār al-Dīn al-Ḥusaynī living in India, wrote a commentary entitled al-Tanwīrāt fī šarḥ al-īmāḍāt, copies of which survive in the Rażā Library in Rampur, and the former Āṣafiyya collection (MS Arabic 67)56 and the Sālār Jang Museum and Library in Hyderabad (MS Arabic 11).57 Another Iranian philosopher, ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd tabrīzī, the author of a wonderful mystical work on the nature of being, al-Bawāriq al-nūriyya, was a 53. Jaunpūrī, al-Šams, ff. 135r-v. 54. He wrote a separate treatise on the topic related to this discussion in al-Šams: Risāla fī-lḥudūṯ al-dahrī (MS Rampur, Rażā Library 1775, ff. 1v-5r). 55. For example, MS Rampur, Rażā Library 3620, ff. 225v-231r. 56. Nowadays in the Andhra Pradesh oriental Manuscript Library and Research Institute, Hyderabad. 57. ‘Aršī 1963-77, vol. IV, pp. 494-495; Niẓām al-Dīn 1957, vol. I, p. 8; cf. Awjabī 2006, p. 79.

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student who settled in India in the middle of the 17th century, as attested in his own work; no mention is made of him in the biographical dictionaries.58 the stories of Jaunpūrī travelling to Isfahan to sit at the feet of the philosopher are probably apocryphal; the first Indian to transmit the school and to have studied with him was Mullā Ṣabbāġ of Kashmīr.59 there were three lines of influence discernable in the transmission of Mīr Dāmād’s school. First, there was the influence of al-Ufuq al-mubīn in India, numerous manuscripts of which survive in libraries. this was mediated through citations of the work in metaphysical commentaries on the Ṣadrā, the famous commentary on al-Hidāya by Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī. Examples include the famed intellectual Muḥibb Allāh Bihārī (d. 1119/1707) in his Musallam al-‘ulūm, Muḥammad Amjad Ṣiddīqī Qannawjī (d. 1140/1727), Qāḍī Mubārak Gopāmāwī (d. 1162/1749), Muḥammad A‘lam Sandīlvī (d. 1198/1784), Muḥammad Irtiżā Ḫān Gopāmāwī (d. 1251/1835), Barkat Aḥmad (d. 1341/1922), and members of the famed Lucknow Farangī Maḥall family such as the founder Mullā Niẓām al-Dīn Sihālvī (d. 1161/1748), his son ‘Abd ‘Alī Baḥr al-‘ulūm (d. 1225/1810), Mullā Muḥammad Ḥasan (d. 1198/1784), Walī Allāh Anṣārī (d. 1270/1854), Muḥammad Yūsuf Anṣārī (d. 1186/1772), ‘Abd al-Ḥalīm (d. 1285/1868), Abū al-Ḥasanāt ‘Abd al-Ḥayy (d. 1304/1886).60 others who engaged critically with Mīr Dāmād were two controversial and independent Shiʻi philosophers from Ġāzīpūr in Eastern u.P., Sayyid Ḥusayn Ḥusaynī Nawnehravī (d. 1271/1855) and his son Sayyid Murtaḍā who wrote a fascinating work Mi‘rāj al-‘uqūl fī šarḥ du‘āʼ al-mašlūl.61 58. According to Brockelmann this is ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd ibn Mu‘īn al-Dīn ibn Muḥammad Hāšim al-Nayrīzī, Brockelman 1943-1949, Suppl. II, p. 585. Kintūrī 1911, p. 89, § 402 gives ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd ibn Mu‘īn al-Dīn ibn Muḥammad Hāšim al-Qattālī al-Rifā‘ī al-tabrīzī. I am preparing a critical edition of this text based on four manuscripts: London, British Library, Delhi Arabic 1778; Patna, Ḫudā Baḫš 1287; Lucknow, Nāṣiriyya 356 (from the microfilm in the Noor Microfilm center in New Delhi as the Nāṣiriyya is inaccessible); calcutta, Asiatic Society, Arabic 1161. 59. A‘ẓam 1886, p. 148; Rizvi 1986, vol. II, p. 215. 60. Ḥasanī 1992, vol. VI, pp. 255, 257-259, 291, 284-285, 304-305, vol. VII, pp. 313-318; Brockelman 1943-1949, Suppl. II, pp. 618-624. on the Farangī Maḥall, see Robinson 2001; ‘Alī 1982; Malik 1997. 61. this work in Arabic is a wonderfully independent-minded study of philosophy and theology engaging with Mullā Ṣadrā and Mīr Dāmād as well as the great mutakallimīn and it includes a thorough critique of the views of the Aš‘arī school as well as the famous theological compendium of the famed mujtahid of Lucknow Sayyid Dildār ‘Alī Naqvī Naṣīrābādī (d. 1235/1820) entitled ‘Imād al-Islām. the text was published by the author in 1915 and has been re-typeset by Dr. Mahdī Ḫwāja Pīrī with an introduction by Akbar Ṯubūt and will be shortly published by the Iran culture House in New Delhi. ‘Imād al-Islām was published in five volumes corresponding to the five divisions of theological discussion in Shiʻi Islam and lithographed in Lucknow by Nawal Kišor in 1902, edited by his maternal grandson Āqā Sayyid Ḥasan (d. 1348/1929), a leading theologian of his time.

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Second, those who wrote on al-Ufuq al-mubīn were the major philosophers of the Ḫayrābād school such as Fażl-i Imām (d. 1240/1824), his son Fażl-i Ḥaqq (d. 1278/1861) and his grandson ‘Abd al-Ḥaqq (d. 1318/1900).62 the most eminent of them was Fażl-i Ḥaqq who wrote a number of important works in philosophy: al-Jins al-ġālī fī šarḥ al-jawhar al-‘ālī, al-Hadiya al-sa‘īdiyya on physics which was written for the Nawab Muḥammad Sa‘īd Ḫān (r. 1840-1855) of Rampur and became a major text-book, due to its pithy nature, in Rampur and other madrasas devoted to the study of the rational sciences, al-Rawḍ al-mujawwad fī ḥaqīqat al-wujūd a short analysis of ontology, Ḥāšiya ‘alā talḫīṣ al-šifāʼ a gloss on his father’s commentary on Avicenna’s compendium, and Ḥāšiya ‘alā l-ufuq al-mubīn which is most salient to us here.63 these leading public intellectuals represented the learned culture of the North Indian towns (qaṣbah), nurtured by the Mughal Empire and its successor states and principalities and later refined in opposition and service to the East India company and the British Raj.64 these towns produced many a learned Sunni scholar. the salons of Delhi reverberated with the study of Mīr Dāmād, led by the Ḫayrābādīs and their friends among the intellectual elites such as Ṣadr al-Dīn Ḫān ‘Āzurda’ (d. 1868), Imām Baḫš « Sehbāʼī » (d. 1857), Muṣṭafā Ḫān « Šēfta » (d. 1869) and the great Persian and urdu poet Asad Allāh Ḫān Ġālib (d. 1869), all of whom in their own way straddled the old learning and the new, not least through their association with Delhi college, the former Ġāzi al-Dīn Ḫān madrasa.65 the college taught « traditional » philosophy alongside the idealism, romanticism and rationalism of European schools of philosophy. the friends shared and corrected each other poetry, discussed matters of theological dispute and debated metaphysics. Most of them had a prior training in the metaphysics of the school of Mīr Dāmād from Fażl-i Imām Ḫayrābādī.66 collectively, in the post-1857 accounts of the lost glories of Delhi, they were described as the luminaries of the « Delhi renaissance », both cultural and intellectual.67 62. Šahābī 1920; Qaršī 1992; Ḥasanī 1992, vol. VII, pp. 412-415. 63. Al-Hadiya al-sa‘īdiyya is commonly found in major Indian libraries (e.g. MS Patna, Ḫudā Baḫš, Arabic 1924), not least the autograph copy in the Rażā Library in Rampur (MS Arabic 3627). It was continually printed in lithograph in Lucknow, the first time in 1283/1866 by Nawal Kišor with the gloss of his son (Rażā Library, Arabic Printed Books 62) and the last time in 1912 by Aḥmadī Press, which is the copy in the British Library (14540.e.19). It was also printed in Rampur in 1320/1902 along with the glosses of his son ‘Abd al-Ḥaqq. there is a copy of al-Rawḍ al-mujawwad in Rażā Library in Rampur (MS 3459, ff. 1v-23r). 64. See Hasan 2004; Malik 1997, pp. 105-162; Rizvi 1986, vol. II, pp. 52-53. 65. Pernau 2006, especially chapters 4 and 5; ‘Abd al-Ḥaqq 1989; Šahābī 1979. 66. Hasan 2005, pp. 53-55. 67. Hasan 2005, p. 66.

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Before the rivalry with the new European learning, the Ḫayrābādī stress upon the rational clashed with the puritanical neo-Wahhābīs and the ḥadīṯ-based Raḥīmiyya madrasa founded and controlled by the family of Šāh Walī Allāh (d. 1175/1762). Al-Ufuq al-mubīn was the main philosophical text in Ḫayrābādī curriculum replacing the Ṣadrā and al-Šams al-bāziġa which were the main texts of the Dars-i niẓāmī. Even during his exiled detention on the Andaman Islands, Fażl-i Ḥaqq is said to have continued to teach and discuss the work of Mīr Dāmād. Apart from the Ḫayrābādī family, a set of glosses (Ta‘līqāt) on al-Ufuq al-mubīn was also composed by the famous philosopher of the Farangī Maḥall, ‘Abd ‘Alī Baḥr al-‘ulūm.68 He also referred to the text in his own important summary of philosophy, al-‘Ujāla al-nāfi‘a (the Beneficial Illumination). Finally, there were those who expressed their adherence to the school of Mīr Dāmād through their commentaries on al-Šams al-bāziġa. Ḥamd Allāh ibn Šukr Allāh (d. 1160/1747), a well-known Shiʻi scholar from one of the major qaṣbah, Sandīla, cites « Bāqir al-‘ulūm » from al-Qabasāt and Taqwīm al-īmān extensively. Ḥamd Allāh Raḍawī Ḫayrābādī (d. 1167/1753) was a well-known teacher of the Ṣadrā who also wrote glosses on al-Šams. Mullā Muḥammad Ḥasan Lakhnawī (d. 1198/1784), a major philosopher of the Farangī Maḥall family, defended Mīr Dāmād against the criticisms of Jaunpūrī on the issue of the creation of the world.69 on the whole, philosophers upheld the Avicennan doctrine but most of the school of Mīr Dāmād clung onto the possibility of perpetual creation as a solution to the problem of creation. the significance of the debate in India is all the more because in Iran, the concept of ḥudūṯ-i dahrī was on the whole ignored. Even Mīr Dāmād’s famous student Mullā Ṣadrā failed to discuss it in his own defence of a paradoxical ḥudūṯ that was both temporal in its constant renewal and eternal in the activity of its renewal, a position on time and creation that reflects his doctrine of substantial motion (ḥaraka jawhariyya). the other main students, ‘Alawī and Gīlānī defended the position. Later, two philosophers engaged in the debate: Āqā Jamāl al-Dīn Ḫwānsārī (d. 1125/1713) attacked the doctrine in his set of glosses on the ontology of al-Tajrīd of Ḫwāja Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī, and Mullā Ismā‘īl Māzandarānī Ḫwājū’ī (d. 1173/1759) defended him by responding in his Risāla ibṭāl al-zamān al-mawhūm.70 Ḫwānsārī’s position was similar to some Indian criticisms: Mīr Dāmād’s position makes little sense and fails to solve the problem of creation. Ḫwājū’ī’s response in consistent with his 68. For example, MS Rampur, Rażā Library, Arabic 3639. 69. Jaunpūrī 1863, pp. 19, 185, 189 on the margins. 70. Dawānī 2002, pp. 229-237, 241-283; cf. Awjabī 2006, p. 118.

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understanding of existence: time is a measure of existence and not of motion – in fact, he argues that Mīr Dāmād’s position on time draws upon Abū al-Barakāt al-Baġdādī.71 So we come full circle from the views of Avicenna and al-Baġdādī through the Safavid and Mughal period into the aftermath on the question of creation which still remains elusive.

coNcLuSIoN the school of Mīr Dāmād is somewhat of a historical relic across the Persianate world including in Iran. the dominance of Mullā Ṣadrā in contemporary Iranian intellectual circles and the perception of the notorious difficulty of Mīr Dāmād, makes the teacher neglected. In India, the old traditions of the rational sciences nurtured by the Dars-i niẓāmī are moribund; even the philosophy departments of the major universities including Aligarh Muslim university and Jamia Millia Islamia show no interest in either Mullā Ṣadrā, Mīr Dāmād or even Jaunpūrī. the reformed and revised Dars-i niẓāmī in most Indian madrasas has little space for the study of philosophy and even if the texts, mainly the Ṣadrā and al-Šams, are present, it is a mere genuflection to tradition with little critical or analytical engagement. there is no attempt to rethink the issues of existence, cosmology and psychology. the impact of the new learning from the British period has been such that the prejudices of late 19th and 20th century British philosophy, rather hostile to any metaphysics and seeking to extend the domain of science while whittling down the command of metaphysics, have been internalised. But much of the 19th century was more creative: the Delhi renaissance was much enamoured and engaged with the old ḥikma traditions at the heart of which lay Mīr Dāmād’s teaching. the new science, permeating through the translations into urdu produced and disseminated at Fort William college and at Delhi college, posed direct challenges to the old physics found in al-Šams and other texts.72 this context makes the study of the debates on ḥudūṯ-i dahrī all the more salient and the rise in interest indicates ways in which traditional education and learning made attempts to revive and make tradition relevant in a changing world.

71. Dawānī 2002, p. 243. 72. consider, for example, two works written in urdu on philosophy: Imām 1906, and Āftāb 1917.

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Šahābī, Muftī Intiẓām Allāh, – 1920 : Maulānā Fażl-i Ḥaqq aur ‘Abd al-Ḥaqq ṣāḥib Ḫayrābādī. Badayun, Niẓāmī Press. – 1979 : Ġadar ke čand ‘ulamā. Delhi, Dini Book Depot. Sambursky, Samuel, 1962 : The Physical World of Late Antiquity. London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. Sandīlī, Aḥmad ʻAlī Ibn Fatḥ Muḥammad, – Ḥāšiya ‘alā l-Šams al-bāziġa. MS London, British Library, Delhi Arabic 1616. – Ḥāšiya ‘alā l-Šams al-bāziġa. MS calcutta, Būhār (National Library), Arabic 334. Sihālvī, Kamāl al-Dīn, al-‘Urwā al-wuṯqā. MS Patna, Ḫudā Baḫš, 2402. Sihālvī, Mullā Niẓam al-Dīn Farangi Maḥallī, – Šarh al-Šams al-bāziġa. MS Delhi Arabic (British Library) 1640. – Šarḥ al-Šams al-bāziġa. MS Ḫudā Baḫš 3576. Sorabji, Richard, 1983 : Time, Creation, and the Continuum. London, Duckworth. Subḥānī, Ġulām Ḥabīb, 2002 : 101 ‘ulamā-yi Pākistān va Hind. Lahore, taḫlīqāt. Sufi, G. M. D., 1941 : al-Minhaj: Being the Evolution of the Curriculum among Muslims. Lahore, Muhammad Ashraf. Ṯubūt, Akbar, 2002 : Faylasūf-i Šīrāz dar Hind. tehran, Hermes.

Muḥibb Allāh ilāhābādī’s TASWIYA ContextuAlized G. A. Lipton

Abstract: The seventeenth-century Čištī Šayḫ Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī’s (d. 1648) numerous expositions on the teachings of the thirteenth-century Andalusian mystic Ibn ‘Arabī (d. 1240), known as Šayḫ al-Akbar, have earned for him in India the honorific of « the second Ibn ‘Arabī ». Yet despite being recognized as « the most prolific Čišti author », Muḥibb Allāh’s considerable body of work is virtually unknown to contemporary scholarship and remains primarily in manuscript form. In the present article, I argue that the ideological employment of Aḥmad Sirhindī (d. 1624) within modern South Asian historiography has played a significant role in obfuscating the nature and importance of Muḥibb Allāh’s contribution to Sufi thought. As an example, I focus on Muḥibb Allāh’s famous unpublished treatise « al-Taswiya » (The Equivalence), which demonstrates a deep engagement with Avicennan ideas that not only firmly situates Muḥibb Allāh within the Akbarian metaphysical tradition, but also suggests a wider Čištī conversation with the philosophical milieu of his day.

InTroducTIon The Islamic rational and metaphysical tradition – especially the thought of the Peripatetic philosopher Ibn Sīnā, or Avicenna (d. 1037) – has had a tremendous influence in India since the early eleventh-century when the works of al-Kindī, al-Fārābī and Ibn Sīnā became prominent under the patronage of the Ghaznavid emperor Mas‘ūd (r. 1031-1041). Philosophical thought flourished in India with the support of the Tuġluqs, and in 1373 Fīrūz Šāh Tuġluq founded the city of Jaunpur, which became a major intellectual center of South Asia during the Mughal period.1 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, following the Iranian intellectual renaissance first in Shiraz and then in Isfahan, a new wave of rational sciences (ma‘qūlāt) and metaphysics (‘ilm-i ilāhī) moved through the subcontinent in large part due to an influx of Iranian scholars, many

1. Khan 1996, pp. 1053, 1059.

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of whom escaped from the Safavid persecution of intellectuals accused of harboring mystical leanings.2 They brought with them a unique amalgam of philosophy and Sufism, which the Shirazi thinker Muḥammad Ḫafrī (d. 1550) called al-ḥikmat al-muta‘āliyya, the « transcendent philosophy ».3 This burgeoning intellectual movement, now simply referred to as the Iranian ḥikmat tradition, was based on the conceptual and linguistic framework of Ibn Sīnā.4 In addition to this Avicennan foundation, Iranian scholars added the metaphysical thought of the Illuminationist (išrāqī) school of Suhrawardī (d. 1191) and the speculative mysticism of the Andalusian mystic Ibn ‘Arabī (d. 1240).5 In the seventeenth-century, the influence of this Iranian philosophical tradition became so pronounced in northern India that the Mughal emperor Šah Jahān (r. 1627-1657) referred to the city of Jaunpūr as the « Shiraz of India » (Šīrāz-i hind).6 This intellectual florescence would become consolidated in the eighteenth-century with the scholasticism of the Farangī Maḥall family and the creation of the dars-i niẓāmī syllabus.7 despite the longstanding Sufi critique of philosophy as « dry rationalism »,8 in the eighteenth-century the Sufi orders of the Awadh region of northern India helped to stabilize a revived interest in the rational sciences. Along with the Qādirī Sufi order, the niẓāmī and the Ṣābirī branches of the Čištiyya order comprised the Sufi lineage of the Farangī Maḥallis, and provided a much-needed spiritual balance to their rigorous program of scholastic revitalization.9 The Čištiyya had been the preeminent Sufi order of the Awadh since its initial Muslim settlement in the fourteenthcentury. By the eighteenth-century Čištī revival, the order had set up ḫānaqāh every few miles throughout the region and played an important role in sustaining the new Awadhi intellectual environment.10 Although a good deal has been written on the Iranian philosophical revival of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which achieved its height with the thought of Mīr dāmād (d. 1631) and his more famous student Mullā Ṣadrā (d. 1640), the contemporaneous philosophical flowering in northern India has received less attention, especially in terms of the Sufi contribution. The first 2. robinson 2001, p. 219; and cooper 2000, pp. 155-56. 3. nasr 1999, p. 6. 4. dagli 2006, p. 32. 5. nasr 2006, p. 194. 6. Khan 1996, p. 1059. 7. robinson 2001, pp. 22-23. 8. Schimmel 1975, p. 19. 9. robinson 2001, p. 109. 10. robinson 2001, pp. 41, 56-58.

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figure usually noted in this regard is the eighteenth-century polymath, Šāh Walī Allāh (d. 1762).11 Yet, one of the most important Sufi figures writing within the emergent philosophical milieu of early modern India was the Čištī-Ṣābirī šayḫ Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī (d. 1648), who gained prominence as the premier Indian interpreter of Ibn ‘Arabī, and was a crucial forerunner of the eighteenthcentury Čištī « renaissance ».12 His numerous expositions on the teachings of the Šayḫ al-Akbar earned for him the honorific of « the second Ibn ‘Arabī ».13 Yet, despite being recognized as « the most prolific Čišti author »,14 Muḥibb Allāh’s formidable oeuvre is virtually unknown to contemporary scholarship and remains primarily in manuscript form. Moreover, even though Muḥibb Allāh – in addition to his Čištī and Akbarian lineages – was a key figure in a chain of transmitted philosophy that originated in Iran and culminated with the family of Farangī Maḥall, his contribution to the ongoing philosophical debate in northern India and his creative employment of philosophical motifs in his writings has yet to be discussed. My aim in this article is twofold. First, I wish to proffer an explanation as to why Muḥibb Allāh’s significant corpus has been neglected in contemporary scholarship. Here I argue that the classicist presuppositions present in orientalist historiography helped to form an ideologically and politically biased preoccupation with the Indian naqšbandī Šayḫ Aḥmad Sirhindī (d. 1624) in twentieth-century South Asian historiography, which has been fundamental in obfuscating the nature and importance of Muḥibb Allāh’s contribution to Indian Sufi literature. Second, I will introduce Muḥibb Allāh’s most famous treatise al-Taswiya (The Equivalence) and show how it demonstrates a deep engagement with Avicennan ideas. While Ibn ‘Arabī’s school has traditionally used Avicennan concepts and language to expound on the Šayḫ al-Akbar’s metaphysics,15 the context in which the Taswiya was composed is tellingly distinctive. Given the intellectual milieu of seventeenth-century Awadh and Muḥibb Allāh’s correspondence with the famous Peripatetic philosopher Mullā Maḥmūd Jaunpūrī (d. 1652), Muḥibb Allāh’s creative use of Avicennan idioms and motifs in the Taswiya suggests a wider Čištī conversation with these ideas outside the purview of former usage in the Indian Akbarian tradition. 11. For example see nasr 2006, p. 60. 12. Ernst - Lawrence 2002, p. 28. 13. Ali 1973, p. 250. 14. rizvi 1983, p. 17. 15. See dagli 2006, p. 32; and chittick 1996, p. 514.

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SIrHIndī And MuḥIBB ALLāH: conTEMPorAnEouS And coEQuAL? The seventeenth-century Indian Šayḫ Aḥmad Sirhindī has been a pervasive figure in the modern imagination of both academics and Muslim ideologues. In contemporary historiography, Sirhindī has often been discussed outside of the context of Sufism, especially by Muslim authors from the subcontinent who have cast Sirhindī as a revolutionary of « pure » Islam. In an attempt to forward nationalistic ideas of Islamic communalism, twentieth-century authors maximally exploited his differences with the so-called « monistic » thought of Ibn ‘Arabī, decried as the conceptual basis for the syncretic policies of the heretical Mughal emperor Jalāl al-dīn Akbar (d. 1605).16 In this triumphalist narrative, Sirhindī is cast as a heroic ideologue who succeeded in eradicating South Asia of the evil specter of Ibn ‘Arabī’s antinomian and immoral relativism.17 But as William chittick notes, even though Sirhindī may have played an important ideological role in establishing modern South Asian Muslim identity, his importance in terms of « the Islamic tradition in general and the Sufi tradition in particular » should be qualified by the acknowledgement of other figures of the same period who are at least as important and also deserve « serious study ».18 chittick suggests that Muḥibb Allāh is one of Sirhindī’s contemporaries who deserves just such attention. To be sure, Sirhindī’s importance as an early modern Sufi šayḫ is beyond question; his effect on his own lineage was so profound that his spiritual heirs designated him « the renewer of the Second Millennium » (Mujaddid-i Alf-i Ṯānī) and the eponymous founder of a new branch of the Indian naqšbandiyya known as the naqhšbandiyya-Mujaddidiyya.19 Moreover, Sirhindī’s spiritual legacy has had a lasting impact outside of India, causing a dramatic naqšbandī revival in Turkey, Afghanistan, central Asia, and the former Soviet union.20 Yet, Muḥibb Allāh was also a major Sufi master or pīr who formed an integral link in the initiatory chain of the Čištī-Ṣābirī silsila underneath his šayḫ Abū Sa‘īd of Gangoh, who himself was the grandson of the renowned Šayḫ ‘Abd al-Quddūs Gangohī (d. 1537).21 As Francis robinson relates, during the early eighteenth-century Muḥibb Allāh’s legacy was critical in establishing

16. For example see Ahmad 1999, p. 186. 17. Friedmann 1971, pp. 106-111. 18. chittick 1999, pp. 247-48. 19. Buehler 1998, p. 68. 20. nizami 1991, pp. 187-188. 21. nizami 1965, p. 53.

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« new Sufi activity in Awadh ».22 As will be discussed below, Muḥibb Allāh was an important spiritual progenitor of the Farangī Maḥall family of Lucknow and their understanding and incorporation of Ibn ‘Arabī’s teachings.23 As late as the early twentieth-century, Muḥibb Allāh’s teachings on Ibn ‘Arabī were considered by the Qādirī šayḫ Mawlānā ‘Abd al-Bārī (d. 1926), the leading religious scholar of the Farangī Maḥall family, to be the key to a šarī‘a-based understanding of the doctrine of waḥdat al-wujūd (the oneness of Being) in India.24 Moreover, Muḥibb Allāh is an important forerunner to the eighteenthcentury Čištī revival throughout India. Indeed, Šāh Kalīm Allāh Jahānābādī (d. 1729), the Čištī šayḫ who is often credited with this resurgence, wrote an important commentary on Muḥibb Allāh’s Taswiya and used it to bolster an argument against Sirhindī’s criticism of waḥdat al-wujūd.25 While Sirhindī was a productive author who wrote at least nine treatises, not including his famous collection of letters Maktūbāt-i Imām-i Rabbānī,26 Muḥibb Allāh was prolific. His total output is said to have numbered twentyfive treatises in all,27 which makes him in the words of rizvi, « the most prolific chishti author; »28 yet all but two of Muḥibb Allāh’s works remain unpublished.29 In terms of the academic study of Sufism in seventeen-century India, it is clear that the contributions of Sirhindī and Muḥibb Allāh are equally valuable. Why then has the thought of Sirhindī so captivated the imagination of modern scholars – as well as his co-religionists – when the work of one of his most important contemporaries, Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī, remains virtually unknown? In order to answer this question, we need to interrogate the historiography that has in many ways determined how these figures have been remembered in posterity.

22. robinson 2001, p. 56. 23. robinson 2001, p. 170. 24. robinson 2001, pp. 57-8, 170. 25. Importantly, this was the first time Sirhindī is mentioned in connection with the Taswiya. See rizvi 1983, p. 271. 26. Friedmann 1971, pp. 4-6. 27. Moalem 2007, p. 98. 28. rizvi 1983, p. 17. 29. Muḥibb Allāh’s extant works include the following eighteen titles: (1) Anfās al-ḫawāṣṣ, (2) ‘Aqā’id al-ḫawāṣṣ, (3) Ġāyat al-ġāwāt, (4) Haft aḥkām, (5) Hašiya al-marātib al-arba‘a, (6) ‘Ibādāt al-ḫawāṣṣ, (7) Kitāb al-mubīn, (8) Maktubāt-i Šayḫ Muḥibbullah, (9) Manāẓir-i aḫaṣṣ al-ḫawāṣṣī, (10) Muġāliṭ al-‘āmma, (11) Sih rukn (Awrad-i Muhibbī), (12) Sirr al-ḫawāṣṣ, (13) Šarḥ Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam (Tajalliyat al-Fuṣūṣ), (14) Ṣharḥ-i Taswiya, (15) Ṭarīqa al-ḫawāṣṣ, (16) Tarjama al-kitāb, (17) al-Taswiya, (18) Wujūd muṭlaq. For detailed manuscript information see Ali 1993, pp. 18-19, 35-36; Moalem 2007, pp. 98-116; and rizvi 1983, p. 18.

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THE LInGErInG EFFEcTS oF « GoLdEn AGE » HISTorIoGrAPHY About half a century ahead of his time, the historian and philosopher Wilhelm dilthey summarized the ironic conundrum of historiography well when he wrote, « the one who studies history is the same one who makes it ».30 Indeed, the myth of « objectivity » is one of the more enduring critical insights of postmodernism. Yet the after-effects of many so-called « objective » historical models conceived by orientalist historiographers still linger. one such model is the persistent theory of « classicism and decline». despite repeated criticism in recent years, reverberations from a now antiquated theoretical framework of « decline » are still felt in current scholarship on South Asia. As richard Eaton observes in his 1993 article, « Islamic History as World History », the pervasive idea of an Islamic « golden age » has enabled modern scholars to dismiss later manifestations of Islamic piety and polity as corrupted forms of an unchanging religious « tradition » and once great « civilization ».31 The first scholar to critically point out the ubiquitous presence of the « decline » trope in Islamic studies was Marshall Hodgson, who in his seminal work the Venture of Islam notes that modern Euro-American historians had long held a triumphal image of the West as uniquely inheriting the Greek sense of due proportion and its ultimate telos, modernity. This triumphalist discourse, which portrays the « orient » as exotically beautiful but ultimately irrational and backward, served as a moral justification for European colonialism.32 Indeed, the idea that Muslims had only passively preserved Greek knowledge in order for christian Europe to later « rediscover » it after conquering Muslim Spain is a common Eurocentric bias. But as the textual legacy of Islamic philosophy and science shows, Muslim thinkers assimilated Greek thought in a creative and dynamic manner.33 carl Ernst has more recently brought to attention how these same misperceptions have undermined the academic study of Islamic mysticism. In the nineteenth-century, British orientalists in India coined the term « Sufism » and reserved their appreciation for the literary classics of the early masters, while dismissing the more formalized later manifestations as degenerate and a corruption of « orthodox » Islam – a rhetorical strategy, Ernst is quick to point out, that was adopted by Muslim modernists and fundamentalists in the

30. Wilhelm dilthey, Gesammelte Schriften, quoted in Linge 1993, p. 536. 31. Eaton 2000, p. 11. 32. Hodgson 1977, vol. 3, pp. 204-205. Edward Said would later elucidate these ideas in his influential study Orientalism. 33. Eaton 2000, pp. 29-30.

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nineteenth and twentieth centuries.34 As a consequence, modern Euro-American scholars and Muslim ideologues alike have tended to laud « safely dead ‘classical’ Sufis while scorning more recent examples of the tradition ».35 nowhere is this type of bias more apparent than in the dominant South Asian historiographic models established within the time frame leading up to and encompassing Indian independence and the partition of the subcontinent, where nationalist and ideological interests have influenced the interpretation of Indian history. As such, twentieth-century historiographers have portrayed pre-colonial figures as proto-reformers and spokesmen for religious communalism. Indeed, Ernst affirms that the overwhelming bias in modern Indian historiography « reads the past in terms of modern religious nationalism. In this view, historical events are implicitly seen as prefiguring the partition of British India into an Islamic republic of Pakistan and an overwhelmingly Hindu Indian union ».36 Moreover, the ideological manipulation of biographical images within modern South Asian historiography is not restricted to « classical » figures per se, if later figures can be portrayed as « pure » representatives of the religion and therefore the original « golden age ». The remaking of Aḥmad Sirhindī’s biographical image in modern histories is a case in point.37

THE ModErn TrAnSForMATIon oF SIrHIndī’S BIoGrAPHIcAL IMAGE In his well-known monograph on Sirhindī, Yohanan Friedmann reveals how the šayḫ’s biographical image changed dramatically after his death in the first half of the seventeenth-century. Muslim reformers transformed Sirhindī’s image by greatly minimizing his overwhelmingly mystical orientation and elevating his traditional insistence on following the šarī‘ā and his occasional political statements to a status equivalent to modern « religious reform ». Yet, in the same way that many conservative Muslim scholars have understood Ibn ‘Arabī in the modern context, the juridical community of Sirhindī’s day viewed him as 34. Ernst 2000, pp. 334-335. 35. Ernst 1997, p. 200. 36. Ernst 2004, p. 19. 37. This phenomenon is not isolated in Muslim historiography as robin rinehart has argued in her treatment of the contemporary Hindu figure Swami rama Tirtha (d. 1906). rinehart documents a three-phased transformation of the Swami’s biographical image from his death until the present. The last of these phases portrayed Swami rama Tirtha as an Indian nationalist even though the Swami had written repeatedly about his skepticism regarding the nationalist movement. See rinehart, 1999, p. 34.

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« an extravagant Ṣūfī, suffering from illusions of grandeur and highly disrespectful of the Prophet ».38 In the early twentieth-century, however, Sirhindī was recast as the « restorer of orthodoxy and reviver of ‘pure’ Islam ».39 Modern historians and academics have consistently depicted Sirhindī in this light, making much of his so-called « orthodox » attack on the « pantheistic » Sufism of Ibn ‘Arabī.40 Aziz Ahmad epitomizes this portrayal when he asserts that Sirhindī brought about a « revolution » in Indian Sufism that entirely negated Ibn ‘Arabī’s thought on the subcontinent.41 As if this assertion is not impressive enough, Ahmad also states that Sirhindī’s Ġazālian inspired attack on philosophy gained an « easy victory » over its propagation in India.42 In twentieth-century scholarship, Sirhindī’s doctrine of waḥdat al-šuhūd (the oneness of Witnessing) is often touted as an orthodox « counter theory » to the antinomian, pantheistic doctrine of waḥdat al-wujūd (the oneness of Being), which is conventionally associated with Ibn ‘Arabī and his school.43 Since Friedmann’s formative work on Sirhindī was first published in 1971, there have been increasing calls by scholars for a conceptual revision of this Manichean dyad. rather than an arch-opponent of the Šayḫ al-Akbar, such revision suggests that Sirhindī should be understood as simply another figure within Ibn ‘Arabī’s school in India, and that his alternative doctrine was not really posed against the ideas of Šayḫ al-Akbar per se, but only against the misinterpretations that they engendered.44 Indeed, Sirhindī frequently cites Ibn ‘Arabī and recommends the study of Ibn ‘Arabī’s works as a basis for the proper understanding of his own ideas.45 Later naqšbandī masters, like Šāh Walī Allāh, would strive to interpret Sirhindī in this light, reconciling his position with that of Ibn ‘Arabī.46 38. Friedmann 1971, p. 101. 39. Friedmann 1971, p. 114. 40. For example: Abu al-Kalām āzād, Aḥmad Fārūqī, Muhammad Iqbāl, Muhammad Miyān, Ishtiaq Husain Qureshi, Aziz Aḥmad, and Fazlur rahman. See Lipton 2009, pp. 6-24. 41. Ahmad 1999, p. 187. 42. Ahmad 1999, p. 189. 43. chittick has repeatedly pointed out that the expression waḥdat al-wujūd was not used by Ibn ‘Arabī and was rarely mentioned by those in his early school; e.g., see chittick 1994, p. 72. 44. Friedmann initially wrote, « it is our conclusion that Sirhindī’s rejection of Ibn al-‘Arabī is far from being as complete and unequivocal as is generally believed ». Friedmann 1971, p. 67. See also Algar 1991, p. 45; chittick 1992, p. 232; and damrel 2000, p. 193. 45. For example, Sirhindī states, « one ought to learn about the greatness and the profound wisdom of the Shaykh, not refute and condemn him ». Friedmann 1971, p. 65. Sirhindī also states that the « science of the Prophets is the Book of God and the Sunnah of the Prophet, and the science of the saints is (Ibn al-‘Arabī’s) Fuṣūṣ al-Hikām and Futūḥāt Makkīyah ». rahman 1968, p. 60. 46. Šāh Walī Allāh went as far as to reproach Sirhindī where he diverged from the views of Ibn ‘Arabī, asserting that Sirhindī had not only incorrectly cited his work, but had also misunderstood

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Just as Sirhindī’s alleged « revolution » in the Indian spiritual ethos seems to be largely a twentieth-century ideological construction, so too is the notion that he undermined the study of philosophy in the subcontinent. In fact, the seventeenth-century marked a revival in the rational sciences in the Awadh region of northern India, which was centered in two important cities. The first was the city of Jaunpur, which as mentioned above, had been a vigorous center of philosophical learning since the fifteenth-century. It should also be noted that Sayyid Ašraf Jahāngīr Simnānī (d. 1425), the first important Čištī transmitter of Ibn ‘Arabī’s thought in India, resided in Jaunpur. during the time just following Sirhindī, Jaunpur experienced a philosophical revival through the intellectual circle of ustād al-Mulk Šayḫ Muḥammad Afżal (d. 1652), an eminent Peripatetic philosopher of north India, and his better-known student Mullā Maḥmūd Jaunpūrī. Mullā Maḥmūd was the author of the famous Šams al-bāziġa (the rising Sun), which was a principal text on traditional Islamic philosophy in the dars-i niẓāmī curriculum and is still studied in madrasas throughout the subcontinent today.47 Moreover, Mullā Maḥmūd was in conversation with his contemporaries in Iran; he traveled to Isfahan on his way to Mecca and attended Mīr dāmād’s lectures, which he later disputed.48 The second center of philosophy in seventeenth-century Awadh was in the Farangī Maḥall quarter of Lucknow, which became « the most important center of Islamic philosophy in India until the partition of 1948 ».49 In the eighteenthcentury, Mullā niẓām al-dīn Farangī Maḥallī (d. 1748) developed the above-mentioned dars-i niẓāmī curriculum. This syllabus, heavily oriented towards philosophy and the rational sciences, was taught extensively in madrasas throughout the subcontinent until the early nineteenth-century when its prominence gave way to « the movement of revival and reform, and its harsher Islamic prescriptions ».50 The scholars of Farangī Maḥall marked a long line of transmitted philosophical knowledge that originated in Shiraz itself – a lineage in which Muḥibb Allāh served as an important figure, as will be discussed below.

particular points of Ibn ‘Arabī’s teaching based on misunderstandings disseminated by influential interpreters of his school such as Ṣadr al-dīn al-Qūnawī (d. 1263) and ‘Abd al-raḥmān Jāmī (d. 1492). Baljon 1986, p. 62. See also Algar 1991, p. 45. 47. See Khan 1996, pp. 1066; and robinson 2001, p. 50. 48. Khan 1996, pp. 1065-1066. 49. nasr 2006, p. 206. 50. robinson 2001, p. 68.

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MuḥIBB ALLāH: A ČIŠTī BETWEEn SHIrAz And THE FArAnGī MAḥALL Like the family of Farangī Maḥall, Muḥibb Allāh hailed from the Awadh region of northern India, where he was born in the village of Ṣadrpūr in 1587. Muḥibb Allāh spent the last twenty years of his life in Allahabad (Ilāhābād), southeast of Lucknow, where he taught and wrote the majority of his treatises on Ibn ‘Arabī’s mysticism.51 While the majority of authors who wrote on Ibn ‘Arabī in the subcontinent were relatively unfamiliar with Ibn ‘Arabī’s own writings, relying on commentaries written by Sa‘īd al-dīn Farġānī (d. 1296) and ‘Abd al-raḥmān Jāmī (d. 1492), Muḥibb Allāh’s works evince « little influence from such intermediary figures » and instead appear to be based directly on Ibn ‘Arabī’s Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam (Bezels of wisdom) and his magnum opus, al-Futūḥāt al-Makkiyya (Meccan openings).52 Because of this, chittick calls Muḥibb Allāh « the most learned representative of the school of Ibn al-‘Arabī in the subcontinent ».53 Čištī interest in Ibn ‘Arabī and the doctrine of waḥdat al-wujūd dates back to the fourteenth-century, most notably with the work of the above-mentioned Ašraf Jahāngīr Simnānī who studied under ‘Abd al-razzaq Kāšānī, a major transmitter of Ibn ‘Arabī’s school.54 Even though Kāšānī is noted for his philosophical approach towards Ibn ‘Arabī’s thought,55 Čištī authors after Ašraf Jahāngīr Simnānī up until the seventeenth-century appear to lean towards the experiential paradigm of « tasting » (ḏawq) rather than towards the alternative philosophical mode – if we can take chittick’s survey of Indian works in the school of Ibn ‘Arabī as an indication.56 In the seventeenth-century this experiential predilection shifted again towards a more philosophical approach in the work of at least two prominent Čištī authors. not only is the philosophical paradigm apparent in Muḥibb Allah’s Taswiya, as will be shown, but also in the work of ‘Abd al-Jalīl of Lucknow (d. 1633-34), who shows « a thorough familiarity with the philosophical mode of exposition ».57 Because the Taswiya is written within a philosophical idiom, it further complicates the stereotypical image of the Čištiyya as « anti-intellectual » and 51. Ali 1973, p. 245. 52. chittick 1992, pp. 221, 233. 53. chittick 1996, p. 520. 54. Ernst - Lawrence 2002, pp. 78-79. 55. As chittick notes, Kāšānī accentuated an already established trend by Ibn ‘Arabī’s disciple Ṣadr al-dīn Qūnawī to present Ibn ‘Arabī’s work in philosophical terms. See chittick 1996, p. 518. 56. chittick 1992, pp. 220-24. 57. chittick 1992, p. 231.

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opposed to philosophical reasoning, as exemplified by the celebrated Čištī Šayḫ niẓām al-dīn Awliyā (d. 1325) in his discourses.58 By the end of the sixteenthcentury this stereotype had already been attenuated somewhat by Šayḫ Salīm Čištī (d. 1571), whom Badā’ūnī records as trying to mitigate the tensions between the traditional ‘ulamā’ and the philosophers.59 Yet, the Taswiya, like the thought of Ibn ‘Arabī, is clearly not in support of philosophy; rather, Muḥibb Allāh uses philosophical concepts to logically argue against the philosophers, whom he sees as trapped within the spiritually limited confines of reason.60 As such, Muḥibb Allāh begins the treatise by acerbically addressing the « rationalists » (al-‘uqalā’) and the « philosophers » (al-ḥukamā’),61 warning them that after reading his treatise they will be so devastated that « burning tears will be shed! » Muḥibb Allāh’s interlocutors are thus clearly philosophically oriented, which is confirmed by Muḥibb Allāh’s heated correspondence with Mullā Maḥmūd Jaunpūrī, who wrote an early refutation of the Taswiya.62 As rizvi mentions, Mullā Maḥmūd and his disciples in Jaunpur stressed « philosophic and intellectual arguments » against Sufism and the doctrine of waḥdat al-wujūd.63 Indeed, rizvi’s account of the debate between Mullā Maḥmūd and Muḥibb Allāh implies that the logical prowess of the former left the latter with no option but that of a dogged anti-intellectualism.64 on closer inspection, however, Muḥibb Allāh’s approach in this debate appears to be much more nuanced; he is in fact decidedly intellectual. As such, Muḥibb Allāh is resolutely opposed to the view that Ibn ‘Arabī’s mysticism was a product of ecstatic utterances (šaṭḥiyāt), and he criticizes Sufis who believe that mystical gnosis is somehow disassociated from the intellect.65 Muḥibb Allāh’s position is thus much like the members of the Iranian ḥikmat tradition – especially his contemporary Mullā Ṣadrā, who holds that the rational thinkers have « not purified their inner being sufficiently so as to enable the intellect within them to perceive directly the divine realities without the dimming and obscuring influence of the carnal soul ».66 58. rizvi 1978, pp. 167-8. 59. Badā’ūnī 1973, vol. 3, p. 226. 60. rizvi 1983, p. 269. 61. The Arabic term ḥakīm (pl. ḥukamā’) here refers to Muslim philosophers (ḥukamā’ al-islāmī). See chittick 1989, p. 387n17; and nasr 1978, p. 168n4. 62. The first two correspondences of Muḥibb Allāh’s collection of letters, Maktubāt-i Šayḫ Muḥibbullah, are addressed to Mullā Maḥmūd Jaunpūrī. Mullā Maḥmūd’s refutation of the Taswiya is entitled Ḥirz al-īmān. See Moalem 2007, pp. 114, 146. 63. rizvi 1983, p. 269. 64. rizvi 1983, p. 269. 65. Ali 1973, p. 251. 66. nasr 2006, p. 53.

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Indeed, Muḥibb Allāh’s nuanced approach may very well have been due to his intellectual connection to the Iranian philosophical tradition and the school of Shiraz. His teacher of the rational sciences was ‘Abd al-Salām of Lahore (d. 1627), who studied philosophy directly under Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī (d. 1589) in the last two years of his life in the Punjab from 1587 to 1589.67 Fatḥ Allāh’s educational reforms were a major catalyst in the early modern philosophical florescence in northern India. By the orders of the emperor, he introduced Akbar’s court to the philosophical works of key figures from the school of Shiraz such as those of Jalāl al-dīn dawānī (d. 1502), an important philosopher in the Illuminationist school, and Ġiyāṯ al-dīn Manṣūr daštakī (d. 1542), one of the first prominent Iranian authors to synthesize the thought of Ibn Sīnā, Suhrawardī, and Ibn ‘Arabī.68 ‘Abd al-Salām of Lahore was not only the teacher of Muḥibb Allāh, but he also was the teacher of Mullā ‘Abd al-Salām of dewa, who was the chief mufti of Šāh Jahān’s army. This intellectual lineage was thus passed from him to his student daniyāl Čawrasī, who taught the famous scholar Mullā Quṭb al-dīn Sihālwi, whose descendents would become the Farangī Maḥall family of Lucknow.69 Importantly, Muḥibb Allāh’s first disciple and ḫalīfa, Qāżī Ṣadr al-dīn Ilāhābādī, was the Šayḫ of Mullā Quṭb al-dīn Sihālwī, who in turn was his ḫālifa.70 So, not only did Mullā Quṭb al-dīn Sihālwi share Muḥibb Allāh’s intellectual lineage of the school of Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī, but he was also a direct spiritual descendent of Muḥibb Allāh.

THE TASWIYA And ITS AvIcEnnAn IdIoM The full title of Muḥibb Allāh’s treatise under discussion here is al-Taswiya bayna al-ifāda wa-l-qabūl (The Equivalence Between Giving and receiving). Written in Arabic, it is primarily a commentary on key aspects of Ibn ‘Arabī’s Fuṣūṣ – particularly the frequently cited opening passage of the first chapter, which Muḥibb Allāh does not mention, though he quotes extensively from other passages of the Fuṣūṣ. In spite of the fact that the text is extremely recondite, the Taswiya was the most popular of Muḥibb Allāh’s works and produced a large body of glosses and commentaries – an achievement which reveals the level of metaphysical sophistication of his contemporary intellectual milieu.71 Moreover, the work was quite controversial, not only provoking Mullā 67. Khan 1964, p. 315; robinson 2001, pp. 43, 57; and nasr 2006, p. 206. 68. nasr 2006, pp. 197-201, 205-206. 69. robinson 2001, p. 43; and nasr 2006 p. 206. 70. robinson 2001, p. 59; and Ali 1973, p. 255. 71. rizvi 1983, p. 270; and Ahmad 1945, p. 78.

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Maḥmūd’s aforementioned refutation, but also the ire of the last great Mogul emperor Awrangzeb. Indeed, the emperor was so disquieted by the work that he demanded Muḥibb Allāh’s chief disciple Šayḫ Muḥammadī reveal its meaning to him – Muḥibb Allah having by that time passed away. Muḥammadī shrewdly replied that he was not yet at the station of his master to know exactly what he had meant, so if the emperor wanted to have all of the existing manuscripts burnt, then he should do so in the royal kitchen, where « much more fire is available [than what] can be had in the house of the ascetics, who have resigned themselves to God ».72 one of the most distinctive aspects of the Taswiya is that Muḥibb Allāh explains Ibn ‘Arabī’s ideas within a particularly Avicennan idiom. The adoption of Ibn Sīnā’s philosophical language and motifs is not only typical of the school of Ibn ‘Arabī, but also in the Iranian philosophical revival of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.73 Throughout the text there are many compelling allusions to Avicennan terminology and motifs, which Muḥibb Allāh draws from Ibn Sīnā’s ontological, cosmological, and esoteric conceptions. But here I will only discuss the Avicennan basis of the treatise itself as reflected by its very title. By way of example, I will briefly look at Muḥibb Allāh’s most original and controversial section, which graphically personifies the Active Intellect as the archangel Gabriel. While Aristotle held that existence belongs to the essence of each thing, and as such is not accidental, al-Fārābī (d. 950) understood existence as a « pure accident ».74 Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037) further developed al-Fārābī’s conception by positing God as the necessary Being (wājib al-wujūd), the only being whose essence, or « quiddity » (māhiyya), and « existence » (wujūd) are inextricably united. As such, « the essence of God is to exist », and is thus necessary-byitself, while the existence of all other things is contingent on God’s existence and therefore bestowed and accidental.75 For Ibn Sīnā, essences, or intelligible forms, exist only in the mind of God who then may give them sensory existence, thus allowing these forms to have concrete existence in the phenomenal world.76 In his famous treatise al-Šifā, Ibn Sīnā categorizes both essence and existence within the larger framework of wujūd. Here, « affirmative existence » 72. rizvi 1983, p. 271. 73. For an excellent treatment of how the school of Ibn ‘Arabī from Qūnawī to Qayṣarī increasingly adopted and systematized the philosophical language of Ibn Sīnā (in terms of ontology) see dagli 2006. 74. rahman 1958a, p. 2. 75. rahman 1968, p. 8 and rahman 1963, p. 481. 76. Averroes later challenged this idea, however, and asserted that if existence was completely accidental and simply an added attribute it would imply an infinite regress and violate the definition

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(al-wujūd al-iṯbātī) asserts that an entity exists in general, while « specific existence » (al-wujūd al-ḫāṣṣ) asserts what an entity is essentially.77 Although Ibn ‘Arabī does not use this particular Avicennan terminology in the Fuṣūṣ, Muḥibb Allāh does so in the Taswiya and argues that God’s specific existence, that is God’s essence, forms the substrate of the universe. Muḥibb Allāh contends that the Giver (al-mufīd), who is the necessary Being, gives existence to the « possible things », (mumkināt), which until this point are simply intelligible objects of God’s knowledge and as such are equivalent to the intelligible forms of neoplatonic cosmology.78 But if the possible things are to be given existence, they must first specifically, or essentially, exist – only then can they receive phenomenal existence. To illustrate this point, Muḥibb Allāh repeatedly uses the philosophical analogy of a dyer who dyes a garment black. In order for the dyer to accomplish his task, he must first have a garment ready for dyeing; the dyer cannot simply give blackness to nothing. Muḥibb Allāh therefore argues that if the only thing that truly has specific existence is the necessary Being, then the possible things, which need intelligible or essential existence before they are given sensory existence, must be equivalent to the necessary Being itself. Muḥibb Allāh states, « the possible thing is not other than the necessary, the Most High! »79 In other words, both God and the possible things (as preexistent objects of God’s knowledge) are one essential substance, i.e., God’s wujūd. God gives sensory existence to the possible things as an accidental, or additional, component to their specific or essential existence. The possible things, in turn, receive affirmative or sensory existence. Muḥibb Allāh’s main argument is thus encapsulated within the title of the treatise itself: « The Equivalence between Giving and receiving. ». The « Giver » (al-mufīd)80 as the necessary Being, and the « receiver » (al-qābil) as each possible or essential form, are « equivalent »; i.e., they are one divine Essence that makes up the intelligible realm of the divine consciousness. of an essential substance as that which exists by itself. But rahman makes the important qualification that for Ibn Sīnā, existence is not purely « accidental », as Averroes had apparently thought. That is, in relation to God, existence is necessary; it is only « accidental » in relation to other objects, and thus existence is « not an ordinary accident ». rahman 1963, p. 484. See also rahman 1958a, p. 14. 77. Wisnovsky 2003, p. 155. 78. See chittick 1989, pp. 12, 38-39; and Fakhry 2002, p. 148. 79. Ilāhābādī, al-Taswiya. MS Qom, Mar‘ašī najafī Library, p. 1. 80. The term al-mufīd is derived from the forth form of the root f-y-d meaning « to benefit », which should not be confused with al-mufīḍ from the root f-y-ḍ meaning « to emanate ». Importantly, the particular dyad al-mufīd / al-qābil is not mentioned by Ibn ‘Arabī in the Fuṣūṣ, but is employed by Ibn Sīnā, albeit in a more mundane context. See Goichon 1999, p. 288.

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THE TASWIYA’S FAMouS ProvocATIon: GABrIEL WAS In MuḥAMMAd Although Muḥibb Allāh discusses various aspects of this equivalence between the « Giver » and « receiver », I turn now to his most provocative illustration. In this section, which I will quote in full in order to give a sense of the dramatic and elliptical nature of the text, Muḥibb Allāh situates the angel Gabriel inside the Prophet Muḥammad. He states: You should distinguish the separate intellects from the celestial spheres and the world of generation and corruption. Then look to the angels, both high and low, and to the remaining existent things, for Gabriel was in Muḥammad, upon him be peace, and thus in every one of the prophets.81 Gabriel spoke by the tongue of Muḥammad, which is the Tremendous Throne, and his breast is the Lote-Tree of the Furthest Boundary. For did you not hear that his Satan became Muslim at his hands?82 So the one who rejects this and says that he is existent in other than the possible thing will not be saved from error!83

Muḥibb Allāh here alludes to the Avicennan neoplatonic tradition of « emanation » (fayḍ) by referring to « separate intellects », « celestial spheres », and « the world of generation and corruption ».84 In this cosmogonic tradition, from God’s self-contemplation emanates a series of intellects and corresponding celestial spheres that culminate in the Active Intellect – also known as the Tenth Intellect – which can be understood here as the divine consciousness or Logos that governs the world. The Active Intellect is an intermediary between the intelligible realm of the heavenly spheres and the mundane world of generation and corruption.85

81. There is a marginal note on one of the manuscripts here that states, « regarding his saying that ‘Gabriel was in Muḥammad,’ not one of the jurists, theologians, or Sufis have said this, may God’s pleasure be upon them all! » Ilāhābādī, al-Taswiya. MS Qom, Mar‘ašī najafī Library, p. 5. Yet, Muḥibb Allāh is simply graphically illustrating what philosopher-mystics such as Ibn Sīnā, and Suhrawardī Maqtūl had already implied. By the thirteenth century, Ibn ‘Arabī had uniquely synthesized these ideas into his own teachings. For example, in the opening passage of the Fuṣūṣ Ibn ‘Arabī states that the Angels are the inner faculties of the macrocosmic « Great Man » (al-insān al-kabīr). See Ibn al-‘Arabī 2004, p. 5. 82. « When asked how his šayṭān behaved, [the Prophet] answered: ‘Aslama šayṭānī; my šayṭān has become a Muslim and does whatever I order him […].’ » Schimmel 1975, p. 113. 83. Ilāhābādī, al-Taswiya. MS Qom, Mar‘ašī najafī Library, p. 5. 84. Ibn Sīnā’s theory of emanation was first formulated in its Islamic form by al-Fārābi See Black 1996, p. 189. 85. Fakhry 2002, pp. 79-83. See also Morewedge 1972, p. 12.

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Ibn Sīnā follows al-Fārābi in referring to the Active Intellect as the « Giver of Forms » (wāhib al-ṣuwar) from which the intelligible forms emanate.86 Additionally, Ibn Sīnā holds that all prophets are endowed with a special Angelic Intellect. The so-called « Angel », according to Ibn Sīnā, is the special faculty of the prophet that allows him to receive direct emanations of intelligible or universal forms from the Active Intellect as revelation.87 Although the Taswiya lacks an essential vocabulary of light to make it overtly Illuminationist, the personification of the Active Intellect as Gabriel is a distinguishing motif in išrāqī interpretations of Avicennan angelology after the twelfth-century.88 What is significant in Muḥibb Allāh’s provocative passage above is that both the « Giving » of revelation from the angel Gabriel, who is the Active Intellect, and the « receiving » of the Prophet, happen within Muḥammad, who is portrayed as the simultaneous source and depository of revelation.89 Muḥibb Allāh thus graphically illustrates the so-called « cosmic function » of the Prophet Muḥammad by interiorizing within him not only the Angel Gabriel but also two distinctive Qur’anic metaphors for the highest mode of celestial intelligence: « The Lote-Tree of the Furthest Boundary » (sidrat al-muntahā) (Qur’ān LIII : 14) to which the Prophet made his heavenly « ascension » (mi‘rāj); and the « Tremendous Throne » (al-‘arš al-‘aẓīm) (Qur’ān IX : 129, XXIII : 86, XXvII : 26), the solitary « seat » of the one God’s absolute power within the cosmos. Muḥibb Allāh utilizes Avicennan and Qur’anic imagery to illustrate Ibn ‘Arabī’s conception of Muḥammad as the microcosm, the personified epitome of the cosmos as the « comprehensive being » (al-kaw al-jāmi‘).90 Muḥibb Allāh’s depiction thus represents both the 86. Fakhry 2002, p. 75. 87. See rahman 1958b, pp. 34-35. 88. corbin 1960, p. 369. See also ziai 1996, p. 481. corbin also notes a similar correspondence with the Active intellect and the Angelic presence in the exegesis of the Biblical story of Jacob by the Jewish mystic Joseph ben Judah. corbin 1998, p. 35. Since Maimonides (d. 1204), who was heavily influenced by Ibn Sīnā, there has been a strong association in the Jewish tradition between the Active Intellect and the angel Metatron, which took on special significance in the Kabbalistic thought of Abraham Abulafia (d. 1291). With Abulafia, the Active Intellect is also identified with the « supernal Assembly of Israel » and the Torah itself. Wolfson, 2005, pp. 240-241. 89. In an ironic parallel, the Kubrawī šayḫ ‘Alā’ al-dawla al-Simnānī (d. 1336) (who was considered by Muḥibb Allāh to be an « ignorant Sufi » because of his criticism of Ibn ‘Arabī) held that the gnostic was able to attain the « Gabriel of [his] being » by passing through seven successive internal levels to be reunited with the Holy Spirit (rūḥ al-quds), which « guides and initiates » the « seven prophets of [his] being ». corbin 1998, pp. 34-35. As Schimmel notes, in the išrāqī tradition « Gabriel is the archetype of humanity, the rabb an-nau‘ al-insānī; he can be equated with the Holy Spirit and, as such, with the preexistent spirit of Muhammad, the prototype and model of humanity ». Schimmel 1975, pp. 261-262. 90. Izutsu 1984, p. 219.

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bestowal and acquisition of revelation simultaneously. As such, the Active Intellect as Gabriel is « the Giver » and the prophetic intellect as containing the intelligible forms is « the receiver ». These two complementary attributes are embodied together within the liminal microcosmic space of divine consciousness here represented by the Prophet Muḥammad as the Muḥammadan reality (ḥaqīqa muḥammadiyya), i.e., the life-giving and directing principle of the cosmos embodied within the Akbarian idea of the « perfect human being » (insān al-kāmil). The Muḥammadan reality thus conceived is the so-called « self-revealing » aspect of the divine Essence, which in its absoluteness is entirely unknowable and an « Absolute Mystery » (ġayb muṭlaq).91 As Annemarie Schimmel observes, the cosmic principle of the Muḥammadan reality, often referred to as the « Muḥammadan Light » (nūr muḥammadī), is « a mode of the uncreated divine spirit [...] the medium through which God becomes conscious of Himself in creation ».92 To explain the transition from the divine Essence as unknowable mystery to its self-revealing aspect, Ibn ‘Arabī often refers to a version of the well-known sacred tradition: « I was a Treasure but was not known. So I loved to be known, and I created the creatures and made Myself known to them. Then they came to know Me ».93 The « Muḥammadan Light » is thus the initial form in which the divine Essence discloses itself, i.e., the first self-determination (ta‘ayyun) of the Absolute.94 In neoplatonic terms, this light is the foremost emanation of the Absolute referred to as the First Intellect. The Muḥammadan Light is therefore the manifestation of divine consciousness by which the Absolute reveals itself to itself, and Muḥibb Allāh articulates this processual unicity as the « equivalence » between the « Giver » and « receiver ». As Schimmel notes, the symbolic function of the cosmic reality of Muḥammad parallels the 91. Izutsu 1984, p. 32. 92. Schimmel 1975, p. 224. 93. chittick 1989, p. 66. In terms of exoteric knowledge (‘ilm al-ẓāhir), this ḥadīṯ qudsī was considered « inauthentic » by the muḥaddiṯūn, but was held by Ibn ‘Arabī to be « sound on the basis of unveiling ». chittick 1989, p. 391 n14. 94. Besides the unambiguous Qur’anic appellation for Muḥammad as an « illuminating lamp » (sirājan munīran) (Qur’ān XXXIII : 46), the famous light verse of the Qur’ān (XXIv : 35) was interpreted early on by Muqātil ibn Sulaymān (d. 767) as depicting the divine light of Muhammad shining through the other prophets. Schimmel 1975, pp. 214-215. other early exegetes such as Tabarī (d. 923) interpreted the Qur’anic verse « There has come to you from God a light » (Qur’ān v : 15) as a direct reference to Muḥammad. The tradition of the « Muḥammadan Light » was also transmitted via a non canonical ḥadīṯ of the Prophet who is reported to have said to Jābir ibn ‘Abd Allāh, « o Jābir, God created the light of your Prophet out of His Light before he created things ». chodkiewicz 1993, pp. 61, 63.

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neoplatonic conception of the Active Intellect qua the divine consciousness.95 By situating Gabriel, who as mentioned above was commonly interpreted by the išrāqī tradition as representing the Active Intellect within the Prophet, Muḥibb Allāh makes a similar analogy between the Muḥammadan reality and the Active Intellect. Further, the embodiment of the divine within the perfected soul is also a motif that permeates Ibn Sīnā’s so-called « visionary recitals »,96 where the gnostic ultimately merges with the cosmos and becomes fully identified with the divine Intellect, unified in the never-ending cycle of God’s self-contemplation.97

concLuSIon: PHILoSoPHY

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ČIŠTIYYA

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Schimmel provocatively remarks that Muḥibb Allāh’s internalization of Gabriel seems « like a prefiguration of later trends of demythologization ».98 Even though there are precedents for this angelic internalization, as I have outlined above, it is certainly possible that Muḥibb Allāh’s use of this particular imagery is in response to the more rationally centered arguments of his day, such as those of the Peripatetic school in Jaunpūr. In other words, the Avicennan basis of the Taswiya and its interpretation of inspired knowledge points to a specific engagement with the particular philosophical discourse of Muḥibb Allāh’s time and place in addition to its conventional employment found in the school of Ibn ‘Arabī. Even though Muḥibb Allāh is an important figure in the intellectual lineage of the Farangī Maḥall and the school of Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī, the nature and context of philosophical thought employed in his work have not been adequately addressed. rather, the few scholars who have bothered to write on Muḥibb Allāh in the last century have cast his work in the hackneyed polemic between Sirhindī and Ibn ‘Arabī, instead of contextualizing it within the broader philosophical tradition with which it engaged.99 As I have argued, one com95. Schimmel 1975, p. 224. 96. These comprise Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān (The Living Son of the Awake), Risālat al-ṭair (The Treatise on the Bird), and Salāmān wa Absāl (Salāmān and Absāl); see nasr 1978. 97. nasr 1978, p. 274. 98. Schimmel 1980, p. 99. 99. For example, Muḥibb Allāh is often portrayed in opposition to Sirhindī and as a counterrenewer of the doctrine of « oneness of existence » over the « oneness of witnessing », thus asserting his « own contribution to revive the doctrine after the vehement onslaught of Shaikh Ahmad Sirhindī [. . .] ». Ali 1993, p. 4. See also Khan 1964, p. 322. Importantly, Muḥibb Allāh does

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pelling explanation for the scholarly neglect of Muḥibb Allāh’s work is the twentieth-century historiographical preoccupation with Sirhindī in the classicist model. This « golden age » image disassociates Sirhindī from his own connection with Ibn ‘Arabī’s school, and enables the ideological portrayal of him as an « orthodox » reformer who purified India of Ibn ‘Arabī and Islamic philosophy, clearing the way for the modern resurgence of « true Islam » and Islamic communalism. Expanding on the seminal insight of dilthey mentioned above, Hans-Georg Gadamer once observed that the historian is always « a child of his time who is dominated unquestioningly by the concepts and prejudices of his own age ».100 If we persist in exposing the biases against Ibn ‘Arabī and Islamic philosophy in twentieth-century South Asian historiography, then we will better understand the intellectual exchange between philosophers and Sufis in seventeenth-century India. Such a continued reassessment will allow Muḥibb Allāh to be studied in a way more befitting his importance as a Čištī intellectual in the school of Ibn ‘Arabī submersed within the philosophical milieu of his day.

Acknowledgements I wish to thank Malihe Moalem for her gracious help in procuring the manuscripts of the Taswiya referred to here. I must also thank carl Ernst and Fabrizio Speziale for their kind support and crucial input.

not refer to Sirhindī in his works, and it is not until Šāh Kalīm Allāh Jahānābādī’s (d. 1729) commentary on the Taswiya that Sirhindī becomes associated with the treatise in a polemical manner. See rizvi 1983, pp. 269, 271. 100. Gadamer 1975, p. 358.

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corbin, Henry, – 1960 : Avicenna and the Visionary Recital. Willard r. Trask, trans. new York, Pantheon Books. – 1998 : Alone with the Alone: Creative Imagination in the Sūfism of Ibn ‘Arabī. ralph Manheim, trans. Princeton, Princeton university Press. cooper, John, 2000 : « Some observations on the religious Intellectual Milieu of Safawid Persia », in : F. daftary, ed., Intellectual Traditions in Islam. new York, I.B. Tauris, pp. 146159. dagli, caner K., 2006 : « From Mysticism to Philosophy (and Back): An ontological History of the School of The oneness of Being ». Ph.d. dissertation, Princeton university. damrel, david W., 2000 : « The ‘naqshbandī reaction’ reconsidered », in : d. Gilmartin - Bruce B. Lawrence, eds., Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia. Gainesville, university Press of Florida, pp. 176-98. digby, Simon, 1975 : « ‘Abd al-Quddus Gangoi (1456-1537 A.d.): The Personality and Attitudes of a Medieval Indian Sufi ». Medieval India - A Miscellany, 3, pp. 1-66. Eaton, richard M., 2000 : Essays on Islam and Indian History. new delhi, oxford university Press. Ernst, carl W., – 1997 : The Shambhala Guide to Sufism. Boston, Shambhala Publications. – 2000 : « Taṣawwuf. 19th and 20th-century Sufism, in Muslim India ». Encyclopaedia of Islam, new Edition, vol. 10. Leiden, E. J. Brill, pp. 334-337. – 2004 : Eternal Garden: Mysticism, History, and Politics at a South Asian Sufi Center. new York, oxford university Press (2nd ed.). Ernst, carl W. - Lawrence, Bruce B., 2002 : Sufi Martyrs of Love: The Chishti Order in South Asia and Beyond. new York, Palgrave Macmillan. Fakhry, Majid, 2002 : Al-Fārābi, Founder of Islamic Neoplatonism: His Life, Works and Influence. oxford, oneworld. Friedmann, Yohanan, 1971 : Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī: An Outline of His Thought and a Study of His Image in the Eyes of Posterity. London, McGill-Queen’s university Press. Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 1975 : Truth and Method. new York, continuum. Goichon, Amélie-Marie, 1999 : Lexique de la Langue Philosophique d’Ibn Sīnā (Avicenne): Vocabulaires Comparés d’Aristote et d’Ibn Sīnā. Frankfurt am Main, Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Science at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe university. Hodgson, Marshall G. S., 1977 : The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization. chicago, university of chicago Press, vol. 3.

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Ibn al-‘Arabī, 2004 : The Ringstones of Wisdom (Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam). caner K. dagli trans. chicago, Great Books of the Islamic World. Ilāhābādī, Muḥibb Allāh, – al-Taswiya bayna al-ifāda wa-l-qabūl. MS deoband, dār al-‘ulūm, pers. 464/101. – al-Taswiya. MS Qom, Kitābḫāna-yi ‘umūmī-yi ḥażrat-i āyat Allāh al-‘uẓmā Mar‘ašī najafī. – al-Taswiya. MS Mashhad, āstān-i Quds riżavī, pers. 24860. Izutsu, Toshihiko, 1984 : Sufism and Taoism: A Comparative Study of Key Philosophical Concepts. Berkeley, university of california Press. Khan, Hafiz A. Ghaffar, 1996 : « India », in : S. H. nasr - o. Leaman, eds., History of Islamic Philosophy: Part II. new York, routledge, pp. 1051-1075. Khan, Yusuf Husain, 1964 : « Shah Muhibbullah of Allahabad and his Mystical Thought ». Islamic Culture, 38, pp. 315-322. Linge, david E., 1973 : « dilthey and Gadamer: Two Theories of Historical understanding ». Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 41, 4, pp. 536-553. Lipton, G. A., 2009 : « The Equivalence » (Al-Taswiya) of Muhibb Allah Ilahabadi: Avicennan Neoplatonism and the School of Ibn ‘Arabī in South Asia. Saarbrücken, vdM verlag. Moalem, Malihe, 2007 : « Sufi Thoughts of Muhibbullah Ilahabadi & His concept of Wahdat ul-Wujud ». Ph.d. dissertation, Jamia Hamdard. Morewedge, Parvis, 1972 : « The Logic of Emanationism and Ṣūfism in the Philosophy of Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna), Part II ». Journal of the American Oriental Society, 92, 1, pp. 1-18. nasr, Seyyed Hossein, – 1978 : An Introduction to Islamic Cosmological Doctrines: Conceptions of Nature and Methods Used for its Study by the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā, Al-Bīrūnī, and Ibn Ṣīnā. Bath, Thames and Hudson. – 1999 : « The Place of the School of Isfahan in Islamic Philosophy and Sufism », in : L. Lewisohn - d. Morgan, eds., The Heritage of Sufism, Volume 3: Late Classical Persianate Sufism (1501-1750): The Safavid and Mughal Period. oxford, oneworld, pp. 3-15. – 2006 : Islamic Philosophy from its Origin to the Present: Philosophy in the Land of Prophesy. Albany, State university of new York Press. nizami, K. A., – 1965 : « Čishtiyya ». Encyclopaedia of Islam, new Edition, vol. 2, Leiden, E. J. Brill, pp. 50-56. – 1991 : « The naqshbandiyyah order », in : S. H. nasr, ed., Islamic Spirituality: Manifestations. new York, crossroad, pp. 162-193.

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rahman, Fazlur, – 1958a : « Essence and Existence in Avicenna ». Mediaeval and Renaissance Studies, 4, pp. 1-16. – 1958b : Prophecy in Islam: Philosophy and Orthodoxy. London, George Allen and unwin Ltd. – 1963 : « Ibn Sīna », in : M. M. Sharif, ed., A History of Muslim Philosophy: With Short Accounts of Other Disciplines and the Modern Renaissance in Muslim Lands. vol. 1., Wiesbaden, otto Harrassowitz, pp. 480-506. – 1968 : « Selected Letters of Shaikh Ahmad Sirhindī », Eng. introd. to Intikhāb-i Maktūbāt-i Šaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī. Karachi, Iqbal Akadami. rinehart, robin, 1999 : One Lifetime, Many Lives: The Experience of Modern Hindu Hagiography. Atlanta, Scholars Press. rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas, – 1978 : A History of Sufism in India. new delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, vol. 1. – 1983 : A History of Sufism in India. new delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, vol. 2. robinson, Francis, 2001 : The ‘Ulama of Farangi Mahall and Islamic Culture in South Asia. new delhi, Permanent Black. Schimmel, Annemarie, – 1975 : Mystical Dimensions of Islam. chapel Hill, The university of north carolina Press. – 1980 : Islam in the Indian Subcontinent. Leiden, E.J. Brill. Wisnovsky, robert, 2003 : Avicenna’s Metaphysics in Context. Ithaca, cornell university Press. Wolfson, Elliot r., 2005 : Language, Eros, Being: Kabbalistic Hermeneutics and Poetic Imagination. new York, Fordham university Press. ziai, Hossein, 1996 : « The Illuminationist Tradition », in : S. H. nasr - o. Leaman, éds., History of Islamic Philosophy: Part I. new York, routledge, pp. 465-496.

Śahādat or Śahā datta? Locating the Mysterious Fakir in the Marathi texts1 Dušan Deák

Abstract: This essay is an attempt to discuss the god Dattātreya clad in the garb of a Muslim fakir as he is represented in Marathi texts, old and new. It considers the figure of Dattātreya from the theoretical perspective of studies of holy men and studies of their impact on South Asian society. The essay develops an argument that the concept of fakir Dattātreya evolved gradually across the centuries of Dattātreya’s worship, and that it reflects the socio-cultural changes in pre-modern and early modern South Asia that transformed the latter into the Indo-Islamic world. It also suggests that in some religious groups the acceptance of Dattātreya’s fakir form may have evolved as sophisticated Sanskritization of Islamic holy men whereas other groups may have adopted this peculiar form of Indic god-sage for Islamization of the followers of holy men.

INtroDUctIoN Hardly anybody working on South Asian themes within the disciplines of religious studies, (social) history or anthropology will doubt the ubiquitous presence of variously characterized holy men in different types of research materials. Depending on the particular religious tradition that accommodates them, or their practices and philosophies, we may meet with sants, yogīs, avadhūtas, digambaras, arhats, sufis, fakirs, or qalandars and so forth.2 they 1. It would be impossible to write this essay without the support of my mentors and colleagues. Let me, therefore, first express my gratitude to them. I would also like to thank the International Institute for Asian Studies, the Netherlands Institute of Advanced Study in the Humanities and Social Sciences, the American Institute of Indian Studies and the British Academy. Without their support the writing of this essay would have been equally impossible. 2. Most of the specific terms used in this essay come from Marathi and have been transliterated from Devanagari script using the standard transliteration method applied to Indo-Aryan languages. Most of the Hindustani and Urdu terms have also been transliterated from Devanagari script. In order to preserve Marathi pronunciation I have left out the short « a » when it is not pronounced in Marathi (e.g. sampradāy, Ātmarām instead of sampradāya, Ātmarāma). In the case of Sanskrit words, I have kept the short « a ». Indic words common to an English reader have not been transliterated.

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may be addressed without any particular reference to sectarian affiliation and religious practice – the appellative bābā, i.e. father, being the best example in this case. In those South Asian traditions that accept the concept of incarnation the holy men may very apparently cross the differential point between human and divine being. In those that do not accept it we find holy men divine too, but with rather careful textual formulation of their abilities to move between the celestial and terrestrial spheres. Holy men, whether conceived as particularly gifted humans of specific qualities, or as deities incarnated in the world, have considerably dominated the religious and social landscape of South Asia from time immemorial. research based on Sanskritic sources may understand them ontologically as people of the vana (forest) in contrast to those of the grām (settlement), or highlight their mediating role between these divisions of the world. research examining the texts in New-Indo Aryan languages, as well as in Persian and Arabic, will rather highlight their engagement in negotiations with society. thus we find South Asian holy men described as actively opposing traditional social hierarchies, doubting the divisions of faiths and creeds, being literati, as well as beggars of the streets, or even traders and soldiers. Holy men may represent sophisticated religious philosophies and practices, or simple ways of life. they may also act as challengers to well-established social and religious authorities, and use their power to substitute the latter with religious authorities of their own. Furthermore, research into beliefs and practices associated with human or superhuman holy figures brings out their healing and other supernatural powers, the rituals elaborated in order to exercise these powers, and the socioreligious networks that surround places where the powers are exercised or the rituals carried on.3 this essay seeks to explore the literary and academic texts pertaining to a mysterious religious figure that represents Indic god Dattātreya in the garb of a Muslim fakir.4 the latter may be treated in both ways suggested above, i.e. as incarnated divinity and as a holy man of a particular period acting in particular social and historical surroundings. He may be understood as a representative of a spiritual « call from the vana » as well as the one whose 3. For various interpretations of holy men that I mention in this paragraph see e.g. Dumont 1960; Eaton 1978; Digby 1986; Schomer 1987; Veer 1994, pp. 25-77 and passim; Kurin 2003; Lorenzen 2004; olivelle 2005; Green 2006. 4. Although I am aware of the wider meanings of the word « fakir », in this essay I will always use « fakir » to refer to a Muslim holy man. When referring to those religious traditions whose representatives do not consciously associate themselves with Islam and Muslims I have decided to use the word « Indic » instead of common « Hindu », because the latter includes many comparatively modern meanings.

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mission is to re-negotiate socio-religious heterogeneities and particular religious doctrines and beliefs. He, too, displays his powers and his powers are sought. consequently, he can hardly be confined to any one historical person and although there is a space for ethnographic approaches to some of his historical human representations (like, say, Sāī Bābā of Shirdi)5 in this essay, I will prefer to dress Dattātreya in fakir’s garb rather as a textually constructed figure and analyze several layers of texts that is possible to associate with this particular representation of the Indic deity. I am aware that this approach has the shortcoming that it is unable to cover and interpret satisfactorily all « living » representations of the particular fakir: for the belief in Dattātreya’s capacity to appear in fakir’s form is quite well spread across the wide world of his devotees. Moreover, this belief transcends the world of the active devotees and there is also considerable general awareness about Dattātreya taking the form of a Muslim fakir.6 this may indeed limit the approach to some extent. But the religious figure that I have decided to explore is not characterized in the texts as a particular personality – at times an Indic god is recognized, at times a fakir, at times a divine incarnation with a specific mission, and yet at other times it hardly appears to be any definable person and appears rather as a divine principle – so I shall remain within the limits of the texts rather than confusing the found uncertainties with living world of beliefs in Datta the Fakir. Hence this essay will be rather a preliminary set of ideas as to how to understand and interpret the complex religious and/or literary figure with some confidence, as well as reviewing the rather rare and limited sources that construct its textual representations. Fakir Dattātreya, as I mostly know him, belongs to the realm of Marathi devotional literature. In this context we are more likely to meet with him as a religious figure of powerful exploits than meet with any relevant piece of literature assigned to him.7 the layers of textual traditions that enable us to approach the fakir vary in character and age. First of all, there is a need to discuss those texts that pertain to other appearances of Dattātreya and consider whether any connection between fakir Dattātreya and other Dattātreyas can be found. Most of these texts predate the late 16th century, to which the first appearance of a mysterious fakir Datta can be traced through literary evidence. these texts belong either to Puranic genre of Sanskrit literature or Marathi

5. For association of Sāī Bābā with Dattātreya see Joshi 1965, p. 158. 6. For instance the well known propagator of pre-colonial Maratha glory M. G. ranade at the beginning of 20th century openly admitted Dattātreya’s fakir form and used it in his argument. ranade 1974, p. 23. 7. Khanolkar 1977, pp. 453-454.

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pseudo-Puranic8 or hagiographical material. Secondly, I will rely on the Marathi texts dated mainly to 18th and consequent centuries that consist of saint-poetry and hagiographies. Finally, I will discuss the contents of a single text called Śahā Datta Kalamā written in a regional form of Hindustani and Marathi with a probable origin not earlier than the 19th century. Most of the Marathi texts that directly address fakir Dattātreya that I have consulted have been in fairly recent edited versions, and only a few texts were available to me in manuscript. this is another shortcoming of this essay. Yet, given that we are dealing with a minor tradition, controversial from the point of view of the modern Hindu and Muslim search for religious identities which caused many of the original manuscripts to become untraceable or lost, I still see value in presenting a summary of the sources at hand, irrespective of their age and sometimes obscure historicity. this view is supported by the fact that Dattātreya is understood today by some of his devotees to take the form of a fakir, regardless the purifying efforts of the manuscript-keeping and manuscript-sharing Hindu elites that do not favor Dattātreya’s association with the world of Islamic holy men. Moreover, though nowadays the voices of Marathi writers like J. r. Ajgavkar, G. K. candorkar, M. r. Joshi, or r. c. Dhere remain somewhat unnoticed among the Dattātreya’s devotees, their findings offer a considerable amount of material to consider and interpret.

DAttĀtrEYA AS A cULtIc FIGUrE the religious figure of Dattātreya has been revered in India for a considerably long time. the first references to him appear in Mahabharata and Puranas. Described as a great yogi, a giver of spiritual wisdom and help to his followers, in Sanskrit textual renderings we find him appropriated by various cultic strands of Vaishnavism, Shaivism, and tantrism.9 Various representatives of these broadly understood Indic religious sects were already popular in the first millennium A. D., and gained – especially in the Vaishnavas and Shaivas – well documented success among the devotees in the following millennium. the stories found in Puranas participated in Dattātreya’s later and famous image as trimūrti, i.e. a representation of gods Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva (although in these texts he is understood to be particularly an incarnation of Vishnu.)10 It is possible that the concept of avatār (incarnation, appearance) widespread among 8. I call as « pseudo-Puranic » those Marathi texts that treat Puranic or somewhat similar motifs within their own sectarian framework. For the references to particular texts see below. 9. Joshi 1965, pp. 66-72. 10. Joshi 1965, p. 55. on the development of trimūrti image see Dhere 1964, pp. 28-33.

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Vaishnavas could exert influence on the popular as well as scriptural perceptions of Dattātreya, because he is known, similarly to Vishnu, for a variety of mainly human forms and appearances (Dattāvatārs). this, of course, directly connects him to holy men. Dattātreya may be also broadly understood as a deity peculiar to Western India.11 However, given the antiquity of his worship documented in Marathi texts and the number of his worshipped incarnations in Marathi countries (i.e. mainly in present day Indian state of Maharashtra), his popularity in the latter region most probably exceeds any other region in South Asia.12 As a cultic persona Dattātreya acts always in Sanskrit texts as a great guru and depending on the cult, the concrete form of his character is emphasized. thus we may find him as a reviver of the true (sat) dharma, tantric master and alchemist, siddha (an ascetic of supernatural achievements), or the teacher of yoga and its secrets. He often behaves in an asocial manner and therefore is characterized as unmatta (literally mad), avadhūta (the one who shattered all social conventions, a yogi smeared with ashes, taking intoxicants etc.) and digambara (i.e. sky-clad, which associates him with nude ascetics).13 In all these respects his textual portrayal is that of a powerful ascetic, and/or a divine incarnation – the one who should be sought, and whose direct associations with the social world (so paradigmatic for holy men of later ethnographic and historical findings) are almost imperceptible. For our purposes it is important to note Dattātreya’s presence in several sectarian traditions and consequently his unclear association with any of the sects (e.g. he acts and looks like a Shaivite yogi and yet is presented as an incarnation of Vishnu, or he is said to be expounder of the monistic religious teachings of Advaita Vedanta and yet associated to tāntrikas whose philosophy is different). thus already the oldest sources on Dattātreya bring a rather diverse than singular portrayal of him. It is in the pre-modern era, i.e. roughly during the thirteen to sixteenth centuries, when we find Dattātreya, as a cultic figure, incorporated to Marathi religious texts.14 this could be an outcome of earlier reverence paid to him, or 11. Apart from many places in the Deccan, and specially Marathi Deccan (Joshi 1974, pp. 361400) other written and popular traditions connect him to Gujarat (Girnar) and also rajasthan (Mount Abu). Dhere 1964, pp. 213-214; White 1996, pp. 117-118. the southernmost spread of Dattātreya cult is to my knowledge found in southern Karnataka Baba Budhan Hills in chikmagalur district. Sikand 2004, pp. 169-175. 12. the earliest Marathi sources on Dattātreya seem to be Mahānubhāv texts dated to late 13th century. raeside 1982, p. 491. 13. Digambara, in this context, does not point to association with Jain monks, but only to nude ascetics. 14. tulpule 1979, pp. 316, 341, 352.

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connected with his peculiar ties to the Marathi region,15 but in any case, Dattātreya is already fairly well accommodated in these texts that in their own terms mark the beginnings of Marathi literature. they came from the provenience of devotional cults often presented under the rubric of Bhakti (or devotional) movements. Without going into further detail let me emphasize that these cults along with their holy men made a significant impact on the religious life in South Asia, including the Marathi speaking region.16 this impact may be described in terms of elevating devotion above ritual, asceticism, and traditional societal hierarchies, – but it should be noted that not all devotional movements need necessarily subscribe to these terms. their character, indeed, varies considerably.17 Let me mention that in political terms the pre-modern era corresponds to the period of growing importance (and finally to the dominance) of Muslim aristocracy and soldiery of various ethnic origins. In religious terms it corresponds to the appearance and spread of Islamic institutions supported by then successful Muslim states of the Deccan. In addition to doctrinal Islam represented by the ‘ulamā’, approximately during the same time in the Deccan we also witness the increased activities of Sufi holy men and their followers – both, colloquially called « dervish » or « fakir » – who might be associated with the state apparatus loosely, tightly or not at all. organized Sufism seems to have reached the Deccan during the forced migration of the Delhi elites to Daulatabad in late 1320’s ordered by Sultan Muḥammad tuġluq. Patronization of Sufi divines was a common practice in the royal houses of the Deccan as elsewhere in the South Asian subcontinent.18 Finally, various unorganized personas of Islamic holy men that have been also read under the broad rubric of Sufism19 appeared in the Deccan, possibly even earlier than in 14th century, and they have never ceased to be a part of the multifarious religious environment found in this region.20

15. the region of Maharashtra comes to the fore especially with the cult of Goddess reṇukā where Dattātreya plays an important role. In turn, the son of the Goddess Paraśurām mentioned in Mahabharata is also very much a Maharashtrian deity. For reṇukā see raeside 1982, p. 498, for Paraśurām Feldhaus 2003, pp. 12-13, 138. 16. General introduction to devotional movements and the role of saints see in Lorenzen 2004, pp. 1-44. cf. clothey 2003, p. 59; Martin 2003, p. 60; Kurin 2003, pp. 531-533. 17. Lorenzen 2004, pp. 41-42. 18. Ernst 1992, pp. 107-117, 215, passim, also Ernst 1996, p. 77, and Siddiqi 1989, pp. 121-169. 19. With regard to broad definition of Sufism in the Indian subcontinent see Green 2008. 20. Pagdi 1993, p. 58 ff.

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the exponents and the followers of broadly understood Sufism and Indic devotionalism shared several common features: namely, an emphasis on devotional religious philosophy and practices, opposition to religious institutions attached to formalized (or ritualistic) and doctrinarian religious exegesis, and promulgation of inner religious vision, but above all, the positive and highly devotional attitude to saints and saint worship, or in other words, holy men.21 However, it should be acknowledged that these features are much more complex than it may initially seem. For instance Bhakti cults, although in principle refusing Brahmanical ritualism, developed ritualism of their own. Similarly not all Sufi figures necessarily dissociated themselves from the doctrines and practices of ‘ulamā’ and so forth. What is important to note in this connection is the religious environment dominated by respect for holy men which is also crucial for an understanding of Dattātreya’s fakir representation. Let me therefore state that during the thirteen to sixteenth centuries there evolved in the Deccan devotional groups centered on the figure of a holy or saintly men (and sometimes women) who could also, but not necessarily, act as religious teachers. Depending on their particular sectarian or doctrinal background, the followers and exponents of these groups appear to see themselves connected through specific religious associations named panths, sampradāys, or tarīqas and many of these successfully persisted to modern times. they gradually formed the religious traditions with particular sets of beliefs and practices. therefore, it is in the gradual development of religious world-views conceived in Islamic or Indic idiom where we possibly may look for the textual emergence of Dattātreya in the garb of fakir. In other words fakir Dattātreya may be located in the texts written in the idiom common to a particular religious group that was united by the emphasis laid on devotion to God and devotion to His holy men.

EArLY rEPrESENtAtIoNS oF DAttĀtrEYA IN MArAtHI tExtS In the Marathi speaking area it is namely Nāth,22 Mahānubhāv, Vārkarī and Datta sampradāys where we meet with the devotional attachment to the holy figure of Dattātreya. Even if the latter sampradāy might differ from others because of somewhat uncertain form of its teachings (see below), these four also correspond to the major pre-modern religious traditions that to a 21. cf. Lawrence 1987. 22. on the Nāths see Véronique Bouillier’s article « Dialogue entre les Nāth yogīs et l’islam » in this volume.

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considerable degree influenced the religious imagination about the holy men in the region. Although different from each other with respect to religious ideas, practices, deities and figures revered they, however, should not be understood as monolithic religious groups without any interconnections. For instance the Nāth substrate has been well documented in the Vārkarī tradition, the Mahānubhāvs specifically build their ideas on regional (possibly Nāth) ascetic traditions, Vaishnavite devotion and imagination, and the elements of Bhakti, Shaivite asceticism (vitally connected with Nāths) and Brahmanic religious ideals are found in the texts of followers of Datta sampradāy.23 the fluidity of religious ideas and practices therefore constitutes these seemingly separate traditions in their own terms. It creates a space for them to appear separately or distinctively towards each other, and yet does not altogether reject the « mechanics » beyond the appropriation of particular ideas and practices – the mechanics conditioned by human agency, which cannot avoid borrowing, inspiration and sharing. the most vivid example of this is precisely the appropriation of the divine figure of Dattātreya by all of them. Moreover, the fact that we meet with Dattātreya’s Muslim image of fakir suggests an even wider circulation of ideas and practices and it effectively documents the mutual interconnections between the exponents and the followers of pre-modern religious groups. In the Nāth sampradāy Dattātreya heads the list of Marathi Nāth siddhas, represented as a founder of the avadhūt subgroup of the sampradāy.24 His image of siddha corresponds to his classic understanding as yogi and specially gifted ascetic alluded to above. Much more important textual testimony for our purposes comes from Marathi Mahānubhāv sampradāy. In the theology of this specific devotional-cum-ascetic religious group Dattātreya stands for one of the « pañca Kṛṣṇas » – divine incarnations of the Absolute (Parameśvara) – and is thus one of the most important divine figures worshipped by Mahānubhāvs. Leaving aside the debate over his inclusion to the Mahānubhāv pantheon, his role as a giver of wisdom – again quite a classical one – it is his portrayal in Mahānubhāv texts (Gadyarāja-stotra, Sahyādri varṇana, Sahyādra līḷā) that is of interest in connection to the image of the fakir. He is portrayed in the disguise of figures belonging to very low social strata (Māng – sweeper, Pārdhī – hunter). He carries a loaf of meat and at other instance also a pitcher of liquor as well as he is accompanied by dogs and woman. on the other hand 23. Vaudeville 1987, pp. 32-35; tulpule 1979, pp. 323-324; cf. Feldhaus 1983, pp. 57-68, 199202; Dhere 1964. pp. 53-58, 66-68, 196-197, 200-202 and passim. According to Dhere early Mahānubhāv teachers cāngdev rāuḷ and Govind Prabhu belonged to Nāths, Dhere 1964, p. 63. 24. White 1996, p. 113.

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he is also invited to perform a Brahmanic ritual.25 this image certainly suggests the tantric influence in Mahānubhāv understanding of Dattātreya. Yet, with respect to the later image of fakir another reading is at hand: for is it impossible to argue that the disguises of low caste member and meat-eater made it easier to imagine and present Dattātreya also – from Brahmanical point of view – as a low caste member and meat-eater par excellence, i.e. as a Muslim? It is quite certain from the Puranic and later sources that the perception of his personality emphasized the gift of religious wisdom. this perception, when filtered through the pre-modern and early modern contexts of a regional religiosity moulded by various religious networks – all of which considered the dedicated submission to their particular religious teachings of utter importance – hence could produce a vision of a helper and saviour access to whom was not based strictly on sectarian terms, but rather on devotion only. this, in turn, allowed the clothing of a religious teacher in various sectarian clothes, e.g. as a fakir.26 In this respect the Mahānubhāv’s sources form, in my opinion, a significant material with regard to the processes of evolving perceptions of Dattātreya in Marathi devotional traditions. to elaborate this argument shortly yet another factor should be mentioned and that is the concept of Kaliyuga. According to Indic scriptures it is the fourth and last era of creation symbolized by the decay of religious truths, inversion of values and social disrupt. Although, as Sumit Sarkar has shown, its ideological applications differ depending on social strata,27 for our purposes it seems necessary to highlight that the concept of Kaliyuga played a significant role in the teachings of pre-modern sampradāys.28 In this era of decay the people seeking religious truths are said to be no more well equipped to understand them than people in the previous ages. therefore we often meet with ideas that it is only the devotion or acceptance of particular religious practice that brings a chance to be saved from endless rebirths. this widespread idea offered manifold opportunities for religious groups as well as for holy men to emphasize the exceptionality of their teachings. Islamic theology fairly well fits into this concept. After all, Prophet Muḥammad is regarded as the Seal of 25. raeside 1982, pp. 493-495. 26. Nile Green speaks about polivestiary saints, i.e. variously clothed saints. Dattātreya is indeed a polivestiary religious figure. See Green 2007, pp. 59-60. 27. Sarkar 1997, pp. 186-188 ff. 28. In Mahānubhāv theology, for instance, Dattātreya is the only giver of religious knowledge that appears in all four yugas, which makes his role in Kaliyuga even more significant. Many Bhakti movements stress the devotion against the yoga and ritual as the safe road to salvation in Kaliyuga when people cannot understand yoga and ritual properly. tāntrikas would claim their teachings to be specifically destined for this era etc.

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all previous prophets and consequently the giver of a last chance to accept God’s will. In the setting of the pre-modern Deccan, where different religious groups were represented by tightly or loosely organized bodies of devotees, but equally by the holy men, and argued for their own exposition of religious wisdom, the wisdom of Fakir thus was to be counted with. However, let me return to sampradāys in particular. the mainstream Marathi devotional movement of Vārkarīs does not play a particularly significant role in our attempts to locate fakir Dattātreya, rather it is its great exponent saint Eknāth whose spiritual preceptors I will address in the next section of this essay. But before doing that let me briefly discuss Marathi sampradāyik text that to my knowledge for the first time directly connected Dattātreya and Muslims. It opens the window to understanding the important role of Marathi Brahmans in the textual construction of Dattātreya in fakir’s garb, which accompanied (and possibly even preceeded) popular belief in this particular Datta’s form. Marathi literary historians usually speak about this text as one of the chief scriptures of Datta sampradāy – the traditional religious network of Dattātreya’s devotees.29 Gurucaritra is a hagiography written by Brahman Sarasvatī Gangādhar around the first half of 16th century and narrates lives of the two principal incarnations of Dattātreya saints Śrīpad Śrīvallabha (died ca. 1350) and Narasinha Sarasvatī (died ca. 1458). Although there are basically several Gurucaritras, with respect to the parts where Dattātreya (incarnated as one of the saints) meets with Muslims, it does not seem that there are significant differences in content.30 there is no space in this essay to narrate the stories however some points regarding the text and its contextualization within the wider world of devotees gathered in Datta sampradāy can still be made. In Gurucaritra, Dattātreya for the first time appears as a giver of boon to Muslims, particularly Muslim king, the feature that was also preserved in his textual portrayal as fakir.31 the king is referred to as a servant of Brahmans 29. Khanolkar 1977, p. 402; Kulkarni 1993, p. 72; cf. tulpule 1979, p. 352. 30. Gurucaritra was edited by Kamat, but his edition assembled from various manuscripts is rather a compilation of what he considered to be authentic Gurucaritra (Kulkarni 1993, pp. 7981). I have seen two manuscripts of the work, one dated to 1779 and the other, not dated, but possibly from the second half of 19th century. When the chapters that concern Muslims are compared to Kamat’s edition, there do not appear to be great differences in the content. Sarasvatī Gangādhar, Gurucaritra, ms. Mar. D 50, British Library, London, Sarasvatī Gangādhar, Gurucaritra, ms. Mar. 29/363, Bhārat Itihās Sanśodhak Maṇdaḷ, Pune. 31. there are also other stories connecting Dattātreya with Muslim kings but apparently recorded later than the one of Gurucaritra. Anonymous Dāsopantacaritra narrates the story Dattātreya disguised as Mahār (untouchable) interacting with the Muslim king of Bidar on behalf of saint Dāsopanta (Abbot 1922, pp. 257-276), and again as Mahār in the similarly framed story of Mahipati he helps Bidar’s revenue officer saint Dāmājīpant (Śrī Bhaktavijaya 40: 8-172, Devle’s

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(viprasevak) and portrayed as a devoted disciple of Dattātreya who, in turn, acts as a spiritual preceptor dispelling doubts from the mind of his royal disciple. the hagiographer thus clearly did not exclude Muslims from soteriology that centered on the blessings of a great guru. on the other hand Dattātreya is described not just as a guru, but rather, and quite convincingly, as a defender of Vedic dharma in times when even its leading keepers – Brahmans – are serving the Muslims whose rule is perceived as degradation.32 to support his claims the hagiographer alludes to Kaliyuga and this in turn allows him to project the guru Dattātreya as a helper and guide, as well as a saviour from the degraded state of affairs. But how might these two seemingly opposite standpoints found in Gurucaritra be interpreted and how do they relate to Dattātreya clothed as a fakir? Simplifying the matter we may say that one standpoint includes and the other excludes Muslims from the hagiographer’s (and also Dattātreya’s) favor. Dhere refers to them as the two main factors that determine the understanding and evaluation of Datta sampradāy and also remarks that the latter until today haven’t developed any particular teaching distinguishable from the so called Brahmanic learning that emphasizes the varṇāśramadharma33 and general attachment to Brahmanic tradition of Vedas and Śāstras.34 these teachings did not find positive evaluation for Muslim rule and Muslims who – if referred to – were on the fringes of a Brahmanic socio-religious setting based on the notions of purity. therefore the Muslims are marked in Gurucaritra as mleccha (impure), or yavana (foreigner). However, what was conceived by Brahman Sarasvatī Gangādhar as vital to religion (dharma), i.e. return to idealized Brahmanic knowledge, did not necessarily need to be so for pre-modern holy men. Gangādhar seems to be very much aware of it. the popularity of Bhakti and its, to considerable extent, liberal character was hard to avoid, and if, as Gangādhar suggests, many Brahmans failed in their religious tasks35 more catholic, yet traditional holy men were always at edition, pp. 387-394). Hanumadātmaj’s Purṇānandacaritra in certain sense again connects Dattātreya with Muslim ruler (subhedār) of Bidar (Purṇānandacaritra 18: 192-238, Deshpande’s edition, pp. 262-267) via the story of saint Dattānanda. 32. For sultan as disciple, see chapter 50 of Gurucaritra and for Brahmans serving sultans chapters 14, 25. Kamat 1993. 33. the rules and regulations (dharma) pertaining to particular stage of life (āśrama) and social status (varṇa) of the practitioner of Brahmanic Hinduism. 34. Dhere 1964, pp. 196-206. 35. Gangādhar refers to Brahmans sharing the knowledge of Vedas with Muslim kings (Gurucaritra 25: 6-12, Kamat’s edition, p. 239) and criticizes them for misunderstanding of Vedic knowledge (Gurucaritra, chapter 26 passim). cf. tulpule 1979, p. 352. With regard to employment of Brahmans in the Deccan sultanates’ administration see Eaton 2005, pp. 91, 145.

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hand. the latter however did not always completely subscribe to ideals of Brahmanic social and religious rules. Several of them initiated disciples from lower social strata, saw religious authority as a result of inner wisdom (not of scholastic learning) and from time to time strongly criticized the order of the world as conceived by Brahmans. Gangādhar’s portrayal of Dattātreya visibly combines both the wish for traditional guidance in religious matters that he could not find with practicing Brahmans, as well as the acknowledgement of necessity of the guide whom he finds in the contemporary holy men. replacing Brahman with Brahman holy men36 may appear as a compromise, but on the other hand it quite sophisticatedly displays how Brahmanic teaching could be presented in a devotional idiom. this then meant to accept also the catholicity of Bhakti, which in turn extended its appeal to all potential devotes including Muslims who in the pre-modern Deccan had already become a firm part of the social, cultural and religious environment. Naturally, Gangādhar could have referred only to Indo-Islamic pre-modern Deccan of active competition between the religious networks of those days. Grounded in the devotion to holy men and Brahmanical teachings, Gurucaritra is thus a representation of changing world of religious elites. It tries to preserve Brahmanic dominance in religious matters but cannot achieve it without the powers and prestige of holy men. But there is one more point to consider. I have tried to suggest that the inclusion of Muslims in the conceptual world of Marathi Brahmans via the figure of Dattātreya (as we find it in Gurucaritra) could be a necessary outcome of the competitive social and religious environment of pre-modern times. Set in this environment, the traditions around the two local saints identified with the Indic deity also provided the Brahman hagiographer a space to show Brahmans and other devotees of the saints the triumphal way out of the degradation of Kaliyuga (understand Muslim rule). It was the way of devotion. However, it is a different thing to present a Muslim king as a devotee of Indic god incarnated in Brahman holy man then to accept an Indic god incarnating in Muslim fakir! What we witness in Gurucaritra is, I think, an undercurrent of socio-religious negotiations of Brahmanic elites with the politically successful Indo-Muslim world. But after Gurucaritra come texts that invert Dattātreya’s outward appearance and the perceptible impact of Indo-Islamic world in the world of Brahmans becomes even clearer. Did the popularity of holy men shake the traditional position of Brahmans, so that this elitist group needed to respond? May we understand later fakir Dattātreya to represent a somewhat sophisticated effort on the part of Brahmanic religious authorities to negotiate with the then 36. Both Śrīpad Śrīvallabha and Narasinha Sarasvatī were Brahmans.

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enormous popularity of holy men and also Islamic holy men? How could Brahmans benefit from portraying Dattātreya appearing as a Muslim? Before attempting to answer these questions let me first discuss the textual traditions that indeed projected Dattātreya as a Muslim fakir and note that all of them indeed came from Brahmanic provenience.

IN tHE GArB oF FAKIr Dattātreya is certainly not the only god represented as Muslim in Indic devotional texts. In Maharashtra itself we know about Shiva-Nāganāth who is said to take the form of a fakir, or in Bengal it is Satya Nārāyaṇa (Vishnu) who appears for his devotees as Satya Pīr.37 Although marginal in terms of its popularity, the Muslim garb for Indic deity is not completely uncommon for those who worship holy men. After all, the Muslim holy men, whether Sufis or others, became part of the Indic religious world centuries ago. What makes Dattātreya different is his, at least textual, antiquity and association with several cultic movements of South Asia. His role of Guru of gurus (Śrī Guru), ascribed Sanskrit philosophical works (like for instance Avadhūtgītā) makes his personality open to various kinds of devotional attachments and provides him with somewhat honorable position in comparison to the above mentioned deities. In other words the pathos around Dattātreya that makes him « immortal guru, yogi and avatār »,38 alleged connections to Puranic personas such as Paraśurāma, reflect his broad and territorially Indic character whereas ShivaNāganāth and Satya Pīr remain confined within their own respective regions. What I mean to say is that Dattātreya’s garb of Muslim fakir as found in the Marathi texts significantly adds to this pathos, and in certain sense universalizes the personality of Dattātreya: for anywhere he can appear and anyway he can appear. this is possibly the reason why Dhere – by pointing to the Vaishnava and Shaiva imaginations attached to Dattātreya as well as to the latter’s appropriation of fakir’s garb – sees Dattātreya as a deity that « brings together » (samanvay) the devotees coming from various religious groups. But he does not forget to add that « bringing together » Hindus and Muslims may be conceived of specifically only in terms of saint-worship that, in turn, he connects to beliefs in saints’ powers and miracles common for the devotees of 37. Skyhawk 1994; Stewart 1995. 38. this is an epithet used by A. rigopoulos as the title of his monograph on Dattātreya. See rigopoulos 1998.

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holy men irrespective of their religious creed. otherwise, the religious doctrines of these two religious groups have, according to Dhere, little in common.39 Despite simplifying the matters Dhere’s account gives importance to what I have already several times alluded to: the worship of Dattātreya as holy man/men in various disguises. It is certainly not accidental that Dhere’s concept of samanvay, especially with regard to Hindus and Muslims, comes along with the names of the Marathi Brahman saints Eknāth and Janārdan Svāmī in whose life-stories Dattātreya was for the first time clearly identified with a Muslim fakir. With the names of Eknāth (d. 1599, in Paithan) and Janārdan Svāmī (d. 1575, in Daulatabad) we enter into the early modern era: for much that we know about these two saints comes from 18th century sources.40 Briefly, Eknāth, a saintly Brahman from Paithan (ca. 64 km from Daulatabad), is one of the most popular Vārkarī saints of today’s Maharashtra. the story well known to Marathi audiences is that Janārdan Svāmī, who is said to be one of the officers serving (possibly as accountant) at Daulatabad fort once took his young disciple Eknāth to meet with his preceptor – Dattātreya. the latter appeared to Eknāth in the form of Malaṅg fakir and blessed the future saint.41 Malaṅgs are generally said to belong to be-šar‘ Sufi order (as an ofshoot of Madārīs) whose members display several similarities with Shaivite yogis.42 But Eknāth, as noted by hagiographers and later popular tradition, expressed hesitation with regard to the appearance of Dattātreya. this suggests that, in this case, hagiographers indeed meant by Malaṅg a Muslim and not any Shaiva looking mendicant. Now, there has been a vital discussion among Marathi scholars of who this Malaṅg could be: the academics were divided into a traditional wing that saw in Malaṅg just a peculiar incarnation of Dattātreya and other wing who discussed Janārdan Svāmī’s possible affiliation with Sufism or even 39. Dhere 1964, pp. 199-200. 40. the lives of Eknāth and his preceptor Janārdan Svāmī are interconnected. What is known about the latter comes mainly from hagiographies on his famous disciple Eknāth. Supposedly the earliest hagiography narrating Eknāth’s life – Pratiṣṭhānacaritra – is dated to the last decade of 17th century, Khanolkar 1977, p. 41. All other and more famous narrations come from 18th and later centuries. 41. Śrī Bhaktavijaya, 45:106, Devle’s edition, p. 439, Śrī Bhaktalīlāmṛta, 13: 174, Phadke’s edition, p. 112, Śrī Keśavkṛta Ovībaddha Śrī Eknāth Caritra, 3: 16, Gosavi’s edition, p. 16. In Bhaktavijaya Datta initially appears also as Muslim soldier (45: 83-85, Ibid., p. 438). 42. titus 1979, p. 127; Ahmad 1964, p. 162. See also Schimmel 1980, pp. 35, 128, 136; Ewing 1984; Sidky 1990. their behaviour is asocial, e.g. they use drugs prepared mainly from cannabis. the earliest account on Malaṅgs that I have been able to locate is based on census conducted by Ibbetson and MacLagan and compiled by rose. It curiously says that Malaṅgs « are both Hindu and Muḥammadans by religion ». rose 1914, p. 57.

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Ismailism.43 Yet none of the modern disputants – content with the widespread hagiographical portrayal of Eknāth’s meeting with Dattātreya – doubted that the story portrays the Indic god in the guise of a Muslim fakir. What appeared even more controversial was the historicizing of the fakir. the debate specifically aroused around a mysterious person of candrabhaṭ alias cānd Bodhle alias cānd Sāheb Kādirī, whom according to hagiographical and literary sources44 it is possible to identify with Malaṅg-Dattātreya of Eknāth’s experience. Except his rather unheeded tomb at the foot of Daulatabad’s fort, his present-day worshippers who seem to know almost nothing about his life, and the problematic text – Sijrā jadi Kādirī – that associates him with Qādirī Sufis,45 hardly any information about cānd Bodhle can be found. However confusing this situation around the Malaṅg may seem, there are important factors to note: Dattātreya is presented as a fakir, historicizing the fakir is controversial and interpretations turn around his precise sectarian affiliation (Malaṅg? Sufi? Dattāvatār?). It may be a matter of debate when precisely the motif of the peculiar guise got accommodated also in other Marathi religious writings (i.e. those that do not address Eknāth and Janārdan) and when it was accompanied by the actual belief in powers of fakir Dattāvatārs, but we may be certain that, thanks to Eknāth’s hagiographers during the 18th century, this image has been already well known, which points to its earlier spread.46 the mystery around cānd Bodhle shows that it was not easy for Brahman writers – whether hagiographers of 18th and later centuries or modern academics – to imagine a Muslim guiding a young Brahman. Eknāth himself was suspected of hiding the fact.47 What probably seemed easier was to avoid the mysterious historical personality with unclear identity and accept the concept of Dattātreya clothed as a fakir. In other words it was less problematic to accept, however symbolically, Muslim holy men in general than to accept the particular person, because that would mean association of Eknāth with that person; an unpleasant step for Brahman 43. controversial opinions see in Dhere 1967, p. 84 ff., and Deshpande 1982, p. 35. For introduction of Ismaili connections into the problem see Skyhawk 1992, pp. 73-74, also footnote n. 23 of Skyhawk’s text. For yet another approach Deák 2005. 44. Bendre 1958, pp. 50-82; Dhere, 1966, pp. 135-142; cf. Deshpande, 1982, pp. 1-35. 45. Sijrā jadi Kādirī, as published by Bendre, does not make anything clearer with regard to cānd Bodhle, since there are many problematic points in the text, which in turn appears to be rather later fabrication of Sufi lineage by the descendants of Muslim yogi Śekh Mahaṃmad than evidence of Qādirī Sufi connection to fakir Dattātreya. Bendre 1961, pp. 123-124; Deák 2005, pp. 26-27. 46. In these contexts the non-Marathi (mainly Gujarati) traditions spun around Dattātreya should be taken into consideration, but at present paper it impossible for me to discuss them. 47. tulpule 1979, p. 353; Skyhawk 1992, pp. 74-75.

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orthodoxy earlier and betrayal of « Hindus » later from the point of view of modern religious nationalism. But it would take us too far from Dattātreya to discuss the obscured personality of cānd Bodhle, and I have attempted to do so elsewhere.48 For now it must suffice to state that in all probability Malaṅgcānd Bodhle, whomsoever he was, is the first holy man who in the Marathi tradition was at once associated with Dattātreya and Muslim religious mendicant – the first prototype of fakir Dattātreya appearing in Marathi texts. But there are two more things to mention briefly: the guise of Malaṅg itself and locating fakir Dattātreya to Daulatabad. As noted above, in many ways Malaṅgs resemble Shaiva ascetics. According to rose they take drugs prepared from hemp, wear a loin cloth, wear matted long hair and constantly keep fire.49 considering the classical image of Dattātreya, who is also avadhūta, unmatta and digambara (see above) combined with Mahānubhāv descriptions of not utterly sober meat eating holy man, moreover from lower social strata, Malaṅg seems quite fitting into their company. I am tempted to see behind this rather strange form of Muslim mendicant a sophistication that allows keeping the traditional image of Dattātreya – an ascetic and giver of wisdom – as well as adding the new image of Dattātreya – the ultimate ascetic giving ultimate truth irrespective of the tradition from which the particular holy man-incarnatedDattātreya comes. In other words presenting a Muslim mendicant as Malaṅg displays the possible sanskritization50 of the « historical » fakir. Viewing him as Dattātreya brings a pathos that overshadows all the other representations found in Eknāth’s story which are unpleasant for Brahman orthodoxy: the service of his preceptor at sultan’s fort, his own service there, and mostly fakir’s identity as Muslim! Malaṅg’s association with Daulatabad sheds even more light to our enquiry. the city of Daulatabad (Abode of Fortune), earlier Devgiri (God’s Hill) topped with a fortress built on steep rock was for a long time connected to tantric/alchemic and Shaivite traditions, so a sacred space already in its substance.51 Unavoidable is also its royal history, because it served as a capital or prominent city with an unconquerable fortress for several dynasties of the Deccan. In the pre-modern and early modern era Daulatabad was an important 48. Deák 2005. 49. rose, 1914, p. 57. 50. Sanskritization is a term mainly referring to interaction between Brahmanic religious traditions (expressed in Sanskrit) and other religious traditions in South Asia that resulted in adoption of many Brahmanical practices, concepts and ideologies by non-Brahmans. It also refers to efforts of Brahmans to interpret local religious traditions in terms of Brahmanic religious ideologies. I use the term in this latter respect. 51. White 1996, p. 104, pp. 112-114.

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political, administrative and cultural centre of Muslim elites with a documentable Sufi presence. taken together, Daulatabad as a sacred site and Daulatabad as a center of Muslim administration and Sufi activities, it does not seem to be surprising that we meet with the first appearance of Dattātreya there. As a place of divine siddhas, place of Sufi pīrs, Brahmans and Sultans, Daulatabad could indeed offer rich themes for people’s imagination. In his recent article Nile Green has analyzed Brahman and Sufi narratives spun around the city and the fortress. He concludes by saying that the narratives « emphasize the centrality of the king and holy man in the historical genesis of the Daulatabad region ».52 In the following section we will discuss the next image of fakir Dattātreya that probably elaborates the traditions around Eknāth and his guru. there the noted themes of sacred site, religious center and political center have also been employed.

DAttA tHE KING ALIAS ŚAHĀ DAttA All of them – Eknāth, Janārdan, as well as Malaṅg-cānd Bodhle – may be with significant degree of certainty considered as historical persons irrespective of the legends around them. In order to avoid the discussion of rarely productive controversies regarding legendary figures, it seems more fruitful to minimize historicizing of the fakir Dattātreya and rather follow the link of his literary representations. the image of Malaṅg associated to Daulatabad got elaborated in the religious visions, philosophy, practices and worship of yet another Marathi sampradāy – Ānanda sampradāy. this religious network is again a loose association of holy men, their devotees and institutions (maṭh) where the former two interact and preserve the teachings and practices of their forerunners. What brings them all on the same platform is the devotion to Dattātreya. However, not all associates of Ānanda sampradāy devotionally attach themselves to a fakir form of Dattātreya.53 During my research I have met with at least three different branches of the sampradāy, but discussion as to why they appear separate would not help us much. For this reason, let me concentrate only on that part of the Ānanda sampradāy which is tightly

52. Green 2005, p. 32 ff, on Sufis in Daulatabad see pp. 24-27, also Ernst 1992, p. 97 ff. 53. For example Bhimashankar Deshpande in his book titled « Ānanda sampradāy āṇi paramparā » does not mention the saints and traditions that I am going to discuss (see Deshpande 1988) and does not even consider them to be part of the tradition. During our debate he labeled them as « kalpanik », i.e. imaginary, which however does not correspond to my own findings. Personal communication from Bhimashankar Deshpande, July 2006.

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connected to the theme of this essay and which, at least according to my own findings, gradually becomes forgotten. the religious texts54 ascribed to the two Brahman saints Ātmarāmsvāmī Sindakhedkar (d. 1731) and his disciple Sadānandasvāmī (d. 1760) considerably extend the information on Dattātreya’s fakir representation. they also offer new perspectives from which it is possible to look at this representation. Put briefly, both saints in their writings again locate their revered holy preceptor to Daulatabad and call him by the name of Śahā Datta or Śahā Datta Ālamā55 Prabhu (King Datta - Lord of the World). considering the age of their writings (ca. 18th century) and the gradual spread of the Malaṅg-Eknāth story, it is quite possible to account for some kind of mutual interface between Śahā Datta of Ātmarām and Sadānanda and Dattātreya of Eknāth. Furthermore, literary historians like candorkar or Bhave admit that Śahā Datta Ālamā Prabhu could be Janārdan’s guru.56 Be it as it may, locating Śahā Datta to Daulatabad seems very much important since Ātmarām’s and Sadānanda’s testimony is yet another testimony that finds peculiar appearance of Dattātreya in this ancient and sacred site. calling their guru by the name Śahā Datta or Śahā Datta Ālamā Prabhu suggests the evolution of the fakir idea, because in the writings of both, the preceptor is not a mysterious Malaṅg, but rather a very concrete holy man elevated to the status of the spiritual king: Šāh (in Marathi Śahā). the adoption of this Persian epithet, often used for Sufi divines, in turn suggests the fakir par excellence. Interestingly, at one place Sadānanda mentions also the name Śahā Madār, which clearly shows that Malaṅg (Madār, see above) was not forgotten altogether. this is further confirmed by the local stories collected by Ajgavkar that associate Ātmarām and Sadānanda with meeting Dattātreya in Malaṅg form.57 If we wished to follow the historical links that open when consulting the materials on Ātmarām and Sadānanda there would appear many more stories to tell. Śahā Datta is mentioned in Tāpī Mahātmya (Praise of the river tāpī) of Lukhanāth. the river tāpī flows through a little town of copda (dist. Dhule) 54. Unfortunately, to my knowledge, there are no manuscripts of these texts available. My own search for manuscripts has, at least until present day, proved fruitless. Although several Marathi authors mention a considerable amount of religious literature pertaining to Ānanda sampradāy, this seems to be either lost or carefully hidden from the sight of foreigners interested in the fakir form of ancient trimurti. therefore whatever I refer to comes from the texts of saints printed in Ajgavkar 1916. 55. Ālamā is possibly a corruption of the Persian word ‘ālam meaning world. 56. candorkar 1915, p. 37, cf. Bhave 1963, p. 191. 57. For the references to Śahā Datta and Daulatabad see Ajgavkar 1916, pp. 67-68, 101-105. cf. Joshi 1971, p. 25. For the stories see Ajgavkar 1916, pp. 92-94.

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and in copda in an old Datta temple there still is a jivanta samādhi of Sadānanda.58 Moreover, in the town of Bhum (dist. osmanabad), which has been mentioned in Sadānanda’s writings as one the places of Śahā Datta’s divine sport (līlā), there is a samādhi of Śahā Datta Ālamā Prabhu himself, or to be more precise it is a Muslim grave (kabar)!59 So, similarly as with cānd Bodhle, there is room for historicizing the person of Śahā Datta. However, given that it includes the danger of seeking the « genuine » tradition of a « historical » holy man, this is surely not the way to continue our textual re-construction of Datta the Fakir. What I shall therefore briefly introduce are the two concepts that the Śahā Datta tradition offers through the medium of the writings of Ātmarām and Sadānanda. this first concept is that of Kaliyuga, so important for Bhakti traditions, but specifically for Dattātreya’s fakir appearance. In contrast to Gangādhar’s portrayal of Dattātreya as a saviour of degraded sat dharma that caused Muslims to became the rulers and Brahmans their servants – an image that we find in Gurucaritra – Ātmarām and Sadānanda offer fakir Śahā Datta, who, from all evoked deities appears to be the only one having actual power in the age of decay.60 this is a considerable shift in the meaning of Datta’s saving mission: no ancient rules are called for, no specific rituals alluded to. It is just the ultimate knowledge that is offered, but offered by a fakir! Since Śahā Datta is conceived as a rather « unorthodox » holy man, an incarnation of a similarly « unorthodox » deity, he is presented as not drawing distinctions between the devotees based on their religious creed. Both principal authors who wrote about Śahā Datta, collected local information on him and the saints associated to him i.e. Ajgavkar and Joshi, emphasize that his cult is fairly well connected to other Indic religious streams mentioning Mahānubhāvas, Lingāyats, Nāths, Jains and of course Muslims.61 In one of the stories given by Ajgavkar, Ātmarām acts as a leader of a group of Śahā Datta’s devotees composed of Sadānanda, Sītalnāth, Mustafa Sāheb, and Dādā Mīyān. these four are instrumental in winning even

58. « Jīvanta samādhi » means the place of endless yogic meditation, i.e. the place where a yogi (in this case Sadānanda) is believed to be still present and where his powers sought by the devotees are believed to have been accumulated. the reference to Tāpī Mahātmya and old Datta temple in copda appears in Vardikar 1987, pp. 67-74. 59. one can see even its picture by accessing www.osmanabad.nic.in 60. « rām, Kṛṣṇa who are they for us? they don’t have any power in Kaliyuga! See the god (dev) of Kaliyuga – Lord of the World, the King! See his Empire (ālamā prabhu śāhācī pātśāhī)! » Ajgavkar 1916, pp. 68. « Among the four yugas, in Kaliyuga, the one who gives to his devotees the understanding of ultimate reality (parabrahma kaivalyadānī) is Śrī Śahā Datta Ālamā Prabhu ». Ajgavkar 1916, pp. 74-75. cf. Joshi 1971, p. 25. 61. Ajgavkar 1916, p. 69; Joshi 1971, pp. 25-27, also Dhere 1964, pp. 233-234.

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the Mughal emperor Awrangzeb to become Śahā Datta’s follower!62 this again reminds us of Dhere’s notion of samanvay. In the language employed by Ātmarām and Sadānanda there appears also quite a distinctive Mahānubhāv vocabulary. Apart from other terms, this is particularly visible in the second important concept found in their writings, which is ubhayadṛśyāvatār. In Mahānubhāv terms it corresponds to an incarnated deity that sees both sides of reality: the mundane and the transcendent.63 considering Śahā Datta as a deity clad in the garb of a Muslim fakir it is tempting to read ubhayadṛśyāvatār as an incarnation visible in two forms (ubhaya - two, dṛśya - visible, avatār - incarnation), that of Muslim fakir and that of Indic Dattātreya. But given the existence of a specific (and older) Mahānubhāv concept and the fact that it is not clear what could be meant by Indic Dattātreya (i.e. Dattātreya in what disguise?) such a reading would possibly apply a modern notion of an identity quest to a text where it is not present. Joshi reports about the Ānanda sampradāy guru-disciple lineage where appear names like cāngānanda, Gundamānanda, as well as Śrī cakradhara and Śrī Prabhu (i.e. Dattātreyaprabhu) that correspond to four names from the Mahānubhāv divine pentad.64 this suggests even more affinities between the Ānanda and Mahānubhāv sampradāys. Yet the connection between Mahānubhāvs, Śahā Datta the fakir and the two Brahman propagators of his cult remains a puzzle for me at present. I have considered it important to mention because although it brings more questions into our task for the location of fakir Dattātreya in the Marathi devotional world. It also confirms the earlier mentioned idea that the traditions spun around holy men come out of the socialreligious networks where hardly anything is clearly distinguishable solely in sectarian terms.

tHE coNFESSIoN oF ŚAHĀ DAttA If in the works of Ātmarām and Sadānanda we met with fakir Dattātreya elevated to the position of the king of holy men, or the king of divine incarnations, then in the last text that I will present, it seems that he is approximated almost to a divine principle, the power of which changes the world around and offers salvation to all lost souls. I am speaking about Śahā Datta Kalamā – another puzzling text that according to its publisher was some 62. Ajgavkar 1916, pp. 70-72. 63. Kolte 1975, pp. 220-225. I am especially grateful to Professor Anne Feldhaus, Arizona State University, for directing my attention to ubhayadṛśyāvatār of Mahānubhāvs. 64. Joshi 1971, p. 26.

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time ago used during Dattātreya’s worship in Yavatmal region of Maharashtra.65 Although we may speculate on the character of Śahā Datta in Śahā Datta Kalamā, the text itself surprisingly does not offer any evidence that it actually speaks about fakir Dattātreya. It neither mentions the fakir, nor Dattātreya, only Śahā Datta. Yet, I see three significant factors that suggest that we again deal with the same representation of ancient Indic deity. First, in the traditions of Ānanda sampradāy the identity of Śahā Datta and fakir has been established and there are similarities in motifs between Śahā Datta Kalamā and the writings of Ātmarām and Sadānanda (e.g. Kaliyuga and the role of Śahā Datta in it, or location to Daulatabad). Second, Śahā Datta Kalamā contains considerable parts displaying clearly Islamic religious imagination allowing us to think that the preceptor evoked is rather a fakir than any other holy man. third, as mentioned above, the text has indeed been used in Dattātreya’s worship. So, if the last point is combined with the previous two, it seems viable to assume that Dattātreya worshipped with Śahā Datta Kalamā and called in the latter text as Śahā Datta was also Dattātreya the fakir. I would therefore opt for reading Śahā Datta Kalamā as significant evidence that from the manifold religious environment of worship of holy men and the stories about Dattātreya assuming the form of fakir has, in its own terms and among some followers of Dattātreya, developed a tradition with a peculiar philosophy and understanding of his fakir guise. that nothing much is known about the text of Śahā Datta Kalamā itself further complicates the matter. Its editor, Mandavkar, writes that he obtained it from a certain rāmjī Sārḍe of Kalamb (Yavatmal dist., Maharashtra) but states nothing about its age or author. Mandavkar, somewhat unconvincingly, attributes the text to Ānanda sampradāy. My personal visit to the Sārḍe’s family convinced me that there is indeed very little awareness about the text among the family members and this explains why its editor could not say more than he said. considering the language of Śahā Datta Kalamā it seems that it is not very old and could be roughly dated to the 19th century. Its language is itself very much interesting, because in Śahā Datta Kalamā actually two languages have been used: Marathi and some local form of Hindustani.66 this is nothing utterly exceptional to Bhakti literary expression, especially when a Bhakti author addresses the themes related to « Hindu » or « Musalmān » religions as 65. Mandavkar 1980, p. 39. It is unfortunate that the manuscript of the text again seems to be lost. Personal communication from the grandson of rāmjī Sārḍe, who owned it and used it while worshipping Dattātreya, and let Bhāu Manḍavkar to edit it, Amaravati, May 2006. 66. Dr. ramesh Dhongde, former head of Department of Linguistics at Deccan college in Pune suggested also many Gujarati lexical influences present in the text. Personal communication, August 2005.

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Śahā Datta Kalamā does in part. If the contents of the Marathi and Hindustani parts are considered, it could be speculated that we are dealing with originally a Hindustani composition and Marathi parts that appear at the beginning and the end should be regarded as interpolations. Yet, there are problematic parts where both languages exchange after each line. Let us leave the precise description of the text for some other study and concentrate on its content. Śahā Datta Kalamā immediately becomes interesting upon consideration of its name. Is it a confession of faith (kalamā) of Śahā Datta, or is it a word (kalima/kalamā) of śahādat, i.e. confession of Muslim faith?67 Given the complexity of the text and my still ongoing research on its meanings and contexts I have no answer at the moment. But I wish to share some of the ideas and images that effectively show what may be sought in its content, and most importantly, what may be imagined as the teachings of fakir Dattātreya. on the one hand the latter is described as the divine principle (its meaning considerably widens when Śahā Datta is read as śahādat, i.e. as Muslim confession of faith), the giver of ultimate knowledge as well as the ineffable deity (nirguṇa, nirākāra, agocara).68 on the other hand the text also introduces Allāh, though it is not clear what Śahā Datta’s relation to him is. What brings us back to the common theme is the emphasis on Śahā Datta’s role in Kaliyuga. He is the correct preceptor (called sadguru as well as murśad [muršid] and pīr), the one able to guide the devotees through the ocean of rebirths.69 Necessity of guidance in the spiritual quest is expressed several times and vivid examples given to illustrate it. In this context the reference at the beginning of the text to a certain Svāmī Bhojalinga – the one through whose agency the author of Śahā Datta Kalamā was blessed by knowledge of Śahā Datta – is indeed puzzling again. Unfortunately, we are not in a position to know who he was and what role he played in the cult of Śahā Datta.70 67. Kalamā (probably from Urdu kalima via Arabic kalimat or Persian kalame – all of them meaning « word ») in Marathi stands for the Muslim confession of faith. But « Śahā Datta » could as well be read as a pun on « šahādat » which in Urdu (as well as in Arabic) stands again for the Muslim confession of faith. thus the name of the text can be read as « the confession of Śahā Datta » or, bearing in mind the noted pun, it may refer to the classical Arabic phrase « kalimat šahādat », i. e. the word of confession. In this connection I would like to express my gratitude to Dr. Yoginder Sikand who opened my eyes to see « Śahā Datta » as « šahādat ». I would also like to express my sincere appreciation to Dr. Gabriel Pirický, Institute of oriental and African Studies, Bratislava, for his assistance concerning the precise meanings of Arabic and Persian words. 68. Śahā Datta Kalamā 1: 5 Mandavkar 1980, p. 40. 69. Śahā Datta Kalamā 6: 9-12, 7:17, 18: 20-21, Mandavkar 1980, pp. 43-44, 49. 70. According to information provided by Khanolkar Bhojalinga can be, perhaps, associated with Ānanda sampradāy. Khanolkar 1977, p. 226. However, Marathi tradition knows several saints under the name of Bhojalinga. cf. Dhere 1977, pp. 68-70.

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Whomever Bhojalinga could be Śahā Datta Kalamā seems to preserve the spirit of catholicity found in the works of Ātmarām and Sadānanda. However, it specifically addresses Hindus and Muslims. It employs a vocabulary using Sanskrit religious terminology (e.g. siddha, kaliyuga, mahāmāyā, Veda, amṛta) and alludes to well known Indic mythical figures like Indra, or Pandavas. It also employs Hindustani-Urdu Sufi vocabulary (e.g. pīr, murśad [muršid], chelā, jikir [ḏikr], mohabat [maḥabbat]) and alludes to Muḥammad, the first three ḫalīfas, the Panjatan, or a certain sultan Muḥammad.71 It elevates the religious knowledge above everything, but namely above the sectarian cleavage by saying that Allāh, who is the siddha of all siddhas (this, perhaps, suggests an allusion to Śahā Datta, who also maybe conceived of as a siddha of all siddhas), gives Vedas to Hindus similarly as it gives Qur’ān to Muslims. Moreover, the religion of Śahā Datta Kalamā is a highly esoteric religion. the siddha, in the classical understanding, corresponds to the one who accomplished his sādhana (religious task),72 and the latter means overwhelmingly one’s own personal effort. the Śahā Datta Kalamā therefore also recommends personal effort. Whether it is the mosque, prayer, repetition of God’s names, fasting, pilgrimage, or Mecca itself, all of them, according to the text, should be sought in the mind of the one whose aim is to save oneself from the ocean of rebirths. In the similar vein runs Kalamā’s doubt regarding the meaning of outward and ritual worship of deity (pujā).73 thus the religion of Śahā Datta Kalamā is the « interior religion » and that is to be practiced under the guidance of the preceptor, which again shows the affinity of the text with the dominant devotional concepts spread in the religious networks associated with holy men.74 the most intriguing as well as the most interesting part of Śahā Datta Kalamā is the eschatological apocalyptic vision that it employs in order to emphasize the importance of its religious message. this passage connects the text of Kalamā to the previous Marathi texts on fakir Dattātreya, and on the other hand it gives the tradition quite a different turn and connects it to Islamic religious ideas. As may be inferred the apocalyptic vision is represented in terms of Kaliyuga. We are told about the harsh and bloody time when all those who failed to follow Śahā Datta will have to endure suffering. they will try to save themselves by going to Mecca, but the real Mecca is presented as

71. Śahā Datta Kalamā 5: 10, Mandavkar 1980, p. 42. At the moment I have no clue who this sultan could be. 72. White 1996, p. 2. 73. Śahā Datta Kalamā 10: 1-4, 3: 9-14, Mandavkar 1980, p. 46, 41. 74. cf. Vaudeville 1964.

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Daulatabad! there they might go and ask for deliverance. they will be judged by the Lord (dhanī) according to the report (kaifiyet) of their own deeds and misdeeds. the text does not tell us what will happen next, but offers a remedy for the grievances – the guidance of the preceptor who gives the perfect knowledge – Śahā Datta.75 Now, how does one interpret this crucial passage? I am far from any concise and final judgment because there remain many questions to be asked with regard to Śahā Datta Kalamā. Does it still represent the tradition around Dattātreya, or does it give it a completely new meaning? Is it possible to view this text within the context of information on Śahā Datta documented in the writings of Ātmarām and Sadānanda from Ānanda sampradāy? Does its apparently local Islamic undertone dissociate it from this peculiar, yet rhetorically very much Brahmanical, devotional stream? Given the Islamic themes that Śahā Datta Kalamā contains, what may be the possible explanations for the fact that it was used as a text that accompanies the pujā of Dattātreya? At present I am unable to provide the answers but what immediately comes to my mind as one of the possible clues to find them is the Nizārī branch of Ismailis. their pīrs are known to include in Nizārī teachings various locally known Hindu deities and assign them specific meanings within Ismaili theology.76 Further, the theme of Kaliyuga is not unknown to Nizārīs. Quite to the contrary, it provides an important tool for their missionaries to substantiate claims about the necessity of acknowledging the Islamic teachings of monotheism.77 Given that in the first half of the 16th century Ahmadnagar and Daulatabad witnessed the activities of the Nizārī Ismaili missionary Šāh Ṭāhir and, considering the well known taqiyya practices of Ismailis, the possible interpretations of fakir Dattātreya get even wider. Did Ismailis adopt the developing image of fakir Dattātreya in order to preach their religious teachings, or could some of their missionaries act beyond the Daulatabad’s appearance of Śahā Datta? or, to the contrary, is the alleged Qādirī Sufi connection of the first Daulatabad’s Malaṅg beyond the Islamic parts of Śahā Datta Kalamā? Is the popularity of Sufis or the interface of devotional groups centered on holy men beyond the conceptualization of fakir Dattātreya? the questions remain and research continues.

75. Śahā Datta Kalamā, 5, 6 ff.; Mandavkar 1980, p. 46 ff. 76. Mallison 1992, p. 91 77. Khan 1997, p. 406, pp. 409-410 ff.

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coNcLUSIoN In this essay I have attempted to document and pose the questions to the textual traditions that see the Indic god-sage Dattātreya in the form of a Muslim fakir. these traditions have been set into the context of pre-modern and early modern worship of holy men found in South Asia. Yet, my interest mainly turned around the image of fakir Dattātreya or its possible antecedents. Most of these texts have been written in the Marathi language and can be structured to several layers. We have seen that the Puranic Sanskrit image of Dattātreya as a giver of knowledge, ascetic and the teacher of yoga along with his various sectarian affiliations has been in many respects well transmitted to Marathi image of Dattātreya. the one that comes from the provenience of local devotional movements, traditions, or as I prefer to call them: associations of holy men and their devotees (sampradāys). the finding that it is difficult to place, decisively, the holy figure of Dattātreya into any of the sectarian strands that accommodate him as a great guru has been understood as one of the basic characteristics of this popular god-sage. this helped Dattātreya to be imagined also as a fakir, especially when particular social-political conditions arose in the Marathi part of the South Asian subcontinent. Furthermore, the fact that Dattātreya was adopted as a divine teacher of religious truths almost by all popular Marathi devotional movements confirms the unclear boundaries between them and displays the overlapping environments of devotions addressed to holy men. these environments, it seems, naturally and inevitably, employed the imagery of Muslim holy men, because the latter – patronized by the Indo-Muslim states and worshipped ubiquitously by elites and masses – gradually became their inseparable part. I have attempted to document directly in the main scripture of Datta’s followers how Dattatreya’s image gradually adapted to new conditions, i.e. the conditions of the pre-modern Indo-Islamic world. I have also given references to other mostly hagiographical works where this adaptation can be seen.78 Later, the texts around the first noted textual tradition that sees Dattātreya as a fakir (hagiographies of Vārkarī saint Eknāth), as well as their contents and contexts, have been discussed and the consequent textual traditions of fakir Dattātreya examined (namely the works of saints Ātmarām and Sadānanda). Finally, by bringing to the fore the contents of the undated and anonymous text of Śahā Datta Kalamā, I hoped to introduce yet another devotional exposition that the image of fakir Dattātreya seems to evolve into, this time with an apparent Islamic context different from that of just a holy man. 78. See the footnote n. 31.

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In summary, throughout this essay there appeared several possible ways of interpreting Dattātreya in the form of a Muslim fakir. His fakir’s image may be seen as an outcome of the interactions between the various associations of holy men and their devotees, the interactions that unavoidably and necessarily evolved across the pre-modern and early modern devotional environments of their contemporary world, as well as within the contexts of the complex negotiations between the several layers of the Indic and Islamic societies.79 A textual image of fakir Dattātreya, in this respect, may be counted among many other similar reflections of the times found for instance in saint poetry of Kabir (15th century), or practices associated with the tombs of pīrs, or cultural policies of the plethora of Indo-Islamic rulers in South Asia. However, it can hardly be simply reduced to Hindus and Muslims « coming together » of Dhere or a blend of Hinduism and Islam of tulpule,80 because the accommodation of Muslim holy man in the imagination of those who textually represented Indian religions (such as Brahmans) included other factors as well. therefore, another possible way of interpretation is to look at the provenience of the texts that introduce Dattātreya’s image, as well as heeding the role that fakir Dattātreya represents along with the audience to whom this role was sought to appeal. In these contexts it seems of great importance that Dattātreya, either as encountering Muslims (usually Muslim kings) or taking a guise of a Muslim fakir, is a product of Brahmanic texts. Whether author of Gurucaritra or hagiographers or Ātmarām and Sadānanda, all of them were Brahmans. the popularity of holy men since the emergence of devotional movements to a considerable extent shook the authority of Brahman scripturalists. It is quite possible that the image of Dattātreya – as a guru and teacher of Brahmanic knowledge, which indeed was doubted by Indic saints as well as Muslim Sufis – could serve as a « model holy man » that sanskritized other holy men of the Indo-Islamic socio-religious environments. true, holy men with their conduct that not always complied with Brahmanical imaginations of the world certainly represented a possible threat to the religious authority of Brahmans. However, there was nothing threatening in accepting Datta as fakir, because whether in « traditional » garb (Nāth, tantric, Mahānubhāva, Brahman reviver of true dharma, i.e. Brahmanic dharma) or the 79. cf. Stewart 2000, pp. 38-39. 80. Dhere 1964, pp. 199-200; tulpule 1979, p. 353. Although Dattātreya indeed may be imagined as a deity uniting Hindus and Muslims – as in the case of another Dattāvatār Manik Prabhu (Joshi 1965, p. 132, cf. Joshi 1971, p. 306) or at Bābā Budhān’s shrine where mantra recited during the worship used to be a Sanskrit-Arabic composite (Bharati 1981, p. 78) – this image cannot be overrated. the communal conflict Bābā Budhān’s shrine is a telling example of this (see Sikand 2004).

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fakir’s garb, he ultimately was not teaching Islam. the « twist of the historical truth » mentioned by tulpule81 therefore appears to be not in hiding the fact that some « historical » fakir may have explained the religious knowledge to Janārdan and Eknāth, but rather in a clever and sophisticated acceptance of the fakir and his knowledge. Whosoever the « historical » fakir could be82 he is hardly known among the followers of Dattātreya. What is known is his textually preserved image, the holy man in the garb of Muslim mendicant, yet not teaching Islam. the success of fakir’s image for Sāī Bābā, the well known modern avatār of Dattātreya is in this sense one of the best examples and the same would be the case with other fakir avatārs viewed as Dattātreya (e.g. tajuddīn from Nagpur, Nurī Mahāraj of thane and so forth). one may obviously ask why the cult of Śahā Datta promulgated by Ātmarām and Sadānanda came to oblivion but the answer seems to be the same. Although the teacher of Indic religious concepts, as a specific and « historical » figure, fakir Śahā Datta Ālamā Prabhu could hardly compete with the sage-god who takes incarnations at any time and in any form. Finally the third possible interpretation of fakir Dattātreya – and we should note that all these suggested interpretations cannot be easily disconnected from each other – offers Śahā Datta Kalamā. Its context to a certain extent makes an inversion of the meaning presented in the previous paragraph: for in this case it seems that we possibly deal with the appropriation of already sanskritized Muslim holy men through whom the Indic god-sage could be evoked in the process of Islamization of the followers of the same holy men. therefore the end of this essay comes back to the question with which it began. What does this fakir represent, Śahādat or Śahā Datta? the confession of faith or King Dattātreya: the Guru in fakir’s garb? Most probably none of them, because various and fluid images of Dattātreya are better seen as good examples of negotiation between various expounders of religious doctrines, beliefs and rules. these images well document how multifarious the competition for the correct teaching may, in fact, be.

81. tulpule 1979, p. 353. 82. Note that among the popular saints of Maharasthtra we meet with a plenty of names that could be associated with Malaṅga-cānd Bodhle like cānd Śāh Valī, Čānd Śāh Pīr, Malaṅga Śāh Valī, Pīr Bodhle or even Avadhūt Pīr. Fairs and festivals in Maharashtra, 1969, pp. 296, 310, 312314, 317, 325, 328, 353, 355, 396, 426, 433, 440, 442, 465, 467, 476.

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Dumont, Louis, 1980 : « Appendix B: World renunciation in Indian religions », in : Louis Dumont, Homo Hierarchicus, chicago, University of chicago Press, pp. 267-286 (first published 1960). Eaton, richard M., – 1978 : Sufis of Bijapur. New Jersey, Princeton University Press. – 2005 : A Social History of the Deccan 1300-1761. cambridge, cambridge University Press (The New Cambridge History of India, vol. 1.8). Ernst, carl W., – 1992 : Eternal Garden (Mysticism, History and Politics in South Asian Sufi Center). Albany, State University of New York Press. – 1996 : « royal Policy and Patronage of Sufi Shrines in Mughul revenue Documents from Khuldabad », in : A. r. Kulkarni - M. A. Nayeem - t. r. de Souza, eds., Medieval Deccan History (Commemoration Volume in honour of Purshottam Mahadeo Joshi). Bombay, Popular Prakashan, pp. 76-91. Ewing, Katherine, 1984 : « Malangs of the Punjab: Intoxication or Adab as the Path to God? », in : Barbara D. Metcalf, ed., The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam. Berkeley, University of california Press, pp. 357-371. Fairs and festivals in Maharashtra, in : Census of India 1961. Vol. 10, Pt. VII-B, Bombay, Maharashtra census office, 1969. Feldhaus, Anne, – 1983 : The Religious System of the Mahānubhāva Sect (The Mahānubhāva Sūtrapāṭha). Delhi, Manohar Publications. – 2003 : Connected Places: Region, Pilgrimage, and Geographical Imagination in India. New York, Palgrave Macmillan. Gosavi, M. (ed.), 1980 : Śrī Keśavkṛta ovībaddha Śrī Eknāth Caritra. Paithan, Shri Madhukarbuva Gosavi. Green, Nile, – 2005 : « Who’s the king of the castle? Brahmins, sufis and the narrative landscape of Daulatabad ». Contemporary South Asia, 14, 1, pp. 21-37. – 2006 : Indian Sufism Since the Seventeenth Century: Dervishes, Devotees and Emperors. London, routledge. – 2007 : « the Faqir and the Subalterns: Mapping the Holy Man in colonial South Asia ». Journal of Asian History, 41, 1, pp. 57-84. Joshi, Hariprasad S., 1965 : Origin and Development of Dattatreya Worship in India. Baroda, oriental Institute. Joshi, Manohar J., 1971 : « Śahā Datta va Ānanda sampradāy ». Prasād, 24, 5, pp. 25-27. Joshi, Prahlad N., 1974 : Śrīdattātreya-jñānakoś. Mumbai, Surekhā Prakāśan. Kamat, ramacandra K. (ed.), 1993 : Śrīgurucaritra. Mumbai, Keśav Bhikājī Ḍhavaḷe.

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Khan, Dominique-Sila, 1997 : « the coming of Nikalank Avatar: A Messianic theme in Some Sectarian traditions of North-Western India ». Journal of Indian Philosophy, 25, pp. 401426. Khanolkar, Gangadhar D. (ed.), 1977 : Marāṭhī Vaṅmaykoś. Mumbai, Mahārāṣṭra rājya sāhitya sanskṛti mandaḷ. Kolte, V. B., 1975 : Mahānubhāv Tattvajñān. Malkapur, Aruṇ Prakāśan, 4th edition (originally published 1945). Kulkarni, Madhukar V., 1993 : Śrīgurucaritra sarvangīṇ abhyās. Belgāv, Pārakh Prakāśan. Kurin, richard, 2003 : « Saints », in : A. Margaret Mills - J. Peter claus - S. Diamond, eds., An Encyclopedia of South Asian Folklore. New York, routledge, pp. 531-533. Lawrence, Bruce, 1987 : « the Sant Movement and North Indian Sufis », in : Karin Schomer W. H. McLeod, eds., The Sants (Studies in Devotional Tradition in India). Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass, pp. 359-373. Lorenzen, David (ed.), 2004 : Religious Movements in South Asia 600 – 1800. New Delhi, oxford University Press. Mandavkar, Bhau (ed.), 1980 : « Śahā Datta Kalamā ». Cintanī, Amaravati, Sevā Prakāśan, pp. 39-50. Mallison, Françoise, 1992 : « Muslim devotional literature in Gujarati: Islam and Bhakti », in : r. S. McGregor, ed., Devotional literature in South Asia. cambridge, cambridge University Press. Martin, Nancy M., 2003 : « Bhakti saints », in : A. Margaret Mills - J. Peter claus - S. Diamond, eds., An Encyclopedia of South Asian Folklore. New York, routledge, p. 60. olivelle, Patrick, 2005 : « the renouncer tradition », in : Gavin Flood, ed., The Blackwell Companion to Hinduism. oxford, Blackwell Publishing (originally published 2003). Pagdi, S., 1993 : Sūfī Sampradāya. Mumbai, Paracure Prakāśan, 2nd edition (originally published 1953). Phadke, V. K. (ed.), 1988 : Śrī Bhaktalīlāmṛta. Pune, Yashvant Prakashan. raeside, I. M. P., 1982 : « Dattātreya ». Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 45, 3, pp. 489-500. ranade, Mahadeo G., 1974 : Rise of the Maratha Power. New Delhi, Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of India, reprint (originally published 1900).

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rigopoulos, Antonio, 1998 : Dattātreya the Immortal Guru, Yogin, and Avatāra: A Study of the Transformative and Inclusive Character of a Multi-faceted Hindo deity. New York, SUNY. rose, H. A., 1914 : A Glossary of the Tribes and Castes of the Punjab and North-Western Province. Vol. III., Lahore, civil and Military Gazzette Press. Sarasvatī Gangādhar, – Gurucaritra, ms. Mar. D 50, British Library, London. – Gurucaritra, ms. Mar. 29/363, Bhārat Itihās Sanśodhak Maṇdaḷ, Pune. Sarkar, S., 1997 : Writing Social History. New Delhi, oxford University Press. Schimmel, Annemarie, 1980 : Islam in the Indian subcontinent. Leiden, E. J. Brill. Schomer, Karin - McLeod, W. H. (eds.), 1987 : The Sants (Studies in Devotional Tradition in India). Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass. Sidky, M. H., 1990 : « Malang, Sufis, and Mystics: An Ethnographic and Historical Study of Shamanism in Afghanistan ». Asian Folklore Studies, 49, 2, pp. 275-301. Siddiqi, Muhammad S., 1989 : The Bahmani Sufis. Delhi, Idarah-i Adabiyat-i Delli, Delhi. Sikand, Yoginder, 2004 : « Shared Hindu-Muslim Shrines in Karnataka: challenges to Liminality », in : Imtiaz Ahmad - Helmut reifeld, éds., Lived Islam in South Asia – Adaptation, Accommodation and Conflict. Delhi, Social Science Press, pp. 166-186. Skyhawk, Hugh van, – 1992 : « Ṣūfī influence on Ekanāthī-bhāgavat: some observations on the text and its historical context », in : r. S. McGregor, ed., Devotional literature in South Asia. cambridge, cambridge University Press. – 1994 : « Nāganāth and Nasīruddīn: Pīr-worship and Śaiva bhakti in the Literature of the Nāgeś Sampradāya », in : A. W. Entwistle - F. Mallison, eds., Studies in South Asian Devotional Literature. New Delhi, Manohar, pp. 255-274. Stewart, tony K., – 1995 : « Satya Pīr: Muslim Holy man and Hindu God », in : S. D. Jr. Lopez, ed., Religions of India in Practice. New Jersey, Princeton University Press, pp. 578597. – 2000 : « Alternate Structures of Authority: Satya Pīr on the Frontiers of Bengal », in : David Gilmartin - Bruce B. Lawrence, eds., Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia. Gainesville, University Press of Florida, pp. 21-54. titus, Murray, 1979 : Indian Islam. Delhi, Munshiram Manoharlal, 2nd edition (originally published 1930). tulpule, Sankar G., 1979 : Classical Marāṭhī Literature. Wiesbaden, otto Harrassowitz.

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Vardikar, r. P., 1987 : Avśeṣ. Amalner, cetśrī Prakāśan. Vaudeville, charlotte, – 1964 : « Kabīr and Interior religion ». History of Religions 3, 2. – 1987 : « the Shaivaite background of Santism in Maharashtra », in : Milton Israel - Narendra Wagle, eds., Religion and Society in Maharashtra. toronto, centre for South Asian Studies, 1987, pp. 32-50. Veer, Peter van den, 1994 : Religious Nationalism (Hindus and Muslims in India). Berkeley, University of california Press. White, David, G., 1996 : The Alchemical Body (Siddha Traditions in Medieval India). chicago, University of chicago Press.

A PersiAn CommentAry to the Upaniṣads: Dārā Šikōh’s « sirr-i akbar » Svevo D’Onofrio

abstract: The classicist approach to Persian translations from Sanskrit texts – which considered them faulty and biased, an obstacle to the true understanding of Hindu religious and philosophical thought – might be proven partly wrong in the case of one of the most celebrated cultural endeavours of the Mughal Era: Prince Dārā Šikōh’s translation of fifty Upaniṣads under the name of Sirr-i akbar. A reconstruction of the context in which the work was produced, together with a comparative analysis of its contents (in the Sanskrit original and in translation), reveals it to be more than just « A mixture of gloss and text with a flimsy paraphrase of both », as Sir William Jones once said on the Persian translations from Sanskrit in general. Instead, as a stratigraphic analysis of some specimen texts seems to indicate, the Sirr-i akbar might be profitably thought of as a consistent Advaita bhāṣya (commentary) on a collection of Upaniṣads, glossed in turn by a sporadic ṭīkā (sub-commentary) of Sufic tendencies – in accordance with the Indian traditional commentary genre.

INTRODUCTION The well known mystical leanings and syncretistic tendencies of Prince Muḥammad Dārā Šikōh (d. 1069-1659) have rightly attracted much interest, and have already inspired a fairly rich bibliography.1 In these pages, however, we will not so much consider these aspects of his unique intellectual experience but focus instead on the Indian philosophical sources of his two major works on Hinduism, notably the Sirr-i akbar (or Sirr al-asrār),2 the celebrated Persian translation of fifty Upaniṣads made at his instance in 1067/1657 by a number of paṇḍits3 from Benares, and the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn (1065/1655),4 his own 1. See, for instance, Massignon - Kassim 1926; Qanungo 1934; Gode 1943; Chand 1943; Hasrat 1954; Göbel-Groß 1962; Shayegan 1979; Piantelli 1986; Roest Crollius 1988; Shayegan 1990. 2. Critical edition by M. R. Jalālī Nā’īnī and T. Chand, cf. Dārā Šikōh 1340š./1961 (hereafter SA). 3. A Hindu scholar, a learned man. 4. Critical edition by M. Mahfuz-ul-Haq, cf. Dārā Šikōh 1929 (hereafter MB).

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comparative treatise on the equivalence of Hinduism and Islam, together with the Sanskrit adaptation of the latter by an unknown translator, the Samudrasaṅgama.5 As has long been acknowledged, the Sirr-i akbar is significantly more than a mere rendition of the original Sanskrit texts.6 It abounds with annotations and remarks, which often amount to full-fledged philosophical interpretations. It elaborates on more or less obscure passages, giving hints as to the literal or symbolic meaning of Upaniṣadic terms. It displays frequent deviations from the vulgate texts, sometimes preserving variant readings (though, of course, in translation) or reflecting different recensions. Even quotations from other Sanskrit sources, as we will see, are rather common. On the other hand, it also abounds in omissions, from single words and verses to whole chapters, although these can in most cases be proved to have been purposely left out by the translators. On the whole, on reading the Sirr-i akbar one cannot avoid the impression that it would be more appropriate to grant it the status of a commentary on the Upaniṣads rather than that of a simple translation. It could be argued that such features were actually common to most of the translations made in the Mughal era, which often appear to be « a mixture of gloss and text with a flimsy paraphrase of both », as Sir William Jones once said on the Persian translations from Sanskrit.7 This, however, was not so much the result of a deliberate choice on the part of the translators, nor a sign of their lack of critical judgement as William Jones would have it,8 but rather a consequence of their relying on local interpreters to assist them in the translation work. In fact, some kind of interaction and collaboration between Muslim scholars and native informants seems to have been the rule for translations in Mughal era, since very few Muslims could actually read Sanskrit sources unaided. This holds true even in the case of metaphysical and mystical works, whose translations, as Carl W. Ernst conveniently sums up, « typically mediated Vedāntic philosophical and mystical texts through a loose oral commentary provided by Indian pandits; this was rephrased in the Sufi technical vocabulary, presenting the texts as a kind of gnosis (Persian ma`rifat), and frequently amplifying their contents by the insertion of Persian mystical verses ».9 5. Edited by B. L. Śukla, cf. Dārā Šikōh 1995 (hereafter SS). 6. Cf. Anquetil Duperron 1801-1802, vol. I, p. 553: « certum est, in libro Oupek’hat, quaedam a Persico interprete textui samskretico elucidationis causa fuisse addita ». The most accurate survey of the SA to date is Göbel-Groß 1962. 7. Jones 1794, vol. I, p. 422, cited in Habibullah 1938, p. 167. 8. « My experience justifies me in pronouncing that the Mughals have no idea of accurate translation », Habibullah 1938, p. 167. 9. Ernst 2003, p. 183.

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Yet this might not prove to be an entirely accurate description when we come to the Sirr-i akbar, whose commentarial sections display a much higher consistency and complexity than one would expect from a « loose oral commentary ». In fact, as a reconsideration of its context of production and a comparative analysis of its contents (in the Sanskrit original and in translation) clearly show, the authors of the Sirr-i akbar had not only a thorough acquaintance with the thoughts and modes of expression of the Upaniṣads, such as Dārā Šikōh himself could hardly claim, but were also willing and able to elucidate the texts according to a definite Advaitic standpoint, both faithful to the basic tenets of the School and abounding in quotations from the works of its most illustrious representative, Śaṅkarācārya.10 To be more specific: by comparing the Sirr-i akbar with the Upaniṣadic texts it is in fact possible to identify the sections and passages which are not simply translations of the Sanskrit originals, but comments, glosses and additions to the text. Then, by focusing on these passages alone, one may see that they all display a clear and unequivocal Advaitic trend, suggesting that the « paṇḍits and saṃnyāsins »11 whom Dārā Šikōh had summoned to his assistance most likely belonged to this tradition, which therefore emerges as the foremost Indian philosophical source of the Sirr-i akbar – a fact for which there is ample external evidence as well. Based on these assumptions, we suggest that the Sirr-i akbar should not be considered so much a translation of the Upaniṣads, but rather a Persian-language Advaitic bhāṣya (i.e. commentary) by Hindu paṇḍits, though definitely shorter in size than an average Sanskrit commentary,12 glossed in turn by a sporadic ṭīkā (i.e. sub-commentary) of Sufi tendencies by Dārā Šikōh himself.13 10. The Advaita (short for kevalādvaitavāda: « doctrine of absolute non-dualism ») is the main School within the Vedāntadarśana, the orthodox philosophical tradition (darśana) of brahmanical India which stemmed from the speculations of the Upaniṣads (vedānta). The radically monistic system of Advaita can be summarized by the verse: brahma satyaṃ jagan mithyā jīvo brahmaiva nāparaḥ, « Brahman is real, the world is an illusion, and the individual soul is none other than Brahman ». Śaṅkarācārya (ca. 8th century), the earliest systematizer of the School, is reckoned among the greatest thinkers of world philosophy. Cf. Potter 1981; Deutsch - Dalvi 2004; Potter 2006. 11. This is how the prince refers to his assistants in the Introduction to the Sirr-i akbar: panditān va sannyāsīān rā ki sarāmad-i vaqt va bēd- va upnikhat-dān būdand jam‘ sāḫta, « (He) gathered together the most accomplished paṇḍits and saṃnyāsins of his time, proficient in the Vedas and the Upaniṣads » (SA, vol. I, p. v). A saṃnyāsin is a Hindu ascetic, someone who has renounced all earthly concerns. 12. On the whole, the commentarial sections of the Sirr-i akbar only amount to approximately 1/10 of the total text. 13. For the moment, this last statement should be taken in a ‘stratigraphical’ rather than a chronological sense: it does not necessarily imply two different and successive stages of redaction

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Before discussing in greater detail the evidence supporting this view, we shall briefly consider the reasons why Dārā Šikōh cannot possibly be regarded as the personal author of either the translation or the main gloss of the Sirr-i akbar, from which it follows that his role in the compilation of the Sirr-i akbar might have been scantier than previously aknowledged.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE SIrr-I AkBAr Was Dārā Šikōh the true author of the translation? The answer ultimately depends on another question: did Dārā Šikōh know Sanskrit? And did he know it well enough to translate such obscure and unfamiliar texts, though with the help of his Hindu assistants? This is not at all an inappropriate question, for we know for sure that a few Muslims scholars at least had actually studied and learned Sanskrit to some extent, and had attempted to translate books themselves – starting from Bīrūnī’s renditions of Patañjali’s Yogasūtras and of a lost work on Sāṃkhya,14 down to some of the great Muslim scholars who had been employed by emperor Akbar in his maktabḫāna15 and possibly even Mīr Findiriskī, the great Iranian philosopher and Sufi who, as F. Mujtabā’ī has shown,16 did possess at least a limited knowledge of Sanskrit. Most modern scholars, especially Indians and Iranians,17 have taken it almost for granted that Dārā Šikōh actually knew Sanskrit to some extent, but the evidence on the subject is far from conclusive. These are the main testimonies related to the issue: 1. In the Introduction to the Sirr-i akbar, Dārā Šikōh plainly states that he has translated the Upaniṣads himself (ḫwud); in his own words: « In the year of the Sirr-i akbar, but simply underlines the major structural feature of this work, namely the presence of two distinct commentarial layers: the main gloss by the prince’s assistants, and the occasional remarks by Dārā Šikōh himself. It should be noted, in this respect, that the annotations which can be traced back to Dārā Šikōh’s direct intervention on the text, although not few in number, are in most cases extremely short, amounting to just one word, or a few words, juxtaposed to Hindu terms and concepts, and aimed at pointing out what Dārā Šikōh believed to be their exact Islamic counterparts, pretty much in the spirit of the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn. But contrary to the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn, in the Sirr-i akbar no justification or reason is ever given for these comparisons. 14. Cf. Lawrence 1989, pp. 285-287. 15. Cf. Habibullah 1938; Rahim 1965; Gorekar 1965; Shukla 1974; Sharma 1982; Athar Ali 1992; Azhar Dehlavi 1995. 16. Cf. Mujtabā’ī 2006, pp. 19 ff. 17. One might mention in this respect the editors of the SA, Jalālī Nā’īnī and Chand, as well as Hasrat 1954, pp. 212 ff.; a notable exception is Göbel-Groß 1962, pp. 13-33 and 203 ff.

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1067 A.H., being free from prejudices, he personally translated this quintessence of monotheism which is called Upaniṣads, i.e. the secrets to be concealed ».18 2. Likewise, in the final colophon of the work he says: « This poor writer without sorrows, Muḥammad Dārā Šikōh, having faithfully interpreted (the Upaniṣads) himself, has completed the task in the course of six months, in the city of Delhi, in the Palace of Nigambodh ».19 3. In the Samudrasaṅgama, the Sanskrit translation of the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn, the author speaks of himself in the first person as mahammada dārāśukoha, and he explicitly refers to himself every thought and fact by means of such pronouns as mama, mayā etc.20 4. A manuscript dated saṃvat 1805/1748 preserves an elaborate Sanskrit letter addressed to one gosvāmin nṛsiṃhāśrama, apparently by the pen of mahammada dārāśikoha.21 5. Lastly, contemporary records inform us about Dārā Šikōh’s open appreciation for Sanskrit poetry and his patronage of poets such as the famous Jagannātha Miśra, who dedicated to the prince his Jagatsiṃha;22 the same can be inferred from the eulogies he deserved in the works of Kavīndrācārya Sarasvatī and other contemporary Sanskrit scholars.23 Yet, in spite of these testimonies, there are many counter-arguments to the view that Dārā Šikōh was proficient in the Sanskrit language, both based on evidence and dictated by common sense. First of all, his deep interest for Indian religious and philosophical thought only dates from a few years before the compilation of the Sirr-i akbar. His previous works, from the Safīnat al-awliyā’ (1049/1640) and Sakīnat al-awliyā’ (1052/1642) to the risāla-yi ḥaqq-numā (1056/1646) and Ḥasanāt al-‘ārifīn (1062/1652),24 do not display any specific knowledge, influence or interest for traditional Indian thought or Sanskrit literature; and it is quite unlikely that he could have mastered such an extremely difficult language in just a couple of years. Moreover, in his later works, like the well-known account of his conversations with the Indian vairāgin25 Bābā Lāl 18. « Ḫwud īn ḫulāṣa-yi tawḥīd rā ki upnikhathā ya‘nī asrār-i pūšīdanī bāšad […] dar sana-yi hizār u šaṣt u haft hijrī bī ġarażāna tarjuma namūda » (SA, vol. I, p. v). 19. « Īn faqīr-i bī andūh Muḥammad Dārā Šikōh ḫwud ba ‘ibārat-i rāst ba rāst dar muddat-i šiš māh […] dar šahr-i dihlī dar manzil-i nīgambōd ba itmām rasīd » (SA, vol. II, p. 489). 20. Sanskrit « mine », « by myself » etc. (SS, p. 2 and passim). 21. Cf. Kunhan Raja 1940 and 1943, Gode 1942. 22. Cf. Hasrat 1954, pp. 212 ff., and Pollock 2001a. 23. Cf. Sastry 1921; Gode 1942; Pollock 2001a. 24. See Bibliography. 25. A particular class of Hindu religious ascetics, generally Vaiṣṇavas (i.e. followers of Viṣṇu).

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Dās (1064/1653) – which were recorded and later translated from Hindavī into Persian by Dārā Šikōh’s munšī Chandar Bhān Brahman26 – the only knowledge he seems to possess concerning Indian thought and Sanskrit literature has quite evidently been derived, for the most part, from the rāmāyaṇa, the Mahābhārata, and the Yogavāsiṣṭha, i.e. from works which had already been translated into Persian under emperor Akbar, and which were certainly still to be found, in Persian, in Dārā Šikōh’s library; so that his knowledge of Sanskrit literature up to 1653 seems to be mostly made up of second-hand readings – in addition of course to what he could learn from his many Hindu acquaintances. Besides, it is Dārā Šikōh himself, once more in the Introduction to the Sirr-i akbar, who tells us explicitly that his interest in the Scriptures of religions other than Islam could only be satisfied through translations: « (This poor writer) determined to lay his hands on all the heavenly Books. […] So he cast his eyes on the Torah, the Gospels, the Psalms and other Scriptures, but […] from the faulty translations which prejudiced people had made, their purport was not clear »,27 which amounts to say that he relied on translations to read those Scriptures. Furthermore, in another passage of the Introduction, he even says that he had no interest in learning foreign languages: « Since the interest of this searcher after truth lay in the principle of the Unity of His Essence, and not in the Arabic, Syriac, Hebrew or Sanskrit language, he determined to translate the Upaniṣads […] into Persian […] without any worldly motive, so that he might understand […] which secrets are contained in those books ».28 Dārā Šikōh’s interest lay therefore in the contents of the holy Scriptures of mankind, and not at all in the languages they were written in – which makes it very doubtful that he would ever spend years learning Sanskrit, not to mention becoming so conversant with it as to translate such a vast collection of texts in only six months. It is in fact quite unlikely that the prince could have translated all fifty Upaniṣads himself in such a short time, even with the help of his learned assistants. We are informed by the historian Badā’ūnī, for instance, that the translation works at Akbar’s court usually took years to complete.29 It is our opinion that Dārā Šikōh’s paṇḍits, the actual authors of the Sirr-i akbar, might 26. Cf. Huart - Massignon 1926. 27. « [Īn faqīr] ḫwāst ki jamī‘-i kutub-i samāvī rā ba naẓar dar āvarad […] va naẓar bar tawrīat va injīl va zabūr va dīgar ṣuḥuf andāḫt, ammā […] az tarjumahā-yi sahlī ki ahl-i ġaraż karda būdand maṭlab ma‘lūm nagardīd » (SA, vol. I, p. iv). 28. « Īn ḥaqq-jū rā čūn naẓar bar aṣl-i vaḥdat-i ḏāt būd na ba zabān-i ‘arabī va suryānī va ‘ibrānī va sanskrīt, ḫwāst ki īn upnikhathā rā […] ba zabān-i fārsī […] bī ġaraż-i nafsānī […] tarjuma namūda bifahmad ki […] dar ān či sirr ast? » (SA, vol. I, p. v). 29. Cf. Hasrat 1954, pp. 196 ff., and Athar Ali 1992.

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have divided among themselves the fifty Upaniṣads of the collection, thus working each one of them on a smaller set of texts, in order to achieve the feat in such a short time. This view seems to be confirmed by the fact that many Sanskrit verses and passages which appear identically in two, sometimes even three or four different Upaniṣads, have in all instances been rendered into Persian in different ways, and sometimes in such different ways that the meaning of the text changes completely.30 This fact alone suggests that the actual translators of the Sirr-i akbar were most probably more than one, and that they did not verify their work against each other. But the single most important piece of evidence is, once again, Dārā Šikōh’s own word. In a passage already quoted, the prince introduces his work thus: « This searcher after truth […] determined to translate the Upaniṣads […] into Persian word by word, without adding or expunging, and without any worldly motive, with a faithful interpretation, […] so that he might understand […] which secrets are contained in those books ».31 As we anticipated, this statement is utterly untenable. On one side, the whole Sirr-i akbar, compared with the original Sanskrit text, abounds both in kam and ziyād – omissions and additions, respectively – while, on the other side, it is only very occasionally a lafẓ ba lafẓ (i.e. word by word) translation. Hence, if we have to trust Dārā Šikōh’s word – and we have no reason not to do so – we are now confronted with a dilemma: if Dārā Šikōh really translated the Upaniṣads himself, he would now be lying with respects to the contents of his Persian rendering, which differ consistently and continuously from the Sanskrit text, in that the literal faithfulness to the original text, which Dārā Šikōh so boldly proclaims of his translation, does not exist. On the other hand, if we admit that Dārā Šikōh did not know that the Persian rendering of his Sirr-i Akbar differed considerably from the Sanskrit text, how could he claim to have translated the Upaniṣads himself? The solution to this dilemma probably lies in a reinterpretation of that pronoun, ḫwud, in the passages quoted above. We are persuaded that Dārā Šikōh did take an active part in the compilation of the Sirr-i akbar, though not as an actual translator, and that this is what he means by « ḫwud tarjuma namūda » and « ḫwud ba itmām rasīd ».32 What the prince was complaining 30. See, for instance, the Persian renderings of Muṇḍ.Up. 3.2.6 = kaiv. Up. 4 = Mnār. Up. 10.6; Muṇḍ. Up. 1.2.8 = kaiv. Up. 2.5 = Maitr. Up. 7.9; Īś. Up. 9 = Bṛ. Up. 4.4.10; Muṇḍ. Up. 3.2.3 = ka. Up. 2.23; Śv. Up. 4.5 = Mnār. Up. 9.2. 31. « Īn ḥaqq-jū […] ḫwāst ki īn upnikhathā rā […] ba zabān-i fārsī bī kam u ziyād va bī ġarażi nafsānī, ba ‘ibārat-i rāst ba rāst lafẓ ba lafẓ tarjuma namūda bifahmad ki […] dar ān či sirr ast » (SA, vol. I, p. v). 32. « He personally translated » and « He completed the task himself ».

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about were the biases and the lack of impartiality of available translations (not, of course, of the Upaniṣads, which had never been translated before, but of such works as the Yogavāsiṣṭha and the Bhagavadgītā, of which in fact he had formerly commissioned a re-translation).33 On the contrary, he was confident that his assistants, under his personal supervision, would translate the Upaniṣads both lafẓ ba lafẓ and bī ġarażāna, which would allow him not to rely on biased and faulty translations made by others. But, not knowing Sanskrit, and therefore not having the possibility of checking the original texts, he was not fully aware whether his paṇḍits restricted themselves to translating the Upaniṣads, or actually commented and interpreted them according to their own religious and philosophical standpoint. Which is in fact what happened. As to the remaining testimonies hinting at his knowledge of Sanskrit, on a closer examination these will also be found to be open to criticism. References to Dārā Šikōh’s liking for Sanskrit poetry, for instance, might have been referred to a generic appreciation of aspects which could be enjoyed even in translation; while praises and eulogies towards one’s munificent patron, especially in Delhi’s imperial court culture, were quite the norm. Furthermore, the language of the Sanskrit letter to Gosvāmin Nṛsiṃhāśrama, to which we shall return below, is simply too lofty and elaborate – with its highly rhetorical and convoluted style and its abundance of references to myths and conceptions of classical Indian culture – to be attributed to Dārā Šikōh himself; whereas it was probably written on his behalf by one of his munšīs and then signed by the prince, as was customary with Mughal official letter-writing (inšā’). The same might be said of the Samudrasaṅgama, which was probably translated for him by a paṇḍit under his close supervision, although in this case the prose is plain and straightforward and its language reveals many Neo-Indo-Aryan influences.34 In conclusion, what seems to be even more significant than Dārā Šikōh’s actual or fictitious knowledge of Sanskrit is his unquestionable claim to such a proficiency, intended primarily towards the Hindu learned community. His

33. See Bibliography. 34. The Samudrasaṅgama is actually an adaptation of the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn for a Sanskritreading Hindu audience: many quotations from the Qur’ān and from Persian mystical poetry have been suppressed or replaced with citations from Sanskrit works (e.g. the Yogavāsiṣṭha, the Bhagavadgītā, possibly the kūrmapurāṇa, and one mahādeva-pārvatī-saṃvāda), while the references to Muslim saints and Sufis have been reduced in number to the advantage of Hindus. In particular, the explicit reference to śrībābālāla as the writer’s sadguru or « perfect teacher » (SS, p. 2) – together with an abundance of laudatory epithets – shows beyond doubt that Dārā Šikōh himself had a role in the translation, as the Hindu saint is not mentioned at all in the Persian version of this work. The Samudrasaṅgama was probably meant by the prince as a means to spread his comparative theories among learned (and more orthodox-minded?) Hindus.

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reiterated assertions of having personally translated the Upaniṣads, as well as the atypical use of the first person in the Samudrasaṅgama (contrary to his habit of using the third person), also seem to point in the same direction.35

THE ADVAITIC AFFILIATION OF DāRā ŠIKōH’S PAṇḍITS If our assumptions are correct, i.e. if Dārā Šikōh really had to rely entirely on his assistants for the translation of the Upaniṣads, it would be much more so in the case of the genuine Advaitic commentary which comes with them in the Sirr-i akbar, and which presupposes a direct knowledge (such as the prince could not possibly have) of the literary output of that School in the Sanskrit language. It is our firm belief that the Advaitic leaning of the gloss is not to be regarded as a generic non-dualistic tinge by smārta paṇḍits, but rather as the result of the actual affiliation of these commentators to the kevalādvaita school of the Vedānta.36 Both external and internal evidence can be provided to support this conjecture. As to the former, we may consider four different arguments. 1. The very choice of the Upaniṣads as the subject of Dārā Šikōh’s translation must be regarded as a clue to the Vedāntic, if not downright Advaitic, affiliation of his informants. This might not be as obvious as it seems, but Dārā Šikōh’s interest for the Upaniṣads, the utmost esteem they commanded from him,37 his urge to translate them, and the very fact of his having come to know about their existence38 cannot be taken for granted, and need to be explained. In fact, 35. It is at any rate reasonable to suppose that Dārā Šikōh’s long perusal of Sanskrit works in translation, his knowledge of such masterpieces as Bīrūnī’s kitāb al-hind or Abū al-Fażl’s Ā’īn-i akbarī which abound in linguistic remarks, the multilingual environment of the Mughal court as well as his long-term association with yogins and sādhus (Hindu holy men), and lastly, his command of hindavī, might have granted him a somewhat superficial, mostly lexical knowledge of Sanskrit, yet adequate enough to credit himself with works and translations from that language without the fear of being possibly exposed. 36. Smārtas (literally « abiding by smṛti or tradition ») are a particular class of orthodox and non-sectarian Brahmins, who regard all Hindu deities as manifestations and attributes of the one divine Reality (brahman). On the kevalādvaita school of the Vedānta see above, note 10. 37. Dārā Šikōh ultimately regards the Upaniṣads as a revealed Book and a « commentary to the Qur’ān »: avvalīn kitāb-i samāvī va sarčašma-yi taḥqīq va baḥr-i tawḥīd ast va muvāfiq-i qur’ān-i majīd balki tafsīr-i ān, « The first of the heavenly Books, fountain-head of truth, sea of monotheism, not only in agreement with the noble Qur’ān, but a commentary upon it » (SA, vol. I, p. v); cf. D’Onofrio 2007. 38. No explicit mention of the Upaniṣads can indeed be found in any of Dārā Šikōh’s sources, such as Bīrūnī or Abū al-Fażl.

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although the Upaniṣads belong to the śruti39 and, as such, have always been objects of general deference in India, nevertheless, in the 16th and 17th centuries they were no longer the main focus of religious and philosophical debate. The delay with which the Muslim learned community became aware of their existence – compared to its early acquaintance with such reference works as the Bhagavadgītā and the Bhāgavatapurāṇa, which were in fact of topical interest at that time – also points to this fact. Hindu spiritual life, especially in Northern India, was by then mainly dominated by the spread of Vaishnavite and Krishnaite devotionalism, and by sectarian and Puranic literature, starting from the Bhāgavatapurāṇa itself, the « fifth Veda » of the Kaliyuga.40 This holds true not only for the great devotional movements, but also for the different Schools of the so-called theistic Vedānta: gone were the times of Śaṅkara, but also those of Rāmānuja and Madhva, when an Upaniṣadic foundation of the doctrines was still deemed indispensable.41 Though all Vedāntic traditions still produced their bhāṣyas and ṭīkās on the Upaniṣads, it was essentially within the Advaitic school that they maintained their hegemonic role as a constant and inescapable point of reference. The absolute relevance they receive in Dārā Šikōh’s comparative theory seems to reflect an Advaitic hierarchy of values. 2. This point is confirmed, on a larger scale, by the fact that most non-Hindu scholars who concerned themselves with India’s philosophical thought in the Mughal age, such as Abū al-Fażl and Mūbad Šāh, the likely author of the Dabistān-i maḏāhib,42 seem to acknowledge the Advaitic school alone as Vedāntadarśana, while the traditions which had been established by the other great commentators of the Brahmasūtras43 were either entirely ignored (Abū al-Fażl), or regarded as something else than Vedānta (Mūbad Šāh). In the Ā’īn-i akbarī, for instance, the Vedānta (here bēdānt) is characterized mainly by two tenets, namely the māyāvāda – « the doctrine of māyā », or the illusive nature of the empirical world – and the impersonal conception of the supreme brahman:44 that is to say, by the two most distinctive features of the 39. Literally « that which has been heard », or the Sacred Scriptures of Hinduism (i.e. the four Vedas and their ancillary literature). 40. « The age of Kali », or the last and worst of the world-ages, the age of vice (i.e. the present age). 41. Cf. Franci 1982. Rāmānuja (11th-12th century) and Madhva (13th-14th century) were the founders of other sub-Schools within the Vedāntadarśana, both opposed to Śaṅkara’s Advaita. 42. Cf. Mojtabā’ī 1993, p. 533; edited by R. Riżāzāda Malik, cf. Mūbad 1983 (hereafter DM). 43. Together with the Upaniṣads and the Bhagavadgītā, Bādarāyaṇa’s Brahmasūtras represent the base-text of the Vedāntadarśana (the so-called prasthānatrayī, “the three points of departure”), and were commented upon by the founders of all the major schools of the Vedānta. 44. Cf. Abū al-Fażl 1872-1877, vol. II, pp. 79-84. According to the Advaita school, māyā (literally « trick, magic power ») is the indescribable cause of the cosmic illusion, the original

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kevalādvaitavāda. The same is true for the Dabistān-i maḏāhib, where only the doctrines of Śaṅkarācārya (here šankarāčārj) and his School are dealt with in the chapter on the vēdāntīān,45 while Rāmānuja, Madhva and other Vedāntic commentators are classified apart, together with vairāgins, muṇḍins and bhāktas, in the chapter on the vaiṣṇavas (here bayšnavān), i.e. the devotees of Viṣṇu.46 The equation Vedānta=Advaita undoubtedly reflected the prestige and authority which the Advaitic tradition had already acquired in 17th century India, and the mantle of orthodoxy it had cast upon itself as the main philosophical basis of smārta Hinduism, in such a way that the Advaitins were probably reckoned as their priviledged interlocutors amongst the Hindus by the Muslim ruling classes. This finds an echo in the Dabistān-i maḏāhib, which states that « all the great men among the Hindus follow this creed [i.e. Advaita], and they agree that, in reality, there is no faith but this: the avatāras, the ṛṣis and the perfect paṇḍits have all taken sides with it »,47 as also in Dārā Šikōh himself, who asserts that the Upaniṣadic monism represents « the basis of their [Hindu] creed ».48 In fact, the inclusive nature of the Advaitic school as well as the antisectarian attitude then displayed by its paṇḍits49 most likely led the prince to think that he had found in that tradition the perfect match for his syncretistic and universalist religious perspective.50 3. The link between Dārā Šikōh and the Advaitic circles of Benares as witnessed by the Introduction of the Sirr-i akbar, is further confirmed by the already quoted Sanskrit letter to Gosvāmin Nṛsiṃhāśrama. It consists in an elaborate eulogy in 24 paragraphs, the last one of which begins with the words: « Salutations to the illustrious paramahaṃsa [i.e. a hermit of the highest order], ignorance (avidyā) by which we perceive the undifferentiated, absolute Reality of brahman as a multifarious phenomenal world. 45. DM, vol. I, pp. 147-156. 46. DM, vol. I, pp. 175-181; vairāgins, muṇḍins and bhāktas are different denominations of religious sub-groups. 47. Hama-yi buzurgān-i hunūd rā īn ‘aqīda būda va hinduvān rā ittifāq ast ki dar ḥaqīqat juz īn kīš [i.e. Advaita] nīst: avatārān va rikhīšarān va panditān-i kāmil hama bar īn rafta-and (DM, vol. I, p. 151); the avatāras are the « descents » or worldly incarnations of the gods, whereas the ṛṣis are the ancient sages and seers who received the Vedic revelation. 48. SA, vol. I, p. iv: « pāya-yi i‘tibār ast ». 49. Cf. Bernier 1891, p. 328: « ‘We pretend not,’ they replied, ‘that our law is of universal application. God intended it only for us, and this is the reason why we cannot receive a foreigner into our religion. We do not even say that yours is a false religion: it may be adapted to your wants and circumstances, God having, no doubt, appointed many different ways of going to heaven’ ». 50. Compare the last sentence in the preceding note with a most important ḥadīṯ-i nabavī, often quoted by Indian Sufis: « The Ways to God are as numerous as the breaths of humankind ».

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the most eminent guide of ascetics, equal to Śaṅkarācārya »,51 and ends thus: « Muḥammad Dārā Šikōh, who has proclaimed the knowledge of Reality consisting in a mass of supreme bliss, who has removed the great delusion, who has thoroughly understood the ascent of the seven stages, offers his salutations accompanied by the eight-syllable formula oṃ namo nārāyaṇāya to Gosvāmin Nṛsiṃhāśrama, whose nature is Existence, Conscience and Bliss, who is excellent among the great ascetics, who is the owner of the great hermitage where the cycle of rebirths is destroyed by the accomplishment of a meditative absorption without cognition ».52 Apart from the explicit mention of Śaṅkarācārya as the paradigm of spiritual enlightenment, the entire vocabulary as well as the concepts employed in the letter are indisputably Advaitic, therefore suggesting a consimilar affiliation of the addressee. In fact, as P.K. Gode has ascertained,53 Gosvāmin Nṛsiṃhāśrama, the otherwise unknown recipient of the letter,54 is none other than Brahmendra Sarasvatī, a renowned Advaitin of the Sarasvatī order, the author of such works as Vedāntaparibhāṣā and Advaitāmṛta55 and one of the foremost paṇḍits and saṃnyāsins of Benares at that time.56 This confirms not only Dārā Šikōh’s Advaitic acquaintances in Benares, but also the specific connection existing between the Mughal emperors and the Sarasvatī saṃpradāya.57 It is even possible that this address to Brahmendra Sarasvatī might be directly related to the compilation of the Sirr-i akbar, although this remains a mere conjecture.58 51. « Svasti śrīmatparamahaṃsaparivrājakācāryavaryaśrīśaṅkarācāryasamāneṣu », Kunhan Raja 1940, p. 93. 52. « Saccidānandasvarūpeṣu mahāyativarabhūteṣu parikalpitanirvikalpasamādhividhvastasaṃsāramahāśrameṣu śrīgosvāminṛsiṃhāśrameṣu prakaṭitaparamānandasaṃdohatattvajñānadūrīkṛtamahāmohasamavagatasaptabhūmikāsamārohamahammadadārāśikohakṛtā oṃnamonārāyaṇāyety aṣṭākṣaramantrapūrvakā namaskārāḥ santi », Kunhan Raja 1940, p. 93. 53. Cf. Gode 1942. 54. Not to be mistaken with another Nṛsiṃhāśrama, the celebrated 16th century author of Bhedadhikkāra and other works: cf. Gode 1942, p. 171, note 1, and Potter 19953, no. 1005. 55. Cf. Aufrecht 1891-1903, I 389 and II 88, and Potter 19953, no. 1054. 56. One is reminded here of Dārā Šikōh’s words from the Sirr-i akbar: « panditān va sannyāsīān rā ki sarāmad-i vaqt va bēd- va upnikhat-dān būdand jam‘ sāḫta », see above, note 11. 57. One of the ten monastic orders of Hinduism, reputedly established by Śaṅkara: from Madhusūdana Sarasvatī’s well known familiarity with Akbar’s court, to Kavīndrācārya Sarasvatī’s intimacy with Šāh Jahān and Dārā Šikōh himself, there seems to have been a bond between the two during the first half of the 17th century. Moreover, Kavīndrācārya Sarasvatī also happens to be mentioned in the present letter, at paragraph 22. 58. At paragraph 3 Brahmendra Sarasvatī is praised with the words: vivakṣāmakṣitīśaniṣkāmarakṣaka, « who is an unselfish protector of kings at the time of their desire to speak (to him) », which might well serve as a prelude to a request of assistance to the distinguished Advaitin on behalf of the heir apparent to the throne.

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4. The last document to be considered is another letter, written on October 14th, 1667 to one Monsieur Chapelain by the French traveller François Bernier.59 Bernier had first set foot in India almost ten years before that date, and had regularly attended the imperial court ever since, having been briefly in the employ of Dārā Šikōh and later serving as a personal physician to his brother Awrangzeb. His well-known Travels are therefore one of the most valuable contemporary accounts of Mughal India written by a foreigner. The letter is presented as Describing the Superstitions, Strange Customs, and Doctrines of the Indous or Gentiles of Hindoustan, and its last pages are devoted to the explanation of « the Mysticism of a Great Sect, which has latterly made great noise in Hindoustan, inasmuch as certain Pendets [i.e. paṇḍits] or Gentile Doctors had instilled it in the minds of Dara and Sultan Sujah, the elder sons of Chah-Jehan ».60 The writer goes on describing this « almost universal doctrine of the Gentile Pendets of the Indies »61 as the belief in that « God, or that supreme being whom they call Achar (immovable, unchangeable) has produced […] everything material or corporeal in the universe, and that this production is not formed simply after the manner of the efficient causes, but as a spider which produces a web from its own navel, and withdraws it at pleasure. […] There is, therefore, say they, nothing real or substantial in that which we think we see, hear or smell, taste or touch; the whole of this world is, as it were, an illusory dream, inasmuch as all that variety which appears to our outward senses is but one only and the same thing, which is God Himself ».62 It is evident that the doctrine which certain paṇḍits had « instilled in Dārā Šikōh’s mind » was nothing but the kevalādvaita, as can be inferred by the allusion to the principle of the utter illusoriness of the phenomenal world.63 Another remarkable point is that Bernier is also quoting here, albeit unknowingly, a locus classicus of the Upaniṣadic literature, namely the simile of the spider and its web, a metaphor of the world’s absolute dependence on the supreme being.64 We may therefore include this letter into what we have called the “external evidence” of the Advaitic affiliation of Dārā Šikōh’s paṇḍits. 59. Bernier 1891, pp. 300-349. 60. Bernier 1891, p. 345. 61. Compare this statement with the already quoted remark on Advaita from the Dabistān-i maḏāhib: hinduvān rā ittifāq ast ki dar ḥaqīqat juz īn kīš nīst, see above, note 47. 62. Bernier 1891, pp. 346-347. 63. Compare Bernier’s statement with the description of Śaṅkara’s doctrine in the Dabistān-i maḏāhib: gūyand īn hama namāyiš va judā’ī-yi ṣuvar va tarkīb va ḥay’at čūn sarāb va paykar-i ḫwāb ast, « They say that this whole manifestation, with its diversity of forms, shapes and figures, is only a mirage, like the visions of dreams » (DM, vol. I, p. 148). 64. See, for instance, Bṛ. Up. 2.1.20; Muṇḍ. Up. 1.1.7; Śv. Up. 6.10.

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THE kEVAlĀDVAITAVĀDA IN THE SIrr-I AkBAr It is when we come to the internal evidence, however, that we find the soundest proof of such an affiliation. In this case, too, we may take into account four distinct arguments. 1. First of all, the very name of Śaṅkarācārya occurs once or (less likely) twice in the Sirr-i akbar.65 The uncertainty is due to the fact that the first occurrence was (rightly) considered spurious by the authors of the critical edition and therefore expunged from the text.66 In both occurrences, Śaṅkara’s name comes with what should be a quotation from his commentaries, and in the second case, the genuine one, it is in fact so: Muṇḍaka Upaniṣad 1.1.8 is followed, in the Sirr-i akbar, by a rather faithful summary of Śaṅkara’s commentary ad loc., introduced by the words: « Śaṅkarācārya, in his commentary to this passage, writes that […] », and ending with: « So far Śaṅkarācārya’s commentary ».67 The mention of Śaṅkarācārya is significant by itself, but its relevance is enhanced by his being the only historical figure (philosopher or otherwise) whose name has made it into the Sirr-i akbar. That Śaṅkara’s bhāṣyas would be used by Dārā Šikōh’s paṇḍits as a sourcebook for commenting on the Upaniṣads should not be taken for granted, since in the 17th century the controversy between the Advaitins and the adherents of the other Vedāntic (mainly Vaishnavite) traditions was at its height – especially in the case of Madhva’s school, which went as far as to depict Śaṅkara as an incarnation of the demon Maṇimat, sent to earth by the Asuras in order to corrupt mankind by spreading buddhist doctrines in the guise of Vedānta.68 In this context of intense sectarian rivalry, the exclusive mention of Śaṅkara’s name should therefore be taken as an indication of a specific philosophical affiliation. 2. Yet Śaṅkara’s presence in the Sirr-i akbar is not limited to a fleeting mention of his name. As we anticipated above, an accurate comparative reading of Śaṅkara’s bhāṣyas with the Sirr-i akbar reveals that the former have been constantly taken into account, and often literally translated, during the compilation of the latter. This holds true, of course, only in the case of the ten Upaniṣadic texts which had actually been commented upon by the great Advaitin, i.e. the so-called « Early » or « Vedic Upaniṣads »; these, however, 65. Cf. SA, vol. I, p. 202 (= Śv. Up. 3.7), and p. 325 (= Muṇḍ. Up. 1.1.8). 66. It is quite clearly a gloss which has penetrated into the text. 67. « Šankarācārj dar tafsīr-i īn ‘ibārat mīnivīsad ki », « tā īnjā tafsīr-i šankarācārj būd ». 68. Cf. Granoff 1985, pp. 464 ff., and Klostermaier 1990, pp. 59 ff.

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represent the major texts of the collection, and cover more than half of its total pages.69 In this respect, it might be interesting to note that the length of the glosses in the Minor Upaniṣads ranges from a single word up to three-four lines of text only, whereas the comments to the Early Upaniṣads are definitely longer, up to a maximum of 32 lines,70 and much more complex. The texts for which Dārā Šikōh’s paṇḍits appear to have more largely drawn from Śaṅkara’s commentaries are the two principal Upaniṣads, namely the Bṛhadāraṇyaka and the Chāndogya, as well as the Muṇḍaka, kena and Taittiriya Upaniṣad. For reasons of space, we cannot quote any instance in full here; we must therefore confine ourselves to a few references.71 It is often difficult to recognize Śaṅkara’s gloss through the medium of the Persian translation. This is mainly due to the fact that literal quotations are, as a rule, very short, while the rest of Śaṅkara’s commentary, when present, is usually summarized in a few sentences, and the frequent objections (and relevant answers) which constitute the bulk of his explanations are ignored altogether. We cannot be ultimately sure whether the authors of the Sirr-i akbar were freely following Śaṅkara’s bhāṣyas while commenting upon the Upaniṣads, or had instead adopted – as a base text for their translation – one or more manuscripts containing those bhāṣyas along with the Upaniṣadic texts.72 In either case, however, what matters most is that they chose to rely on them alone in order to elucidate the Upaniṣads. As far as our knowledge goes, no other major commentator’s gloss is ever quoted in the Sirr-i akbar. 3. Apart from Śaṅkara’s name and the constant use of his bhāṣyas, it is the general tendency of the whole commentary as well as the details of its textual interpretation which reveal an unmistakably Advaitic foundation. From a philosophical point of view, it is a rather poor, scholastic gloss, mostly lacking in originality, although this is mainly due to the very short size of its comments, 69. About 252 pp. out of 490 pp., in the printed edition. 70. Cf. SA, vol. I, pp. 175 f. (= Praś. Up. 1.15). 71. One may profitably compare the following sections of the Sirr-i akbar with the relevant passages of Śaṅkara’s bhāṣyas: from the Bṛ. Up., the excursus on the aśvamedha sacrifice at 1.1.1-2; the creation of the world by the ātman at 1.4.1-8 (especially 1-2 and 7); and the discourse on the self by Yājñavalkya at 2.4.5-14 (especially 10 and 14). From the Ch. Up., sections 3.14.1 (on tajjalān); 6.2.1 (on the mahāvākya “ekam evādvitīyam”); 6.9.2 (the dialogue between Uddālaka and Śvetaketu). From the Muṇḍ. Up., verses 1.1.9, 1.2.8-13 and 2.1.4 (on various subjects); 2.1.8 (on the seven prāṇas); 3.2.1 (on the supreme puruṣa). From the ke. Up., sections 2.1.1-2 (on the knowledge of brahman) and 4.5-6 (on the identity of ātman and brahman). From the Taitt. Up., verse 2.7 (on sat and asat). A more detailed record of similar passages, although limited to the Praśna Upaniṣad, may be found in Göbel-Groß 1962, pp. 165-175. 72. We know for sure that Kavīndrācārya Sarasvatī, Dārā Šikōh’s associate, did possess such a volume in his private library in Benares: cf. Sastry 1921, pp. 5 f.

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which do not allow any in-depth analysis of the texts. This, however, is partially compensated by the pervasiveness and consistency of its annotations, which strive to interpret on a common Advaitic basis the fifty heterogeneous texts of the collection. We shall quote here in full only a couple of the most noteworthy instances of such comments, and give references to other significant passages. The first example is a middle sized gloss, appended to the first verse of the Īśāvāsya Upaniṣad as an explanation of the title word itself, īśāvāsya, which literally means “that which must be covered by the Lord”: Īś means « the Lord of all things », and vās means « covered », i.e. the whole world is covered and concealed in the Lord of the world. The Lord of the world is manifest, and the world is hidden in Him. Everything which has name-andform has emerged from the Lord of the world, exists in the Lord of the world, and is absorbed in the Lord of the world. The manifestation of the origin of the world, i.e. the ātman, is true and real, while mundane names and forms, i.e. avidyā, are false and illusory; but when the latter mix with the ātman which is true and real, they also appear as true and real, i.e. mundane names and forms are only an illusion which appears to be real, but in truth has no existence whatsoever. Therefore you must renounce attachment and desire for this illusion that appears to be real, which you yourself have imagined and of which you have become fond.73

This passage represents an extremely interesting and precise Advaitic interpolation to the Upaniṣadic text: in fact, it refers to the Supreme God, ṣāḥib-i hama, as the ātman (i.e. the innermost Self of every living being), thus identifying the universal and the individual principle; it regards the phenomenal world (nām u ṣūrat) – which is a perfect equivalent of the Sanskrit expression nāmarūpa – as an illusion (durūġ va bāṭil) which only derives an appearance of reality by its mixing with the ātman; and it recognizes in ignorance, avidyā, the only cause of the cosmic illusion, « ki az ḫwud taṣavvur karda-ī va ba ān dilbasta-ī ».

73. « Īś ba ma‘nī-yi ṣāḥib-i hama ast va bās [=vās] ba ma‘nī-yi pūšīda, ya‘nī hama-yi ‘ālam dar ṣāḥib-i ‘ālam pinhān va pūšīda ast. ān ṣāḥib-i ‘ālam ẓāhir ast va ‘ālam dar ū nihān. va har či nām u ṣūrat dārad az ṣāḥib-i ‘ālam bar āmada ast va dar ṣāḥib-i ‘ālam mīmānad va dar ṣāḥib-i ‘ālam furū mīravad. numūd-i aṣl-i ‘ālam ki ātmā ast rāstī va ḥaqq ast va nām u ṣūrat-i ‘ālam ki avidyā ast durūġ va bāṭil ast va dar ān numūd-i ātmā ki rāst va ḥaqq ast dar āmada ast, īn ham rāst va ḥaqq mīnamāyad ya‘nī nām u ṣūrat-i ‘ālam durūġ-i rāst-namā ast va dar ḥaqīqat vujūdī nadārad. pas bāyad ki īn durūġ-i rāst-namā rā ki az ḫwud taṣavvur karda-ī va ba ān dilbasta-ī ta‘alluq va ḫwāhiš-i ān rā guḏašta […] » (SA, vol. I, p. 168 = Īś. Up. 1).

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We draw our second example from the Sarvasāra Upaniṣad, one of the most philosophically profound of the so-called Minor Upaniṣads. The original text deals here with that same avidyā (i.e. ignorance) in terms of māyā, the cosmic principle of illusion according to the Advaitic tradition. The Persian text elaborates thus: « Because of māyā, truth appears as falsehood and falsehood as truth: just like the rope, which is false, appears as a snake, while the snake, which is real, appears as a rope. Māyā can be said to be neither real nor unreal, since it displays the world as existent, whereas it is only an appearance devoid of existence, and it displays the existence of the Absolute Being as non-existent. The Divine Essence, which is evident, does not appear; while the world, which is nonexistent, appears: this is māyā ».74

The core of this dense passage is not so much the quotation of the topos par excellence of the Advaitic tradition, i.e. the illustration of the rope and the snake, which is the standard metaphor for the elucidation of the doctrine of māyā and which was already commonplace in the Indo-Muslim literature at that time;75 but rather the allusion to the twofold power of māyā as āvaraṇaśakti or « the power of concealment » (būd-i vujūd-i muṭlaq rā nā-būd mīnamāyad), and vikṣepaśakti or « the power of projection » (numūd-i bī-būd-i ‘ālam rā būd mīnamāyad), as well as to its being anirvacanīya (i.e. indescribable) and sadasadvilakṣaṇa (i.e. neither real nor unreal), two distinguishing features of the Advaitic theory of māyā (here: māyā rā na rāst mītavān guft na durūġ). Now, both these extracts were instances of what we have previously called ziyād, i.e. of additions to the original text. To conclude, however, we shall also consider an instance of kam, by which I mean an interpretation based not on an addition to the original text but, on the contrary, on an omission. 74. « Va az māyā rāst durūġ mīnamāyad va durūġ rāst, čunānči rīsmān ki durūġ ast mār mīnamāyad, mār ki rāst ast rīsmān mīnamāyad. va māyā rā na rāst mītavān guft na durūġ či numūdi bī-būd-i ‘ālam rā būd mīnamāyad va būd-i vujūd-i muṭlaq rā nā-būd mīnamāyad va nīst rā hast va hast rā nīst mīnamāyad. ḏāt-i ḥaqq ki ẓāhir ast namīnamāyad va ‘ālam ki mawjūd nīst mīnamāyad. hamīn ast māyā » (SA, vol. II, p. 379 = Sarv. Up. 4); see also SA, vol. II, p. 399 (= Cūl. Up. 1): ‘ālamī ki mīnamāyad ū-st va numūd-i bī-būd-i ‘ālam durūġ va maḥż vahm ast, « This visible world is nothing but Him, it is a mere appearance devoid of existence, false and illusory ». 75. Cf. the chapter on Śaṅkara in the Dabistān-i maḏāhib: čunānki az ġaflat rīsmān rā mār pindāšt, ammā rīsmān būd na mār, hamčunīn jahān rā durūġ-būd dānad ki az ġaflat ‘ālam angāšta, varna mawjūd-i ḥaqīqī ast, « Just like someone who, by mistake, takes a rope for a snake, but it was a rope, not a snake: in the same way he (the Vedāntin) knows the world to be a delusion which, by mistake, is thought to be the world, although in truth it is not real » (DM, vol. I, p. 148).

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The celebrated Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad has an unmistakable theistic tendency, clearly distinguishing the all-powerful creator God from a powerless, deluded individual soul; as in this verse (Śv. Up. 4.9b): asmān māyī sṛjate viśvam etat tasmiṃś cānyo māyayā saṃniruddhaḥ, « Out of that the illusionist produces this whole world, and in it the other (anyaḥ) remains confined by the illusory power (māyā) ».

Here, of course, the « illusionist » who is said to produce this whole world is God himself, while the « other » who is confined in it, deluded by the illusory power of God, is the individual soul. In the Sirr-i akbar the verse is translated thus (SA, vol. I, p. 205): ba sabab-i māyā ki ḫwāhiš-i ū-st īnhama ẓāhir karda ast va dar ān maẓāhir-i ḫwud muqayyad šuda mānda ast, « By means of māyā, which is His will, He has manifested this whole world, and has remained confined in His own manifestations ».

Now, the anyaḥ of the Sanskrit text, i.e. the « other » who remained confined in the illusory world, has simply disappeared from the Persian translation, where there is nothing like a dīgar. It is only one word, but the result of this simple omission is of great hermeneutical significance: it implies that there is no « separate » individual soul, there remains no « other » apart from God, who remains thus confined, as it were, in his « own » illusion: « dar ān maẓāhir-i ḫwud muqayyad šuda mānda ast ». An identical omission of the word anyaḥ occures in a similar context just a couple of verses before this passage, in this same Upaniṣad.76 The obvious aim of Dārā Šikōh’s paṇḍits was to purge this recalcitrant text of all signs of duality, in order to harmonize it with their Advaitic (i.e. nondualistic) standpoint. This is further confirmed if we compare, for instance, their rendering of an earlier hemistich, Śv. Up. 1.6b, with its interpretation by Rāmānuja, one of the greatest commentators of theistic Vedānta. The verse reads as follows: pṛthag ātmānaṃ preritāraṃ ca matvā juṣṭas tatas tenāmṛtatvam eti, « Once he (i.e. the individual soul) knows himself and the Impeller (i.e. God) to be different, then, favoured by Him, he attains immortality ».

Here, the realization of the difference between one’s individual soul and God is said to be the cause of the attainment of immortality. In fact, as Rāmānuja 76. Cf. SA, Śv. Up. 4.7.

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explains, « this is the meaning of the passage: Having known the self and the Impeller, i.e. the inner Controller, as distinct, by virtue of the knowledge of this distinction, favoured by the supreme Self, one attains immortality. Hence the very knowledge of the distinction between the self and the Controller is ascertained to be the direct means for the achievement of immortality ».77 But the Advaitin authors of the Sirr-i akbar translate the passage in the very opposite sense: « This jīvātman wanders around as long as he regards himself as different from the ātman, who is the Impeller of all things: as soon as jīvātman and paramātman become one, he attains immortality »:78 here the (false) knowledge of the difference between God and soul becomes the reason of the latter’s ceaseless wandering (gardān ast) through successive mortal existences, whereas immortality is achieved when the two are finally realized to be one and the same (yakī šud). All these examples, though somewhat rephrased in a Sufi terminology, are actually instances of a purely Advaitic, Persian-language commentary to the Upaniṣads. And literally hundreds of passages like these could be quoted.79 4. Our fourth and last line of reasoning is nothing more than an argumentum ex silentio, which, nevertheless, also seems to provide an indirect proof of the Advaitic character of the Sirr-i akbar. One of the most distinguishing features of the phenomenology of religious experience, as well as of its theoretical framing, in 17th century India is the emergence of bhakti – i.e. loving devotion to a personal God – as the main means to salvation. This was especially true of the theistic Schools of the Vedānta and the other sectarian religious movements of that time, although the devotional element was not altogether absent from the Advaitic tradition as well: one may consider, for instance, Śrīdharasvāmin’s commentaries to the Viṣṇupurāṇa and Bhāgavatapurāṇa (ca. 1400),80 or Madhusūdana Sarasvatī’s renowned commentary on the Bhagavadgītā, the Gūḍhārthadīpikā (ca. 1600).81 These, however, were rather an exception to the general rule, and one would not be wrong in saying that, on the whole, in the 77. « Ātmānaṃ preritāraṃ cāntaryāmiṇaṃ pṛthag matvā tataḥ pṛthaktvajñānād dhetos tena paramātmanā juṣṭo ’mṛtatvam etīti sākṣādamṛtatvaprāptisādhanam ātmano niyantuś ca pṛthagbhāvajñānam evety avagamyate » (Vedārthasaṅgraha, 118). 78. « Īn jīvātmā tā ān zamān gardān ast ki ḫwud rā az ātmā’ī ki ḥarakat-dihanda-yi hama ast judā mīdānad, vaqtī ki jīvātmā bā paramātmā yakī šud bī-zavāl mīmānad » (SA, vol. I, p. 196 = Śv. Up. 1.6). Note that both ātman (i.e. the Self) and paramātman (i.e. the highest Self) stand here for the supreme principle, while jīvātman (i.e. the living Self) is, as usual, the individual soul. 79. See, for instance, the following sections of the Sirr-i akbar: ke. Up. 2.1-2 and 4.5-6 (on the identity of ātman and brahman); Śv. Up. 1.6-8 and 4.6-7 (on the identity of ātman and īśvara); ka. Up. 6.8 and Praś. Up. 6.5 (on the two kinds of mukti); Sarv. Up. 2 (on the principle of adhyāropa). 80. Cf. Sheridan 1986. 81. Cf. Franci 1984.

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Advaitic theory of liberation, the gnostic dimension has always prevailed over the devotional one, so that the bhaktimārga (i.e. the Path of devotion) remains subordinate and functional to knowledge:82 in Sadānanda Yogīndra’s Vedāntasāra (ca. 1500), the most widespread manual of advaitavedānta in Dārā Šikōh’s time, there is no place or role for bhakti at all. Now, on a careful reading of the Sirr-i akbar one shall not fail to notice that there is not the slightest trace of bhakti in the commentarial sections – either as word, concept, or Stimmung at large. Nor is there any vestige of those doctrines and attitudes which usually go with a devotional religious sensibility, such as the preference granted to a particular form of the Divine, a theory of grace, the necessity (and the joy) of submission to the Divine Will, the invitation to prayer and adoration of God, and so on. On the contrary, in the Sirr-i akbar one finds many assertions not only of the uniqueness of the jñānamārga (i.e. the Path of knowledge) as a means of liberation,83 but also of the radical negation of the very basis for any devotional practice, namely the otherness of divinity: since « whoever thinks that the jīvātman is even slightly separate from the ātman, lives in constant fear, and brahman is the cause of his fear. Since when you come to think in terms of ‘Divinity’ and ‘worship (of Divinity)’, this becomes a cause for fear »;84 where the last sentence, which closely follows Śaṅkara’s commentary ad loc., seems to leave very little room for a devotional relationship with a personal God.

CONCLUSIONS After reading Dārā Šikōh’s introduction to the Sirr-i akbar, one might reasonably wonder how the prince could not only present this multifarious collection of texts – different in date, context and contents – as an organic whole, but also regard them, without exception, as « ḫulāṣa-yi tawḥīd, ganj-i tawḥīd, baḥr-i tawḥīd and muntahā-yi marātib-i tawḥīd va taṣavvuf »,85 such as could be summarized by the well known Sufi expression hama ū-st.86 82. Cf. Franci 1991. 83. See, for instance, SA, vol. I, pp. 327 f. (= Muṇḍ. Up. 1.2.12). 84. « Har ki jīvātmā rā andakī ham az ātmā judā mīdānad hamīša dar ḫawf mībāšad va brahm sabab-i ḫawf-i ū mīšavad, či vaqtī ki ulūhiyyat va ‘ubūdiyyat dar miyān āmad sabab-i ḫawf-i ū šud » (SA, vol. I, p. 317 = Taitt. Up. 2.7). 85. « Quintessence of monotheism », « treasure of monotheism », « sea of monotheism », and « the utmost degree of monotheism and Sufism » (SA, vol. I, Introduction, passim). 86. « All is He »: see, for instance, SA, Ch. Up. 8.13.1; Śv. Up. 6.2; ka. Up. 5.15; Māṇḍ. Up. 1; Cūl. Up. 15.

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In fact, as regards to their origin and date of production, the fifty Upaniṣads of the Sirr-i akbar cover a period of about two thousand years, and were composed and set down by a whole range of different, unknown authors, belonging to partially or totally different contexts. And, as to their contents, these diverse texts obviously present a wide variety of philosophical insights and religious beliefs, which do not constitute a single, coherent world view. What we have ascertained in this regard is that the Upaniṣads which Dārā Šikōh was actually reading were texts which had already passed through the filter of a consistent non-dualistic interpretation in the hands of his Advaitic paṇḍits. And it was this uniform monistic filtering alone which prepared, as it were, Dārā Šikōh’s Upaniṣads for his original Sufi understanding, allowing him to regard this heterogeneous collection of texts as a reliable exposition of waḥdat-i wujūd. It was probably only after the original texts had passed through such a pervasive and precise Advaitic filter that the Upaniṣads reached Dārā Šikōh’s hands, where they received their final drafting in the form of an Introduction, some closing remarks, a Glossary of Sanskrit terms and, above all, a large number of concise annotations in the body of the text. These were primarily meant to emphasize the similarities, or rather the essential identity, which the prince believed to exist between « the spiritual exercises, the comprehension of God, the intelligence and the religious insight […] of these two Truth-knowing communities »87 – that is to say, between Hindus and Muslims.

APPENDIx. THE MAJMA‘ Al-BAḤrAYn A possible objection to our conclusions might be that it is somewhat unnecessary, despite our previous arguments, to assume that Dārā Šikōh’s assistants were actually Advaitins stricto sensu, on grounds that any Hindu paṇḍit of his time, if asked for learned guidance, would have assumed a generic Advaitic standpoint, since this represented then the mainstream hermeneutical tradition in brahmanical circles. To refute this objection we shall take a quick look at the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn, the comparative treatise on Hinduism and Islam which Dārā Šikōh had written just a couple of years before the completion of the Sirr-i akbar. This work, too, was mostly based on information which the prince had derived from his Hindu

87. MB, p. 80.

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acquaintances, as he states in the Introduction.88 We shall therefore briefly consider the way in which some key Indian philosophical doctrines are dealt with in the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn, in order to show that the informants on whom Dārā Šikōh relied prior to his attending to the compilation of the Sirr-i akbar were not in fact Advaitins, but rather traditional vaidika and paurāṇika brahmins with an evident Vaishnavite leaning.89 1. We may firstly consider the complete absence from the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn of the doctrine of māyā as the illusive principle of manifestation. This most distinctive feature of kevalādvaitavāda is amply attested in the commentarial sections of the Sirr-i akbar, as we saw above. Instead, in the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn, māyā is spoken of only in terms of God’s creative will: « māyā, i.e. Love, which is the cause of the creation of the world »;90 but never is it regarded as less than real, nor are its products ever pronounced to be illusion and mistake. Moreover, māyā is also presented here as a product itself, or to be more precise, as a stage in the process of creation of the world by the Supreme Being: « The first thing which came into being from the cidākāśa was Love, which in the language of the Indian monotheists is called māyā ».91 This view of māyā as something which « came into being » is utterly non-Advaitic since māyā, according to Advaita, is anādir antavatī (i.e. beginningless, though not everlasting); in fact, as the Sirr-i akbar correctly states: « This māyā has no beginning, but it only has an appearance of perpetuity ».92

88. Bā ba‘żī az muḥaqqiqān-i īn qawm va kāmilān-i īšān […] mukarrar ṣuḥbathā dāšta va guftār namūda, « Having had repeated intercourse and frequent discussions with some of the Doctors and Perfects of this people » (MB, p. 80). Nowhere does he mention using written sources: a further hint of his Sanskrit illiteracy. 89. In the Samudrasaṅgama, the Persian expression ba ṭawr-i muvaḥḥidān-i hind, « according to the Indian monotheists » (i.e. Dārā Šikōh’s informants), is rendered in Sanskrit as paurāṇikānāṃ mate, « according to those versed in the Purāṇas » (MB, p. 114 = SS, p. 55); at another place, the same word muvaḥḥid is translated as vaidikamuniḥ, « an ascetic who abides by the Vedas » (MB, p. 81 = SS, p. 5). 90. « Māyā ya‘nī ‘išq ki bā‘iṯ-i ījād-i ‘ālam ast » (MB, p. 111). On Dārā Šikōh’s personal equation of the Indian māyā with Ibn ‘Arabī’s cosmogonic Love, see Piantelli 1986. This aspect is also present in the Sirr-i akbar. 91. « Az čidākās avval čīzī ki ba ham rasīd ‘išq būd ki ān rā ba zabān-i muvaḥḥidān-i hind māyā gūyand » (MB, p. 81). 92. « Ān māyā azalī ast va qā’im-namā ast » (SA, vol. II, p. 399 = Cūl. Up. 3). Note that even the other major doctrine of Advaitavedānta, namely the identity of ātman and brahman, is nowhere to be found in the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn.

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2. In the chapter on liberation, not two but three different kinds of mukti are envisaged, which are called jīvanmukti, sarvamukti and sarvadāmukti, respectively.93 In the Sirr-i Akbar, however, only two kinds of mukti are cited in the commentaries, namely jīvanmukti and videhamukti, in conformity with the Advaitic tenet.94 Moreover, in the Majma‘ al-Baḥrayn, Dārā Šikōh’s (informants’) supreme mukti is not regarded as the realization of one’s identity with the supreme, attributeless brahman (i.e. as the Advaitic mukti), but as a condition in which the liberated soul retains its individuality and eternally enjoys the knowledge and the grace of God: MB: « God the most High has a Paradise greater than other Paradises, which the Indians call Vaikuṇṭha. According to the Indian monotheists, this is the greatest liberation. […] Since in whatever state (the liberated) may be, he still has the capacity of knowing (God) and receiving His Divine Favour »;95 SS: « The perfects call Vaikuṇṭha the most excellent of all Paradises: this is the great liberation. […] Wherever (the liberated) may be, he is capable of acquiring true knowledge and receiving the Grace of the Supreme Lord ».96

One should note in this respect that both Abū al-Fażl and the author of the Dabistān-i Maḏāhib know well that, according to the school of Śaṅkara, « the abysses of Hell and the stories of Heaven are all mere imagination ».97 The Vaikuṇṭha, on the contrary, is Viṣṇu’s highest Paradise and the abode of the liberated souls according to many vaiṣṇava saṃpradāyas.98 3. This frankly theistic conception of ultimate liberation in the Majma‘ al-baḥrayn is further confirmed by the repeated assertions of the personality of

93. « Liberation while still alive », « complete liberation » and « eternal liberation » (MB, pp. 67 ff. = SS, pp. 46 ff.). 94. « Liberation while still alive » and « bodiless liberation » (see, for instance, SA, ka. Up. 6.8; Praś. Up. 6.5). 95. « Allāh ta‘ālà rā bihištī ast buzurgtar az bihišthā ki ahl-i hind ān rā baikuntha gūyand va īn buzurgtarīn rastagārī-st ba ṭawr-i muvaḥḥidān-i hind […] či dar har našā’ ki bāšad isti‘dād-i ma‘rifat va ‘ināyāt-i azalī dar kār ast » (MB, pp. 106 e 113). 96. « Yaḥ sarvebhyaḥ svargebhyaḥ utkṛṣṭatamaḥ yaṃ ca siddhāḥ vaikuṇṭham iti vadanti | iyaṃ mahāmuktiḥ […] yatra yatra tiṣṭhati tatra tatra jñānayogasāmarthyavān parameśvaraprasādavāṃś ca tiṣṭhati » (SS, pp. 43 e 54). 97. « Darakāt-i jahannam va ṭabaqāt-i bihišt […] hama ḫiyālāt ast » (DM, pp. 148 f.); see also Abū al-Fażl 1872-1877, vol. II, pp. 80-83. 98. Consider, for instance, Rāmānuja’s Śrīvaikuṇṭhagadya, a praise of Viṣṇu’s Heaven.

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the Supreme Principle. The liberated, it is said, « should regard Him as one determined Person, and should neither see nor know anything but His unique and peerless Essence, whether in a particule of dust or in a mountain, in the manifest as well as in the hidden world ».99 One may compare such statements with the opposite comments from the Sirr-i akbar: « If you regard brahman as a Person and confine it to one only of the gods [lit.: angels], you are mistaken, since He is in all ».100 Lastly, the concluding paragraph of the Samudrasaṅgama contains an interesting reference to Viṣṇu that is altogether absent from the Persian version: « Having turned my mind into mount Mandara and my thoughts and doubts into Gods and Demons, by the will of the ātman in the form of Viṣṇu I have churned the Vedas, and I have recovered a jewel of knowledge such as not even the Gods and Demons had found among the fourteen jewels they recovered by churning the ocean ».101 In conclusion, the differences, both in philosophical approach and in religious sensibility, between Dārā Šikōh’s two works on Hinduism (or at least some parts thereof), are such that one should not doubt the possibility of tracing their origins to the personal conceptions and scholastic affiliation of the prince’s assistants. Dārā Šikōh’s pioneering interest in comparative religious thought, as well as his translation work and his close association with Hindu scholars, do not seem to have appealed at all to most of his contemporaries. On the Muslim side, Dārā Šikōh faced harsh opposition from both the Mughal nobility102 and the ‘ulamā. As early as 1062/1652, in his Ḥasanāt al-‘ārifīn, Dārā Šikōh had felt the need to defend himself from the overt attacks of the ‘bigoted’ mullāhs and the ‘ignorant’ ‘ulamā – as he calls them – who had gone so far as to charge him with heresy;103 his poetic Dīwān, too, is full of the echoes of such polemics.104 99. « Ān rā yak šaḫṣ-i mu‘ayyan dānista az ḏarra tā ba kūh bā ‘avālim-i ẓāhir va bāṭin savā-yi ḏāt-i ān yagāna-yi bī hamtā nabīnad va nadānad » (MB, p. 107); cf. SS, p. 47: vyaktir ekaiva jānīyāt, « he should indeed regard Him as One Person ». 100. « Va agar dar firištahā brahm rā mušaḫḫaṣ u munḥaṣir dar yakī dānī īn ham ḫaṭā ast či ū dar hama ast » (SA, vol. I, p. 190 = ke. Up. 2.1). 101. « Viṣṇurūpātmana icchayā svīyamano mandarācalaṃ kṛtvā saṃkalpavikalpān daivadaityān kṛtvā vedasamudraṃ mathitvā jñānaratnam ekam īdṛśaṃ niṣkāsitaṃ yad devair daityaiś ca samudramathanaṃ kṛtvā niṣkāsiteṣu caturdaśaratneṣv api na prāptam » (SS, p. 60). 102. The only notable exception being Dānišmand Ḫān, Bernier’s open-minded patron, who seemingly opposed Dārā Šikōh’s execution. 103. Cf. Dārā Šikōh 1352š./1973. 104. « Paradise is where there is no mullāh », says the prince in an often quoted verse, cf. Dārā Šikōh 1969; D’Onofrio 2009.

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Even contemporary historiography did not make allowances for the former heir apparent: although obviously shaped by Awrangzeb’s victory over his brothers, historical records probably reflect the common feeling among the Muslim grandees of that period. Consider how the author of the ‘Ālamgīr-nāma (ca. 1100/1688), for instance, states the facts about Dārā Šikōh: Dārā Shukoh in his later days did not restrain himself to the free-thinking and heretical notions which he had adopted under the name of taṣawwuf (Sufiism), but showed an inclination for the religion and institutions of the Hindūs. He was constantly in the society of Brāhmans, Jogīs and Sannyāsīs, and he used to regard these worthless teachers of delusions as learned and true masters of wisdom. He considered their books which they call Bed as being the Word of God, and revealed from heaven, and he called them ancient and excellent books. He was under such delusion about this Bed, that he collected Brāhmans and Sannyāsīs from all parts of the country, and paying them great respect and attention, he employed them in translating the Bed. He spent all his time in this unholy work, and devoted all his attention to the contents of these wretched books. Instead of the sacred name of God, he adopted the Hindū name Prabhū (lord), which the Hindūs consider holy, and he had this name engraved in Hindī letters upon rings of diamond, ruby, emerald, etc. […] Through these perverted opinions he had given up the prayers, fasting and other obligations imposed by the law. […] It became manifest that if Dārā Shukoh obtained the throne and established his power, the foundations of the faith would be in danger and the precepts of Islām would be changed for the rant of infidelity […].105

105. « Dar avāḫir-i ḥāl ba iẓhār-i marātib-i ibāḥat va ilḥād ki dar ṭab‘-i ū markūz būd va ān rā taṣavvuf nām mīnahād iktifā nanumūda ba dīn-i hinduvān va kīš u ā‘īn-i ān badkīšān mā’il šuda būd va hamvāra bā brahmanān va jūgīān va sannyāsīān ṣuḥbat mīdāšt va ān gurūh-i żāll-i mużill bāṭin rā muršidān-i kāmil va ‘ārifān-i ba ḥaqq vāṣil mīpindāšt va kitāb-i ānhā rā ki ba bēd mawsūm ast kitāb-i āsmānī va ḫaṭāb-i rabbānī mīdānist va maṣḥaf-i qadīm va kitāb-i karīm mīḫwānd va az kamīl-i i‘tiqād-i bāṭilī ki ba bēd-i bī ḥāṣil dāšt brahmanān va sannyāsīān az aṭrāf u aknāf ba sa‘īhāyi balīġ va ra‘āyathā-yi ‘aẓīm jam‘ āvarda dar ṣadad-i tarjuma-yi ān šud va hamvāra awqāt-aš maṣrūf-i īn šuġl-i nāṣavāb va tafakkur u tadabbur dar mażāmīn-i żalālat qarīn-i ān kitāb mīšud va ba jā-yi asmā’-i ḥusnā-yi ilāhī ismī hindavī ki hunūd ān rā prabhū mīnāmand va ism-i a‘ẓam mīdānand ba ḫaṭṭ-i hindavī bar nigīnhā-yi almās va yāqūt va zumurrud va ġayr-i ān az javāhir-i ki mīpūšid naqš karda […] banābar īn ‘aqīda-yi fāsida namāz va rūza va sāyir-i takālif-i šar‘iyya rā ḫayrbād gufta būd […] va īn ma‘nī bar hamkunān rawšan būd ki agar kār-i ū ba istiqlāl-i tamām garāyad va dar farmān-farmā’ī va ḥukm-ravā’ī muṭlaq al-‘anān gardad har ā’īna arkān-i šarī‘at-i ġarrā az ū pur ḫilal va ṣīt-i islām va īmān ba ṭanṭana-yi kufr […] mubaddal ḫwāhad gašt » (text: Muḥammad Kāẓim 1865-73, pp. 34-36; translation: Elliot 1877, p. 179). Similar views can be found in Ḫāfī Ḫān’s Muntaḫab al-lubāb (Ḫāfī Ḫān 1869-1925, vol. II, p. 87) and in Sāqī Must‘ad Ḫān’s Ma‘āṯir-i ‘Ālamgīrī (Sāqī Must‘ad Ḫān 1947, p. 4).

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On the Hindū side, we have unfortunately no comparable historical account of the response of the learned community to Dārā Šikōh’s enterprise. If we may judge from the abundance of Hindū paṇḍits and brahmins who seem to have had no qualms in giving the prince assistance in the translation of their own sacred Scriptures, we must assume that no religious prohibition of any sort prevented them from granting such aid.106 Yet some opposing voices could easily be found even among the Hindūs. For instance, many influential philosophers based in contemporary Benares – the very place Dārā Šikōh’s assistants hailed from – actively countered any interaction between Sanskrit knowledge and Perso-Arabic science, on the traditional assumption of the lack of signifying capacity (śakti) of vernacular and mleccha (i.e. barbaric, non-Aryan) languages: Consider the contrary position of mīmāmsā107 on such intercourse. […] During this epoch mīmāṃsakas along with others […] began to argue against the scientific status not just of Persian but even of the languages of Place (deśabhāṣās), in a way not seen since the attacks against the Buddhists and Jains mounted by Kumārila, for whom linguistic corruption (asādhuśabda) sufficed to render a discourse non-science (śāstratvaṃ na pratīyate). As Khaṇḍadeva put it in his kaustubha: «There does indeed exist a prohibition of a general moral scope […] applying to words of Barbara and other languages, since there is a prohibition against even learning them: ‘One should not learn a mleccha language.’ And in that scriptural statement there are no grounds […] for setting aside the conventional meaning of the word mleccha [that is, Parsiki, Persian, and romaka, French (?)]. […] Thus the prohibition on Barbara and other languages is purely of a general moral sort ».108

Therefore, according to such mīmāmsakas, Dārā Šikōh’s translations would not only be deprived of any real signifying power, but the Hindūs who learned Persian in order to participate in the translation work would also have acted immorally.

106. Cf. Pollock 2002, p. 438: « It is remarkable to reflect […] on how radically free were the Sanskrit intellectuals. No dogma enforced by institutional religious power, no censorship by an absolutist state, no threats of excommunication for heretical belief, no conflict with theological authority ever affected them ». 107. One of the six orthodox darśanas of Indian philosophy. 108. Pollock 2002, p. 427; see also Pollock 2001b, pp. 26-29.

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ABBREVIATIONS

Bṛ. Up. Ch. Up. Cūl. Up. DM Īś. Up. ka. Up. ke. Up. kaiv. Up. Maitr. Up. Māṇḍ. Up. MB Mnār. Up. Muṇḍ.Up. Praś. Up. SA Sarv. Up. SS Śv. Up. Taitt. Up.

Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad Chāndogya Upaniṣad Cūlikā Upaniṣad Dabistān-i Maḏāhib Īśāvāsya Upaniṣad kaṭha Upaniṣad kena Upaniṣad kaivalya Upaniṣad Maitrāyaṇīya Upaniṣad Māṇḍūkya Upaniṣad Majma‘ al-Baḥrayn Mahānārāyaṇa Upaniṣad Muṇḍaka Upaniṣad Praśna Upaniṣad Sirr-i Akbar Sarvasāra Upaniṣad Samudrasaṅgama Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad Taittirīya Upaniṣad

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Primary sources : Abū al-Fażl, ‘Allāmī, The Ā’īn-i akbarī, 2 vols., H. Blochmann, ed., Calcutta, 1872-1877. (Bibliotheca Indica 58). Banvalī Dās, Jōg bašist [Yogavāsiṣṭha], Tārā Čand - S. Amīr Ḥasan ‘ābidī, eds., Aligarh [translation made for Dārā Šikōh], 1968. Dārā Šikōh, – Safīnat al-awliyā’ (litogr.), n.p., 1853. – Majma‘-ul-Baḥrain or the Mingling of the Two Oceans. Edited in the original Persian with English translation, notes and variants by M. Mahfuz-ul-Haq, Calcutta, 1929. – Muntaḫabāt-i āṯār: risāla-yi Ḥaqq-numā, Majma‘ al-Baḥrayn, Upnikhat-i Mundak, S. Muḥammad Riżā Jalālī Nā’īnī, ed., Tehran, 1335š./1956. – Sakīnat al-awliyā’, Tārā Čand - S. Muḥammad Riżā Jalālī Nā’īnī, eds., Tehran, 1339š./1960. – Ūpānīšād (Sirr-i akbar), 2 vols., Tārā Čand - S. Muḥammad Riżā Jalālī Nā’īnī, eds., Tehran, 1340š./1961.

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– Diwan of Dara Shikoh (Iksir-i-a‘zam), Ahmad Nabi Khan, ed., Lahore, 1969. – Ḥasanāt al-‘ārifīn, S. Maḫdūm Rahīn, ed., Tehran, 1352š./1973. – Bhagavad-gītā. Surūd-i ilāhī, S. Muḥammad Riżā Jalālī Nā’īnī, ed., Tehrān [translation made for Dārā Šikōh], 1359š./1980. – Samudra-Saṅgamaḥ. Sampādak evaṃ vyākhyākār Ācārya Bābūlāl Śukla Śāstrī, Delhi-Varanasi, 1995. Ḫāfī Ḫān, The Muntaḫab al-lubāb of khāfī khān, 3 vols., Maulawī Kabīr al-Dīn Aḥmad, ed., Calcutta, 1869-1925. (Bibliotheca Indica 60). Mūbad, Kayḫusraw Isfandyār [attrib.], Dabistān-i Maḏāhib, 2 vols., Raḥīm Riżāzāda Malik, ed., Tehrān, 1362š./1983. Muḥammad Kāẓim, ibn Muḥammad Amīn Munšī, The ‘Ālamgīr-nāma, Khadim Husain and Abd al-Haiy, eds., Calcutta, 1865-1873. (Bibliotheca Indica 55). Olivelle, Patrick, The Early Upaniṣads. Annotated Text and Translation by Patrick Olivelle, New York, 1998. Rāmānuja, Vedārtha Saṅgraha, S. S. Raghavachar, ed., Kolkata, 2002. Sadānanda Yogīndra, Vedāntasāra, or The Essence of Vedānta, Swami Nikhilananda, ed., Mayavati, 19594. Śaṅkarācārya, Īśādidaśopaniṣadaḥ. Ten Principal Upaniṣads with Śaṅkarabhāṣya, Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 2000. Shastri, J. L., ed., Upaniṣatsaṃgrahaḥ. Containing 188 Upaniṣads. Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass, 1970.

secondary sources and translations : Anquetil Duperron ; Abraham Hyacinthe, 1801-1802 : Oupnek’hat (id est, Secretum tegendum). Opus ipsa in India rarissimum, continens antiquam et arcanam, seu theologicam et philosophicam, doctrinam, è quatuor sacris Indorum libris, rak Beid, Djedjr Beid, Sam Beid, Athrban Beid, excerptam; ad verbum è Persico idiomate, Samskreticis vocabulis intermixto, in latinum conversum; dissertationibus et annotationibus, difficiliora explanantibus, illustratum: studio et opera Anquetil Duperron. 2 vols., Paris, Argentorati, Typis et impensis fratrum Levrault. Athar Ali, M., 1992 : « Translations of Sanskrit Works at Akbar’s Court ». Social Scientist, 20, 9/10, pp. 38-45. Aufrecht, T., 1891-1903 : Catalogus Catalogorum. An alphabetical register of Sanskrit works and authors. 3 vols., Leipzig. Azhar Dehlavi, A. W., 1995 : « Hindu Scriptures in Persian Language », in : M. Shokakhani M. R. Rikhtehgaran, eds., Indo-iranian Thought. A World Heritage. New Delhi, pp. 12-29.

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Bernier, François, 1891 : Travels in the Moghul Empire, A.D. 1656-1668. A revised and improved edition based upon Irving Brock’s translation, by Archibald Constable. Westminster [first edition: Histoire de la dernière révolution des Etats du Grand Mogol, Paris, 1670]. Chand, Tara, 1943 : « Dara Shikoh and the Upanishads ». Islamic Culture, 17, pp. 397-413. Deutsch, E. - Dalvi, R., 2004 : The Essential Vedānta. A new Source Book of Advaita Vedānta. Bloomington. D’Onofrio, Svevo, – 2007 : « Un episodio significativo di islamizzazione di un testo sanscrito », in : D. Cevenini - S. D’Onofrio, eds., ‘Uyūn al-akhbār. Studi sul mondo islamico. 1. pp. 251-262. – 2009 : « “Che cos’è quest’ansia di ammazzare ?” Riflessi della tragedia e riflessioni sulla fede nel dīwān di Dārā Šīkōh », in : D. Cevenini - S. D’Onofrio, eds., ‘Uyūn al-akhbār. Studi sul mondo islamico. 3. Conflitti e dissensi nell’Islam, pp. 323-350. Elliot, H. M., 1877 : The History of India, as Told by Its Own Historians: the Muhammadan Period. London, vol. 7. Ernst, Carl W., 2003 : « Muslim Studies of Hinduism? A Reconsideration of Arabic and Persian Translations from Indian Languages ». Iranian Studies, 36, 2, pp. 173-195. Franci, Giorgio Renato, – 1982 : « Tradizione e filosofia del commento in una scuola di bhakti ». Atti del Primo Convegno nazionale di Studi Sanscriti. Torino, pp. 37-51. – 1984 : « Osservazioni sulla Gūḍhārthadīpikā ». Atti del Secondo Convegno nazionale di Studi Sanscriti. Torino, pp. 41-44. – 1991 : « Dal Vedānta alla bhakti al Vedānta ». Atti del Quarto e del Quinto Convegno nazionale di Studi Sanscriti. Torino, pp. 45-51. Gandhi, Gopal, 1993 : Dara Shukoh. A Play. New Delhi. Göbel-Groß, Erhard, 1963 : Sirr-i Akbar. Die persische Upaniṣadenübersetzung des Moḡul-prinzen Dārā Šukoh. Eine Untersuchung der Übersetzungs-methode und Textauswahl nebst der Praśna-Upaniṣad Sanskrit-Persisch-Deutsch. Marburg. Gode, P. K., – 1940 : « Bernier und Kavīndrācārva Sarasvatī at the Mughal Court ». The Annals of Sri Venkateswara Oriental Institute, 1, 4, pp. 1-16. – 1942 : « The Identification of Gosvāmi Nṛsiṃhāśrama of Dara Shukoh’s Sanskrit Letter with Brahmendra Sarasvatī of the Kavīndra Candrodaya (between A.D. 1628 and 1658) ». The Adyar library Bulletin, 4, 3, pp. 172-177. – 1943 : « Samudra-Saṅgama, a Philosophical Work by Dara Shukoh, Son of Shah Jahan, Composed in A.D. 1655 ». The Bharata Itihasa Samshodhak Mandal Quarterly, 94, pp. 75-88 (reprint: Poona 1943).

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Gorekar, N. S., 1965 : « Persian Language and Sanskritic Lore ». Indica, 2, pp. 107-119. Granoff, Phyllis, 1985 : « Scholars and Wonder-Workers: some remarks on the role of the supernatural in philosophical contests in Vedānta hagiographies ». Journal of the American Oriental Society, 105, 3, pp. 459-467. Habibullah, A. B. M., 1938 : « Medieval Indo-Persian Literature relating to Hindu Science and Philosophy, 1000-1800 A.D. ». Indian Historical Quarterly, 1, pp. 167-181. Hasrat, Bikrama Jit, 1953 : Dārā Shikūh: life and Works. Calcutta. Huart, Cl. - Massignon, L., 1926 : « Les entretiens de Lahore. Entre le prince impérial Dārā Shikūh et l’ascète hindou Baba La‘l Das ». Journal Asiatique, 209, 2, pp. 284-334. Jones, William, 1974 : Works. London. Klostermaier, Klaus K., 1990 : A Survey of Hinduism. New Delhi. Kunhan Raja, C., – 1940 : « A Sanskrit Letter of Mohamed Dara Shokuh ». The Adyar library Bulletin, 4, 3, pp. 87-94. – 1943 : « A Sanskrit Letter of Mohamed Dara Shokuh (translation) ». The Adyar library Bulletin, 8, 3, pp. 107-114. Lawrence, Bruce B., 1989 : « Bīrūnī. VIII. Indology ». Encyclopædia Iranica, vol. 4, fasc. 3, pp. 285-287. Massignon, L. - Kassim, A. M., 1926 : « Un essai de bloc islamo-hindou au xVIIe siècle. L’humanisme mystique du prince Dara ». revue du Monde Musulman, 63, pp. 1-14. Mujtabā’ī, Faṭh Allāh, – 1993 : « Dabestān-e maḏāheb ». Encyclopædia Iranica, vol. 6, fasc. 5, pp. 532534. – 1385/2006 : Mīr Abū’l Qāsim Findiriskī. Muntaḫab-i Jūg-bāsasht (Selections from the Yoga-vāsiṣṭha). Critical edition of the text and English translation with introductory studies, notes and glossary by Faṭhullāh Mujtabā’ī. Tehran. Piantelli, Mario, 1986 : « La “Māyā” nelle “Upaniṣad” di Schopenhauer ». Annuario filosofico, 2, pp. 163-207. Pollock, Sheldon, – 2001a : « The Death of Sanskrit ». Comparative Studies in Society and History, 43, 2, pp. 392-426. – 2001b : « New Intellectuals in seventeenth-century India ». The Indian Economic and Social History review, 38, 1, pp. 3-31. – 2002 : « Introduction: Working Papers on Sanskrit Knowledge-Systems on the Eve of Colonialism ». Journal of Indian Philosophy, 30, pp. 431-439.

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Potter, Karl H., – 1981 (ed.) : Encyclopaedia of Indian Philosophies. Volume III: Advaita Vedānta up to Śaṃkara and his Pupils. Princeton. – 19953 (ed.) : Encyclopaedia of Indian Philosophies. Volume I: Bibliography. Delhi. – 2006 (ed.) : Encyclopaedia of Indian Philosophies. Volume XI: Advaita Vedānta from 800 to 1200. Delhi. Qanungo, Kalika Ranjan, 1934 : Dara Shukoh. Calcutta. Rahim, M.A., 1965 : « Akbar and Translation Works ». Journal of the Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 10, pp. 101-119. Rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas, 1983 : A History of Sufism in India. 2 vols., New Delhi. Roest Crollius, Arij, 1988 : Spiritual Experience in the Meeting of Islam and Hinduism: The case of Dārā Shikūh. Tokyo. Sāqī Must‘ad Ḫān, 1947 : Ma‘āṯir-i ‘Ālamgīrī. A History of the Emperor Aurangzib-‘Ālamgīr, reign 16581707. Translated into English and Annotated by Jadunath Sarkar. Calcutta. (Bibliotheca Indica 269). Sastry, R. A. K., 1921 : kavindracharya list. Baroda. Sharma, S., 1982 : A Descriptive Bibliography of Sanskrit Works in Persian. New Delhi. Shayegan, Daryush, – 1979 : les relations de l’hindouisme et du soufisme d’après le Majma‘ al-Bahrayn de Dārā Shokūh. Paris. – 1990 : « Muḥammad Dārā Šikōh bonyāngoḏār-e ‘erfān-e taṭbiqī ». Irān nāme, 8, 2, pp. 198-224. Sheridan, Daniel P., 1986 : The Advaitic Theism of the Bhāgavata Purāṇa. Delhi. Shukla, N. S., 1974 : « Persian Translations of Sanskrit Works ». Indian Studies, 3, pp. 175-191.

DIALOGUE ENTRE LES NĀTH YOGĪS ET L’ISLAM Véronique Bouillier

Abstract: Since a few years some studies have dealt with the relationships between Sufis and Nāth Yogīs, seen from the Sufi side. This paper focuses on the Nāth perspective and on their dialogue with Islam, to the point that even the existence of Muslim Yogīs is reported. On these Muslim Yogīs we have scarce data, hence the interest of a curious text recently published by the Nāth Yogīs as a chapter of a book on their tradition, and entitled Mohammad Bodh: it is prescribed that this text has to be recited during the Ramadan by the Muslim Yogīs. Probably a compilation of older passages, it attests to a strong influence of Kabīr and contains many interesting formulas regarding the translation of Nāth and Islamic religious concepts. Another testimony of the dialogue between Nāth Yogīs and Islam can be seen in the group of legends surrounding the three related figures of Gogā, Ratannāth and Kāyānāth. Their complex link to Islam is based on their territorial location and expresses itself in their parallel position facing the Muslim political power.

Dans ce volume consacré à la circulation des idées et des textes entre le monde iranien et l’Inde, ma contribution analyse plusieurs aspects du dialogue entre la tradition musulmane et une secte religieuse, généralement reconnue comme hindoue, les Nāth yogīs. Il s’agira moins de revenir sur une tradition lettrée que d’étudier des pratiques, des croyances et des légendes, des multiples aspects d’une transmission sectaire toujours vivante. Mais si mon point de départ se trouve dans le présent, je m’efforcerai de le relier d’une part à la longue durée des récits légendaires et des personnages emblématiques, d’autre part aux sources historiques qui peuvent nous donner des éléments précis quant à l’importance de ce dialogue entre l’islam et les Nāth yogīs. Du point de vue musulman, les rencontres entre Nāth yogīs et soufis, principalement, ont été abondamment documentées. Depuis les travaux pionniers de Rizvi et de Digby1, ce dernier donnant à travers les témoignages de contacts individuels, « the triumphal rhetoric of the tales of Sufis humbling yogis »2, des études approfondies ont été consacrées à la circulation et aux 1. Rizvi 1970 ; Digby 1970. 2. Ernst 2005, p. 35.

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différents modes d’appropriation par les milieux soufis des textes yogiques concernant le haṭha yoga, en particulier les techniques de contrôle du souffle3. Dans le même temps l’historiographie contemporaine insiste sur la nécessaire remise en cause des catégories trop tranchées ; elle refuse une lecture essentialisante en termes d’influences religieuses ou de syncrétisme qui supposent l’existence de religions absolument constituées, ceci au détriment de la reconnaissance de la diversité des formes que revêt l’islam et de la fluidité que l’appellation générique d’hindouisme embrasse et que seule une approche contextuelle et historique permet de reconstituer4. Ma présentation se place dans cette double filiation : d’une part voir ces rencontres entre Nāth et soufis du point de vue des Nāth, ou pour me situer dans le prolongement du travail fondateur de Carl Ersnt, montrer « the participation of Muslims in the Nath Yogi tradition »5. Et, au-delà même, considérer une hybridité potentielle qui fait que Nile Green par exemple peut parler de « Sufi Yoga » et de « Muslim Yogis »6. Mais, d’autre part, chercher aussi un dépassement des oppositions dans une relation qu’on pourrait qualifier de dialogique où « deux logiques, deux principes sont unis sans que la dualité se perde dans cette unité »7. C’est dans la mise en œuvre de ce processus dialogique que l’on voit les Nāth juxtaposer, combiner et associer des éléments considérés comme relevant de l’hindouisme et de l’islam. Est-ce ce que veulent dire les yogīs quand ces dévots de Śiva déclarent parfois être « ni musulmans, ni hindous mais Nāth »8. 3. Voir Ernst 2003 ; Bhattacharya 2003-2004 ; Green 2008. 4. Voir entre autres les articles rassemblés par Gilmartin - Lawrence 2002. 5. Ersnt 2005, p. 38. 6. Mentionnons ici également les développements découverts par Thomas Dahnhardt sur les naqšbandī hindous, soit la diffusion de l’enseignement naqšbandī en milieu hindou et la mise en correspondance délibérée des conceptions ésotériques naqšbandī et yogiques, notamment autour des centres subtils et de la répétition du Nom de Dieu. Actuellement quatre lignées se réclament du premier disciple hindou naqšbandī, Ramcandra Saksena, un Kayasth initié en 1895 : les textes de Ramcandra montrent un usage fréquent « of a parallel terminology drawn from both traditions » et « the elaboration of a true spiritual synthesis », l’émergence d’une « cross-cultural sādhanā », Dahnhardt 2002, pp. 213, 262, 330. Dahnhardt insiste sur l’influence Kabīr-panthī sur Ramcandra et voit dans la synthèse opérée un renouvellement de la tradition des Sant (ou saints poètes, mouvement dévotionnel apparu au Maharashtra au XIIIe siècle, se développant dans toute l’Inde du Nord à partir du XVe selon différents courants d’adoration du divin non qualifié, ou nirguna bhakti), mais curieusement il ne mentionne qu’incidemment l’origine nāth yogī de toutes ces conceptions haṭha yogiques qu’il retouve chez Kabīr et néglige une influence éventuelle de la secte. 7. Morin 1990, p. 176. 8. Voir ces versets attribués à Gorakhnāth dans la Gorakh-bānī, śabd 69, qui situent les yogīs au-delà de cette distinction : « L’hindou médite dans un temple, le musulman dans une mosquée, le jogī médite sur le stade ultime, là où n’est ni temple ni mosquée. // L’hindou parle de Rām, le

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Cependant c’est l’idée que des Nāth yogīs puissent envisager d’être considérés comme musulmans qui nous arrêtera ici, les références qu’ils font à l’islam, les témoignages de contacts et de proximité. Les Nāth yogīs sont connus aussi sous le nom de Gorakhnāthis, du nom de leur fondateur Gorakhnāth qui aurait sans doute vécu au XIIe siècle au nord-ouest de l’Inde, ou encore Kānphaṭā yogīs, les « yogīs aux oreilles fendues » en raison de leur marque identitaire spécifique : de larges anneaux d’oreilles qui percent le cartilage. De multiples témoignages attestent de leur vitalité et de leur importance pendant toute la période pré-moderne notamment dans tout le nord et l’ouest du souscontinent, la croyance en leurs pouvoirs surnaturels leur attirant la faveur des princes. Se situant dans la mouvance du tantrisme, adeptes du haṭha yoga, dévots de formes violentes de Śiva, ils ont fait forte impression sur leurs contemporains. Gyrovagues, ils ont également fondé des monastères qui opèrent comme des points d’ancrage, des lieux où la tradition sotériologique et rituelle se perpétue et se renouvelle9. A côté de ce pôle ascétique réservé aux yogīs pleinement initiés et ayant renoncé à la vie de maître de maison, on trouve des communautés plus imprécises, des castes qui se disent jogī et ont Gorakhnāth pour divinité lignagère. De sa fondation à nos jours, la secte des Nāth yogīs a maintenu ses traditions vivantes, s’est adaptée aux changements socio-politiques, notamment aux changements de patronage, et a suscité des formes nouvelles d’organisation. C’est ainsi que s’est constituée une Yogī Mahāsabhā (Assemblée des yogīs) et que sous son égide ont été publiés deux volumes en hindi visant à préserver la mémoire de la tradition et de ses « secrets » : le second, le Śrī Nāth Rahasya musulman de Khudā, mais le jogī parle de l’Invisible, où n’est ni Rām ni Khudā », Barthwal 1994, p. 25. Je citerai plus loin dans cet article une assertion analogue à propos des rites funéraires. Kabīr prend également cette position de considérer les jogīs comme un groupe différent des hindous et des musulmans, lorsqu’il dit : « The Jogī cries : ‘Gorakh, Gorakh !’ // The Hindu invoques the name of Rām, // The Musulmān cries : ‘Khuda is One’ ! // But the Lord of Kabīr pervades all », Kabīr -Granthāvalī, Pada 128, 7-8, cité in Vaudeville 1974, p. 88. Il est difficile de donner une date précise à ces formulations. Une anecdote rapportée par ‘Abd al-Qādir Badā’ūnī (m. 1595) inscrit dans l’espace cette différence revendiquée : « His Majesty [Akbar] built outside the town [of Agra] two places for feeding poor Hindūs and Musulmāns, one of them being called Khairpūra, and the other Dharmpūrah [...] As an immense number of Jogīs also flocked to this establishment, a third place was built, which got the name of Jogīpūrah », Badā’ūnī 1986, p. 334. Le Dabistān-i maḏāhib (circa 1670) attribué à Mūbad Šāh, semble lui voir dans cette position médiane la possibilité de se fondre avec les uns et les autres : « When among Muslims, they [the jogis] are scrupulous about fasting and ritual prayer, but when with Hindus, they practice the religion of this group. None of the forbidden things is prohibited in their sect, whether they eat pork according to the custom of Hindus and Christians, or beef according to the religion of Muslims and others », dans la traduction proposée par Ersnt 2005, p. 37. 9. Voir Bouillier 2008.

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(Secrets de Śrī Nāth), par Yogī Vilasnāth, est un recueil de mantras et d’invocations variées à énoncer en fonction des rituels10. Or dans la dernière section de cet ouvrage, un passage attire l’œil : il est intitulé Mohammad Bodh, « la Sagesse de Muḥammad ».

MOHAMMAD BODH Ce texte d’une cinquantaine de lignes, fait de versets assez brefs, est destiné à être récité. Et c’est en période de ramadan que cette récitation doit être effectuée. Voici sous quelles modalités précises : Là où vous faites votre sādhanā [pratique spirituelle], installez une image de Gorakhnāth, une statue ou ses empreintes de pieds ou encore un kalaś [cruche] au nom de Śrī Nāthjī. Durant le mois de Ramadan, vous réciterez ce texte chaque jour, après avoir fait la pūjā de Śrī Nāth. Installez-vous, dîtes le mantra de la posture, puis la Gorakṣa gāyatrī11, après quoi récitez ce Mohammad Bodh neuf fois. Immédiatement après récitez le gurūmantra 108 fois. Faites ce rituel trois fois par jour, à l’aube, au milieu du jour, et au crépuscule. A l’aube avant que le soleil ne se lève, vous ferez, après la récitation, offrande de lait et de galette12 que vous mangerez ensuite. Puis du lever au coucher du soleil, abstenez-vous de toute nourriture et boisson. A midi, récitez à nouveau neuf fois ce texte puis disposez une offrande de fruits [devant Gorakhnāth]. Au crépuscule, après le coucher du soleil, faites votre récitation puis préparez une offrande de khicṛi [mélange de riz et lentilles] sucré. La nuit, après le lever de la lune, mangez le khicṛi et les fruits de midi. Agissez de cette manière pendant vingt-neuf jours puis le 30ème jour, le jour de Mīthī Id13, ne récitez le Mohammad Bodh que trois fois. Ce jour là, donnez nourriture et vêtements en dakṣiṇā à un fakīr ou un Śrī Nāth14. Donnez aux 10. Vilāsnāth Yogī 2005. 11. Dont le texte est donné dans le même manuel et qui commence par les trois mêmes invocations que le Mohammad Bodh : sat namo ādeś / gurūjī ko ādeś / om gurūjī, Vilāsnāth Yogī 2005, p. 174. 12. Roṭ, la galette cuite sous la cendre du feu ascétique (dhūnī), offrande particulière aux Nāth et faite généralement à Bhairav. 13. « ‘Id le sucré », ou ‘Id al-Fiṭr, dernier jour du ramadan ; on y fait des offrandes sucrées que l’on mange, d’où son nom ici. 14. C’est à dire un yogī de la secte des Nāth. Remarquons ici l’égalité des ascètes nāth et des faqirs musulmans comme destinataires de ce qui est qualifié ici de dakṣiṇā, le don liturgique hindou par excellence, les honoraires sacrificiels.

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pauvres et à toutes les créatures vivantes. Après avoir ainsi récité le Mohammad Bodh un total de 786 fois15, vous obtiendrez le fruit désiré.16

Qu’est-ce donc que ce Mohammad Bodh, cette « Sagesse de Muḥammad », qui pour un lecteur nāth évoque immédiatement le Gorakh Bodh, un des textes les plus connus attribués à Gorakhnāth ? Il s’agit d’un texte hybride, elliptique, probablement compilé à partir de sources diverses, en prose mais gardant trace d’anciennes versifications (rimes internes, ordre des mots, allitérations et répétitions phoniques)17. Le compilateur actuel dit avoir traduit ce texte de l’ourdou en hindi ; cet « hindi » se présente en fait comme une langue mixte avec de nombreux archaïsmes vernaculaires. Le texte présente en outre l’intérêt de proposer une traduction ou un commentaire hindi entre parenthèses des termes considérés comme propres à la tradition musulmane et donnés en ourdou ou arabo-persan. Or on constate à l’examen que nombre de passages présentent un grande similarité avec les textes attribués au saint poète mystique Kabīr (m. circa 1448) et notamment le Bījak. Les réflexions de Charlotte Vaudeville sur la « langue composite » de Kabīr, ses fréquents « emprunts à la langue religieuse de l’islam » quand le contexte le demande, ainsi que ses « déformations morphologiques, l’absence de toute syntaxe et l’extraordinaire confusion des formes verbales [qui] rendent souvent l’interprétation du texte assez hasardeuse »18 s’appliquent également volontiers au Mohammad Bodh. Les allusions nombreuses du texte à la dimension intérieure de la quête spirituelle et à son unicité, loin des divisions religieuses, renvoient également à Kabīr, dont on sait par ailleurs la connaissance profonde du haṭha yoga et de la tradition nāth19. Il existe par ailleurs dans la littérature Kabīrpanthī un texte intitulé Granth Muhammad Bodh, « un dialogue imaginaire entre le prophète Muḥammad et Kabīr » dont Yusuf Husain dans un travail remarquable de 1929 rapporte quelques passages20 ; le style est néanmoins assez éloigné de notre texte. Remarquons le paradoxe de cette compilation proposée par les Nāth : emprunter à Kabīr, le pourfendeur des rites, pour élaborer un texte à réciter scrupuleusement un certain nombre de fois pendant le ramadan et pour obtenir ce qu’on désire !

15. 786 est l’équivalent numérologique de la basmala, la formule « Au nom d’Allāh ». 16. Vilāsnāth Yogī 2005, pp. 526-527. 17. Je remercie vivement tous ceux dont j’ai sollicité l’aide pour la compréhension de ce texte difficile à interpréter : tout particulièrement Dominique-Sila Khan et Harshvardan Singh Chauhan, Mushirul Hasan et Abdul Bismillah, Catherine Servan-Schreiber et Azhar Abbas. 18. Vaudeville 1959, pp. 19-20. 19. Vaudeville 1987 ; Lorenzen 2005. 20. Husain 1929, pp. 99-101.

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Salut21 au Nom Véritable, salut au gurū, Om Gurūjī ! Alhā [sic] bismillā (devtā)22 Rām, c’est Rahīm23. Om, c’est Mohammad. La tête, c’est la mosquée (mandir, temple). Le crâne, c’est madār (kom, secte ou communauté)24. L’oreille, c’est le Coran (śuddh granth, le livre saint). L’œil, c’est le Prophète (paigambar)25. Le nez, c’est la tombe (samādhi)26. La bouche, c’est la Mecque (siddh sthal, un lieu sacré). La main, c’est l’Excellent27. Le ventre, c’est l’enfer (Agni)28. Le pied, c’est le Messager29. Le corps est pur [pāk, traduit dans le texte par śuddh]. Le Bienfaiteur, c’est Dieu [khudā, glosé par devtā]. La compréhension [arabe ‘aql], c’est le pīr (gurū). L’esprit, c’est le disciple (celā). Le corps, c’est le martyr30. La colère est interdite (beīman yā pāp, indignité ou péché). La convoitise est une faute.31

A la suite de ces séries d’équivalence, le texte propose, outre quelques sentences générales et injonctions de bonne conduite, ainsi que sans doute des allusions à des légendes locales (par exemple ces phrases énigmatiques : « du 21. Ādeś, ordre ou injonction, mais aussi la forme usuelle de salutation chez les Nāth. 22. La formule « Au nom d’Allāh » (écrit ici de manière erronée Alhā), est glosée dans le texte par la parenthèse, devtā, Dieu. Dorénavant, les traductions ou gloses en hindi données dans le texte même seront mentionnées entre parenthèses accompagnées de ma traduction en français ; les mots même du texte ainsi que mes ajouts ou commentaires sont entre crochets. 23. Raḥīm, le Miséricordieux, un des noms d’Allāh ; cette équivalence Rām/Raḥīm se rencontre fréquemment dans les textes, hymnes, poèmes ou chants, qui empruntent leur vocabulaire aux deux traditions et veulent en dépasser les différences. 24. Le sens est incertain : madār peut signifier axe, mais la traduction entre parenthèse par kom (de l’arabe qaum), « secte » ou « communauté », peut faire penser ici à une allusion à la tradition de Šāh Madār et des Madārī, dont on sait la proximité avec les Nāth. 25. Le mot d’origine arabe nabī est expliqué par le mot d’origine persane, paigambar, les deux étant employés en hindi. 26. Le mot kabar, de l’arabe qabr, tombe, est glosé ici par le terme qui désigne les sépultures des ascètes hindous, samādhi, mot à double entente à la fois tombe et état de contemplation extatique dans lequel serait plongé l’ascète enseveli. 27. Hazrat (ḥaẓrat), « excellence », « majesté », titre donné couramment au Prophète et aux saints, glosé ici par mān mānyatā dene vāle, « celui qui donne crédit à l’honneur ». 28. Le mot d’origine persane dozakh, qui signifie lui-même déjà à la fois enfer et ventre est glosé ici par le nom du dieu hindou du feu. 29. Rasūl, en arabe « messager » ou « prophète », est glosé par « le livre saint éternel » : une équivalence entre la transmission assurée par Muḥammad et celle du Coran ? Par ailleurs le rapprochement entre le pied, ici l’arabe qadam, et le Prophète est sans doute une allusion à ces empreintes de pied appelées qadam-i Rasūl laissées par Muḥammad partout où il a marché et vénérées dans tout le monde musulman. 30. Le terme arabe śahīd (šahīd), bien connu, est expliqué par un autre terme arabo-persan qurbānī, plus technique et désignant la victime sacrificielle. 31. Vilāsnāth Yogī 2005, pp. 524-525.

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pot tomba une mouche. Il l’enleva et mangea la nourriture offerte par le badśāh »), des réflexions qui nous intéressent en ce qu’elles traitent des différences religieuses, des catégories, des musulmans, des hindous et des Nāth. Réfléchis à deux mots : qui est un kāfir32, qui est un cadavre [murdār]. Nous ne sommes pas des kāfir, nous sommes des fakīr (mahātmā) qui sommes assis sur la rive du lac33 [...] Pourquoi dire kāfir ? Le kāfir c’est celui qui lance des injures et ne craint pas Allāh le Seigneur [...] N’accepte pas d’argent au nom de Dieu. O musulman, garde toujours la vision de la mort [...] Ne cesse jamais de réciter la pure kalmā (śuddh prārthanā, pure prière)34. N’accepte pas le mal. Celui qui est musulman se détourne de l’enfer pour aller au paradis [...] Vālaikam Salām, o frère, éloigne les ténèbres de ton cœur. Blanc est le vêtement de la mort. Mourir, c’est aller vers Dieu35. En Mohammad reconnaissez la mère, en l’homme accompli [siddhak] reconnaissez le pīr. Où mettre les pieds, où mettre la tête ? De ce côté-ci mettre les pieds, de ce côté-là la tête36. Dites Rām Khudāī37 [...]. Faisant haq haq (allā ko pukārā-prārthanā karnā, faire l’appel à la prière de Allāh), le mullā (niyamse namāz paḍhne vālā, celui qui enseigne la prière selon la loi) a parlé, il a fait entendre l’appel à la prière [bāng] à la mosquée et le trentième jour du jeûne il a répandu le sang38. Cherchez, vous ne trouverez pas même une graine de moutarde39. Gorakh dit que [Dieu] est en chacun de nous. Ce ne sont pas les

32. Kāfir, le terme consacré désignant les infidèles, c’est-à-dire les non-musulmans, est ici glosé par nīce karma karne vālā, « celui qui commet des actes indignes », position morale que la suite du texte va conforter et dont on trouve de nombreux exemples dans la littérature réformiste. Par exemple un texte dans la mouvance Dadupanthi de Garib Dās (1717-1778) évoque précisément : « Kafir is one who gives no charity, / one who quarrels with the saints [...] // He who sacrifices animal. / A kafir is a worshipper of idols // A kafir steals crops, kills the peacock, / and is addicted to tobacco and other intoxicants », Datta 1999, p. 43. Le jeu sur les mots kāfir/fakīr est aussi classique. 33. Le lac (sarvar), une image de l’océan de l’existence que le fakīr s’apprête à traverser ? 34. Kalmā – ou également kalimā en hindi – ou šahāda, la profession de foi musulmane : La-ilāha illā-llāh. Il n’y a d’autre Dieu que Dieu. 35. Ici haq, le Vrai, un des noms d’Allāh (al-Ḥaqq) mais le commentaire entre parenthèses est hissā, la part, la partie, ce qui est aussi un des sens de haq, mais me paraît ici hors contexte. 36. Une allusion à la position du corps dans la tombe ? En Inde les musulmans sont enterrés la tête au nord, le visage tourné vers l’ouest (la direction de la Mecque). 37. Voir Kabīr, Bijāk, śabd 10 : « on dit Rām, sinon [on dit] Khuda », Husain 1929, p. 58. 38. Voir Kabīr Bijāk, śabd 10 :« Le Turc fait ses prières, observe le jeûne et crie à haute voix le bismil. Comment aurait-il le paradis ? Il tue une volaille chaque soir », Husain 1929, p. 58. Une autre interprétation suggérée par Azhar Abbas que je remercie, serait, en modifiant la ponctuation, « il a perdu (tué) les trente jours à chercher, il n’a [même] pas trouvé une graine de moutarde ». 39. Rāī, la graine de moutarde, figure aussi chez Kabīr comme image de l’infiniment petit : « Il fait tenir la montagne dans la graine de moutarde », Husain 1929, p. 89.

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ablutions qui rendent pur, ce n’est pas de dire l’appel à la prière qui fait la réputation40. L’hindou prie dans un temple, le musulman dans une mosquée41. Le fakīr prie l’Unique, là où il semble y avoir deux, Bābā Adam et Bībī Havā42. À la Mecque et Médine, [si] tu fais offrande, donne à manger la première galette [roṭī] à un fakīr. Si tu ne la donnes pas, que la coupe éclate, que se brise la poêle. Le fakīr joue du souffle de son esprit. [Si] on te dit hindou, alors frappe : le musulman aussi est nāth43. Dans la marionnette faite des cinq éléments [panctattva kā pūtlī] se joue l’invisible44 [...] Nous ne naissons ni hindous ni musulmans45. Suivons les six sytèmes [darśan], Rahmān46. Nous sommes ivres du Seigneur47. Que celui qui a tué quelqu’un, reste éloigné. Celui qui invoque Allāh sera semblable au Prophète [Hazrat], par Allāh [billā]. Je dois lire la kalmā en entier, je dois la lire. Sans kalmā il n’y a rien. Examine et cherche ce qu’il y a à l’intérieur de la kalmā [...] Tu as respecté le jeûne, pourquoi n’as-tu pas cherché au fond de ton corps et de ton âme ? Tu es allé à la Mecque, pourquoi n’as-tu pas fait de ton cœur une Mecque ?48 Si tu t’immerges dans l’œil du Seigneur immaculé et y demeures le cœur sincère, partout autour de toi sera la Mecque. Qui appeler blanc, qui noir ? Dedans et dehors il n’y a qu’un Seigneur [maulā] (mālik). [Qu’importe] le visage et les traits du Seigneur, il prend toutes les formes. Le voile qui faisait écran s’est ouvert. Regarde où tu veux, [soit] le gurū des hindous, [soit] le pīr des musulmans. Ce sont tous des fakīr de Bābā Adam. Brûlez un hindou en position allongée. Enterrez un musulman en position allongée. Au milieu placez un Śrī Nāthjī en position assise. Si l’un des deux se lève,

40. Cf. Kabīr : « A quoi bon faire des ablutions et des purifications et te laver le visage ? // A quoi bon te prosterner à la mosquée ? // Si tu récites tes prières avec un cœur fourbe // à quoi bon faire le pèlerinage de la Ka’aba ? », Vaudeville 1959, p. 73. 41. La même affirmation dans la Gorakh-bānī et dans la tradition des Sant (cf. note 8), par exemple chez Nāmdev : « Les Hindous font leurs dévotions dans les temples, les Musulmans dans les mosquées. Il [Nāmdev] sert le Nom qui n’a ni temple ni mosquée », Husain 1929, p. 121. 42. Est-ce une allusion à l’Absolu, l’Unique, dans lequel se résorbe l’opposition du masculin et du féminin, à l’union de Śiva et Śaktī pour les Nāth hindous ? 43. Une affirmation claire à la fois des identités religieuses et de la voie nāth comme au-delà de ces distinctions, les englobant. 44. Gaibī, suivi du commentaire « parda ke pīce », comme « derrière un voile ». 45. De multiples occurrences chez Kabīr, par exemple : « Il n’y avait ni Turc ni Hindou dans le sang de la mère et dans la semence du père », Bijāk, ramainī 40, Husain 1929, p. 59. 46. Le compatissant, un titre d’Allāh. On peut lire la phrase différemment : « nous suivons les six systèmes et sommes compatissants ». 47. Ici le terme arabe rabb. La formule matvāle rabb est glosée par « celui qui cultive le Seigneur (pālne vālā Khudā) ». 48. Kabīr : « Pourquoi aller en pèlerinage à la Mecque ? [...] C’est dans le cœur qu’il faut chercher », Bijak, śabd 97, Husain 1929, p. 60.

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donnez-lui deux coups49. Il y a cent quatre vingt mille fils de Brahmā et Mohammad a pris le nom de Mritak Nāth [le Seigneur de la mort]. C’est ainsi que s’achève le Mohammad Bodh. Śrī Śambhujatī Gurū Gorakhnāth, assis au bord du fleuve à Attock, l’a enseigné à Mohammad50. Salut à Śrī Nāthjī gurūjī. Salut [ādeś].51

Qui sont donc ces Nāth musulmans qui invoquent ainsi leur Dieu durant le ramadan ? Le même ouvrage, Śrī Nāth rahasya, après avoir donné la liste des panth, des groupes qui composent la secte, ajoute qu’il existe encore d’autres sousgroupes ainsi que « quelques yogīs musulmans [...] jogī maîtres de maison, adeptes des incantations et de la magie »52. Les auteurs britanniques des gazetteers et census consacrés à l’Inde du Nord les mentionnent également53. Citons Rose décrivant les « Tribes and Castes of the Punjab and North-West Frontier Provinces ». Sous l’entrée Jogi, on trouve une sorte de catalogue à la fois très détaillé et confus des différentes branches nāth, de leurs traditions et légendes. Parmi elles, Rose mentionne trois groupes principaux de musulmans : « The Bachhowalia is a group of Muhammedan Jogis [...] They are chroniclers or panegyrists, and live on alms [...] Originally Hindus they adopted Islam and took to begging [...] Another Muhammedan group is that of the Kal-pelias as the disciples of Isma’il are sometimes called [...] The Rawals, however, are the most important of the Muhammedan Jogi groups. Found mainly in the western districts they wander far and wide [...] 49. C’est insister ici sur la différence entre les pratiques funéraires des Nāth, enterrés en position assise, contrairement aux musulmans enterrés allongés et aux hindous brûlés. Mais ce à quoi fait allusion la phrase suivante, « deux coups à celui qui se lève », n’est pas clair. 50. On peut voir ici un écho de l’opinion que le Dabistān-i maḏāhib (XVIIe siècle) attribue aux yogīs de son temps : « Their belief is that Muhammad (to whom be peace) was also a pupil and disciple of Gorakhnath, but, from fear of the Musulmans, they dare not declare it », Mubed 1993, p. 129. 51. Vilāsnāth Yogī 2005, pp. 525-526. 52. Vilāsnāth Yogī 2005, p. 534. 53. Les données des census sont difficilement utilisables étant donné l’imprécision des catégories répertoriées. Le Census de 1901 distingue par exemple quatre groupes ainsi libellés : Faqir, Hindu (436.803) ; Jogi, Hindu (659.891) ; Jogi, Muhammadan (43.139) ; Natha, Hindu (45.463). Ces chiffres se rapporteraient à l’Inde entière, par ailleurs Briggs précise que, en 1891 : « of the Yogīs reported in the Panjab, 38.137 were Musalmāns », ce qui implique une diminution considérable à l’échelle de l’Inde entre 1891 et 1901, ou plutôt la non-pertinence des catégories, Briggs 1973, p. 5. Crooke donne, pour les North-Western Provinces, la « distribution of the Jogis according to the Census of 1891 » : Aughar (4.317), Gorakhpanthi (13.133), Others (60.937), Muhammadans (17.593), Crooke 1975, p. 63. Même si on ne sait pas vraiment ce qu’ils recouvrent, ces chiffres révèlent l’importance du phénomène.

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Their name is said to be a corruption of the Persian rawinda, ‘traveller,’ ‘wanderer’ »54. Ces notations sont reprises par G. W. Briggs, l’auteur bien connu de la première étude de grande ampleur sur les Nāth yogīs, qui ajoute simplement à la liste « the Jāfir Pīrs, well known in Punjab, Kanphatas, followers of Ranjha »55. Quant au Bengale, Dasgupta constate la popularité des histoires et récits chantés nāth, ce qui donne naissance à ce qu’il appelle « Muslim yogic literature »56. Et il ajoute : « In the United Provinces the yogi singers are generally called Bhartharīs or Bhartṛharīs. They sing the song of Gopī-cānd [...] They are by religion Mahomedans. They seem to be descendants of their yogi forefathers and have inherited their yogi songs as well »57.

LES BHARTRIHARI JOGīS Dépassant ces mentions récurrentes mais peu documentées de l’existence de yogīs musulmans, Catherine Servan-Schreiber est, à ma connaissance, la seule à en avoir étudié un groupe, celui justement de ces Bhartrihari Jogīs d’Uttar Pradesh notés par Dasgupta. Ce sont des chanteurs-musiciens à la fois itinérants et maîtres de maison. Présentant l’apparence des yogīs (vêtement ocre, pinces à feu, besace) hormis les anneaux d’oreille, ils pérégrinent selon un cycle spatiotemporel précis, en chantant les grands récits épiques de la tradition nāth, notamment ceux du héros éponyme de leur groupe Bhartrihari et de Gopīcand. C’est grâce à leurs tournées qui les mènent aussi bien dans les sanctuaires hindous que les lieux-saints musulmans, que le répertoire nāth continue à se diffuser et à imprégner la sensibilité religieuse locale. Or « étant musulmans, ces Yogīs observent les cinq obligations de la loi islamique, suivent les fêtes calendaires musulmanes »58. Chantant leur répertoire pour les grandes fêtes shivaïtes et les rites du cycle de vie, notamment les mariages et les « veillées funéraires [durant lesquelles ils chantent] les nirguns, chants mystiques rappelant la vanité du monde et exhortant au renoncement », ils sont également « en tant que fakirs musulmans, [...] gardiens de cimetière ou de petits sanctuaires, reçoivent les dons d’argent, de literie et de vêtements de la fin du deuil et de la fête de rupture du jeûne »59. Et apparemment, même s’ils se

54. Rose 1919, vol. 2, pp. 407-408. 55. Briggs 1973, p. 71. 56. Dasgupta 1976, p. 370. 57. Dasgupta 1976, p. 369, note 2. 58. Servan-Schreiber 1999, p. 29. 59. Servan-Schreiber 1999, p. 31.

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réclament de Bhartrihari et honorent particulièrement les lieux qui lui sont consacrés – généralement des grottes où il est censé avoir médité – ils n’appartiennent pas nécessairement à la branche, au panth qui porte ce nom mais peuvent être Rawal (on retrouve ici la prédominance musulmane de ce panth) ou encore Aipanth60. Bien que n’étant pas porteurs des anneaux et ressortissant plus d’une caste sectaire que d’une adhésion à une discipline de salut, ils n’en appartiennent pas moins à cette nébuleuse yogique dont les Kānphaṭā ou Nāth forment le noyau dur. C’est à eux aussi que s’adressent les enseignements du Śrī Nāth rahasya : ce que doit faire un bon yogī musulman en période de ramadan.

RENCONTRES LéGENDAIRES : GOGā, RATAN ET KāYāNāTH Dans le vaste répertoire légendaire de la tradition Nāth, les aventures des princes devenus yogīs continuent d’être narrées ou chantées : les bardes itinérants sont maintenant enregistrés sur cassettes ! Parmi ces héros certains présentent une relation intéressante à l’islam, une ambiguïté, que fait ressortir la multiplicité des versions de leurs hauts faits. C’est le cas des trois personnages que je vais évoquer ici : Gogā, Ratannāth et Kāyānāth. Quoique parfaitement distinctes, leurs légendes se croisent et témoignent de sources d’inspiration communes. Leur lien est sans doute à la fois géographique et historique : un contexte culturel d’avancée de l’islam dans une région qui est celle de toute l’Inde du Nord, où aujourd’hui encore se célèbre le culte de Gogā. Dès sa naissance, due à la bénédiction de Gorakhnāth, Gogā appartient indubitablement à la lignée des héros nāth et témoigne, dans les divers épisodes de sa vie, de la thématique constante de ces récits : le déchirement entre la vie de prince, ses devoirs et ses plaisirs, et le renoncement, la quête du bien ultime. Gogā, combattant valeureux, prince amoureux et ascète nāth initié par Gorakhnāth (mentionnons en outre son étrange relation aux serpents), meurt dans et de ces contradictions. C’est sa mort qui va nous retenir ici. Elle est fort différente dans deux groupes de versions : – l’un qui a tendance à se répandre parallèlement aux visions communalistes du passé : Gogā est un rajput Chauhan qui fédère autour de lui les petits royaumes rajasthanis contre l’ennemi musulman, le souverain, le bādśāh (dont l’identité précise est sujette à variations). Ce dernier, par une ruse de guerre 60. Les Nāth yogīs sont répartis en différentes branches ou panth, en principe au nombre de douze. Le panth Aī est le seul à avoir une déesse pour divinité tutélaire. Le principal monastère de cette branche est celui de Asthal Bohar à Rohtak (Haryana), voir Bouillier 2008, chap. 13.

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particulièrement perverse – ou habile –, progresse sur le champ de bataille entouré d’un troupeau de vaches. Bien évidemment Gogā et les siens ne peuvent attaquer ce « bouclier bovin » et meurent en héros hindous. – L’autre version, est celle que j’appellerai la version ancienne car elle est la seule connue des compilateurs britanniques, et elle est surtout celle qui donne sens au sanctuaire actuel, au samādhi, au tombeau de Gogā à Gogamedhi au nord de la Shekhavati. Gogā remplit son devoir de Ksatriya au cours de maints combats locaux, parfois allié, parfois opposant à des souverains musulmans, sans que ce détail ne prenne un sens particulier. Mais au cours d’un combat, il est obligé de tuer ses cousins et ramène leurs têtes en trophée. Sa mère, alors, le maudit et le chasse de son palais et du lit de son épouse. Renonçant par force, il décide de mourir, invoque Gorakhnāth et souhaite « que la terre l’ensevelisse ! » Ici nous avons deux versions : soit la Terre refuse et déclare n’abriter en son sein que les musulmans. Soit Gorakhnāth refuse de donner à Gogā la samādhi gāyatri, le mantra de l’absorption finale, car il lui a donné la vie. Dans les deux cas, Gorakhnāth adresse Gogā au saint Ratan Bābā pour qu’il l’initie à la kalimā, qu’il fasse donc de lui un musulman et que, alors, il puisse être enseveli ! Dans ce récit, la kalimā est donc présentée comme la possibilité d’une mort qui est accès à la vision de l’absolu, comme la formule samādhi gāyatri le suggère, samādhi étant la tombe mais surtout la phase ultime de la démarche yogique. Il s’agit plutôt ici d’initiation à l’islam que de conversion, la kalimā étant vue comme une formule mantrique efficace. C’est ce Gogā islamisé qu’honore son sanctuaire en forme de mosquée, répété à l’infini dans les répliques miniatures qui jalonnent campagnes et villages des Etats du nord-ouest. En marbre blanc, cubique, dominé par quatre fins minarets, le sanctuaire ne contient que la tombe de Gogā, de style islamique mais ornée d’un bas-relief représentant Gogā à cheval : la coexistence des deux traditions, hindoue dans la sculpture et musulmane dans la forme, du tombeau, reflète celle des cultes : les desservants sont en effet et hindous et musulmans et les deux formes de culte, namāz et āratī61, sont effectuées quotidiennement, de même que se pressent les fidèles des deux confessions. Personnage énigmatique dans la geste de Gogā, passeur vers l’islam, qui est Ratan Bābā ? Les récits qui le concernent sont nombreux et – ce qui fait son intérêt ici pour nous –, font de lui tantôt un maître soufi tantôt un ascète nāth62. 61. Cérémonie d’hommage aux divinités caractérisée par la rotation d’une ou plusieurs lampes à huile devant les effigies. Ici les desservants musulmans font les cinq prières quotidiennes et l’officiant hindou l’offrande de lumière, matin et soir. 62. Voir Horovitz 1914 ; Bouillier 1997 ; Bouillier - Khan 2009.

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Mentionné dans la tradition musulmane comme un compagnon du Prophète doté d’une longévité exceptionnelle, violemment contesté dans cette même tradition, il est pour les Nāth un disciple direct de Gorakhnāth qui se fait reconnaître et honorer par les musulmans, en particulier par leur souverain, grâce à ses pouvoirs exceptionnels. Quels que soient les récits, son aire d’influence s’étend sur tout le nord-ouest, du Khorasan au Punjab (et au Népal pour les Nāth) et c’est à Bhatinda (Punjab), l’ancienne Tabarhind, qu’il passe la fin de sa vie et est enterré. C’est là aussi que Gogā aurait été le voir pour recevoir la kalimā, alors que d’autres récits locaux font de Bhatinda le lieu de sa mort au combat contre le roi musulman63. Bhatinda où se trouve toujours la dargāh de Bābā Ratan Ḥājjī, naguère desservie par les faqirs Madārī, semble donc le point d’ancrage d’une nébuleuse de récits et de cultes autour de Gogā et Ratan. Curieusement toutefois le culte de Ratan est à l’origine d’une branche particulière de la tradition nāth qui s’est développée à partir du XVIIe en Afghanistan et dans l’actuel Pakistan et qui place, elle, la tombe de Ratan à Charbagh près de Kaboul. Cette tradition qui se nomme Har Śrī Nāth, s’est repliée maintenant sur Delhi et l’Inde du Nord et honore la mémoire de Ratan et de sa lignée de disciples dans ce qui est appellé des dargāh mandir64. Delhi sert aussi de refuge à une autre branche venue également du Pakistan après la Partition et issue d’un « fils » de Ratan. La légende rapporte que, au cours d’un grand banquet rassemblant tous les Nāth yogīs, Ratan aurait fait montre de ses pouvoirs exceptionnels en confectionnant une effigie à partir des cendres qui couvraient son corps et en l’animant. Cette démonstration intempestive aurait suscité la colère de Gorakhnāth qui lui aurait ôté ses anneaux d’oreille et l’aurait envoyé en expiation dans le lointain Khorasan, présenté comme une terre musulmane menaçante pour les hindous. L’effigie, réplique de Ratan, aurait été appelée Kāyānāth. Initié par Bhartrihari, il serait demeuré sur les bords de la Jhelum et y aurait fondé un monastère. Il s’agit là d’une tradition nāth mais, significativement, Kāyānāth est connu aussi sous le nom de Kāyamuddīn ou Qayyim al-Dīn. Outre leur ancrage territorial commun et leurs liens initiatiques, la similarité des positions de Gogā, Ratan et Kāyānāth par rapport à l’islam se lit dans les récits parallèles qui sont faits de leurs liens avec les souverains. Tous trois assurent la victoire d’un souverain musulman, et plus encore d’un souverain présenté par l’Histoire comme l’archétype du conquérant. C’est après sa mort que le récit met en présence Gogā et le sultan afghan Muḥammad Ġūrī

63. On lit sur un panneau apposé à l’entrée du fort de Bhatinda : « It was here that Gogga, the famous Chauhan fell after being driven back from his defences of the Sutlej against the invading Muslim army ». 64. Bouillier - Khan 2009.

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(m. 1206). Ce dernier passe par Gogamedhi, où se trouve le samādhi de Gogā mais le lieu est en piètre état. Seul un desservant hindou l’honore encore. Muḥammad Ġūrī fait la promesse d’y construire un sanctuaire s’il est victorieux, ce qu’il fait et ce qui explique sa forme musulmane. Le culte de Gogā est donc, dans ce récit, ranimé par un Muḥammad Ġūrī reconnaissant. Cette victoire non précisée de Muḥammad Ġūrī est-elle celle que lui assure Ratan à Bhatinda ? Les récits locaux racontent la visite de Muḥammad Ġūrī à celui qui était connu comme le vénéré saint de Bhatinda, Ratan, afin d’avoir sa bénédiction dans la guerre qui l’oppose à Prithvi Rāj Chauhan, dernier rājā hindou de Delhi, tué à Bhatinda en 1192. Même les récits purement nāth comme ceux qui sont faits dans le monastère népalais de Dang fondé par Ratan dans son incarnation népalaise en tant que roi Ratna Parīkṣaka65, insistent sur la protection accordée par le saint à celui qui sera le premier des souverains musulmans. Un épisode précédent le montre désaltérant l’ensemble de l’armée du conquérant de l’eau de son kamaṇḍalu (pot à eau), afin « de montrer au roi musulman les miracles du yoga » ! Parfois l’anecdote est rattachée à Maḥmūd de Ghazni (r. 997-1030), ce qui étant donné la réputation iconoclaste de ce dernier, ajoute encore à ce qui est vu maintenant comme un paradoxe. Enfin, c’est au successeur de Kāyānāth, Buddhanāth qu’est rattaché le troisième exemple qui, là aussi, concerne un épidose clé de l’histoire militaire des dynasties musulmanes : la bataille de Panipat (la troisième en 1761) entre Aḥmad Šāh Durrānī (r. 1747-1773) et les armées marathes. La rencontre entre Aḥmad Šāh et Buddhanāth est précédée d’un épisode significatif66 : un groupe de Sayyids qui accompagnait le conquérant a voulu prendre possession du monastère de Kāyānāth sous prétexte qu’on l’appelait dargāh et que son fondateur était connu aussi sous le nom de Kāyamuddīn. Le conflit qui s’ensuit entre les yogīs et les Sayyids attire Aḥmad Šāh qui s’en remet à Dieu pour arbitrer : Oh Allah ! Lesquels sont les vrais dévots ? Oh Dieu fais-les moi connaître ! Un miracle de Buddhanāth incite Aḥmad Šāh Durrānī à trancher en faveur des yogīs et à conférer à Buddhanāth le titre de Satya Pīr (Pīr véridique). Il demande ensuite à ce dernier sa bénédiction et la grâce d’être victorieux dans ses combats à venir. Buddhanāth répondit par ces mots : « Ce Dieu qui a préservé l’honneur de la dargāh, Ton honneur, ce Dieu le préservera ». Et ceci 65. Bouillier 1997. 66. Je paraphrase ici le texte du petit livre intitulé Śiv Gorakhṣ, publié à Delhi dans les années 1980 par un des gurus de cette tradition, Pīr Premnāth, voir Bouillier - Khan 2009.

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fut compris comme l’annonce de la victoire d’Aḥmad Šāh Durrānī à la bataille de Panipat. Buddhanāth et sa dargāh furent ensuite généreusement dotés par le conquérant.

CONCLUSION Ce qu’on voit à travers ces épisodes c’est le rôle joué par les grandes figures charismatiques dans les jeux politiques, le rapport au pouvoir de ces ascètes thaumaturges et la force supposée de leurs bénédictions sans qu’intervienne aucune dimension religieuse. Le rapport qui s’instaure entre les Nāth yogīs et les souverains ou les conquérants musulmans n’est en rien idéologique. Il entre dans le champ des relations que les Nāth ont de tout temps entretenues avec les puissants quelle que soit leur confession : des relations d’échange entre protection surnaturelle et protection matérielle, des pouvoirs exceptionnels contre des donations, une légitimation réciproque. Notons que dans ces récits, les souverains musulmans ne dédaignent pas ces appuis et reconnaissent la valeur des faveurs des yogīs. En cela le statut quelque peu particulier des saints concernés peut jouer : après tout Gogā peut être considéré comme devenu musulman, Ratan qu’il soit nāth ou soufi, a connu le Prophète, Buddhanāth est l’héritier d’un Kāyāmuddīn. Ajoutons néanmoins que le patronage de saints hommes et d’institutions religieuses hindoues de toutes sortes par les souverains musulmans et notamment moghols est bien connu. Pour rester avec les Nāth, l’appui que fournissent les empereurs au monastère de Jakhbar au Panjab a été bien documenté par Goswami et Grewal. Le monastère fondé à la fin du XVIe bénéficie de donations par Akbar, Jahāngīr et Awrangzeb. Un farmān de 1581 confirme le don d’une certaine quantité de terre au monastère et à son supérieur Udant Nāth, « de façon qu’il continue à s’occuper de prier pour la pérennité de la dynastie conquérante ». Plus tard, même un empereur aussi agressivement musulman qu’Awrangzeb entretient des relations chaleureuses avec le mahant Anand Nāth qui (grâce à ses connaissances alchimiques) confectionne pour lui des préparations médicinales particulières.67 Ce que montre un texte comme le Mohammad Bodh, récent bien que probablement fait de la juxtaposition de fragments anciens, ou encore la 67. Goswami - Grewal 1967, pp. 16, 51-52. Sur l’héritage alchimique des Nāth, voir White 1996, et sur la circulation de ce savoir dans un traité apocryphe d’alchimie en persan (Haft aḥbāb) attribué au saint soufi Ḥamīd al-Dīn Nāgawrī (m. 1244) et à ses compagnons, parmi lesquels le yogī Gyān Nāth converti à l’islam, voir Speziale 2006.

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popularité de figures héroïques comme celle de Gogā, c’est la proximité et l’évidence de la cohabitation des Nāth avec l’islam. Il ne s’agit nullement ici d’y lire une abolition des différences, encore moins d’un syncrétisme68, mais de ce rapport dialogique que la tradition nāth entretient avec l’islam, bien loin des compromissions individuelles de quelques-uns de ses leaders avec la droite hindoue69. Le partage d’un certain vocabulaire rituel qui amène les Nāth à désigner leurs chefs de monastère du titre de pīr ou certains de leurs sanctuaires du terme de dargāh, les incite aussi à adopter certains usages comme pour les hommes de se couvrir la tête d’une étoffe nouée ou à donner à certaines de leurs tombes une forme en plumier70. S’agit-il de l’adoption de signifiants prestigieux dans un contexte socio-culturel qui les valorise, de recours à des formes alternatives dans un milieu qui favorise l’interchangeabilité71 ?

68. Pour une déconstruction du terme et de ses implications quant à la rigidité des identités en présence, voir Stewart 2001. 69. Voir l’article de Gatade 2004. 70. Bouillier 2008, p. 189. 71. Comme le remarque Marc Gaborieau : « si l’on considère les finalités, les techniques et les effets surnaturels du renoncement [...] Il n’est donc pas étonnant que dans l’Inde médiévale, le yogi et le soufi aient été des personnages largement interchangeables », Gaborieau 2002, p. 90.

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INDEX ‘Abd ‘Alī Baḥr al-‘Ulūm (d. 1810) 465 ‘Abd al-‘Azīz (d. 1449) 330 ‘Abd al-‘Azīz, Šāh (d. 1824) 277, 299 ‘Abd al-Bārī, Mawlānā (d. 1926) 479 ‘Abd al-Ḥakīm Siyālkūtī (d. 1656) 460 ‘Abd al-Qādir, Šāh (d. 1813) 277 ‘Abd al-Qādir al-Gīlānī (d. 1166) 128 ‘Abd al-Raḥmān Ṣūfī (d. 986) 332, 338, 344, 346, 348, 358 ‘Abd al-Razzāq al-Lāhījī (d. 1661) 331 ‘Abd al-Salām (d. 1627) 451, 486 al-Abharī, Aṯīr al-Dīn 449 abjad 144 Abū al-Fażl (d. 1602) 62-65, 408, 417, 418, 424, 425, 427, 429, 450, 542, 555 Abū al-Ḥasan Tānā Šāh (d. 1707) 141, 142 Abū al-Kalām Āzād (d. 1958) 288, 292 Abū Sa‘īd ibn Abī’ al-Ḫayr (d. 1048) 268 ‘Ādil Šāhī 12, 130, 186, 187, 188, 421 Advaita 505, 533, 543, 554 āfāqī 132, 186 al-Afġānī, Sayyid Jamāl al-Dīn (d. 1897) 461 Afghanistan 478, 577 Aḫbārī 86, 87, 98, 102, 103, 106, 107, 113, 115, 305 Ahl Allāh, Šāh (d. 1776) 414, 419, 421, 431 Ahl-i Bayt 129, 171, 174, 176, 181, 192, 193, 196, 197, 268 Ahl-i ḥadīṯ 15, 275, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 286, 287, 288, 289, 292 Ahl-i sunnat wa jamā‘at 286 Aḥmad ‘Alawī, Sayyid (d. 1651) 452, 456, 467 Aḥmad Barelwī, Sayyid (d. 1831) 275, 277, 278, 284, 289, 299 Aḥmad Ḫān, Sayyid (d. 1898) 282, 284, 285, 287, 288, 289, 290, 299 Aḥmad Lāhūrī (d. 1649) 342

Aḥmad Riḍā Ḫān Barelwī (d. 1921) 286, 299 Aḥmad Šāh Durrānī (d. 1773) 578, 579 Aḥmadiyya 289 Ahmadnagar 12, 421, 524 al-Aḥsā’ī, Šayḫ Aḥmad (d. 1826) 305, 306, 308 Āḫūndzāda, Mīrzā Fatḥ ‘Alī (d. 1878) 303, 315 Ā’īn-i Akbarī 408, 417, 424, 425, 429, 430, 542 Ajmal Ḫān (d. 1927) 435 Ajmer 128, 229 Akbar (d. 1605) 11, 13, 16, 29, 34, 37, 38, 46, 48, 57-77, 340, 341, 342, 344, 354, 408, 416, 417, 418, 450, 478, 536, 538 Akbar-nāma 31, 59, 417 ‘alam 127, 129, 130, 136, 137, 142, 143, 169 alchemy 341, 403, 412, 413, 430-433 Aleppo 91 ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib (d. 661) 127, 128, 133, 134-140, 143, 145-147, 150, 151, 153163, 182, 237, 253, 256, 258, 259, 261, 263, 264, 268, 452 ‘Alī Nūrī, Mullā (d. 1831) 452 Aligarh 15, 25, 275, 285, 286, 287, 288, 290, 292, 468 Allahabad 427, 484 Almagest 342, 355, 359 ‘Āmilī, Bahā al-Dīn (d. 1620-21) 11, 15, 16, 83-116, 328, 337, 341, 342, 343, 345, 347, 348, 353, 355, 357, 360 Amṛtasāgar 436 Āmulī, Muḥammad ibn Maḥmūd (d. ca. 1352) 331, 341 Anand Nāth 430, 579 Anand Rām Muḫliṣ (d. 1751) 416, 428 Anṣārī, Šayḫ Murtaḍā (d. 1864) 14, 248, 249 Apollonios 358, 359

586

Index

Aq Koyunlus 329, 333 Āqā Ḥusayn Ḫwānsārī (d. 1687) 452 ‘aql 266, 570 Arakan 48 āratī 576 Archimedes 358 Aristarchos 358, 359 Aristotle 453, 487 Āṣaf Jāh 143, 144, 148, 149, 150, 161, 188, 218 Aṣṭāṅgahṛdayasaṃhitā 406 Āštiyānī, Sayyid Jalāl al-Dīn (d. 2005) 463 astrolabe 96, 100, 102, 325, 326, 330, 332, 337, 339, 342, 343, 345, 346, 349, 351, 357, 359, 360 astrology 329, 330, 331, 332, 335, 339, 341, 342, 344, 345, 346, 351, 352, 357, 361 astronomy 71, 85, 91, 100, 101, 102, 221, 330, 331, 332, 334, 335, 342, 346, 347, 352, 363, 434 Aśvacikitsita 428 ‘āšūrā 168, 182, 189 ‘āšūr-ḫāna 12, 129, 130, 135, 137, 142, 143, 183 ‘Aṭā Allāh Rašīdī 340, 342, 408, 434 ‘atabāt 305 Atharvaveda 408, 424 ātman 548, 551, 552, 556 Ātmarāmsvāmī Sindakhedkar (d. 1731) 518 ‘Aṭṭār, Farīd al-Dīn (d. ca. 1220) 30, 263, 264, 265, 266 Aurangabad 141, 142, 148, 217, 220, 221, 222, 223, 229 Autolykos 358, 359 avadhūta 501, 505, 516 avatār 504, 513, 520, 527, 543 Avicenna, see Ibn Sīnā avidyā 548, 549 Awadh 12, 182, 476, 477, 479, 483, 484 Awrangzeb (d. 1707) 11, 39, 140, 141,

142, 340, 354, 408, 419, 421, 422, 425, 430, 439, 487, 520, 545, 557, 579 Azerbaijan 104, 131, 249, 265, 307, 309 al-Azhar 287 Bābur (d. 1530) 23, 26, 27, 32, 38, 61, 413, 429, 430 bād 411, 412, 427, 431 Badā’ūnī, ‘Abd al-Qādir (d. ca. 1615) 11, 57, 59, 68-71, 74, 424, 485, 538 Baghdad 92, 128 Bahmani 136, 167, 415 al-Baḥrānī, Yūsuf (d. 1772) 106 Balkh 30, 460 Bandar Abbas 10, 46 Bareilly 286 Barelwī 275, 277, 278, 280, 283, 284, 286-290, 292 bargāh 127, 138 baṣīrat-i qalbī 255 bāṭin 151, 206, 253 Bayezid II (d. 1512) 333, 335, 336 Begums, 135, 222, 282 Benares 533, 543, 544, 558 Bengal 39, 48, 277, 289, 418, 433, 434, 461, 513, 574 Bernier François (d. 1688) 545 be-šar‘ 514 Bhagavadgītā 540, 542, 551 Bhakti 506, 507, 508, 511, 512, 519, 521, 543, 551, 552 Bhartrihari 574-575, 577 Bhāskara 340, 408, 434 Bhatinda 577, 578 Bhopal 282, 288, 437 Bidar 13, 133, 425 Bījāgaṇita 340 Bījak 569 Bijapur 12, 13, 41, 167, 187, 188, 421 Birjandī, Niẓām al-Dīn (d. 1528) 337, 342, 343, 347, 352, 353, 355, 359, 360 Bīrūnī, Abū Rayḥān (d. ca 1048) 360, 404, 409, 536

Index

Bišan Dās 34 Bistam 361 Brahma 418, 504 brahman 542, 552, 555, 556 Brahmans 69, 507, 508, 509, 510, 511, 512, 513, 514, 515, 516, 517, 518, 519, 520, 524, 526, 538 Brahmendra Sarasvatī 544 Bṛhaspati 429 Bū ‘Alī Šāh Qalandar (d. 1323) 228 Buddhanāth 578, 579 al-Čaġmīnī, Maḥmūd (fl. ca. 620/1223) 330, 331, 336, 337, 347, 360, 361 Calcutta 279, 311, 433, 434 Cānd Bodhle 515, 516, 517, 519 Caraka 406, 419 Chandar Bhān Brahman 538 Chittagong 48 čillā 247, 249 Čingīz Ḫān (d. 1227) 23, 60 Čirāġ ‘Alī (d. 1895) 284, 289, 299 Čištiyya 13, 14, 217-239, 419, 422, 432, 433, 475, 476, 477, 478, 479, 483, 484, 485, 492, 493 Constitutional Movement 15, 301-316 Corbin, Henry (d. 1978) 84, 86 Dabistān-i maḏāhib 542, 543, 555 Dādā Mīyān 519 Ḏahabiyya 13, 14, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 260, 261, 262, 264, 267, 268, 269, 414 Ḏaḫīrat al-ḫawanīn 39, 42, 43 ḏākir 172, 182, 183, 185 Daniyāl Čawrasī 486 Dār al-Funūn 304, 307 Dārā Šikōh (d. 1659) 341, 408, 418, 423, 533-558 dargāh 127, 128, 137, 138, 577, 578, 579, 580 dars-i niẓāmī 449, 450, 451, 467, 468, 476, 483

587

Daštakī, Mīr Ġiyāṯ al-Dīn Manṣūr (d. 1541) 99, 102, 103, 449, 486 Dastūr al-aṭibbā’ 417, 420, 421, 431 Dattātreya 501-527 Daulatabad 506, 514, 515, 516, 517, 518, 521, 524 da‘wa 289, 290, 293 Dawānī, Jalāl al-Dīn (d. 1502) 340, 354, 486 Deccan 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 41, 42, 45, 48, 50, 125-197, 218, 221, 226, 348, 350, 425, 438, 506, 507, 510, 512, 516 Delhi 14, 150, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 237, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 281, 282, 285, 350, 404, 406, 409, 419, 420, 422, 435, 437, 449, 459, 460, 464, 466, 468, 506, 537, 540, 577, 578 Delhi College 466, 468 Deoband 283, 285, 286, 288, 289, 290, 292 Deobandī 15, 275, 283, 284, 285, 288, 290, 291, 292 dharma 505, 511, 519, 526 Dhārma Narāyāṇ 340, 416 digambara 501, 505, 516 ḏikr 172, 209, 230, 250, 255, 257, 258, 259, 268, 523 ḏimmī 45, 95, 110 dīn-i ilāhī 70 Ḏū al-Nūn al-Miṣrī (d. 859) 268 Egypt 287, 334, 337, 338 Eknāth (d. 1599) 510, 514, 515, 516, 517, 518, 525, 527 Etawah 417 Euclid 331, 332, 333, 335, 337, 338, 341, 342, 344, 346, 350, 352, 358, 359 Faḫr al-Dīn Awrangābādī (d. 1785) 14, 217-238 fanā 210, 259

588

Index

faqr 261 al-Fārābī (d. 950) 463, 475, 487 Farangī Maḥall 285, 452, 465, 467, 476, 477, 479, 483, 486, 492 Farīd al-Dīn Ganj-i Šakar (d. 1265) 218, 224, 228, 231, 243 Farīd al-Dīn Mas‘ūd Dihlavī (d. 1629) 341 Fatehpur Sikri 13 Fatḥ ‘Alī Šāh (d. 1834) 247, 308 Fatḥ Allāh Šīrāzī (d. 1589) 449, 459, 486, 492 Fāṭima Kubrā (d. 680) 13, 175, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 191, 192, 193, 195, 196, 197 Fayḍ al-Kāšānī, Muḥsin (d. 1680) 185, 191, 192, 193, 195, 196, 197 Fayżī (d. 1595) 340, 408, 418, 424 Fażl-i Imām Ḫayrābādī (d. 1824) 466 fiqh 108, 305, 307, 345, 357 Firdawsī (d. 1020) 30, 347 Firišta, Muḥammad Qāsim 414, 417, 419, 420, 421, 431 Fort William College 468 Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam 229, 484, 486, 488 Futūḥāt al-makkiyya 205, 268, 484 Galileo Galilei (d. 1642) 339 Gangohī, ‘Abd al-Quddus (d. 1537) 432, 478 Ġaur 221 Ġawaṯī 170 ġayba 86 ġayr-muqallid 281 Ġazālī (d. 1111) 263, 453 Ġāzī Miyān 183 geography 91, 336, 341, 342, 346, 347, 348, 352, 360 geometry 329, 330, 332, 334, 335, 337, 341, 342, 346, 351, 352, 354 Ġiyāṯ al-Dīn Manṣūr Šīrāzī (d. 1542) 340, 354, 355, 449, 486 Goa 72, 75

Gogā 565, 575, 576, 577, 578, 580 Golconda 12, 13, 40, 41, 130, 132, 133, 136, 137, 138, 141, 142, 143, 167, 168, 170, 183, 187, 188, 329, 345, 425 Gopāmāwī, Muḥammad Irtiżā Ḫān (d. 1251/1835) 465 Gopāmāwī, Qāḍī Mubārak (d. 1749) 465 Gopīcand 574 Gorakhnāth 567, 568, 569, 573, 575, 576, 577 Gorakhnāthis 567 Gujarat 47, 48, 49, 147, 350, 354, 427 Gulbarga 133, 136 Gurucaritra 510, 511, 512, 519, 526 Ḥabaš al-Ḥāsib 326 al-Ḥabl al-matīn (Bahā al-Dīn ‘Āmilī’s work) 98, 100, 103, 104, 107, 113 Ḥabl al-matīn (newspaper) 305, 310, 311, 312 ḥabs-i dam 230 ḥadīṯ 233, 235, 237, 238, 249, 266, 275, 303, 305, 306, 307, 312, 313, 345, 347, 456, 463 Ḫafrī, Šams al-Dīn (d. ca. 957/1550) 325, 347, 348, 350, 353, 354, 355, 360, 476 Haft aḥbāb 412, 431, 432, 437 Ḥakīm Ḥilmī Ḥaydarābādī 174 ḥākim šar‘ 109, 110 Halhed, Nathaniel (d. 1830) 434 Ḥallāj (d. 913) 106 Ḥamd Allāh ibn Šukr Allāh (d. 1747) 467 Ḫān ‘Ālam 28, 32, 34 ḫānaqāh 221, 223, 231, 237, 239, 248, 262, 334, 476 ḥaqīqa 204, 205, 206, 208, 210, 265 ḥaqīqa muḥammadiyya 491 ḥaqīqat-i šarī‘at 203, 206 Har Śrī Nāth 577 Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 728) 237 Hastings, Warren (d. 1818) 434 Ḫayrābād 451, 452, 466

Index

Herat 11, 87, 88, 90, 92, 93, 103, 330, 331, 332, 361 al-Hidāya 449, 460, 465 al-Ḥikma al-bāliġa 460 ḥikmat 230, 307, 476, 485 ḥikmat al-muta‘āliyya 476 ḥikmat-i yamānī 457 ḥikmat-i yūnānī 457 al-Hillī, ‘Allāma (d. 1325) 110, 111 Hinduism 11, 57, 62, 526, 534, 553, 556 Hindus 10, 11, 12, 15, 16-17, 57, 32, 62, 67-69, 76, 77, 129, 130, 131, 133, 135, 137, 138, 140, 141, 148, 149, 162, 167, 178, 182, 186-188, 190, 278, 279, 282, 290, 291, 302, 340, 341, 403-439, 481, 501-526, 533-556, 565-580 Hormuz 46 ḥudūṯ-i dahrī 449, 451, 452, 456, 458, 460, 464, 467, 468 ḥudūṯ-i ḏātī 455, 458, 463 ḥudūṯ-i zamānī 455, 459 Ḫulāṣat al-ḥisāb 328, 338, 342, 344, 357 Humāyūn (d. 1556) 26, 27, 31, 37, 38, 61, 67, 341, 343, 345, 413 ḫums 97, 109, 110, 111, 113, 115 Ḥusayn Šāh Walī (d. 1626) 133, 134, 135 Ḫwāja ‘Alī (d. 1427) 30 Hyderabad 12, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 147, 149, 150, 153, 154, 161, 163, 168, 170, 177, 178, 181, 182, 183, 185, 186, 188, 190, 191, 192, 197, 218, 221, 287, 405, 408, 410, 420, 422, 436, 437, 464 ibāḥa 205 Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhāb (d. 1792) 291 Ibn ‘Arabī (d. 1240) 475, 476, 477, 478, 479, 481, 482, 483, 484, 485, 486, 487, 488, 490, 491, 492, 493 Ibn Ḫātūn al-Amūlī 132 Ibn Rušd (d. 1198) 284, 404 Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037) (Avicenna) 15, 338,

589

355, 403, 404, 410, 412, 425, 450, 453, 454, 455, 456, 457, 458, 463, 464, 466, 467, 468, 475, 476, 477, 486, 487, 488, 490, 492 Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328) 276, 277, 280, 282, 288, 291 Ibrāhīm Quṭb Šāh (d. 1580) 41, 133 Ibrāhīmī, ‘Abd al-Riḍā Ḫān (d. 1979) 308 ijāza 227, 281, 310 ijtihād 97, 98, 101, 102, 103, 107, 113, 115, 275, 276, 280, 281, 282, 283, 290, 291, 307, 313 Ilkhanids 328, 329, 332, 356 ‘ilm al-mīqāt 334, 335, 336, 337, 351 Imām ‘Alī Riḍā (d. 818) 96, 252, 255, 257, 258, 259, 269, 306 Imām Ḥasan (d. 669) 13, 181, 184, 193, 194 Imām Ḥusayn (d. 680) 181, 182, 184, 189, 191, 193, 196, 197, 280 Imām zamān 306 inšā’ 540 insān al-kāmil 491 Iraq 43, 95, 99, 104, 105, 188, 252, 265, 359, 451, 452 ‘irfān 106, 107, 259 Isfahan 11, 18, 83, 84, 85, 86, 92, 93, 94, 96, 100, 103, 104, 105, 113, 115, 130, 250, 266, 354, 355, 356, 358, 359, 361, 452, 459, 465, 475, 483 Ismā‘īl Šahīd, Šāh (d. 1831) 278, 280, 291, 299 Ismailis 515, 524 Ispahan (Isfahan) 10, 12, 15, 16, 40, 42, 43, 44, 46 išrāqī 10, 450, 476, 490, 492 Istanbul 334, 335, 338, 339, 340, 347 i‘tikāf 234 Jabal ‘Āmil 91 jaḏba 229, 247, 249, 250, 255, 257, 258 Jāfir Pīrs 574

590

Index

jāgīr 152 Jahāngīr (d. 1627) 11, 23-50, 342, 417, 429, 579 Jahāngīr-nāma 31, 32, 40, 41 Jahāngīr Simnānī (d. 1425) 483, 484 Jains 58, 519, 558 Jaipur 436 Jakhbar 430, 579 Jāmī, ‘Abd al-Raḥmān (d. 1492) 224, 263, 484 Jāmi‘-i ‘Abbāsī 85, 105, 109, 112 Janārdan Svāmī (d. 1575) 514 Jāt 222 Jaunpur 459, 475, 483, 485 Jaunpūrī, Mullā Maḥmūd Fārūqī (d. 1652) 449 Jawāhir al-‘ulūm-i Humāyūnī 341 al-Jazā’irī, Ni‘mat Allāh (d. 1710) 106 Jerusalem 91, 104, 105, 337 Jesuits 11, 58, 59, 61, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76 jihād 110, 210, 278, 279, 280, 281, 288, 289, 290, 293, 308, 309 jīvātman 551, 552 jizya 68 Jones, Sir William (d. 1794) 533, 534 Julfa 44 Kabīr (d. ca. 1448) 565, 569 Kabul 27, 418, 577 kalām 89, 235, 343 Kalīm Allāh Jahānābādī (d. 1729) 221, 479 Kaliyuga 509, 511, 512, 519, 521, 522, 523, 524, 542 Kānphaṭā 567, 575 Kanpur 436 al-Karakī, Šayḫ ‘Alī (d. 1534) 97, 98, 103 Karbala 13, 130, 167, 169, 170, 172, 174, 175, 177, 178, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 195, 196, 197, 304, 306 Karbalā-nāma 187, 188

karmavipāka 424 Kashan 361 Kashmir 430 Kāšī, Ġiyāṯ al-Dīn (d. 1429) 330, 331, 332, 337, 347, 351, 359 Kāšifī’s, Mullā Ḥusayn Vā‘iẓ-i (d. 1504) 13, 167, 168, 177, 178, 183, 185, 187, 188, 197 Kaškūl-i Kalīmī 229 al-kaw al-jāmi‘ 490 Kāyamuddīn 577, 578 Kāyānāth 565, 575, 577, 578 Kerman 305, 307, 309, 310 Khurasan 27, 89, 90, 95, 104, 250, 265, 577 al-Kindī, Isḥāq (d. ca. 873) 360, 475 Kirmānī, Mīrzā Āqā Ḫān (d. 1897) 303, 315 Kirmānī, Muḥammad Ḫān (d. 1906) 307, 309, 310 Kirmānī, Muḥammad Karīm Ḫān (d. 1871) 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 315, 316 Kirmānī, Zayn al-‘Ābidin Ḫān (d. 1941) 15, 301, 305, 310-316 Kitāb al-ṣaydana 404, 409 Kokaśāstra 413, 424, 425, 437 Kubrawiyya 13, 257 kufr-i šarī‘at 207 kufr-i ṭarīqat 207 Lahijan 361 Lahore 224, 225, 228, 341, 345, 428, 437, 438, 451, 460, 486 Lāl Dās, Bābā 538 langar 129 Lilāvatī 340 Lucknow 12, 182, 221, 225, 285, 287, 288, 354, 435, 437, 449, 451, 461, 465, 479, 483, 484, 486 Luṭf Allāh Muhandis 342, 343

Index

ma‘ād 306 Ma‘dan al-šifā’ 409, 414, 416, 420, 429, 431, 436 Madanavinoda 418, 422, 423, 424 Madārī 514, 577 madrasa 15, 131, 224, 225, 233, 234, 235, 277, 284, 286, 287, 302, 303, 307, 332, 333, 334, 336, 337, 340, 341, 348, 352, 354, 358, 359, 361, 363, 364, 405, 416, 439, 449, 450, 451, 466, 467, 468, 483 Māh Laqā Bāī (d. 1824) 12, 125-163 Mahābhārata 538 Mahānubhāv 507, 508, 509, 516, 519, 520, 526 Mahār 218, 222, 223, 229, 231, 232 Maharashtra 505, 513, 514, 521 mahdī 278, 281, 289 māhiyya 487 Majālis-i Jahāngīrī 35 majlis 129, 130, 138, 168, 172, 177, 181, 182, 183-197 al-Majlisī, Muḥammad Bāqir (d. 1699) 116, 347, 357 al-Majlisī, Muḥammad Taqī (d. 1659-60) 94, 107, 113 Majma‘ al-baḥrayn 533, 537, 553-555 al-Majūsī (d. ca. 994) 404 Maktūbāt-i Imām-i Rabbānī 203, 207, 208-215, 479 Malaṅg 514, 515, 516, 517, 518, 524 Mandavkar 521 Maqāla dar javāb-i rūznāma-yi Ḥabl al-matīn 301, 305, 310 ma‘qūlāt 451, 475 Marathas 131, 278, 578 Marathi 17, 503-518, 520-523, 525 ma‘rifat 534 marṯiya 127, 129, 131, 146, 170, 171, 172, 178, 182, 186, 188, 191, 196 Martyn, Henry (d. 1812) 248 Marv 11, 229 Mashhad 87, 98, 105, 250, 252, 306, 331, 345, 349, 350, 354, 356, 359, 360, 361, 364

591

Masulipatnam 41 Ma‘ṣūm ‘Alī Šāh (d. 1797-98) 13, 247, 248 mātam 168, 169, 171, 172, 177 mathematics 16, 71, 93, 96, 132, 235, 335, 339, 359, 407 Maṯnawī (Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī’s work) 229, 238, 254, 265, 266, 267 Mawdūdī (d. 1979) 290, 292 māyā 542, 549, 550, 554 maẓhar 217 Mecca 72, 74, 85, 99, 189, 325, 334, 483, 484, 523 Medina 74, 189, 276, 291, 306, 572 Mehmed Fātih (d. 1481) 333, 334, 335 mehndī kī majlis 181, 183, 191, 197 Mīr Dāmād (d. 1631) 16, 84, 89, 107, 115, 266, 355, 449-468, 483 Mīr Dard (d. 1785) 227 Mīr Findiriskī (d. 1640) 84, 459, 536 Mīr Jumla 39, 40, 41, 42, 43 Mīr Maḥmūd (d. 1688) 13 Mīr Muḥammad Mu’min Astarābādī (d. 1625) 41, 130, 186 Mīr Saudā (d. 1195/1781) 227 Mīr Taqī Mīr (d. 1810) 227 Mīr ‘Uṯmān ‘Alī Ḫān 436 Mīrzā Abū al-Ḥasan Jilva (d. 1896) 452 Mīrzā Ġulām Aḥmad (d. 1908) 289 Mīrzā Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān (d. 1781) 17, 227 Miyān Bhuwa 409, 414, 416, 419, 420, 431, 436 Miyān Mīr (d. 1635) 460 mleccha 511, 558 Mohammad Bodh 565, 568-573, 579 Mongīrī, Sayyid Muḥammad ‘Alī (d. 1928) 287, 299 Monserrate, Antonio (d. 1600) 57, 58, 59, 72, 75, 76, 77 Mūbad Šāh 542 Mughals 23, 60, 132, 329, 340, 344, 346, 351, 460

592

Index

Muḥammad (the Prophet, d. 632) 17, 73, 74, 126, 128, 136, 169, 182, 209, 259, 264, 413, 414, 415, 489, 490, 491, 509, 523, 569 Muḥammad Afżal, Ustād al-Mulk Šayḫ (d. 1652) 483 Muḥammad Bāqī bi-llāh (d. 1012/1603) 203 Muḥammad Ḥasan Lakhnawī, Mullā (d. 1784) 467 Muḥammad Ḥusaynī Gīsū-Darāz (d. 1422) 133 Muḥammad Lāhījī (d. 1517) 249 Muḥammad Qulī, Quṭb Šāh (d. 1612) 41, 132, 167, 170, 178, 186, 187 Muḥammad Quṭb Šāh (d. 1626) 41 Muḥammad Šāh (Mughal ruler, d. 1748) 26, 147, 408 Muḥammad Šāh (Qajar ruler, d. 1848) 247 Muḥammad Sulaymān Taunsavī (d. 1850) 233 muḥarram 12, 13, 347 Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī (d. 1648) 16, 475-493 Muḥtašam Kāšānī (d. 1587-88) 187 Mujaddidiyya 203 mujtahid 70, 98, 111, 249, 308, 313 Mullā Ṣadrā Šīrāzī 15, 16, 449, 451, 452, 456, 460, 463, 465, 467, 468, 476, 485 Multan 233, 243 müneccimbašı 336 munšī 416, 428, 538 Munšī, Iskandar Beg (d. ca. 1632) 28, 29 Muntaḫab al-tawārīḫ 59, 68 muqallid 281, 283 murāqaba 230, 255 Murray, Sir John 434 Muṣliḥ al-Dīn Lārī (d. 1571) 343, 355 Mustafa Sāheb 519 muwaqqit 334, 336, 337, 345, 346, 351 Naḏīr Ḥusayn (d. 1902) 281, 299

Nadwat al-‘ulamā 287 Nadwī, Sayyid Abū al-Ḥasan ‘Alī (d. 1999) 288 nafs 42, 208, 25342, 208, 253 al-Nā’īnī, Mīrzā Rafī‘ al-Dīn (d. 1688-89) 94 Najaf 13, 158, 268, 304, 452 Nānotawī, Muḥammad Qāsim (d. 1879) 284 naql 224, 315, 451 Naqšbandiyya 13, 17, 128, 203, 208, 224, 278, 286, 419, 477, 478, 482 Narasinha Sarasvatī (d. ca. 1458) 510 Nāṣir al-Dīn Šāh (d. 1896) 247, 304 Nāth 17, 432, 507, 508, 526, 565, 566, 567, 569, 571, 573, 574, 575, 577, 579, 578, 580 nawḥa 12, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 174, 175, 177, 178, 182, 186, 191 nawrūz 154 nečarī 284 Ni‘matullāhiyya 13, 247, 248, 262 nirguns 574 Niẓām al-Dīn Aurangābādī (d. 1730) 14, 236 Niẓām al-Dīn Awliyā (d. 1325) 485 Niẓām al-Dīn Nīšābūrī 337, 343, 345, 353, 355 Niẓām al-Dīn Sihālvī Farangī Maḥallī (d. 1748) 450, 465, 483 Niẓām al-Mulk (d. 1748) 26, 143, 148, 149 Niẓām Šāhī 12 Nizārī 524 nubuwwa 206 Nūr Jahān (d. 1645) 37, 38, 39, 44, 47, 417 Nūr Muḥammad Mahāravī (d. 1790) 14, 217, 218, 222, 238 nūr muḥammadī 491 Nūrbaḫšī 85 Nūrī, Šayḫ Faḍl Allāh (d. 1909) 312

Index

Ottomans 23, 24, 26, 46, 92, 95, 329, 334, 346, 350, 351, 363 Pakistan 278, 279, 282, 286, 290, 292, 481, 577 Pākpattan 224, 226, 228, 229, 232 Pālakāpya 429 paṇḍit 533, 535, 538, 540, 541, 543, 544, 545, 546, 547, 550, 553, 558 Panipat 228, 578, 579 pātanayantra 432 Patañjali 536 Patna 281, 344, 354 Pietro della Valle (d. 1652) 362 Plato 411, 463 Playfair, George 422, 433, 434 Proclus (d. 485) 453 Ptolemy 342, 359 pujā 523, 524 Punjab 14, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 228, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 237, 238, 239, 278, 284, 350, 430, 486, 573, 574, 577, 579 al-Qabasāt 452, 454, 455, 467 Qādiriyya 13, 127, 128, 224, 286, 410, 476, 479, 515, 524 Qajars 14, 247, 310 qālab 211 Qandahar 11, 27, 33, 221 Qannawjī, Muḥammad Amjad Ṣiddīqī (d. 1727) 465 Qānūn 15, 403, 404, 410, 415 Qāsim (d. 680) 13, 173, 175, 176, 177, 178, 181-197 Qawā’im al-anwār 14, 247-269 qawwālī 128 Qāżīzāda Rūmī (d. 1412) 330, 331, 332, 337, 347, 351, 359, 360 Qazvin 28, 87, 89, 90, 306, 350, 358, 361 qibla 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 107, 218, 236, 337, 347, 351, 357

593

qiyāfa 425, 426 Qizilbāš 10, 29, 31, 44 Qom 331, 350, 351, 355, 359, 364 Qušjī, ‘Alī (d. 1474) 330, 331, 332, 333, 334, 335, 337, 343, 347, 351, 354, 359, 360, 361 Qusṭā ibn Lūqā (d. 912) 337, 348, 360 Quṭb al-Dīn Baḫtiyār Kākī (d. 1235) 218, 227, 228, 233, 234 Quṭb al-Dīn Muḥammad Šīrāzī (d. 1784) 268 Quṭb al-Dīn Sihālwi 486 Quṭb al-Dīn Šīrāzī (d. 1311) 331, 332, 337, 343, 345, 346, 349, 350, 353, 354, 359 Quṭb Šāhī 12, 41, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 140, 141, 142, 143, 167, 168, 170, 183, 186, 187, 188, 329, 345 Rafī‘ al-Dīn, Šāh (d. 1818) 227 Rajasthan 278, 575 Rājputs 131, 141, 434 Rāmāyaṇa 538 Rampur 464, 466 Ranbīr Singh (d. 1885) 408, 430 rasāyana 423 Raštī, Sayyid Kāẓim (d. 1843) 306 Ratan Ḥājjī, Bābā 577 Ratannāth 565, 575 Rawals 573 rawḍa-ḫwānī 12, 130, 167, 168 Rawḍat al-šuhadā’ 13, 130, 167, 168, 176, 177, 178, 183, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 191, 192, 197 Rāz-i Šīrāzī (d. 1869) 14, 247-269 Rāzī, Faḫr al-Dīn (d. 1209) 341 Rāzī, Muḥammad ibn Zakariyā (d. 925) 404 Ricci, Matteo (d. 1610) 60 Risāla-yi ‘išqiyya 256, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 268 rūḥ 412

594

Index

rukn-i rāba‘ 307 Rūmī, Jalāl al-Dīn (d. 1273) 229, 238, 254, 265, 266 Ṣābirī 476, 477, 478 al-Sabzawārī, Muḥammad Bāqir (d. 1679) 94 Sadānanda 518, 519, 520, 521, 523, 524, 525, 526, 552 Sadānandasvāmī (d. 1760) 518 sādhana 523 Safavids 23, 167, 326, 328, 329, 351, 363 Šāh ‘Abbās (d. 1629) 11, 12, 24, 27-36, 40, 42, 44-46, 50, 83, 84, 85, 86, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 100, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 113, 115, 356, 357, 358, 361, 452 Šāh ‘Abbās II (d. 1666) 26, 346, 349, 358 Šāh ‘Ālam II (d. 1806) 218 Šāh Čirāġ 14, 248, 267 Šāh Isma‘īl I (d. 1524) 26, 34 Šāh Jahān (d. 1666) 24, 28, 39, 44, 48, 49, 50, 340, 341, 408, 417, 459, 460, 461 Šāh Jahān Begum (d. 1901) 282 Šāh Ṣafī (d. 1642) 347, 452 Šāh Sulaymān (d. 1694) 356, 423 Šāh Sulṭān Ḥusayn (d. 1722) 26 Šāh Ṭāhir 524 Šāh Ṭahmāsb (d. 1576) 26, 30, 31, 39, 87, 88, 90, 93, 96, 99, 103, 107, 357 Šāh Tajallī ‘Alī (d. 1800) 150, 151, 154 Śahā Datta 504, 518, 519, 520, 521, 522, 523, 524, 525, 527 Śahā Datta Kalamā 504, 520, 521, 522, 523, 524, 525, 527 Šāhid-i Ṣādiq 342 Salafī 282, 288 Śālihotra 413, 415, 427, 428 Salīm Čištī (d. 1571) 485 samā‘ 128, 230, 234, 268, 269 Sāṃkhya 536 saṃnyāsin 535, 544 sampradāy 507, 508, 509, 510, 511, 517,

520, 521, 524, 525, 544, 555 Šams al-bāziġa 460, 461, 467, 483 Šamsā Gīlānī, Mullā (d. 1687) 452 šamšīr zanī 168 Samudrasaṅgama 534, 537, 540, 541, 556 sāmudrika 413, 425-426 Śaṅkara 542, 546, 547, 552, 555 Sarasvatī 544 šarī‘a 13, 158, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 238, 315 Šarīf Ḫān, Muḥammad (d. ca. 1807) 417, 418, 419, 421, 422, 424, 428, 431, 433, 435 sarmad 454, 455 Satya Pīr 513, 578 al-Šawkānī, Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī (d. 1834) 280 Šayḫī 301-316 sayr fī ’Llāh 210 sayr ilā ’Llāh 210 Sayyid Quṭb (d. 1966) 292 Šer Šāh Sūr (d. 1545) 26 Shiraz 14, 247, 248, 250, 251, 252, 269, 330, 331, 340, 341, 344, 354, 355, 356, 358, 361, 449, 451 Shiva 504, 513, 574 Šiblī Nu‘mānī (d. 1914) 287, 299 siddha 505, 508, 517, 523, 571 Ṣiddīq Ḥasan Ḫān (d. 1890) 282, 299 Sikandar Jāh (d. 1829) 143, 144, 192, 408, 417, 436 Sikhs 190, 219, 278 silsila 85, 128, 217, 237, 269, 307, 478 da Silva, José 416 sīna zanī 168 Sirhindī, Aḥmad (d. 1624) 10, 13, 14, 203-215, 461, 475, 477, 478-479, 481482, 483, 493 Sirr-i akbar 533-556 Sītalnāth 519 siyāq 335, 356 Skinner, James (d. 1841) 434 Śrī Nāth Rahasya 567

Index

Śrīpad Śrīvallabha (d. ca. 1350) 510 Sulaymān Mandawī (d. 1537-38) 412, 432 ṣulḥ-i kull 62, 65, 75, 133 Sulṭān Bāhū (d. 1691) 238 sulūk 247, 250, 251, 252, 256, 257, 258, 261 Samarkand 26, 328, 330, 331, 332, 333, 334, 418 Suhrawardī, Šihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā (d. 1191) 476, 486 Surat 46, 48, 49 Suśruta 406, 419, 423 Šuštarī, Nūr Allāh (d. 1610) 343 Ṣuwar al-kawākib 344, 346, 348, 350, 358 Syria 104, 105, 334, 337, 538 ta‘ayyun 491 al-Tabarsī (d. 1154) 102 Ṯābit ibn Qurra (d. 901) 348, 360 tablīġ 289 Tabriz 11, 309, 333, 355, 361 Tabrīzī, Mīrzā ‘Abd al-Raḥīm Ṭālibuv-i (d. 1910-11) 303 tafsīr 98, 102, 310 al-Taftazānī, Sa‘d al-Dīn (d. 1390) 305 Tahāfut al-falāsifa 453 Tajikistan 131 Talibans 292 Ṯanā Allāh Pānipatī (d. 1810) 227 Ṯānawī, Ašraf ‘Alī (d. 1943) 288 taqiyya 259, 263, 524 taqlīd 66, 77, 275, 281, 283, 313 Tārīḫ-i ‘ālam-ārā-yi ‘abbāsī 42, 86, 103 ṭarīqa 92, 107, 127, 128, 150, 204, 209, 217, 218, 220, 221, 222, 229, 234, 238, 239, 248, 251, 261, 265, 461 taṣawwuf 238, 269, 557 Tašrīḥ al-aflāk 338, 341, 342, 357 Taswiya 16, 475-493 ṯawāb 109, 113 ṭawāf 17

595

tawajjuh 234 taziya 131 Tehran 9, 18, 39, 250, 252, 253, 265, 304, 308, 311, 312, 348, 349, 350, 358, 359, 364 Theodosios 358, 359 Tīmūr (d. 1405) 23, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33 Timurids 128, 329-333, 334, 340, 341, 344, 346, 347, 350, 351, 352, 356, 363 trimūrti 504 Tuḥfat al-hind 425, 426 Turkey 9, 237, 286, 287, 478 Turkmenistan 131 Ṭūsī, Naṣīr al-Dīn (d. 1274) 330, 332, 333, 337, 344, 347, 351, 353, 359, 361, 467 Tuzuk-i Āṣafiyya 150, 154 Tycho Brahe (d. 1601) 339 ‘Ubayd Allāh Aḥrār (d. 1490) 229, 418, 427 ubhayadṛśyāvatār 520 al-Ufuq al-mubīn 452, 459, 460, 465, 466, 467 ‘ulamā 11, 13, 14, 15, 18, 31, 60, 83, 84, 218, 227, 231, 248, 276, 283, 285, 287, 289, 290, 292, 301, 303, 304, 306, 308, 309, 312, 451, 457, 459, 485, 506, 507, 556 Uluġ Beg (d. 1449) 328, 329, 330, 331, 332, 333, 335, 337, 351, 356, 362 ‘ulūm-i ‘aqlī 15, 450 ‘ulūm-i baṭinī 220, 221, 223, 230, 235 ‘ulūm-i ẓahirī 220, 221, 223, 230, 234, 235, 238 Upaniṣads 533-553 ‘urs 137, 138, 140, 228 Uṣūlī 11, 12, 14, 86, 103, 106, 107, 113, 114, 115, 305, 313 Uzbekistan 131 Uzbeks 23, 24, 26, 27, 46, 50, 95, 128, 131, 132, 460

596

Index

Vāgbhaṭa 406, 407, 419, 423 vairāgin 537, 543 Vārkarī 507, 508, 510, 514, 525 Vedānta 606, 541, 542, 543, 546, 550, 551 Vedas 17, 511, 523, 556 Venice 339 Vishnu 404, 543, 555, 556 Vraja Mohana 426 waḥdat al-šuhūd 204, 482 waḥdat al-wujūd 482, 484, 485 Wahhabi 15, 18, 275, 280, 281, 291 wāhib al-ṣuwar 490 wājib al-wujūd 454, 487 walāya 158 walāyat-i ḫāssa 209 Walī Allāh, Šāh (d. 1762) 10, 227, 237, 276, 280, 281, 291, 299, 419, 467, 477, 482 waqf 29, 30, 31, 33, 43, 96, 104, 105, 108, 348, 352, 353 wilāyat 253, 256, 263 Wilāyat ‘Alī (d. 1852) 281 Xavier, Francis (d. 1552) 60 Xavier, Jerome (d. 1617) 60 yantra 432, 436 yavana 511 Yazd 247, 310, 333, 350, 355, 356, 358, 359, 361 Yemen 280, 281, 282 Yemeni philosophy 451, 453, 457, 458, 459 Yogasūtras 536 Yogavāsiṣṭha 538, 540 yogis 17, 419, 423, 424, 432, 501, 504, 505, 507, 508, 513, 514, 565-579 Yogī Vilasnāth 568

zakāt 97, 109, 110, 111, 113, 115 zamān 454, 455 zamīndār 219 Zīj-i ḫāqānī 330, 356 Zīj-i īlḫānī 330, 332, 356 Zīj-i jadīd-i sulṭānī 330, 332, 333 Zīj-i Šāh-Jahānī 341 ziyārat 127, 150, 228, 233 Zoroastrians 58, 69