Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam

It has been argued that the mystical Sufi form of Islam is the most sensitive
to other cultures, being accommodative to other traditions and generally
tolerant to peoples of other faiths. It usually becomes integrated into local
cultures, and they are similarly often infused into Sufism. Examples of this
reciprocity are commonly reflected in Sufi poetry, music, hagiographic
genres, memoirs and the ritualistic practices of Sufi traditions. This volume
shows how this often sidelined tradition functions in the societies in which
it is found and demonstrates how it relates to mainstream Islam.
The focus of this book ranges from reflecting Sufi themes in Qur’anic
calligraphy to movies, from ideals to everyday practices, from legends to
actual history, from gender segregation to gender transgression and from
legalism to spiritualism. The International panel of contributors to this
volume are trained in a range of disciplines that include religious studies,
history, comparative literature, anthropology and ethnography. Covering
Southeast Asia to West Africa, as well as South Asia and the West, they
address both historical and contemporary issues, shedding light on Sufism’s
adaptability.
This book sets aside conventional methods of understanding Islam, such
as theological, juridical and philosophical, in favor of analyzing its cultural
impact. As such, it will be of great interest to all scholars of Islamic studies,
the sociology of religion and religion and media, as well as religious studies
and area studies more generally.

Sarwar Alam is Visiting Assistant Professor at the King Fahd Center for
Middle East Studies at the University of Arkansas, United States. He has
published widely on the subject of Islam in various journals, as well as
edited volumes and two books, Sufism, Pluralism and Democracy (2017),
coedited with Clinton Bennett, and Perceptions of Self, Power, and Gender
among Muslim Women (2018).
Routledge Studies in Religion

American Catholic Bishops and the Politics of Scandal

Rhetoric of Authority
Meaghan O’Keefe

Celebrity Morals and the Loss of Religious Authority

John Portmann

Reimagining God and Resacralisation

Alexa Blonner

Said Nursi and Science in Islam

Character Building through Nursi’s Mana-i harfi
Necati Aydin

The Diversity of Nonreligion

Normativities and Contested Relations
Johannes Quack, Cora Schuh, and Susanne Kind

The Role of Religion in Gender-Based Violence, Immigration,

and Human Rights
Edited by Mary Nyangweso and Jacob K. Olupona

Italian American Pentecostalism and the Struggle

for Religious Identity
Paul J. Palma

Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam

Alternative Paths to Mystical Faith
Sarwar Alam

For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/

religion/series/SE0669
Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam
Alternative Paths to Mystical Faith

Edited by Sarwar Alam

First published 2020
by Routledge
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© 2020 selection and editorial matter, Sarwar Alam individual
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The right of Sarwar Alam to be identified as the authors of the
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
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Names: Alam, Sarwar, editor.
Title: The cultural fusion of Sufi Islam : alternative paths to mystical
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Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2020. |
Series: Routledge studies in religion | Includes bibliographical
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Identifiers: LCCN 2019029760 (print) | LCCN 2019029761 (ebook) |
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Subjects: LCSH: Sufism. | Mysticism—Islam. | Islam and culture.
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To my parents, and
Professor Vincent J. Cornell
Contents

List of Figures and tableix

Acknowledgmentsx
Contributorsxii

Introduction 1
SARWAR ALAM

PART I
Cultural fusion31

1 Tasting the sweet: Guru Nanak and Sufi delicacies 33

NIKKY-GUNINDER KAUR SINGH

2 The “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibrahim 57

MILAD MILANI

3 Promoting social and religious harmony: Bāul’s origin

and migration West and Roji Sarker’s performance
in the British Bangladeshi diaspora 72
CLINTON BENNETT

PART II
Poetry and literature93

4 Making passion popular: sung poetry in Urdu

and its social effects in South Asia 95
SCOTT KUGLE

5 Shaping the way we believe: Sufism in modern

Turkish culture and literature 115
HUSEYIN ALTINDIS
viii Contents
6 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism in an early
Ottoman context: Eşrefoğlu Rumi and his book
of the Sufi path 130
BARIŞ BAŞTÜRK

PART III
Devotional expressions in hagiography and music147

7 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 149

MANUELA CEBALLOS

8 The abstraction of love: personal emotion and mystical

spirituality in the life narrative of a Sufi devotee 161
PNINA WERBNER

9 “O beloved my heart longs for thee”: devotionalism

and gender transgression in the songs of
Miazbhandariyya Tariqa in Bangladesh 178
SARWAR ALAM

PART IV
Political discourse199

10 Injecting God into politics: modelling Asma’ ul Husna

as a Sufi-based panacea to political conflict in
contemporary Malaysia 201
AHMAD FAUZI ABDUL HAMID AND NOORULHAFIDZAH ZAWAWI

11 Sufism and communism: the poetry of Fuʾad Haddad 228

ABDULLAH RAMADAN KHALAF MOURSI
AND MOHAMED A. MOHAMED

Index247
Figures and table

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

Table
10.1 List of Anwar Ibrahim’s cronies. 211
Acknowledgments

I gratefully acknowledge the dedication, commitment and patience of my

colleagues who contributed to this volume. I also gratefully acknowledge
the generosity of Routledge for granting permission for using a copyrighted
chapter in this volume. I also appreciate the help of Joshua Wells and R.
Yuga Harini of Routledge, as well as two anonymous reviewers of the
proposal.
I wish to express my gratitude to Dr. Joel Gordon, Professor of History
and the former Director of the King Fahd Center for Middle East Studies at
the University of Arkansas, as well as the editor of the International Journal
of Middle East Studies. Special thanks to him for reviewing one of my chap-
ters and for selecting the title of the volume. I also express my gratitude to
Dr. Ted R. Swedenburg, Program Coordinator of the King Fahd Center for
Middle East Studies, for reducing my class loads in order for me to complete
my writing projects, and Dr. Thomas R. Paradise, former Director of the
King Fahd Center for Middle East Studies, for his encouragements. Special
thanks go to Dr. Nikolay A. Antov for his continual encouragement and to
Kaveh Bassiri for keeping my hopes up. I am grateful to Mahfuza Akhter
and Nani Verzon of the King Fahd Center for their help, too. I am also
grateful for the sincere help of the staff of the Mullins Library of the Univer-
sity of Arkansas, especially Robin Roggio of the inter-library loan section.
I am also expressing my gratitude to my teachers and colleagues at Emory
University. I especially thank Professors Vincent J. Cornell, Rikia E. Cor-
nell, Gordon D. Newby, Joyce B. Flueckger, Allal el-Hajjm, Laurie L. Pat-
ton, Michael G. Peletz and V. Narayana Rao. I wish to express my deep
appreciation to my friends Nazrul Islam, ANMA Momin, Faruk Iqbal,
Zillur Rahman, Mozammel Haque Chowdhury, Mamunur Rashid, Kabir
Majumder, Dr. Monoar Kabir and Dr. Spencer L. Allen for their support
and encouragement.
Special thanks to Annika Tabassum of the University of Arkansas of Med-
ical Sciences and Ghaleeb A. Hakim and Apanuba Puhama, who are always
enthusiastic about anything I write. Finally, I thank my wife, Dr. Najma
Alam, for having confidence in me.
 Acknowledgments xi
I have learned and studied Sufism under the tutelage of Professor Vincent
J. Cornell, mostly during my post-doctoral years at Emory University. He
spent an immeasurable amount of his time in guiding me. At this point,
I would also like to express my gratitude to my parents for their uncondi-
tional love and affection. It is to my father, Abdul Hakim Talukder; my late
mother, Umme Elahi Begum; and my teacher, Professor Vincent J. Cornell,
that I dedicate this volume.
Contributors

Sarwar Alam is Visiting Assistant Professor at University of Arkansas,

United States.
Huseyin Altindis is Assistant Professor at Selçuk Üniversitesi, Turkey.
Barış Baştürk is a PhD student in the Department of History of the Univer-
sity of Arkansas, United States.
Clinton Bennett teaches at the State University of New York at New Paltz,
New York; Marist College, New York; and University of Cambridge,
United Kingdom. He is the series editor of Studying Islam: The Critical
Issues (Continuum).
Manuela Ceballos is Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at the Univer-
sity of Tennessee, United States.
Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid is Professor of Political Science, School of Dis-
tance Education, and Consultant Researcher with the Centre for Policy
Research and International Studies, Universiti Sains Malaysia.
Scott Kugle is Professor of Middle Eastern and South Asian Studies at Emory
University, Georgia, United States.
Milad Milani is Senior Lecturer in Islamic Studies at Western Sydney Uni-
versity, Australia.
Mohamed A. Mohamed is Associate Professor of Sociology of Religion,
Department of Sociology, at Northern Arizona University, United States.
Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi is Associate Professor of Arabic lit-
erature, Faculty of Languages, at Al-Madina International University,
Malaysia.
Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh is the Crawford Family Professor of Religious
Studies at Colby College, Maine, United States.
 Contributors xiii
Pnina Werbner is Professor Emerita in the Social Anthropology department
at Keele University, United Kingdom.
Noorulhafidzah Zawawi is Lecturer in Political Science, College of Gov-
ernment, Law and International Studies (COLGIS), Universiti Utara
Malaysia.
Introduction

Introduction

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

Islamic/Islamicized culture
Culture is a way of life and a worldview of a certain group of people at a
certain place and at a certain point of time, which is expressed in a complex
system of signs, symbols and their meanings. It is a shared and learned sys-
tem of meanings through which people orient themselves in the world. In
his book titled The Interpretation of Cultures (1973), Clifford Geertz con-
tends that the concept of culture is a semiotic one. He holds that the culture
concept “denotes an historically transmitted pattern of meanings embodied
2 Introduction
in symbols, a system of inherited conceptions expressed in symbolic forms
by means of which men communicate, perpetuate, and develop their knowl-
edge about and attitudes toward life.”2
Geertz also defines religion as a cultural system or a system of symbols.3
In his Islam Observed (1968), a comparative study of Islam in two Muslim-
majority countries, Morocco and Indonesia, he demonstrates how Islam is
grounded in local cultures. Engaging Geertz but grounded in Max Weber,
Dale F. Eickelman argues that

ideas, and systems of ideas, especially those which fundamentally shape

men’s attitudes toward the world and their conduct in it, cannot be
analytically construed as ahistorical Platonic entities, unaffected by the
ravages of time. They are in constant tension with social reality, shaping
it and in turn being shaped.4

Unlike Geertz, his research reflects the voices of his informants. Eick-
elman contends that his study “serves to document Marshall Hodgson’s
claim that the so-called ‘folk’ culture of Islam shares substantially the same
dynamic force that he found more visible in Islam’s ‘high’ culture.”5
However, going against the trend of generalization as well as essentiali-
zation of Islam, Abdul Hamid el-Zein (1977) explains the complexity in
defining and using symbols with which to study religion. He holds that sym-
bols and their meanings are fluid and indeterminate. In order to understand
as well as to communicate the symbols and their meanings to others, an
anthropologist stabilizes these meanings and thus makes symbols finite and
well-bounded containers of thought.6 El-Zein claims that there is no single
Islam but rather there are multiple islams, and as such the idea of a single
Islam must be abandoned. According to him, a comparative study of Islam
is not possible with fixed meanings of symbols. In this regard Robert Lau-
nay points out that “Islam is obviously not a ‘product’ of any specific local
community but rather a global entity in itself,” and that “the problem for
anthropologists is to find a framework in which to analyze the relationship
between this single, global entity, Islam, and the multiple entities that are
the religious beliefs and practices of Muslims in specific communities at
specific moments in history.”7
In addressing the tension between the universality and diverse local prac-
tices, Talal Asad (1986) comes up with a concept that he calls “discursive
tradition.” Arguing primarily against Geertz, he contends that

if one wants to write an anthropology of Islam one should begin, as

Muslims do, from the concept of a discursive tradition that includes and
relates itself to the founding texts of the Qur’an and the Hadith. Islam
is neither a distinctive social structure nor a heterogeneous collection of
beliefs, artifacts, customs, and morals. It is a tradition.8
 Introduction 3
According to Asad, a practice is Islamic “because it is authorized by the
discursive traditions of Islam, and is so taught to Muslims – whether by an
‘alim, a khatib, a Sufi shaykh, or an untutored parent.”9
After a close review of Asad, Shahab Ahmed argues that the pre-­
conceptualization of Islam as a discursive tradition privileges Islam con-
stitutive of those texts and practices whose purpose is to prescribe and
prejudices against nonprescriptive discourses, texts and practices.10 He is
also convinced that Asad’s conceptualization of Islam as a discursive tradi-
tion effectively collapses the categories of “Islam” and “orthodoxy,” mean-
ing it functions superbly as the conceptualization of orthodoxy as discursive
tradition but not as much of Islam as such.11 He holds that orthodoxy tends
to rule out the authenticity of the less powerful and nonprescriptive texts
and practices and suggests that to understand the discursive tradition of
Islam, one must conceive not only of prescriptive authority but also of what
he calls “explorative authority,” such as the Sufis and philosophers who set
out into the unknown, the uncertain, the unsettled and the new.12
Aside from anthropologists, we may engage historians’ perspectives to
have a different understanding in defining Islam, Islamic culture and Islamic
civilization. While defining Islam and Islamic culture, Marshall Hodgson13
equates Islam with personal piety and other social and intellectual traditions
of Muslims expressed in literature, art, philosophy or political organizations
as less or less properly Islam or Islamic; rather, he labels these as Islamicate
or cultural.14 “For Hodgson, literature and art are ‘Islamic’ only when they
clearly treat ‘religious’ themes,”15 and “he sets up the pious core of Islam-
proper in opposition to adab/culture.”16 “However unwittingly, Hodgson’s
distinction between Islamic and Islamicate, are less Islamic – that is, less
pure and authentic – than ‘faith’ or religion,’ ” a portrayal of Islam, observes
Ahmed, not very distant from that of a fundamentalist or Salafi.17
By further explicating Hodgson’s conceptualization of the term Islami-
cate, Bruce B. Lawrence18 defines Islam as a religion or faith system and
Islamicate as a global force or civilization. According to him, Islamicate
civilization derives from Islam but these two concepts are neither synony-
mous nor interchangeable. He points out that Islamicate civilization relates
to Islam but also exceeds it. Islamicate civilization is about the complex
of social relations that comprise the vast historical canvas of the Muslim
people.19 Lawrence’s conceptualization of Islam and Islamicate civilization
implies that anything other than Islam proper, such as belief, ritual, doc-
trine, or law, is Islamicate.20
Unlike Hodgson and Lawrence but with a different intent and purpose,
Ahmet Karamustafa holds that Islam cannot be understood as a culture, as
particularism of any kind “has always been challenged, contested, and more
often than not, counterbalanced in Islamic history by universalism.”21 He
also draws attention to the fact that any particular culture cannot be iden-
tified thoroughly with Islam either; Islam is simultaneously in and above
4 Introduction
cultures.22 Like many others before him, Karamustafa observes that Islamic
civilization draws from other cultural wellsprings. It is an heir to the varie-
gated cultural heritage of the Hellenistic Near East of late antiquity (with
distinct Greek, Persian, Mesopotamian, Syrian and Egyptian strands, to
name only the most prominent); the new civilization proceeded to incorpo-
rate many other cultural traditions – North African, Saharan/sub-Saharan
African, Iberian, South-east European, Indian, Central Asian, South-east
Asian – into its multicolored fabric. He holds, “Islam is a civilizational pro-
ject in progress; it is an evolving civilizational tradition constantly churning
different cultures in its crucible to generate innumerable, alternative social
and cultural blueprints for the conduct of human life on earth.”23
By engaging Geertz, Asad, Hodgson, Karamustafa and others but with a
different conclusion, Michael Cooperson points out that all Muslims share
the belief that there is no god but God and Muhammad is His messenger.
But this shared belief and some common rituals are only part of what any
given Muslim may think of as his or her culture. A Muslim of a particular
country may belong to both the perceived worldwide community of Mus-
lims and to his or her national community, as well as other local groupings,
at the same time.24 Considering the degree of diversity, overlapping and
locationality in terms of time and space, Cooperson concludes that Islam is
not a culture but rather a cultural system that incorporates contributions of
the members of other faiths as well as civilizations, such as Jews or Chris-
tians and Greeks, respectively.25
Though Islam may not be viewed as a culture, experience shows the plau-
sibility of expression of Islamicized cultures. Can a culture that absorbs,
subsumes and nourishes Islamic symbols and expresses them in its own pro-
duction of art, music, poetry, literature and architecture be called Islami-
cized? Islam, as Karamustafa noted, can be in and above cultures, but the
culture of a particular group of people, location, or time can be Islamicized
with the multiplicity of form, expression and practice. Sufism is one of the
more creative or “explorative,” to coin Ahmed’s (2016) phrase, branches of
Islam, one that not only infuses Islamic symbolisms into cultural artifacts,
practices and worldviews of a particular community or locality; but in doing
so also subsumes others’ cultural artifacts, practices and symbols in its fold.
Most of the chapters in this volume reflect a reciprocity of cultural fusion of
Sufi Islam in different communities.

Sufism defined
Sufism is an umbrella term for a special type of Islamic piety that is expressed
in the forms of extensive prayer; night vigil; fasting and bodily mortification;
otherworldliness; devotion and love of God and the Prophet and, by exten-
sion, all the creatures of God. It began as a form of asceticism and, in some
cases, as a personal and social protest against the perceived deviation of the
early Muslims from the true path of God.26 Alexander Knysh observes:
 Introduction 5
Acts of penitence and self-abnegation, which their practitioners justi-
fied by references to certain Qur’anic verses and the Prophet’s utter-
ances, were, in part, a reaction against the Islamic state’s newly acquired
wealth and complacency, as well as ‘impious’ pastimes and conduct of
the Umayyad rulers and their officials.27

Some scholars view Sufism as a form of Islamic Protestantism in the sense

that it deemphasizes traditional public worship in masjids, or mosques, in
favor of individual study with a religious teacher, a pir or shaykh, who offers
his disciples a deeply satisfying piety they do not experience in mosque
services.28
The Arabic term for Sufism is tasawwuf, which denotes a particular type
˙
of piety, a way of living, a set of practices and an ideal.29 It is claimed that the
very word “Sufism” derives from an Arabic root word suf, or wool. Thus,
Sufis are sometimes also referred to as wool-wearers or wearers of undyed
rough wool garments.30 It is also claimed that the word Sufism derives from
the root safa, or purity, or from Suffa, indicating the ardent followers of
the Prophet who lived or occupied the first row or rank in his mosque (ahl
al-suffa).31 The word could also derive from the Greek word sophos, mean-
ing wise.32 It appeared in the Islamic vocabulary during the Abbasid period,
when it especially referred to an organized body of mystics.33 A Sufi was also
sometimes referred to as faqir and darwish, meaning men of the spiritual
life. However, the word Sufism gained its special meaning in the middle
of the ninth century, as an ascetic way of life. The nickname Sufi was first
applied to a certain Abu Hashim ‘Uthman b. Sharik (d. 776), and by the
middle of the ninth century it had become the regular designation for those
who practiced austerity.34
Sufism is individualistic and consists of a variety of personal piety con-
cerned more with personal problems with a subjective awareness in order to
deepen and purify inward worship;35 at least in the formative period, Sufism
is meant to be a way of interiorizing Islam.36 Sufism is also defined as an
experiential and imaginal method of knowing the unknown by contemplat-
ing the signs that are beyond the textual grasp.37 It is sometimes described
as a journey toward the “Ultimate Reality,” a journey of realizing nothing-
ness and annihilation of the self before God.38 It leads to self-knowledge as
well as the knowledge of the divine, as one of the hadith qudsi or sacred
hadith depicts: “Whosoever knows his self, knows his Lord;39 that is, self-­
knowledge leads to knowledge of the Divine.”40 “Sufism seeks to lead adepts
to the heart, where they find both their true self and their Beloved, and for
that reason Sufis are sometimes called “the people of the heart” (ahl-i dil in
Persian),41 as the heart is where the Divine Reality resides. One of the sacred
ahadith (sing. hadith) states, “The Heavens and the earth cannot contain
Me, but the heart of My faithful servant does contain Me.”42 Sufism is also
defined as the path of love;43 one of the names of God is al-Wadūd, or love.
“And since love is part of the Divine Nature, all of existence, which issues
6 Introduction
from Him, is permeated by love.”44 God is said to have created the world out
of His mercy and love. According to the great Sufi theoretician Ibn al-‘Arabi
(d. 1240), the divine mercy that gives rise to the universe is existence itself.
The very act of bringing things into existence is an act of gentleness and
kindness.45 The same point is made in terms of love in a saying constantly
quoted in Sufi texts: “I was a Hidden treasure,” God says, “so I loved to be
known. Hence, I created the creatures that I might be known.”46 One of the
early Sufis of Baghdad, al-Junayd (d. 910), notes that

Sufism means that God makes thee to die to thyself and to become
alive in Him. It is to purify the heart from the recurrence of creaturely
temptations, to bid farewell to all natural inclinations, to subdue the
qualities which belong to human nature, to keep far from the claims of
the senses, to adhere to spiritual qualities, to ascend by means of Divine
knowledge, to be occupied with that which is eternally the best, to give
wise counsel to all people, to observe the Truth faithfully, and to follow
the Prophet in respect of the religious law.47

Sufis insist on remembering God not only in a contemplative way but also
by witnessing (mushahada) the “signs” (ayat) around them. As some Sufis
believe, this is because God discloses Himself in every existing thing.48 One
of the signs of such disclosure (tajalli) is time itself; signs are also revealed
in the Book and in nature.49 Witnessing as well as embodying the signs, a
cultivated virtue called ihsan (doing the beautiful),50 along with sincerity
(ikhlas) constitutes tasawwuf.
˙ of extinction in the love of God. Sufis endeavor to
Sufism is a tradition
discover the hidden treasure by deciphering the signs of God. Did God not
say, “He is nearer to man than human’s jugular vein” (Qur’an 50:16)? The
Qur’an also states reciprocal love between God and humanity. However,
the notion of reciprocal love between God and humans is sharply objected
to by the mainstream ‘ulama’. According to this view, love means loving
God’s commands, that is, strict obedience. Yet it remained the central issue
with the Sufi-minded people, whose love was directed not only to God but
also to God’s beloved, the Prophet, love for whom became a highly impor-
tant ingredient in Muslim life.51 “As the first Sūra of the Koran [sic.] begins
with words al-hamdu lillāh,‘Praise be to God,’ thus praise of God fills the
created world, ˙audible to those who understand the signs. Is not Muham-
mad’s very name derived from the root h-m-d, ‘to praise’?,” argues Anne-
marie Schimmel.52 The mutuality of love ˙expressed in the Qur’an (5:54)53 is
oftentimes sidelined in the exoteric tradition. On the contrary, Sufis long for
God’s love but also for the love of humanity and vice versa. To them, love
is transcendent.
Scholars like Fazlur Rahman, who viewed Sufism negatively and labeled
some Sufis as spiritual delinquents,54 admit that with their love and pure
devotion, Sufis challenge the legists’ concept of obedience and observance of
 Introduction 7
the Law.55 So irresistible is its appeal to the masses that, notes Rahman, “the
sobering voice of the ‘‘Ulamā’ gradually lost its influence, and orthodox
Islam finally capitulated” after the fourteenth century.56 Sufism is perceived
as the path of love. Sufism, notes Kabir Helminski, incorporates the verti-
cal dimension of human experience, the ascent of the soul through known
stages of purification. This ascent is, he holds, “accomplished by nothing
less than the power of Love that is the transforming force within spiritual
life, and without which Islam is incomplete.”57 The various manifestations
of ihsan focus on the quality of love, especially in Sufism, “where love is
typically presented as the key to Islamic life and practice.”58 Because of this,
Sufism is described as the school of passionate love, or madhhab-i ‘ishq. It
is ‘ishq, at once transformative and redemptive, human and divine, that has
been a means of spiritual ascension for the seekers who yearn to behold God
here and now, observes Omid Safi, who translated this mystical path as the
path of radical love, or Mazhab-e eshq (Arabic: madhhab al-‘ishq).59

Chronology of development
Sufism embodies two streams, asceticism and mysticism. Ascetic practices of
some early adherents of Islam paved the way for the emergence of Islamic
mysticism. It was not until Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya (d. 801) that asceticism
turned toward mysticism.60 Some of the early ascetics were Abu’l-Darda (d.
652), his wife Umm al-Darda, Salman al-Farisi (d. 655 or 657), Hudhayfa
b. al-Yaman (d. 657) and Imran b. al-Husayn al-Khuza‘i (d. 672 or 673).61
These pious Muslims were referred to as nussak (devout), zuhhad (world
renouncer) and ‘ubbad (worshippers), who turned their backs on worldly
life and devoted themselves to a life of self-mortification, self-purification
and Prophetic piety. Some of the early ascetics were constant weepers, as
they were concerned about salvation and the fear of God. Some of them
wore woolen garments, which resembled the Christian monks’ and ascet-
ics’ woolen robes, as a symbol of pietistic withdrawal,62 in contrast to the
wealthy Muslims, who wore expensive silk and cotton.
In some cases, ascetic practices began as a personal protest against the
luxuries and perceived injustices incurred by the dynastic governing elites.63
The most prominent example of social protest of mystics is the group known
as Malāmatīs as well as its offshoot Qalandarīs, who practiced an extreme
form of asceticism and “sought to destroy social conventions in order to
shock the good conscience of Muslim society.”64 In the course of time their
reaction took various shapes and forms, with some of them utterly outstrip-
ping all religious and social norms.65 However, acts of penitence and self-
abnegation of early ascetics were, in part, a reaction against the wealth and
complacency and impious conduct of the elites.66
It has been argued that ascetic practices of some early adherents of Islam
paved the way for the emergence of Islamic mysticism. It is said that the first
known socially active Muslim ascetic was Abu Dharr Ghifari (d. 652), one
8 Introduction
of the Companions (sahaba) of the Prophet, Muhammad. He was born in
Medina and spent his later life in Damascus. Frustrated with the lavish and
worldly lives of some of the Companions, Abu Dharr chose a way of living
that marked the beginning of a new movement in later eras. According to
him, “It is through asceticism that God makes wisdom and goodness enters
men’s hearts.”67 He was famous for his criticism against the hypocrisy of
the political elites of his days. Another example of this kind was Hasan al-
Basri (d. 728). He cited examples of Muhammad along with Moses, Jesus
and David as models of the ascetic way of life.68 He opined, “Be with this
world as if you had never been in it, and with the next as if you were never
to leave it.”69 In Hasan’s environment and probably under his influence,
men and women from Iraqi and Syrian lands appeared and practiced the
art of controlling the temptations of the kernel self, or nafs, which accord-
ing to a saying of the Prophet is the greatest jihad,70 and about which Rumi
says, “Don’t make the Jesus of your being carry the donkey of your ego; let
Jesus ride the donkey.”71 The practice of mortification, renunciation and
the fear of God encouraged the later generation of ascetics to become more
conscious about God, which gradually turned them to focus on the soul and
its relationship with God.
Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiya, asked once whether she loved God and hated the
Devil, replied: “My love of God has prevented me from the hatred of
Satan.”72 It was perhaps Rabi‘a, who first emphasized love in addition
to mortification and renunciation, in defining the relationship between
God and an ascetic. Rabi‘a is said to have prayed “O God! if I worship
Thee in fear of Hell, burn me in Hell; and if I worship Thee in hope of
Paradise, exclude me from Paradise; but if I worship Thee for Thine own
sake, withhold not Thine Everlasting Beauty!”73 She was probably the
first who claimed to teach the doctrine of Divine Love (muhabba)74 as
the “doctrine of Pure Love,” the disinterested love of God for His own
sake alone.75
Abu ‘Abdullah Harith ibn Asad al-Muhasibi was one of the early Sufis
who were influenced by a contemporary, Dhu’l-Nun Misri. Al-Muhasibi
was born in Basra in 781, came to Baghdad as a young man and died there
in 847. He gave precedence on the total surrender to God over everything
else, which he called ri‘aya. He asked for subordinating the regulation of
acts or rituals and directing every individual action, continually renewed in
the heart, to serve one Master – God, before anything else. He emphasized
the transformation of man from within by means of a rule for living, which
involves (a) distinguishing reason (‘aql) from science (‘ilm) and (b) distin-
guishing faith (’iman) from real wisdom (ma‘rifa). To him, obedience was
more important than observance. He argued that ‘aql, or reason, should be
used to discover God’s preference so that the soul could reach the loving
pre-eternal providence with the divine touches. Like other ascetics before
him, al-Muhasibi was haunted by the fear of death and wrath of God in the
life Hereafter. To overcome unhappiness and adversity, he recommended
 Introduction 9
practicing contentment (rida) and to express gratitude (shukr) and take eve-
rything as divine gift and grace.76
Dhu’l-Nun Misri (796–856) was another early mystic who was born in
upper Egypt. He was said to have traveled widely: to Mecca, Damascus
and the cells of the Christian ascetics on Mt. Lukkam, south of Antioch.
He was one of the first propagators of sama‘ (music) sessions. Like Rabi‘a,
he used love poems in describing the relationship between the lover and the
beloved and the notion of union with God. A number of his sayings exhib-
ited erotic symbolism; he often spoke of God as the mystic’s intimate Friend
and Lover.77 One of his statements was as follows: “I desired to glimpse
You, and when I saw You, I was overcome by a fit of joy and could not hold
back my tears.” He cited the Torah and David in envisioning the sight of
God. He was also the first to define and teach “the classification of the mys-
tical states (tartib al-ahwal).”78 According to him, there are four doors to
wisdom: fear, hope, love and passionate longing. Like al-Muhasibi, he also
argued that man could not achieve God’s fellowship without His aid, “For
it is God who chooses his lovers from pre-eternity.”79
The counterpart of Rabi‘a and Dhu’l-Nun in the eastern region was Ibra-
him b. Adham (d. 777), who also described the notion of love in attaining
God’s grace. He was said to be a prince of Balkh and converted to mysticism
after hearing a “call” when he was out on a hunting trip. During the trip
he had heard a strange voice that said, “It was not for this thou wast cre-
ated: it was not for this thou wast charged to do.” Having heard this call,
he gave up his princely life and wandered from land to land. He visited Iraq
and Mecca and lived for a long time in Jerusalem. He went out to live in the
Syrian Desert, where he met Christian anchorites who taught him the true
knowledge of God. Similar to Rabi‘a, he is also said to have prayed,

O God, Thou knowest, that Paradise weighs not with me so much as the
wing of a gnat. If Thou befriendest me by Thy recollection, and sustain-
est me with Thy love, and makest it easy for me to obey Thee, then give
Thou Paradise to whomsoever Thou wilt.80

The mystical thoughts of the early Sufis, such as Hasan al-Basri, Rabi‘a,
Ibrahim Adham, al-Muhasibi and al-Junayd, maintained a balance between
their practices and the practices of the mainstream ‘ulama’; but two intoxi-
cated mystics, Abu Yazid Bistami and Husayn b. Mansur al-Hallaj, pro-
voked hostility against Sufism from the mainstream religious authorities by
uttering their mystical knowledge in public. Bistami (848 or 874), argued
some scholars, turned asceticism to mysticism.81 Bistami, the Iranian mys-
tic, first studied religious law and then learned mystical knowledge from
Abu ‘Ali Sindi. He was claimed to have said “I was stripped of my self, as
a serpent sheds its skin; then I considered my essence, and I was He!” and
“You obey me more than I obey You!”82 Bistami is also claimed to have
said “Glory to Me! How great is My Majesty!” He also used the Prophetic
10 Introduction
example of Ascension (mi‘raj) to express his mystical experience. The fol-
lowing are some of his narratives of this sort (they will be discussed again in
assessing the influence of Hinduism upon Islamic mysticism):

As soon as I had come to His unicity, I became a bird whose body is

oneness and whose two wings are eternity, and I flew continually for ten
years in the air of similitude; and in those years I saw myself in the same
skies a hundred million times. I did not stop flying until I came to the
arena of Preeternity. There I perceived the tree of oneness. (He describes
its earth, its trunk, its branches, leaves and fruits.) I contemplated it,
and I knew that it was all a snare (khad‘a).83
Once He raised me up and stationed me before Him, and said to me,
‘O Abu Yazid, truly My creation desire to see thee.’ I said, ‘Adorn me
in Thy Unity, and clothe me in Thy Selfhood, and raise me up in Thy
Oneness, so that when Thy creation see me they will say, We have seen
Thee: and Thou wilt be That, and I shall not be there at all.”84

Here, he cast himself and the world aside and lost himself in God. This
way of annihilation or losing oneself in God is known as the doctrine of
fanā’ in Islamic mysticism. This notion of annihilation is, to some degree,
similar to the Buddhist notion of nirvāna (discussed below). It has, nonethe-
˙
less, been argued that al-Muhasibi’s disciple al-Junayd (d. 910) of Baghdad
developed the doctrine of fanā’, which turned out to be an integral part of
a well-coordinated theosophy.85 This doctrine, it is argued, derives from the
Qur’anic verses 55:26–27 that states that everything upon the earth passeth
away, save His face. Bistami is also said to have introduced the notion of
‘ishq, or passionate love between the mystic and God as well, and thus left
the Qur’anic usage of muhabba, or love (Qur’an 5:59).86
Similar to Bistami, yet a step forward, was al-Hallaj (d. 922), a mystic
of Baghdad who traveled extensively throughout Khurasan, Transoxania
and India. He was executed because of his alleged blasphemous utterance
“Ana’l-Haqq,” or I am the Truth (God), although it was not confirmed
whether he had ever uttered these words.87 He might have been executed for
his alleged involvement in political activities.88 He was accused of contracts
with the Qarmatians in Multan and of revolutionary conspiracy against
the Abbasid government.89 His poems reflect his passionate longing for the
union with God. It has been argued that his poems are “the most tender
expressions of mystical, non-sensual love that are known in Arabic,” and
“he used for the first time the allegory of the moth that casts itself into the
candle’s flame – an image that was to become a favorite with later Sufi poets
in the Persianate world.”90 Al-Hallaj is viewed as the first martyr of love by
numerous poets and Sufis. He represents the completion of Islamic mystical
vocations that were in the air since Islam’s beginning.91
It appears that Sufism started with pure asceticism and ended with mysti-
cism; it moved from simple renunciation of worldly comfort to the love of
 Introduction 11
God and to the doctrine of fanā’, or annihilation of oneself in God. Theo-
retically developed by al-Junayd, the doctrine of fanā’ was made popular by
Bistami and al-Hallaj. It may be mentioned here that most of the early Sufis
did not view the Shari‘a as adequate enough in searching the soul and devel-
oping an intimate relationship between God and His human servants.92 The
tension between the legists and the mystics emerged from the intoxicated
mysticism, as it is said, of Bitami and al-Hallaj. Particularly, that of al-Hallaj
followed a period of persecution of the mystics, which was ameliorated by
the legist-cum-mystic Imam Abu Hamid al-Ghazali (d. 1111). Al-Ghazali
bridged the normative Islam with those of mystics’ Islam. His major work,
the Ihyā’ ‘ulūm ad-dīn (Revivification of the Sciences of Religion) “intro-
duces˙ the believer into a life that is agreeable to God,” which, observes
Schimmel (1992), “soon accepted as standard, thus tempering mainstream
Islam with a moderately mystical flavor.”93 A new form of Islamic mysti-
cism, the organized Sufi orders with various branches, which we experience
today, began shortly after the death of al-Ghazali.94

Fusion of Sufi Islam

Sufism resembles mystical thoughts and practices of other traditions. Espe-
cially, early Sufism in many ways resembles the Eastern Christian asceticism.
For example, wearing of the widely visible Sufi garb or woolen garment.
Long before the appearance of Sufis in the scene, woolen garments were the
symbolic mark of the Nestorian Christian ascetics. It is also apparent that
the Sufi notion of “union with God” resembles the meditation practices of
Neoplatonists and Hindu and Buddhist monks. These resemblances are the
root of the debates about the origins of Sufism. As a way of life, Sufism is
also debated within the Islamic culture. One of the oldest stereotypes in
Islam is the eternal conflict between the legalist and the mystic.95 This is
partly because the core idea of Sufism, ma‘rifa (gnosis or mystical knowl-
edge), does not appear in the Qur’an or in any prominent prophetic report
or Hadith.96 Mainstream ‘ulama’ (religious scholars and functionaries) of
Islam emphasized the strict observance of the outward rituals, whereas Sufis
emphasized the development of inward faculties of the adherents of Islam.
They especially referred to the following Qur’anic verse in establishing their
legitimacy: “Verily, on the friends of God (awliyā’ of Allah) there is no fear,
nor shall they grieve” (10:62).
Islam was originated in a predominantly pagan’s land surrounded by the
followers of Jewish and Christian faiths.97 The pagans did not dominate
the early epicenters of Sufi practices; rather, the people of Judeo-Christian
religious traditions, who had a long history of mystical practices, dominated
them. In the “Arab lands between Egypt and Mesopotamia,”98 there were
as many as six ascetic centers in the mid-seventh and early-eighth centu-
ries. These epicenters were located in the Arab peninsula (Mecca, Medina),
Iraq (Kufa, Basra), Syria (Damascus) and Yemen.99 North Africa, especially
12 Introduction
Egypt in the west; Armenia in the north; and Central Asia in the east were
the heartlands of early Muslim mystics. These early epicenters of the mystics
were also crossroads of other religious traditions, such as Zoroastrianism,
Manichaeism, Hinduism and Buddhism. Some of the followers of these tra-
ditions were also mystics.
In addition, political and administrative changes, especially wars and
conflicts among the Greeks, Romans, Arabs and Sasanid Iran,100 may have
inspired peoples of this region to know one another. Jonathan P. Berkey
observes,

The Sasanians, even at the height of their conflict with Rome in the sixth
century, relentlessly borrowed from Byzantine culture everything from
bath-houses to systems of taxation, and the shah Khusrau I Anush-
irvan (r. 531–579) gleefully welcomed the pagan Greek philosophers
whom the Roman emperor Justinian had expelled from their academy
in Athens.101

Landbound as well as seaborne trade routes might also have influenced the
interchanging of cultural traditions among different communities within
and outside this region,102 as the mercantile classes consciously or uncon-
sciously, through their transregional trading networks, brought the diverse
peoples of this region close to one another and diffused religious ideas from
one place to another.103 Muslim rulers, especially the ‘Abbasids (750–1258)
also maintained the religiocultural exchanges among various communities.
Especially, the House of Wisdom (Bayt al-hikma), established by Caliph al-
Ma’mun (ruled 813–833 ce) in Baghdad as a center of learning and transla-
tion for scholars from around the world, brought the philosophical heritage
of the Greeks, Persians and Indians within the realm of Islamic quest for
wisdom.104
Because of its similarities to and parallelisms with the preexisting mystical
traditions, Sufism created debates and controversies not only for its origin
but also for its originality as an Islamic religious practice.105 Some scholars
argue that Sufism is not an original Islamic idea but rather a replica of the
Christian practice of asceticism, the Vedāntic notion of moksa and Bud-
dhist idea of nirvāna. Prominent among the scholars who promoted ˙ these
˙
theses are Margaret Smith, Miguel Asin Palacios, Julian Baldic and Robert
C. Zaehner, to whom we now turn.

Influence of Christian mysticism

According to Margaret Smith, the conception of access to God and union
with Him is of Christian origin.106 She found a parallel between Ibrahim
Adham and St. Hubert.107 Adham, while out on a hunting trip, heard: “Ver-
ily thou wast not created for this, and not in this wilt thou die.” St. Hubert
heard a voice while out on a chase: “Hubert, unless thou turnest to the
 Introduction 13
Lord and leadest a holy life, thou shalt quickly go down into Hell,” and
St. Hubert then dismounted and gave himself up from then on to the ser-
vice of God. She holds that the Sufic idea of tawba, or repentance, which
Dhu’l-Nun and al-Junayd viewed as the first step toward God, is also of
Christian origin. She notes that the emphasis on repentance (tawba) in early
Sufism corresponds to conversion in Christian theology.108 Al-Muhasibi’s
idea of contentment, which comes to pass by the divine decree and which
has a tendency to quietism and otherworldliness and toward the subjuga-
tion of the carnal self, Smith believes, derives from the teachings of the
New ­Testament – the Parable of the Sower.109 Stages of the Sufi path, such
as patience (sabr), gratitude (shukr), poverty (faqr), renunciation (zuhd),
trust in God (tawakkul) and satisfaction (rida), are also familiar steps of
the Christian ascetics and mystics.110 According to Smith, Hasan al-Basri’s
fear of the life Hereafter, his emphasis on meditation (fikra), his preaching
to practice abstinence (wara’) and his avoidance of desire (tama’) are similar
to Christian ascetic practices.111
Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya, as legend has it, responded to a marriage proposal
by saying that she ceased to exist and passed out of Self, existed in God and
was altogether His. So, the marriage contract must be asked from Him, not
from her. Rabi‘a’s statement is similar, Smith argues, to the monk Aphraates
to the Christian “Daughters of the Covenant,” who in response to such
a marriage proposal said, “To a royal Husband am I betrothed, and to
Him do I minister; and if I leave His ministry, my Betrothed will be wroth
with me and will write me a letter of divorce and will dismiss me from His
house.”112 Smith also found identical similarity between Abu Yazid Bistami
and Dionysius of Syria. She notes:

Dionysius of Syria had said plainly that God gave himself for the deifi-
cation of those who attained unto Him, and so also Bistami, and others
of the Sufis declared that the “I” had vanished and God dwelt in the
soul in its place. There was no longer any place for “I” and “Thou,” for
the “Thou” and “I” had become one in perfect unity, and the human
was now one with the Divine.113

Smith also argues that, in addition to the direct influence of Christian

ascetics and mystics, Islamic mystical tradition is also influenced indirectly
by Christian women. It occurs through the marriages of Christian women
with Muslim men. She notes, “The definitely Christian tone of some Mus-
lim writers, and especially of the Sufis, may with great probability be traced
back, in part at least, to this heritage from Christian mothers.”114 Chris-
tian employees of Umayyad and Abbasid caliphs and Christian profession-
als mark their presence in the development of Islam, both in its orthodox
form and mystical or unorthodox form, through their dialogues, through
the translations of Greek and Syriac works into Arabic and through the
replacement of pagan ideas by Christian materials.115
14 Introduction
It is interesting to note that while searching for the Christian origin of
Islamic mysticism, Smith did not pay much attention to the Qur’an. For exam-
ple, the Qur’an mentions tawba in several occasions, such as in verses 2:160,
6:54, 9:118 and 42:25, in addition to a full chapter on repentance. Trust in
God, or tawakkul, is the fundamental element of the Islamic faith (Qur’an
65:3). Meditation is related to remembrance or dhikr in the Qur’an (24:37).
The Qur’an also calls on for fear and longing (7:56, 20:131), and shukr, or
gratitude, is described in verse 14:7. Satisfaction, or rida, is expressed in the
Qur’an as an emotional relationship of men with the loving God.
In spite of the Qur’anic verses that do express the mystical dimension,
the proximity to Christian ascetics surely inspired early Muslim mystics.
Nevertheless, the Qur’an does not deny the importance of Judaism and
Christianity in Islam; rather, it states that Islam is an attempt to restore the
Abrahamic faith in its original form (2:85, 91; 3:2, 85); “for the Qur’an
itself states clearly that the revelation vouchsafed to Muhammad was a con-
firmation of what had been revealed to previous Prophets.”116 The Qur’an
also depicts the following:

And unto thee have We revealed the Scripture with the truth, confirming
whatever Scripture was before it, and a watcher over it. . . . For each We
have appointed a divine law and a traced-out way. Had Allah willed He
could have made you one community. . . . So vie one with another in
good works. (5:48)

It goes on: “Surely the believers and the Jews, and Christians, and Sabaeans,
whoever believes in God and the Last Day, and whosoever does right, shall
have his reward with his Lord and will neither have fear nor regret” (2:62).
Thus, to follow a Christian ascetic is not an un-Islamic practice for many
pious Muslims. Hasan al-Basri did not hesitate to give examples of Moses,
David and Jesus, along with the Prophet of Islam, as role models for poverty
and abstinence when he encountered caliph Omar b. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz.117 It is
not unlikely that Muslim ascetics and early Sufis were primarily inspired by
their own holy scripture, i.e., the Qur’an, and by the Prophetic traditions.
For example, al-Muhasibi’s chief authority for any doctrine was the Qur’an
and the Prophetic traditions, even though he could have been inspired by
the Jewish and Christian sources as well.118 Rabi‘a is also the case in point.
She could have been inspired by the Qur’anic verse 5:59, which speaks of
love between God and His servants, and by verse 9: 72, which states that
the greatest bliss is the good pleasure of God. In this regard, there is a Pro-
phetic tradition that reports God as saying “My servant draws nigh unto
Me, and I love him; and when I love him, I am his ear, so that he hears by
Me, and his eye, so that he sees by Me, and his tongue, so that he speaks
by Me, and his hand, so that he takes by Me.”119 However, for Ibrahim
Adham, al-Junayd and Bistami we have different arguments to make, which
shall be discussed later.
 Introduction 15
Two other scholars, Miguel Asin Palacios and Julian Baldick, also found
parallels between Islamic and non-Islamic mysticism. Like Smith, Palacios
attempted to prove that Islamic mysticism copied the Gospels and other
books of the New Testament. But he also remained silent about the Islamic
sources of those similarities. He cited the parallels in the Gospel and the
New Testament but did not pay attention to the Qur’an.120 Julian Baldick
not only questioned the validity of Sufism but also that of the Qur’an and
Islam.121 Like Smith and Palacios, he overemphasizes the influence of Chris-
tianity and argues that “Sufism is part of the emerging Christian wing of
Islam.”122
The counterargument is expressed most forcefully by Reynold A. Nichol-
son, who observes, “The seeds of Súfíism are to be found in the powerful
and widely spread ascetic tendencies˙ which arose within Islam during the
first century A.H.”123 He also notes that Sufism “owes comparatively little
either to Christianity or to any foreign source. In other words, it seems to
me that this type of mysticism was – or at least might have been – the native
product of Islam itself”124 with a Neoplatonic flavor through Dhu’l Nun.
Following Nicholson’s line of thought, Hodgson noted:

To some degree, Sufism shared the traits of Christian mystical move-

ment and developed it further; but, like the other main forms of Muslim
piety, it was unmistakably Islamic. At least occasionally, men who might
otherwise have become Christian monks were converted to Islam in its
Sufi form when they felt the call to a more reflective life. In creativity,
Sufism soon left contemporary local Christian movements far behind.125

Influence of Hinduism
Some scholars argue that, as Sufism moved to the east from its heartlands,
it became infused with other traditions, especially with those of the Hindus
and Buddhists. Robert C. Zaehner strongly argues that the Islamic mysti-
cism is indebted to Hindu mysticism in a number of ways. In support of
his argument, Zaehner primarily focuses on Bistami. According to Zaehner,
Sufism “becomes the unconscious victim of Vedāntin ideas transmitted by
Abū Yazīd of Bistām and possibly also by Hussayn b. Mansūr al-Hallāj and
˙
Abū Sa‘īd ibn Abīi’l-Khayr.” 126 ˙ that Bistami˙ (d. 848
He points out ˙ or 874)
was influenced by the Vedāntic mysticism developed by Śaṅkara (788–820).
With the help of his mentor, Abu ‘Ali Sindi, Bistami developed the idea
of union with God. It may be noted here that the Vedas revealed a poly-
theistic religious tradition without a clear idea of a transcended God, and
as such differ significantly from the Abrahamic conceptualization of God.
Nevertheless, the early Upanisads, such as Brhadāranyaka, Chāndogya and
Bhagavad-Gītā, developed the ˙ idea of Brahman
˙ as ˙the divine. The idea of
Brahman was identified as the sum-total of human existence. Brahman is the
All, which appears in the human being as mind and in the external universe
16 Introduction
as space.127 The Chāndogya Upanisad (3.12.7) describes this interrelation-
ship as follows: ˙

That which is known as Brahman is surely this space which is outside

a man; and this space which is outside a man is surely this space which
is within a man. And that space which is within a man is surely that
space which is within the heart. This is the plenum and is not subject
to change.128

It also distinguishes the body from the soul (ātman); the first is perishable
while the second is eternal. The Supreme Being on the one hand inaugurates
Himself in the world as perishable, mortal and formed, which is bound by
time and space. On the other hand, the other part of the Supreme Being
remains immortal, formless and eternal, beyond time and space. Thus, the
Bhagavad-Gītā makes a distinction between the higher Brahman (imperish-
able, immortal, changeless), with which the human soul is identical, and the
lower Brahman (perishable, mortal). It may be mentioned here that some
scholars of Islam argue that the Qur’an does not endorse any distinction
between mind and body. Rahman points out that the term nafs, often trans-
lated as “soul,” means person or self, and the Qur’an uses the term most
likely to mean the tendencies of human personality and mental state, which
are not synonymous with mind as a separate substance.129
However, according to Śaṅkara, the phenomenal world is nothing but
māyā, and the unqualified Brahman is beyond reach of the qualified beings.
Yet moksa (liberation) is possible because of the advaita (non-dualism) unity
between˙the soul and the Brahman. God or Brahman appears with his māyā
in this world as Īśvara. For the unlettered masses, only bhakti is the key to
achieve the bliss of Īśvara and then moksa. Zaehner points out that Śaṅkara’s
˙
māyā is the key to following Bistami, al-Hallaj, Ibn al-‘Arabi (d. 1240) and
other later Sufis. He observes that in Bistami’s “thou art that,” especially
the word “that,” is actually used to mean God. He noted, “ ‘That,’ indeed,
for the Hindu is the normal way of referring to Brahman as the Absolute;
‘thou art that’ is the literal translation of ‘tat tvam asi’ of the Chāndogya
Upanisad.”130 He concludes, “[T]he phrase came to the knowledge of Abū
Yazīd ˙at a time when the great Śaṅkara had just revived and systematized
the Vedānta in its most extreme form in India itself.”131 Bistami’s allegory of
birds and trees and remarks like “then I looked, and I knew that all this was
deceit” resemble, according to Zaehner, the cosmic tree of the Katha (6.1),
Mundaka (3.1.1–3), Śvetāśvatara (4.6–10), Upanisads and Bhagavad-Gītā ˙
(15.1–2).132 ˙
There is another parallel between the sayings of Bistami and the Upanisads:
“I sloughed off my self as a snake sloughs off its skin: then I looked into my
self and lo! I was He.” This utterance parallels the Brhadāranyaka (4.4.7,
12). Bistami borrowed it from the Brhadāranyaka, argues ˙ ˙
Zaehner: “Abū
˙ ˙
Yazīd was directly influenced by a totally alien stream of mysticism and
 Introduction 17
that it was through him that Vedāntin ideas became part and parcel of later
Islamic mysticism.”133 However, Zaehner acknowledges that Dhu’l-Nun
also used the allegory of birds, and Bistami might have followed him. He
observes that Dhu’l-Nun’s idea of passionate longing, so also al-Muhasibi’s,
is similar to Ramanuja’s.134 It might be noted that Ramanuja (d. 1137?) was
born much later than Dhu’l-Nun (d. 856) and al-Muhasibi (d. 847).
It seems that it was not the Indian merchant colony in Basra135 through
which the Indian factor became so prominent in Islamic mystical tradition;
rather, it was Abu ‘Ali Sindi, the teacher of Abu Yazid Bistami, through
whom Vedāntin ideals permeated Sufism.136 It appears that, for Zaehner,
Abu ‘Ali’s last name, or nisba adjective, Sindi, is the most important fac-
tor in determining the influence of Indian mysticism upon the Islamic one.
For the Vedāntic influence upon Islamic mysticism through Bistami, Zaeh-
ner’s hypotheses can be summarized as follows: (1) Śaṅkara (788–820) was
born before Abu Yazid (d. 848 or 874), so he must have been taught the
Vedāntic ideals through his master Abu ‘Ali; (2) some of the utterances of
Abu Yazid resemble the Upanisads and Bhagavad-Gītā, and the allegories
˙
of birds, snakes and trees also resemble the same early Indian sources, so he
must have been imitating those allegories from those sources; (3) Abu ‘Ali
hailed from Sind (a province of modern Pakistan), so Abu ‘Ali must have
been familiar with and had access to the Vedāntic teachings; (4) Abu ‘Ali
did not know how to perform the obligatory prayers, so he must have been
a convert from another religious tradition, i.e., Hinduism; and (5) since Abu
Yazid’s teachings were dramatic and new, there must have been a foreign
influence upon him, the Vedāntic ideals of India.137
The likelihood of the Vedātic influence upon Abu Yazid Bistami may
not be ignored altogether, yet Zaehner’s argument can be challenged in
many ways:
First, there is a village by the same name as Sind in Khorasan,138 and Abu
‘Ali could have been hailed from that village, and “there is nothing more
natural than that the native of the one place should study under a native of
the other.”139
Second, Abu ‘Ali did not know how to perform the obligatory Islamic
prayer, but it does not necessarily mean that he was a new convert. If he was
a convert from another faith, it could have been any other faith popular in
that region. He could have even been a heterodox before his conversion.
Third, if we accept Bistami’s year of death as 874,140 the time span between
Śaṅkara and Bistami is still relatively short for the diffusion of highly intel-
lectual arguments of the South Indian theosophist Śaṅkara beyond India.
Śaṅkara, let alone the Muslims, was not even accepted by his coreligionists,
as he was suspected to be a Buddhist monk. If we admit that Abu ‘Ali Sindi
was a convert from Hinduism, he must have been a high-caste Brahmin, or
he would not have had the access to the Vedas, Upanisads and Bhagavad-
Gītā, the sacred texts of Hindu traditions. Presumably ˙ a highly educated
person (since he is said to have been well aware of the Vedāntic ideals), Abu
18 Introduction
‘Ali was unlikely to teach Vedāntic ideals to his disciple, as he renounced his
previous faith as incomplete and inferior to Islam.
Fourth, Abu Yazid’s allegories resemble not only the Upanisads and
Bhagavad-Gītā but also the Qur’an. The Qur’an discusses and˙ uses the
metaphors of the bird, the soul’s resurrection and its immortality in vari-
ous occasions (2:262, 3:43 and 67:19 are some examples). In the Qur’an,
the tree represents man’s vocation and destiny (28:30; 14:29; 36:80). The
allegory of the snake is popular among the adherents of all Abrahamic tra-
ditions. Abu Yazid also used the Prophet’s Ascension (mi‘raj) in expressing
his mystical experience. As we have mentioned earlier regarding Bistami’s
ecstatic utterances of “I” and “Thou,” Smith found parallels of these utter-
ances in Dionysius of Syria, which contradicts Zaehner’s claim.
Fifth, in Hinduism, the very existence of human beings is linked with
the concept of karma; the present life is the reward or punishment for mer-
its or demerits in a person’s prior existence. Śaṅkara’s mysticism, including
his concept of māyā and saṁsāra, revolved around the concept of karma.
Moksa, or release of the human soul from the worldly bondage, is the ulti-
mate˙ goal of moksa. Not moksa but rather fanā’ (annihilation) and baqā’
˙ the goals of
(abiding in God) are ˙ Islamic mysticism.141
We have already noticed that the conception of God in Abrahamic reli-
gious traditions is different from the conception of God in Hindu tradition.
We have also noted that the conception of God varied in many ways in the
Vedas, Bhagavad-Gītā and Upanisads. Based on these differences, differ-
ent schools of Hinduism provided˙ different interpretations of God; some
described God as Brahman; some, as Ātman; some, as Īśvara; and some,
such as Sāṁkhya school, did not even acknowledge the existence of God. In
the Bhagavad-Gītā, Lord Krishna suggests that with devotion in heart, any-
thing could be worshipped as God. Thus, the conception of God in Hindu-
ism differs from that of Abrahamic traditions. On the other hand, a Muslim,
like a Jew and a Christian, believes that the life Hereafter is a permanent
life. The status of a person in that life will be determined according to the
performance of his or her Earthly life. This perception does not quite fit with
that of endless cycles of saṁsāra and the doctrine of karma. It appears that
Zaehner did not take an account of this basic difference when he measured
the influence of Vedānta upon Bistami. It seems that Zaehner plays with
some translated words instead of using the spirit of the words, to which Tor
Andrae later drew attention.
However, there is evidence showing that, before the translation of Hel-
lenistic philosophy into Islamic literature, there were exchanges of scien-
tific knowledge between Hindus and Muslims through Basra, while Sind
belonged to the Muslim caliphs in the eighth century. But Hindu metaphys-
ics, argues Louis Massignon, did not find a congenial atmosphere in Islam,
because of its complex idolatry, infinite cycle of karma and saṁsāra and the
caste system.142 Reciprocal influence occurred in a later period in India as a
 Introduction 19
result of Muslim missionary activity but not as early as the eighth and ninth
centuries, argues Nicholson.143 In this regard Martin Lings observed:

Ever since Islam established itself in the subcontinent of India, there have
been intellectual exchanges between Sufis and Brahmins; and Sufism
eventually came to adopt certain terms and notions from Neoplato-
nism. But the foundations of Sufism were laid and its subsequent course
irrevocably fixed long before it would have been possible for extrane-
ous and parallel mystical influences to have introduced non-Islamic ele-
ments, and when such influences were finally felt, they touched only the
surface.144

Ethnographic studies as well as content analysis of literary genres indicate

contrary facts.145 The idea of incarnation popular among some Sufi tradi-
tions exemplifies the influence of Hinduism. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s concept of hama
ūst (all is He), to a great extent, resembles Śaṅkara’s concept of Brahman,
who manifests Himself, in part, as the phenomenal world. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s
doctrine of wahdat al-wujūd, which is an extension of hama ūst, meaning
˙ as well as unity of existentialization or finding God in eve-
the unity of being
rything,146 sounds Vedātic in origin. The representation of the longing soul
in the form of a woman in Indian Sufi imagination reflects more of Gopīs,
especially Radha’s longing for Krishna.147 For centuries, Muslim mystics and
poets blended the stories and legends of their own traditions, such as Yusuf
and Zulaykha, Shirin and Farhad and Layla and Majnun, with those of
Radha and Krishna, Hir and Ranjha and numerous others in South Asia.
Surely, the conceptualization of God and the doctrine of karma in Hindu
worldviews differ from Islam’s conceptualization of God and life cycle, yet
some practices popular among some Sufi traditions, such as breath con-
trol, yogic contemplation of God, bhakti and vegetarianism, appear to be of
Hindu origin.148 Because of these, as observation shows, Islamic mysticism
took a different form in South Asia; as Frithjof Schuon points out,

Sufism seems to derive its originality, both positive and problematical,

from the fact that it mixes – metaphorically speaking – the spirit of the
Psalms with that of Upanishads, as if David had chanted Brahmasūtra,
or Badarayana had implored the God of Israel (emphases in original).149

Influence of Buddhism
The story related to Ibrahim Adham for the repudiation of his princely life
in search of God with that of Siddhartha Gautama’s is probably one of the
earliest sources of Buddhism’s influence upon Sufism. But theosophically,
the influence of Buddhism is linked to the idea of nirvāna and the Islamic
mystical idea of fanā’. According to Muhammad Enamul˙ Haq, Sufi ideas of
20 Introduction
the unification of the soul with the Universal Soul or Real Being (al-Haqq)
resemble the Buddhist doctrine of nirvāna. To achieve the state of unifica-
˙
tion, Sufism prescribes different stages, namely ithbat-i-nafi (affirmation of
negation), nafi-i-ithbat (negation of affirmation), fanā’ (self-annihilation)
and baqā’ billah (abiding in God), which, Haq argues, are fundamentally
based on Buddhist doctrines of yoga. In addition, the Sufi tradition of
Kashfu-’l-qubur, or Revelation from the Graves, also resembles the Tāntrīc
sadhus’ practice of Sava-sadhana or performances of devotional exercises
˙through the medium of a dead body. He holds that the Arab Muslims knew
Hinduism as well as Buddhism during the formative phases of Islam, and
the later Persian scholars developed the doctrine of tasawwuf (mysticism)
under the influences of Neoplatonists and Upanisads;˙ hence, “Islam was
never free from the influence of India.”150 ˙
It appears that Haq’s conclusion is based on his misreading of Nicholson
(1914), that Sufism is the product of Persian or Indian thought. Haq seems
to be indifferent to Nicholson’s observation that “[e]ven if Islam had been
miraculously shut off from contacts with foreign religions and philosophies,
some form of mysticism would have arisen within it, for the seeds were
already there.”151 Nicholson notes that on ethical grounds the two concepts,
i.e., nirvāna and fanā’, are identical, but he also argues that the influence of
Buddhism˙ on Islamic mysticism is exaggerated because Muslims view Bud-
dhists as idolaters.152 In addition, he holds that while

nirvāna is purely negative, fanā is accompanied by baqā, everlasting life

in God. The rapture of the Sufi who has lost himself in ecstatic contem-
plation of the divine beauty is entirely opposed to the passionless intel-
lectual serenity of the Arahat (perfected one).153

Similarly, Schimmel also holds that

fanā is in the first place an ethical concept, i.e., the renunciation of

human qualities and increasing spiritualization; it has nothing to do
with Indian nirvana since it does not mean the attempt to be rescued
from the painful cycle of birth and rebirth but rather the return of the
creature to the state ‘as he was before he was.’154

It is interesting to note Tor Andrae’s observation here. He holds that fanā’

is identical with the sayings of Apostle Paul, such as, “It is no longer I who
live, but Christ who lives in me.”155 He also observes that Islamic mystical
piety “in its spirit and essence comes closer to Gospel than any other non-
Christian religion known to us.”156 Both Nicholson and Zaehner speculate
that Ibrahim Adham’s legend of conversion to mysticism is of Buddhist ori-
gin,157 and Smith, as mentioned earlier, speculates it was of Christian ori-
gin, i.e., the legend of St. Hubert, who heard a “call.” On the other hand,
Massignon argues that the legend of Adham could be an adaptation of the
 Introduction 21
Manichaen version of the story of the Buddha, not a direct imitation.158 He
also holds that “the Qur’an, through constant recitation, meditation, and
practice, is the source of Islamic mysticism, at its beginning and through-
out its growth.”159 Similarly, Carl Ernst and Bruce B. Lawrence argue that
“far from being dependent on or a derivative of Neoplatonism, Christianity,
Buddhism, or Hindu yoga, Sufism is an original, comprehensive, and hence
authentic form of knowledge.”160 In order to render its Islamic authenticity,
Sufis are always conscious of their discursive links to the past precedent. As
such, they tend to connect themselves to the exemplary life of the Prophet;
the revelatory moment of the Qur’an; and the teachings and actions of those
they identified as saints, who in turn connect them back to the Prophet’s
own communion with God.161
Despite the arguments that it derives from numerous Qur’anic verses and
Prophetic practices, Sufism is not immune to the influences of local cultural
environments, practices, rites and even beliefs. Richard M. Eaton, while dis-
cussing the rise of Islam in Bengal, notes that Sufism is grounded in the local
sociocultural heritage,162 because of which Islam, as a whole, was not per-
ceived as a foreign tradition by the local inhabitants.163 Nevertheless, it is
also true that, as observations show, Sufi beliefs and values permeate in many
ways into local cultures. It simultaneously influenced others and is influ-
enced by others. In addition, by granting legitimacy and equal standing to
other faith traditions, some Sufi paths promote an inclusivist approach and
practice of open spirituality.164 Because of these, Sufism has been attacked
by puritanical reformists, and for the very same reason Sufism is also viewed
as the most powerful antidote to the religious radicalism, called fundamen-
talism.165 However, this volume attempts to unveil some of the Sufi ideals
infused in the local cultures of various countries. Contributors of this volume
have analyzed and compared Sufi ideals as reflected in hagiographic narra-
tives, musical genres, poetries and political discourses, as well as discussed
Sufi Islam as a living reality and how the infusion of Sufi beliefs and ideals
are integrated into the social and personal lives in various cultural contexts.
The contributors of this volume are trained in a range of disciplines that
include religious studies, history, comparative literature, anthropology and
ethnography. The contributors are specialists of religion, particularly of Sufi
Islam. Geographically they range from Southeast Asia to West Africa and
also from South Asia and the West with their focuses on both historical
and contemporary issues. The focus ranges from interpreting the Qur’an to
poetries and movies, from ideals to practices, from legends to history, from
gender segregation to gender transgression, and from legalism to spiritual-
ism. Some of the contributors are new in this field and some are reputed for
their scholarship with varieties of methodologies they have adopted, such
as hermeneutics, social scientific research methods, ethnography and com-
parative studies of religion. We assume that there is no single or preoccupied
method of studying religion, as such we expect that the authors of each
chapter follow their own method that represents the real in their writings.
22 Introduction
Why is there a need for a new book on Sufism when there have been
hundreds of volumes written, edited and translated by pro-Sufi, anti-Sufi
Islamic and non-Islamic scholars alike? This book approaches Islam cultur-
ally; it sets aside the conventional methods of understanding Islam, such
as theological (relationship between God and humanity), juridical (sort of
crime and punishment as understood by the legal scholars of Islam) and
philosophical (a rational and reason-based approach to understand Islam).
Contributors of this volume adopt, analyze and compare popular practices,
rituals, myths and beliefs of the adherents of the Islamic faith that some-
times transcend the traditional boundaries of this faith tradition. The cul-
tural fusion is more visible in the Sufi traditions of Islam. Very few scholars,
books or volumes adopt this approach in understanding Islam.

Organization of the chapters

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

Notes
1 Bennett 2017, p. 7.
2 Geertz 1973, p. 89.
3 Ibid., p. 90.
4 Eickelman 1976, p. 1.
5 Ibid., p. 2. It is interesting to note that the authority of the holy men, according
to Eickelman, rests on their genealogy, baraka (God’s grace) and their perceived
closeness to God. However, Cornell (1998, p. 110) observes that the holy men’s
authority rests rather on piety, asceticism, scrupulousness, seclusion, poverty,
humility, charity, and fasting.
6 El-Zein 1977, p. 242.
7 Launay 1992, p. 6.
8 Asad 1986, p. 14.
9 Ibid., p. 15.
10 Ahmed 2016, p. 289.
11 Ibid., p. 290.
 Introduction 23
12 Ibid., pp. 282–83.
13 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 57–9.
14 See Ahmed 2016, p. 162.
15 Ibid., p. 166.
16 Ibid., p. 170.
17 Ibid., p. 171.
18 Lawrence 2003, p. 62.
19 Ibid.
20 See Ahmed 2016, p. 172.
21 Karamustafa 2003, p. 101.
22 Ibid., p. 102.
23 Ibid., p. 109.
24 Cooperson 2010, p. 114.
25 Ibid., pp. 117, 120–121.
26 See Dale 2010, p. 13; Geoffroy 2010, pp. 65, 73; Khadduri 1984, p. 77; Rahman
1966a, p. 151.
27 Knysh 2017, p. 221, see also Gibb 1962, p. 207; Rahman 1966a, pp. 129, 155
28 See Dale 2010, p. 12.
29 Nicholson collected seventy-eight definitions of the term from early Sufi sources.
For detail, see Nicholson 1906, pp. 330–348.
30 Baldick 1989, p. 3; Karamustafa 2007a, p. 249; Lings 1975, pp. 45–46; Mas-
signon 1997 [1922], p. 104.
31 Knysh 2000, p. 5; Rahman 1966a, p. 132.
32 For detail, see Baldick 1989, p. 31. Annemarie Schimmel holds that the origin
of the word Sufi from the Greek word sophos is philosophically impossible. For
detail, see Schimmel 1975, p. 14, and see also Burckhardt 1976, p. 15 (footnote).
33 See Arberry 1950, p. 35.
34 Ibid.
35 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 393.
36 Schimmel 1975, p. 17.
37 See Rahman 1966b, pp. 409–19.
38 Nasr 2007, p. 10.
39 man ‘arafa nafsahu faqad ‘arafa rabbahu. See also Burckhardt 1976, p. 42.
40 Nasr 2007, p. 5.
41 Ibid., p. 10.
42 Ibid., p. 9.
43 See Helminski 2017, p. xiii; Safi 2018, pp. xx–xxi.
44 Nasr 2007, p. 61.
45 See Chittick 2000, p. 13.
46 Ibid.
47 See Smith 1935, pp. 17–18.
48 See Murata 1992, p. 192.
49 See Schuon 1998 [1961], pp. 161, 165.
50 See Chittick 2000, pp. 4–6.
51 See Schimmel 1994, p. 251.
52 Ibid., p. 252.
53 See Ernst 1999, pp. 435–447.
54 Rahman 1966a, p. 245.
55 Ibid., p. 130. Also see Green 2012, p. 2; Saritoprak 2018, p. 22.
56 Ibid., p. 150.
57 Helminski 2017, p. 8.
58 See Murata and Chittick 1994, p. 309.
59 See Safi 2018, pp. xx–xxi.
60 For details, see Cornell 2019.
24 Introduction
61 Knysh 2000, pp. 5–6.
62 Ibid., pp. 6–7.
63 Geoffroy 2010, p. 65.
64 Ibid., p. 68.
65 See Sviri 1999, p. 584.
66 See Knysh 2017, p. 221.
67 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 108.
68 Arberry 1950, pp. 34–35.
69 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 131.
70 See Schimmel 1992, p. 102.
71 Quoted in Helmniski 2017, p. 22.
72 Quoted in Fakhry 1997, p. 92.
73 Quoted in Arberry 1950, pp. 42–3.
74 Arberry 1950, pp. 42–43.
75 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 4; also see Knysh 2000, p. 31.
76 Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 165–9.
77 Knysh 2000, p. 41.
78 Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 143–6.
79 Zaehner 1960, p. 91; for the description of passionate love for God, see Schim-
mel 1958, pp. 165–7.
80 Arberry 1950, pp. 36–7.
81 See for a discussion on asceticism and mysticism Melchert 1996, pp. 51–70,
especially p. 51.
82 See for detail, Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 185–6.
83 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 187.
84 Arberry 1950, p. 55.
85 Ibid., p. 56.
86 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 4.
87 See for detail, Massignon 1982 [1922], pp. 1, 126–34.
88 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 25.
89 Schimmel 1992, p. 108.
90 Ibid.
91 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 210.
92 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 21.
93 Schimmel 1992, pp. 109–10.
94 See ibid., p. 110.
95 Cornell 1999, p. 207; Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 79–81.
96 Karamustafa 2004, p. xi.
97 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 157, 159. Also see Newby 1988, and see Smith (1931)
for early Christian mysticism.
98 Shahid 1984, pp. 4–8.
99 See Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 111–2.
100 See Bowersock 1983, pp. 1–2, 7, 13–15, 23–9, 36–7, 127–131; Shahid 1984,
pp. 18–22; Berkey 2003, p. 4.
101 Berkey 2003, p. 4.
102 Bowersock 1983, pp. 2, 7, 21, 46–7, 70, 75, 111, 138; Shahid 1984, pp. 10,
28, 43, 43–8; Berkey 2003, pp. 3–5. Massignon (1997 [1922], p. 49) notes that
there was an Indian merchant colony in Basra.
103 Berkey 2003, p. 5.
104 See Hussain 2003, p. 257; see also Cooperson 2010, p. 221.
105 Rahman 1966a, p. 131. See also Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 10–19.
106 Smith 1931, p. 147.
107 Ibid., p. 179. Also see the footnote on the same page.
108 Ibid., p. 170.
 Introduction 25
109 Ibid., p. 191.
110 Ibid., pp. 171–2.
111 Ibid., p. 177.
112 Ibid., p. 186.
113 Ibid., p. 253.
114 Ibid., p. 113.
115 Ibid.
116 Arberry 1945, p. 55.
117 Ibid., pp. 33–5; also see Mourad 2005, p. 129.
118 Smith 1935, pp. 60–61.
119 Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 100–101.
120 See Arberry 1945, pp. 55–6.
121 Baldick 1989, pp. 13–49.
122 Ibid., p. 32.
123 Nicholson 1906, p. 304.
124 Ibid., p. 305.
125 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 393.
126 Zaehner 1960, p. 20.
127 Ibid., pp. 22–5.
128 Quoted in Zaehner 1960, p. 25.
129 See Rahman 1980, pp. 7, 112.
130 Ibid., pp. 94–5.
131 Ibid., p. 95.
132 Ibid., p. 96.
133 Ibid., p. 100.
134 Ibid., p. 92.
135 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 49.
136 Zaehner 1960, p. 100.
137 Ibid.
138 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 68; Arberry 1945, p. 37.
139 Arberry 1945, p. 37.
140 Massignon ascertained the date and year as 25 May 874. See Massignon 1997
[1922], p. 183.
141 See Nicholson 1963 [1914], p. 18.
142 Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 58–9.
143 See for detail, Nicholson 1963 [1914], p. 9.
144 Lings 1975, p. 16.
145 See Harder 2011.
146 See Schimmel 1975, p. 267.
147 Ibid., p. 434.
148 Ibid., p. 358.
149 Schuon 2006 [1980], p. 19.
150 See Haq 1975, pp. 118, 112–42.
151 Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 19–20.
152 Ibid., pp. 18–19.
153 Ibid., p. 18.
154 Schimmel 1992, p. 106.
155 Andrae 1987, p. 124.
156 Ibid.
157 Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 16–7; Zaehner 1060, pp. 21–2.
158 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 57 (footnote).
159 Ibid., p. 73.
160 Ernst and Lawrence 2002, p. 8.
161 See Green 2012, pp. 4–5.
26 Introduction
162 See Eaton 1993, p. 51.
163 See ibid., p. 310.
164 See Harder 2011, p. 299.
165 See Nasr 2007, p. xvi.

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 Introduction 29
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Part I

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

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

Introduction
In his 1940 address at the Fifty-Third Session of the Indian National Con-
gress, the President of the National Assembly, Maulana Abul Kalam Azad,
reminded Indians of their shared Hindu and Muslim history on the Indian
subcontinent. He gave this address during the height of identity politics
fomented by the colonial Raj, seven years prior to the Partition of India in
1947. This chapter goes almost five centuries further back – to Guru Nanak
(1469–1539), the founder of the Sikh religion.
Guru Nanak was born in the village of Talwandi (now in Pakistan) and
lived in the rich cultural, ethnic, linguistic and religious Hindu and Mus-
lim world celebrated by Maulana Azad. Divinely inspired, Guru Nanak set
forth to systematize his intense personal experience of the universal One for
his contemporaries to re-experience its boundless infinity. He initiated the
new script Gurmukhi to record his poetic reflex and to crystallize his mes-
sage he instituted a guru successor, community gathering (sangat), commu-
nity meal (langar) and selfless service (seva). He clearly “founded” Sikhism,
one of the five world religions today. The repository of his 974 hymns is the
Sikh canon, the Guru Granth Sahib, which was compiled by Guru Arjan
(Guru Nanak’s fourth successor, 1563–1606) and enshrined in the modern-
day Golden Temple in 1604. Based on the founder’s vision and syntax, Guru
Arjan gathered together the verses of his predecessor Gurus as well as Mus-
lim Sufis and Hindu Bhagats. The text is scripted in the Gurmukhi, and
it spans across centuries, languages and regions. Its earliest author is the
first recognized Punjabi poet, Chishti Sufi saint Shaykh Farid (1175–1265),
34 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
nicknamed Ganji Shakar, the “treasury of sugar.” The Guru Granth Sahib
constitutes the core of Sikh ethics, philosophy and aesthetics and presides at
all public and private ceremonies, rituals and worship. The twenty-five mil-
lion Sikhs worldwide rely on its existential power, and so the Sufi ingredients
are an essential part of Sikh life.
This chapter brings attention to Guru Nanak’s visual representations in
early Sikh art and to his sublime lyrics recorded in Sikh scripture. Both these
genres resound with Maulana Azad’s inspirational words, as they high-
light the pluralistic dimensions of Guru Nanak’s personality and poetics.
We find here not only a rich confluence of colonial constructs “Hinduism”
and “Islam” which Maulana Azad was referring to in his speech in a pre-
partitioned India but also the infusion of diverse Buddhist, Jain and Nātha
yogi traditions current in medieval India. To illustrate the important theme
of Sarwar Alam’s volume, I will here focus only on the Sufi currents, and
I am most grateful to Sarwar for inciting me to explore this neglected topic
in Sikh studies. Sadly, because of identity politics, Sikh writers have ignored
the Sufi connections in their religious heritage, and because of their own
assumptions, objective historians have outrightly dismissed them. The influ-
ential historian William H. McLeod has repeatedly postulated his “admix-
ture” theory, which denies Guru Nanak as the rightful “founder” of a new
mode of thought and praxis and instead categorizes him as “reworking the
Sant tradition.” McLeod defines the Sant tradition essentially as “a synthe-
sis of the three principal dissenting movements, a compound of elements
drawn mainly from Vaisnva bhakti and the hatha-yoga of the Natha yogis,
˙˙
with a marginal contribution from Sufism. . . .”2 His theory

affirms a basically Hindu origin and holds that Muslim influence,

although certainly evident, is no-where of fundamental significance in
the thought of Guru Nanak. The religion of Guru Nanak, and so of
Sikhism as a whole, is firmly imbedded in the Sant tradition of northern
India, in the beliefs of the so-called Nirguna Sampradaya. The catego-
ries employed by Guru Nanak are the categories of the Sants, the ter-
minology he uses is their terminology, and the doctrines he affirms are
their doctrines.3

Such theoretical formulations fail to recognize Guru Nanak’s personal sen-

sibility, originality and genius, and they deter scholars from exploring and
savoring the direct, dynamic course of Sufi delicacies in Guru Nanak’s biog-
raphy and imagination. Scholarly warnings to “exercise caution in our com-
parisons with Sufi belief”4 are appetite suppressants.
Guru Nanak does not acknowledge following any spiritual “Sant” teacher
or upholding any Sant doctrine or principle anywhere in his vast oeuvre.
We do not find him emulating any specific mystic or school of thought or
reworking out ideas anywhere; in fact, we hear Nanak criticize hatha-yoga
and other Natha perspectives posited in McLeod’s “admixture” theory.
 Tasting the sweet 35
What Guru Nanak felt was a profound spirituality common to all people
in his milieu – Hindu, Muslim, Yogi, Buddhist, Jain or Sikh – and what
he created were enduring relationships with people of other faiths. Both
our visual and literary sources provide evidence of Guru Nanak’s personal
revelation and of his rich engagement with Sufi poetics and practitioners.
We see Guru Nanak as a typical Sufi saint warmly meeting with a host of
Sufis, and we hear his rhythmic speedy verse flowing with Sufi metaphors,
symbols and images, often set in Sufi musical measures. Of course, there
are some fundamental differences between the existing traditions and the
Sikh world Guru Nanak was ushering in. For our topic in particular, certain
essential elements of Sufism – the fear of judgment, the eschatological per-
spectives,5 worship at the graves of Sufi masters and the instrumentality of
erotic love (‘ishq-e majazi) for metaphysical love (‘ishq-e haqiqi) – are miss-
ing in Guru Nanak’s poetic horizon. Yet there are many splendid ingredients
with Sufi flavors throughout his vast repertoire. The more we recognize Sufi
and Sikh affinities, the more we cognize the reflexes that emerge from our
common human ligaments, reflexes – preceding all manmade divisive and
fanatic doctrinal conceptualizations and promulgations.
My overall aspiration in this chapter is to realize Aristotle’s statement that
poetry is concerned with the universal (chapter 9 of the Poetics) and get to
feel the impact of art as defined by Tolstoy: “a means of union among men”
(What Is Art?). I very much hope the Sufi delicacies in Guru Nanak’s visual
representations and in his sonorous melodies nourish us, so we may practice
in our own dangerously divided global society the pluralism Maulana Azad
remembered in a religiously torn colonial India. The subsequent independ-
ence of India from the British, in 1947, came with forced migrations and
ethnic violence. Carved out of India, Pakistan was the first modern nation
founded on the basis of religious identity. The provinces of Punjab and Ben-
gal were split between two nations (by now three – Pakistan, Bangladesh
and India). A horrific holocaust ensued as millions of Muslims, Hindus and
Sikhs began to migrate across the national borders. To this day that ghastly
past continues to haunt the South Asian psyche and politics. Muslim-Sikh
hostilities are just too entrenched. Indeed, by going beyond the conventional
theological, juridical and philosophical Muslim studies, Sarwar Alam’s
innovative theme for this volume discloses the primal Sufi infusion – the
emotion of love – that flows in human blood and emerges in human emo-
tions, imagination and expressions, be they Muslim, Sikh, Hindu, Jewish,
Christian, Parsi, Jain or Buddhist.

Historical context
Islam had come to the Sindh as early as 711 ce, but it was not until Mah-
mud of Ghazna started his conquests around 1000 that the Punjab devel-
oped several Muslim religious centers and a substantial Muslim population.
By the late eleventh century, Delhi became the capital of Muslim dynasties,
36 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
and the Punjab, being the caravan route from the Middle and Near East
to Delhi, was enriched with Sufi shrines, khanqas (hospices), langars (food
halls) and mosques. The graves, or dargahs, of Sufi masters became vital
sites of pilgrimages where people from diverse religious backgrounds came
together to seek blessings. David Gilmartin explains how these shrines
embodied “diverse local cultural identities, whose variety reflected both
the diversity of ecological, social and kinship organizations in Punjab and
the diversity in the spiritual needs of the people.”6 Culturally as well as
politically, Sufis were extremely important on the Indian subcontinent for
the Muslim rulers, notes Barbara D. Metcalf, as they “patronized them as
inheritors of charisma (baraka) derived through chains of succession (silsila)
from the Prophet himself.”7 Guru Nanak, born in 1469, lived mostly dur-
ing the relatively peaceful Sultanate period – the Sayyid Sultans ruled from
1414 to 1451; the Lodi Sultans, from 1451 to1526. The sultans created
networks throughout India and into Central Asia while cultivating “a new
religious and classical culture in the Arab and Persian traditions.”8 Milita-
ristically strong, the sultans provided protection from the thirteenth-century
Mongol devastations, and many Muslim scholars and holy men found a
sanctuary on the subcontinent and in turn sanctified its soil. Guru Nanak’s
life stories recount his meeting with many spiritual persons. The Sikh Guru
in his lifetime also witnessed the terrible defeat of the last Lodi Sultan by
the descendant of Timurs and the Mongols, Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur
(1483–1530), who established the Mughal empire, “the most powerful and
richest polity the subcontinent had ever known.”9
Rather than the official theologians or religious scholars, it was the Sufis
who played a critical role in the expansion of Islam in India, acquiring a fol-
lowing that constitutes the largest concentration of Muslims in the world.10
To begin with, Sufis were flexible and tolerant to divergent views, but they
were also very effective in communicating their views and tapping into the
human heart. They infused the Pillars of Islam in the popular local folk
songs – sung at weddings, sung as lullabies, sung during corn grinding and
cotton spinning.11 The esoteric and abstract mystical stages and states for-
mulated by Sufi philosophers such as the Arabo-Hispanic Ibn al-‘Arabi (d.
1240) were utterly simplified and conveyed in the accessible vernacular
regional languages. Arabic and Persian, the Muslim religious and elite lan-
guages, were replaced by the spoken languages of the specific regions, and
Classical Sufism was modified and adapted into the local idioms. Growing
up in his village, Nanak would have breathed in the air, blowing with the
Sufi love for God, fragrant with Islamic vocabulary, concepts, ideals and
practices. He also traveled widely, visiting sacred spaces and meeting with
holy men from different religious traditions. Sikh historians recount that
during his travels Guru Nanak met with Shaykh Farid’s twelfth successor,
from whom he procured the compositions that were enshrined in the Guru
Granth Sahib in 1604. Though some scholars question the identity of the
earliest Guru Granth Sahib author,12 most believe he is indeed the venerated
 Tasting the sweet 37
Shaykh Farid, one of the founding fathers of the popular Chishti Sufi order
in India. As such, his four hymns and 130 couplets, composed in Punjabi
and part of the Sikh scripture, form the earliest extant example of Punjabi
writing. Shaykh Farid was a devout Muslim who settled in Pakpattan on the
river Sutlej in central Punjab. Fleeing the Mongol invasions, Shaykh Farid’s
ancestors left their home in Central Asia and came to the Punjab. He was
born near Multan and was named after the Persian Sufi poet and philoso-
pher Farid-ud-din Attar.
Shaykh Farid expressed the ideas derived from the Sufi models of Iran,
Iraq and Central Asia in the local Punjabi language and metaphors. As Ali
Asani observes, the Muslim intellectual elite had a deep-seated prejudice
against anything Indian until 1600 or so;13 therefore, to opt for the vernacu-
lar would have been very challenging for the Sufi Shaykh. With his arduous
passion, he was able to reach the hearts of the Indian masses and gained
enormous success in promoting Islam among many ethnically distinct
groups. In hopes of receiving the Sufi saint’s baraka (spiritual power) and
favors like good crops, female fertility and cure from disease, millions of vil-
lagers visit his tomb and shrine at Pakpattan. With Shaykh Farid, the Chishti
movement gained tremendous influence, surpassing the Qadiri, Suhrawardi
and Naqshbandi Sufi orders. Guru Nanak was born several centuries after
Shaykh Farid, and he, too, was attracted by the Chishti saint’s perspective
even though Shaykh Farid’s rigorous asceticism, his intense anxiety in this
world and his haunting tone were very different from those of Guru Nanak.
Shaykh Farid’s hymns are most respectfully included in the Sikh sacred book
with full acknowledgment of their distinctiveness and difference. The con-
scious choice of including his hymns imbued with Sufi patterns and Qur’anic
allusions in the Sikh canon highlights the genuine openness of the Gurus and
their respect for Islam. The founder Guru’s statement that “Sufis receive
the Truth, they live in the divine Court forever” (GGS:15) – though often
mistranslated! –14 captures his esteem and appreciation for mystical Islam.

Visual resemblances
Since Guru Nanak’s life stories (Janamsakhis) frequently set up a stage
for his scriptural hymns, they disclose a symbiotic relationship between
the biography of Nanak and his poetics. Janamsakhis came into circula-
tion shortly after his passing away, and they have been very popular in the
collective Sikh imagination. They have come down in a variety of rendi-
tions, such as the Bala, Miharban, Adi and Puratan. Many of them are
also illustrated in vibrant colors. This pattern of mythologizing is part of
Indian culture, for over the centuries narratives from the Hindu Ramayana,
Mahabharata, Puranas, the Buddhist Jatakas and the Jaina Sutras have been
told, read and illustrated.
By the time that the Janamsakhis were produced, miraculous stories
(mu’jizat/karamat) about Prophet Muhammad and about Muslim saints
38 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
had also become widespread in the Punjab through Sufi orders. The Jan-
amsakhis locate Nanak within a pluralistic society, living out his vision of
the singular Divine. Accompanied by Muslim rabab15 player Bhai Mardana,
Nanak travels far and wide. He visits Hindu temples, Muslim mosques,
Buddhist viharas and Sufi khanaqahs. He attends a multitude of fairs and
festivals. He converses with people of different faiths and genders.
For our analysis we will look at a few painted illustrations of Guru Nanak
from one of the early manuscripts, the B-40 Janamsakhi (dated 1733).16 It
surfaced in Lahore in the nineteenth century and was acquired by the India
Office Library in 1907.17 The B-40 Janamsakhi is a very important resource
because it is one of the very few manuscripts with extensive historical docu-
mentation: It was compiled by Daia Ram Baol at the request of the patron
Sangu Mal and illustrated by Alam Chand Raj in 1733. The stylistic fusion
of the illustrations flows from Alam Chand’s strong Punjabi rural impulse,
stroked in the charming folk arts style from the Rajasthani Malwa School,
which was a major development in the history of fifteenth-century Indian
miniature paintings. In his fifty-seven illustrations, Alam Chand evokes
Guru Nanak’s human personality, transcending religious boundaries cur-
rent in his milieu.
The artist accomplishes it by utilizing disparate motifs of the tilak (Hindu)
and the seli (Muslim): The Guru almost always has a vertical red tilak mark
on his forehead, just as he has a woolen cord, seli, slung across his left shoul-
der coming down to his right waist. Explained by Hans-Georg Gadamer,
“[W]hat makes a motif is that it has unity in a convincing way and that
the artist has carried through this unity as the unity of meaning, just as the
viewer understands it as a unity.”18 Evidently, the bright red line between
the Guru’s dark eyes or the dark semicircle sinuously clinging his yellow
robe is not mere art design – the tilak is saturated with the holiness of the
Vaishnava Hindus; the seli, with the devotion of the Muslim Sufis. Each has
enormous unity of meaning for its specific community, and the artist brings
them together on the Sikh Guru’s body to project his inclusive personality.
The Muslim Bhai Mardana is also painted with the tilak. Alam’s designs
from two different traditions do not reproduce some sort of a “compos-
ite” or “hybrid” model; rather, they convincingly convey to the viewer a
figure beyond the either/or religious categories prevalent in medieval India.
As we travel with Guru Nanak in his multiethnic, multireligious and mul-
ticultural cosmos, we become sensitive to the multifaceted sensory richness
of human existence. Guru Nanak’s pluralistic personality is reflected in the
Sikh canon, which as we noted contains not only the verses of the Sikh
Gurus but also those of Hindu and Muslim holy men belonging to different
centuries, different social classes and different regions and cultures.
Besides the seli, Guru Nanak in many of the illustrations carries a tasbih-
like rosary in his hand, he has a soft round beard and he dons the typical Sufi
turban. Such Islamicate motifs are very pronounced across the B-40 set. The
illustrations affirm the artist’s predilection for Muslim Sufis over Hindu holy
 Tasting the sweet 39
men and strongly dismantle the scholarly stress on Guru Nanak’s “basically
Hindu origin.”19 No matter what the setting may be, there is a perpetual
calm and at-homeness in the world about Nanak. Most often there is a lush
tree above and beside him; in simple profile view, his Muslim companion,
the musician Mardana, strums on his rabab (In the next section we will
sample Mardana’s melodies recorded in the Guru Granth Sahib) The Sikh
Guru’s proximity with Islam and the melodious vibrations bursting from
Muslim Mardana are critical for the artist, and they are effectively conveyed
throughout the B-40 manuscript. We can see and hear the harmony between
the sublime words spoken by Guru Nanak and the sonorous notes played
by Mardana on his rabab, and this harmony of sound and word, music and
language, Sikh and Muslim, opens us to the wondrous infinity of which we
all partake.
The sequence of B-40 Janamsakhi illustrations begins with a 7-year-old
going to school (#1). The little boy on his first day at school wears an Islami-
cate yellow full-sleeved robe coming down to his ankles with an elegant red-
dish sash neatly tied around his waist and a matching turban over his head.
His father is dressed in the same manner. The chooridar (literally “bracelet
forming”) trousers peep out from below little Nanak’s robe, as do his curly
locks from the turban on each side of his face. It is a most endearing por-
trait. Guru Nanak’s formal dress and upright demeanor are markedly dif-
ferent from the rest of the children, who are meagerly dressed and romping
around. The turban customarily donned by Mughal princes, Sufi saints and
Rajput nobility imparts Guru Nanak a maturity beyond his years. He con-
fidently greets his mustached teacher dressed (so different looking from the
father-son pair) in the typical upper-caste Brahmin-Hindu outfit of a pleated
dhoti tucked around his waist with one end draping from his right shoulder
down his bare chest. Caught at the liminal threshold between “home” and
“society” – behind him stands his father and across sits his teacher on a
pedestal with food and books – little Nanak displays great dignity. Over
the course of Alam’s fifty-seven paintings, he grows from a little boy to a
teenager to a dark-bearded youth into the gray-bearded middle age and
subsequently to a white-bearded elderly man (Baba).
An early scene (#6) depicts the parents visiting Nanak with trays of
mouth-watering sweets. The text describes the Guru and Mardana return-
ing to the Punjab after twelve years of travel. Mardana alone goes to visit
Nanak’s home, and the Guru’s parents follow him to the spot where Guru
Nanak is seated, on a rectangular piece of cloth under a tree. Alam paints
the parents in profile facing their son. Following the Punjabi sociocultural
norms, they have brought two large platters of goodies to welcome their
son, which we see placed in front of him on each side. The one farther away
is smaller, creating an illusion of space. The round saffron ladoos and white
squares of barfi so neatly arranged are all too tempting! The gooey sweets
on the Guru’s left are partially covered by cloth – probably to keep bugs
away. Those on his right are uncovered, and it is their covering that we
40 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
see in the Guru’s right hand. Alam’s brush captures the Guru’s gesture in
motion – he is lifting off the cover from the sweets in a most inviting man-
ner. The parents greet their spiritually exalted son, and he in turn greets the
audience to partake of those delicious sweets while being cognizant of the
transcendent Infinite saturating the wondrous landscape. As we see those
sweets our ears hear the scriptural verse in Shaykh Farid’s voice: “Farida,
sakar khandu nivat guru makhio manjha dudhu – says Farid, brown sugar,
white sugar, rock candy, molasses, honey, rich buffalo milk . . .” (GGS:1379
[the passage is cited in full in the following section]). Alam’s joyous scene
sumptuously affirms the unity of spiritual and digestive processes, evoking
another scriptural verse that the Divine be remembered in every “morsel of
food – sas gras,” (GGS:961). Alimentary canals are considered elementary
to spiritual progress. Body and spirit are not binaries, and spiritual knowl-
edge is not to be confined to the realm of the upper-caste Hindu Brahmin
or Plato’s philosopher-king. The delicate transparent textural coverings and
the covered delicacies are made of the same material. The saffron ladoos
in the middle of Alam’s composition delightfully replay in the designs on
Mother Tripta’s large full dupatta on Guru Nanak’s turban and on the
sashes of Father Kalu and Bhai Mardana. Altogether, the festive platters in
this illustration as well as in the preceding classroom scene (#1) create visual
links amongst the protagonists, and they feed us with positive associations
for eating and learning.
Alam’s depiction of Guru Nanak’s revelation (# 28) corresponds with
internal evidence provided by Guru Nanak in the Guru Granth Sahib
(p. 150, to which we will return in the next section). In Sikh public memory,
this is the starting point of their religion. Alam positions the Guru standing
in the middle of a panoramic view. Trees and shrubs in a round horizon
stretch into infinity, and bunches of little colorful flowers pop up all over the
green grass. Bhai Mardana’s curled fingers spell out the vigor with which he
is striking his rabab, making us see melodious sound waves bursting in the
air. In this visually and aurally rich scene, Guru Nanak’s hands, holding the
tasbih-like rosary, are joined in homage and reach above him. His face is
tilted. Extending both below and above, it is an intriguing multidimensional
perspective. According to the written text, “baba nanak” is in this Palace
of the formless One – “baba nanak nrinkār de mahal vic” (B-40:100). The
scene reiterates Guru Nanak’s autobiographical verse – “the songster was
called into the Palace by the Owner (dhādhi sacai mahal khasami buliā)”
(GGS:150). Evidently, the Palace (mahal) of the formless One is no differ-
ent from this world of ours. The figure of the bird in the tree echoes Guru
Nanak’s human body. The Guru appears in total ecstasy. With his eyes half-
closed, his lips in a smile, he stands (stasis) outside himself (ec), a perfect
intersection of the physical and the spiritual spheres. Guru Nanak’s numi-
nous experience is with and through his own body. His fluid emotional state
corresponds with the expansive circular landscape. Demarcations between
mind and body, individual body and the bodies of others, lok (world)
 Tasting the sweet 41
and parmarth (transcendental reality), are obliterated. Without seeing the
Divine in any “form” – whether physical or cosmic – Guru Nanak appears
to feel the formless One pulsate in each and every form. There are no hints
of any Sant mediations but clear evidence of “unmediated inspiration from
on high.”20 Guru Nanak’s vision of the singular infinite formless Divine, his
moral impulse to connect with everybody around him and his heightened
sensuousness constitute Guru Nanak’s revelation. These currents are per-
fectly captured, artistically and verbally crystallized into Sikh metaphysics,
ethics and aesthetics.
Over and again Alam illustrates Guru Nanak animatedly engaged in dis-
course with important historical figures popular in the Punjab, such as Shah
Abdul Rahman, Hajji Rattan, Shaykh Braham, Bhagat Kabir, Gorakhnath
and Shaykh Sharaf. He meets with many other Sufis, saints, Siddhas and
Nāthas, as well as Kala, the god of death. Guru Nanak comes ˙ across as
a genuine pluralist who does not simply accept or tolerate diversity but
reaches out to others. However, most enchanting in Alam’s pictorial constel-
lation is the physical and spiritual proximity between Guru Nanak and the
Sufi saints. The quantity and quality and placing of Sufi figures and imagery
in the B-40 manuscript overcome the distance between Guru Nanak and
the mystical world of Islam calculated in all those scholarly warnings and
assumptions (pointed out at the outset of this essay). The Janamsakhi, cre-
ated in 1733 for a Sikh patron for the use of the Sikh community, conveys
the seventeenth-century Sikh self-consciousness: the Sufi significance over
any and all Hindu and Nātha characteristics in the religion of Guru Nanak.
In #7 we see Guru Nanak conversing with Shah Abdul Rahman. The Sufi
saint is dressed in a rosy-pink outfit amid flora and fauna. Why so much
pink, we wonder? It is but the perfect pictorial statement of the physical
and spiritual closeness between the Sufi saint and the Sikh Guru! According
to the Janamskahi, when Shah Abdul Rahman returns home, his disciple
comments on his flushed body, and the saint replies: “ajju khudai ka lāl
miliā – today I met with Khuda’s ruby” (B-40:43–4). The polysemous term
“lāl” denotes the color red, or radiance, or ruby, or a lover, so the rosiness
divulges the Muslim saint’s infusion of Guru Nanak’s spiritual radiance.21
The artist translates the Shaykh’s words into the language of colors. The
encounter is complex: There is the initial seeing, which produces an imme-
diate insight into the Sikh guru as a radiance/lover/ruby of Khuda for the
Muslim saint, and he in turn transforms into a passionate pink. The inti-
macy between the two spiritual bodies is beautifully emitted.
In another intriguing illustration, Guru Nanak is in conversation with the
Sufi Shaykh Sharaf (#50). This celebrated figure in the Punjab lived two cen-
turies before Guru Nanak. In Alam’s painting he is a young black-bearded
saint ornately dressed like a woman with all her feminine accoutrements.
In both content and form, it is a fascinating scene. The background with
single-, double- and even triple-storied buildings and a fluted dome reaching
up to the skies give the impression of an urbanized Muslim town (identified
42 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
as Baghdad in the text). The balconies and windows are intricately latticed,
and the walls are decorated with colorful arabesques. Closer, we get a side
view of a mosque set in a compound with its entrance opening up to the
right. Its latticed window repeats the pattern of those far in the distance,
exhibiting the genius of Islamic art – the conversion of stone into lace. With
the dome of the mosque receding into the left horizon and the branches
of a vibrant bush across from it into the right, the eye is left to wander
beyond both borders. This bush in the compound of the mosque has been
rendered realistically, for we can spot eight different birds sitting in a circle
on its distinct branches and leaves. Quite unfamiliar in Alam’s repertoire of
abstract foliage, this image immediately evokes the proverbial Conference
of the Birds by the Muslim mystic Farid ud-Din Attar (after whom Shaykh
Farid is named). Rows of tiny shrubs, brownish-pink rocks and sprightly
flowers run parallel to the mosque and the discoursing birds.
Against this backdrop charged with Islamic aesthetics, the blue-robed
Guru and the bride-like, bearded Sufi are having their own discourse. As
the two figures face each other sitting on their knees on the green grass, the
tasbih-like rosary in the Guru’s stretched hand appears right in the middle.
This rhythmic circle of beads reaches out horizontally to unite them and ver-
tically to the three rose-like flowers, higher to the five daisies, still higher to
the mosque and finally to the houses and buildings in the distance. Accord-
ing to the narrative, the Guru invites the Shaykh to sing ghazals, for which
he was renowned. The Sikh Guru has the desire to hear with his own ears
the Sufi saint sing on the theme of love. The delighted Guru looks upon him,
and as the story ends, the saint bursts into bliss. Especially interesting is that
Shaykh Sharaf, like Shah Abdul Rahman in #7, palpably feels the impact of
Guru Nanak’s sight:

Babeji di najari bhar dekhne nal sekh tai drib drist hoi gai/rom rom
daru divaru masatu hoi gaia/hari jame andar har burqe andar brahm hi
paia najar avai.
(B-40:140–1)

With Babaji’s look upon him, the Shaykh’s sight turned divine. His every
pore became ecstatic. Inside every outfit, behind every burqa, he saw the
Divine!

The terms jama and burqa evoke the human body, and they bring to mind
figures of jama-wearing men and burqa-wearing women. The Sufi saint
touches the Sikh Guru with his beautiful song of love and is, in turn, physi-
cally touched by the Guru’s visual pulsations. His hair stands erect in joy,
and he begins to see the metaphysical Being in every corporeal figure.22 This
powerful scene of Sikh-Sufi reciprocity is also very popular with the contem-
porary group for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered Sikhs as visual
evidence that the progressive Guru Nanak did not condemn cross-dressing
 Tasting the sweet 43
or same-sex relationships.23 Alam’s scenes have great relevance, and if their
visceral impact were to reach wider audiences, there could be a real shift in
the divisive and oppressive paradigms dominating contemporary society.
For our final visual, we turn to a late nineteenth-century watercolor at the
Government Museum and Art Gallery in Chandigarh, India. Here we see
Guru Nanak wearing a mesmerizing full-sleeved robe.24 With the patronage
of the first Sikh emperor, Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1780–1839), Sikh art had
reached new heights. In this memorable painting, the Guru has a full beard
and in addition to Alam’s iconography he has a halo, and his turban has a
high flap and a domed top, and he is framed in a regal setting. One of the
Janamaskahis recount Guru Nanak receiving a cloak of honor during his
visit to Baghdad, with verses from the holy Qur’an embroidered on it.25 In
the watercolor tinted in a golden hue, the Guru’s robe is inscribed all over
with calligraphy in Arabic characters in the naksh script.
The Guru, deep in thought, with a rosary in his hands, is seated on a ter-
race. Some branches in brush strokes on the right echo his profile. In the far
background is an impressionist rendering of sizeable foliage. Closer, we get
a glimpse of the Mughal styled balcony balustrade with latticework. Closer
still is a big round pillow-cushion associated with Mughal emperors, and
the Guru, with his left leg tucked under and the right one placed over the
left knee, sits perfectly aligned with his royal backdrop. The rich horizontal
folds of his pillow-cushion dynamically intersect with the vertical stripes of
his pajama-trousers; the circular designs on his turban rhythmically repeat
the circles on the pillow, the necklace around his neck and the tasbih-like
rosary in his right hand. The triangles, decorated with yet more triangular
florets on his draping shawl, join the rectangular border of the Islamicate
carpet he is seated on.
In this scene of perpetual motion, the Guru is wrapped in a robe spun
with verses from the holy Qur’an and the sublime Japji that cover his entire
front and sleeves. The Islamic invocation bismillah al rahman al rahim and
the Sikh adi sacu jugadi sacu hai bhi sacu hosi bhi sacu appear together.26
The diverse threads of Guru Nanak’s dress powerfully weave the One
who is beyond all external designs and forms. In its visual hermeneutics,
the work unravels not only the meaning of the term “text” (derived from
texere, to weave) but also the singular transcendent matrix from which all
the materials are born. The call for rahimat or rahim is the perennial womb
of Truth (sacu), which always was (jugadi sacu), is (hai bhi sacu) and will be
evermore (hosi bhi sacu). Without halting the mind anywhere, the painting
gives a visual and sonorous push to imagine and intuit That Infinite One,
common to everybody – Muslim and Sikh alike.
The Sikh Guru’s body, his gestures, his garments and the items held by
him are imbued with enormous spiritual values typically associated with
the mystical dimensions of Islam. They function as symbols, for they bring
about a “coincidence of sensible appearance and supersensible meaning,”
which Gadamer notes is the original significance of the Greek symbolon,
44 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
“the union of two things that belong together.”27 The visuals draw us spec-
tators into an empowering Sikh-Muslim closeness, they shatter our fears
and phobias about the religion of the other and they incite us to experience
a wholesome spiritual efficacy. Tolstoy perfectly defined the function of art:

Art is not, as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some mysteri-

ous idea of beauty or God; it is not, as the aesthetical physiologists say,
a game in which man lets off his excess of stored-up energy; it is not the
expression of man’s emotions by external signs; it is not the production
of pleasing objects; and, above all, it is not pleasure; but it is a means
of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and
indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals
and of humanity.
What Is Art28

Poetic affinities
Even a cursory hearing of Sufi and Sikh lyrics proves Aristotle’s point that
poetry is concerned with the universal. The singular subject of Sufi and Sikh
verse is the divine Reality, and the ultimate goal is to experience that Transcend-
ent One most sensuously. According to Sufi Shaykh Farid, the earliest author
recorded in Sikh scripture, nothing compares with the sweetness of God:

Brown sugar, white sugar, rock candy,

Molasses, honey, rich buffalo milk
– All these are delicious things, but
O Rabb,29 none come close to You!
GGS:1379

While most philosophers and theologians view food and drink as antitheti-
cal to seeing, knowledge, morality and male preoccupations, Sikh and Sufi
poetry so stress the experiential dimension that they establish a close part-
nership between tasting and knowledge and shift the normal equation of
seeing and knowledge. The sense of seeing has dominated Indic and Greek
thought. The Hindu texts – Vedas (traditionally the Rig, Yajur, Sama and
Atharva) and Darśanas (different schools of philosophy) – are literally the
sense of “seeing” (from the Sanskrit roots vid and drś). Likewise, from Aris-
totle and Plato onward, Western philosophy regard sight as the “most excel-
lent of the senses;” “the noblest activity of the mind, theoria, is described
in metaphors mostly taken from the visual field,” such as “eye of the soul”
and of the “light of reason.”30 To come to think of it, “seeing” does main-
tain some sort of gap between the object of knowledge and the perceiving
subject, whereas tasting overcomes all distance by intimately bringing the
“other” into the very body of the percipient. Mind and body are integrally
united in the phenomenon of tasting.
 Tasting the sweet 45
Tasting the sweetness so deliciously expressed by Shaykh Farid forms the
backdrop of the entire Sikh canon. The first Guru tastes the Divine as
the sweetest of the sweet. “Embracing You we taste all that’s sweet” sings
the Guru and goes on to expand the various facets of spiritual experience:

Hearing, we taste the savory

Telling with our mouths we taste the tart and the sour
Playing Your mystic melody we taste the spicy
Those blessed by the gaze of love
Taste thirty-six ambrosial flavors in their one love.
GGS:16

The diverse and rich tasting takes the Divine physically inside the body, and
so the transcendent One blends with the bloodstream and feeds each person.
Take this exquisite simile: “Like lilies and lotuses in the water savor its elixir,
colored in the holy word we savor the sweetness of sugarcane” (GGS:152).
Even his supreme ethical ideal of humility takes on a “sweet” note: “Sweet
humility is the core of virtues and good deeds, says Nanak” (GGS:470).
For the Guru tasting is vitally important to the cognition and experience of
the Divine and to the development of individual morality. As a result, the
language of eating and drinking sumptuously pervades his poetic repertoire
and the Guru Granth overall.
The very origins of the Sikh religion are in fact traced to Guru Nanak’s
revelation, sapiential in nature. Savoring “the meal of the true elixir of
the divine Name” is how he identifies his transformative epiphany. Lyri-
cally, Guru Nanak admits he was a useless songster, but once he tastes the
divine elixir, he sets on his mission to resound the holy word and inspire
his contemporaries with what he got to savor himself (GGS:150). His auto-
biographical record from Sikh scripture is confirmed in the Puratan Janam-
sakhi (illustrated by Alam #28): Nanak is ushered into the presence of the
divine One, he wears the outfit of true praise and glory, he consumes the
meal of the true elixir of the Name and he takes up the assignment to play
the holy word and spread it far.31 Guru Nanak’s patron is the infinite One,
and the songster is charged to spread the holy word. Something radically
new came on the horizon. Guru Nanak’s personal experience of divine
inspiration recorded in the Guru Granth Sahib (repeated in the Janamsakhi
verbal and visual renderings), soundly refutes Mcleod’s premise that “we
can hardly accept the claim that it was delivered by direct, unmediated
inspiration from on high.”32 Guru Nanak, I argue, experienced the unicity
of the infinite Divine so palpably that his elemental, dynamic and spiritu-
ally charged verse burst out as a somatic reflex – giving birth to the Sikh
religion. Nanak is not reworking or rearticulating or mediating through
the Sant tradition – he is immediately voicing the infinite One across time
and space, high and low, within and without, in the universal language of
poetry.
46 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
The oral and aural equation made by Guru Nanak is carried forth by his
successor Gurus. Language (bānī) is ambrosia (amrit), and it is qualified as
delicious essence (amio rasa; GGS:963). Rasa is integral to Indian aesthet-
ics as it incorporates qualities and experiences common to food and arts.
Literally, the juice of plants, rasa is the refined essence of an object, its taste
or flavor, the relishing by the taster, a cultivated sensibility and a base for
many sophisticated theories.33 In the Guru Granth Sahib, the organ of the
tongue is literally rasana: “amrit bānī rasana cākhai – my tongue tastes the
ambrosial language,” divulges Guru Arjan (GGS:395). Guru Nanak’s initial
aesthetic tasting was vitally important for the compiler-editor. Guru Arjan
took up the momentous task of creating a literary platter with rich and plu-
ralistic ingredients – the lyrics of Sikh Gurus, Muslim Sufis and Hindu Bha-
gats. They would add their own sweetness to the dishes, enhance the variety,
deepen the taste and nurture the readers/hearers on a healthy multinutri-
ent diet. He intended for readers and hearers to gain supreme enjoyment
from the literary volume, and in his epilogue to the Guru Granth Sahib, we
clearly hear his objective:

In the platter lie three things:

Truth, contentment, contemplation . . .
They who eat, they who savor
are liberated.
GGS:1429

The sacred text is configured as a platter with three dishes: truth, content-
ment and reflection, and we are exhorted not simply to “eat” (khāvai) but
to “savor” (bhūncai) them. The epistemological value of these three on the
textual platter of plenitude and jouissance is somatically swallowed and
enjoyed.
The Sikh scriptural tasting bears striking affinities with Sufi dhawq,
defined by Seyyed Hossein Nasr as “sapiential knowledge or vision.”34 Leon-
ard Lewisohn translates dhawq as “heart-savor” and cites its importance in
the aesthetics and philosophy of the classical Sufi Abu Hamid al-Ghazali:

The most special characteristic of the highest Sufi mystics, and what
is uniquely theirs, [this] can only be attained by taste, not by learn-
ing . . . [it is] like witnessing with one’s own eyes and taking in one’s
own hands.35

By tasting the elemental nutrients of sacred poetry, awareness and apprecia-

tion heighten. The universal sacred lyrics bring about a shift from the object
to the subject, from the divine word to its human reception, from know-
ing to savoring. That immediate feeling or experiencing cannot be put into
any words or mediations – it has to be felt spontaneously. As the beloved
thirteenth-century Persian Sufi Jalaluddin Rumi evocatively relays,
 Tasting the sweet 47
Somebody asked us, what does it mean to be in love?
You will know, I said, “Only when you become a lover like us.”36

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

The divine One generated planets, constellations, and spheres below

What was hidden began to show.
GGS:1036

For Guru Nanak the various cosmic phenomena are created by and in turn
manifest the Divine. Every bit of creation in and around all over is the Crea-
tor’s vibrancy. Physical matter including the earth, skies and nether regions;
48 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
the psychological states of joy and fear; the religious texts of Hindus and
Muslims; practical activities like eating, drinking and dressing up; and so is
all love – the universal Creator.

What we see is the One’s qudrat

What we hear is the One’s qudrat,
Qudrat is at the core of happiness and fear,
The skies, the nether regions and all that is visible is the One’s qudrat
The Vedas, the Puranas, the Qur’an, indeed all thought is qudrat,
Eating, drinking, dressing up is qudrat, so is all love qudrat!
GGS:464

Everything visible is the nature of that utterly invisible One, our first prin-
ciple. It is the original force, the sole reality. As such, there can be nothing
beside the One and nothing outside the One. In the wahdat al-wujud sensi-
bility, Guru Nanak perceives the Creator and creation in complete unison.
Ibn al-‘Arabi’s “Hidden Treasure” is no different from Guru Nanak’s “pre-
cious jewel hidden in each heart.”
But creatures with inflated egos (haumai, literally I/hau + me/mai) are
split from the Creator. The dualistic barrier kills the taste; it prevents any
immediate tasting or seeing or hearing or touching or smelling of that One
within and without all over. There is no feel for the Creator, who gives each
morsel we taste, no marvel for the beauty of His creation. Guru Nanak fre-
quently expresses divine Reality as the “Light in all,” akin to the Sufi Nur
al-anwar flowing from the metaphysical implications of the light verse from
the holy Qur’an (24:35). The immaterial transcendent Light is the ontologi-
cal, epistemological and aesthetic matrix of this multiverse. The infinite One
dwells in the individual itself: “sabh mai joti joti hai soi – there is a light in
all and that light is That One” (GGS:13). Such scriptural verses, Granthian
verses, reflect the Qur’anic “we are closer to him than his jugular vein”
(Qur’an 50:16), popularly cited by Sufis. In the Islamic vein, the Divine is
never incarnated: “not imaged in any form – thāpia na jāe” categorically
states Guru Nanak at the very beginning of Sikh scripture (GGS:2). Aes-
thetic sensibilities need to be honed so we feel the flow of the transcendent
One flowing through the multiverse in our own veins. The selfish self (hau-
mai) has to die (fanā’) before it can subsist in the divine Being (baqā’). The
central fanā’-baqā’ Sufi correlative pair of concepts underlies Guru Nanak’s
metaphysics: “Those struck by love die quickly, they free themselves from
their selfish self” (GGS:1411). Beings really come alive when the I-me dies
and the infinite One is tasted.
Both Sufi and Sikh lyrics exalt the universal emotion of love (bhau, pyar,
ishq, muhabbat, rang) as the supreme religious principle.38 The rapturous
flow in the body carries many physiological associations: “Love came and
spread like blood in my veins” wrote the celebrated Chishti poet Amir
 Tasting the sweet 49
Khusrau (d. 1325). Analogously, “true food is love, and feeding on it we
blossom,” says Guru Nanak (GGS:146), “my teaching, instruction, food
is love” (GGS:221) and yet again, “the diet of love, flushes out doubts and
fears” (GGS:355). Hearts that soak in the ambrosial Divine, “their thirsty
egoism is flushed out, they are ever radiant sipping ambrosia.” (GGS:1281).
Being nurtured on love gives the power of blood and energy. We taste love
and we burst in crimson flush. This nexus between the sensuous and the
sacred was depicted in the language of colors by Alam in the Shah Abdul
Rahman and Guru Nanak encounter (B-40 illustration # 7). But “when
we don’t blush with divine love or get drunk on its elixir, we only sear and
scorch” (GGS:945). The Guru revels:

I am colored in the crimson passion of love

No other color colors me as colorfully
O Nanak, my tongue revels in the reveler
The divine One glowing in each of us.
GGS:1332

For Guru Nanak, then, the red color is the glow from the transcendent One
within the human heart. There is an entire musical measure, Rāga Sūhī, from
the term sūhā (crimson). Suha symbolizes the joyful state of a bride, and the
words for bride (suhāgan) and groom (suhāg) derive from it. The Sikh wed-
ding hymn “Lavan” (by the fourth Guru) is recorded in this measure.
Annemarie Schimmel unfolds the large fabric of red hues used by Sufi
poets – colors of wine, roses, flames and blood. Some of them, like the
bridal dress red, signifying life and fertility, are easily identifiable in Guru
Nanak’s verse, but others like “redāʾ al-kebrīā,” the divine cloak of glory
under which some Sufis experienced the divine presence, are quite unique
to the Sufis and interestingly incite new Sufi-Sikh arabesques.39 Schimmel
also illustrates a poignant usage of red by the mystic Farid-uddin Attar in
his tragic retelling of al-Hallaj’s cruel execution in Baghdad (in 922 for pro-
claiming “Ana’l Haqq,” or “I am the Reality”). As the story is retold, “his
[Hallaj] hands being cut off, rubbed the bleeding stumps over his bleakening
face: thus he became surkh-ra which means both red-faced and honoured.”40
The admirable crimson color evokes the metaphor of God as the supreme
Dyer, and both the holy Qur’an and Guru Granth Sahib partake of this
imaginary. Highlighting the divine Dyer’s unequivocal strength, the holy
Qur’an poses, “Who is better than Allah at coloring?” (Sura 2:138), and
Guru Nanak perceives the palpable effect of the Colorer’s unparalleled
talent: “If my body were the coloring vat O’ Beloved, the divine Name
its crimson dye, and the Dyer were my Sahib, such a color would not be
seen!” (GGS:722).41 Dyeing has been a very old and important profession
in Islam, and the Sikh-Sufi usage draws upon that expertise in the chemistry
of colors.42 Guru Nanak details the activity of dyeing – the fabric has to be
50 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
soaked in alum, it has to be steam cleaned so it is free of all stains, the color
is then poured into it and it is properly treated. The stains are from the ego-
istic self (Sufi nafs; Sikh haumai). In Sufi and Sikh literature, human ego is
the cause of the split from the divine One, the root of doubts, the source of
all negative psychic forces. How can we absorb the Truth until we get rid
of the stains of vice and doubt? How can we fill ourselves with divine love
until we empty out all the lust, anger, greed, attachment and pride within?
In Guru Nanak’s words,

Raw fabric absorbs color after steeping in alum

Pour divine awe into the coloring vat
So this body dyes in beauty
O Nanak, a body colored in devotion
Hasn’t the faintest false stain.
GGS:468

All soaking and steam cleaning and treating is but the loving devotion of
the divine One. To repeat, Sufi and Sikh poets reject conventional codes
and ceremonies, they reject all societal prescriptions and habits and they
reject institutional religion with all its formalities and modes of worship.
“Those who drink from the cup of love, why should they care about fasts or
prayers?” said the famous Punjabi Sufi Bullhe Shah.43
His cup of love overflows with intoxicating wine. Based on this widely
used metaphor of wine and intoxication, Sufis created a highly complex and
sophisticated mystical map. The tasting, drinking, quenching and getting
intoxicated was an amelioration of the physical, emotional, psychological
and spiritual planes of our being. In his analysis of Persian poetry, Nasrollah
Pourjavady writes, “The most powerful metaphor that the Sufis have found
to express the different psychological states of the lover (technically called
ahkām-i vaqt) is wine drinking and its affect on the person.”44 Though we
˙ not find as elaborate an exposition as in Sufism, we see Guru sipping the
do
wine and getting inebriated in symbols typically associated with Sufis. He
specifies:

True wine is not made from molasses

It’s made from the true Name45
Those who hear and praise it
I joyously revolve around them
A mind that finds a place in the divine Palace
Is drunk indeed. (2)
GGS:15–16

We hear similar melodies from Bhai Mardana. Interestingly, the Guru

Granth Sahib contains only three hymns by Bhai Mardana, and all three
have the wine leitmotif:
 Tasting the sweet 51
1
This rapacious mind reaches for the dark hour’s vat
Full with the liquor of lust
Arrogance serves the cup
Made of anger and attachment
In the company of deceit and greed
We sit and drink more and more, till
We are completely wrecked.
If good deeds are our distillery and truth our molasses,
We distil the supreme wine of Truth.

2
When body is the distillery, and arrogance the wine
With craving the company we drink in,
And the cup of mind brimming with evil
Is served by the messenger of Death,
Sipping this wine says Nanak
We consume many a vice.

3
When body is the distillery, and reality the wine,
Ambrosial nectar flows
Meeting up with good company,
The more we drink of the overflowing cup,
The more of our vices spill out.
GGS:553

Bhai Mardana (1460–1530) belonged to the same village as Guru Nanak,

and he was Guru Nanak’s constant companion during his extensive travels.
In such physical proximity, who is to say who influenced whom? Sufi tropes
are spontaneously expressed. There is no need to assume Guru Nanak was
using Sant mediators or translators or interpreters.
Not all wines are the same – Guru Nanak and Bhai Mardana make dis-
tinctions based on the ingredients and the impact. They take us to the waters
of memory, to Rumi’s classical poem, “The Many Wines”:

. . . There are thousands of wines

that can take over our minds.
Don’t think all ecstasies
are the same!
Jesus was lost in his love for God.
His donkey was drunk with barley.
52 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
Drink from the presence of saints,
not from those other jars.
Every object, every being,
is a jar full of delight.
Barks, The Essential Rumi: 646

Jesus was drunk on his love for God; his donkey was high on the intoxica-
tion of barley. In both instances the consciousness is overtaken but in utter
contrast – in the Prophet’s case by the brilliance of God; in his donkey’s case
by ignorance. Analogous to the donkey’s barley, which produces oblivion,
Guru Nanak shuns wine made from the usual molasses. He endorses the one
made from the transcendent materials of the true Name, akin to “Jesus’ love
for God.” Such a wine gets us drunk with perfect awareness – we live in the
Palace (mahal) of the universal One, the Palace where he was initiated by
the divine One with the ambrosial elixir. A smitten Bhai Mardana condemns
the liquor of lust served arrogantly in the cup of anger and attachment, and
drunk in the company of deceit and greed; instead, he sanctions the wine
made out of the molasses of Truth and distilled with good deeds. Just as
Rumi urges us to drink from the presence of saints, Mardana urges us to
keep drinking the overflowing cup of wine in good company.
Noteworthy twentieth-century poet Firoz Din Sharaf (1898–1955) fur-
ther extends the inebriation motif in his vivid depiction of Guru Nanak him-
self. Sharaf was born in pre-divided Punjab in a Muslim family and is duly
remembered for his phenomenal contributions to the Punjabi literary world.
The period was rife with religious conflict, his own Muslim community was
staunchly promoting Urdu, yet Sharaf was courageously advancing Punjabi
language. Greatly respected by people across borders, he served as the Cabi-
net Minister of the Punjab in the newly created Pakistan. The way in which
Sharaf brings Sikh history and philosophy palpably alive through simple
idiom is remarkable indeed.47 He wrote several poems on Guru Nanak, rein-
forcing the Guru’s pluralistic personality: “hindu kahin sādā, muslim kahin
sādā – Hindus say he belongs to us; Muslims say he belongs ˙ to us. . . .” He
˙
also has some lovely poems on Guru Nanak’s companions, the Muslim Bhai
Mardana and the Hindu Bhai Bala. In the case of Bhai Mardana, Sharaf
uses the ubiquitous Sufi symbol of a mystic lover as a moth attracted to
the candle’s flame and makes a delightful pun on his name: “Discerning the
divine light of Nanak, Mardana came flying over and became intoxicated
with his Name. . . . In his love, he died over and over (mar mar ke) and so
became Mardana.”

At the flash of the divine light,

The moth came flying over;
Drinking the name of Nanak,
He was inebriated.
 Tasting the sweet 53
People thought he was drunk,
But he was gone far beyond;
Sharaf, he died in the name of love,
And so Mardana he was born.48

For the Hindu Bhai Bala:

As the divine light appeared,

Thick darkness receded within.
Seeing the Guru’s intoxicated eyes,
He was inebriated.
On the rosary of his mind,
He turns the beads day and night.
Sharaf, for his devotion to the Guru,
Bala is known across the world.49

The companion here is specifically taken with Guru Nanak’s “intoxicated

eyes” (nain nasheele). Guru Nanak is so in love with the divine One that his
individuality is annihilated (fanā) and taken over completely by the Beloved
(baqā), and in turn his divine ecstasy becomes contagious. The Guru’s exter-
nally “drunk” eyes show it all. With his Sufi aesthetics, Sharaf presents a
mesmerizing portrait of the first Sikh Guru.
Sufi-Sikh verses create a powerful synergy. Drinking them nourishes the
growth of cells, muscles, neurons, images and emotions that expand our
essential selves; we get the confidence to enter the world of others. Unfortu-
nately, exegetes and translators are often reluctant to do so; some internal
mechanism switches them off. In his English translation Sri Guru Granth
Sahib, 4 vols. (Patiala: Punjabi University, 1984), G. S. Talib translates
Guru Nanak’s term “Sufis” as “sober”; widely used internet resource www.
srigranth.org translates Sufis as “those who do not use intoxicants.”50 There
is no need to dilute Guru Nanak’s connotations. The words used by Guru
Nanak are multivalent, for each is endowed with an endless semantic poten-
tial. His language is the “language of infinite love – bhākhia bhāu apār”
(GGS:4). Let us not be armed with scholarly warnings or threatened by
globalism and withdraw into some narrow fanatic insularity. The intoxicat-
ing lyrics awaken our psyche – they relate us across religions, cultures and
languages; they boost our appetite to taste, see, touch, smell, hear and revel
in “every object, every being” around us brimming with the universal divine
Love – “a jar full of the sweetest delight.”

Notes
All translations from the Guru Granth Sahib here are by the author. For more trans-
lations from the Guru Granth, see Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh, The Name of My
54 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
Beloved: Verses of the Sikh Gurus (HarperCollins 1995 and Penguin Classics 2001),
Of Sacred and Secular Desire: An Anthology of Lyrical Writings from the Punjab
(London: I.B. Tauris, 2012), and Book of the Sikh Teachers (forthcoming, Harvard
University Press). In this chapter Guru Granth Sahib, abbreviated: GGS.
1 www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00litlinks/txt_azad_congress_1940.
html (accessed 27 August 2018).
2 William H. McLeod, Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1968), p. 152.
3 William H. McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,”
in History of Religions, Vol. 7, No. 4 (May 1968), p. 303. This article reasserts
his thesis in his book Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion, pp. 151–163.
4 Mcleod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” p. 312.
5 Schimmel (1975, p. 107) comments on the early Sufis: “Even though Paradise
and Hell did not matter to the devotees of mystical love, they were well aware
that their deeds would bear fruit, and one of the favorite sayings attributed to
the Prophet was constantly repeated by the moderate mystics: “This world is
seedbed for the Otherworld.”
6 Gilmartin 1988, pp. 40–41.
7 Metcalf 2009, p. 8.
8 Ibid., p. 8.
9 Ibid., p. 12.
10 Asani 1988, pp. 81–94.
11 Eaton 2000, pp. 189–224.
12 The controversy started with Macauliffe. For details see Macauliffe 1909, p. 357.
Also discussed by McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru
Nanak.”
13 According to Asani, “most Sufis, at least until approximately 1600, began
their compositions with an apology and justification for the use of a “profane”
medium for “sublime” religious matters” . . . It was “Pir-i Roshan, a sixteenth
century religious leader, who brought about a change: “God speaks in every lan-
guage, be it Arabic, Persian, Hindi or Afghani. He speaks in the language which
the human heart can understand . . .” in 1988, p. 83.
14 In his English translation, Gurbachan S. Talib Sri Guru Granth Sahib, 4 vols.
(Patiala: Punjabi University, 1984) translates Guru Nanak’s term “Sufis” as
“sober.” The valuable and widely used internet resource srigranth.org translates
Sufis as “those who do not use intoxicants.”
15 Rabab, a stringed instrument, was popular in Afghanistan, the Middle Eastern
countries, Kashmir, and the Panjab.
16 B-40 Janamsakhi Sri Guru Nanak Devji. Edited by Piar Singh. Amritsar: Guru
Nanak Dev University, 2009. For an extensive analysis of the B-40 visuals, see
my article, “Corporeal Metaphysics: Guru Nanak in Early Sikh Art,” in History
of Religions, Vol. 53, No. 1 (August 2013).
17 These factual details are from McLeod 1980, pp. 5–6.
18 Gadamer 1989, p. 92.
19 McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” p. 303.
20 McLeod denies Guru Nanak’s divine inspiration, Ibid., p. 302.
21 “Precious objects were often called la’l ‘ruby’ ” notes Annemarie Schimmel, in
“Color Symbolism in Persian Literature” Encyclopedia Iranica www.iranicaon
line.org/articles/color-pers-rang
22 In his otherwise most valuable edited and translated volume, the B-40 Janam-
sakhi (Amrtisar: Guru Nanak Dev University, 1981), McLeod translates, “In
everything that he could see he perceived God – in everything that existed, both
visible and concealed . . .” p. 212. I feel his translation glosses over the textual
 Tasting the sweet 55
emphasis on jama and burqa, and thereby on what is behind them in the Sikh
original text – the bodies of Muslim men and women.
23 www.sarbat.net/nanak-b40janamsakhi.htm (accessed 27 August 2018).
24 Goswamy 2000, pp. 38–9.
25 Ibid., p. 38.
26 Translation of the Islamic invocation: “In the name of God, Most Gracious,
Most Merciful.” The translation of the Sikh verse: “Truth it always was, is, and
will be evermore.”
27 Gadamer 1989 [1975], p. 78.
28 Tolstoy 1899, p. 43.
29 Arabic term for “God” found frequently in the GGS.
30 Jonas 1954, p. 507.
31 For details see my article. “The Myth of the Founder: The Janamsakhis and Sikh
Tradition,” in History of Religions, 1992, Vol. 31, No. 4, pp. 329–43.
32 McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” p. 302.
33 Carolyn Korsmeyer offers an accessible explanation of rasa. See Korsmeyer
2002, pp. 44–5. See also Coomaraswamy 1957.
34 Nasr 1972, p. 20.
35 Lewisohn 1997, p. 11.
36 Rumi 1985 [1925], p. 1: 246.
37 Green 2012, p. 79.
38 Shackle 2006, pp. 87–108.
39 Schimmel, “Color Symbolism in Persian Literature” in Encyclopedia Iranica
www.iranicaonline.org/articles/color-pers-rang
40 Schimmel 1962, p. 166.
41 The Arabic term “Sahib” another scriptural term for Allah, is a verbal articula-
tion of the numeral One celebrated throughout the GGS.
42 Ghabin 2009, pp. 232–4.
43 Singh 2012, p. 100.
44 Pourjavady 2012, p. 133.
45 For Guru Nanak, the subtle alchemical process happens with the ingredient of
the true Name.
46 Barks 2004, p. 6.
47 For Sharaf’s biography and works, see Singh 2012, pp. 151–7.
48 My translation, Of Sacred and Secular Desire, p. 200.
49 Ibid.
50 Why else would G.S. Talib translate Sufis as “sober” and srigranth.org as “those
who do not use intoxicants?” See note 14.

Bibliography
Asani, Ali S. 1988. “Sufi Poetry in the Folk Tradition of Indo-Pakistan.” Religion &
Literature 20(1), The Literature of Islam (Spring): 81–94.
Barks, Coleman. 2004. The Essential Rumi: New Expanded Edition. New York:
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Eaton, Richard M. 2000. “Sufi Folk Literature and the Expansion of Islam.” In
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lated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. New York: Crossroads.
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56 Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh
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(Berkeley and London: University of California Press.
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Tradition.” British Journal of Ethnomusicology 6: 1–33.
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6 vols. Oxford: The Clarendon Press.
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Nanak.” History of Religions 7(4) (May): 302–316.
———. 1968. Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
———. 1980. Early Sikh Tradition: A Study of the Janam-sakhis. Oxford: Claren-
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———. 1981. B-40 Janam-sakh. Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University.
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———. 1962. “The Martyr-Mystic Hallāj in Sindhi Folk-Poetry: Notes on a Mysti-
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———. 1975. Mystical Dimensions of Islam. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North
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Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
2 The “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibrahim
Milad Milani

Introduction1
This chapter focuses on the representation of Sufism in the 2003 film Mon-
sieur Ibrahim (MI). My examination is undertaken in isolation of Éric-
Emmanuel Schmitt’s 2001 short novel Mr. Ibrahim and the Flowers of the
Koran, which developed upon an earlier French play written by the same
author.2 In examining the film, I do not presume to know Schmitt’s thoughts
about Sufism, nor do I purport to discover anything in this regard. Rather,
what follows is an analysis based on my observation of the film’s representa-
tion of Sufism.
The question of “what is Sufism” is a deliberately vexing issue that has
become a fabled Sufi strategy and is generally meant to activate a previously
unrealized process of deep introspection within the framework of religious
thinking. This is comparable to the longstanding Socratic method of provo-
cation through a line of questioning that will inevitably lead to uncovering
certain truths about one’s own nature (or process of thinking), rather than
a perceived external/objective truth. The intention to not define Sufism, one
might suspect, is not due to some misguided romanticism about what and
who Sufis “really” are, because to do so misses the point of the possibil-
ity that it represents within (and on rare occasion through) Islam. What is
Sufism? Islamic mysticism. Perhaps this is enough. But it is much more than
this. To put it in the existentialist/phenomenological terms that Heidegger
would have used, it is about the search for meaning in the Islamic context.
In this chapter, I explore what Sufism might signify in open-ended rep-
resentation. I take “Sufi” to mean the embodiment of their message: the
present3 God, the experience of whom was shared through theophanic utter-
ance and allegorical verse and enacted through their love of, and service to,
others, and which is preserved in hagiographical stories. There are, indeed,
those who would additionally claim that the Sufi characterized the psycho-
logical and spiritual state of their religion and the experiential core of Islamic
doctrine, or as al-Ghazali claimed in the twelfth century, they were preoccu-
pied with “the revival of the religious sciences” (Ihiyāʾ ʿulūm ad-dīn). Such
a declaration resides at the heart of the mystical ˙tradition of Islam, whose
58 Milad Milani
custodians would uphold the view that Sufism today is the same as it was in
the past, that is, the virtue (ʾihsān) of the Prophet’s unspoken Islam.
˙
But this is not a paper on Sufism as the appropriated mysticism for tradi-
tional Islam. Scholars of Sufism, some of them Sufi, have agreed upon ter-
minology and definitions, which they have utilized to legitimate the proper
claims of the Sufis and have therefore established the most accurate infor-
mation that is historically available about who the Sufis were and what
they taught. That being said, very little, if any, attention is given to what
might be possible to gain from investigating the religious and, in particular,
non-religious appropriation of the same historic references right now. After
all, Sufism is not a religion, even though it is an “understanding” that is
contextualized in Islam, and this is where the “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibra-
him comes into the picture. I am going to use the language of Heidegger to
help describe the latter task as a “retrieval” of the possibilities that are still
available and remain dormant in the Sufi message about divine imminence.
The Sufis are heir to a long tradition of ascetic devotion to holiness, but
their own tradition proper is defined over the course of the years by their
trademark piety of what Christopher Melkert has described as “communion
with God.”4 Contrary to mainstream religiosity, their method would deline-
ate the experience of the imminence of God, of being able to receive divine
presence through the very stuff of the world that others rejected. What is
distinct about Sufism is that for the first time in the history of Islam, under-
standing God began with subjective experience and not through rational
means or devotional worship. In its popular form, the mystical message
was further freed up from the restraints of religious formalism. The Sufi
message was dispersed far and wide across the Muslim lands by wandering
Sufis and, for that matter, non-Sufi poets who favored their method (and
stories, mind you), through poetic verse that celebrated the Sufi way. Sufi
stories were for a long time the favorite subject of poetry. For better or
for worse, Sufism historically contributes to the flexibility in the process of
Islamic religious meaning-making. Its mysticism (that is, its silence on doc-
trinal specificity and vagueness toward legalism) ensures that a good portion
of what it means to be Islamic remains undecided, and as such, leaves open
the inevitability of interpretation. The sophistication of the Sufi method,
over the years, is expressed through the Sufi joint-notions of fanāʾ wa baqāʾ
(annihilation and subsistence), which I see as limited perpetuity of experi-
ence in this world, in that it outlines the journey of the human being through
a numberless series of self-transcending experiences within the limitations of
its mortality and the finality of physical death, beyond which the Sufi refer-
ences to this idea do not even begin to describe.
Here is clue for the careful observer. Certain Sufi exhibit an experience
of going into and through religion, not to be confused with the general
experience of Sufism as sunna, and which can be described “apophatically”
as the un-categorized mystical Islamic non-Islam. It is “Islamic” because
Sufism is still a phenomenon that is part of Islam, and the Sufi as the agent
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 59
of Islamic experience, regardless of how unique in this instance, but Sufism
is “non-Islam” because for want of a better phrase it is no longer an experi-
ence of Islam that is recognizable in the traditional format. The categorical
definition, as well as the category, of Sufism as Islamic mysticism has been
subverted in – and through – the experience of Sufism as a consequence of
an exercise of hermeneutics.
Such an occurrence in Sufism gives the impression of what seem to be ten-
sions as to Sufism’s relationship to the Islamic tradition. But this is a false
dichotomy. Rather, the hermeneutical experience of Sufism ties in directly
with a significant question about Islamic history. Is it the Qur’an or the
Prophet Muhammad that sits at the center of Islamic tradition? This sim-
ple question defines fourteen hundred years of hermeneutical interpretation.
The answer most assuredly is Revelation, which is neither the text that con-
tains the message nor the person who has been absent for almost the same
amount of time. Islam’s tradition of religious opinion (aqida) is colorful
and rich, and they are, each of them, focused on the meaning of Revelation
either as they find it or through what they find in it. In the case of the latter,
there are numerous examples of excerpts from the Qur’an utilized for sup-
port of a specific reading of scripture, where for instance the Sufis read love
into the Qur’an as a doctrine.5 This makes Sufism highly interpretive and
contextualized as an area of study.

What is in it is in it
In this chapter I am particularly interested in an analysis of the film in rela-
tion to its less obvious affiliation with Idries Shah’s tale, “What is in it,”
from his Wisdom of Idiots.6 I would like to open the segment with the short
tale in full:

A certain Bektashi was respected for his piety and appearance of virtue.
Whenever anyone asked him how he had become so holy, he always
answered: “I know what is in the Koran.”
One day he had just given this reply to an enquirer in a coffee-house,
when an imbecile asked: “Well, what is in the Koran?”
“In the Koran,” said the Bektashi, “there are two pressed flowers and
a letter from my friend Abdullah.”

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

Time finds meaning in death

The transparent tropes in the film are the contrast of the old and the young
man, a father and son relationship. It poses a kind of “rite of passage” nar-
rative. Upon closer inspection, this choice of obvious transparency is an
invitation to step inside the world that is about to be revealed. This is about
not just the evident youth and age paradox but also, particularly, a refer-
ence to temporality. This trope of young and old can also be read in episodic
terms; that is, as the period of time that has elapsed but that has been given
a unique opportunity to converse with an earlier event horizon of itself.
Ibrahim has this once-in-a-lifetime chance, which is given to him and which
he realizes in Momo, making every moment spent with him count. It is as
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 61
though time, which is typically conceived of as linear, has the rare occasion
to loop back to preserve the future present.
What I am suggesting is that it is possible to read the film’s depiction of
Ibrahim and Momo as one and the same person come face to face differ-
entiated by age, which is a consequence of time passed, but separated only
by death. There is a playfulness with the idea of time, as shown through
Ibrahim and Momo’s relationship. Here, the typical trope plays out in the
characters in the film as the passion of youth and the wisdom of age. Momo
is impetuous, while Ibrahim is nurturing. Presenting Momo predominantly
in the red shirt and Ibrahim in the gray outfit speaks to this concept of time
bending back on itself in two characters of the one person. The color red on
Momo, in the face of the gray of Ibrahim’s attire, signals the viewer’s focus
to be placed on the younger man, who is the focus, and of course the youth-
ful Ibrahim. The gray is indicative of absent-presence – the mature version
of the youthful character. I would assert that when the characters are read in
the light of a play on time, the narrative of the film unfolds in accordance to
the key events that set the scene for Momo and Ibrahim’s numerous encoun-
ters as a process of similarity and dissimilarity, continuity and discontinuity,
right up until the end of the film. The finiteness of their encounter is ever-
present, and as we near the end of the film, it is clear something is about to
happen. Ibrahim’s death is the beginning of Momo’s meaning-making. Time
finds meaning in death because it is the latter that makes sense of being-in-
the-world coming to an end. Ibrahim made meaning for Momo, but now
Momo must make sense of his own place without Ibrahim.
As such, I suggest that the film is best examined in broad terms, whereby
the events shown follow a coherent pattern about the experience of being. It
starts with the lack of loving affection, a void that is filled with the explora-
tion of the physical body, explicitly in having sex; the paradox of estrange-
ment and friendliness; receiving loving affection; learning to smile, finding
beauty and happiness; change of religion analogous to change of shoes; fall-
ing in love and being heartbroken; journeying to a new land; learning about
diversity but finding your feet where you stand; and letting go to become
yourself. In my reading, this outline of events, which play out as the open
clearing of human experience, presents the embodiment of the Sufi journey
in the characters Ibrahim and Momo.
The film’s representation of the meaning of Sufism is framed by the char-
acter of Ibrahim and is a deliberately (and meaningfully) subjective indul-
gence about Sufism as the Sufism of Monsieur Ibrahim. The value of the
film’s representation of Sufism is, in this way, found in the exercise of com-
ing to be aware of oneself as a present-meaningful-existent rather than in a
literal quest for defining and locating Sufism in Islam. In fact, the film has
nothing really to do with religion, let alone Islam. It is truly existentialist
in its telling of the story of Momo. The film does not prescribe a pedantic
interpretation of Sufism, though it plays with the absurdity of Sufism having
a definition at all; rather, the film offers a reading into one of many possible
62 Milad Milani
meanings through the characters involved. In this sense, the quest for Sufism
cannot start but with the subject, the individual, and proceed outward to the
world (and likely back again).
What we see throughout the film is a confirmation of the relatability of
subjective experience and its being-in-the-worldness in the quest for meaning.
“I thought Muslims didn’t drink,” asks Momo. “But I’m Sufi,” replies
Ibrahim. Observing Momo’s puzzled stare, Ibrahim says: “It’s not a disease,
it’s a way of thinking.” “Although, some ways of thinking . . . are diseases
too.” Back at home, in his father’s study, Momo is looking up the term
“Sufism” in the encyclopedia: “Sufism: mystical form of Islam. Opposed to
legalism, it stresses inner religion.” Then he looks up “legalism”: “Legalism:
meticulous observance of the law.” He recalls “opposed to legalism,” and
ponders “he’s against the law[?].”
Momo remembers Ibrahim telling him how to shop frugally with the little
money his father gives him, such as exchanging a tin of cat food for pâté,
diluting cordial in table wine, reheating stale bread under the grill and so on,
all of which are for his father, but telling him that he can select anything for
himself free of charge. This was Ibrahim’s response in the face of catching
Momo steal from his store. Here, Momo pauses to think, “He isn’t always
honest.” He responds by saying that “respecting the law means being like
him [his father], that’s terrible. I’d rather be against legalism.” And on he
goes repeating the mantra: “Inner religion . . . Inner religion.”
The concept of death is a peculiar one. In the film it has two destinies:
one that is presented through the destiny of Momo’s father, who takes his
own life by jumping in front of a train; and the other through the destiny
of Ibrahim, who is killed in a car accident. In the former, death is forced at
the hands of the subject; while in the latter, death is out of Ibrahim’s hands.
Here the nobler notion of death is presented with Ibrahim as one that is the
end of the journey of meaning, since death is never at our disposal; it is not
an event in our lives, although Ibrahim’s is an event in the life of Momo.
And this is what adds the point that the one experiencing time finds mean-
ing in death.

Heart-thinking in the world-space

The Muslim philosopher al-Farabi followed Aristotle in giving prominence
to the heart as the seat of intelligence. The philosophy of the heart therefore
had a significant impact on Sufi metaphysics in subsequent years. Sufi subtle
body systems incorporated this bodily organ to convey the pragmatism of
their understanding by placing the heart between the soul and the body.7 It
is of course possible to read Sufi literature as advocating a body/spirit dual-
ism, but this would be too simplistic a reading of the genre. Sufi mystical
literature is heavily nuanced, and it is difficult to say with certainty that the
Sufis unreservedly denigrated worldliness to a base classification. For me,
the Sufis were generally not in the habit of harboring an attitude that was
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 63
derogatory toward the world, which is a view consistent with the general
Muslim outlook. That is not to say that Sufi ideology was not in tension
with the things of this world, but it certainly was not at odds.
In exploring this segment, I do not intend on catering to the cliché of
religious dualism in splitting up spirituality and physicality as if they were
two separate things. Quite the opposite is true, especially when it comes to
the representation of Sufism in Monsieur Ibrahim. Most classic Sufi manuals
begin with (or at the very least contain) an exposition on the passions. This
is, without doubt, the starting point of the spiritual journey. Human pas-
sion, far from being the enemy to be destroyed, is the necessary driver that
moves the seeker along the path toward its goal of liberation. Many times,
Rumi insists, as discerned from the many stories he shares with his audience
in the Mathnawi, the passions cannot be destroyed (at least not by ordinary
Man); they need to be mastered. There is a famous story about a would-be
hero who finds a serpent frozen in the mountains – assuming the creature is
dead – and, thinking that he would become famous for its capture, brings
the creature to town. In the town, the ice slowly melts, and a dragon tears
lose to devour the people and the hero.
The story ends with Rumi’s advice about our imprudent regard for the
passions.8 So it is that in the film we are introduced to Momo as he observes
what is going on in the world outside his apartment. This basic message is
introduced in the first segment of the film. It is a strong statement to start
the film with Momo’s sexual awakening. His first sexual encounter is with
one of several prostitutes who line the street across from his residence. We
are shown that Momo has a clear line of view, and he watches the women as
they go about their day. He breaks his piggy bank to fund the first encoun-
ter. Oddly, Momo’s next encounter occurs when he stops a thief who had
stolen the purse of one of the prostitutes, and he is rewarded for his chivalry
with sex. Once he develops a taste for it, he begins selling off his father’s
library collection to pay for future visits with the other women.
Of course, even Ibrahim is implicated as visiting the women. In the previ-
ous meeting, Ibrahim encourages Momo to smile more often. The advice
is reminiscent of a well-known adage, “A smile costs nothing, but gives so
much.” Yet sensuality is again at the forefront, the lips parting to reveal the
teeth. Playing further on the sense-perceptions, Momo confides in Ibrahim
that his father had told him his teeth were crooked and that he will need
braces. Ibrahim smiles and says they are fine, just smile less. He continues,
“Can you imagine your mouth full of metal? The girls won’t believe you’re
sixteen.” In doing so, Ibrahim reveals to Momo that he knows about his
visits to the prostitutes, and that it is okay. Momo is surprised but realizes
Ibrahim speaks from experience. When he asserts that Ibrahim must go too,
Ibrahim says “Heaven is for all of us, not just for minors,” then changes the
topic and proposes a walk on a Sunday afternoon. Sensuality is ever-present
in the film’s ambience. It is portrayed through feminine sexuality, the youth-
ful Momo, the red convertible, walks along the Seine, the road trip across
64 Milad Milani
Europe, the boat trip through the Port of Istanbul, the scent of candles in
the Catholic church, incense in the Orthodox and the smell of feet at the
mosque. Finally, there is the dance of the whirling dervishes. It would seem
the film communicates a cardinal Sufi theme about the journey toward the
spiritual as being within the mundane (a point that is made known through
the connecting frames of the film), placing special emphasis on the notion
that the sacred is within the experience of the profane.
During their drive to Ibrahim’s village, Ibrahim invites Momo to reflect
on the vastness of life’s journey. He says: “Can you imagine the distance
between dust and what we are now? Later, you’ll become angel, after you
finish with the Earth.”9 This is a key moment because Ibrahim has been
teaching Momo all along about the existential value of life as the key to
self-transformation. Earlier in the film, Momo says to Ibrahim that smiling
is “for happy people.” Ibrahim responds, “You are wrong. Smiling is what
makes you happy.”

The intelligible openness

When Ibrahim reveals to Momo that he knows his secret about visiting the
prostitutes on Blue Road, Momo asks, “You know about that?” “I don’t
know anything,” replies Ibrahim. “I just know what’s in my Koran.” If
we recall for a moment our earlier discussion about Momo searching for a
definition of Sufism in the encyclopedia, it was clear that the book cannot
help him gratify his awakened curiosity. “Dictionaries always use words
you don’t understand,” he admits to himself. Yet an important seed had
already been planted. On their outing on Sunday afternoon in Paris, Momo
remarks, “It’s too beautiful here for me,” to which Ibrahim replies, “You
can find beauty wherever you look. That’s what my Koran says.” When
Momo finally asks if he should read Ibrahim’s Qur’an, Ibrahim responds,
“If God wants to reveal life to you, he won’t need a book.”
In this final part of the chapter I want to discuss how the film carefully
portrays Sufism as a journey from an inauthentic existence to an authen-
tic one. The message that comes to us through the film is about arriving
at a level of understanding about one’s presence in the world and as part
of the world but not restricted by the world, though never beyond it or
of anywhere else than the world. Sufism, which was, in the Middle Ages,
the people’s antidote to the misery of recurrent barbaric incursions, was
never an escapism; rather, it was a way of being with the world despite its
horrors. The Sufi were experts in navigating daily life. Now, in the film,
the juxtaposition is made between Momo’s father and Ibrahim in that the
former says to an infant Momo that money is the path to happiness, a path
that we see later on in the film at which his father had failed to follow and
because of which his person was depleted of not only cash but also spirit. He
finds no happiness to that end. Conversely, Ibrahim imparts to Momo the
understanding of how to be in the world and find happiness from himself.
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 65
“How do you manage to be happy?” Momo asks. “I know what’s in my
Koran,” Ibrahim responds. This is that very reference to “inner religion”
that Momo contemplates but which is always presented to him in words of
Ibrahim about his Qur’an. “His Koran” is the metaphysical representation
of his existential self-present-understanding. Momo still thinks it is about a
text, the book of the Qur’an. “Maybe I should pinch it one day” he teases
Ibrahim. But Ibrahim gives him the book to take home.
When Ibrahim senses that Momo’s father is no longer present, he uses
the Qur’an he has lent to Momo as a pretext to enquire: “How’s your dad,
I haven’t seen him lately?” When Momo deflects the question, Ibrahim
asks, “Isn’t he angry about the Koran?” Momo offers a half-honest answer:
“I hide to read it” (a lie), and “I don’t understand much” (the truth). Ibrahim
responds in kind, “When you want to learn, you don’t pick up a book. . . .
You talk to someone.” That is, he has used the reference to his Qur’an as a
foil for revealing the true method for understanding. “But you always say
you know—” Momo is interrupted by Ibrahim. “What’s in my Koran,” he
finishes Momo’s sentence with a smile. Now Momo understands. Indeed,
there is another use of a foil in the film by way of the subplot of Momo’s
father’s story. He is the opposite of Ibrahim. This is not about the standoff
of religions (Judaism and Islam), as is in the background by chance of the
assigned faith of the characters in play. The film would have worked just as
well in a role reversal, with Ibrahim as a Kabbalist and Momo’s father as a
miserly Muslim.
I would rather point out that the issue is the intelligible openness of the
characters in question. That is to say, to what degree has each character
found their authenticity of being. Neither is less authentic than the other,
but what makes one inauthentic with regard to its authenticity is what pro-
duces the measure of inauthentic and authentic state of each character’s
existence. Here, the film deals with the matter through the analogy of reli-
gion, which is further layered within the actual storyline of the film by way
of a discussion over shoes. “What does being a Jew mean to you?” asks
Ibrahim. “I don’t know. For my dad, it means being depressed all day. For
me, it’s why I can’t be different,” replies Momo. “Your shoes are no good,”
comments Ibrahim as if to change the subject. “We’ll buy you some tomor-
row.” “I don’t have any money,” says Momo. “It’ll be my treat,” Ibrahim
replies. “You only have one pair of feet. Look after them. If your shoes hurt
you, you change them. You can’t change your feet.” The analogy of shoes
releases the tension over religious rivalry. It instead reduces the topic to a
life choice. If something does not work for you, you change it, like a pair
of shoes.
Ibrahim’s legal adoption of Momo seals the bond between them that was
always there, though now it becomes formal. In other words, the connec-
tion between them, the nature of their relationship, as the film shows us,
was firstly one of substance of “father and son;” it is only subsequently and
through a tedious litigious process that it is also ceremonially recognized.
66 Milad Milani
Throughout the film, the storyline does not detract from Momo’s lesson in
relating to others, particularly the lessons in love.
The bathhouse scene is one of the deeper moments in the film. It is contex-
tualized by Momo’s heartbreak after realizing the girl whom he had fallen
for was simultaneously dating someone else. He is in pain from losing out
on love, but Ibrahim corrects him on the nature of love. We often feel the
pain of love because it hurts to lose someone we have felt such a deep con-
nection with, whether through breakup or other means, but this pain is also
compounded by the amount of shame that we feel in somehow having been
fooled (or tricked) by the Fates, as it were, yet again, against our better
judgement. But love is not about our better judgement, and it certainly is
not the domain of the rational. As it is said: “A donkey stuck in mud is log-
ic’s fate – love’s nature only love can demonstrate.”10 Momo is additionally
irritated by the fact that “there’s always a Paulie” in his life eating him up
inside. Paulie, we learn, was the fictional brother created by Momo’s father
to taunt him into doing better by having him always measured against an
imagined older brother who was perfect in every way. In a manner gentler
and warmer than the steaming Turkish bath, Ibrahim responds to Momo
to put his mind and heart at ease: “It doesn’t matter,” he gently breaks his
silence. “Your love for her is yours. It belongs to you.” Momo is perplexed
by the response. “She rejects it, but she can’t destroy it. She’s just missing out
on it,” continues Ibrahim, unfazed. Then he turns to look at Momo directly
and delivers the point of the message: “What you give, Momo, is yours for
good. What you keep is lost forever.” Startled, Momo pursues Ibrahim with
tangential questions that are deliberately placed through the character as
superficial in nature: why we don’t see Ibrahim’s wife and why he, too, is cir-
cumcised and could be easily Jewish. Ibrahim avoids both questions. “You
didn’t answer me,” Momo says. “Momo, no answer is an answer,” replies
Ibrahim. “I don’t understand,” persists Momo. “You can’t understand eve-
rything with your mind,” replies Ibrahim. In this dialogue, Ibrahim reveals
something so profoundly ordinary about the sacredness of love. The para-
doxical language of Ibrahim’s character is demonstrative of the unexpect-
edly perceived state of love’s nature. The love you feel is an experience that
principally belongs to you and not to anyone else. You give it at the risk of
being rejected or hurt but not destroyed, because the love you give is yours.
In other words, it extends out from its source – you. That is why those
who reject the love you give only miss the opportunity of a love shared. But
the essential part of the paradox is that, in order to keep that love, you feel
always alive in your heart, and you must give it away without holding back;
the triumph of giving is the act itself.

The horizon-future-now
The last half of the film starts with a journey to a new land. Or rather, it
is a return (to Ibrahim’s homeland). In Rumi’s poetry, the Mathnawi, the
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 67
many stories track the journey of the fallen state of Man through the toils
and trials of earthly life until that time when each is made ready for its
“return.” While in Rumi we cannot but read his message as one upward
toward the heavens, in Monsieur Ibrahim the audience is being opened up
to another possibility, that of inevitability of interpretation and undecid-
ability of meaning. The truth of our return is more accurately about an
honest realization that if we are going to hold on to the upward flight to the
heavens, we cannot truly value the present, because if we did, the present
would be a means to an end. We could not value the present if we did so for
the sake of a future. Ibrahim knows this as he is imparting his final lessons
to Momo from “his Koran.” The reason why he says to Momo, “Later,
you’ll become angel, after you finish with the Earth,” is to assert the finality
of death and thus the illusion of eternity. Ibrahim is fulfilled, especially now
that he has Momo as his son, and together they are returning “home.” “I’m
happy, Momo. You’re here and I know what’s in my Koran.”
There are obvious clichés that can be easily picked up on in this segment
of the film that relate to Sufi tropes about the state of the dervish (literally,
poor in the face of divine richness) and the breathing technique during a
Sufi ceremony, which includes a routine of inhalation and exhalation. Such
can be linked to Momo’s random occupational choice in “import-export”
or the drive across Europe, where Ibrahim explains to Momo how to tell
that a country is rich or poor: “Look at the bins [!],” he says as they travel
through Switzerland, Albania and Greece. “If there are bins and no rub-
bish, it’s rich . . . if there’s rubbish by the bins, it’s neither rich nor poor. . . .
it’s touristy . . . and if there’s rubbish but no bins, then it’s poor.” But this
is too obvious a trope to be intended to be treated too seriously. I would
instead take the view that Ibrahim is teaching Momo about the horizon that
is ever receding. The faster you chase after it, the quicker you arrive at the
end without having lived. That is why Ibrahim pauses to appreciate Greece,
using the history of its people and their wisdom to make a delicate point.
This stopover is symbolically pertinent. Momo asks about the place they
have arrived (Greece) to inquire whether it is rich or poor. Ibrahim shifts
the conversation to the actual point of the lesson: “Smell that? The scent of
happiness. This is Greece. People don’t move. They take the time to watch
us pass.” He then tells Momo that he has worked hard all his life but taken
his time about it, and the key to his happiness has been “slowness.” Now,
of course, a central principle in Sufi praxis is the ability to slow down the
breathing and retain a state of meditation in one’s daily activities even out-
side the ritual practices. To sip a cup of tea with mindfulness, or to take a
stroll in the garden and appreciate the flowers and the song of the birds, or
to simply do daily chores with effortlessness all the while being fully present
in the moment.
Ibrahim’s lesson is reinforced once he and Momo arrive in Ibrahim’s
homeland, Turkey. Ibrahim is silent, taking in his surroundings. He has
missed his home. Momo asks if there is anything wrong and why Ibrahim
68 Milad Milani
is not speaking. Ibrahim tells him to “listen . . . smell.” In this penulti-
mate segment of the film, the sensuality of worldliness is again center stage,
except this time it is not of the passions but of the aesthetics of religion.
Ibrahim takes Momo on a tour of the religious sanctuaries, but he blind-
folds Momo to teach him to recognize each religious tradition through the
senses. “I smell incense.” “It’s Orthodox,” says Ibrahim. “I smell candles.”
“It’s Catholic,” says Ibrahim. “It stinks of feet!” “And your feet don’t stink?
You’re no better than others,” responds Ibrahim. “That odor reassures me.
I smell myself, I smell you.” As they continue on their journey inland toward
Ibrahim’s village, Momo is homesick, and Ibrahim says that he will make
him dance. Here, the journey into religion is complete. But it is not the end
of understanding. From church to mosque to “love’s temple” – the Sufi
house of worship – the lesson about religion goes deeper. Ibrahim’s reference
to dance is about the whirling dervishes, whom they watch perform. Where
Momo was before blindfolded; he is now permitted to see. The order of the
film’s sequence is more than coincidental in that it implies a tacit truth: what
we think we see with our eyes, we do not; and what we do not see with our
eyes, we do (with our hearts). Momo’s seeing with his eyes is metaphoric
of the seeing with the eye of the heart in the scene where the blindfold is
off and he is witness to the dervish ceremony. In the cliché that unfolds,
the religious traditions are most visible to our external senses with their
magnificent architecture and lavish ritual, but they keep from the very same
eyes – through distraction – the reality of the message they hold. The truth
of the message is seen with an internal vision not blinded by the material
aesthetic but liberated through the spirit of aesthetics. When Ibrahim and
Momo are watching, Ibrahim whispers to Momo, “A man’s heart is like a
caged bird. When you dance, your heart sings . . . and then rises to heaven.”
In explaining this, Ibrahim is not dispensing with the religions but guiding
Momo toward the interior of religion. It is a common belief among Sufis
that the core of religion, its sacred heart, is where the combustion of love
resides. So, Ibrahim tells him why the dervishes dance:

They spin around their hearts. God is there, in their hearts. It’s like a
prayer. They lose all their bearings, that burden we call balance. They
become like torches. They burn in a blazing fire.

This unspoken experience of love’s mystery constitutes a widespread basis

for Sufism’s creed about purifying the heart and mind. “My head’s clear. All
my hatred . . .” Momo is yet again genuinely surprised by Ibrahim’s human-
ity. “Do you feel hatred too?”

The journey’s end

“The journey ends here,” Ibrahim murmurs in his dying state. “No,” replies
Momo desperately. “Yes,” says Ibrahim with certainty. Death is the final
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 69
state of life. Ibrahim’s death marks the end of his life’s journey. But with
this end there is a new beginning in Momo. “I’ve arrived,” says Ibrahim.
This unassumingly simple statement conveys both points of view about the
end and beginning – that Ibrahim has arrived at the end of his journey
and Momo at the beginning of his, at that very moment in time. With the
anticipation of all that is to come, Momo remarks that he is scared. Ibrahim
reassures him that there is nothing to fear, because he knows what is in his
Qur’an. “I’ve had a good life. I’m old. I’ve had a wife. She died a long time
ago . . . but I still love her. I’ve returned home.” The distraught Momo is
further consoled by Ibrahim’s words. But these are not just words of com-
fort; they point Momo to the present-future of his life. “The store was doing
well. The Blue Road is pretty . . . even if it isn’t blue. And then . . . there’s
you.” But Momo does not want to lose Ibrahim. So Ibrahim conveys the
same sentiment in blunter terms: “I’m not dying. I’m going to join . . . the
immensity.”
To return to the question that we began this chapter with, “What is my
Qur’an?” I want to draw on a lesson that Thomas Sheehan shared once
in a book I admire: The point is not to cling to the mentor or tradition
(­religion) – these attempts are to take the object as an answer; the point is to
discover oneself as a question.11 The phrase “I know what is in my Qur’an”
is an affirmation of the question as prominent over traditional knowledge
but not necessarily at the expense of it.
There is more in this film than could be discussed here; but I know what
is in my Monsieur Ibrahim.

Notes
1 In writing this chapter, I took inspiration from reading Thomas Sheehan’s,
“From Divinity to Infinity,” in The Once and Future Jesus, edited by Robert
Funk, 27–44. Santa Rosa, CA: The Westar Institute. Similarly, I seek to prob-
lematize traditional readings of the content of Sufism through philosophical
hermeneutics.
2 There are thematic parallels with an earlier novel, The Life Before Us (1975), by
Romain Gary (written under the pseudonym Emile Ajar).
3 I refer to Heidegger’s usage of Anwesen (“presencing”), contra metaphysics; and
in similar vein to demonstrate that Sufis did not originally objectify deity, that is,
as a reductionist rationality for creating an object for the subject, but instead this
is an idea that emerges with certain Muslim mystics who appropriate the “Sufi”
experience of phenomenality as an objectification of the divine. On Heidegger’s
terms, see Sheehan 2015, p. 23; further, ch. 2 and 6. On the discussion in Sufi
history, see Milad Milani, The Nature of Sufism (forthcoming with Routledge).
4 See Melkert 2015, pp. 3–23.
5 Cf., Lewisohn 2015, pp. 150–82. Note, Lewisohn’s implies that love is a doc-
trine within the Qur’an.
6 Shah 1969, p. 174.
7 See Milani 2013, pp. 168–84.
8 For the full story of “the snake-catcher who thought the frozen serpent was dead
and wound it in ropes and brought it to Baghdad” see the M3, line: 1030–1065;
70 Milad Milani
Nicholson 1982 [1930], pp. 59–60. While the asceticism in Rumi’s message
is evident, and maintained, it does not determine the moral of the story to be
monastic. The point is not necessarily for one to avoid the world, but to keep
the spiritual vigil in it (M3, line: 1061). Rumi’s advice is that the carnage of
Man is ignorance of himself through being consumed by worldliness, because
“Wretched Man does not know himself: he has come from a high estate and
fallen into lowlihood” (M3, line: 1000). And so, Man’s fate is determined by his
insatiable nature, by his disregard of his ‘true’ state, and so the worldly self as
a “little worm” when starved and stricken is then made a dragon when fed by
“power and riches” (M3, line: 1056) – “So long as that dragon of thine remains
frozen, (well and good); though art a mouthful for it when it gains release” (M3,
line: 1058). There are two meanings conveyed in Rumi’s verse: that the dragon
is the monster within and the world as beast; the monster will lash out without
mercy and the beast will devour without regard. The moral of the story is sine
qua non a question of directionality, that is, in what pursuit do we, as humans,
invest ourselves? In point of fact, Rumi can be read as asserting the necessity, if
not realizing the value, of the passions properly directed.
9 The silent reference in the film is to Rumi’s story about the minister who fell
afoul of the prince and fled, but then love drew him back to face his death. The
specific line that is referred to here, which appears in the story is well known,
but it is in the context of a larger story about the intentionality of dying as lover
for in order to reach the state of divine union and be fulfilled in becoming. Hei-
degger’s notion of Dasein is paramount as Being is toward death, always becom-
ing until death. In Eastern Orthodox theology, theosis carries a similar sentiment
in that the domain of the living is for the sake of becoming as toward God, a
transformation only completed in death. On Rumi’s story see M3, line: 3901–3;
Nicholson, Mathnawi, pp. 218–9. On theosis see George Kapsanis, Theosis: The
True Purpose of Human Life, 1st ed. (Mount Athos, Greece: Holy Monastery of
St. Gregorios, 2006).
10 M1, line: 115; Mujaddedi 2006, p. 11.
11 Sheehan 1986, p. 223.

Bibliography
Kapsanis, George. 2006. Theosis: The True Purpose of Human Life, 1st edition.
Mount Athos, Greece: Holy Monastery of St. Gregorios.
Lewisohn, Leonard. 2015. “Sufism’s Religion of Love, from Rabi‘a to Ibn ‘Arabi.”
In The Cambridge Companion to Sufism, edited by Lloyd Ridgeon, 150–182.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Melkert, Christopher. 2015. “Origins and Early Sufism.” In The Cambridge Com-
panion to Sufism, edited by Lloyd Ridgeon, 3–23. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.
Milani, Milad. 2013. “The subtle body in Sufism.” In Religion and the Subtle Body
in Asia and the West: Between Mind and Body, edited by Geoffrey Samuel and Jay
Johnston, 168–184. London: Routledge.
Mujaddedi, Jawid (trans.) 2006. Rumi The Masnavi Book One. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Nicholson, Reynold A. (trans. and ed.) 1982 [1930]. The Mathnawi of Jalaluddin
Rumi: translations of Books III and IV. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Shah, Idries. 1969. The Wisdom of Idiots. London: Octagon Press.
 The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim 71
Sheehan, Thomas. 1986. The First Coming: How the Kingdom of God Became
Christianity. New York: Dorset Press.
———. 2000. “From Divinity to Infinity”. In The Once and Future Jesus, edited by
Robert Funk, 27–44. Santa Rosa, CA: The Westar Institute.
———. 2015. Making Sense of Heidegger. New York: Rowman & Littlefield
International.
3 Promoting social and
religious harmony
Bāul’s origin and migration West
and Roji Sarker’s performance
in the British Bangladeshi diaspora
Clinton Bennett

Introduction: Bāul as love gift to humanity

Bāul derives from the eclectic music of itinerant singers and performers in
Bengal who mingled Buddhist, Vai snvite – Bhakti, Tāntrīc and Sufi elements
˙˙
with deep reverence for the sacredness of human life. Love of music and
poetry was always a socially harmonizing influence across religious bounda-
ries in Bengal and continues to function as such in modern day Bangladesh.
Indeed, the existence of such “boundaries” may be challenged. Both the
classical genres of Rabindra Sangeet and Nazrul Geeti are heavily influenced
by Bāul. Some describe Bāul as the source of all Bengali folk music. One
respondent in the United Kingdom on the nature of Bāul told this writer
that it is “the folk music of Sylhet” (the region from which most of Brit-
ish Bangladeshis originate). This statement is not incorrect; all districts can
claim that their folk music is rooted in Bāul, which would have reached
Sylhet relatively late. Bāul is increasingly popular among the South Asian
British community, where it offers the wider public an alternative face of
Islam to the popular negative perception that fuels Islamophobia. First, this
chapter locates Bāul’s origin in fifteenth century Bengal. Second, it explores
how a musical and lyrical tradition that began as a phenomenon of cultural
fusion expanded its influence when, through encounters with North Ameri-
can artists such as Allen Ginsberg and Bob Dylan and United Kingdom art-
ists such as George Harrison and Mick Jagger, it crossed from the East into
the West, building bridges and blurring boundaries. Bāul music’s universal
themes represent a gift to humanity.
Some have described Bāul music performed by non-Bāuls as cultural
appropriation, yet this accusation fails to recognize that Bāul has always
crossed and challenged boundaries and divisions. It is a love gift to all
humanity. This was recognized when UNESCO declared Bāul an Intangible
Cultural Heritage of Humanity (2008) and began to sponsor the recording
and preservation of Bāul music with an action plan for saving these songs,
which traditionally are passed on orally. Finally, this chapter explores the
Bāul phenomenon in the British diaspora as a cultural catalyst promoting
 Promoting social and religious harmony 73
inter-religious understanding though the performances of popular Christian
artist Roji Sarker, who has appeared on television in Bangladesh and in the
United Kingdom. Many who perform Bāul music in the West do not belong
to the Bāul tradition per se, even if they wear the saffron robe. They are
unlikely to subscribe to all aspects of Bāul philosophy, but they almost all
champion many of the same themes – human equality, solidarity and free-
dom from oppression – and want to build bridges rather than walls between
people of different faiths and races. Reference is made to appropriate litera-
ture, although the paper also draws on the author’s experience in Bangladesh
and on some research among the Bengali diaspora in the United Kingdom.

Bāul: a pioneer example of cultural fusion

The Bāul (বাউল) tradition began in Bengal sometime during the fifteenth cen-
tury as an eclectic fusion of various religious practices and beliefs. Various
theories have been proposed about the origin of the word Bāul. Generally,
Bāul is said to mean “mad,” but it is also seen as synonymous with “men-
dicant” and “recluse” in English and with such words as faqir, Bairāgīs
and dervish. These terms are all associated with the practice of devotional
austerity. Bāuls are traditionally either celibate minstrels or married prac-
titioners who live in their own Para (পাড়া, neighborhood) and live off what
they earn for their singing. Celibate Bāul are often itinerant but may also
live in ashrams. Bāuls may be male or female. Membership of either cat-
egory is through initiation by a mentor. Kushtia District, in modern Bang-
ladesh, was an early center of the tradition and remains important for its
annual festival in honor of Lalon Bāul (1772–1890), one of the best-known
and renowned practitioners. There may be several thousand ascetic Bāuls
in Kushtia district. West Bengal’s Birbhum is often cited as the tradition’s
birthplace, from where it spread across Bengal and beyond to Assam, Bihar,
Orissa and Tripura. In Bangladesh, Chittagong, Sylhet, Mymensingh and
Tangy districts are also famous for their Bāuls. Mendicant Bāuls are often
encountered near Rabindranath Tagore’s experimental school (now Visva-
Bharati University) at Shantineketan, where many perform at the annual
Poush Mela. Europeans in search of Bāuls frequently begin at Shantiniketan.
While the number of traditional Bāuls has declined, recent fieldwork – by,
among others, Jeanne Openshaw (2002),1 who carried out her research in
two areas of West Bengal; Lisa Knight (2013),2 who spent several years
researching on both sides of the border, including in Sylhet, and focused on
the everyday lives of Bāul women; and Kristin Hanssen (2018),3 who lived
with Bāul women belonging to one family in West Bengal – shows that the
tradition continues to flourish. Charles Capwell (2011)4 also researched in
West Bengal and presents the tradition as one that has evolved and adapted
so that today it reaches an international audience. Other works will be cited
below by people with firsthand exposure to the tradition rather than expo-
sure gained from carrying out academic research.
74 Clinton Bennett
Today, Bāul themes reach an increasingly global audience through
export to the West and adaptation by non-Bāuls. Deben Bhattacharya, in
his ­UNESCO-sponsored collection of Bāul songs, is somewhat critical of
how some have appropriated Bāul music while “donning fancy robes . . .
to impress their audiences,” which “cancels their claim to being Bāuls,”
since “Bāuls are free spirits” who “would not wish to be trapped in a uni-
form.” However, he adds, “But anyone is free to sing his moving songs to
seek the man within,”5 suggesting that what he finds objectionable is not
non-Bāuls singing Bāul songs but rather singers pretending to belong to
the tradition when they do not. It may be useful to distinguish a Bāul per-
former and a performer of Bāul. Knight comments that her use of the term
“Bāul” in her book is “fluid and unbounded, reflecting a diversity of mean-
ing among the people” whom she met (p. 14). Similarly, Openshaw refers to
how Upendrenath Bhatacariya “deplored the appropriation” middle class,
urban education amateurs of Bāuls songs or their co-option “in the service
of conventional religiosity,” suggesting inauthenticity.6
Bāul is both a spiritual and a musical sampraddy, or tradition. Its spiritual
roots lie in the mingling of religious ideas and practices that historically
characterized the Bengal region. Brahmanical Hinduism, with rigid caste
and class divisions, was a relatively late development in Bengal, although it
had been introduced by the first king of the Sena dynasty, who invited five
Brahmans to settle at the end of the tenth century. However, Buddhist and
Jain temples and shrines continued to flourish alongside Brahmanism. Other
alternatives, especially those related to Tāntrīc and devotional Hindu paths,
flourished for centuries. Brahmanism did not dominate among Hindus until
the sixteenth century. Vai snva Bhakti, who challenges both caste and gender
distinctions, became very˙ ˙popular in the sixteenth century. Hanssen com-
ments that the Bāuls she met used “Vashnava” and “Bāul” interchangeably
(p. 6). In places like Sylhet, though, with a strong Sufi presence, practic-
ing Bāuls may be more likely to have stressed that aspect of their identity.
Knight describes attending a late-night event at a durgah in Sylhet where
Sufis mingled with Bāuls, talking; singing; and, she writes, smoking “ganja”
(p. 19). Muslim rulers patronized Hindu scholarship. Brahman attempts to
control these more spontaneous, even liberational, movements were only
ever partly successful. Even in the early British period, large segments of the
Bengali population remained outside the formalized class and caste systems.
In the villages of the Gangetic delta, devotion to local snake and crocodile
deities also survived. Although Islam reached Bengal in the twelfth century,
large-scale conversion did not begin until the Moghul period (from 1572).
The British did not even realize that most Bengalis in the East were Muslim
until the census of 1872, possibly because many people connected loosely
to religious identities drawing on anything available that helped them deal
with life’s challenges rather than identifying exclusively with only one reli-
gion. The phenomenon known as multiple religious participation character-
ized the Bengal landscape. Islamic evangelism was mainly carried out by
 Promoting social and religious harmony 75
Sufi teachers who helped clear and settle land across the delta. Sitting under
a tree already revered locally as sacred, making “saints” out of crocodiles
and snakes, incorporating Muslim figures alongside those from Hindu epics
into their vocabulary, these Pirs (Sufi teachers) blurred boundaries between
Islam and preexisting religions, including animist traditions, in Bengal.7
Many continued to attract Hindu as well as Muslim disciples well into the
modern period. In parts of Bengal, people were known by Hindu and Mus-
lim names. Hindus and Muslims attended each other’s festivals, as some
still do in Bangladesh today. Conversion from another religion into what
might be described as an observant Muslim was a long, intergenerational
process. Sufi musicians found it easy to adapt Hindu devotional songs for
their use. Bengali was mainly used in poetry at this period because Farsi was
the language of administration. Sufis have always used poetry as the main
medium of theological expression and quickly adapted Bangla. Bangla, the
language of the people, not of religious or intellectual elites, became a com-
mon language among devotees of various religious figures. Sufi and Hindu
mendicants mixed and mingled. The Bāuls emerge within this matrix.
Almost all studies of Bāul religion identify Buddhist, Vai snva and Tāntrīc
˙˙
Hindu beliefs and practices and Sufism as its major components. Behind all
these, too, lie animist and mystical elements that look to the divine within
nature and humanity. At an early point in Bengal, Muslim Sufi thinkers
were attracted to aspects of Tantra and Yoga because these do not assume
the need of priestly mediation between people and God. At an early period,
an Arabic translation of a Tāntrīc yoga manual circulated widely. Later, the
first Bangla translation of the Qur’an was by a Hindu, Bhai Girishchandra
Sen (1886).8 Close to the emergence of the Bāul traditions saw Vai snva-
Sahajiyā gain popularity in Bengal, which became its center. A left-hand ˙˙
path, this uses sexual intercourse to reenact the union between Krishna and
Radha as that of the female and make divine principles. Sahajiyā employs
the five senses to achieve spiritual enlightenment, in which the body plays
an indispensable role. Such practices as consuming bodily fluids (rasa) and
engaging in acts that Brahmans consider polluting contribute to Tantra’s
left-hand status. Tāntrīc practice involves control over one’s sexual seed and
the ability to reverse its flow (Bindu sadhana). Maithuna (Tāntrīc sexual
union) could involve a high-caste man and a low-caste woman breaking
purity rules. Due to these practices, members were secret about their beliefs.
Reference to the yoni and the lingam may be explicit or in code: The “frog”
represents the “former,” and the “snake” represents the “latter.” Thus, the
words in this specific song, “The frog eats the snake’s head,” can be coded
as “twilight” or “mystical language.”9 This derives from Buddhist Tan-
tra. Reference to male and female geese and swans carries the same mean-
ing.10 The “moon” symbolizes semen. Numbers and Perso-Arabic letters
are also ciphers. Alif is for Allah, while Mim is for Muhammad. Although
Bāul is indisputably related to Vaisnava, there may also ˙ be some Shaivite
Śākta Tāntrīc influence, given the popularity of Kali and of Mother-God
76 Clinton Bennett
veneration in Bengal, where the goddess is synonymous with the land itself.
The anti-partition movement in 1905 sung Kali’s praise.
A branch of the mendicant Bairāgīs also practiced sexual rites within the
Vaisnavite tradition. Like the more eclectic Bāul, Bairāgīs performed music
and danced but wore the tilak and shaved their heads, making them more
obviously Vaisnvite. The Bāuls resisted being confined to any single reli-
gious tradition,˙ ˙ regarding this as restrictive. Usually categorized as outcasts,
although some (especially the gurus) were descended from Brahmans, they
challenged caste and class distinctions. Anything that could limit freedom
and restrict the human spirit was anathema. Bāuls are either professed ascet-
ics (fourth āśrama) or married couples as householders (second āśrama).
Both live off their musical performances. Knight comments that the tradition
is “fiercely opposed to the caste system, sectarianism and the discrimina-
tion of women,” and Bāuls “regularly cross religious and social boundaries
as they speak, sing, practice and live their lives.”11 Buddhist Sahajiyā was
also recruited to fuse a preexisting religion in Bengal into Bāul sadhanā.
Datta explains how the principles of attainment (upāya) and of knowledge ˙
(Prajñā), when brought into alignment to realize bliss, were “symbolized
as male and female” and could be “transformed into Kr sna and Rādhā.”12
Becoming a Bāul involves three stages of initiation by gurus, ˙ ˙ ˙ who may be dif-
ferent for each of these. Husbands and wives are gurus to each other. While
Bāuls resist being labeled Hindu or Muslim, Sirajul Islam (2004), which lists
some of the earliest known names of Gurus, says that Bāuls from Muslim
background refer to their mentors as faqirs.13 However, initiates enter a sin-
gle community; June McDaniel comments: “There is no clear distinction
between Hindu and Muslim Bāul,” but points out that Muslim initiates will
use dhikr for mantra; Allah for Bhagavān; and baqā’ for unity with the divine
(rather than Samadhi) and speak about states (ahwāl) and stages (maqamat)
along the path of spiritual development, as do Sufis. ˙ 14
Bāul belong to a Kul,
or lineage, such as that of the Vaisnva saint Srii Nityananda (1474–1541),
possibly the oldest. Nityananda was ˙ ˙ a close friend of Caitanya (1486–1534),
an important figure in the developing of the Bhakti path. Initiation involves
the giving and receiving of mantras. Bhattacharyya, describing the mantras
involved, says that for Sufi initiates it “is a chant in praise of the murshid and
Allah,” while Vaisnava initiates are given apparently meaningless “monosyl-
labic sounds” that “contain semantic roots” of deep significance “in praise
of the Guru and Krishna.”15 Lalon used to say that he was “neither a Hindu
nor a Muslim” and that the only religion he believed in was humanism.16
The first initiation (Diksha, preparation) involves learning Yogic postures,
mastering breathing techniques and other external aspects of the tradition.
The second initiation (Shiksha, student) focuses on inner aspects of the
sadhanā, or philosophy, which sees the divine in nature and the human soul
˙as a microcosm of the universe. Sexual rites are also taught. Some Western
scholars chose to concentrate on these as examples of Oriental decadence or
merely to eroticize Bāul, while others make more of an attempt to appreciate
 Promoting social and religious harmony 77
that sex can become a spiritual discipline when intended to mirror the cos-
mic union of the male and female divine that stands behind the very exist-
ence of the universe in some Indic thought.
It is inaccurate to reduce Bāul to Tāntrīc sexual practices but equally inac-
curate to expunge any reference to these. Sexual union leads to the blurring
of the immanent-transcendent duality that binds us to mortality. The void,
or bliss, or oneness with the Absolute can be experienced. An interesting
aspect of Bāul thought is recognition of masculinity and femininity in both
sexes. Tantra has undoubtedly at times degenerated into sexual abuse and
exploitation, but Western notions that sex and religion do not mix can pre-
vent a more nuanced understanding of its role in Tantra-related traditions,
such as Bāul. Other Tantic terms are used, too, including chakra (wheels,
seven centers of energy referred to as lotuses and identified by the number
of petals) and kundalini (energy at the base of the spine – the coiled serpent
goddess). In the final initiation (Siddha, ascetic – for those who do not live
in households), the novice becomes an Adept and takes on the saffron robe –
women may wear white – as a sign of having become a sadhu (or Bhek),
˙
although married Bāuls do not follow the strict ascetic lifestyle. They do
vow to perform devotional rites. Recruits may be male or female, Muslim or
Hindu. Progression depends on being judged ready for each stage. Men wear
beards and beads and leave their hair long. Women do not wear jewelry.
Traditional performers add Bāul to their names. Ascetic Bāuls often have
consorts who may vow to “have no more children.” Initiation as a consort
of a male Bāul (known variously as khelp, Sadikha and sevadasi) resembles
a marriage ceremony. Single female ascetics are celibate, which, as Knight
points out, is countercultural in terms of social and Bāul expectations.17
Bāul rituals involve song and dance, but no images are used. The attribu-
tion of madness may derive from their ecstatic style of singing and danc-
ing in a God-intoxicated or frenzied state. They are mad with love for the
divine. Songs are composed both for the purposes of instructing members
and for performances attended by non-Bāuls who offer financial support.
Traditionally, performance is a Bāul’s sole source of income, which is why
people who perform Bāul songs but do not live off these may be regarded
as amateurs or even impostors. Some songs containing secret teaching and
cryptic messages are only performed for members. Songs are set to music
often using the 4 + 4 + 4 + 2 meter (beats in a line).18 Partly because the pos-
sibility that their practices might be misunderstood and partly because
their audiences were illiterate and party to maintain control of their tradi-
tion, neither lyrics nor their musical notations were recorded. Neither were
records kept on the lives of the earliest Bāuls, about whom almost nothing
is known in terms of biographical data. Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941)
pioneered collecting and notating Bāul songs in 1883, arguing that educated
Bengalis had lost touch with their roots and could benefit from exposure to
this material, which resonated with reference to the soul and soil of the land.
The themes expressed in Bāul songs include human solidarity, the search for
78 Clinton Bennett
the divine within, darkness, light, joy, pain, love and the praise of nature.
When speaking about divine-human love sexual metaphor may be used.
Positive Love (prem) is contrasted with negative lust (kāma), although lust
can kill lust; a song says, “They kill lust with lust and enter the city of love”
(Osho, p. 54). The much-loved fauna, forests and rivers of Bengal feature
and play symbolic roles in these songs. The divine is formless yet omnipres-
ent in multiple forms around us.
An anonymous Bāul song says:

He [God] is here
In his form without form
To adorn the hamlet of limbs,
And the sky above
Is the globe of his feelings
The platform of spontaneous matter.19

Even names for the divine can limit understanding, just as rituals on which
orthodox religious authorities insist can intrude between ourselves and gen-
uine worship of the divine, which Bāuls identify as the “Tat” (तत् , THAT)
of the Vedas. Attempts to trace Bāul as far back as the Vedic period almost
certainly intend to represent the path as “legitimate.” Śāha attributes this
to the search for their roots by late-nineteenth-century educated Bengalis in
the colonial context (p. xvii). On the other hand, Bāuls do see Vedic prec-
edent for many of their beliefs. Madan (a Bāul of Muslim origin) wrote,
“I hear your call, O Lord, but I cannot advance, prophets and teachers bar
my way.”20 Bāul songs mesh with traditions of folk music, which helped
spread the appeal of these songs. Performers wear saffron kurtas, have
bells strapped to their ankles and play stringed instruments – famously the
single-stringed ektara, kettle drums (duggi) and handheld cymbals (juri).
Songs contain Muslim and Hindu images perpetuating the tradition’s cross-­
religious character of belonging to all religions and not only to one religion.
A biography of Nazrul Islam cites this typical Bāul song:

I am a mad Baul, brother, this my very body is my temple

The God of my heart does not live far away, the temple
That is his house is my own mind, He lives always in my heart
In all joys and sorrows.21

This example, by Jādubindu from Panchloki village in Bardhaman district,

who loved to use images of rural life, shows how Bāuls employed reference
to the landscape:

Plowman
Are you out of your wits
A squadron of six birds [the six weaknesses of man, (lust, anger, greed,
infatuation, vanity and envy]
 Promoting social and religious harmony 79
Is picking at the rice . . .
The fence of consciousness
Lies in the dust
Leaving gaps for cattle to clamber through
To feast on your harvest . . .22

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

Bāul travels West: Tagore, Ginsberg, Dylan,

Harrison and Jagger
In different ways, Tagore, Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, George Harrison and
Mick Jagger have played crucial roles in the dissemination of this musical
80 Clinton Bennett
heritage beyond India. These men, including two Nobel Laureates, closely
identified or identify with the Bāul tradition, with some describing them-
selves as Bāul. The acclaimed Bāul, Lalon, lived on a Tagore estate in Kush-
tia district. Tagore’s father sketched his only known portrait. He has been
furnished with a Sufi-style mausoleum in what was probably a deliberate
attempt to legitimize him in Muslim eyes.27 It was while helping manage
family property in East Bengal that Tagore first encountered Bāul minstrels.
He was attracted to the songs in which he saw so many parallels with his
own poetry and his themes of the divine in nature and humanity.
Tagore’s Universalist humanist philosophy and dislike of organized, for-
mal religion (he left the Brahmo Samaj of which his family were leading
members) resonated with many aspects of the Bāul tradition. Tagore, who
is called the Vishwa Kobi (বিশ্ব কবি, Universal Poet) in Bengali, began to write
down lyrics and their musical notation. He would compose one hundred
and eighty-seven songs in what he called Rabindra Bāul style, although
much of his work reflects Bāul influence. He referred to himself as Rabindra
Bāul and played a Bāul character in one of his own dramas. Tagore omitted
sexual references, though, which may have sanitized the tradition in a way
that made it palatable for his bhadralok (gentleman class) readers.28 Some
see this as a form of cultural appropriation that, as Upendranath Bhattacha-
rrya later argued, made it impossible for readers to fully understand their
meaning.29 Bhattacharrya published a collection of 517 songs.30 Tagore’s
Gitanjali, which won him the 1913 Nobel Prize for Literature, a prize yet to
be awarded to another Indian, is replete with the nature-mysticism of Bāul
philosophy. Several motifs can be identified in poem eleven:

Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou
worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open
thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the
pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower,
and his garment is covered with dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even
like him come down on the dusty soil!
Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master him-
self has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with
us all forever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet
him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.31

Bāuls see worship in Mosques and Temples as restrictive. In his Hibbert

Lectures for 1930, published as The Religion of Man, with the theme of
God’s humanity and human divinity, Tagore described how he had discov-
ered Bāul music32 and added an appendix describing the Bāuls by Kshiti
Mohan Sen (1880–1960),33 one of the first scholarly monographs on the
 Promoting social and religious harmony 81
subject. Sen also translated some songs into English. Tagore saw in what
he described as these unsophisticated songs a “clue to the inner meaning
of all religions . . .,” which “are never about a God of cosmic force, but
rather about the God of human personality.”34 Even though he did sanitize
some of their songs, one writer described Tagore as “the greatest of the
Bāuls of Bengal.”35 In the “Introduction” to a 1930 collection of Bāul songs,
whose editor, M. Mansur Uddin (1904–1987), he had encouraged, Tagore
wrote that these gave the “fullest expression” of the “deeper consciousness
of the village mind of Bengal” in building a “common seat” for Hindus and
Muslims.36
Mention should also be made of how Bāul influenced Tagore’s friend,
Nazrul Islam (1899–1976), Bengal’s rebel poet (Bidrohi Kobi, বিদ্রোহী কবি),
who saw Tagore as his mentor, as apt to use Hindu as he was Muslim
imagery in his poetry. Nazrul was drawn away from what some saw as a
more orthodox Muslim poetic form to folk music, to the Sufis and espe-
cially to the Bāuls. As did the Sufis, he found ways of linking the rivers of
Bengal with Islam’s sacred center in Arabia, to which they might carry the
singer away. Given the popularity of Nazrul Geeti throughout Bangladesh,
his musical legacy also helped disseminate Bāul themes to a wider constitu-
ency. His passionate plea for Hindu-Muslim harmony, social equality and
tolerance remains a powerful message. In one Bāul-like allusion, he wrote
about feeling “agony and pain” in his “heart,” and being “a madcap.”37 In
“Manush,” he wrote,

I sing the song of equality / There is nothing greater than a human

being, Nothing nobler! Caste, Creed, Religion / there is no difference.
Throughout all ages, all places / We are all a Manifestation / Of our
common humanity.38

Prophets speak, he said, to all people, and all religions are in our hearts
because that is where we encounter God. His sons were given Hindu and
Muslims names. His wife was a Brahmo Samaj Hindu. Tagore’s Amar
Sonar Bangla (আমার স�োনার বাংলা) is Bangladesh’s National Anthem; Nazrul, its
National Poet.
Others contributed to collecting Bāul songs, but it was much later that
this was perceived as an urgent task in the light of the numerical decline of
the tradition’s membership. When Deben Bhattacharya published the first
edition of The Mirror of the Sky: Songs of the Bāul of Bengal in 1969, with
sponsorship from UNESCO, American poet Allen Ginsberg (1926–1997)
and singer Bob Dylan had re-introduced Bāul to the West. Ginsberg, already
a Buddhist, went to India in 1962 at age thirty-seven with Peter Orlovsky
(1933–2010), where he traveled and ended up spending nine months in Ben-
gal. In the village of Siri, Birbhum, he met Nabani Das Baul, who told the
two Americans that they were “born a Bāul” and would spread its message
“of true peace” and “friendship” in the West.39 A friend and colleague of
82 Clinton Bennett
Tagore, Das had taught at Shantineketan and traces his Bāul lineage to Srii
Nityananda. Ginsberg, who was known as a rebel poet, featured the “holy
bum” in his work, which celebrated nature and the inner-self. Opposed to
materialism and to militarism, he also popularized the use of flowers, bells
and mantras in the anti-war movement. He did much to promote Buddhism
and forms of Hinduism in the West. At times he called himself a “Buddhist
Jew,” a designation that resonates with Bāul’s refusal to identify exclusively
with one religion. Triglio comments that he preferred “unfixed, anti-­
logocentric language for the sacred.”40 Ginsberg also befriended and helped
the founder of the International Order of Krishna Consciousness, Abhay
Charanaravinda Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada (1896–1977). During
his week with Das, Ginsberg learned to play the ektara and the tanpura.
He had learned to play the harmonium earlier at Varanasi and sometimes
used this to accompany his poetry recitals. However, it was perhaps his
role in bringing the first Bāul artists to the United States that really fulfilled
Das’s commission. This was a time when Western artists were going to India
and came under the influence of Indian spirituality, including the Beatles in
1968, who trained in Transcendental Meditation at Maharishi’s ashram. No
few were attracted by the Body-Mind-Spirit aspect of Indic thought, which
became central to what some describe as New Age thinking.
Of the fabulous four, George Harrison (1943–2001) was most attracted to
Indian spirituality and music and visited India frequently. He wrote several
songs in Indian style, including “My Sweet Lord” (which include the Hare
Krishna mantra) on his 1970 album All Things Must Pass (disc 1, track 2).41
Released as a single in 1971, it topped charts worldwide. He studied sitar in
India with Ravi Shankar (1920–2012), performing and recording with him
and with Nabani’s son, Purna Das, and his son, Babukishan Das, pioneer-
ing the raga rock trend. Harrison edited Ravi’s 1997 book, Raga Mala.42
Babukishan’s repertoire includes fusion music (which he has recorded at
Sally Grossman’s Woodstock studio), as well as traditional Bāul. Grossmann
travels regularly to India to update the Bāul Archive43 that she founded in
2010 with Charles Capwell. Four Indian artists played instruments for the
acclaimed album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)44, on which
Harrison sang, “Within You, Without You” (track 8) in Indian classical
style. The Manor house now known as Bhaktivedanta, which he gifted to
ISKCON in 1973, has morphed into a sacred sight for the wider Hindu
community in Britain. In 1987, this writer helped to defend against the
threat of the Manor’s closure because of complaints about traffic conges-
tion and the bias against it, which some saw as a cult. Harrison’s 1969 ver-
sion of the Hare Krishna Mantra (1969) shot into the top ten on the music
charts.45 However, Rolling Stone Mick Jagger was even more influenced
by Bāul than Harrison, who was more interested in the classical raga. In
1971, Jagger heard Purna Das and his son playing at Hyde Park, London.
This led to a lifelong friendship. They collaborated on an album, produced
by Jagger, Jai Bangla: Bauls of Bengal, in 1973. Jagger also produced the
 Promoting social and religious harmony 83
documentary Tantra (1969). Bāul had traveled a long way from village Ben-
gal to the musical repertoires of some of the West’s most celebrated popular
musicians.
In 1965, Dylan’s manager, Albert Grossman, at Ginsberg’s suggestion,
invited Purna Das Baul and his brother, Luxman, to a cultural festival in
San Francisco while visiting Kalkata with his wife, Sally. Later, Grossman
introduced Das to Dylan in Woodstock, which became Das’s base for the
next year. After this, the two performed together about twenty times in
various locations. Dylan learned to play the ektara and jammed along to
Das’s singing. After Dylan’s award of the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature,
Das, pictured with Luxman on the cover of Dylan’s album John Wesley
Harding (1967), told the Indian Telegraph that Dylan’s songs mirrored the
soul of humanity, as did those of the Bāuls.46 Bāuls’s influence on Dylan is
less in terms of musicality or lyrics than in reinforcing his belief that folk
music has a role beyond entertainment to provoke, challenge and advo-
cate for social change. Other sources cite Dylan telling Das that, just as
he was a Bengali Bāul, he would become America’s Bāul (interview with
Livemint, October 21, 2016).47 In 1990, Dylan attended Dibyendu’s (Pur-
na’s son) wedding in Kolkata, wearing a red kurta and white pajamas. Talk
about cultural appropriation seems inappropriate given that Ginsberg and
Dylan were encouraged by trained Bāuls to become ambassadors of Bāul
in the West. Returning the compliment of being called India’s Dylan, Purna
and his son produced a Bangla version of Mr. Tambourine Man accompa-
nied by the ektara.48 With Selina Thielemann, Das wrote Bāul Philosophy
(2003), which begins with the question “who am I” and continues with
self-­examination of “the inner reality referred to as the maner mānusa, ‘the
man of the heart.’ ”49 India’s first president awarded Das the title˙ “Bāul
Emperor” in 1967. He denies that Bāul philosophy has a sexual element:
“Many people assert that the Bāuls perform sadhanā through sex. . . . It is
not so, it is absolute nonsense.”50 ˙
Neither Ginsberg nor Dylan represents the dominant culture, which, in
appropriation theory, devalues a minority culture by commandeering its
symbols, songs, practices and music. Both men were rebelling against many
conventions in their own contexts. Rather, they played the role of cultural bro-
kers disseminating Bāul themes and music to the West. Around this time, the
Indian government began to sponsor Bāul performances as “representative of
South Asian spirituality and folk culture” at festivals and as contributors in
seminars, as well as “workshops . . . and other intercultural encounters.”51 In
Bangladesh, the Shlipakala Academy similarly sponsors national and inter-
national events that showcase Bāul and is committed to helping preserve the
tradition. Since UNESCO declared Bāul a cultural masterpiece (proclaimed
2005, inscribed 2008) and as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity,
it has overseen a collecting and recording project. Several reports of Dylan’s
Nobel Prize award have described him as the first songwriter to win the prize.
Strictly speaking, this is true. Tagore was also a songwriter, but his prize was
84 Clinton Bennett
for his English poems and hymns in Gitanajali (1913); while his Bengali verse
is intended for singing, he did not compose music for his English poetry. Yet
two Nobel Prize winners have links with Bāul.
Before describing the role that Bāul is beginning to play among expatriate
Bengalis in the West, two interesting examples of cultural fusion, one in India
and one in the United States, both involve Bāul music. In India, the group
Bolepur Bluez was founded in 2010 by its drummer, Kunal Jundu, to blend
Bāul and rock. He thought that the combination of blues-rock and Bāul lyr-
ics, which can be “dark,” would synthesize well. The band’s Facebook page
says that it aims to “to re-create the ethnic traditional sound from the soil of
West Bengal, which is known as ‘Baul’ ” and to “take this traditional Bengali
music to an international platform, where we are amalgamating Baul with
the age-old traditional sound from the grass roots of the Western countries,
known as the ‘Blues.’ ” Based in Kolkata, they have already had their music
covered by other bands. This is an example of adapting an older tradition to
new formats, though one that may divorce the music from its spiritual roots
and spiritual aims. Members of the Hohm Community in Prestcott, Ari-
zona, United States, also fuse these musical styles, calling themselves West-
ern Bāuls. The Community also has an ahsram in India and France. The
Arizona headquarters is known as the Sahaj Mandir, or the Hohm innate
Divinity Temple. Members include “a high percentage of talented artists,
writers, singers and musicians . . . [who] emphasize poetry and writing in
addition to music, dance and song.”52 Founder Lee Lozowick (1943–2010)
emphasized that it is the “Body,” not the “mind,” that leads us to the divine.
Lozowock went to India in 1977, where he studied with Yogi Ramsuratku-
mar (1918–2001). He started his community in New Jersey before moving
to Arizona in 1980. Lozowock later identified with the Bāuls through Purna
Das, among others. His writing draws on Tantra. He published widely on
natural health, spirituality, parenting and other issues. In a book published
by the Hohm Press, Mary Young (2014) identifies Sahaja as the heart of the
Bāul path, credits Lozowock with bringing the tradition to the West and
refers to exchanges with Bāuls in India who were already expecting to meet
their brother from America.53 Hohm Press has released two CDs by Purna
Das and republished The Mirror of the Sky with an accompanying CD.
The book’s foreword is written by acclaimed Bāul performer Parvarthy
Bāul, who tells her own story in her Song of the Great Soul (2005).54 She
spent seven years traveling and performing with her Guru in India, receiving
her initiation at Sanatan Das Baul’s ashram. She also studies under a Sufi
master. Since 2011 she has followed the Bāul tradition full time, reaching
an international audience through concerts and leading seminars at univer-
sities. She teaches an annual class at the International School of Theatre
Anthropology in Denmark and runs her Ektara Baul Sangeetha Kalari music
school in India. While not a direct offshoot of Bāul, Hohm is a product of
the reverse flow of religious ideas from East to West, of which the presence
of Bāul practitioners in the West (or encountered in India by Europeans) are
 Promoting social and religious harmony 85
part. This follows in the footsteps of many others, from Swami Vikekananda
(1863–1902) through Swami Prabhupada and Inayat Khan (1882–1927),
the pioneer of Universalist Sufism, which does not insist on Muslim iden-
tity for initiation. Compared with the Bāuls, ISKCON is more evangelical –
Bāuls do not try to convert people, but they do accept those who express
an interest in joining. The Hohm community formed two bands, one rock
‘n’ roll and the other, consisting mainly of women, blues. Both fuse musical
genres. According to James R. Lewis, unlike Bāul music, these bands have
little “spiritual flavor” but the “lyrics are often challenging and confronting,
addressing the hard issues of our times,” which does not represent a totally
negative assessment (per the book Cults and Sects).55 However, the bands
have performed in India with Bāuls.

Bāuls in diaspora: focus on the United Kingdom

Bengali community
This chapter focuses on the United Kingdom, but as more Bāuls find their
way to the West, it is not unusual to see them perform on the streets of
large cities as well as in prestigious venues. It was hearing a Bāul on the
streets of Paris that led Sen to embark on her personal journey into the
tradition. In the predominantly Muslim Bangladeshi diaspora in Britain,
performances of Bāul music are increasingly popular. John Eade, writing
in 2014, describes attending an event at East London’s Nazrul Islam Cul-
tural Centre, where a Bāul artist from Sylhet performed. Speaking after the
performance, he asserted that all Bengali music evolved from Bāul, citing
Tagore and Nazrul as examples. For him, Bāul could be used to support
Bangladeshi grievances in the United Kingdom related to “discrimination
and disadvantage.” In contrast, the centre’s manager saw Bāul as a way of
reaching beyond the Muslim Bangladeshi community with a form of music
that seeks to “transcend social and cultural differences,” although this has
been “sharply criticized by leaders at the East London Mosque” on the basis
of being deviant.56 An online YouTube search for Bāul events in the United
Kingdom showed a number of videos posted between April 2016 and the
date of this writing featuring the popular singer Roji Sarker, who also per-
forms classical Bengali music and Sylheti folk songs, although she was born
in Barisal district and educated at Bangladesh National University in Dhaka.
She performs regularly at cultural and social events throughout Britain and
has also sung on television shows in Bangladesh and the United Kingdom.
Roji is a third-generation Christian whose paternal grandfather converted
from Vai snva Hinduism. Family lore has it that before the British renamed
the family˙ ˙Sarker – denoting government service – they were Bairāgīs. Tradi-
tionally, Bairāgīs were also mendicant minstrels, which could be why every
member of the Sarker family sings and plays an instrument, ranging from
the tabla to the harmonium to the sitar. It is probably mere coincidence that
this tentative link exists between Roji’s ancestral past and her current role
86 Clinton Bennett
as a Bāul performer. Her training, though, was as a classical musician; she
did not train under a Bāul mentor but is adept at extending her musical
repertoire. Sylhetis tells me that they admire her because of how she renders
their songs (Roji has not visited Sylhet).
In Bangladesh, Christians represent less than one percent of the popu-
lation but generally take the same pride in Bengali language, culture and
music as their Muslim and Hindu neighbors. Muslim women habitually
wear saris. Many wear a bindi, which is associated with Hindus. Hindu
and Muslim cultures have blended into a single identity (although Mus-
lims speak a Persianate form of Bangla). When this writer’s mother-in-law
showed him the trees and plants at the Sarker family home in Barapaika,
Barisal district, her delight in testing whether he knew their Bengali names
was so deeply infused with her love of the land that he could not but think
of Tagore’s “My Golden Bengal,” which almost certainly reflects Bāul influ-
ence and is set to a tune composed by a Bāul, Gagan Harkara (1845–1910):

My golden
Bengal, I love you.
Your skies, your breezes, ever with my breath play the flute.
O mother, in Phalgun the per fume of your mango groves drives me
mad.
Ah, mother,
What honeyed smile have I seen in your laden fields in Aghran.
What light, what shade, what boundless love, what chang ing bonds,
what sari’s border have you spread round
Oh mother, the flow of words from your lips strikes my ear like a
stream of nectar.

Alongside admiration for Tagore and Nazrul, Christians – as do others –

regard Michael Madhusudan Dutt (1824–1873) as a third member of a liter-
ary Trinity. A convert to Christianity from Hinduism, Dutt, or Dutta, was a
poet, playwright and novelist who pioneered the sonnet and the satirical play
in Bangla. Bengalis across the religions also acknowledge the role played by
the Baptist missionary William Carey 1761–1834) in stimulating the Ben-
gali Renaissance by helping develop Bangla for prose as well as poetic use.
Tagore acknowledged this, calling Carey “the pioneer of the revived interest
in the vernaculars.”57 Bangladeshi Christians are proud of the Carey legacy,
regarding his Bangla translation of the Bible with the reverence that many
English speakers have for the King James Version. Roji has experienced
no obstacles in becoming a fixture at events mainly attended by Muslims,
which suggests that Bengal’s long tradition of respect across boundaries has
continued in diaspora. Sadly, there are Islamist groups in Bangladesh that
target non-Muslims to cause social and political instability that could result
in a breakdown of governance and an opportunity for extremists to seize
power. When Islamists have stood for election in Bangladesh, they have
 Promoting social and religious harmony 87
failed to gain more than a handful of seats. In diaspora, many Muslim Bang-
ladeshis want people to see Islam as peaceful and tolerant. By promoting
Bāul events where a Christian performs and some non-Muslims attend, they
present an alternative face of Islam – almost all my respondents saw Bāul as
rooted in Sufi Islam with Hindu elements, which is how some regard Bengali
Islam generically – to the Islam that attracts Islamophobic responses.
When this writer first went to Bangladesh, almost forty years ago, hardly
any Christians had joined the migration chain of economic advancement or
the search for more stable employment in Britain, although some were edu-
cated there. One physician had practiced medicine in the United Kingdom
but recently returned to Bangladesh. During my years in Bangladesh, the
president of the Bangladesh Baptist Sangha served as a state minister and
senior adviser on NGOs to President Ziaur Rahman, accompanying him on
a visit to China; another Christian has more recently held a cabinet post, as
have several Hindus in successive governments elected by a predominantly
Muslim electorate. Today, several dozen Bangladeshi Christian families have
settled in Birmingham, United Kingdom, where they gather for worship at
the International Bengali Christian Fellowship. This indicates that, despite
the tradition of religious harmony in Bangladesh, some Christians no longer
regard themselves as safe there; some members of the Fellowship are asylum
seekers. Yet in the United Kingdom, Bengali Christians, Hindus and Mus-
lims mix, especially on such occasions as Bengali New Year, Ekushey Feb-
ruary (Language Martyrs’ Day) and other national nonsectarian holidays,
such as Victory Day, National Mourning Day and Independence Day, all of
which provide opportunities to cross religious boundaries.
It seems that organizers and performers, regardless of how much they
know about the history of Bāul, value the songs for their cross-cultural
appeal. This perpetuates the Bāul tradition of crossing sectarian divides.
Performance of Bāul songs by non-Bāul, including Roji Sarker, may depart
from how the tradition originally functioned, yet it represents a continuation
in terms of using music to champion many of the same themes expounded
by the earliest Bāuls – human equality, solidarity, freedom from oppres-
sion and harmony across different religious communities. Whether fused
with other genres or performed in traditional style, Bāul invites cultural
exchange and dialogue between all who listen to the lyrics and appreciate
their message. Like the word Sufi, in today’s world, Bāul may have different
meanings. Some restrict Sufi to heads of Sufi orders or to their accredited
deputies. Others include initiated members; others, anyone who occasion-
ally attends a Sufi meeting; and others still, those who have no contact with
a Sufi order but whose thinking is flavored by Sufi ideas. For some, a Bāul
is an initiated member of the tradition. Merely to sing a Bāul song may not
make you a Bāul! You may be accused of inauthenticity or cultural appro-
priation, especially if you decide to dress up as a Bāul. Roji usually wears
a colorful Sari. Yet, when the intent of singing is to spread the message of
human friendship and love to all, such a singer may be said to stand within
88 Clinton Bennett
a wider tradition of a Bāul-flavored worldview, building bridges between
religions, cultures and different ways of being human and to have the heart
and soul of the Bāuls of Bengal.

Notes
1 See Openshaw 2002.
2 See Knight 2014.
3 See Hanssen 2018.
4 See Capwell 2011.
5 Bhattacharya 1999, p. xxxiii.
6 Ibid., p. 29.
7 See Eaton 1993 on how Islam spread across the delta and on porous religious
boundaries.
8 See Khan 1982.
9 Bhattacharyya, Douglas, and Slinger 1993, p. 10.
10 Urban 2001, p. 169.
11 Knight 2014, p. 6.
12 Datta 1978.
13 Islam 2014, p. 117.
14 McDaniel 1989, p. 163.
15 Bhattacharyya, Douglas, and Slinger 1993, p. 103.
16 Chaudhury 2017, p. 278.
17 Knight 2006, p. 192.
18 See example pp. 30, 31 in Deben Bhattacharya, The Mirror of the Sky: Songs of
the Bauls of Bengal (Prescott, AZ: Hohm Press, 1999).
19 Bhattacharya 1999, p. 43.
20 Ibid., p. 24.
21 Chakravarty 1969, p. 43.
22 Bhattacharya 1999, p. 120.
23 Tantra: Indian Rites of Ecstasy, directed by Nick Douglas (New York: Mystic
Fire, 1969).
24 Bhattacharyya, Douglas, and Slinger 1993, p. ix.
25 Ibid., p. xii.
26 Knight 2014, p. 12.
27 See Salomon 1991, p. 269.
28 Lorea 2016, p. 32.
29 Knight 2014, pp. 30–2.
30 See Bhattacharya 1957.
31 Tagore 1920, p. 21.
32 Tagore 1931, p. 16.
33 Sen 1931, pp. 207–20.
34 Tagore 1931, p. 17.
35 Dasgupta 1946, p. 215.
36 Cited by Chaterji and Chatterji 1972, p. 5.
37 Nazrul Islam, “My Expectation,” translated by Basudha Chakravarty, 1968,
pp. 71, 73.
38 Ibid., p. 40.
39 Baker 2008, p. 175.
40 Trigilio 2007, p. 84.
41 George Harrison, All Things Must Pass (London: Abbey Road Studios, 1970).
42 Ravi Shankar and George Harrison, Raga Mala (Guildford: Genesis, 1997).
 Promoting social and religious harmony 89
43 Baularchive.com accessed 10 August 2018.
44 The Beatles, Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band (London: EMI Studios and
Regent Sound Studio, 1967).
45 George Harrison and the London Radha Krishna Temple, Hare Krishna (Lon-
don: Abbey Road Studios, 1969).
46 Arindam Chatterjee and Mathures Paul, “Friend Who Bought Bob, the Baul,
to Calcutta,” Telegraph, October 14, 2016, available at www.telegraphindia.
com/1161014/jsp/nation/story_113412.jsp accessed 24 July 2018.
47 Shamik Bag, “Bob Dylan and the Bauls,” Livemint (Delhi: HT Media, 2016),
available at www.livemint.com/Leisure/qjaPL5lDYAtYJUrqeLdEkL/Bob-Dylan-
and-the-Bauls.html accessed 24 July 2018.
48 From Another World: Tribute to Bob Dylan, track 2 (Paris: Buda Musique, 2013).
49 Bāula and Thielemann 2003, pp. 2–3.
50 Ibid., p. 247.
51 Openshaw 2002, p. 4.
52 Crovetto 2006, p. 69.
53 See Young 2014.
54 See Baul, Nair, and Śivadās 2005.
55 Lewis 1998, p. 392.
56 Eade 2014, pp. 56–7.
57 See Daniel 2018, p. 40.

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Khan, Mofakhkar Hossain. 1982. “A History of the Bengali Translations of the
Holy Qur’ān.” Muslim World 72(2) (April): 129–136.
Knight, Lisa I. 2014. Contradictory Lives: Baul Women in India and Bangladesh.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Lewis, James R. 1998. The Encyclopedia of Cults, Sects and New Religious Move-
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Lorea, Carola Erika. 2016. Folklore, Religion and the Songs of a Bengali Madman:
A Journey between Performance and the Politics of Cultural Representation. Lei-
den: Brill.
McDaniel, June. 1989. The Madness of the Saints: Ecstatic Religion in Bengal. Chi-
cago: University of Chicago Press.
Openshaw, Jeanne. 2002. Seeking Bāuls of Bengal. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Osho. 2004. Bauls: The Seekers of the Path. New Delhi: Diamond Books.
Salomon, Carol. 1991. “The Cosmogonic Riddles of Lalan Fakir.” In Gender,
Genre, and Power in South Asian Expressive Traditions, edited by Arjun Appa-
durai, Frank J. Korom, and Margaret A. Mills, 267–303. Philadelphia, PA: Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania Press.
Sen, Bhai Girishchandra. 1886. Qur’an Sharif. Kolkata: Srii Girishchandra Chakravarty.
Sen, KshitiMohan. 1931. “Appendix 1: The Bäul Singers of Bengal.” In The Religion
of Man, edited by Rabindrantah Tagore, 207–220. Oxford: Oxford University
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Tagore, Rabindranath. 1920. Gitanjali. New York: Macmillan.
———. 1931. The Religion of Man. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
 Promoting social and religious harmony 91
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nois University Press.
Urban, Hugh B. 2011. Songs of Ecstasy: Tantric and Devotional Songs from Colo-
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Young, Mary. 2014. The Baul Tradition: Sahaj Vision East & West. Chino Valley,
AZ: Hohm Press.
Part II

Poetry and literature

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

Introduction
There is a popular saying that older women tell younger women facing mar-
riage: “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” meaning if you
know how to cook well, a new husband will fall in love and stay faithful.
There may be some truth in this for women, though the history of elu-
sive marital bliss probably proves it mostly wrong. Sufis are less concerned
with marital happiness and more concerned with religious ideals, ethical
reform and social integration. With that goal in mind, Sufis would adapt the
proverb: “The way to a man’s heart is through his tongue.” One needs to
explore the skillful means of language to reach the hearts of people, to find
words that reach deep within them beyond their selfish conceits and routine
defenses. How did Sufis experiment with language to reach people’s hearts,
especially in environments where Muslims were newcomers and a minority?
Social integration is not possible without a common language – a “ver-
nacular.” A common language means a medium of communication that is
common by being accessible to divergent social classes (not elite) and useful
to diverse communities (not limited to one ethnicity or religious group). Yet
a common language also needs to be spiritually charged if it is to inspire
ethical social integration; it needs to have literary refinement, artistic adapt-
ability and religious vision.
Urdu is one such vernacular language that is extremely influential in South
Asia and during contemporary times in the South Asian global diaspora.
Urdu-Hindi is certainly the most widely spoken language of Muslims in the
contemporary world. According to Ethnologue Web Archive, the number
of speakers of Urdu-Hindi as a first language amounts to almost 324 mil-
lion worldwide, more than speakers of Arabic, Persian, Turkish, Malay-­
Indonesian or Bengali.1 Leaving aside the focus on Muslims, Urdu-Hindi is
a major world language: It is technically the fourth most widely spoken lan-
guage, after Chinese, Spanish and English. The history of how Urdu devel-
oped as a vernacular language is fascinating, and Sufis contributed greatly
to crafting it from a spoken language of trade into a literary language used
in spiritual music and ethical teachings that elevate passionate love over all
96 Scott Kugle
other values. Thus, looking closely at the Urdu poetry and song helps us to
better understand how Sufism – through language, poetry and song – can
contribute to the goal of social integration.
This article will examine several Sufi poets belonging to the Chishti tariqa
to explore how they moved from Persian to Urdu and helped to transform
Urdu from a vernacular language of trade into a literary language. It will
do so by focusing on an early period and a remote location rarely associ-
ated with Urdu. In contemporary times, Urdu is politically associated with
Pakistan, which adopted it as a national language. In early modern times,
Urdu was associated with regional capitals like Lucknow, Lahore, Ram-
pur, Hyderabad and Delhi. But in its formative period, Urdu took shape
in the Deccan, a region of south-central India. This article focuses on the
“Khuldabad-Burhanpur” axis that Carl Ernst identified as an important
social, political and literary environment for Chishti Sufis (Ernst 1993,
pp. 169–183). The article selects poetry from the fourteenth century until
the eighteenth century to illustrate how Sufis negotiated between Persian
and the maturing idiom of Urdu; it will do this by focusing on Sufis’ owing
allegiance to popular Chishti Sufi master Burhan al-Din Gharib (whose life
will be detailed below), who lived in Khuldabad (where he emigrated and is
buried) and Burhanpur (a city named after him posthumously). In the medi-
eval era, Burhanpur was the northern gateway to the Deccan. It is located in
Madhya Pradesh, near the border with Maharashtra, not far from the urban
complex of Dawlatabad fort, Aurangabad city and Khuldabad necropolis.
Burhanpur was an important center for Sufis of the Chishti community
whose literary, musical and spiritual activities helped to shape the emerging
vernacular language of Urdu.
For Sufis in South Asia, Persian was an essential language (although now it
is nationalistically associated with Iran). Persian was the language of govern-
ment and elite literary discourse, and as such it acted as a “secular” language
of power in South Asia (Alam 2004). Sufis participated in elite discourses
but also inflected Persian with South Asian expressions and brought this
cosmopolitan language down to the common people. Through Sufi writing
and song, local languages were infused with Persian words and expressions.
Many South Asian languages were enriched by interactions with Persian. In
particular, the interface between Persian and local South Asian vernaculars
gave rise to a new language that became known as Urdu. This essay will
explore the early forms of Urdu, known as Gujari and Deccani.

Burhan al-Din Gharib and Amir Hasan Sijzi

Burhanpur was named after Burhan al-Din Gharib, a Chishti Sufi who
migrated from Delhi to the Deccan in the fourteenth century. Burhan al-Din
was a delegate (khalifa) of Nizam al-Din Awliya (died 1325 in Delhi) who
institutionalized the Chishti Sufi order in Delhi. Nizam al-Din sent Burhan
al-Din to settle at Dawlatabad. When the Sultan of Delhi, Muhammad bin
 Making passion popular 97
Tughlaq, moved the empires capital to Dawlatabad in 1327, many Chishti
Sufis were forced to move there and looked to Burhan al-Din Gharib as a
spiritual guide and teacher. He and his brother, Muntajab al-Din “Zar Zari
Zar-Bakhsh,” were the center of a lively Chishti community. Burhan al-Din
Gharib spread Chishti teachings in the Deccan, focusing on ethical poverty
mixed with samaʿ sessions of poetry, rhythm and music. His admirers over
many generations would prove instrumental in forging Urdu into a poetic
medium for spiritual teachings.
Nizam al-Din Awliya is the best-known Sufi of India because of poets
who collected his sayings, recorded his biography and composed songs for
him. Among them were Amir Khusro (d. 1325) and his friend Amir Hasan
Sijzi (d. 1336). Amir Hasan’s reputation has been overshadowed by Amir
Khusro, but both were fantastic poets in Persian. Amir Khusro invented
qawwali as a distinctively South Asian style of Sufi music. Amir Hasan pub-
lished the oral discussions (malfuzat) of Nizam al-Din Awliya, titled Fawaid
al-Fuad, or “Morals for the Heart,” which initiated a new genre of prose
in Persian that is a distinctive, long-lasting and extremely rich contribution
of the Chishti order to Sufi literature. Amir Hasan is neglected because he
migrated to the Deccan, died there and is buried near Burhan al-Din Gharib.
In contrast, Amir Khusro is buried at the dargah of Nizam al-Din Awliya.
There is little evidence from the era of Amir Hasan that Chishtis used
South Asian languages for literary composition. There are only a few indica-
tions that Chishtis used South Asian languages, especially “Hindavi,” which
was the spoken vernacular around Delhi, for their religious teachings. This
article’s analysis will begin with the Persian poetry of Amir Hasan, since Per-
sian was the dominant language that Sufis used at this time. Amir Hasan’s
poetry is an excellent example of Sufi cultivation of love and longing, and it
set a high standard that would be imitated and adapted in later Urdu poetry.
One morning, Nizam al-Din Awliya was strolling along the Jamuna River
with his disciple. When they observed some Hindus bathing and offering
prayers to the dawn sun, the Sufi master noted their style of worship with
approval (paraphrasing Qur’an 22:66): “To every community there is a reli-
gious way and a direction for prayer.” His disciple spontaneously added,
“I turn in prayer to face the captivating one whose caps awry,” making this
line into a rhyming couplet that is sung to this day in qawwali. Amir Hasan
composed a ghazal with this couplet as its opening:2

Every community has a direction to pray and a right way

I turn in prayer to face the charming one whose cap is awry

Get up, preacher, mount the pulpit and shout whatever you wish
Seeing him is my Eid, his brow is the niche toward which I pray

Although the cypress and moon can never be joined as one

His loftiness is a cypress pointing to the moon, one could say
98 Scott Kugle
I have repented, trust me, my heart has forgotten all its sin
But one glimpse of his lip and I remember my days astray

If that cruel oppressor’s curls should hang this poor wretch

Each strand, like twists of a noose, shouts that justice fades away

Each morning you see tears clinging to my eyelashes

Just like on leaves of verdant herbs the dewdrops wearily lay

Oh Lord, I implore you, look after my welfare and health

Just don’t let him see the sorry state of my hearts dismay

Why search for witnesses to my love play, oh judge?

No witness is needed for a public offence repeated night and day

In the presence of passion for you, what to make of Hasan’s mind?

Before the emperor of the world can an ignorant boy hold sway?

Some sources say that the initial couplet belongs to Amir Khusro, while
others assert that it comes from Amir Hasan. Even if Amir Khusro first
spoke the couplet in the context of discussion with Nizam al-Din Awliya,
Amir Hasan immortalized it by writing a ghazal with its rhyme and meter.
In this poem, Amir Hasan boasts of the power of love and passion (ʿishq)
over mere mind and reason (ʿaql), which is a persistent theme in his poetry.
It is through music that that love dominates reason and passion over-
takes calculation. Amir Hasan was an ardent exponent of musical ecstasy,
as was Burhan al-din Gharib. As one of his companions in the Chishti order,
Amir Hasan helped spread his teachings through Persian poetry. Some of his
poems are sung (though surely not as many as Amir Khusro’s) in qawwali;
a contemporary collection of poems from the repertoire contains only one
ghazal of Amir Hasan (Ahmed 1998; Ayaz and Party 2012).3

The heart bows prostrate at this style of strolling of yours

The eyes give a thousand thanks at catching a sight of yours

Divine light shows through the beauty of your countenance

If not for fear of infidelity I would worship this form of yours

Sometimes he gives a soul to me and at others takes my soul away

Sometimes I never inquire and at others I ask about this state of yours

Until I hear that you’re coming my way to visit the sick

My sickness inflames a longing for that inquiry of yours

Isn’t it rude of you, Hasan, to stoop low and kiss his foot?
Such a delicate foot should not be damaged by a kiss of yours
 Making passion popular 99
The Chishti order had some practices that were controversial among Mus-
lims because they embraced Indian customs. These included kissing the feet
of one’s spiritual teacher (qadam-busi), prostrating before one’s teacher out
of reverence, using words from local Indian languages in meditation and
listening to music as a form of worship. Amir Hasan advocates several of
these practices in his Persian poems.
Listening to music was the most distinctive Chishti practice. The qawwali
repertoire contains poems composed in Hindavi, most of which are attrib-
uted to Amir Khusro, yet since qawwali is an oral tradition, it is difficult to
authenticate this attribution. There is little firm evidence of Chishtis using
South Asian languages in this era, but it is possible that devotional songs
in local languages were sung along with poems in Persian. Burhan al-Din
Gharib and his followers called listening to music and sung poetry “the
prayer of lovers” (namaz-e ʿushshaq). An early biographer of Chishti Sufis
writes of Burhan al-Din,

In samaʿ, this saint was completely extreme, experienced much ecstasy,

and said the prayers of lovers. He had a distinctive style in dancing, so
that the companions of this saint were called Burhanis among the lov-
ers. Whoever was in the presence of this saint for an hour fell in love
with the beauty of his saintliness, because of the ecstasy of his passion-
ate words and the purity of his enchanting conversation. (Ernst 1992,
p. 120; quoting Mir Khwurd, Siyar al-Awliya)

As this description indicates, musical meditation could lead those in

attendance into states of ecstasy that could erupt into dancing, gesturing,
spontaneous recitation of poetry or spiritual boasts, uncontrollable sobbing
or even unconsciousness. All these various behaviors were signs of the sub-
ject’s experience of self-surrender or even selflessness (Lawrence 1983).

Baha al-Din Shah Bajan

Burhan al-Din Gharib fostered the growth of the Chishti order in the Deccan.
After his death in 1337, his influence continued through his patronage of
sung poetry, his oral teachings (recorded in no less than four malfuzat texts)
and pilgrimage to his tomb (Ernst 1992, p. 126).4 By the mid-­fourteenth
century, the Delhi Sultanate had weakened, and its southern province had
broken away to form the Bahmani Sultanate, which moved its capital from
Dawlatabad to Gulbarga. After this, Burhan al-Din Gharib’s personality
was overshadowed by that of Muhammad Husaini Gesu-Daraz, who set-
tled at Gulbarga (Hussaini 1983).5 Yet some Sufis looked to Burhan al-Din
Gharib as the patron saint of the Deccan. As the Bahmani Sultanate broke
up in the fifteenth century, the region of Khandesh – which contained the
cities of Dawlatabad and Burhanpur – became independent. This region was
ruled by the Faruqi dynasty from 1399 to 1601, when it became absorbed
into the expanding Mughal Empire. The first Sultan of the Faruqi dynasty,
100 Scott Kugle
Malik Raja, had been a governor of the Bahmani Empire. As he threw off
allegiance to the Bahmani rulers, he claimed legitimacy of his own, based
upon his purported family lineage from ‘Umar al-Faruqi (the second Caliph,
according to Sunni understanding of political rule) and his being blessed by
Chishti Sufis. Faruqi dynasty rulers claimed that Burhan al-Din Gharib had
blessed their forefather, Malik Raja, and foretold of his becoming a king.
The Faruqi dynasty built its capital on the banks of the Tapti River over
a village where Burhan al-Din was supposed to have stayed while trave-
ling from Delhi to the Deccan. Under their royal patronage, his tomb at
Khuldabad was built up as a shrine (dargah) and pilgrimage place (mazar).6
In Burhanpur, the admirers of Burhan al-Din saw music and poetry as
the best expressions of mysticism. One of the outstanding members of this
Chishti community was Shah Bajan, the “Master Music-Maker” (d. 1507).
His writing gives us some of the earliest examples of Urdu poetry. His poetry
gives evidence of how Sufis helped to nurture the Urdu language and to cul-
tivate it as a medium for expressing spiritual teachings and promoting social
reforms. His poetry also reveals how Sufis of the Chishti community used
local poetic forms and religious images, including those sometimes associ-
ated with Hindi literature and Hindu devotion (Bawa, 2009).
Shah Bajan (d. 1507) was born in Ahmedabad and was named Baha al-
Din.7 When he was young, he joined the Chishti Sufi order by taking initia-
tion from a spiritual teacher named Rahmatullah. Rahmatullah trained in
the Chishti Sufi way under his father, named ʿAzizullah Mutavakkil (Shat-
tari 1326 AH, p. 204). These two saints were famous for their outward
piety (taqva) and reliance on God (tavakkul) in the rigorous and ascetic
style of Chishti spirituality that was strong in Gujarat. ʿAzizullah lived in
Ahmadabad but wanted to settle in Dawlatabad, yet experienced doubts
about the piety of its residents. ʿAzizullah is famous for refusing gifts from
anyone and relying solely on God for his daily provision; therefore, he
earned the title “Mutavakkil.”8 This was a central teaching of Chishti Sufis.
One must accept voluntary poverty: This means maintaining strict distance
from rulers, staying close to the common people and never hoarding money
or goods.9
His son Rahmatullah carried on this tradition in Ahmedabad. Their most
famous disciple was Shah Bajan, who is known for his music and poetry.
It seems that Shah Bajan developed a taste for samaʿ in the Deccan. When
Shah Bajan was twenty-one, he left his Chishti teacher in Ahmedabad and
traveled extensively in Central Asia and Iran. He intended to perform the
hajj pilgrimage but heard a voice in a dream telling him that God had
accepted his intention to visit the Kaʿba; he did not have to complete the
outward journey to Mecca. The voice commanded him to return, for his real
work lay in Burhanpur.10
Arriving in Gujarat, Shah Bajan found that his spiritual guide, Rahmatul-
lah, had died but had declared him to be his spiritual successor. Rahmatullah
had left his cloak (khirqa), a symbol of spiritual authority and renunciation
 Making passion popular 101
of worldly concerns for his successor. As Shah Bajan was full of grief and
self-doubt and hesitated to take up the role his Sufi master had left for him.
Instead of taking up the cloak, Shah Bajan laid it as a shroud over the tomb
of his dead master. As he laid the cloak over his master’s tomb, in a gesture
that said he was not worthy to take up his calling, he heard the Qawwali
singers nearby call out the verses in Gujari, “Shah Rahmatullah munjh peh
milao/tum baj lagun kis ke pao?” (Let me meet you, Shah Rahmatullah /
Without you, whose feet will I touch?). From the tomb, he heard a voice
address him as “Bajan,” or musical one: “Go touch the feet of the Music-
maker!” Hearing this, he fell into a state of rapture. Coming back from his
swoon, he took the cloak off the tomb and laid it over his shoulders. He was
ready to accept his destiny and consider himself the successor to Rahmatul-
lah Mutavakkil. From that day on, he was known by the nickname Shah
Bajan, or “Master Music-Maker.”
This scene carries many symbolic meanings, centered on the sound baj. At
first, he felt insecure, obsessed by self-doubts and oppressed with sorrow for
his dead teacher, such that he could not take up his calling. He could only
think, What am I without you (tum baj)? But when he heard the Qawwal’s
singing this line – “Without you, whose feet will I touch?” – he found that
loss could lead to love. By finding himself empty, he could be filled with
another. Empty like the wood and leather of a musical instrument, he discov-
ered himself resonating with a powerful vibration that came from beyond
his own egoistic self-concern. Just then, his dead spiritual guide called out
to his hearing, addressing him as Bajan, or music-maker, acknowledging
that his was a creative emptiness and that he was already well tuned, like
a musical instrument resonating with melodious promptings from a world
unseen. These symbols create a theatrical scene in which the Sufi concepts
of fanā’ (being extinguished) and baqā’ (remaining subsistent) play out in
a creative harmony. In fact, Shah Bajan would become an expert musician
(baja), transmitting Sufi teachings through song.
Shah Bajan took on his new name but was still at a loss as to how to
advance. He first visited the tomb of Burhan al-Din Gharib. During three
nights there, he saw the same dream, in which Burhan al-Din Gharib said
to him, “I am dead now and this territory that was under my care, namely
Burhanpur, I now entrust to you, and I give you a written document of
authority.”11 After staying for some time at Burhan al-Din Gharib’s tomb,
Shah Bajan headed to Bidar. There he took a second Sufi initiation with
Shaykh Manjheli, who was a follower of Masʿud Bakk (died around 1389
in Delhi), another Chishti master renowned for his ecstasy, poetry and
love.12 Masʿud Bakk was also known as an ardent admirer of Burhan al-
Din Gharib, whom he praised in a poem; so it is natural that Shah Bajan
would seek out a follower of Masʿud Bakk in order to revive his spiritual
link to Burhan al-Din Gharib (Ernst 1992, p. 339). Shah Bajan returned to
Ahmedabad for another seven years of isolated meditation, before he finally
accepted his visionary commands to settle in Burhanpur. He traveled there
102 Scott Kugle
and stopped outside the city, until the Faruqi ruler of Khandesh came out
to greet him, show submission to his spiritual authority and invite him to
settle in the capital. There he built a mosque and Sufi center (khanqah) for
his community of disciples and followers. He was an example of the classic
Chishti Sufi, emulating the model of Burhan al-Din Gharib, and Shah Bajan
became famous for his love of musical sessions and his original devotional
poetry in the early Urdu dialect called Gujari.
On the model of Amir Hasan, Shah Bajan composed a malfuzat text (titled
Khazaʾin-e Rahmat, or “Treasuries of Compassion”) in which he collected
sayings by his own teachers.13 This text also contains Shah Bajans Urdu
poetry, which makes it one of the earliest examples. The spoken vernacular
of Delhi and its surrounding region, called “Hindavi,” evolved as an infor-
mal spoken language of the marketplace and army camp and spread along
with imperial rule of the Delhi Sultanate. From the fourteenth century, Hin-
davi, or early Urdu, spread into the Deccan, where new dialects of this com-
mon vernacular developed. Shah Bajan is a witness to this, for he was the
first to specify that the vernacular language spoken around Delhi be called
Hindavi. Shah Bajan specifies that the vernacular dialect of this language
spoken in Gujarat, Malwa and Burhanpur be called “Gujari.” In a similar
way, the same vernacular was called “Deccani,” as spoken in more south-
ernly regions of Karnataka, Marathvada and Telangana. All three names
applied to regional dialects of the same vernacular that was later called
Urdu. We can refer to “Deccani” and “Gujari” as early Urdu (some schol-
ars use the term “proto-Urdu”). In the late fifteenth century, Shah Bajan’s
poetry gives us a glimpse of the language in the midst of its evolution.
Early Urdu was continually enriched by an inflow of terms and expres-
sions from varied sources and religious traditions. Shah Bajan, for example,
composed poems in Persian and wrote Khazaʾin-e Rahmat, a prose text,
in Persian.14 But in that text are many poems he composed in Gujari. This
article offers some of Shah Bajan’s poems in transliteration from Gujari
and translation into English, based on reading them with my Urdu teacher,
Dr. Oudesh Rani Bawa.15 I owe a debt of gratitude for her expert assistance.
There is no modern edited version that corrects scribal errors of the past.
Akhtar Parvez from Burhanpur has recorded variations, but readers are left
to judge which version of any single poem is clearest. These poems have
never been translated into English, yet the poems are compelling despite the
difficulty in deciphering them.
The first poem translated here gives evidence of the evolution of Urdu,
which was often called rekhta. Rekhta is a Persian term that means “mixed,”
and it designates a language in which local South Asian languages were
mixed with Persian. Yet before rekhta was applied to a language, the term
was applied to a genre of song or poem, in which some lines were in Persian
and other lines were in an Indian language, mainly early Urdu. These songs
or poems in rekhta style show how Persian was interacting with South Asian
languages. Sufi poets (and mainly Chishti Sufis) are famous as authors of
 Making passion popular 103
such poems.16 Some of the earliest rekhta poems with authentic attribution
are to Shah Bajan, such as the one below. In the transliteration of the poem,
the lines in Persian are given in italics so the reader can see how the lines
alternate from Gujari Urdu to Persian and back again.17

Alone in public you and I keep talking come what may

You are not mine yet except you no other comes my way
Live long livelong, this poem to you I’ll say no other comes my way
Why don’t you come to me I’ll have no other come what may
I am weeping so show your face, don’t toss me hints of scorn
Make me laugh weep burn my heart, don’t toss hints full of scorn
Except his love, lord and friend, Bajan cannot think of anyone

Except one hidden in body everybody, he cannot conceive of anyone

Khalvat jalvat bajna tujh minjh hoi so hoi
Yehi tun nahin mera tujh bin aur na koi
Jiu jiu jiu re tujh dohra kahun aur nahin koi
Chun to biyasham deegar na bashad tujh minjh hoi so hoi
Roi roi munh pragat kije hans hans san na lije
Khandan giryan ba dil biryan pur hans san na lije
Bajan sajan surjan sathi us bin aur na sujhe
Pinhan tanha tan tan-e tanha duja kori bujhe

Shah Bajan calls this poem a dohra, a Hindavi genre. Its language and meter
owe little to Persian genres like ghazal or masnavi. The Gujari has a tone of a
simple person in love, yet there are a few lines of Persian interlaced that restate
the meaning in a more formal tone. One can think of the Gujari words as
“translating” the Persian into a more easily understandable medium; or one
can think of the Persian words as “making significant” the Gujari by con-
necting it to the formal and interregional language associated with Islamic
dominance. In either case, the Sufi poet is connecting the “local” South Asian
spoken idiom to the “universal” Islamic symbolic world invoked by Persian.
It is the social role of Chishti Sufis like Shah Bajan to bring Islam down to
their local context, make its practices meaningful in their society and trans-
late its values through symbols that are easily understandable by common
people. His prime symbol, of course, is passionate love.
It is a basic teaching of the Chishti Sufis that God is best approached as
a lover. Only by cultivating passionate love for God can the mystic or wor-
shipper ensure sincerity of heart. But this is always coupled with another
basic teaching – if one loves God, one must reject worldly attachments and
distractions (tark-e dunya). Shah Bajan expresses this teaching in another
Gujari poem:18

When has anyone got the better of this world?

No sooner do you grasp it than it cheats you
104 Scott Kugle
With love that cheat keeps new tricks trying
It sobs a bit yet leaves everyone crying
When it moves it is only to ambush you
When it captivates you it is to topple you
That deceitful one leaves you in the lurch
So don’t give the world your heart to touch
Don’t get close, not even this much
Why crave the world so intensely
If you get it, you enjoy temporarily
The world gets them hot with longing
But gives them no abode of belonging
So learn to never hold the world dear
If you chance to get it just steer clear
The heart looks to the world joyfully
And drags them through it shamelessly
So careful, Bajan, the worlds a big sham
It says sweet words but thinks up a scam
From the worlds snare you better scram!

yeh fitni kise milti hai

jab milti hai tab chhilti hai
un chhil muhabbat chhilae
un ro kar bahut rolae
un jhu kar bhi ghate
un muhabbat ghire parhe
un bingi vairan chharhe
vali ji rehe us thi niyari
vali jae na us ke pare
us karan tez tarsana
jag mile to us sana milasna
ye fitni unhon tapave
jag pas na bhavan ave
je us kon kadhi lorna
jo mile to tab hi chhorna
ji dekhat us then bhage
ye nilaj un sun lage
dekh, Bajan, ye to jhuti
mukh meethi chit neethi
ye ahe aise dheethi

The form of this poem owes much to Hindavi, rather than to Persian gen-
res. Its expressions are simple and direct. The world is like an unfaithful
lover who offers the illusion of pleasure through flirtation and seduction but
who will quickly leave you. All mystics preach about the world’s illusory
nature and warn people about the impermanence of this life. But through
 Making passion popular 105
the metaphor of the unfaithful lover, Shah Bajan makes this teaching emo-
tionally appealing and vivid. This ephemeral world “says sweet words but
thinks up a scam,” so no complex theology is required to grasp the poems
meaning and digest its advice!
The simplicity of his images and language does not mean the Shah Bajan
did not know theology and Islamic sciences. To the contrary, he knew them
so well that he found creative ways of expressing the essential features of
Islam. He did this through the simple idea that everything consists of three
levels, moving from outward to inward. The person consists of body, heart
and mind. Shah Bajan begins by urging his listeners to awaken the mind to
keep watch over the heart and thereby restrain the actions of the body.19

Of all bad deeds the heart is the king

Keep watch over that lazy arrogant thing
Uphold shariʿah’s discipline, that’s the best
Don’t let idols into the cavern of your chest
Tariqat is where the Prophets acts are found
Follow him with faith, don’t just mess around
The real haqiqat is like an ocean vast and wide
Most who enter drown, few reach the other side

Ji to ahi bad ka rao

U rehna dekh pisare pao
Shariʿat ke tun bat na chhor
Ji tujh sanam na la ke khor
Tariqat ahi nabi ka fiʿl
Yakhin bat na ahi khil
Haqiqat darya ahi be-kinar
Bahut dube kuchh utre par

The poem begins by addressing the heart (ji), which in Sufi thought is the
center of the person. If the heart is enlightened by a wakeful mind and
insight, it is the vehicle for good; but if the heart is darkened by a selfish
nature and lust, it is the vehicle for evil expressed in our bodily actions. The
Qur’an says, “God has not made two hearts in one chest” (Qur’an 33:4).
The human heart can have only one orientation of love, either toward the
world and its pleasures or toward God and spiritual realities.
From this first division into three levels, Shah Bajan elaborates other cor-
responding levels of three. Every person consists of body, heart and mind.
For a person to become a real human being, she or he must understand
the relationship between matter, soul and spirit. When aspiring to be a real
human being, the person takes her or his rightful place in the cosmos, which
consists of the world, the human being and God. Finally, continuing in
threes, according to Sufi teachings we get to our rightful place in the cosmos
by following religious duty (shariʿat), practicing mystical training (tariqat)
106 Scott Kugle
and realizing ultimate reality (haqiqat). This spiritual realization is the fruit
of following shariʿat and cultivating tariqat and is the essential goal of both.
But it is achieved by only a few, who come to realize that their own ego is
passing away and that God alone is real. Everyone lives in this reality, or
they would not be alive; but few realize it, comprehending that their own
ego is what veils God’s presence. This is what Shah Bajan means when he
says haqiqat is “an ocean vast and wide – Most who enter drown, few reach
the other side.”
This poem is remarkable for condensing such complex ideas into sim-
ple images and charmingly direct language. The translation tries to convey
something of its original quality by using colloquial English and insistent
rhyme. The poem takes Islamic terms and expresses them in images that
anyone could understand, regardless of her or his professed religion. Chishti
Sufis, like Shah Bajan, actively tried to find commonalities with members of
other religions and communities. In his poetry, we can see evidence of this
active pursuit, through words and images, of a common foundation for eth-
ics that is wider than one’s own dogmatic community. The newly develop-
ing language of Urdu (in its Gujari or Deccani dialects) was an ideal medium
for this pursuit. It was a language that was already “common” and used by
both Muslims and others who interacted with them. It was a language that
did not exclusively belong to any single religious or ethnic group but rather
grew in the interactions between different groups. It was a language that
absorbed words, phrases and images from many different communities. In
this way, Urdu was a language whose practical form mirrored the abstract
philosophy of Sufis; therefore, it is no surprise that Chishti Sufis were early
and active patrons of the newly developing language.
Shah Bajan was a pioneer in this movement and wrote his poems specifi-
cally to be sung. His poems often come with a heading declaring in what
raga to sing them. The previous poem, about the Prophet during his ascen-
sion, was to be sung in Raga Kedar. His poems recall this use of music as
meditation, as in the one below:

When lute and cymbals play they reveal divine secrets

This is God’s temple, how can you meet God without clapping?
Everyone wants to see God, so call out the name of the true One

Aiwan bajan baje bajan baje re asrar chajhe

yeh pava shah ka ava an dastak dikh kanava
har kon haqq haqq lava

Shah Bajan called some of his songs jikri, a Gujari pronunciation of zikr, or
meditation, that repeats God’s names. In India, some Sufi orders demanded
silent zikr, while other orders advocated group Zikr with only a drum to
keep rhythm or chanting only in Arabic. In contrast, Chishti Sufis taught
that the best zikr is musical, with devotional poems in the local language
 Making passion popular 107
and a variety of instruments (both Indic and Iranian) as accompaniment.20
One of the earliest examples we have of a Chishti Sufi using early Urdu
in devotional poetry and song is Shah Bajan. Though he is not so famous
today, he is an important figure in the history of Sufism in the Deccan. He
wrote prose in Persian and songs in Gujari and composed poetry in Persian.

Siraj Aurangabadi
After Shah Bajan, many Sufis in the Deccan began to compose mystical
poetry in dialects of Urdu. The authors of this growing literature were
mainly from the Chishti community. Their use of Urdu showed their aspi-
ration to make Islam understandable, appealing and useful for the com-
mon people. Other Chishti Sufis in Bijapur formed a network of innovators
in Urdu.21 Several essays in this volume discuss their legacy. Their poetry,
prose and song shaped a new dialect, called Deccani. Deccani is comparable
to Gujari, but it took shape in a later era and a more southern locale.
A new era began for the Burhanpur-Khuldabad axis with the expansion
of the Mughal Empire. Khandesh was the first Deccan kingdom absorbed
into the Mughal realm in the time of Akbar; the Mughals pushed steadily
southward to conquer Ahmednagar (which then controlled Dawlatabad and
Khuldabad), then Bijapur and finally Golconda. The Emperor Aurangzeb
advanced with the project and built a new capital city at Aurangabad. Just
as Gujari dialect of Urdu had given way to Deccani, so now had Deccani
begun to change under pressure of new Mughal immigrants from the north.
Mughals favored the use of Persian as both an administrative and a literary
language, but with their conquest of the Deccan they began to admire Urdu
and see it as a vehicle for literary and spiritual pursuits.
Deccani poets had raised Urdu to a refined poetic language. In the Mughal
era, poets from the Deccan spread the use of Urdu to the north. But with
this new context, the language also changed. Deccani distinctiveness began
to erode, and the modern form of Urdu, which is now considered standard,
took shape. The ghazal, a genre adopted form Persian, also rose to new
heights. In Aurangabad, the poet Siraj provides examples of ghazals that
are both wonderful Sufi expressions and evidence of the changing language.
Sufi literati like Siraj cultivated Urdu but continued to compose poetry in
Persian as well.22
His name was Sayyid Siraj al-Din Husayni, but he is best known by his
pen name, Siraj. He lived in Aurangabad from around 1712 until his death
in 1763. Histories of Urdu literature usually mention only that he was a
younger contemporary of Vali Deccani (d. 1707), who brought the new
style of writing Urdu ghazals to Delhi and other northern cities. But Siraj
is one of the most expressive Sufi poets in Urdu, just when the Deccani dia-
lect was giving way to modern standard Urdu. As a Sufi poet in Urdu, only
Khwaja Mir Dard (d. 1785) from Delhi can compare to him.23 Siraj grew
up in a scholarly Sufi family. But as an adolescent, he experienced a tragic
108 Scott Kugle
romance, suffered greatly and fell into despair. A kind of madness rose from
within him, and he left Aurangabad and his family to wander in the wilder-
ness. His friends recall him reciting his own Persian ghazals to the animals
and empty spaces. After many years, he took refuge at the dargah of Burhan
al-Din Gharib at Khuldabad. He later joined the Chishti Sufi community
and returned to Aurangabad. There he began to compose Sufi ghazals in
Urdu, which was an innovation. In seven years, he compiled a voluminous
divan containing ghazals with experimental boldness, spiritual subtlety and
a lively sense of musicality.
Siraj’s Persian poetry was never collected. His contemporaries reported
that “if his Persian ghazals had been committed to paper, they would con-
stitute of thick Divan and if people read them, they would consider them a
miraculous act of God.” (Sarwari [ed.] 1982, p. 40). Though Siraj claims
his Persian poems were lost in the wilderness, at least a few were preserved.
A few were preserved by Afzal Beg Khan “Qaqshal” in his memorial to
poets from Aurangabad, Tuhfat al-Shuʿara, written in 1752.24 Because these
are rare and were considered lost, this article presents two of them in trans-
lation here. The first contains images of longing, sorcery and alchemy; it
rhymes with the verb chakeed, meaning dripped, congealed, oozed or dis-
tilled (Qaqshal, 35).

Respectfully stifled cries distill into a perfumed sweat

This droplet that is falling cannot be my choked-back tear

In this party, I caught sight of a black eyelash scattering drops

Rosy tears dripped from the candles scarlet-rimmed eyes

A drop of ink fell from the pen of the divine writer, that’s why
The pure page of the lover’s breast is stained with a dark fear

No wonder I’m ensnared in one look of his charming sight

Every reflection refracts into a fairy’s endless hall of mirrors

In spring time’s blush, both take and give are out collecting roses
Dew drops huddle among petals until generosity’s morning is near

So long I thirsted for you and now you are ready to sacrifice me
Thank God! You may notice whose blood drips from the blade

By now your heart is fully charred in passions blaze, Siraj

from the ashes with mercury you can extract a golden elixir

The final couplet of this poem alludes to alchemy and chemistry. When coins
were minted, the ashes from the smelting furnace were collected and pro-
cessed with mercury, in order to extract any remaining fragments of gold. In
 Making passion popular 109
the same way, Siraj examines the ashes of his love-charred heart. It is ruined.
Completely torched. Yet the ashes might still contain something valuable! If
treated with alchemical mercury, they might still yield precious gold. Despite
painful destruction, the love-charred heart might transmute into the gold
of spiritual insight. A second Persian ghazal that was saved from oblivion
shows that even in his wild youth, Siraj was experimenting. It rhymes with
the verb uftad, meaning “it fell” or “it happened” (Qaqshal, 36).

Yet again, as at the start, the brand of madness falls on my heart

From the heat of love, a spark flies and falls on my reason’s tinder

Today I long to gather roses, so my shirt has become wet

My heart’s blood turned to water and falls from my teary eyes

With a single glance, I gladly lost the wealth of faith and merit
Yet my idol of enchanting gaze never falls within my sight

The sun is dishonored and lies in ruins in this separation’s night

Without you, even its golden bowl falls from heaven’s high terrace

In every moment, my heart conceals the pain of remembering you

But what to do with my sorrow when falls away the curtain of secrecy?

This closing couplet will remain as Siraj’s heart-felt constant refrain

Yet again, as at the start, the brand of madness falls on my heart

This ghazal takes that rare form of a loop with the first line of the beginning
couplet repeated exactly in the last line of the closing couplet. This loop is
not just a formal innovation but also an allusion to the poem’s inner mean-
ing. The repeated line, which Siraj calls his “heart-felt refrain,” uses the
term vird to mean a line that is recited constantly as a mantra or meditation.
Vird is a term from Sufi practice; it is a saying that exerts power over one’s
inner spiritual life as one grows disciplined in repeatedly saying it.
When he was composing these Persian poems, Siraj was caught in a loop
of madness, revisiting his painful loss in a youthful love affair that caused
him to flee society: “Yet again, as at the start, the brand of madness falls
on my heart.” The few Persian poems we have of Siraj seem to capture the
despair of this youthful tragedy. Another couplet is preserved that reads,
“I am stained with accusations and my secrets are unjustly known to all/
how low into ruin is my fall! Does not innocence matter at all?”25
Siraj’s poems in Persian were largely lost, though the few preserved ones
show signs of his talent, which would blossom in his innovative Urdu
poetry. His most famous ghazal is still sung in qawwali: “Hear news of
loves bewilderment: no beauty remains, no feverish madness/no you
remains, no I remains – all that remains is unselfconsciousness.”26 I have
110 Scott Kugle
written elsewhere about this ghazal as an example of Siraj’s spiritual art.27
The language used preserves inflections of Deccani in grammar but is easily
understood by speakers of modern Urdu. Siraj’s poetry points toward the
future of Urdu as a modern literary language, though it preserves deep roots
in the past of Sufi thought.

Conclusion
Burhan al-Din Gharib sowed the seeds of musical mysticism in the Dec-
can along with his admirer, the poet Amir Hasan Sijzi. Later, Shah Bajan
ensured its perpetuation in the new regional capital of Burhanpur, while
Siraj embodied this tradition with vibrancy in Aurangabad. These figures
flourished in the “Khuldabad-Burhanpur axis,” a region of the Deccan that
is often ignored and understudied. They all belonged to the Chishti Sufi
order, which contributed to its poetic and musical expression of Islamic
spirituality. Their poems document the shifting contours of language use,
as Chishti Sufis innovated to bring their spiritual message to the common
people at the frontiers of language.
Persian was the cosmopolitan language of Islamic civilization in South
Asia; Muslims as well as non-Muslims used it for both secular and sacred
purposes. Sufis composed poetry in Persian, even while they experimented
with using other local South Asian languages. The result was a rich interac-
tion between Persian language and local vernacular languages. From this
interaction developed a new language whose dialects evolved slowly in dif-
ferent regions under different names. It began as Hindavi around Delhi,
became Gujari in the northern frontier of the Deccan, including Burhanpur;
and later developed as Deccani in the south. This language in Mughal times
became the language now called Urdu. From the fourteenth to the eight-
eenth centuries, Chishti Sufis were at the vanguard of using this common
language in prose, poetry and song in a complex dialogue and interplay with
their continued use of Persian.
This analysis has focused on the early evolution of Urdu literature, in
which Hindavi language was recorded in Persianate script derived from
Arabic letters. We could shift the focus to Hindi literature, in which Hin-
davi was recorded in Devanagari script derived from Sanskrit letters. Doing
so, we draw a similar conclusion: Sufis were the vanguard of crafting Hindi
literature through long allegorical epics to be recited rather than through
shorter love lyrics to be sung. Recent scholarship by Aditya Behl and others
has brought to the fore this once-neglected tradition of Sufi Muslim authors
of Hindavi epics written in Devanagari script.28
What does this all have to do with the challenges we face in the present?
I noted in the introduction that today English surpasses Urdu-Hindi as a
global spoken language. In many ways, English has also displaced Urdu-
Hindi as a language of governance and cosmopolitan communication, even
in South Asia. Yet it remains to be seen whether English can foster social
 Making passion popular 111
integration as deeply as Urdu did. Perhaps Sufis today must now make use
of English, as they once crafted Urdu and other regional vernacular lan-
guages. While there is ample evidence that Sufi works and projects are being
translated into English, this effort is mainly in prose and on the internet. It
remains to be seen whether poetry and song retain their place as the most
effective way to communicate Sufi ideals in newly emerging vernacular lan-
guages. The Chishti Sufis of the past remind us today that singing is more
effective than preaching and that personal examples of loving kindness have
a deeper impact than religious ideology.

Notes
1 www.ethnologue.com/statistics/size accessed 29 October 2015. This website
artificially separates the categories of Hindi speakers and Urdu speakers; in fact,
as a spoken medium this is one language but it is written in two different scripts
and thus separate literary traditions.
2 Amir Hasan, 1356 ah: ghazal 895, pp. 390–1; 1383 ah: ghazal 873, pp. 406–7.
Its first couplet is: Har qawm ra-st rahi dini o qiblah gahi /man qiblah ra-st kar-
deem bar simt-e kaj kulahi.
3 Miraj Ahmed Qawwal, Surud-e Ruhani: Qawwali ke Rang (Delhi: Maktaba
Rabita, 1998), p. 96. Its opening couplet is “Dil kunad sajda ba-een taraz-e
kharameedan-e tu / deeda sad shukr bi-ja arad az-een deedan-e tu.” The poem’s
last couplet is sung as an introduction to “Teri Re Main To Charnan Lagi [I lay
my head on your foot, lyrics attributed to Amir Khusro],” recorded by Faridud-
din Ayaz and Qawwal Party in Jashn-e-Khusro: A Collection (New Delhi: Roli
Books, 2012), CD 1 song 6.
4 These Sufi texts from the Deccan shaped the tradition of malfuzat writing back
in Delhi.
5 Syed Shah Khusro Hussaini, Sayyid Muhammad al-Husayni-i Gisudiraz: on
Sufism (Delhi: Idarah-e Adabiyat-e Delli, 1983) is the best study in English but
does not discuss his involvement with Bahmani Sultans. The father of Gesu-
Daraz migrated to the Deccan and is buried near Burhan al-Din Gharib in
Khuldabad.
6 Burhanpur was founded in 1399 ce by Nasir Khan Faruqi, the second ruler of
the Faruqi dynasty. The main settlement was Burhanpur while the settlement on
the opposite bank of the river Tapti was dubbed Zaynabad after Zayn al-Din
Shirazi, the successor of Burhan al-Din Gharib.
7 Shah Bajan’s biography is found in several modern Urdu sources: Mutala 1993;
Khan 1997; Parvez 2005.
8 Anonymous, Bahr-e Zakhkhar (mss. Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh State Oriental
Manuscript Library 238 Farsi Tazkira), pp. 262–264.
9 Muhammad Ghawthi Shattari, Gulzar-e Abrar [Garden of the Pious], translated
by Fazl Ahmad Jewari, as Azkar al-Abrar (Agra: Matbaʿ-ye Mufid-e ʿAm., 1326 ah),
pp. 204–5.
10 Shattari, Gulzar-e Abrar, p. 212. Chishti Sufis advocated shrines of local South
Asian saints, especially the Dargah of Muʿin al-Din Chishti at Ajmer. Shah
Bajans aborted pilgrimage confirms this strong feeling among Chishtis that it
is an ethical duty to stay local in devotional style than to make the journey to
Makka or adopt Arabizing airs.
11 Bashir Muhammad Khan, Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur [History of
the Sufi Saints of Burhanpur] (Pune: Sihr Art Press, 1997), p. 78.
112 Scott Kugle
12 Masʿud Bakk was born into a royal family but became a poet-philosopher. He
gave expression to the experience of ecstasy in poetry and exposition to the
ideals of vahdat al-vujud in prose. Carl Ernst, “From Hagiography to Martyr-
ology: Conflicting testimonies to a Sufi martyr of the Delhi sultanate,” History
of Religions, Vol. 24/4 (May 1985), pp. 308–327. See also Ernst and Lawrence
2002, pp. 41–2.
13 Akhtar Parvez, Shah Bajan: Ek Mutaliʿa [Shah Bajan: A Study] (Burhanpur:
Raja Offset, 2005), p. 111 reports that there were five manuscript copies of
Khazaʾin-e Rahmat of which only three exist today. One copy owned by the
scholar Hafiz Muhammad Sherani (and was wrongly titled “Gulistan-e Rah-
mat”) is now held at Lahore (Punjab University 2282/5289 formerly called “Ori-
ental College Collection”); this is the manuscript that has been seen by author of
this article.
14 For an example of Shah Bajans poetry in Persian, see Kugle 2009, p. 96.
15 Few copies of the manuscript survive and those that do are evidently in bad
repair, so readers have had to guess at the proper wording and sometimes just
leave gaps where deciphering it is impossible.
16 Rekhta poems are attributed to Amir Khusro but this attribution is most likely
not correct and rekhta poems like the famous Ze Hal-e Miskeen that is sung in
qawwali are probably retroactively attributed to him.
17 The text of this poem is found in Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur, p. 87;
that text has been corrected in places from a transcription of the same poem
from other manuscripts as found in Parwez, Shah Bajan, p. 157.
18 The text of this poem is found in Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur,
pp. 85–6, corrected in places from Parwez, Shah Bajan, pp. 109–110 and 131–2.
19 The poems text found in Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur, p. 86; and
found in Parvez, Shah Bajan, p. 149.
20 The most sophisticated discussion of Samaʿ or listening to music is found in Carl
Ernst and Bruce B. Lawrence, Sufi Martyrs of Love: The Chishti Order in South
Asia and Beyond (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 34–46.
21 These include the famous Miranji Shams al-ʿUshshaq (died 1499), his son Burhan
al-Din Janam (died around 1597) and his followers, Mahmud Khush-Dahan
(died 1617) and Amin al-Din ʿAli ʿAla (died 1674). Eaton 1972, pp. 141–5; see
also Schimmel 2003, p. 59.
22 For an in-depth biography of Siraj Aurangabadi, see Kugle 2015 (forthcoming).
23 Vali Deccani was born in Aurangabad, was educated in Ahmedabad in both
Islamic sciences and Sufism, and travelled to Delhi in 1701 where he popularized
the practicing of composing ghazals in Urdu. In Delhi, several poets ushered in
the “golden age” of the Urdu ghazal, such as Mir Taqi Mir, Arzu, and Sauda but
Khwaja Mir Dard was best known for ghazals steeped in Sufi symbolizism, for
he was a practicing Sufi master in the Naqshbandi order.
24 Afdal Beg Khan Qaqshal wrote a collection of biographies of poets from his
city, Aurangabad, titled Tuhfat al-Shuʿara [Gift of the Poets: Persian Language
Poets of Aurangabad] (manuscript Hyderabad: Salar Jung, 1752). It was writ-
ten during the lifetime of Siraj, so the author probably knew Siraj personally.
Two copies of this text exist in manuscript form in Hyderabad (Salar Jung, Farsi
Tadhkira 8) and also (Andhra Pradesh State Oriental Manuscript and Research
Library, 122 Tazkira Farsi).
25 Only a single couplet is preserved that reads: tuhmat aludeem o asrar na-haqq
ʿaleem ast / ba vujud-e paki-daman cheh rusva-eem ma. See Qaqshal, Tuhfat
al-Shuʿara, p. 36.
26 ʿAbd al-Qadir Sarwari, ed., Kulliyat-e Siraj [Collected Poems] (New Delhi:
Taraqqi-ye Urdu Bureau., 1982), p. 667. Its first line is: “khabar-e tahayyur-e
 Making passion popular 113
ʿishq sun na junun raha na pari rahi / na to tu raha na to main raha jo rahi so
be-khabari rahi.”
27 “Qawwali between Written Poem and Sung Lyric . . . or How a Ghazal Lives,”
The Muslim World, Vol. 97/4 (October 2007), pp. 571–610.
28 Aditya Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic: An Indian Islamic Literary Tradition, 1379–
1545, ed. Wendy Doniger (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012).

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Sarwari, ʿAbd al-Qadir (ed.). 1982. Kulliyat-e Siraj [Collected Poems]. New Delhi:
Taraqqi-ye Urdu Bureau.
Schimmel, Annemarie. 2003. Islam in the Indian Subcontinent. Lahore: Sang-e-meel
Publications.
Shattari, Muhammad Ghawthi. 1326 ah. Gulzar-e Abrar [Garden of the Pious], trans-
lated by Fazl Ahmad Jewari, as Azkar al-Abrar. Agra: Matbaʿ-ye Mufid-e ʿAm.
5 Shaping the way we believe
Sufism in modern Turkish culture
and literature
Huseyin Altindis

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

Because the Turkish rulers were so devoted to Islamıc beliefs, they have
accepted Hanafism with great vigor and conviction This tendency,
which essentially rose from social conscience of the Turkish nation, on
the one hand hindered the spread of heretical Shii and Mu’tazili doc-
trines within Islam, and on the other, also as a natural result of this,
created a profound and sincere harmony between legal religious norms
and the Sufi ideas that developed in Turkish circles.2

As of the tenth century, the Turkish world had already been accustomed to
Sufi ideas, which were a source for Yasawi. Before him, dervishes traveling
throughout the region carried oral culture and religious doctrines through
the reciting of hymns and poetry; performed many good works for the peo-
ple to please Allah; and instructed people in the ways of happiness and enter-
ing paradise, which received great recognition and support among Turks.
Because of their popularity and instructional and leadership roles in the com-
munity, these ozans are called ata (father) or Bab (spiritual leader). These
ozans were spreading Islamic principles and beliefs among nomadic Turks.
Without doubt, Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi is one of the most eminent Sufi
poets that Khorasan produced. He was born September 30, 1207, and died
December 17, 1273. At the age of twenty-two, he moved to Konya, where,
for the rest of his life, he influenced Turkish cultural and religious practices
profoundly. Rumi started delivering sermons that brought him recognition
as an eloquent interpreter of orthodox Islam. He introduced Sufism, which
is, according to William C. Chittick, “The most universal manifestation of
the inner dimension of Islam; it is the way by which man transcends his own
individual self and reaches God.”3 One of the most memorable encounters
in the history of Sufism is surely the first meeting of Shams-i Tabriz and
Mawlana Jalal-Ud-Din Rumi. In The Life and Work of Jalal-Ud-Din Rumi,
Afzal Ikbal writes:

It was here (Konya) that Rumi’s personality found its proper contours,
it was here that it underwent a sudden and unique metamorphosis
and it was here that it started radiating the rays which were alter to
illuminate the whole Muslim world. Though the town did not have the
honor of giving birth to him, it had the infinitely greater honor of giving
him the spiritual birth and today it claims the proud privilege of having
within its bosom the mortal remains of a soul that was truly immortal.4

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

Elif Safak and mysticism

Elif Safak is one of the renowned and prolific writers of contemporary Turk-
ish literature. The world literary market has been showing a growing inter-
est to Safak since her debut on the international scene with her first novel
in English, The Saint of Incipient Insanities (2004), which has laid the basis
for a successful series of novels in English. Born in Strasbourg as a daughter
of a Turkish diplomat, Safak spent her formative years first in Spain and the
United States, where she held teaching positions. Due to her nomadic life
and exposure to various cultures and ethnicities, it is not surprising that her
writing revolves around the themes of multiculturalism, cosmopolitanism
and the promotion of a post-national society.
118 Huseyin Altindis
Most of her works – including Pinhan (The Mystic, 1998), Aşk (The
Forty Rules of Love, 2009), Sehrin Aynalari, Bit Palas, Araf, Baba ve Pic
(The Bastard of Istanbul, 2007), Mahrem and Siyah Sut – are woven with
mystical elements that shaped the way we live under the influence of Rumi’s
doctrine. She contributed greatly to the recognition and improvement of
Turkish literature because of her linguistic, religious and ethnic presenta-
tions and her diversity of themes and characters. In order to emphasize and
portray the cohesive aspect of communities, she references mysticism and
Sufism as the ontological and phenomenological grounding of some of her
works. She writes about the universal aspect of mysticism, in which it is
believed that all people are created by God and will eventually return to
him and about which “mystics in every religious tradition have tended to
describe the different steps on the way that leads toward God by the image
of the path.”10 Schimmel explains that the path “on which mystics walk, has
been defined as ‘the path which comes out of Shari‘a, for the main road is
called shar‘, the path, tarīq.”11 Safak, who analyzes “we” as a completion
of “I” and “you” on the ˙ basis of identity problem, grounds her novels in
the concept of multiculturalism, which is harmoniously presented through
the cohesive elements of mysticism. Her approach differentiates her from
traditional usage and interpretation of mystic elements, and mysticism has a
modern functionality in her novels.
In her novels, mysticism is presented through symbolic and fantastical
elements and implies that eventual return is to the only source of energy and
element, Allah. In so doing, she reminds the reader of the fact that all dif-
ferences actually come from one source. Her philosophical stance reminds
us of a universal and scientific approach of Darwin that classifies all people
or ethnicities as a type. The real essence is the absolute power of the God
that created people in different types so that we can learn each other and
communicate with each other through accepting the differences that create
a rich, colorful tapestry on Earth. On her personal interest in mysticism and
Rumi, Safak states that she is interested not only in Sufism rooted in Anato-
lia but also in universal Sufism. She explains that she read all the sources on
Sufism, English and Turkish that she could access, searched for the Rumi era
and read biographies.12 In many interviews, she has stated that she has been
interested in mysticism for almost fifteen years as a result of her own quest.13
Safak’s novels, utilizing mystic philosophy, aim to reflect the cultural
richness and accentuate the significance of tolerance that glue differences
together, creating a peaceful society. In that sense her novels have an esoteric
meaning and need to be unpacked, as both content and form, by the reader
within the light of mystic philosophy.
Among her works, Pinhan is the one heavily ornamented with mystical
symbols. The mystical elements presented through lexical meanings of the
words act like a lifestyle. Pinhan is a bildungsroman in which the protago-
nist, Pinhan, is androgynous from birth and quests to reach to unity from
abundance. He becomes a disciple in a tekke, an Islamic monastery, to hunt
 Shaping the way we believe 119
a bird with a pearl necklace (Pinhan, 14) and decides not to leave the tekke,
getting lost at the blueness of the sea in the eyes of the Shaykh Durri Baba.
The journey symbolically represents the first step of the unification of the
opposite sexes in his body. His recognition and acceptance of the double-
ness in his body recalls the dawr (the cycle of existence passing out from
the Divine Reality down through the Arc of Descent and then back into
the Godhead in the form of the Perfect Man). Koprulu explains this cycle
as “something that comes into existence in this material world, which is
the lowest of the existing worlds, is first manifests ıtself in the form of an
inanimate object, then as a plant, animal, and man, and finally it enters
the form of the perfect man and reaches God.”14 The cyclic relationship
between the land and the sky manifests itself in the equality of contrasts.
Pinhan’s androgynous situation embodies the unification of these contrasts
and reaches into unity in one body. In the novel, a circle is associated with a
point and even resembles a bitten apple, which connotes the story of Adam
and Eve. Through the symbol, Safak attempts to remind the reader of the
fact that people descend from one source and then separate into numer-
ous types through reproduction. She prescribes Sufi doctrine as a remedy to
unite these separated parts. Through the protagonist, the text problematizes
the cultural aspect of multiplicity and implies that, as in the case of Pinhan’s
body, we possess the contrast from which life eventually emerges.
The fact that humans interpret the whole as a combination of various
parts creates “the Other” because of the self-defined nafs in religious dis-
courses. Though nafs generally has negative connotations related to the feel-
ings that humans possess, in some contexts, it means inner power and soul.
For that reason, the text suggests that it is not a good idea to kill the nafs
but rather to know what it is and act accordingly. Durri Baba’s advice to
Pinhan, in that sense, is worth considering here. When Pinhan decides to
leave the tekke, Durri Baba recommends that he know his nafs rather than
kill it.15 His purpose in doing so is that he aims to help Pinhan struggle with
the distracting force that he has to deal with. The following scene depicts
how Pinhan is controlled by his nafs upon meeting with Cuce Cafer (Dwarf
Cafer), who opens the doors of a world he has never been to before. With
Cuce Cafer, Pinhan goes to a bar, enjoys the ecstasy of intoxication and loses
self-control, which shows that Pinhan acts according to the wishes of his
nafs rather than his logic, because he stops searching for the lost pearl given
him by Durri Baba. This is problematized because, unless people use their
reason and common sense, they can become a slave of their nafs, which may
eventually cause an emotional and physical destruction or disaster:

Yet a voice from within was whispering at length that getting back the
pearl was not the only reason that did not leave now. This damp, dirty, and
detached space; these addicted, impudent, this sharp and opened a door
to a completely new life that he never knew before and which he insanely
wonders about now. He wanted to see what was behind the door.16
120 Huseyin Altindis
His decision to pursue discovering the unexperienced behind the symbolic
door actually shows that Pinhan has followed Durri Baba’s advice. The nafs
has wickedness and horribleness, which will create a sense of caution and
would enable people to turn an undesired situation into a desired one. The
wicked and dangerous side of the nafs is portrayed through an image of a
snake, which was a part of the show in the bar where Pinhan had enjoyed
himself. The slithering of the snake and its gazing directly at Pinhan’s eyes17
are the embodiment of the impact of the new environment on him and on
his soul. The snake becomes a source domain for the metaphor, in which the
target domain is the wicked side of the soul. The snake’s directly gazing at
Pinhan’s eyes implies that Pinhan is hypnotized by the new environment and
is under the control of his nafs now.
The writer believes that ecstasy is a gift from Allah rather than an instru-
ment that encourages people to perform religious duties with enthusiasm.
She believes that in our modern world it is highly difficult to appreciate
the state of ecstasy, for some regard that state as nonsense. However, the
author discovers the ecstasy that the modern world has ignored and focuses
on this ecstasy. Thus, she aims to reach and influence more people on the
philosophy of mysticism. The summit of the ecstasy is manifested in Rumi’s
actions. Rumi displays the state of ecstasy by writing poems after he has left
Shams. He states that the poems that he is reciting actually do not belong
to him: “I am writing whatever is whispered to my heart, but I am not the
whisperer.” This implies that this is a divine inspiration.18
Through Pinhan’s example, the text emphasizes that the most important
opponent of someone in his or her journey to God is the nafs within him or
her. It is our conscience that decides whether we should follow the desires
of our nafs or not. Those who use reason and avoid the wicked desires of
the nafs, which are associated with the snake in Pinhan, reach their ultimate
target. Pinhan does not submit himself to his nafs and accomplishes unifica-
tion in his body. A similar message is given in her 2009 novel, Aşk.
In Aşk (The Forty Rules of Love: A Novel of Rumi), Safak prescribes
the mystic doctrine of embracing tolerance and multicultural society. The
novel follows Ella Rubinstein’s self-discovery journey, examining life and
love through Sufi mysticism. Ella is a 40-year-old unhappily married woman
with three children, and there is something missing in her heart, an empti-
ness that was once filled by love. She works as a reader for a literary agency.
Her first assignment is to read and report on Sweet Blasphemy, a novel
written by a man named Aziz Zahara. Ella is mesmerized by his tale of
Shams’s search for Rumi and the dervish’s role in transforming the suc-
cessful but unhappy cleric into a committed mystic, a passionate poet and
an advocate of love. She is also taken with Shams’s lessons, or rules, that
offer insight into an ancient philosophy based on the unity of all people and
religions, and the presence of love in each and every one of us. As she reads
on, she realizes that Rumi’s story mirrors her own and that Zahara – like
Shams – has come to set her free. On the surface level, it is a story about
 Shaping the way we believe 121
the relationship between Ella and Zahara, but on a deeper level, it is the
love story of Shams and Rumi; their quest of the meaning of divine love and
reaching to the divine love is explained. According to Elana Furlanetto, the
novel “takes advantage of the Rumi narrative to formulate an energetic invi-
tation to abandon nationalism and revive multiculturalism,”19 which can be
clearly seen in Rumi’s verses:

I am neither a Moslem nor a Hindu

I am not Christian, Zoroastrian, nor Jew
I am neither of the West nor of the East
Not of the ocean, nor an earthly beast
I am neither a natural wonder
Nor from the stars yonder

Through Rumi’s philosophy, the novel highlights that so long as we approach

“the Other” with love and tolerance, we would have a chance to see that
“the Other” is not different from us in many qualities.20 This attitude at the
same time problematizes the biases we have toward others that result in dis-
tancing ourselves from many values and peculiarities that “the other” has.
A Sufi with a heart full of love toward all created because of the creator
embraces everybody irrespective of language, religion, ethnicity, race and
gender. This approach unites every difference in one absolute entity, which
Rumi defines as a Divine Unity, while Walt Whitman, who wrote “A Persian
Lesson” under the influence of Rumi poetry, defines this as “Soul.”
The forty rules of love that Shams tried to explain in order to clarify the
meaning of Love emphasize that

the love we have is not for the beautiful, but for the beauty, which
overlaps with Greek, Socrates, definition of love. The fortieth rule of
love, according to Shams, is to love everything, everybody and observe
the existence of God manifested in every item around us. Sometimes
this love is achieved metaphorically. For that reason, metaphorical
love acts like a bridge uniting abstract and concrete love in one body.
Through Sham’s discourse, the text problematizes the fact that Love is
divided into various parts, divine love, metaphorical love, worldly love,
somatic love.21

The protagonist, Ella, though Rumi’s therapeutic narrative and rhetoric,

learns to embrace a spiritual lifestyle that opens her heart to love. The love
that Rumi’s philosophy – mysticism – prescribed for the seekers of true love
acts like a healer that ushers the sufferer into divine love. In that sense, the
text highlights the factuality that institutionalized creeds can be substituted
by a more universal and appealing alternative, Sufism. In regard to this phi-
losophy, the fictional Shams calls for the demolition of religion, seeing it as
an idol standing between the individual and God, along with “fame, wealth
122 Huseyin Altindis
and rank.”22 For that reason, it is highly noteworthy that Rumi is presented
as one with “the ability to dig deep below the husk of religion and pull out
from its core the gem that is universal and eternal.”23
In Ask, the four doors of mysticism are defined as steps to be passed to
reach divine love. When Shams mentions the four doors, he also clarifies
the difference between “lover” and “ascetic.” The four doors that the Sufis
dedicated themselves to on the path of Allah are defined as shari‘a, cult,
mystique and truth. In Safak’s text, these four doors are described from
Shams’s point of view: Shams, who states that people cannot defat their
nafs and do nothing to reach the Divine Love, explains that people cannot
reach the divine reality. Shams explains the situation as follows: “Shari‘a
says your stuff is yours and my stuff is mine. Cult says your stuff is yours
and my stuff is yours. Mystique says neither I have something nor you have,
and Reality says, neither you exist nor do I.”24
The relationship between shaykh and disciple is presented through these
four steps in Safak’s novel. In fact, Shams declares that he seeks neither for a
shaykh nor a disciple. He frequently states that he quests for a soul compan-
ion. In that sense, Shams is a companion to help him to be reality in divine
reality or be a mirror of his soul. Shams notes in the novel that

Rumi’s transformation is almost completed. While he was a strict pun-

dit and a rhetor runs quickly in the flow of his own voice, he is now on
the verge of being a poet to be a voice of all silenced. As for me, I have
also changed and changing. I am going from entity to nonentity. From
one rant to another, from life to death. Our friendship and companion-
ship was a grace of and a gift from Allah . . . With Rumi I am reaching
toward the end of my time here in this world. During our companion-
ship, we watched eternity in each other during our friendship like two
mirrors that reflect each other.25

The universal values are presented through mystical lessons of religious

tolerance and corollary to the multiculturalism that the text introduces to
its readers. This act requires people to distance themselves from extremism.
Shams, for example, states that “Sufis don’t go extremes. A Sufi always
remains mild and moderate.”26 To support his point of view, Shams sharply
criticizes religious fundamentalism in the following manner: “Instead of
searching for the essence of the Qur’an, the bigots single out a specific word
or two, giving priority to the divine commands that they deem to be in
tune with their fearful minds.”27 To prove his claim and to problematize the
exploitation of religion, Shams uses a verse from the Qur’an: “Those who
have led a virtuous life will be rewarded with exotic fruits, sweet waters
and virgins.”28 Some bigotry use verses in this nature to fulfill their carnal
and worldly desires. However, sophist philosophy prescribes a more human-
istic and multiculturalist approach that would embrace all differences as
richness, leading to excellence regarding social and intellectual spheres. In
 Shaping the way we believe 123
almost all of her novels, specifically Pinhan and Aşk, Safak uses mystic ele-
ments and Rumi’s doctrine to remind people of the importance of brother-
hood and living together as a community in harmony whether one runs into
traveling musicians, Arabs, Christian pilgrims, Jewish merchants, Buddhist
priests, Frankish troubadours or Persian artists in the streets of Konya. The
narrative strategy of the text explains this richness with a purpose: Despite
their seemingly endless differences, all of these people gave off a similar air
of incompleteness, of the work in progress that they were, each an unfin-
ished masterwork.29
In Aşk, there is an understanding of unity of existence. For that reason
the narrative voice explains this existence, stating: “You must change so
much that you should not be yourself anymore.”30 However, there is not a
direct definition of a perfect human being in Aşk. With Shams’s help, Rumi
completes what he lacks and reaches maturity.31 Sama‘ acts like a bridge
that transforms entities from the material world to the spiritual one. In
Aşk, sama‘, which is defined as a ritual, is explained through the narra-
tives of Shams and Sultan Valad, Rumi’s son. Before performing sama‘,
Rumi, Shams and others contemplate on the existence of Allah, then take
ablution and pray. Valad decribes the emergence of sama‘ in the following
manner:

He approached with careful steps and bending slowly greeted to others.

Following him, [sic] dervishes appeared all of whom were my father’s
previous disciples. Wearing canonical caps, tenure,32 they tied their
hands on their chests bend in front of my father to get permission to
start sama. They walk around the square three times. With the increas-
ing sound of music, dervishes started to whirl one by one. First they
whirl slowly and then gets faster as they whirl. They had four greeting
in the intervals. I do not know how long they whirled. Finally the music
slowed down and the dervishes stopped, they crossed their arms on
their chests and greeted people.33

Ahmet Ümit’s Bab-ı Esrar (the dervish gate)

Another contemporary and very popular writer who utilizes Sufi elements in
his novels is Ahmet Ümit. In Bab-ı Esrar (2008), similar to Safak’s Aşk, the
protagonist, Karen Kimya34 Greenwood, embarks on a journey to the land
of Rumi, where she eventually comes to perceive the world in an enlightened
manner. The journey is arduous, and like a Sufi disciple, Karen Kimya passes
through different stages in order to achieve her ultimate state of awareness.
Only then is she able to come to terms with her internal personal struggles,
which for her start with her earlier abandonment by her Sufi father. The
book’s popularity indicates widespread interest in the book, which is linked
to both its genre and its subject matter, which is Sufism and the relationship
between Rumi and Shams.
124 Huseyin Altindis
Although on the surface level the main theme of the novels looks like a
detective story, at the core of the novel lies Sufi doctrine. In an interview,
Ahmet Ümit explains that the novel has a spiritual purpose to answer the
question of “when will we learn to look at Islam unshackling ourselves from
the clichés? Because mysticism is not known exactly in our country.”35
The story revolves around two main secrets – one is the “secret of a
passion spanning over seven centuries: a flame first lit between Jelalledin
Rumi and Shams of Tabriz;” the other is the “secret behind a seven hun-
dred year old crime: the murder of Shams of Tabriz” (back cover, The
Dervish Gate, 2011). As readers, we witness Karen Kimya’s life-changing
experiences in Konya, where she investigates a hotel fire and a murder in
the present time. The novel also functions as a revisionist historical novel,
which presents the reader with multiple perspectives on the relationship
between Shams and Rumi and Shams’s murder. These multiple perspec-
tives are presented through Karen Kimya’s dreams, hallucinations and sev-
eral fantastic events, which happened during her stay in Konya, including
becoming Shams of Tabriz himself and experiencing what he had gone
through firsthand.36
Sufism is presented as a medium for and an alternative to the question of
identity, and Bab-ı Esrar proposes looking at one’s inner self as a means of
separating religion from politics. As Carl Ernst rightly argues, “In the con-
temporary situation, Sufism has been officially pushed into a dubious and
marginal posture, while still providing spiritual and intellectual tools that
hold their appeal in many diverse and irreducibly local contexts related to
religion and politics.”37
The accounts of Shams and Rumi’s life in the novel were taken from
Ahmet Eflaki’s Ariflerin Menkıbeleri (Intellectual’s Saga) and Şems-i Tebri-
zi’s Makalat. It is clearly stated that the mystic stories described in the novel
are taken from these sources. Apart from that, there are descriptions of
terms such as mysterious, human-perfection, divine love, sama‘, unity of
existence, ecstasy and nafs (desire). It is part of another complete story
in itself that Shams enters into Karen’s dreams and asks her to search for
the truth. The relationship between Karen’s father, Poyraz Efendi, and Sah
Nesim resembles that between Rumi and Shams. Through their relation-
ship, the text aims to show that the path of mysticism is hard and grueling,
and requires a tough training of nafs. The novel describes this as follows:

Whereas in our journey lightness is the main issue; our hearts cannot
bear any other load than that divine love. It is necessary to untangle all
kinds of bonds that will shackle our souls. Dervish is one who is free of
body, free of soul and emotions. However, this job is not an easy task,
the dervish walk down the hill, a day comes and he becomes a crane
flying in the sky, a day comes when he loses his way among steep moun-
tains, and a day comes when he runs like strong rivers and a day comes
he crawls in hot deserts.38
 Shaping the way we believe 125
The novel mentions two different worlds, and mysticism is one. The text
prescribes Sufi doctrine that, in order to be a perfect human being and reach
the divine love (and thus God), one needs to learn to get rid of the pleasures
of this material world. The text highlights that this can be achieved through
the eye of the heart, not with reason: “There are two realms: the first is the
realm of existence, the second is the realm of meaning. The world of beings
is like daytime, you can clearly see what is happening, it shows itself easily.
The realm of meaning, on the other hand, is like a night, you must abso-
lutely burn the light of your heart to find it.”39 Anyone who aims to adopt
mysticism as a philosophy seeks absolute knowledge and thus the creator.
In mystic philosophy, death is not an end in itself but a beginning. Ümit’s
text reminds his readers of this teaching: “Sama does not talk about death; it
actually describes life itself, I mean it tells rebirth.”40 The first step to adopt
mystic philosophy is to accept shari‘a law. To do so the disciple should have
a solid religious knowledge and background. The knowledge of shari‘a law
becomes inadequate for the disciple because he wants to reach the secret
that would take him to the creator, Allah. To reach Allah means to come
from him and to return to him eventually. For Sufis, “Every single word
and letter has hundreds of meanings hidden in the word or letter itself.”41
Ümit consciously emphasizes the fact that Shams was killed by fundamen-
talists who accepted religion as dogma and never questioned or discussed
the religion. Dervish, Izzet Efendi, tells Karen that people who misinterpret
shari‘a could not understand Shams and killed him. They declared Shams a
transgressor because their minds and hearts were blackened, and they were
zealots.42 The text portrays the case as follows:

They did not understand. They consider things bad when they do not
understand them . . . because what they know as a religion is a sacri-
lege. The thing they know as worshipping is a sin. They were eating
human flesh and drinking human blood. The worst thing is that they
were doing it on the name of Allah. Their understanding of the religion
is to strictly follow what is written in the book as if the creator needs
voluntary salves. What they think worship was intolerance as if the
creator likes hatred. They believed that belief was their guarantee of
salvation. Repentance for this world and hereafter as if the creator was
a merchant.43

This portrayal harshly problematizes and challenges traditional mainstream

interpretation of religion. The criticism underscores the necessity of reading
the Qur’an and the verses between the lines and considers the messages figu-
ratively, not just literally. Only in that case can we grasp the deeper meaning
that the creator aims to convey through his language and messages.
To achieve this in mysticism, the disciple is always tested on what is halal
(permissible) and what is forbidden by the religion. Shams, for example,
asks Rumi to find the most beautiful woman to meet his needs, a boy to
126 Huseyin Altindis
help him and some wine. It is sinful to be with a woman without a marriage
contract, and drinking wine is not permissible. If Rumi were a wise man
who followed only the rules of shari‘a, he would not obey Shams, because
of his loyalty to the creator. However, Rumi fulfills Shams’s requests without
questioning them. Upon that, Shams describes someone who would com-
plete all the steps of mysticism: “A lover of god is someone who could sell
all his disciples, honor, and pride for a glass of wine.”44
The reason behind Shams’s test is that Rumi becomes a person who is
never afraid of what the community will say about him. By obeying the
orders of the spiritual leader, he became more mature – before he met
Shams, Rumi had a strong religious training and was a teacher at a madra-
sah (Muslim theological school); however, this was not adequate for him
to reach to the creator. He needed a spiritual leader like Shams. In Bab-ı
Esrar, Rumi explains this in the following manner: “Sheikh is not a believer
but one who makes you believe, shaykh is not the one who explains but
shows, not the one who teaches but the one who uplifts the curtain. You
raised the curtain before my eyes. You showed me the one inside of me. You
are the sheikh, you are the sage, you are the real mate, you are the truth.”45
To explain the relationship between Shams and Rumi, the text implies that
their meeting is arranged by the divine power. Shams prays one day and asks
God to give him a name among his beloved ones.46 When Shams declares
that he can die to see the face of his mate, Rumi, the creator talks to Shams
and states that “this is the meaning. This is Love. Love has only one price
that is the soul. Love that is not blessed with death is not love.”47 Their
friendship, which contributed to the maturation of Rumi, needs to reach
an end. Shams explains this necessity as such: “The adventure of love starts
with one person and when that person finds the beloved one, they continue
together for some time and at the end we are alone again. That started with
us ends with us.”48
This chapter analyzed two contemporary Turkish authors and their pres-
entation of mysticism in their selected texts. Different from Pinhan, both
Aşk and Bab-ı Esrar have similarities due to their themes and settings. Both
novels depict Western protagonists, Ella and Karen, who struggle to find
the meaning of life and search for the truth. The characters meet mystic
philosophy and Rumi’s teaching. The relationship between Shams and Rumi
becomes their healer, and they find the meaning of love and life and finally
reach to the creator through the teachings of these two wise men. Through
the relationship between these two men, we learn about deeper dimensions
of mystic love toward the creator. The studied works explain the basics of
mysticism and aim to create awareness toward multiculturalism and tol-
erance in the community. This awareness aims to recognize and respect
“the other” to create harmony and tolerance in the community, which
reminds us of the famous motto “to love the created because of the crea-
tor.” The selected works sometime give definitions and sometimes convey
messages through the stories of Shams. Mysticism, in a sense, is an esoteric
 Shaping the way we believe 127
explanation of Islam. One who decides to take this path has to undergo
a hard training. This hardness and tedious work that a disciple needs to
undergo is explained in Aşk in detail as follows:

I spent the first forty days of my life here in this place in a small, dingy
and dark cell (suffering house). You can neither stretch yourself nor
stand still. You can turn neither your left nor right. You have to sit on
heels. They strictly caution you: if you are afraid of darkness, if you
starve, or God forbid, if you have a wet dream and desire a woman, ring
the bell on the ceiling immediately and search for a spiritual support!
I stayed in this cell for forty days. I have not rung the bell even once. It
is not because I did not had bad feelings. . . . After being freed from this
suffering house, this time Sertarik came and delivered me to Asci Dede
stating that “don’t spare the rod.” To my surprise, the suffering in the
kitchen was the worst until Shams arrives. The night he arrived, Asci
Dede beat me since I escaped from the kitchen. Then, he took my shoes
and put them out point the front outside of the house implying that it is
time for me to leave the place.49

In Aşk, Safak’s reinterpretation of love and life is revealed through the

shake that people create in their souls. The mystical dimension of love
becomes the main theme of the novels discussed. In Safak’s novels, we can
observe her personal reflection of mysticism. The foundational concepts of
mysticism, love and affection are presented as the very center of life. Love is
alone a world itself. The novel ends with Shams’s words: “It is either in the
middle, center or outside the circle, in longing,”50 which aim to explain the
transformation in Ella’s love from worldly to divine.
In the transformation process depicted by both authors, the main purpose
is to kill one’s desires. In this journey, one has to find a shaykh to himself.
The shaykh helps him unveil the truth and accept the reality that all crea-
tures are a representation of God and behave accordingly. The disciple who
reaches the level of maturity and finds the creator wants to destroy himself
within the creator. For that reason he spends most of the time praying. He
wants to reach God a step closer with every action he performs. Selected
works give detailed steps of this disciple’s journey. Shams and Rumi become
both shaykh and disciple for each other and fill the gaps in their hearts. The
relationship between Shams and Rumi is sometimes misinterpreted by the
community. The selected works aim to restore this misunderstanding and
present a complete picture of their relationship.

Notes
1 Koprulu 2006, p. 7.
2 Ibid., p. 8.
3 Chittick 2005, p. 9.
128 Huseyin Altindis
4 Ikbal 2014, p. 40.
5 Schimmel 1975, p. 4.
6 Ibid., p. 5.
7 Chittick 2005, p. 3.
8 Ibid., p. 10.
9 Ibid., p. 16.
10 Schimmel 1975, p. 98.
11 Ibid., p. 98.
12 Guvenc 2009, n.p.
13 Öztürk 2009; Aygündüz 2009.
14 Koprulu 2006, p. 318.
15 Safak 2009, p. 63.
16 Ibid., p. 151.
17 Ibid., p. 219.
18 Ibid., p. 356.
19 Furlanetto 2013, p. 211.
20 Safak 2009, p. 14.
21 Ibid., p. 415.
22 Ibid., p. 290.
23 Ibid., p. 68.
24 Ibid., p. 230.
25 Ibid., pp. 339–40.
26 Ibid., p. 153.
27 Ibid., p. 182.
28 Ibid.
29 Ibid., p. 109.
30 Ibid., p. 339.
31 Ibid., p. 374.
32 A garment worn over a man’s undergarments that reached from the shoulder to
the ankle.
33 Ibid., p. 330.
34 Kimya means Chemistry in Turkish. Naming the protagonist as Karen Kimya,
the name implies the change of spiritual and body chemistry is required to
achieve the ultimate goal of reaching god. The author may have implied the
chemical reactions. The love toward the beloved and though that to the Divine
love is possible through chemical reactions in the brain that would enable the
lover burn himself with the love of the creator.
35 Quoted in Ferhatoglu and Akpinar 2012, p. 48.
36 Tufekcioglu 2011, p. 13.
37 Ernst 2009, p. 30.
38 Ümit 2011 [2008], p. 380.
39 Ibid., p. 115.
40 Ibid., p. 60.
41 Ibid., p. 351.
42 Ibid.
43 Ibid., p. 159.
44 Ibid., p. 169.
45 Ibid.
46 Ibid., p. 6.
47 Ibid., p. 133.
48 Ibid., p. 309.
49 Safak 2009, p. 114.
50 Ibid., p. 415.
 Shaping the way we believe 129
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Ernst, Carl. 2009. “Sufism, Islam, and Globalization in the Contemporary World:
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Dixon. Istanbul: Everest.
6 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and
ideals of Sufism in an early
Ottoman context
Eşrefoğlu Rumi and his book
of the Sufi path
Barış Baştürk

Introduction
Gör ol şeyhsiz gidenleri
Kimi mülhid kimi dehri
Olma sen cebri ya kaderi
Zinhar şeyhe eriş şeyhe

Hakk habibi iken resul

Şeyhsiz Hakk’a varmadı yol
Kim şeyhi yok şeytandır ol
Zinhar şeyhe eriş şeyhe1

See those who walk without a shaykh

Some are heretics, some materialists
Be neither a Jabrite nor a Qadarite2
So reach a shaykh, a shaykh

When the Messenger was a lover of God

The road did not reach God without a shaykh
One who is without a shaykh has the devil as shaykh
So reach a shaykh, a shaykh3

In the two previous quatrains, Eşrefoğlu Rumi advises his audience to find
a shaykh (spiritual guide). This call reflects his emphasis on the role of a
shaykh in his understanding of Sufi Islamic piety. With the advice to follow
a shaykh, Eşrefoğlu Rumi lays out the foundation of his understanding of
piety. In the same quatrain, he also makes the argument that those without a
shaykh are heretics or materialists. Therefore, with this quatrain, Eşrefoğlu
Rumi not only points out his vision of ideal piety but also addresses the
question of how those who fall outside this vision are to be labeled. In this
instance, they are not only excluded from the higher levels of piety but also
placed outside the boundaries of his understanding of Islamic “orthodoxy,”
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 131
that is, what he understood to be “true Islam” and “correct” doctrine and
practice. Instead, Eşrefoğlu Rumi hints that the groups who do not pos-
sess spiritual guides (shaykhs) are heretics. What does this fifteenth-century
Ottoman Sufi figure’s vision of a shaykh-centered piety as the foundational
ideal of his Sufi vision tell modern scholars about the peculiarities of late
medieval and early modern Islamic religiosities? How does this vision relate
to a particular notion of Islamic Sufi piety as associated with “correct doc-
trine” as well as a spiritual ideal?
Different scholars have used terms like confessional ambiguity, meta-
doxy, doctrinal fluidity and religiously promiscuous ambiance in reference
to Islam in the post-Mongol and early Ottoman eras.4 The way modern
scholars evaluate this period has not been independent of their understand-
ing of what Islam is.5 Much of our current understanding of early modern,
as well as modern, Islam in the Ottoman Empire can be traced to the devel-
opments of the sixteenth century, particularly to the Ottoman-Safavid wars
and to the reconfiguration of sectarian divisions that followed the initial
Ottoman-Safavid conflict. These developments led to a transformation of
the late medieval understanding of Islam during the Early Modern period.
From the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Ottoman Empire pre-
sented itself as a champion of Sunni Islam. This endorsement of Sunni Islam
can be seen as a reaction to the emergence of the Safavid Empire as a major
Shiite power. The sixteenth century witnessed the rise of these two major
Islamic empires while two imperial polities were also engaged in an intense
struggle along sectarian lines. The Ottoman state came to see and present
itself as the upholder and defender of Sunni Islam, increasingly using Sunni
rhetoric to legitimize its existence and policies. In turn, the founder of the
Safavid Empire, Shah Ismail I (1501–1524), proclaimed Twelver Shi’ism the
religion of the state, thus giving preference to “high,” “scriptural” Shi’ism
over “ghulat” Shi’ism, which was favored by Ismail’s semi-nomadic Tur-
coman Qizilbash supporters, who, indeed, played a central role in bringing
the Safavid state into existence but were seen as “heretics” by both Sunni
and Shi’ite ulema on account of ghulat Shi’ism’s embracement of some con-
cepts that ran counter to shariʿa, such as reincarnation (hulul) and transmi-
gration of souls (tanasukh).6
The Ottomans experienced a similar transformation throughout the fif-
teenth century. Though the nomadic religious tendencies did not completely
die out, they were contained. This reconfiguration is important because it
continues to influence the sectarian divisions in the Islamic world today.
Thus, scholars’ understanding of Islam today is not independent of this
reconfiguration.
But how was pre-sixteenth-century Islam experienced and understood?
A close study of the works and ideas of Eşrefoğlu Rumi (d. 1469), a promi-
nent Sufi figure who lived in fifteenth-century Anatolia, could offer modern
scholars invaluable insights into understanding Islamic religiosity in pre-
sixteenth-century Ottoman society.
132 Barış Baştürk
This chapter will briefly explore Eşrefoğlu Rumi in the historical and reli-
gious context of the early Ottoman polity. It will examine two particular
concepts: orthodoxy and sectarianism. I will then discuss Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s
ideals of Sufism, which are characteristic of the emergence of a particular
version of early Ottoman piety. Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi ideals include the
centrality of the shaykh, asceticism, an emphasis on a spiritual hierarchy
of shaykh, disciples and common believers and different Sufi rituals and
pious behavior. The analysis of these concepts in Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s works
and his ideals of Sufism can offer fresh perspectives to scholars focusing on
this particular era. His understanding and expression of a specific kind of
piety may help attain a better understanding of the evolution of the notion
of “orthodoxy” during this period.
What was the framework of Islam in Anatolia and the Balkans before
the sixteenth century? Scholars have utilized terms such as religious syncre-
tism, heterodoxy, Islamization, popular Islam and folk Islam to discuss the
religious framework of this period.7 What were the main characteristics of
Rumi/Ottoman8 Islam in the fifteenth century? The answer to this question
is closely related to the debate about the Islamization of the lands of Rum.
The Turkification and Islamization processes that had started in Anatolia
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries reached a milestone roughly around
the fifteenth century, when most of the population had become Turkish-
speaking and Muslim.9 In the Balkans, by contrast, these processes began in
the fourteenth century, and, by the fifteenth century, Turkish and Muslim
populations were still a very small minority. Despite the limited size of the
Turkish-speaking and Muslim populations, the Balkans became part of the
dar al-Islam (the Abode of Islam) under the Ottoman Empire, and Ottoman
Turkish became the language of the administrative elite within the Empire.
In this context, it is possible to see the fifteenth century and even the early
sixteenth century as a period in which the development of high Islamic cul-
ture concluded its formative period in the lands of Rum and had become
a dominant cultural force. From the second half of the fifteenth century
onward, the institutions of the emerging “Ottoman high Islamic culture,”
such as state-sponsored madrasas and some urban dervish lodges, educated,
employed and sponsored a self-sustaining Ottoman Islamic establishment.10
This proliferation of Ottoman religious institutions brought Ottoman high
culture into Anatolia and Balkans, where it interacted with the local popu-
lation. This process allowed for the development of a local high Islamic
culture.11 Scholars have pointed out that Islamization and Sunnitization are
historical processes that are results of certain intellectual accumulation of
religious culture and education.12 In this context, scholars and Sufi figures,
such as Eşrefoğlu Rumi, contributed to the spread of a certain religious cul-
ture and Sufi education among the Ottoman population.
William Hickman describes Eşrefoğlu Rumi as “one of the major figures
of 15th century Ottoman Sufism: inspired teacher, author of manuals of
mystical belief and practice, and poet of lasting renown.”13 It was in this
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 133
transitional environment of fifteenth century that Eşrefoğlu Rumi became a
disciple of the famous Sufi figure Hacı Bayram. Later, Eşrefoğlu Rumi went
to Hama in Syria to join the Qadiri Sufi order, which had been established
by Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani.14 On his way back to Anatolia, he founded a
Sufi lodge in the town of İznik (Nicaea) in northwestern Anatolia. He was
a member of the Qadiri order in Anatolia, which would evolve into what
would later be referred to as “the Eşrefi branch” of the order. Hickman sug-
gests that the established account that most modern scholars have accepted
about Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s life originates from the hagiographical account of
his life, Menakıb-ı Eşrefzade. He states that the oldest source for Eşrefoğlu
Rumi’s life is Al-Shaqa’iq al-Numaniyya, by Ahmed Taşköprüzade, which
discusses Eşrefoğlu Rumi as a scholar. Hickman argues that Al-Shaqa’iq
al-Numaniyya should not be dismissed by scholars, but at the same time it
should not be accepted without reservations.15
The life story of Eşrefoğlu Rumi reflects the developments that were tak-
ing place in this period. His Sufi training and the articulation and propaga-
tion of his version of the Qadiri Sufi path is characteristic of his time. During
this period, many scholars and Sufi figures sought knowledge and mysti-
cal enlightenment in the central Islamic lands. These figures contributed to
the transmission of culture from the central Islamic lands to the lands of
Rum and became influential in the creation of Ottoman Islamic institutions.
Atçıl discusses how polities like the early Ottoman state benefitted from
the knowledge and expertise of scholars, while increasing their legitimacy
through patronage of scholars.16
Eşrefoğlu Rumi wrote two major works, as well as a poetry collection
(divan). According to Taşköprüzade, Eşrefoğlu Rumi was a scholar who
taught at the madrasa in Nicaea.17 He authored the work Müzekki an-
Nüfus (The Purifier of Souls) to popularize his Sufi ideas and educate com-
mon believers about Islamic principles. His work Tarikatname (The Book
of the Sufi Path) has a more specific audience in mind. It can be seen as
an attempt to reach and provide guidance to the potential disciples, who
were interested in the path of Sufism.18 Eşrefoğlu Rumi provides stories with
morals embedded in Sufi ideals to disseminate his opinions on the basics
of Sufism. He presents to these potential disciples with his own ideals of
Sufi piety and urges them to identify the “right” spiritual master. The book
contains sections on the qualities of the right shaykh, his duties and the
importance of following a shaykh; the characteristics of the awliya’ (saints)
and anbiya (prophets); the hierarchical order of different Sufi positions;
criticism of some “munafiq”19 groups; the qualities of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib20
in comparison with other caliphs; and sections on some ascetic ideals, such
as remembrance of God (dhikr), isolation (khalwa) and taming the soul
(nafs). These works can be seen as instructive manuals that aim to guide the
recently Islamized and Turkified Rumi Muslims and teach them the basics of
the Islamic faith, rituals and Sufi ideas. As several scholars have pointed out,
the early Ottoman authors produced literature comprising hagiographies
134 Barış Baştürk
and ‘ilm-i hals (catechetical works) to educate the Muslim population in
Anatolia and Balkans, including recent converts, about the basics of the
Islamic creed.21

The shaping of Ottoman “orthodoxy”: historical

and conceptual perspectives
How did Eşrefoğlu Rumi fit into the framework of fifteenth-century Otto-
man society and Ottoman Islam? In the fifteenth century, the institution-
alization and the imperial transformation of the Empire were still in the
making. Karen Barkey demonstrates that the Ottoman Empire was in the
process of subjugating Islam to the state and would maintain different
Muslim religious groups at court. The Ottomans came to function as the
protector of a particular Sunni Islamic ideology without diminishing the
legitimacy of and coexistence with a variety of different interpretations.22
She states that, for ordinary believers, the state and religion came to be
perceived as two sides of the same coin. Therefore, state-endorsed Ottoman
imperial Islam should not be seen as a uniform religiocultural phenomenon
but rather as a network of different interrelated Islamic religiosities. The
Ottoman state’s multidimensional stance on Islam may be seen as tolerating
the coexistence of diverse and competing Ottoman Islamic “orthodoxies”
rather than one particular “Ottoman orthodoxy” dominating other forms
of Islamic religiosity.23
This brings us to the issue of how Islamic orthodoxy can be defined. Sev-
eral scholars have claimed that the use of the term orthodoxy is not suit-
able when discussing Islam, as Islam is a religion of orthopraxy. According
to this view, orthopraxy, or how people behave as Muslims, holds greater
importance than what followers believe.24 Brett Wilson suggests the usage of
the term orthodoxy in Islamic studies brought more confusion than clarity.25
Norman Calder cites scripture, community, gnosis, reason and charisma
as categories that capture religious belief.26 He argues that Sunni Islam is
more strongly influenced by the notion of community than any of his other
categories. Madrasa-style Islam is usually seen as the purveyor of Islamic
high culture and is associated with Islamic orthodoxy. However, in Sufi and
Shiite traditions, other categories, such as gnosis and charisma, came to be
key factors in the making of Islamic orthodoxies.
Talal Asad defines Islam above all as a tradition. He explains that “a
tradition consists essentially of discourses that seek to instruct practitioners
regarding the correct form and purpose of given practice.” His definition of
tradition emphasizes the correct form and purpose of a given practice. He
argues that it is misleading to claim that Islam is a religion of orthopraxy
and not orthodoxy. In his assessment, the statement that Islam is a reli-
gion of orthopraxy and not orthodoxy undermines the importance of what
can be defined as “correct belief” in Islam. Asad criticizes scholars, such
as Abdul Hamid El-Zein and Ernest Gellner, who, in the case of El-Zein,
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 135
deemphasize the importance of orthodoxy or, in the case of Gellner, define
it as mere doctrine. Instead, Asad defines orthodoxy as “a distinctive rela-
tionship – a relationship of power to truth.”27 Asad clarifies that orthodoxy
is not a “mere body of opinion” but is based on the power of Muslims to
regulate practices.28 Asad accepts the idea that the definition of a tradition
will be contested by the power structures that surround it.29
As discussed previously, the absence of an official, centralized clergy in
Islam complicates the question of orthodoxy.30 For instance, W. Montgom-
ery Watt argues that the absence of a decision-making body similar to that
of the Christian church means that terms such as “orthodoxy” and “hetero-
doxy” are not applicable in the case of Islam.31 If this is the case, how and
why is the usage of “orthodoxy” still so prevalent in modern Islamic studies?
Could scholars of Islam decide on a definition of orthodoxy? The absence
of an official clergy and church structure complicates defining an Islamic
orthodoxy because it means that there is no singular authoritative institu-
tion to decide doctrine in religious matters within the Islamic religious and
cultural space. In this kind of environment, scholars, as well as individual
religious leaders, such as leaders of various religious and mystical orders,
have a larger role to play and can make their case in the debates about defin-
ing Islam and formulating a “correct doctrine” as a part of Islamic tradition.
For this reason, one can talk about the existence of multiple and competing
orthodoxies.
The main presumption in the discussion about Islamic orthodoxy is schol-
ars’ belief in the existence of a particular version of Islam that is “correct.”
According to this approach, the interpretations and practices of Islamic reli-
gion that do not follow this specific “correct” approach have usually been
labeled as “heterodox” versions of Islam. Scholars connected the abun-
dance of concepts, such as orthodoxy in Islamic studies, to the imposition
of Western religious categories on studies of Islam. Brett Wilson suggests
that, although the term orthodoxy originally meant “correct doctrine,” it
is currently used in the English language to mean religious beliefs and prac-
tices that are conventional, prevalent, normal, conservative, hardcore or
overzealous.32 This usage demonstrates how the original meaning of ortho-
doxy shifted with time from “correct doctrine” to the “mainstream belief.”
Perhaps this shift could be interpreted as evidence of the prejudices of some
scholars generally working on religion and more specifically on Islam. Rob-
ert Langer and Udo Simon suggest that the concept of zandaqa in Islam has
been applied to any kind of “heresy.” They remind the reader that this term
became prevalent in the tenth century by classical Sunni heresiographers to
denote a large spectrum of non-conformist beliefs.33
Scholars have generously utilized concepts such as orthodoxy, heterodoxy
and heresy in their studies of early Ottoman Islam. Alexander Knysh argues
that students of Islam and social anthropologists have adopted an ahistori-
cal notion of a timeless orthodoxy.34 Some scholars have doubted the neces-
sity of the usage of these concepts in the study of Islam. Knysh suggests that
136 Barış Baştürk
scholars usually fall into one of two groups: those who define a group as
orthodox for the purpose of their study, and those who are critical of the use
of the term orthodox in the context of Islam.35 One might argue that terms
like orthodoxy, when used without a clear definition, put the author at risk
of making theological assumptions.
Recently, the dichotomization of Islamic doctrine and practice as hetero-
dox and orthodox have been criticized by scholars.36 Scholars who were
critical of the dichotomization of Islamic doctrine and practice as “ortho-
dox” and “heterodox” seem to prefer utilizing terms such as “shariʿa-
minded,” “shariʿa-abiding” or “non-shariʿa-minded” (Islam), instead of
“orthodox” and “heterodox.”37 This dichotomization could make it easier
for scholars to distinguish among different approaches to Islamic doctrine
and practice. However, one should also consider the non-static, evolution-
ary nature of shariʿa. The interpretation of Islamic law has changed depend-
ing on the subject and time, which challenges the assumption of a timeless
and unchanging Islamic law.
The relativity of concepts such as orthodoxy, heterodoxy and heresy does
not necessarily mean their usage should be avoided. I suggest that these con-
cepts only be used in reference to a particular point of view espoused by an
individual or a group. Clearly, believers will tend to consider themselves and
their interpretations to be orthodox rather than heterodox or heretical.38 In
other words, orthodoxy can be used by acknowledging the usage of multiple
and competing orthodoxies. Different groups will see their own interpreta-
tions of Islam as correct doctrine and practice. Respectively, they will see
other interpretations as incorrect, hence multiple orthodoxies. The concepts
of orthodoxy and heterodoxy are useful if the author using these terms clearly
defines his or her use of the terms in the context of a work. For instance,
scholars should not attempt to impose their own judgements about whether
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s ideas are orthodox or not. Instead, they should be able to
analyze how Eşrefoğlu Rumi is building his understanding of “orthodoxy,”
either by attempting to understand his own version of “correct” doctrine or
by defining those groups or beliefs that he considers heterodox or heretical.
Islamic institutions have played a role in the development of an orthodoxy
in the sense of an orthodoxy defined by a centralized authority. The o ­ fficial
support that the ‘ulama’ establishment enjoyed in the Ottoman Empire
could theoretically bring them close to being “makers of an orthodoxy.”
But did the ulema have the monopoly on the formulation of an Islamic
orthodoxy, or could Sufi orders, or other individuals and institutions, play
a role in the making of orthodoxy?
Nikolay Antov suggests that the process of Ottoman “articulation of
a religious orthodoxy” began even before the emergence of the Safavid
Empire as a challenger to the Ottoman religious ideology in the second
half of the fifteenth century. Nevertheless, the Safavid challenge did
increase the Ottoman need to articulate an imperial religious ideology.39
As seen in the case of the Ottoman-Safavid rivalry, political concerns can
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 137
be influential in the understanding of orthodoxy. In the case of Otto-
man Islam in particular, the Ottomans created the post of the chief mufti
(Shaykh al-Islam) and sponsored madrasas and other similar institutions.
These actions could be seen as Ottomans attempting to formulate or
shape their own orthodoxy. Thus, one could claim that by the sixteenth
­century, the Ottoman state had become an important actor in the concep-
tualization of orthodoxy.40 Could we see state-sponsored religion as the
orthodox form of Islam? Where did scholars such as Eşrefoğlu Rumi fit in
the making of “Islamic orthodoxy”?

Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s construction of orthodoxy

I will claim that Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Tarikatname can be seen as a Sufi’s
attempt to construct his own version of an Ottoman Sunni-Sufi orthodoxy.
The “orthodoxy” that Eşrefoğlu Rumi strove to construct is connected with
his particular Sunni Sufism, in which the spiritual guidance of the shaykh
plays a seminal role. His version of Sufi Islam does not reject shariʿa-minded
piety and includes non-mystical approaches to Islam. This distinguishes him
from the antinomian Sufi movements prominent in the fifteenth-century
lands of Rum.41
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s understanding of true religion and piety can be defined
by evaluating his conception of what falls outside the boundaries of his own
understanding of proper Islam, i.e., his orthodoxy. He criticizes groups that
fall outside his ideals of Islamic piety and “true doctrine.” An analysis of
what he considers improper Islam will provide an understanding of his own
views on the ideals of Islamic piety and orthodoxy.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi criticizes people who follow the basic tenets of religion
solely for receiving benefits from God but do not hold the Sufi ideal of
reaching God for the sake of reaching God in and of itself. He considers
the people who do pious deeds for worldly reasons to be people without
religion and people of “wrong” belief.42 He claims that their actions cannot
truly be counted as pious deeds.43 This fact demonstrates the importance
that Eşrefoğlu Rumi places on intention in piety. His emphasis on the Sufi
idea that seeking God is its own reward demonstrates the centrality and
importance of Sufi piety in the making of his own “orthodoxy.”
Eşrefoğlu Rumi criticizes certain groups without specifying who they are
and labels them münafiks.44 He claims that these people read books such as
Arşname and Gencname, which are the works of Fadlallah Astarabadi, the
founder of the Hurufi movement.45 These claims strongly suggest that these
groups could be Hurufis or groups who hold certain Hurufi beliefs. Modern
studies demonstrate that Hurufi beliefs included the centrality of human
being in the Hurufi theology.46 Eşrefoğlu Rumi claims that these groups
do not believe in the Qur’an and the hadith and that they treat the Qur’an
as the divan (poetry collection) of the Prophet Muhammad (i.e., they saw
Muhammad as the creator/author of the Qur’an).
138 Barış Baştürk
Eşrefoğlu Rumi makes the seemingly contradictory claims that these pre-
sumably Hurufi groups do not believe in the existence of God but believe
that God is the one who encompasses everything.47 Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s cri-
tique seems to come from the fact that the Hurufi conceptualization of God
differs from his own. He appears to be critical of some pantheistic strains
of Hurufism that diminish the distinction between God and his subjects.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi continues his criticism, claiming that these groups call each
other God, implying they attribute divinity to men. He makes clear that
prostrating themselves before one another rather than before God is not
acceptable.48 Eşrefoğlu Rumi is critical of these ideas probably because he
believes that it will lead to belief in the divinity of man, which would be
considered heresy by most interpretations of Islam. He also suggests that
their ‘ilm49 is satanic in origin.50 Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s opinions show us that a
Sufi figure, in this case Eşrefoğlu Rumi, is making his own case in defining
the boundaries of “orthodoxy” and definition of heresy in Islam.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi mentions some Sufi groups who claim that their prayers
were already being performed and have thus abandoned the practice of
prayers (namaz). He claims that, because of their abandonment of prayer,
these people have become münafık (Ar. munafiq) and kafir.51 Thus it is
legitimate Islamic practice to kill them. He cites the hadith, which claims
that the abandonment of namaz will lead to unbelief (kufr).52 He gives the
example of Muhammad and Ali who, according to Eşrefoğlu Rumi, never
abandoned the ritual prayer (salat).53
Eşrefoğlu Rumi provides a discussion of some debates in Islamic theol-
ogy (kalam). He provides his views on the theological debate of whether
the Qur’an is eternal or created. According to Eşrefoğlu Rumi, the Qur’an
was created and eternal at the same time.54 He argues the Qur’an is cre-
ated only in the sense that it was written down and compiled by people.
However, the text of the Qur’an was revealed by God and is thus eternal,
not created. Eşrefoğlu Rumi claims that the groups who suggest that the
Qur’an is only created and not revealed are to be considered infidels. His
arguments on the nature of the Qur’an represent another point at which he
draws a boundary of who can claim to be a Muslim and what falls outside
the Islamic religion.55 With these pronouncements, Eşrefoğlu Rumi is acting
as a Sufi leader, setting the boundaries of his own understanding of Islamic
orthodoxy by taking stances on subjects such as the nature of the Qur’an.

Sectarianism
As already mentioned, a major reconfiguration of sectarian boundaries in
the Islamic world occurred in the sixteenth century with the emergence of
the Twelver Shi’ite Safavid Empire of Iran and the conflict between the lat-
ter and the Ottoman Empire, which would, in turn, increasingly style itself
as a defender of “Sunni orthodoxy.” Prior to this major sixteenth-century
conflict, Ottoman Islam placed less emphasis on sectarian differences.56
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 139
For this reason, the pre-sixteenth-century framework of sectarian bound-
aries was very different from the later, more institutionalized framework.
Cemal Kafadar interprets this early period of Anatolian Islam as a period in
which the distinctions between orthodox and heterodox aspects of Ottoman
Islam had yet to develop. For this reason, Kafadar also employs the term
“metadoxy” for this early period of Ottoman Islam.57 According to Kafa-
dar, metadoxy is “a state of being beyond doxies, a combination of being
doxy-naive and being doxy-minded, as well as the absence of a state that
was interested in rigorously defining and strictly enforcing an orthodoxy.”58
Kafadar applies this understanding of metadoxy to sectarianism as well.
In the same section, he states: “In this context, even if one were able to
identify some particular item of faith as heterodox, this would not neces-
sarily imply ‘Shi’i’ as it is usually assumed; questions of orthodoxy and
heterodoxy, even if they are meaningful, should not be formulated along
the lines of Sunni/Shi’i sectarianism.”59 Thus, the early Ottoman era can be
interpreted with less emphasis on sectarian differences between the mainline
Islamic sects of Sunnism and Shiʿism.
In several different instances in Tarikatname, Eşrefoğlu Rumi expresses
the value of the lineage of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin and son-in-law
of the Prophet. Eşrefoğlu Rumi argues that real Muslims would value the
house of the Prophet. He criticizes the Kharijites and considers them “worse
than infidels” because of their distaste for the lineage of ‘Ali.60 Eşrefoğlu
Rumi discusses the murder of ‘Ali’s children Hassan and Husayn, cursing
their murderers. He concludes by indicating that no further discussion on
the issue is required.61
Eşrefoğlu Rumi is self-consciously Sunni. His affiliation is made clear
when he claims that the Sunni sect is the right one, using the term mezheb-i
evla (the favored path) to describe the Sunni sect. He compares sectarian dif-
ferences regarding certain rituals in Islamic religious practice.62 From here,
we further get a sense of his sectarian preference toward the Sunni sect.
While Eşrefoğlu Rumi uses the term mezheb (Ar. madhhab, Tr. mezheb) to
refer to the Sunnis as a “sect” in Islam, he utilizes the same term in the tradi-
tional sense (as a school of jurisprudence or legal thought) when discussing
the four Sunni schools of legal thought; but he claims that the ideal dervish
should hold the four Sunni madhhab as one. He also suggests that the der-
vish should follow the madhhab that is the most compatible with the Sufi
ideal of takwa,63 whatever that madhhab might be. Unlike his endorsement
of the Sunni sect, he does not explicitly name his madhhab preference.64
At the same time, Eşrefoğlu Rumi attributes a very seminal and central
position in his Sufi theology to ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib. Although this seminal
position might be surprising in light of a post-medieval Sunni Islamic point
of view, it is not unusual for some Sufi groups, including Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s
order, to pay great respect to ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib. In various instances in the
Tarikatname, Eşrefoğlu Rumi constructs an image of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib that
is fundamental to his understanding of Sufism and Islam. He praises ‘Ali
140 Barış Baştürk
as the most virtuous (efdal) and saintly (evliya), emphasizes his relation to
Muhammad and describes him as “the lion of God.”65 He perceives ‘Ali as
the perfect Sufi, whose examples should ideally be emulated by all Sufis. He
cites the hadith, which allegedly includes the Prophet’s words “I am the gate
of ilm and Ali is its gate” to emphasize the prestigious spiritual position of
‘Ali ibn Abi Talib in his Sufi theology.66 The most central part of Eşrefoğlu
Rumi’s Sufi theology is the central position of the spiritual Sufi leader (the
shaykh). According to Eşrefoğlu Rumi, one key marker of the right shaykh
is his pedigree, which should be traced back to ‘Ali.67
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s conceptualizes ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib as incapable of sin
(masum), in contrast to the first three caliphs, who were sinners. Eşrefoğlu
Rumi suggests that, while the first three caliphs were sinners, they sinned only
in the Age of Ignorance (jahiliyya), before the revelations of the Prophet. He
claims that they drank wine and adored idols before they became Muslims.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s criticism of three caliphs is therefore limited. Nevertheless,
the account of the three caliphs contrasts with the account of ‘Ali. Eşrefoğlu
Rumi suggests that ‘Ali, even in the jahiliyya, never sinned, drank wine,
lied, committed adultery or committed any other sin.68 It is obvious from
the text that Eşrefoğlu Rumi is attempting to conceptualize an image of ‘Ali
that is essentially good, pure and superior to ordinary human beings. He
separates this image of ‘Ali from the image of the first three caliphs, who
were respected in many interpretations of Sunni Islam. He advises the fol-
lowers of the Sufi path to love ‘Ali more than all other caliphs. Even though
Eşrefoğlu Rumi remains within the boundaries of Sunni Islam, this sacrali-
zation of ‘Ali is reminiscent of some Shiite interpretations of Islam.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s emphasis on the “right” shaykh, who is supposed to
have an ‘Alid lineage, resembles the position of the Shiite imam, who is
also supposed to have an ‘Alid lineage, according to Shiite political theory.
Shiite political and religious theorists emphasized the necessity of imams
of ‘Alid lineages. These imams were and are considered the spiritual and
political leaders of the Islamic community, not unlike the shaykhs with ‘Alid
lineages in Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s cosmology, who are supposed to be leaders
of Sufi orders. This spiritual leadership could appear the most religiously
prestigious from the perspective of Eşrefoğlu Rumi. In contrast to some
interpretations of Shiite political theory, spiritual leadership does not neces-
sarily translate into political leadership of the community. The Shiite con-
ceptualization of the imam also perceives ‘Ali as a sinless human being and
challenges the legitimacy of the first three caliphs. The similarity between
the ideal Sufi shaykh with ‘Alid lineage and the Shiite conceptualization
of an imam has led some scholars to argue that Sufism and Shiʿism experi-
enced a rapprochement.69 It is this lack of strong sectarian differences in this
period – in contrast to the strong sectarian rhetoric of the Safavid-Ottoman
rivalry – that has been interpreted as a rapprochement between Sufism and
Shiʿism. Could scholars consider a similarity in the form of emphasis on the
position of the ‘Ali as a rapprochement between Sufism and Shiʿism? Is this
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 141
similarity simply the feature of Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi ideals? To what extent
was the reverence for ‘Ali and ‘Alid lineage a characteristic shared by Sunni
Sufi figures of the age?

Sufi ideals of Eşrefoğlu Rumi

Eşrefoğlu Rumi attributes a seminal role to the shaykh. Possessing a “right-
ful” shaykh is one of his key ideas in Tarikatname. He attempts to persuade
his readers that a disciple can only succeed with a proper shaykh. Eşrefoğlu
Rumi suggests that a person who does not have a rightful master in the Sufi
path will have the devil as his guide.70 He encourages potential disciples of
the Sufi path to search for a “rightful” shaykh.71 The search for the right
shaykh has a substantial importance in Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s understanding of
Islamic piety. This is made clear by his particular emphasis on the spiritual
guidance of the right shaykh. This emphasis on the centrality of the spiritual
guidance of the right shaykh may be the single most important reason that
Eşrefoğlu Rumi wrote a manual like Tarikatname.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi establishes a hierarchy of discipleship. He considers the
shaykhs to be the spiritual guides of the Sufi novices, while God is the spir-
itual guide of the shaykhs. He suggests that the shaykhs possess human as
well as angelic characteristics.72 For this reason, he favors a strong adher-
ence to the authority of the shaykh on the part of the disciples. Eşrefoğlu
Rumi claims that attempting to follow a shaykh is more important than
completing a pilgrimage. He argues that the primary reason for pilgrimage
is to reach paradise; whereas, the primary reason to follow a shaykh is to
reach God.73
Eşrefoğlu Rumi quotes al-Ghazali’s warning that false shaykhs can lead
Muslims down the path of heresy. For this reason, Eşrefoğlu Rumi provides
his readers with several guidelines to distinguish a “correct shaykh” from a
false one. He suggests that a correct shaykh should have four characteristics.
The shaykh should be ‘alim (learned, scholar), he should follow the shariʿa
without introducing innovations, he should be ready to provide guidance
and assistance and be capable of doing so and he should be a descendant
of the Prophet Muhammad and ‘Ali.74 Trimingham suggests that the silsila
(chain of succession) of the tariqas (Sufi orders) are usually traced back to
‘Ali and sometimes to Abu Bakr or Umar.75
Eşrefoğlu Rumi believes in the existence of a qutb (spiritual pole) that
guides humanity in each age. The descendants of the Muhammad-‘Ali-
Husayn line are believed to continue the mission of guiding humanity.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi suggests the existence of different qutbs. Some of them live
in different parts of the world. However, he points out that in each age, there
is only one qutb al-aqtab (Pole of Poles; i.e., a superior qutb). This one is
considered spiritually higher than other ones.76
Eşrefoğlu Rumi does not consider reading of the Qur’an to be a replace-
ment for following a shaykh. According to him, a higher level of piety may
142 Barış Baştürk
only be obtained with the spiritual guidance of a shaykh. He criticizes the
people who consider the Qur’an alone to be their master.77 This critique is
intended to place the spiritual emphasis on the person of the spiritual guide
(shaykh) rather than piety through self-study and the reading of the Qur’an.
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s argument against self-made piety demonstrates the signifi-
cance he attributes to the position of a shaykh. In this case, it is given a status
higher even than the most prestigious and holy book of Islam, the Qur’an.
Another Sufi ideal for Eşrefoğlu Rumi is reaching God for God’s sake.
He associates this behavior exclusively with the people of the Sufi path.78
In other words, his piety not only is very shaykh-centered but also clearly
distinguishes between the common people and the people of the Sufi path.
His statement that “the sins of the Sufis are preferable to the goodness of
the common people” encapsulates this ideal.79 He claims that, as opposed
to the Sufis, the common people do good for fame, not for God.80 With
this understanding, Eşrefoğlu Rumi establishes a spiritual hierarchy in the
scene of Islamic religiosities and attributes different spiritual levels for peo-
ple according to their relationship to his Sufi theology.

Conclusion
In this chapter, I attempted to demonstrate Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s ideals of Sufi
piety. He endorses the Sufi ideal of reaching God for God’s sake, rather
than reaching God for any personal benefit. The angelic characteristic that
he attributes to the shaykhs demonstrates the importance of the concept of
wilaya, the Companionship of God, in the cosmology of Eşrefoğlu Rumi.
This shaykh-centered Sufi piety is so central for Eşrefoğlu Rumi that it is
conceptualized as a higher level of piety. In this context, even performing the
pilgrimage – which has been seen as one of the essential Islamic pillars, as
well as using the Qur’an as a main guide for pious behavior – becomes less
meritorious than following the guidance of the “right” shaykh. Eşrefoğlu
Rumi endorses a hierarchical vision of Islamic piety that characterizes the
piety of Sufi shaykhs and their disciples as the correct doctrine. Addition-
ally, he places this vision on a higher spiritual stage than what he considers
the popular religiosity of the “common people.” The emphasis on a separa-
tion of theSufi elite from popular religious pieties is a very central feature of
Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s piety.
I have attempted to convey that the categories that modern historians
continue to utilize are shaped tremendously by our modern assumptions
about religious ideas. Studying and attempting to understand the mentali-
ties of medieval and early-modern scholars and religious figures, such as
Eşrefoğlu Rumi, will challenge these categories and conceptualizations and
lead to a more sophisticated and nonbinary understanding of medieval and
early modern religiosities. A rigorous analysis of Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi piety
and ideas will challenge the established categories of orthodoxy versus het-
erodoxy and Sunni Islam versus Shiite Islam. In response to this challenge,
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 143
scholars could establish a new framework and categories that do not fall
into the trap of binary oversimplicity. Concepts such as orthodoxy and het-
erodoxy could be used in relation to the opinions of particular individuals
or institutions rather than in projecting a scholar’s own assumptions about
different religiosities. According to this perspective, different individuals
and institutions, such as scholars, Sufi leaders and the state, can be seen as
alternative and sometimes competing foci. These foci articulate their own
ideas about what is the “correct” Islamic piety and are thus all “makers of
orthodoxy” on their own terms.

Notes
1 Rumi 1972, p. 91.
2 Jabrites (Jabariyah) and Qadarites (Qadariyah) were two opposing theological
currents that emerged in the eighth century. The former supported the idea of
predestination and the latter supported the idea of “free will”. [Montgomery
Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought (Chicago: Aldine Atherton Inc,
1973), p. 117.]
3 Translation is mine.
4 Woods 1999, p. 4; Kafadar 1995, p. 76; Terzioğlu 2012, p. 91; Arjomand
1984, p. 106.
5 Ahmed 2016, p. 6.
6 Roemer 1990; Babayan 1994.
7 Krstic 2011, pp. 16–17; Karamustafa 2015, pp. 349–64.
8 Here, I am mostly referring to the Rumi lands to denote Anatolia and the Bal-
kans. Throughout the 15th century, the Ottoman state gradually expanded to
most of the Anatolia and the Balkans. Thus, I am referring to a geographical unit
that encompasses these two names.
9 Vryonis 1971; Karamustafa 2014, p. 338.
10 Atcil 2017, p. 5.
11 Karamustafa 2013, pp. 329–42.
12 Krstic 2011, pp. 26–7; Terzioğlu 2012–2013, p. 302.
13 Hickman 2015, p. 2.
14 The Qadiri Sufi order was established by the followers of Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani
(d.1166) in Baghdad. They followed the Hanbali school of law. Qadiris were
involved in ascetic practices such as isolation, remembrance and fasting.
15 Hickman 2015, pp. 25–6.
16 Atçıl 2017, pp. 22–3.
17 Hickman 2015, p. 25.
18 Hickman 2015, pp. 17–8.
19 Adang 2002.
20 ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib was the cousin and son-in-law of Muhammad. He served as
the fourth caliph.
21 Krstic 2011, p. 27; Terzioğlu 2013, pp. 82–3.
22 Barkey 2005, p. 15.
23 Ibid.
24 Trimingham 1998, p. 148.
25 Wilson 2014, pp. 154–5.
26 Calder 2000, p. 71.
27 Asad 2009, p. 22.
28 Ibid.
29 Ibid., pp. 22–4.
144 Barış Baştürk
30 Wilson 2014, p. 158.
31 Ibid.
32 Ibid., p. 155; Knysh 1993, p. 155.
33 Langer and Simon 2008, p. 284.
34 Knysh 1993, p. 237.
35 Ibid., p. 225.
36 Langer and Simon 2008, pp. 273–74.
37 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 351; Karamustafa 2007, p. 73; Antov 2017, p. 51.
38 Knysh 1993, p. 52.
39 Antov 2017, p. 277.
40 Kynsh 1993, p. 238.
41 On these antinomian Sufi movements, see Karamustafa 1994; Ocak 1992.
42 Rumi 2002, p. 16.
43 Ibid.
44 Ibid., p. 21.
45 Hurufis (Hurufiyya) is a gnostic sect founded by Fadlallah al-Astarabadi in the
14th-Century.
46 Bashir 2005, p. 46.
47 Rumi 2002, p. 21.
48 Ibid.
49 ‘Ilm: learning, knowledge.
50 Rumi 2002, p. 21.
51 Kafir (kufr): From being “ungrateful” (to God), Infidel. Rumi 2002, p. 44.
52 Namaz in Turkish. Rumi 2002, p. 44.
53 Rumi 2002, p. 44.
54 Ibid., p. 15.
55 Ibid.
56 Terzioğlu 2012–2013, pp. 303–4.
57 Kafadar 1995, p. 76.
58 Ibid.
59 Ibid.
60 Rumi 2002, p. 15.
61 Rumi 2002.
62 Ibid., p. 13.
63 Piety, fear of God.
64 Rumi 2002, p. 13.
65 Ibid., p. 8.
66 Ibid.
67 Ibid., p. 3.
  ‘Alid lineage is revered and accepted as the most important characteristic in
many Shi’ite ideals of political leadership. ‘Alid lineage is also revered by some
Sufi orders, Shiite and Sunni alike. ‘Alid lineage through ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib’s
son Husayn called Sayyid and is particularly revered. Another ‘Alid lineage is
through ‘Ali’s other son Hasan called Sharif is revered as well.
68 Rumi 2002, p. 45.
69 Terzioğlu 2012, p. 91.
70 Rumi 2002, p. 29.
71 Ibid., pp. 2–3.
72 Ibid., p. 28.
73 Ibid.
74 Ibid., p. 3.
75 Trimingham 1998, p. 149.
76 Rumi 2002, p. 25.
77 Ibid., p. 2.
 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 145
78 Ibid., p. 38.
79 Ibid.
80 Ibid.

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Hodgson, Marshall. 1974. The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World
Civilization, vol. 1. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Kafadar, Cemal. 1995. Between Two Worlds: The Construction of Ottoman State.
Berkeley: California University Press.
Karamustafa, Ahmet. 1994. God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic
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———. 2007. Sufism: The Formative Period. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
———. 2014. “Kaygusuz Abdal: A Medieval Turkish Saint and the Formation of
Vernacular Islam in Anatolia.” In Unity in Diversity: Mysticism, Messianism and
the Construction of Religious Authority in Islam, edited by Orkhan Mir-Kasimov,
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———. 2016. “Islamisation through the Lens of the Saltukname.” In Islam and
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146 Barış Baştürk
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———. 2012. “Sufis in the Age of State-Building and Confessionalization.” In The
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———. 2013. “Where ‘İlm-i Hāl Meets Catechism: Islamic Manuals of Religious
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The University of Utah Press.
Part III

Devotional expressions in
hagiography and music
7 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice
Manuela Ceballos

Introduction: a brief history of Islamic calligraphy

Calligraphy (husn al-khatt), or beautiful, formal writing, is widely consid-
ered to be the˙ dominant ˙art
˙ form of Islamic visual culture. Its development
can be traced to the early Muslim community’s effort to safeguard the divine
revelation, the Qurʾan, in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible.1 The
preservation, canonization and distribution of the revealed text had both
oral and written dimensions. Muslims believe that the Qurʾan was initially
revealed by God to the Prophet Muhammad (through the angel Gabriel)
as an oral text in Arabic, between 610 and 632 CE. According to Muslim
traditions, the Prophet, who could not read or write, publicly recited the
Qurʾan as he had heard it from his divine interlocutor, and his companions
memorized the revelations in turn. As the normative model for Muslims,
the Prophet communicated, through his example, the proper rules and tech-
niques to establish a formal system of recitation, which contemporary recit-
ers claim to follow to this day.
Despite this fundamental role of oral transmission in the history of Islam,
the importance of the Qurʾanic codex (mushaf ) and of the written word can-
˙˙
not be overlooked. After all, Muslims understand “the People of the Book”
(ahl al-kitāb) as a distinct category of people whose revelations exist in the
form of scripture and thus share historical, theological and legal ties.2 Fur-
thermore, the Qurʾan itself makes frequent mention of writing and the writ-
ten text. For instance, in one of these allusions, the Qurʾan proclaims that
God “taught by the pen, taught man that which he knew not” (96:4–5).3 In
a well-known hadith report, God is said to have created the pen before all
other things, which links the act of writing with the act of creation. Finally,
recitation of the sacred text did not preclude its preservation in written
form. According to Muslim tradition, the Prophet Muhammad was unable
to read or write (he is referred to as al-nabī al-ummī – Qur’an 7:158 – which
Muslim theologians have interpreted as “the unlettered Prophet”).
However, canonical biographies and hadith reports narrate that people
close to the Prophet, at his request, wrote down verses of the Qurʾan on
materials such as bones, leaves and palm stalks so that these fragments
150 Manuela Ceballos
could function as aide mémoire. About twenty years after the death of the
Prophet, the first official recension of the Qurʾan was produced under the
caliph ʿUthman ibn ʿAffan (d. 656), and its distribution and reproduction
contributed heavily to the use of Arabic script throughout Islamdom. Rec-
itation and writing worked in tandem in this process of expansion; aes-
thetically pleasing, finely adorned writing of the Qurʾanic revelation was
believed to help guide reciters in their performance and memorization of the
sacred text, while also being a form of devotion in its own right.4
Arabic, like other Semitic languages, is written from right to left. It has
twenty-eight letters (or twenty-nine, including lām alif ), which form words
when they are linked together through ligatures. The theological and his-
torical ties between Arabic as a language and Islam as a religious tradition
are difficult to overstate.5 Arabic script was in use before the seventh century
and the advent of Islam, but the sociopolitical growth of the Muslim com-
munity and Arabic’s importance as the language of revelation transformed
it into the language of religious and state power. Most traditional sources
credit the development of a calligraphic tradition that could visually elevate
Arabic as the language of God and empire to the Umayyad Caliph ʿAbd al-
Malik’s decree to make Arabic the official language of the chancellery – it
was under his patronage that the Dome of the Rock, which contains the
earliest dated inscription of the Qurʾan (ca. 692 CE), was built.6 (However,
scholars of papyri, in particular, have described a more complex Arabization
process, in which Arabic coexisted with other languages and merchants, art-
ists, scholars – Muslim and non-Muslim – and not just rulers and their dep-
uties participated in a gradual, uneven adoption of the language).7 By the
ninth century, however, the center of calligraphic activity had shifted to the
‘Abbasid caliphate. The term kufic (from the Iraqi city of Kufa) was coined
by Orientalists in the eighteenth century to describe the angular scripts of
the eighth and ninth centuries that replaced the hijāzī script previously used
to copy the Qurʾan (contemporary scholars, following˙ François Déroche,
prefer the term “early ‘Abbasid scripts”).8 These early ‘Abbasid scripts used
to write the sacred text were different from the casual, cursive (chirodictic)
hands meant for everyday purposes and differed from bookhands – scripts
used by professional scribes to copy books other than the Qurʾan – and
chancery scripts.
By the end of the ninth century, a “new style” (sometimes called eastern or
broken kufic, or “new ‘Abbasid style”) emerged from hands used for daily
affairs and secular documents and along with early ‘Abbasid scripts was
used to write the Qurʾan.9 Meanwhile, in the westernmost part of the Mus-
lim world, the appearance of maghribī scripts, also from round bookhands,
would soon follow (these scripts emerged by the tenth century).10 Also in
the tenth century, in the Islamic East, the round hands normally reserved
for copying books or scribal documents were codified, which gave rise to a
system of “well-proportioned writing” (al-khatt al-mansūb) that was also
eventually applied to writing the sacred scripture.˙˙ 11
This reform, which
 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 151
eventually led to the canonization of the six major scripts (al-aqlām al-sitta,
literally, “the six pens”), is traditionally associated, initially, with callig-
rapher ‘Abbasid vizier Ibn Muqla (d. 940) and later with Ibn al-Bawwab
(d. 1022) – a former slave to the last ‘Abbasid caliph – who is credited with
perfecting the codification of these proportioned, cursive scripts.12 In the
thirteenth century, Yaqut al-Mustaʿsimi (d. 1298) further refined the six
dominant scripts of the Islamic East (thuluth, naskh, muhaqqaq, rayhān,
tawqī and riqāʿ). Turkish and Persian calligraphers – who˙ were central ˙ to
the development of the book arts in the Islamic world – continued to be
influenced by his contributions centuries later.13 Rich calligraphic traditions
also developed elsewhere, including the Maghrib (Iberia and North Africa),
Egypt, West Africa, Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Central Asia, India, China and
Sudan, many of which remain active today.

Sufism and calligraphy

​ ecause of its role in facilitating its preservation and transmission of the
B
Qurʾan, as well as exalting the visual status of the Arabic language, Islamic
calligraphy has historically been a devotional practice as well as an artistic
one. The status of Arabic as the language of revelation, the fact that the
most copied book in Arabic is the Qurʾan and the fact that mentions of
God are frequent, even in non-religious texts, meant that calligraphers fre-
quently wrote scripture and religious texts (highly decorated hadith reports
have been especially popular). At the very least, they reproduced the divine
names in different contexts. Perhaps as a result of the continuous interaction
between disciplinary communities in the medieval Islamic world and the
overlap between their members, calligraphers developed rituals and prac-
tices that were similar to (or even shared with) those of religious special-
ists, such as Qurʾan reciters; scholars of fiqh and hadith sciences; and Sufis,
among others.
Because they have also beautified and reproduced a wide variety of non-
devotional texts, calligraphers also significantly contributed to the trans-
mission and development of secular literary traditions. In fact, many of
these great calligraphy masters were also accomplished poets. In Ottoman
Turkey, many were members of the religious elite; in medieval Persia, they
were painters and ceramicists.14 Also, like other guilds and disciplinary com-
munities in the Islamic world (including Sufis), calligraphers developed a
specialized literature dedicated to the history, evaluation, appreciation and
teaching of the art, which comprised different sub-genres, such as manu-
als, biographical dictionaries, elegies written in memory of famous calligra-
phers, aphorisms and didactic poetry. Calligraphers were, in more ways than
one, mediators between different religious and secular worlds, although, it
is worth noting that “religious” and “secular” are imperfect typologies to
describe the complex and often intersecting intellectual, linguistic, socioeco-
nomic, architectural and symbolic universes that human beings navigated
152 Manuela Ceballos
daily, from which “religion” cannot be extracted as if it were a discrete,
quantifiable element.
Certain rituals formally mark the act of “passing down” the calligraphic
tradition from master to student in ways that, as Meena Sharify-Funk notes,
mirror the shaykh-disciple relationship and initiation rites in Sufi traditions.15
The most important of these rituals involves the teacher granting the student
a formal certificate, or ijāza, that attests to the student’s skill-level declares
the student fit to teach a particular style of calligraphy, or a specific calli-
graphic script. The relationship between teacher and student, however, does
not end if the student does in fact an ijāza (most do not). In fact, teacher/
student relationships in both calligraphic and Sufi traditions have typically
been governed by scripted norms of politeness (adab). Hence, as in most
Sufi environments, moral cultivation and sentimental education – acquired
in large part within the context of the teacher/student rapport – have been
a fundamental part of the calligraphy student’s process of edification. As
stated by Annemarie Schimmel, “The relation between master and disciple
was, in a certain sense, similar to the close, loving relationship between a
Sufi pir (spiritual guide) and his murid (disciple).”16
Additionally, in both Sufi and calligraphic circles, the consequences of
poor etiquette and bad manners could be cosmic; thus, among student callig-
raphers “speaking against the master or annoying him could cause heavenly
punishment; when a disciple of Shaykh Hamdullah claimed to write better
than his teacher, this disciple soon happened to cut two of his fingers with
a penknife, and they would did not heal for a whole year, while Mir-ʿAli’s
anger about a preposterous disciple resulted in the unlucky man’s becoming
blind shortly thereafter.”17 These types of stories, in which the moral lesson
is directly related to the need to discipline the ego through devotion and
obedience to one’s shaykh, are also standard features of Sufi narratives.
Beyond these similarities in the ritual practices of Sufis and Islamic calligra-
phers, Sufi Turuq, such as the Mevleviyya, Naqshabandiyya and Qadiriyya,
among others, directly promoted the study of calligraphy and contributed
to its development in distinct ways. In addition, historically, an important
number of master calligraphers have been tied to Sufi orders, directly or indi-
rectly, among them the nineteenth-century Moroccan Sufi Muhammad ibn
al-Qasim al-Qandusi (d. 1861) – the master of the founder of the Kattanīyya
order and an herbalist by trade – known for reviving the maghribi ˙script. ˙ 18

Certainly, it is no surprise that the vast political and cultural spheres of Sufi
turūq in the pre-modern and early modern Islamic world overlapped with
˙those of calligraphers and scribes of various schools, and that the constant
exchanges between these communities resulted in shared rituals and norms.

Calligraphy as a spiritual practice

Because of their role in producing textual representations of God, the cal-
ligrapher’s physical and spiritual state could be subject to scrutiny. Bodily
 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 153
contact with scripture was a general concern: In fact, Islamic legal and
theological conventions usually describe reading, writing and touching a
Qurʾanic codex (mushaf ) as acts of worship that require that the practi-
tioner abide by specific˙ ˙ ritual purity standards. Wara‘, or ethical scrupu-
lousness, has been an important virtue for calligraphers to cultivate since
they would almost inevitably have to materially express the names of God.
In their daily routine, most people came into physical contact with objects
inscribed with the divine names – such as coins, decorative objects and
documents in a state of ritual – while in states of ritually impurity. Cal-
ligraphers, whose job it was to write God’s names, however, were held to
higher ritual ­standards – though, of course, context determined how people
actually related to normative expectations and prescriptions.
Therefore, statements proclaiming that calligraphers “should not be
unclean for a single hour” were not out of place in medieval calligraphy
manuals.19 In the context of twentieth-century calligraphic practice, Schim-
mel herself relays the following anecdote about the scrupulousness exhib-
ited by calligraphers and artisans who wrote or embroidered the divine
names: “I have met calligraphers or girls who embroidered the golden texts
on tomb-cloths, who performed ghusl, the major ritual ablution, every
morning before going to work. And if they did not go that far, they at least
had to renew their wudūʾ time and again.”20 The moral of the story – that
˙
“purity of writing is purity of the soul” – fuses the pursuit of spiritual purity
with that of ritual (bodily) purity and calligraphic beauty (form) with scrip-
tural beauty (meaning).21 Therefore, because of their religious significance,
as well as the ritual prescriptions and technical skill necessary to prepare
them, handle them and produce them, beautiful manuscripts of the Qurʾan
have typically been highly valued, symbolically charged objects. At the same
time, as a literary and linguistic document, the Qurʾan is regarded as the
inimitable standard for writers and grammarians and the loftiest goal for
calligraphers to reproduce visually.
In addition to the aforementioned metaphors related to the written word
that are frequent in the Qurʾan, other Islamic traditions link the history
of writing to important mythical and historical figures in Islamic history.
For instance, the origins of the so-called kufic script are traced, first, to the
Prophet Idris and later to ʿAli ibn Abi Talib, the Prophet Muhammad’s first
cousin and son-in-law, who had strong ties to the city of Kufa.22 Because
of these traditional narratives, Islamic calligraphers consider ʿAli to be the
origin of their chains of transmission or spiritual genealogies (pl. salasīl; s.
silsila). Sufi turūq (orders, s. tariqa) also trace their lineage back to ʿAlī, with
the exception ˙ of the Naqshabandiyya, who trace theirs to Abu Bakr.
For Sufis, ʿAli was the bearer of esoteric knowledge as a result from
his intimacy with the Prophet. Because he shared the Prophet’s blood-
line (they were paternal first cousins) and had children with the Prophet’s
daughter Fatima, some Sufi shaykh also derived authority by claiming to
be descendants from the Prophet Muhammad.23 Therefore, among Islamic
154 Manuela Ceballos
calligraphers – for whom ʿAli was the first calligrapher – and Sufis alike, nar-
ratives about ʿAli (or Khidr, as in the case of Ottoman calligrapher Shaykh
Hamdullah [d. 1519]) appearing in dreams to provide artistic and spiritual
inspiration or guidance are common.24

Traditional pedagogies
There are also important similarities between the pedagogical models of
apprenticeship and initiation in Sufi and calligraphic traditions. Historically,
calligraphy students have been closely mentored by master calligraphers,
who have themselves earned the right to teach through a formal process.
Echoing Sufi models, the authority of calligraphy masters is sanctioned by
the weight of historical and spiritual traditions – which are specific to a
particular community or school while also being linked to broader Islamic
narratives and rituals – and by the authority of their own teachers, as well
as their teacher’s teachers (and so on).
Furthermore, being a master calligrapher has historically entailed teach-
ing calligraphy. As Mohamed Zakariya, one of the foremost contemporary
masters and historians of Islamic calligraphy, states, “The teaching of cal-
ligraphy has passed from master to student since the beginning of Islam.
Since calligraphy is considered a religious science, its teaching is always a
religious duty. All good calligraphers were also teachers, which has made
for a remarkably cohesive tradition.”25 The methods of transmission depend
on the school of calligraphy: thus, for instance, whereas students of the
maghribī script usually begin their studies by writing whole words at once,
students of other scripts often practice writing individual letters over and
over before being allowed to move on to complete words. More than simply
a vehicle for technical knowledge of calligraphy, however, the master cal-
ligrapher also serves as the model teacher that students should emulate once
they become teachers themselves.
The correspondence between these two traditional Islamic pedagogi-
cal systems (which have tremendous internal variations depending on the
school/tarīqa; geographical location; time period; and aesthetic, political
˙
and theological orientations) do not end there. Historically, calligraphy stu-
dents have learned the art of beautiful writing through emulation of their
masters, observing and recreating their strokes. Sufi disciples, in turn, also
learn about spiritual discipline through imitation of their Sufi shaykh, whose
model, in addition to his (or her) own teachers, is the Prophet Muhammad.
This process of learning through emulation and teaching by example in
both Sufi and calligraphic circles exemplifies the notion of taqlīd, or tradi-
tion. According to Zakariya, “The teaching of calligraphy embodies the
concept of taklid, or ‘following the model,’ which is an important feature
of traditional Islamic education. In modern times, this technique is often
scorned as blind imitation, when in fact it is the opposite – a method of open-
ing the eyes and the spirit to the essence of the art or study.”26 Multilayered
 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 155
critiques of the Sufi understandings of taqlīd have stemmed from various
sources, primarily from Muslim reformists of diverse political and theologi-
cal orientations. On the other hand, the concept of taqlīd in the classical
Islamic arts sometimes clashes with contemporary understandings of art in
Europe and the United States, which are heavily influenced by Romantic
ideals of originality, individuality and spontaneity in art.
These differences in how aesthetic judgment is reached have, histori-
cally, prevented a widespread appreciation for Islamic artistic production
in these geographical areas and have even led some art critics to dismiss the
ways in which creativity and skill are manifested in Islamic calligraphy and
poetry, most notably. On the basis of this dichotomy between originality
and vigor (epitomized by Anglo-European modernity) and stagnation and
legalism (embodied by an “Orient” that a master historical narrative has
left behind), some of these critics have proclaimed the cultural superiority of
the West over Islam, as if those terms were in opposition with one another.
However, as Edward Said denounced in Orientalism (1978), these com-
parisons between the “West” and “the Orient” are based on evolutionary
models that conflate historical processes of political dominance and eco-
nomic exploitation with civilizational progress. These structures result in
representations of colonized peoples created precisely in order to justify their
oppression.27 In other words, the binary construct that posits the artistic and
intellectual creativity and originality of the West (or Christianity) vis-à-vis
the inertia of a rule-obsessed Semitic “East” relies on misrepresentations of
cultural and religious others and an idealized projection of Western culture
that becomes the standard-bearer against which no other social group can
measure up.
This binary construct has impacted the reception of Islamic calligraphy
among Anglo-European art critics, artists and art historians, whose aes-
thetic standards may presume that figural representation is (or should be)
the highest expression of creative achievement in the arts, as it has typi-
cally been in Europe. Under these premises, non-European forms of cultural
activity, such as Islamic calligraphy, cannot be appreciated in their own
terms. These forms of expression will be considered to be, as İrvin Cemil
Schick notes, mere substitutes for “the real thing” (figurative art), which is
assumed to be the form of expression that all human groups would natu-
rally aim at, were they given the ability and freedom to do so.28
In some cases, these “clash of civilizations” narratives obscure shared
practices and values between communities. For instance, Zakariya contends
the process of teaching Islamic calligraphy “is analogous to the training of
a classical musician” in the European tradition, who must learn to adapt
corporeally, intellectually and emotionally to an expressive language that
is highly codified. The musician must also eventually master this language
so that it is made beautiful through proper engagement with the rules that
regulate it, rather than in spite of them.29 In this way, “It is only by care-
ful and attentive taklid that the details and spirit of the art can be learned
156 Manuela Ceballos
and assimilated. . . . Taklid honors the model and its maker, enables the
follower, and ensures that standards of quality are maintained.”30 There-
fore, this type of training, which in Sufism, calligraphy and music requires
a reorientation of the senses and of the kinetic abilities of the body, aims
beyond mechanical repetition. According to Zakariya, in the case of callig-
raphy, mere technical proficiency will lead to “tired” calligraphy; whereas,
great calligraphy, infused with the energy and passion of the calligrapher, is
described as having “light” or “spirit.”31 David Roxburgh, in turn, uses the
image of the trace (āthār), frequent in early modern calligraphy treatises of
the early modern period, as a way to illustrate the ways in which the bodily
and moral fiber of the calligrapher were imprinted in the very work itself,
almost as if it were a relic.32
This tension between erasing the self in order to properly learn a classical
tradition whose mode of transmission is believed to hark back to the Prophet
Muhammad (by way of ʿAli) and reaching distinction in it as a practitioner
is a familiar paradox to students of Sufism as well. For example, in refer-
ence to Sufi saints, Tony Stewart describes “a set of complementary, often
strangely juxtaposed, characteristics” that oscillate between “the twin poles”
of extreme, genuine humility and the attainment of spiritual excellence.”33
Similarly, Johan Christoph Bürgel defines “ornament” in Islamic art as “as a
repetitive structure ruled by the two poles of ecstasy and control.”34 Burgess
describes the force (in his words, “a feeling of mightiness”) that underlies
classical Islamic art and that is conveyed by it in apophatic terms, that is, of
achieving power through surrender, through a kind of emptying of the self
in favor of strict geometrical norms that often correspond to cosmological
configurations. In his view, “The ornament – and this applies to calligraphy
as well – is usually not restricted to the surface but penetrates into the stuff
itself, pervading and moulding it. . . . form dominates matter, matter is subju-
gated by form.”35 This analysis suggests that, because the rules in calligraphy
are meant to mirror cosmological structures, strict observance of these rules
would give the calligrapher a way to “rewrite” the very fabric of the universe.
Bürgel’s theory places paradox, which Michael Sells has identified as a
feature of apophatic mystical language (or, as he calls it, “a language of
unsaying”), at the core of the practice and “spirit” of Islamic calligraphy,
just as Stewart does with Sufism.36 However, whereas Stewart’s contrast-
ing poles belong to the realm of spiritual virtues, Bürgel’s revolve around
notions of freedom and surrender, which are also major themes in Sufi the-
ology and literature, as well as form and meaning. As a result of this para-
dox, “The beholder is dazzled and spell-bound, intoxicated and disciplined,
excited and becalmed at the same time.”37 This characterization of aesthetic
delight in ornament (including calligraphy) as both “intoxicated and dis-
ciplined” echoes the typologies of sakr (drunkenness) and sahw (sobriety)
frequently found in Sufi literature. ˙ ˙
These interpretations of calligraphy as a mystical practice, however, are
not normative within the calligraphic tradition. Even though allusions to
 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 157
the sacred nature of Arabic as a language are frequent, as is the emphasis
on the production of accomplished calligraphic works as acts of religious
devotion and discipline (particularly a mushaf; portions of the Hadith cor-
pus; or, particularly in Ottoman circles, an˙ elaborate
˙ hilya – a reproduction
of a text that describes the spiritual, moral and physical qualities of the
prophets, especially the Prophet Muhammad), Islamic calligraphy is not
esoteric per se.
However, even if not all Sufis, or even most, have been calligraphers
(despite notable exceptions), Sufi authors have frequently drawn inspiration
from the Arabic abjad and theoretical and practical approaches to Islamic
calligraphy. The universe as a text of sorts, the quest to decipher the esoteric
(bātinī) meanings of sacred texts and interpret the signs of the divine in the
˙
created universe (the word āyā means both Qurʾanic verse and sign), are all
common Sufi themes. In that light, the Qurʾan contains several references
that Sufi authors have used to justify the notion of creation – including the
human body – as “a constellation of signs,” as Scott Kugle has phrased
it.38 These portents in creation include lightning and rain – “And among
His signs [āyātihi] is that He shows you lightning, arousing fear and hope,
and that He sends down water from the sky, then revives thereby the earth
after its death. Truly in that are signs [āyāt] for a people who understand”
(Qur’an 30:20); the growth of plants and weeds in the earth (Qur’an 26:7–
8); day and night (Qur’an 17:12); lightning and rain (Qur’an 30:24); and
even the human body, created from dust (Qur’an 30:20). These signs are
both internal and external to human beings: “And We shall show them
Our signs [āyātunā] upon the horizons and in within themselves” (Qur’an
41:53). A famous hadith report transmitted by the Prophet’s wife, ʿAʾisha,
describes him as “the walking Qurʾan,” emphasizing the intrinsic relation-
ship between the divine revelation and its embodiment in the Prophet.
For some Sufis, therefore, calligraphy (and not just writing) was a way
of making the signs of the divine both visible and legible. Seyyed Hossein
Nasr, for example, argues that “Islamic calligraphy is the visual embodi-
ment of the crystallization of the spiritual realities (al-haqaʾiq) contained
in the Islamic revelation.”39 The notion of calligraphy as a “display script”
takes on a different dimension, for what is being brought to light by the cal-
ligrapher is the nature of the world as the aforementioned “constellation of
signs.” Thus,

This calligraphy provides the external dress for the Word of God in the
visible world but this art remains wedded to the world of the spirit. For
according to the traditional Islamic saying, ‘Calligraphy is the geometry
of the Spirit.’40

In Nasr’s understanding of calligraphy as a mystical practice, the meta-

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

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of Miir-Munshii, translated by Vladimir Minorsky. Washington, DC: Smithsonian
Institution.
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Ahmed, Shahab. 2016. What Is Islam? The Importance of Being Islamic. Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press.
Al-Kattani, Muhammad bin Jaʿfar. 2004. Salwat al-anfas wa muhadathat al-akyas
bi man uqbira min al-ʿulama’ wa-l-sulahaʾ bi-Fas, vol. 3, edited by Abdallah al-
Kamil al-Kattani et al. Casablanca: Dar al-Thaqafa.
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———. 2006. “Written Transmision.” In The Blackwell Companion to the Qur’an,
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8 The abstraction of love
Personal emotion and mystical
spirituality in the life narrative
of a Sufi devotee
Pnina Werbner

Interiority and transcendence: hagiography’s

transformative power
In the preface to the tazkira, the sacred biography of Zindapir, a Naqsh-
bandi Sufi saint who died in 1999 in northwest Pakistan, its author, khalifa
Rab Nawaz, describes the intense transformative power of a Sufi saintly
biography understood as a sacred object:

After the Qur’an and Sunnat, the arbab-i dil (masters of the heart) are
the most mahfuz (protected). I mean the tazkira of Allah’s true people,
because it is overflowing with God’s friends’ life stories, conditions and
states, and every single word of its [subject’s] concise and compendi-
ous utterances bears multiple insights: the powers of comprehension,
becoming aware, becoming intoxicated (mast) and transcending the soul
in a world of rapture (‘alam-i wajd), while the heart dances, drowned
in a sea of impressions and a state of ecstasy. From the sublime sky the
eyes see a rain of lights pouring down. From the veils of the unseen, the
ears sense holy melodies. This has been duly described by Janab Rasul
Allah in his pure utterance, [saying]1 that upon the tazkira of pious
people mercy descends, just as the gentle breeze of the heart-soothing
skies renders the mind refreshed, or the perfume of meadows and gar-
dens renders the senses intoxicated and lost;2 just as, upon hearing the
story of the masters of pious practice (‘amal), the hand is agitated, and
reading about the stirring deeds of the brave, the blood is aroused –
thus listening to and reading the circumstances of God’s friends stirs
revolution and frenzy in man’s spiritual world. When we interrogate
their world renunciation (zuhd wara’), their purity, piety and righteous-
ness, these impact upon our hearts; we see the pleasures of the temporal
world as lacking in constancy. . . . [Instead] the light of faith becomes
constant and, in the heart, the pure ardor of world renunciation (tark-i
dunya) is born. When we read the story of God’s chosen people’s love
of tranquility, their tawakkul (reliance on God), taslim (submission)
and riza (satisfaction) we feel regret for our greedy desires in our ways
162 Pnina Werbner
of worship. Our soul is given a golden lesson on becoming responsible
in the face of life’s problems and spending our mortal lives with glory
and satisfaction.3

We see in this preface the powerful moral, aesthetic and existential

impact of sacred biography as a luminous, life-transforming text of subjec-
tive interiority and transcendence. Hearing about the manners (adab) and
sayings (malfuzat) of God’s friends, we are told, “removes the rust” from
a reader’s inner heart, guiding him in the way of righteousness. Indeed,
according to one saintly authority, “when a murid (disciple) listens to his
pir’s guidance with full attention and then records them, he will receive
blessings beyond calculation.” The sayings and writings of saints deliver
to “hearts” the garmi (heat, intensity, zeal, passion) of ‘ishq-i ilahi (love of
God) and the “taste” of ma’rifat-i haq (mystical knowledge of the truth).
They lead to a hatred of base materialism and to a remembrance of the
afterlife.
Rab Nawaz concludes his preface on a more personal note:

All praise is due to Allah! The will of God almighty ordained me, a
helpless and incompetent [man], with the grace to record the circum-
stances of my pir (saint, spiritual guide) and murshid (preceptor, spir-
itual teacher) Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam Janab Zindapir Sahib. . . . I, the
lowliest, offer my head in prostration before the bargah of the Master
of Honor because in this meritorious act and greatest purpose my feeble
hands and arms were bestowed with this ability.4

The transformative, physical impact of a Sufi sacred biography clearly

renders it different in the eyes of believers from other kinds of biographical
narratives and life histories.5 In the present paper, I want to consider one
principle theme within Zindapir’s hagiography that is central also to my
own anthropological ethnography about the same saint and his Sufi order.
In a sense, although the hagiography in Urdu is 400 pages long, and my
own book is 350 pages, the life story of Zindapir may be summed up in
one sentence: Zindapir was a man who dedicated his life to the love of God
and humanity and was, in turn, loved by God and his disciples. The notion
of “love” combines the extremes of subjective interiority, on the one hand,
and transcendence, on the other. I called my book Pilgrims of Love6 because
I was told repeatedly by the saint’s disciples of their love for their Sufi mas-
ter. Love motivated the vast assembly drawn to Zindapir’s remote lodge,
and the saint was regarded by his murids (lovers) as God’s beloved (murad).
In my research, I accepted this expression of “love” by ordinary followers
and khalifas (vicegerents) in the “anthropological” way – that is, as an emic,
self-evident emotional truth; one, perhaps, that I did not share but at least
understood (or thought I understood, if only intellectually) about what love
meant mystically, spiritually and emotionally.
 The abstraction of love 163
Love is a major trope in Sufi poetry and a key theme in most scholarly
accounts of Sufism. Love is believed to be central to the Sufi seeker’s move-
ment on the Sufi path, and it animates Sufi discourses and sacred texts. But
what does it mean to “love” God? What kind of emotion is being described?
And equally, what does it mean to love a man of God, not as a man but as
an embodiment of the divine? My paper considers the varieties of love and
passion associated with Sufism as a movement of both fellowship and spir-
ituality – a transcendental reaching out beyond the self.
In the following comparison between my own book on the saint and his
order, Pilgrims of Love (Werbner 2003), and the tazkira (the hagiography of
Zindapir) The Treasure Trove of Irfan,7 I aim to focus on the ambiguous dif-
ferences between two kinds of love. These animate the biography of a con-
temporary saint who founded his own cult during his lifetime: on the one
hand, deep comradeship beyond mysticism, which I call “personal” love
and, on the other hand, love as a metaphor for the movement of a Sufi trave-
ler through different stages on the Sufi path. I call this latter love “abstract”
since it does not seem to involve emotional intensity but is a trope, instead,
for the Sufi theosophical aim of achieving intimacy with Allah – in other
words, a transcendental “connection.”
If, as anthropologists have argued, emotions – however deeply felt – are at
least partially a cultural construct, it remains to analyze “Sufi” emotions in
their specific cultural settings. We cannot simply follow Charles Lindholm’s
call for the need to recognize “the emotional force that is the burning heart
of primary charisma,”8 as if this force were transparently self-evident. Sev-
eral contributions to the volume on religious charisma Lindholm edited9
focus on the deep “love” “felt” by devotees for their divinely inspired lead-
ers, whether Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or Jewish. The meaning or cul-
tural significance of “love” as a central emotion animating these followers
and often reducing them to tears or trance, remains, however, opaque; nor
in itself does it explain the huge attraction of particular leaders who may
be deemed “charismatic.” Why are these men and women “loved” by fol-
lowers rather than any other? To understand the garmi of ‘ishq-i ilahi (the
“heat” of God’s “love”) mentioned in the hagiography, that is, the depth
of mystical love experienced by some Sufi followers for a saint and God,
we need to disentangle first the manifold poetic, symbolic and allegorical
expressions of spiritual and Earthly love that animate Sufi theosophy and
practice.

A question of love
According to Annemarie Schimmel,

Mysticism can be defined as love of the Absolute – for the power that
separates true mysticism from mere asceticism is love. Divine love
makes the seeker capable of bearing, even of enjoying, all the pains and
164 Pnina Werbner
afflictions that God showers upon him in order to test him and to purify
his soul. This love can carry the mystic’s heart to the Divine Presence
‘like the falcon that carries away the prey.’10

Hinted at in this citation are some of the ambiguities and ambivalences at

the heart of Sufi (and indeed all mystical) love: Love is often experienced as
pain and suffering, and mystical love cannot be described directly but rather
by “symbols taken from human love” so that, as Schimmel tells us, “Often
a strange and fascinating combination of human and divine love permeates
the verses of mystics.” This is so even if love is the ultimate goal as well as
the means to it. According to one interpreter of Ibn al-‘Arabi, “The ultimate
goal of love is to know the reality of love and the reality of love is identi-
cal with God’s Essence.”11 But this “knowing” requires human mediation.
Hence, the central ambivalence in much Sufi love poetry or sacred biogra-
phy is between the mystical and the erotic – between transcendental love on
the one hand and sensual love or Earthly intoxication on the other.12 The
inherent paradox is that love of a “transcendent and absolute object” finds
its “object in a human being, in which the fullness of divine beauty and radi-
ant glory seem[s] to be reflected.”13 Indeed, some Sufi masters, like Ghazali
and Rumi, have “regarded this worldly love as a pedagogical experience,”14
a sentimental education in how to love God.
This fundamental ambiguity or ambivalence at the heart of Sufi love,
between pain and bliss, pure/chaste and erotic love, has made Sufi ghazals
and qawwalis attractive even to non-believers.15 Both aesthetic appreciation
of beauty, often manifested in the face of an Earthly beloved, and ethical
conduct, the Sufi path of voluntary self-denial or asceticism, are entangled
in ideas of Sufi love. Love is painful and transformative. It is an unfulfilled
yearning for intimacy and closeness, which may also be equated with a
higher “stage” on the Sufi path. Love is simultaneously platonic and sen-
sual. It seeks protection, healing and nurture from its subject.
Zindapir was remembered as tall and beautiful in his youth, with a very
white face. The poet Rab Nawaz eulogizes him in a qasida (praise poem)
that I recorded:

There is no other to me [meri nazron me] as beautiful [hussin],

None other comparable [jachta],
Since my eyes have absorbed [basa]
The lovely light [nur jamal] of my pir.16

Mystical “love,” then, may be analogous to romantic love, courtly love,

maternal/paternal love, filial love, fraternal love, erotic love, aesthetic love/
appreciation (e.g., the love of music), as well as the love of humanity. Love is
thus a promiscuous concept that can refer to individual and collective emo-
tions, much like patriotism (love of the homeland), popular culture (the love
of football) or hedonism (the love of food). Within this range of meanings,
 The abstraction of love 165
“spiritual love” may refer to silent contemplation or ecstatic trance, the lat-
ter described vividly by Jürgen Frembgen, following his experience of attend-
ing a Qawwali sama‘ (gathering) at the shrine of Baba Farid in Pak Pattan:

I am awestruck, feel a prickling everywhere as if I’m receiving electric

shocks. The sound of the music carries my soul away, to scenes beyond
rationality. I fall into a trance, a total experience of emotions. My eyes
fill with tears.17

Rather than spirituality being solely an introspective achievement of tran-

scendental meditation, then, it seems that Sufi spirituality is – quite simply –
love, in all its manifold manifestations.18

Personal love: the death of a saint

Zindapir died, an old man close to ninety, in March 1999, and the first
‘urs annual gathering to commemorate his death took place at his lodge in
March of the following year. He had left no written documents behind him.
An old khalifa living at the lodge, one of the dispensers of ta‘wiz (amulets)
sitting outside the room where the pir met the people, used to admonish me
regularly in broken English whenever we met: “No books, no books,” he
would say. By this he was underlining the fact that the power of a saint does
not derive from his ability to write books, or study complex mystical trea-
ties. ‘Amal, doing, active worship, is a key Sufi concept, and according to
one view, the only way to achieve gnosis and mystical enrapture is through
‘amal. During his lifetime, Zindapir’s creative imagination was that of the
oral storyteller, not the poet or writer. He left no tangible works, so that
after his death, of Zindapir the man there was only a private memory or a
body in the grave.
Frembgen (1998) has described evocatively how the death of a majzub
(an intoxicated Sufi follower or saint) affected his immediate disciples very
deeply. Even though they believed that the saint was still alive in the grave,
they nevertheless missed the intimacy they had shared with him while alive,
the immediate physical and emotional contact that came from washing,
feeding and caring for him, or from sitting around him as they chatted and
smoked. In the case of Zindapir, few were privileged with such intimacy,
since for most people, he was a distant, awesome figure. Yet this did not
explain why his personal distinctiveness, his charisma as a living man with
his own personality, seemed to be lost after his death. Most people I met
did not express any sense of loss or of missing the man. There were notable
exceptions, which I will come to below, but most people simply stressed the
transcendence of the pir, the fact that he was still alive and his spiritual pow-
ers had increased and multiplied after his death.
During his lifetime, Zindapir forbade the distribution of his pictures.
Nonetheless, arriving in Pakistan following Zindapir’s death, I fully expected
166 Pnina Werbner
to see their production and distribution.19 What I did not expect was my
own personal sense that Zindapir’s death had rendered him invisible not
only in the flesh but also in spirit. I had known him to be both entertain-
ing and immensely authoritative, at times capable of fearful anger, at times
mischievous, a trickster who liked to play with the emotions of his overly
devout disciples or with the false pretensions of politicians and ‘ulama’ (reli-
gious clerics), often for his own personal amusement but also for the edifi-
cation of his followers. All these qualities together, which had created his
charismatic personality, his “magnetism” (magnatis or mignatis in Persian),
as one khalifa called it, seemed lost. The way in which the pir’s memorial-
izing was proceeding had somehow, it seemed to me, erased Zindapir the
person from memory.
Since he had left few pictures and no written texts and had prevented his
disciples from writing down his sayings during his lifetime, what remained
of Zindapir at the moment of death were above all tangible landmarks: the
lodge itself, nestled in the little valley; the lovely mosque with its intricate
colorful decorations; the hostels for pilgrims and guests; the orchard and
gardens; the landmarks of his early arrival, such as the cave on the hill
where he was said to have enclosed himself for three days and nights; and –
perhaps most importantly – the langar, the free blessed food distributed
to all pilgrims. I realized that to my modernist way of thinking, however,
words, creatively written or spoken words, are the ultimate expression of
human existence and, indeed, great Sufis are known to Western scholars
above all by their written texts.
Zindapir was not a writer. He was clearly a doer; an ascetic, a world
renouncer, a man who blessed the crowds and fed the multitudes. In the
interregnum following his death, there seemed little point, I supposed, in
telling me the familiar miracle stories and legends about him. I had, as
most people knew, heard these before. Like them, I was not a newcomer to
the lodge or the order. This was a moment above all of tangible doing, of
remembering through reconstruction. The expectation from me, the anthro-
pologist, was that I should recognize the continued spiritual power of the
saint as a man alive from the grave and observe the process of his sanctifica-
tion in visible objects.
But for some, Zindapir was more than just a doer, and thus I perceived
an emergent division at the moment of his death between different sorts
of remembrancers, between those who stressed his embodied spirituality
through spatial materiality and those who stressed in words his uniqueness
as a person, someone who had left an emotional gap in their lives. The latter
were willing to admit that they actually missed the shaykh for what he was,
irrespective of what he had become at the moment of death. These “lov-
ers” were, however, a tiny select minority by comparison to less articulate
remembrancers.
Clearly, without words, the sacred mythology of Zindapir was being
extended through the building of a magnificent shrine, towering above the
 The abstraction of love 167
lodge’s mosque, built in the courtyard outside the room where the saint
lived and where he met his disciples day and night. Indeed, every place the
pir occupied was treated as sacred space, historically enshrined: the cave, his
room, the courtyard. The center of all this activity remained the ‘urs festival
and the logistics of its gigantic langar. But the respect and love accorded to
the saint were expressed not in words, or not simply in words but in the
careful and detailed planning of his commemoration in mortar and stone.
The stone and the grave spoke silently, as it were. Zindapir’s grandson, who
now managed the organization of the lodge, the building work and prepara-
tions for the ‘urs, told me that they were trying as best they could to follow
the “principles” laid down by the pir, his grandfather.
There were new myths as well, and some were willing to admit their
prior emotional closeness to the departed shaykh. Thus, the pir’s son, the
present sajjada nishin, told me, in answer to my question, that he misses his
father “until the Day of Judgement.” Even if the mountains surrounding
the lodge were made of gold, he said, this would not compensate for the
loss of his father. He cannot be replaced, even though they, the family, are
trying their best.
His father sacrificed his life for God, Badshah Sahib told me. When the
shaykh went to Mecca for the first time, in 1952, he vowed to God that he
would sacrifice his only son to Allah. Badshah Sahib had no mother (his
mother, Zindapir’s wife, had died when he was very young). Later my com-
panions commented on the enormity of this act: to sacrifice (the pir used the
term in English) a child of three. No one could be like Zindapir!20
When I arrived at the lodge for the first ‘urs after the pir’s death, I felt
a sense of great loss when visiting the saint’s graveside, a sadness at his
death, since he was such a colorful, vivid presence in the lodge. But the
adoration of the grave, the sense of an immanent powerful presence, which
it clearly evoked for followers, remained emotionally alien to me, beyond
my sentimental comprehension. Many disciples spent hours just sitting by
the graveside. Their silent veneration drove home the fact that in many
respects, Zindapir was more accessible now for most people than he ever
was during his life. Now they could develop that sense of closeness and
intimacy with him that most of them never had while he was alive. I real-
ized in retrospect that, for most followers, he was a distant, fearful fig-
ure, unsmiling and stern, sometimes capricious. He was physically beyond
reach, and meetings with him always took place in the company of others
and lasted for five or ten minutes at most. Now any man could spend hours,
if he liked, alone by his grave, communing with him without interruption
or interference. The shaykh was thus, for the vast majority, paradoxically
closer in death than in life.
The moment of death is the moment in which the reality of sainthood,
i.e., of transcendence, is publicly proven. No amount of fancy building work
can substitute for the crowds at an ‘urs festival. For Zindapir’s family the
challenge was not simply one of ensuring the continuity of the regional cult
168 Pnina Werbner
that the saint had built up during his lifetime but of the lodge’s ascendancy
as the cult’s sacred center, a fact which could only be proved by the crowds
attending the festival. In large measure, Zindapir had attempted to insti-
tutionalize his own charisma during his lifetime. But as a strictly Naqsh-
bandi saint, he had also proscribed any open signs of adulation and overt
expressions of adoration toward him. As Sufi Karim, my companion from
Manchester, a man who had spent his life seeking to reach the higher onto-
logical mystical realms on the Sufi path, remarked somewhat despairingly,
Zindapir saw his main project as feeding the people. He was not someone
who dwelt explicitly on the transcendental realms of esoteric knowledge or
on his love for his own murshid.
Yet the family, far more inarticulate than the pir himself, needed a sto-
ryteller, a poet, a chronicler, if Zindapir’s was to be lifted above the run-of-
the-mill multitude of saints’ shrines that dot the Pakistani and South Asian
landscape. The silence of the grave had to be filled; the spiritual power of
the dead saint ultimately needed explication in words. After all, along with
architectural grace, it is poetry that has been the hallmark of Sufism, and
Ghamkol Sharif did have its poet, Rab Nawaz, a khalifa who had written
over 250 rubayats and qasidas, praise songs in honor of Zindapir, but had
been forbidden by the shaykh to publish them during his lifetime. Many of
the poems he had written had never even been seen by the shaykh. Now the
saint’s family were willing to bear the costs of publishing his collected vol-
ume of poems in Urdu and in Punjabi (in the upshot, they published a single
book that contained the tazkira, the hagiography, along with the poetry).
During the two years before the saint’s death, Rab Nawaz had been writ-
ing a book about the saint, his life story and miracles (karamat), his sayings
and inner visions (kashf ), his divine revelations (ilham) and his power to
influence others at a distance (tasarruf ). A very long chapter of the book,
over one hundred pages, was devoted to Sufism, he told me. The khalifa had
sat with Zindapir during his last years, meticulously noting down the details
of the saint’s early life. His book, which included a treatise on adab, the
proper conduct toward a pir, was already four hundred pages long, he said.
He had ceased writing only at the request of the family, who were keen to
get the book in print. During the two years he spent writing his book, seated
in a little alcove opposite his mosque, Rab Nawaz said he felt as if he were
out of this world. The book, however, was in many respects a modernist
project, disseminating the saint’s name in contemporary Pakistan.
Rab Nawaz did not hesitate to express his deep sorrow at the death of his
saint. Every morning, he told me, he stood at the gateway to the mosque,
remembered Zindapir and wept. Then, he thought about the pir’s family –
his son and grandsons – and prayed for their health; finally, he felt his
love (mahabbat) and trust (tawakkul) for Zindapir. Zindapir is the tran-
scendental inspiration for Rab Nawaz’s poetic imagination. Asked about
the process of writing, he explained that before he writes a poem he gets a
deep sensation of burning running from his mouth down to his abdomen.
 The abstraction of love 169
This feeling may go on for four days, at the end of which time a “screen”
appears in front of his eyes, a screen on which his poem is written. He then
sits down with pen and paper and copies the poem from the screen without
looking at the page. He makes no changes to the poem. He just copies it
neatly into his book. A close friend and companion, who sings many of the
qasidas written by Rab Nawaz, told me that, when he sings, Rab Nawaz
weeps. That is why he is very close to him. Rab Nawaz’s poems express his
longing for his saint.

See heart [dekhe-e-dil], it appears [nazar aya], the country of Ghamkol

[diyar-e-Ghamkoli],
Every little thing [zare zare = atoms] is dancing [machalti] in the spring
of Ghamkol [bahar-e Ghamkoli],
Instead [sava] a heart aching [ghamzada] and tearful eyes [purnam],
Nothing else besides Ghamkol’s river [bheren] of sacrifice [nisar-e
Ghamkoli].

Standard themes, such as madness, intoxication and dreams, and the use
of stock Sufi imagery – intoxicating wine, the seal of the heart, stars, narcissi
and overflowing rivers – aconveys the poet’s love and desolation:

Intoxicated forever
Whosoever took wine, drinking once of the glass [jam] of Zindapir.
So what if separation has removed him out of sight! He is inscribed
[naksh = mapped]
on my heart, Servant [khaddam] of Zindapir

Elsewhere the same longing is expressed:

In the garden of Ghamkol [shabe sake] the stars [sitare] remember you
[yad karte hey]
Pir of Ghamkol, how sorrowfully I long for you [yad karte hey].
Oh, think of me, for God’s sake, the helpless who remembers you [yad
karte hey]

I asked Rab Nawaz, “It is said the pir is not dead?” He responded that
after the pir had died he spent the whole forty-day mourning period in the
darbar, weeping all the time. When the forty days were over, he set off home.
At the entrance to the darbar he stopped, weeping, and, turning in the direc-
tion of the dead pir, he spoke the same parting words that he always used
to say whenever he parted from the shaykh: “Ye dil, ye jigr, ye ankh, ye sar
[this heart, this liver, these eyes, this head]; ye sab tumhara hey [these are all
yours]; jao, jao, is par jao [you can walk over them].” At this point Zindapir
appeared before him and said, as he always did, with his two hands lifted,
palms facing toward the speaker in a good humored, dismissive gesture of
170 Pnina Werbner
“go.” “Go, Rab Nawaz.” If anything proves that the pir is still alive, this
surely must be it.

Hagiographical ‘love’
The discussion so far has been based on my own anthropological research
regarding the response to the saint’s death. Turning now to the hagiography,
how does Rab Nawaz express his love and sorrow at the saint’s departure?
The poet begins by reflecting on the significance of the saint’s death and
funeral (janasah):

When your, Huzur’s journey of tabligh (propagation of the faith), talqin

(religious instruction) and irshad (guidance) was completed then the qaza
(decree) of God, saving [you] from the pain [that is] life, commanded
arrangement of calling you towards himself. God’s chosen slaves come
to know of their intiqal-i jismi (physical passing) long before [they die];
however, they do not announce it to the common folk so that no storm
breaks out in the way of the world or the mirror of the universe. Thus,
Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam (Axis of the world) had come to know of the date
of his wisal (meeting with God) long before [his death].21

Indeed, Rab Nawaz continues, “The awliya Allah (friends of God) and
the muqribin (those close to God) never leave this world until the rayhan
(plant) of paradise is brought to them with whose scent they are perfumed
and command passage from one abode towards another” (ibid.).
But for those remaining behind in “shock,” like his children and grand-
children, there were only tears, wailing and lamentation, he says. He nev-
ertheless articulates the common Sufi theme of transcendence – of death
after life:

Then this man departs towards the heavens, he whose gaze,

In its desires is purer than that of the angels
Even from the cold of the grave he cannot become depressed
Even buried in earth he cannot lose his passion
As a flower, he springs through the soil
It is as though he is adorned by death with the garment of life
Death is the name of renewing the joke that is life
It is a message of awakening through the veil of the dream
Those accustomed to flight, indeed, do not fear flight.22

The theme of transcendence, of life after death, continues: “On the Sun-
day your victorious ruh (soul) became free from this ‘unsuri jism (elemental
body) and took flight towards a’ala ‘illiyyin (the highest heaven)” (ibid.). In
appearance, the saint still looked alive:
 The abstraction of love 171
Subhanallah! On the most illuminated face the divine lights were
descended and arrived, so much so that the blessed face was shining
with divine fayz and barakat like the brightened moon. It felt as though
you were just about to command exposition of haqa’iq and ma’arif
(hidden knowledge) through your truth-exposing tongue and the move-
ment of your illuminated and blessed lips. The blessed face was full as in
your youth. Seeing this, the conscience would not believe that you were
ill for even a single day. From your blessed face such happiness and joy
were emanating as they do upon the attainment of some great ni’mat
(blessing) or the time of such great accomplishment.23

So far, Rab Nawaz has used stock ideas and phrases, stressing the miracu-
lous uniqueness of the saint as expressed in nature. Thus, during the funeral,
he reports,

The following morn when the sun emerged from the East then it too
displayed the pure parwardigar-zat’s (sustainer of being’s) dejection.
The sun, in a special way, had gathered thick clouds around itself,
sweeping up all its lights and rays, hiding all its beams in its core, and
spreading orange across itself, was concentrating the illumination of
its light only on Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam’s blessed chamber; it was doing
so by revealing its unveiled face through a ring of dark, heavy clouds;
it was doing so in the way that a camera focuses on one point. . . . At
the time immediately following the completion of the Qul Sharif, Pir
Habib Allah Sahib [the pir’s grandson] was commanding du’a (suppli-
cation) when it began to rain in a spray-like manner, with it the whole
air was fragranced.24

Yet some of the poetry seems to express a deeper emotional truth:

I am upset, stricken, in my own home, with no attachment, O khwaja!

May I be sacrificed for your pride and accomplishment, do tell me, O
man of God,
How long will I be tormented by your separation? O khwaja!
How am I to thank you, Master? Lustre was commanded in this heart,
This plundered colony you populated, you gave karam (generosity,
kindness)
beyond counting, O khwaja!
. . . Print it upon your daman (robe) of karam that I will say on the
day of judgement,
O khwaja!
May the intoxication of obliteration in you take me, may I not remain
lost as in
youth, O khwaja!25
172 Pnina Werbner
Several other poems repeat the poet’s sense of heartbroken loss, mourning,
pain and longing. Thus, he concludes one of his poems,

From the fire of separation, O khwaja, the heart burns away

Alas not even an atom’s worth of peace does Nawaz’s heart enjoy
Only when your zikr is heard does the heart find sukun.26

Another beautiful short poem in the hagiography is deeply moving:

Would that I go to Ghamkol, I would never return,

Let my head remain forever in his footsteps.
O Nawaz, rub the soil of Ghamkol upon your eyes,
Your eyes are in want of its beauty (husn-i nazar).27

Expressions of pain, longing and love abound in the hagiography, but most
are used as tropes that seem to lack the touch of personal emotion. Certain
passages make explicitly evident that “love” is used in a more abstract way,
to refer to progression on the Sufi path toward greater transcendental close-
ness and intimacy with God. This is clear in the following passage regarding
meetings with the Shaykh that arouse shawq (desire, longing, passion):

Shawq is that thing which takes the ‘ashiq (desirer, lover) to his m’ashuq
(object of passion, the beloved), because the extent to which one is over-
come by zawq (taste, pleasure) and shawq, to that same extent the light
of iman (faith) becomes qawi (stronger) and his rank becomes buland
o bala-tar (increasingly elevated, lofty, exalted). The actual principle of
taraqqi (progress, attainment) of the madarij (steps) of faith and mana-
zil (stations) of ‘ishq (love, passion) is shawq. Shawq acts like a magna-
tis (magnet) between lover and the beloved. It is with shawq that husul
(the attainment) of wisal (meeting [God]) [is possible]; without it, rasai
(mastery) of the matlub (the desired) is not mumkin (possible). It is a
saying of the pious ancestors that an atom’s worth of [pious] deeds is
better than having a thousand [types of] knowledge; an atom’s worth
of khulus (sincerity), is better than a thousand [pious] deeds; an atom’s
worth of shawq is better than a thousand [sentiments of] sincerity; an
atom’s worth of fikr (thought, reflection) is better than a thousand long-
ings; an atom’s worth of dard (pain), is better than a thousand reflec-
tions. From ‘ilm (knowledge) to dard (pain) there is a distance of six
thousand. When a man, by means of ‘ilm, passes by the station of pain
then he will acquire mastery of the reality of the sahib-i dard logon
(people of pain). Only the people of Allah are members of that pure
group of people of the heart, sight and pain. When a man understands
the reality and actuality of a man of pain, he will understand the pure
essence of Janab Rasul Allah. Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam’s [Zindapir’s] close-
ness and his degree of longing for [self-] annihilation in the essence of
 The abstraction of love 173
Janab Rasul Allah (the Prophet Muhammad) was so exalted, that he
had no rival in the whole world; the whole world belonged to Huzur,
Qibla-i ‘Alam.28

In this passage it is evident that love, pain and longing are sentiments related
to advancement on the stations of the Sufi path. They are not merely “emo-
tions” in the sense implied by Lindholm but also building blocks in a theoso-
phy that spells out both 1) a transcendent, indeed ontological, progression on
the way to the unseen “truth” (haqq) of God’s existence (zat); and 2) an ethi-
cal progression in faith through self-denial. Being “brokenhearted” in this
symbolic universe is thus part of a wider complex of symbols. As Rab Nawaz
says, “God the Noble keeps the shikastah-dilon (brokenhearted) as friends.”

Hagiographical “pain”
In a sense, the hagiographer makes clear that pain, rather than simply love,
is a crucial aspect of the dual forces driving Sufi aspirants toward greater
intimacy and closeness to God, namely, transcendence. Without doubting
the sincerity of Rab Nawaz’s comradely love and admiration for Zindapir,
a man he had known intimately in face-to-face encounters and many long
conversations over a period of over forty years, his use of love and pain in
the hagiography is, nonetheless, I suggest here, a technical one, referring to
a technique of progression that is labeled in emotional terms. In Pilgrims
of Love, in my discussion of the Sufi path as told to me by another khalifa,
Hajji Bashir, the khalifa explained, regarding the stations on the Sufi path to
mystical transcendence:

Travelling via mahabbat allows the salik (sufi ‘traveller’) to achieve

majmu‘a [totality, from ‘crowd, assembly’], an encompassment of total
knowledge. Jazba (total ‘sucking in’ by God) encompasses practice
[jazba havi saluk]. Hence, while the salik majzub [the traveler-lover]
can cross into the sphere of realities and achieve fanā’ fi’l-lah (annihila-
tion in God) and possibly baqā’ bi’l-lah (absorption in God), this will
take him a very long time, perhaps a lifetime, and he can never reach the
final stage. This can only be achieved by the fourth method, that of the
lover-traveler, the way of the Naqshbandi. This tariqa runs with the hid-
den powers of the pir. That is why it is called the tariqa of the Prophet.
Here you don’t need to leave your home, your wife, and so on. There
are only two things you have to do:

(1) follow the sunna of the Prophet (P.B.U.H.);

(2) love/respect your shaykh.

This means that you cannot ever object to the shaykh, whatever he
does or says. You have to believe that what he does is right, even if you
174 Pnina Werbner
see it [it appears to you to be] wrong, but what is behind it you cannot
understand. It is easier to go into the jungle. This respect [adab] means
you cannot even talk loudly, shout, speak to others in his presence;
you must keep your attention on him, you cannot sit in company and
turn your face away from him, you cannot eat in front of him (unless it
is a commensal meal), or disagree with him, or use any of his objects,
and there are many other things. Even those living in his lodge must
be respected – his family, dogs and cats, everyone. The shaykh is the
person who guides you and you cannot do anything alone. No one else
can show you the path. Only the shaykh can take your soul out of your
body and put it into ‘alam-e-amr.
The respect and love for the Sufi saint is the first stage of Sufism. It
has four internal stages. . . . One day a man finds that he cannot tell the
difference between himself and the shaykh. When that happens all the
time, it opens the way to heaven.29

It is perhaps significant that in Hajji Bashir’s highly analytic, structural

exposition of the Sufi way, there is no place for “pain.” He uses terms like
self-denial, or “killing” the soul, instead. But in other respects, his account
makes clear that “love” can be understood as an abstract term in Sufi dis-
course and as a technique, a series of bodily practices (‘amal) and perfor-
mances of respect (adab). In this sense, it seems to lack the authenticity of a
deeply felt personal emotion.

Conclusion
The path to inner transcendence for Sufis is achieved through “pain” and
“love,” and so, too, intimacy with the saint and contemplation of him are
means to that end. As a sacred biography, The Treasure Trove of Irfan is
a huge compendium of poems, miracle stories, tales of the saint’s child-
hood and of his family, instructions on etiquette and Sufi theosophy. On
the whole, however, it lacks descriptions of Earthly intimacy, comradeship
and friendship of the kind I recorded in Pilgrims of Love. Only the poetry
at times catches the personal love, longing and pain of the poet, but all
too often this is overlaid by a veneer of convention that renders it generic
rather than personal, another example of Sufi qasida poetry, rather than
an evocation of personal emotion, beyond Sufism. For modern individuals
who seek transcendental or mystical “spirituality” in joining Sufi medita-
tion groups,30 the stress by local Pakistani Sufi devotees of Zindapir on love
and pain as the core of mystical achievement may seem far removed from
the desire of modern followers for personal spiritual transcendence. Nev-
ertheless, if God is love, as Sufis claim, then love must be the path to God.
Such a statement, however, fails to resolve what love is, as I have tried to
show in the paper. It does ultimately seem to remain a personal experience
beyond words.
 The abstraction of love 175
Acknowledgments
This chapter is based partly on a hagiography of Hazrat Shah, known as
Zindapir, written by his khalifa Rab Nawaz and published after the saint’s
death in 1999. The hagiography was translated by Jon Hamidi with the sup-
port of a British Academy small grant. The paper was first presented at the
Pakistan Workshop in the Lake District in May 2015 and benefitted from
comments of the participants.

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

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

Notes
1 Here the author gives a quotation in Arabic – ‘Inda thikr al-salihin tanzil al-rahmah.’
2 Urdu, wa/raftah unclear here (translator).
3 Rab Nawaz 2005, p. 9. All page references are to the original Urdu hagiography,
published ca. 2005.
4 Ibid., p. 12.
5 On this see also Werbner 2016.
6 see Werbner 2003.
7 Rab Nawaz 2005.
8 2013, p. 12.
9 Lindholm 2013.
10 Schimmel 1975, p. 4.
11 Ibid., p. 266.
12 Ibid., pp. 287, 288.
13 Ibid., p. 289.
14 Ibid., p. 291.
15 See also Sells 2002.
16 Werbner 2003, p. 276.
17 Frembgen 2012, p. 114.
18 Much has been written about new forms of Sufi spirituality which have emerged
as Sufi orders have expanded to incorporate westernized Muslim elites or non-
Muslims. The main contrast drawn here is between Sufi ‘love’, usually mediated
176 Pnina Werbner
by the figure of the Shaykh or the Prophet, espousing the denial of the ego or
nafs, and more explicitly universalist and at the same time inwardly focused
individualized forms of meditation and mystical quest, sharing much in common
with New Age and other Eastern religions such as Zen or yoga (on the Moroccan
Budshishiyya see Haenni and Voix 2007, p. 252; Diaz 2015, p. 29; on German
Sufis see Klinkhammer 2009, p. 138; Sedgwick 2009, pp. 184, 191; on the USA
see Hermansen 1997; Webb 2006, pp. 88, 89; on London Iranians see Spellman
2004, p. 137).
19 On such manufacturing of charisma after a saint’s death see Ben Ari and Bilu 1992.
20 Ironically, Badshah Sahib, the pir’s only son, had told me on a previous visit that
he had led a miserable, unhappy life as a child, ignored by his father, living in
the wilderness of the lodge as it then was, surrounded entirely by male company,
or with uncaring relatives in his natal village nearby. Later he found solace in
his marriage and children and was, above all, a family man. Now his sense of
neglect, of childhood loss, had been transmuted into a story of glorious sacrifice
in which he was the center, the ultimate symbol. He was the son of Abraham
sacrificed to God in the valley of Mina. A modest, retiring man who had avoided
the crowds throughout his father’s life, Badshah Sahib had been forced into the
limelight by his father’s death. The loss of his father had thus become for him a
felt daily reality.
21 Rab Nawaz 2005, p. 285.
22 Ibid., p. 286.
23 Ibid., p. 287.
24 Ibid.
25 Ibid., p. 289.
26 Ibid., p. 290.
27 Ibid., p. 61.
28 Ibid., p. 100.
29 Werbner, 2003, p. 204.
30 See van Bruinessen and Howell 2007.

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

Introduction
One of God’s name is al-Wadūd, or the Love. “And since love is part of the
Divine Nature, all of existence, which issues from Him, is permeated by
love.”1 God states in a hadith qudsi, sacred hadith or extra-Qur’anic revela-
tion, that He was a hidden treasure Who yearned, desired and loved to be
known: “This love rises up inside of God until it bursts forth as creation.”2
Hence, it is believed that God brings the cosmos into being through love, and
“it is through love that we are sustained, it is by merging with the cosmic
current of love that we are led back Home.”3 Annemarie Schimmel observes,
“It was not the exclusive religion of the immutable Law but rather a religion
of warm love – a love in which non-Muslims might also share, as Hindus in
India participated in writing mystical poetry in honor of the Prophet and the
saints.”4 All Muslims, in particular the Muslim mystics, emulate the Prophet
Muhammad, who was sent down to Earth as a mercy to the worlds (Qur’an
21:107). This idea is also reinforced in a hadith qudsi, which states that the
Divine love of Muhammad is the very secret of creation.5 Sufis thus extend
their ‘ishq, or passionate love,6 for the Prophet as well; they are said to be
the heir to – as well as mimesis of – the Prophet.7 Moreover, a Sufi disciple or
novice is to direct his ‘ishq not only to God and the Prophet but also to his
Sufi master, Shaykh or Murshid.8 The ‘ishq of the disciple to his Sufi Shaykh
is viewed as the first indication of his love for God. In some traditions, a
follower meditates his Shaykh’s image and annihilates his self in him (fanā’
fi’l-shaykh) as the first step of annihilating his self in God (fanā’ fi’llah). But
how does a receiver of spiritual grace approach his master or Murshid? How
does a disciple become attracted to his Murshid or make himself attracted to
his Murshid? It has been argued that this is done through reciprocal methods
called tasawwur and tawajjuh. By practicing tasawwur, or contemplation
and visualization of the master in prayer, a disciple annihilates (fanā’) his
self in the self of the Shaykh. The Sufi master practices tawajjuh, or opens
his self for the disciple so that the disciple can become absorbed in him.9
Thus, there exists a reciprocity and interchangeability of roles between the
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 179
Sufi master and his disciples.10 But this reciprocity of love between a Shaykh
and his disciple substitutes the passionate love (‘ishq) for God, and the Sufi
master or Murshid becomes the sole persona for the disciple’s annihilation
of the self in popular Sufi practices.
In medieval Sufi literature, it is said that blessing others, giving the oppor-
tunity to contemplate and being blessed are often described in gendered
language. Disciples are described as receivers and the Shaykh as the giver of
spiritual insight. “Like fathers, spiritual guides are powerful, somewhat dis-
tant figures who command awe, respect, and obedience, and like mothers,
they are nurturing, compassionate, and loving figures with whom disciples
have a warm and gentle relationship,” observes Margaret Malamud.11 In
a similar vein, Schimmel points out that the novice who has entered the
master’s group becomes like the son of the Shaykh; the Shaykh “helps him
to give birth to a true ‘heart’ and nourishes him with spiritual milk like a
mother, as it is often repeated.”12 One tradition goes as far as to contend
that when an individual has no Shaykh, Satan becomes his Shaykh instead.13
It has also been said that

Whoever travels without a guide

needs two hundred years for a two days journey.14

Shahzad Bashir observes that in Persianate Sufi theoretical discourses

“praiseworthy desire that has God or a master as its object is referenced
under the term irada. The centrality of such desire to Sufi social practice
is evident from the fact that the standard term for a disciple is murid, the
one who desires, while the master is designated as murad, the one who is
desired.”15 Bashir also notes that almost all medieval Sufi thought takes
men as its standard and, by implication, excludes women as significant Sufi
actors16 and enforces the notion that “women are tied to lower, material
forms while men have the capacity to delve into the highly valued inte-
rior.”17 This leads one to an aspect of love that is usually connected with
the Sufi experience, with a stress on the chastity of the lover, claiming that
looking at them reminds one of the prophets and angels and makes one a
witness of God’s eternal beauty.18 In describing the hierarchical relationship
between a master and his disciples, novices are “consistently enjoined to
behave in a manner that closely matched the subordinate behavior women
were urged to display toward fathers and husbands.”19
After analyzing the medieval and pre-modern Sufi genres of South Asia,
Scott Kugle (2009) describes how followers, and in some cases Sufi masters,
expressed their love by using homoerotic language that contravened patri-
archal gender roles. He argues,

A male disciple could approach a male spiritual guide only in one of two
ways: as seducer in a homoerotic social role that inverts sexual norms,
or as a subservient effeminate in a feminine social role that inverts gen-
der norms.20
180 Sarwar Alam
He also observes that in situations of deference toward the authority of a
Sufi master and to render themselves open and vulnerable to receiving mys-
tical insight, men’s bodies are placed in positions that contradict patriarchal
norms.21 He cites examples of Amir Khusro (d. 1325), who once dressed in
women’s clothes and danced before his Sufi master, Nizam al-Din Awliya’,
and of Musa Sada Sohag (d. 1449), who did the same, only to end up wear-
ing women’s clothing and bangles for the rest of his life.22
Drawing insights from Kugle, I have argued that there are other possible
ways in which a male disciple approaches a male spiritual guide and that a
male disciple may approach a male spiritual guide as a subservient effemi-
nate but only to the extent that expressing the attachment to the master in
a feminine voice best expresses the sufferings and pains for longing for the
beloved that a woman experiences in a patriarchal society. I also argue that
a disciple may approach his master without being a seducer or a subservient
feminine, that it is devotion, not a gendered role, that makes a difference in
establishing a relationship between a master and a disciple. In contrast to
medieval and pre-modern devotional Sufi genres, which emphasized mostly
males and mard,23 this chapter shows how the devotees of an early modern
Sufi order, the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa of Bangladesh, express supplica-
tion to their Sufi master or Murshid. In this chapter, I have analyzed some
selected mystical songs of the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa composed by Maw-
lana Addul Hadi (1842–1905) and Kavial Ramesh Chandra Shil (1877–
1967), who portrayed themselves in some of their songs as female devotees
who longed for union with their Murshid, the beloved. Their songs reflect
an attempt of idealizing womanhood rather than manhood, contrary to
what is evident in most medieval Persianate Sufi literature. I also analyze
the erotic language used in song lyrics and show how they conform to or
contravene the bhakti traditions of South Asia.

Maizbhandari songs
In Vilayat-i Mutlaqa, Shaykh Delaor Husayn Maizbhandari states that the
Mutlaqa-i Ahmadi, or the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa, is the path of unre-
stricted divine love,24 and that love is the key to abolish religious conflicts.25
This love mysticism is expressed in almost all the Maizbhandari songs.
There are numerous composers of Maizbhandari songs, and it is quite
impossible to figure out the exact number of these songs. However, there
are roughly four thousand songs available in printed form and another
thousand in recorded form. There are others that were composed by past
generations or lesser-known songwriters, but these have gone into oblivion.
Hans Harder observes, “While it is certainly impossible to even come close
to determining the number of songs ever written, we can quite safely esti-
mate that it runs into five digits.”26 It is interesting to note that, as Harder
points out, “numerous offsprings of Maizbhandari songs have appeared
in recent years that are identical with regard to their musical properties
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 181
but praise other, mostly local saints in Chittagong, such as Muhsin Auliya
(d. 1397), Amanat Shah, Gurudas Faqir (1816–1898), etc. Even Buddhist
themes have been set to music by a Buddhist singer of Maizbhandari songs
in exactly the same fashion.”27 Prominent songwriters include Aliullah
Rajapuri, Manmohan Datta, Mawlana Abdul Hadi, Mawlana Ryhanuddin
Shah, Mawlana Abdul Ghani Kanchanpuri, Mawlana Aminul Haq Har-
bingiri, Maulvi Bajlul Karim Mandakini, Ramesh Chandra Shil, Mawlana
Abdus Salam Bhujpuri, Munshi Safiuddin Ahmed, Mawlana Kazi Asad
Ali, Amiruzzaman Shah, Askar Ali Pandit, Muhammad Musa Alam, Fazlul
Karim, Abdul Karim, Abdur Rahman, Sayyid Abul Bashar Maizbhandari,
Maqbul Pandit Shah Qutubi, Munshi Fazar Ali Darvish, Shah Yusuf Ali
Darvish, Khairuzzaman Master, Hajji Ayub Ali Chowdhuri, Shafiul Bashar
Maizbhandari, Abdul Jabbar Mimnagari, Faqir Farid Husayn, Abdul Gafur
Hali, Sayiid Muhiuddin, Fazu Mian Chowdhuri, Sayyid Mejbah Uddin
Kazi Shahapuri, Sanjit Acariya, Mahbubul Alam, Lutfunnesa Husayni,
and Badrunnisa Saju, among others.28 The first known printed volume of
Maizbhandari songs is Aliullah Rajapuri’s Premnūr, which appeared in
1913 from Tripura, followed by Abdul Ghani Kanchanpuri’s Ā’īnā-e Bārī,
published in 1914–15.29 Another early compilation, Prem Pūspahār, by
Mawlana Ryhanuddin Shah, was published in 1927.30 Quite a ˙number of
songwriters are Hindu devotees, such as Sadhu Manmohan Datta, Ramesh
Chandra Shil and Sanjit Acariya. Among the songwriters, Mawlana Abdul
Hadi and Ramesh Chandra Shil are the most popular. Prominent sing-
ers of the Maizbhandari songs in recent years in the darbār circle include
Muhammad Nasiruddin, Muhammad Delwar, Abdullah al-Hannan and
Ahmed Nur Amiri.
Most of the Maizbhandari songs are written in the Bengali language, with
the rest composed in Urdu or a mixture of Urdu, Persian, Bengali languages
and local dialects. Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil composed quite a num-
ber of songs in this fashion. The most popular instruments used in Maizbha-
dari songs are dholok (a barrel-shaped drum), harmonium, flute, mandolin,
tabla (two single-headed barrel-shaped small drums), ektara (a single string
drone lute), keyboard, acoustic guitar and rhythm box.31 Compared to the
inclination toward classical rāga music seen in North Indian and Pakistani
Qawwali songs, Maizbhandari songs are a part of Bengali folk traditions,
especially of Bāūl traditions.32 While Qawwali is performed in an alternat-
ing singing between a soloist and an echoing group, Maizbhandari songs
are performed by solo singers. In addition, there are some thematic simi-
larities between the Maizbhandari songs and those of Vaisnva padābali and
Faqir Lalon Shah’s songs.33 The themes of the Maizbhandari˙ ˙ songs generally
revolve around expressions of mystical love (‘ishq, muhabba), ecstatic states
(rindāna), separation (firāq) and union (wisāl). The songs are performed as
˙ of the entertainment at social
sama‘ at the darbār settings, as well as part
occasions, such as wedding ceremonies, radio and television, and places
connected with other religious denominations, such as Hindu ashrams.34
182 Sarwar Alam
It is only Ramesh Shil who followed the South Asian rāgas, such as dādrā,
thūmrī, kāhārbā and so on, in composing his lyrics.
˙

Mawlana Abdul Hadi and Kavial Ramesh Chandra Shil

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

Devotionalism as reflected in Mawlana Hadi’s

and Ramesh Shil’s songs
In the lyrical genres of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil, Maizbhandari
saints are addressed as beloved, friend, spiritual preceptor, father, helmsman
and merciful gurus who can take their abode in the disciple’s heart when
implored to do so. They open the hearts and the very eye of the hearts of
their disciples. They dwell on both sides of the line dividing our reality from
the other world. The saints are also viewed as incarnations of the divine,
great cosmic players, artisans inside man and a bridge between different
religions. Ramesh Shil equates his Murshid with prophets, saints and God
Himself.37 In one of his lyrics, he depicts his Murshid as his Lord (Mawla),
who has incarnated Himself as Muhammad in Medina, ‘Abd al-Qadir Jilani
in Baghdad and Muin al-Din Chisti in Ajmer.38 In another one of his songs,
Ramesh Shil mentions that the Murshid should not be conceived as separate
from God and the Prophet; he perceived Baba Bhandari (Sayyid Golam ar-
Rahman) as a non-man in the form of a man.39 He describes the darbār as
a meeting point of Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists and states that
quarrel between the religious communities are nonsensical since all are the
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 183
creation of that one God who is neither a Hindu nor a Muslim.40 He por-
trayed the darbār as the prem darbār or the court of love where the premer
khelā, or play of love, can be witnessed. For him who has been caught by
love, “life and death are the same” and “those who practice love with him
[the true beloved] die before dying.”41 Mawlana Hadi composes, “Come
on, brother, and play love in the river of love of the dearest Murshid,” and
urged his Murshid to “put my boat into the sea of love.”42 Mawlana Hadi
describes this feeling as madan jvala, “the vexation of Madan” (the god
of love) and accuses his beloved by saying the following: “Having robbed
Hadi’s life-breath, you sit there and watch the spectacle.”43 Like Ramesh
Shil, Mawlana Hadi also states that God and Murshid are not separate.44
This is reflected in the following song, composed by Mawlana Hadi:

He who has gone for a swim in the sea of your love

Can realise his own essence from the waves of love
You are the repository of all good attributes
You are shapeless.
But You are manifest in all the forms of the world.
You are Ahad when invisible.
But you are Ahmad when visible
You are the leader of all human beings
In the shape of a man.
To whom did all the angels prostrate?
It is you who are both manifest and hidden.
Moses was only an excuse in Mount Sinai
The Prophet swooned at the splendor of his own light.
Ibrahim was a man only. The fire of Nimrod turned into
A garden due to you.
You are the source of beauty. You are the beloved of the world.
It is you who became known as Joseph in Egypt.
It is you who became the Chief of the Arabs.
The whole world knows you to be the Prophet of Allah
Sometimes you are the lover, sometimes you are the beloved.
Sometimes you are the Peer of all Peers in Baghdad.
You are the advocate of Hadi,
You are the real essence of the universe,
It is you who came to be known as Gaus of Maizbhandar.45

Similarly, Ramesh Shill narrates:

Lord! I wonder how many shows you can put up.

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

When the devotee is a female

There is a structural power imbalance between the lover (‘ashiq) or the
seeker of love and the beloved (ma’ashuq) or the sought-after in the Maiz-
bhandariyya lyrical genres. In both Persian and Indo-Muslim poetry, the
sought-after beloved tends to be withholding, cold and indifferent to the
‘ashiq.47 In order to draw the attention of the beloved, the lover submits
himself to the beloved by pretending himself as a woman.
Both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil have used gender imagery in
expressing their longing for and the pain of separation from their Murshid.
In some of his songs, Ramesh Shil portrayed himself as a kalankini (stained
woman), dasi (female slave), duksini (sad woman) and kangalini (miser-
able woman). Ramesh Shil also stated in one of his songs, “Such a torture
of love / [My] life has passed by crying, [now I have] death while living.”48
Similarly, Mawlana Hadi wrote, “I cannot bear the vexation of separation,
I have come to give up my life-breath / Why should I, a woman, bear the
grief you have inflicted on my mind.”49 Hadi also composes the following:

Friend, I forbid you, do not put chains to my feet.

In the mind of this weak woman, the urge of love has arisen.
In the evening, under the kadamba tree at the shore of the Yamuna,
The amorous gallant called me by the sound of the flute.
The heart [prān] is split by the melody of the flute, I could not stay
at home. ˙
At noon, while I was bathing at the shore of the Yamuna,
Smiling gently, he charmed me with the play of his eyes.
Since then, I cannot bear the urge of that connoisseur of love,
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 185
I implore you, O friend, let me go.
I want to fall to his feet and enclose him in my heart [hrde miśāi],
I will offer him my youth to drink and thus fulfill my heart’s˙ desire
[maner bāsanā]
Hadi says: Whoever is desirous of love-play,
Serve the feet (caran seba) of the Ġawt treasure day and night.
I will fulfill the heart’s desire by giving¯ the toy of love.50

Ramesh Shil describes his yearning in the following manner:

You played the flute at the wrong time, how much can a woman bear?
I became a mad woman through the songs of friend Śyāma’s flute
I was the bride of a householder, I set out upon hearing the flute
I lost this and that shore, all by the songs of the terrible flute.51

In another song, Ramesh Shil states:

My life-breath is burning (because) of your separation, O friend

Either you appear before me or slaughter [qurban] me.
You have made my life-breath restless with the illusion of your love
Whom should I make understand the pain, who will understand that
burning
Tying the rope of love around (my) neck (you) pull from nowhere.
You are rich I am miserable, O friend of my life-breath treasure
Do not forget this helpless (woman) who consoles [her] mind with the
dust of your feet
I’ve given away the family honor in the hope of your love.
All the love and affection of this world
Taste poisonous, sweet is your speech
I’ll sing your song in my inner heart.
Ramesh says: I’ve submitted all my mind-soul
(my) eyes forgot everything upon gazing at the golden picture
This slave wishes his life-breath pass away gazing at that form.52

Ramesh Shill also composes the following:

You have killed me by teaching love O friend of my heart

Holding your love in heart I wander in cities and markets,
Seeing me people call [me] a crazy woman.
Some call (me) a fallen woman, some call (me) an adulteress!
Some call (me) a bad stained woman.
(Let them) say bad words as much as they can, if you just look back (to me)
This life will seem a success.
Ramesh says: (if I) die in the flame of love, Maizbhandari will give peace
By whose affection (ādar) I am conceited (ādarīnī).53
186 Sarwar Alam
In another song, Ramesh Shil narrates:

My amorous friend [nāgar bandhū] Śyāma

I’ve become a stained woman because of you.
Neighborhood people say bad words (about me) because of you
For me I take them as sandalwood fragrance [sūgandha candan].
I hear at every house that I’ve lost my lineage I’ve lost my honor
I’ve become a street beggar to get that honor-destroyer.
By declaring that I’ve lost my lineage I’ve lost my honor
I know that my caste-destroyer Lord [jātnāshā thākūre] eats rice (with
the people) of all castes.
You know words of my mind pain of my heart, friend
You are in my mind, let people say whatever they want.
Ramesh says: What’d I do with lineage and family
This intoxication will not go away even if (anyone) puts a knife on
the neck.54

Both composers describe in their songs not only their longing but also
the indifference their beloved showed toward them. One of the dominant
characteristics of their songs is viraha bhakti, or devotion in separation.
In one of his songs, Mawlana Hadi narrates: “Sitting on the shore of the
Yamuna, I gazed at the full moon / Through the sound of the flute, I had to
cry from the sorrow for the beloved.”55 Harder categorizes three stages of
viraha bhakti56 in the songs of, among others, Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh
Shil: The first stage is of unfulfilled desire, the second stage is of suffer-
ing and the third is of torture. In the first stage the female lover waits for
her beloved, weaves garlands, adorns the bedstead with flowers and spends
sleepless nights in attendance. The carnal aspect of this imagery is expressed
by Mawlana Hadi when he states in song: “Not seeing beloved Hari, I toss
and turn alone on the bed.”57 Ramesh Shil expresses his emotion in a similar
vein: “I had hoped that we two would merge in our innermost beings and
have amorous talks / Lie on one bed, both on one mattress.”58 In the second
stage, the female lover laments the loss of her virginity, family and honor.
Mawlana Hadi describes his states as follows: “He robbed the treasure of
youth, why did my life not end / My honor was destroyed and my family
[honor] was destroyed, the clothes of my body were destroyed / The gold-
colored youth was destroyed, my beloved came not.” Ramesh Shil states
that, because of the seduction of Bhandari, she left her father and broth-
ers and lost her status as a sati, or chaste woman.59 In the third stage, the
female lover withdraws from society to spend her life wandering through the
woods as a yogini. Mawlana Hadi states: “Through love for the friend and
mental grief, I have become a wood-dweller.” Mawlana Hadi went as far
as dressing himself in a Bengali woman’s attire (sari) and presenting a love
song to his Murshid.60 It appears that both devotees feminized themselves
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 187
while expressing their attachment and deference to their Murshid. They had
thus symbolically transgressed the gender role as practiced in a patriarchal
society.

When the beloved is a female

In addition to the aforementioned symbolic changes of gender, the saint is
also portrayed as a female in a number of Maizbhandari songs. In some
cases, composers address their Murshid as prīyā or female beloved. The
reversal of gender relations between lover and beloved occurs in Hadi’s lyr-
ics a number of times. In one of his songs he addresses the Murshid as prīyā:
“What fault have I committed, [female] beloved, tell [me at your] revered
feet / Why do you chase away again and again this subordinated one?”61 In
the following lyrics, Mawlana Hadi states,

The flame of separation burns my limbs all the time, I implore you O
[female] beloved come [to me]
O [female] beloved of heat, beloved of compassion, lamenting
deceiver, come [to me].
You robbed my youth treasure in a dream when I was alone in my
chamber
My mind has become restless and indifferent ever since.
Once a beautiful woman of desire has now become a renouncer and
left the bed of flower
Who shall I allow to sit on my heart except for you O friend.
The body cannot bear your urge [anymore], my simple helpless [mind]
I’ll end [my] life by jumping into water saying friend O friend.
Because of you, I traveled into deep forests, so many summits
[I] became a renouncer, at a young age, chanting [your] name, come
[to me] O [female] beloved.
The slave Hadi says: There is no hope of liberation once [one] falls in love
Chant [over the mantra of] love throughout [your] life, O [female]
beloved come [to me].62

In another song, Mawlana Hadi narrates:

Come on, beloved [lady], into the garden of love, I want to play love
with you
Mixing color into the sports of love in the grove
I will put you on the throne, press to my breast
In the dawn of love, we two shall be united in love and become one
I and you shall become one, we will not remain anything but united
In the sky, the underworld and so on, in all the three worlds we will
remain one
188 Sarwar Alam
In sport, I will be a bud, in one sport, I will be a flower
In one (more) sport, I will be a saint and drink the honey of the flower
of love
In sport Hadi is the sad one, in sport I will acquire a body of light
In sport I will become a stye on the eyelid of my dearest Ġawt.63
¯

Discussion and analysis

According to the Islamic faith, there are ninety-nine attributes of God. These
attributes are sometimes divided into two broad categories: Jalal, or names
of grandeur and majesty, and Jamal, or beauty, compassion and mercy.
The first one is considered masculine; the second, the feminine nature of
God.64 Nevertheless, God’s mercy and compassion for humanity surpass His
grandeur and majesty. God says in a hadith qudsi: “My mercy precedes my
wrath.”65 This is largely portrayed in Sufi poetry and lyrical genres. Seyyed
Hossein Nasr (1980) observes that the union of masculine and feminine
dominates Islamic spirituality, in which God appears as the beloved and the
female as a precious being symbolizing inwardness and the inner paradise.
This is the context that inspires Ibn al-‘Arabi to argue that the contempla-
tion of God in a woman is the highest form of contemplation possible.66 He
also points out that God’s attribute (sifa) is grammatically feminine and so
are God’s power (qudra) and essence (al-dhat). He argues, “Indeed, what-
ever position you take, you will find that the feminine takes priority, even
for those who claim that God is the cause of the cosmos, for ‘cause’ [‘illa]
is also feminine.”67 Through her creativity and receptivity, women “are the
locus for the most perfect witnessing of God.”68 In fact, it is Ibn al-‘Arabi
who plays a major role in explaining the significance of the feminine element
with definitions that plumed ever-deeper depths into Islamic spirituality.69
Similar thoughts are echoed in Rumi’s work as well, observes Schimmel.70
However, Ibn al-‘Arabi also points out that receiving is a feminine virtue. He
holds that everything that exercises an effect (mu’aththir) is masculine, and
everything that receives an effect (mu’aththar fih) is feminine; that which is
born between the two is called a son or a child.71 The ambivalence between
the ideas of witnessing God in women and witnessing beardless lads is one
of the most interesting aspects of Islamic mystical discourses. Schimmel
observes: “The attitude of Sufism toward fair sex was ambivalent, and it
can even be said that Sufism was more favorable to the development of
feminine activities than were other branches of Islam.”72 Comparing these
two views on femininity and masculinity in Sufi discourses, Sa‘diyya Shaikh
holds that there are polyphonous and contradictory currents of gender run-
ning through Sufi thoughts and practices.73 The lyrics of Mawlana Hadi
and Ramesh Shil also show that there exists a similar gender ambivalence
in the musical traditions of the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa. One of the exam-
ples of this ambivalence is Mawlana Hadi’s following lines, in which he
addresses his Murshid as a female beloved: “Do tell me, O bosom friend
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 189
(sakhi), how shall I keep this life.”74 He also explicitly addresses Gholam
ar-Rahman as his female beloved.75 In this regard, Harder observes, “These
features reveal that there is not one single blueprint upon which Maijb-
handari viraha songs are modeled. Rather, we find a typical ambivalence in
the figure of the beloved – male or female, human or divine – that is present
also in other types of religious love poetry from Vaishnava, Sufic, and other
provenances.”76 Similar to Ibn al-‘Arabi’s assertion that the human soul, or
nafs, is feminine, Mawlana Hadi appeared to portray his nafs as feminine,
one that had transformed itself from endless sufferings (nafs al-lawwama)
into a soul at peace (nafs al-mutma’ina) by annihilating itself at the presence
of his Murshid. It appears that Mawlana Hadi’s wearing of women’s clothes
intends to contemplate the gopībhāva to annihilate his self in his Murshid
(fanā’ fi-shaykh).
Harder observes77 that viraha bhakti expressed in the Maizbhandari
songs resonate the general theory of sexes, in which a woman is seen as an
inferior being, confined by and dependent upon men. The devotee has to
become a woman in order to learn true humility and to degrade himself. It is
also possible that, since women are generally viewed as the beautiful sex, the
male devotee wants to appear before his beloved (Murshid) as beautiful by
becoming a female, as Kugle points out. The Persianate Sufi literature that
often depicts love between two men, especially one being a beardless young
boy, as a symbol of ‘ishq majazi, has changed into a love of the divine as
symbolized in women in South Asian traditions. It has been argued that in
Persian poetry, the “constant emphasis on pain and suffering led the mystics
to the assertion that love is only for the strong, for the true man of God
(the rhyme mard [‘man’] with dard [‘pain’],”78 which appeared to be oppo-
site in South Asian bhakti traditions, especially those of Gaudiya Vaisn va
and Vaisn va Sahajiyā bhakti traditions. Schimmel points out ˙ that “in˙ ˙the
western ˙part
˙ of Muslim India, however – from Sind to Kashmir – the poets
followed the Hindu tradition, which describes the soul as a longing girl, a
faithful wife, or a loving bride. The classical example of Hinduism is the leg-
end of Krishna and the gopīs, the cowherd-girls.”79 Sufis took women as the
symbol for longing, as did Radha and gopīs in their longing for their Divine
beloved, Lord Krishna. Schimmel observes that “Hīr Rānjhā in Punjabi is
the best known example of the complete spiritualization of a medieval folk
tale in which the woman, Hir, is identified with the soul, and her beloved
Ranjha with the longed-for Divine Beloved.”80
In contrast to Persianate mystical traditions, in which love for mard /
jawan mard and ‘ishq mazaji is appreciated, South Asian mystical traditions
that generally appreciate a feminine voice in expressing love for the beloved
are most visible in the Vaisn ava literature, which expresses the notion that, to
˙˙
achieve a union with the Lord, a bhakta, or devotee, needs to reach the state
of the mind of Radha. In other words, the devotee should transform his self
into the self of a longing woman. In this regard, Edward C. Dimock holds
that, in order to experience the state of mind of Radha, a Krishnabhakta
190 Sarwar Alam
may have to become a female internally or cultivate a gopībhāva or emo-
tional state of gopīs.81 Devotees perceive Lord Krishna – the God-incarnate
charioteer of Arjuna, who took a human birth and spent his childhood and
youth in Vr ndāvana, during which time he engaged himself with erotic play,
or rasalīlā,˙ with cow maids – as the beloved. However, only the longing
female self (gopībhāva), who abandons everything to seek Lord Krishna’s
love, is able to understand Him. In order to contemplate Lord Krishna, male
devotees sometimes took the identity of the gopīs and dressed in women’s
clothes and adopted women’s dialect.82 The transformation of oneself into
Radha’s self is the most important characteristic of Bengali Vaisn avism. To
all Vaisn avas, Radha is the symbol of true love, or prema. To the ˙ ˙ Sahajīyā
˙ ˙
Vaisnavas in particular, observes Dimock, her presence on Earth, in women
and˙ ˙in all human beings gives men a way to experience the divine (1989
[1966], p. 35). The Krishnalīlā is also eloquently expressed in the musi-
cal practices known as kīrtan among the Vaisnavas. David Kinsley points
out that “for the bhakti that is so emotionally ˙ ˙ expressed in kīrtan is also
described elsewhere, in the madness of emotions that exist between Rādhā
and K r sna. The Divine couple intoxicate and incite each other, they swoon
˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ they are overcome by powerful emotions that cause their bodies
and sweat,
to tremble uncontrollably.”83
It has also been argued that a Vaisnava transcends erotic attitudes; has
˙˙
no desire for self-gratification; and desires only to satisfy Krishna by serv-
ing Him with his spiritual self, which is female by nature.84 The highest
form of love is the madurya-bhakti,85 in which Radha forgets that she is the
subject of love (ramani), and Krishna is the object of her loving devotion
(ramana), the subject and the object being resolved into one experience of
love.86 Nevertheless, there are also narratives in the Vaisnava literature on
Radha’s union with Krishna, as well as in Krishnalīlā, which ˙˙ have graphic
descriptions of eroticism and lovemaking that are apparently amorous in
character.87 The erotic love is vividly expressed in some Vaisnava traditions
˙ ˙ places only
of Caitanya, where it is stated that unconditional surrender takes
amid erotic love.88 It is also said that the loving relationship is more appeal-
ing when it occurs between a man and a wife of another person, known as
parakīyā (as against svakīya, which is monotonous and without any thrills
or risks). At least the Sahajiyās believe that, if there is no parakīyā, there
can be no fear of separation from which grief and passionate longing grow.
For svakīyas, there is no fear of separation. The supreme enjoyment of rasa
comes from extramarital, or parakīyā, love.89
The longing expressed in some of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil’s songs
resonates the long of Radha for Lord Krishna. However, Mawlana Hadi
never cited the name of Krishna, Radha or gopīs, yet the motifs he used
(such as Yamuna, kadamba tree, flute or Hari) does refer to gopībhāva,
which allows one to make sense of his gender bending. Some of the devo-
tional lyrics of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil clearly reflect gender trans-
gressiveness that alludes to a spiritual intimacy between the Sufi master and
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 191
his feminized devotees. Such intimacy exemplifies the popular belief in Ben-
gali Gaudiya Vaisnavite tradition that the love for the divinity can attain its
perfection ˙ only if˙ he
˙ internally becomes a woman with a bhakti that follows
passion. However, Islamic Sufism also has erotic literature that expresses
the relationship between lover and beloved.90 It appears that both Mawlana
Hadi and Ramesh Shil choose Indo-Persian cultural tropes while expressing
the trinity of love, lover and beloved in their songs.
There are debates among the scholars of South Asia, particularly of Ben-
gal, related to cultural borrowings. Some argue that the emergence of Sufism
in Bengal is a pure syncretism; that Sufism in Bengal is the product of exist-
ing Hindu cultic practices, especially Tāntrīc, Nātha, Yoga and Vaisnava
Sahajiyā cults; and that Sufis of Bengal incorporated or influenced by ˙these
˙
cultic practices. The view that the Sufi traditions in Bengal have a syncretic
trend is common among most of the scholars, including Sen (1960, p. 143),
Bandyopādhyāy (1378[1971], pp. 261, 273), Briggs (1973), Dasgupta
(1962, p. 177 n 2), Haq (1965, pp. 270–280; Haq 1975, p. 52), and Roy
(1983, pp. 10–11), among others. Some of the scholars made their observa-
tions by identifying parallel concepts, terms, or practices popular among
both Sufi and indigenous cultic traditions without considering common cul-
tural properties of those concepts, terms or practices. Most of them view
that Sufi concepts and practices are identical to those of Nātha cult, Yogic-
Tāntrīc or Vaisnava traditions.91 Ahmad Sharif (2011 [1969]) holds that,
because of the ˙presence
˙ of various Hindu and Buddhist Vaisnava traditions
and practices, Sufi ideals found a favorable ground in Bengal ˙ ˙ (p. 26). He
also acknowledges the influence of Sufi ideals on bhakti and Vaisnava tradi-
tions.92 David Cashin argues that the Islamic syncretic tradition ˙in ˙ Bengal –
as a mixture of various influences – is a faulty analysis of esoteric
­terminologies. In addition, linguistic usage or even ritual acts of the Sufis
do not necessarily indicate a direct line of transfer or influence.93 Arguing
against Asim Roy’s views on the influence of the Nātha cult, Cashin observes
that the Vaisnava Sahajiyā viewpoint of love lies much closer to the ideals of
Sufism than˙ that
˙ of the Nāths, that “God is often presented in the feminine
and the Sufi is presented as the lover seeking union with the divine,”94 and
that “the Sufi concept of dying before one’s death95 also finds a strong coun-
terpart in the viewpoint of the Vaisnava Sahajiyās, and is a concept outside
the pale of Nāthism.”96 However, it˙ ˙appears from the studies of Sharif, Haq,
Karim, Roy and Cashin that there are indeed structural parallelisms among
Sufi concepts, terms and ideas with those of Tāntrīc, Nāthist or Vaisnava
Sahajiyā. Harder maintains that especially Sufi poetical and musical genres˙˙
indeed reflect some terms or concepts that are identical to Vaisnava Sahajiyā
literary genres; however, they are common cultural properties. ˙ ˙ Citing the
example of Sayyid Sultan’s Nabī-Bamśa, Richard M. Eaton observes that
the author attempts to carve out a ˙theological space for Islam amid the
various religious traditions already nested in the Bengal delta by referring
to the major deities of the Hindu pantheon followed by the major prophetic
192 Sarwar Alam
figures, such as Adam, Abraham, Moses, Jesus and Muhammad. While
commenting in this way on Vedic, Vaisnava and Saiva divinities, in addition
to biblical figures, Eaton observes that ˙ ˙ the Nabī-Bamśa fostered the claim
˙
that Islam was the heir to not only Judaism and Christianity but also the
religious traditions of pre-Muslim Bengal, and therefore “it would be wrong
to characterize the work as merely ‘syncretic’; on fundamental points of the-
ology, the poet clearly drew on Judeo-Islamic and not on Indic thought.”97
Similar to Eaton, Harder observes (2011) that some of the concepts and
ideas used in the Sufi literature were cultural tools to express emotions.
Apart from common cultural properties grounded in Vaisnvite and other
traditions in Bengal, both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil˙ ˙also used simi-
les, allegories and motifs from the Turko-Iranian love stories. It appears
that, by pointing to the viraha bhakti of Vaisnva traditions, both composers
˙˙
conciliate the lore of Islamic tradition expressed in the stories of Yusuf and
Zulaykha, Shirin and Farhad and Layla and Majnun.98 The Qur’anic story
(Sura 12) illustrates how the woman was completely lost in her love of Yusuf,
an example often used by the mystics in the contemplation of divine beauty
revealed in human form. Schimmel observes, “The ecstasy of love leads eve-
ryone who experiences it into the same state as the women at Zulaykha’s
table who cut their hands when gazing at the overwhelming beauty of her
beloved. Thus, Zulaykha has become, in the Sufi poetry, the symbol of the
soul, purified by ceaseless longing in the path of poverty and love.”99 The
contemplation of the divine in the form of woman has also been symbolized
in the story of Laila and Majnun, in which Majnun is completely absorbed
in the beauty of Laila. Majnun becomes the mystical lover who sees God
everywhere and has found him not outside himself but in the innermost
corner of his own heart.100 By incorporating these traditions in their songs,
both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shill blended the Turko-Iranian Islamic
devotional traditions with those of South Asian bhakti traditions. In some
cases, by using the motif of the flute, they appear to blend Rumi’s Masnavi
and Krishnabhakti traditions together. From this point of view, their songs
can be viewed as a synthesis of Hindu and Islamic devotionalism.
Contrary to the depiction of some medieval Sufi genre that portray women
as seductive as well as distractive to the union with God,101 these devotional
songs describe their yearning for the union with their Murshid in the form of
female beauty, as they pose a direct challenge to the very basis of patriarchy,
where the male body is the signifier of social and ontological superiority.102
In addition, it may also be said that, by portraying themselves in the form of
females, they also distance themselves from the Turko-Iranian traditions of
“witness game” or shahīdbāzī, which claims that looking at the unbearded
beautiful youths reminds a seeker of the beauty of God’s eternal beauty.103
By identifying themselves with the suffering feminine self, they resonate
themselves with the Maizbhandariyya theosophy, which describes one of
the stages of the self as the suffering self, or al-nafs al-lawwama, which
transforms itself to the higher inspiratory stage, called al-nafs al-mulhima,
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 193
in order to achieve the final stage, called al-nafs al-mutma‘ina, or the self at
peace.104 By perceiving themselves as kalankini and so on, they juxtaposed
the notion of fanā’ fi’l-shaykh with that of the Maizbhandariyya tariqa’s one
of seven fundamentals (usul-e sab‘a), called maut-e aswad, or black death,
which contends that the censures of enemies help purify a person’s heart.

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

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

Notes
1 See Nasr 2007, p. 61; also see Helminski 2017, p. xii.
2 See Safi 2018, p. xxiv.
3 Ibid., p. xxiii.
4 Schimmel 1982, p. 168.
5 See Safi 2018, p. xl.
6 Safi translates the word ‘ishq as radical love. For details, see Safi 2018; for forms
and stages of love, see Ernst 1999.
7 See Schimmel 1985, p. 32.
8 See Nurbakhsh 1999, p. xix.
9 See Schimmel 1994, pp. 130, 192.
10 See Bashir 2011, pp. 124–5.
11 Malamud 1996, p. 97.
12 Schimmel 1975, p. 103.
13 “Man laysa lahu al-shaykha fa-shaykhuhu al-shaytanu.”
14 Quoted in Schimmel 1975, p. 103.
15 Bashir 2011, p. 136.
16 Ibid., p. 137.
17 Ibid., p. 157. See also Schimmel 1975, p. 426.
18 See Schimmel 1997, pp. 274–5, and 1982, p. 68.
19 Malamud 1996, p. 90.
20 Kugle 2009 [2007], p. 208.
21 Ibid., pp. 208–9.
22 Ibid., p. 209.
23 Even the most accomplished female mystics were addressed and described in
masculine terms by accomplished Sufi writers. For details, see Schimmel 1997,
p. 270; Cornell 2007, pp. 265, 277–8; Shaykh 2009, pp. 297–8.
24 Maizbhandari 2001, p. 34.
25 Ibid., p. 90.
26 Harder 2011, p. 172.
27 Ibid., p. 173.
28 Ibid., p. 188 n 54, Jahangir 2012, pp. 195–6 (he mentioned a total of 85 song
writers).
29 Harder 2011, pp. 173–4.
30 Harder and Jahangir did not mention this piece of publication in their findings.
31 Jahangir 2012, p. 190.
32 Harder 2011, p. 175.
33 See Jahangir 2012, p. 194.
34 See Harder 2011, p. 178.
35 Jahangir observes (2012, p. 120) that separation is the main theme of Mawlana
Hadi while love is the main theme of Ramesh Chandra Shil’s songs; I do not
agree with his observation.
36 Jahangir 2012, pp. 187, 201.
37 Āshek Mālā, songs number 26 and 33.
 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” 195
38 For example, Nūre Dūnīyā, song number 37.
39 See Mūktīr Darbār, song number 32; also see Harder 2011, p. 215.
40 See Āshek Mālā, songs number 38 and 41; also see Harder 2011, pp. 222–3.
41 See Āshek Mālā, song number 8; also see Harder 2011, p. 232.
42 See Ratnavāndār, Prothom Khanda, song number 27; also see Harder 2011, p. 229.
43 Harder˙ 2011,˙ p. 230. ˙
44 See Ratnavāndār, Prothom Khanda, song number 15.
45 ˙ from
Collected ˙ ˙
the Maizbhandariyya website: www.maizbhandarmainia.org/
maizbhandari_songs.php (accessed 7 June 2018).
46 Collected from the Maizbhandariyya website: www.maizbhandarmainia.org/
maizbhandari_songs.php (accessed 7 June 2018).
47 See Petievich 2007, p. 5.
48 Quoted in Harder 2011, p. 209.
49 See Harder 2011, pp. 236–237.
50 Translated by Harder (2011, p. 282).
51 Ibid., pp. 240–41.
52 Nūre Dūnīyā, song number 24, translated by the author.
53 Nūre Dūnīyā, Song number 13, translated by the author.
54 Āhek Mālā, song number 12, translated by the author.
55 See Harder 2011, p. 241.
56 Ibid., p. 237.
57 Ibid., p. 238.
58 Ibid.
59 Ibid., p. 239.
60 Ibid., p. 174 cf 11.
61 Quoted in Harder 2011, p. 243.
62 Ratna Sāgar, song number 21, translated by the author.
63 Translated by Harder (2011, p. 334).
64 See Nasr 1980, pp. 68, 70; 2007, p. 37; also Shaykh 2012, pp. 75–81.
65 Chittick 1989, p. 23.
66 See Corbin 1987, pp. 159–60; Nasr 1980, p. 70.
67 Quoted in Shaikh 2012, p. 174.
68 See Ibid., p. 177.
69 See Schimmel 1997 [1995], p. 102.
70 Ibid., p. 103.
71 Murata 1992, p. 145.
72 Schimmel 1975, p. 426.
73 Shaikh 2009, p. 784.
74 See Harder 2011, p. 242.
75 Ibid., p. 244.
76 Ibid.
77 Ibid., pp. 283–5.
78 Schimmel 1982, pp. 71–2.
79 Schimmel 1975, p. 434.
80 Schimmel 1982, p. 152. See also Petievich 2007, p. 15.
81 Dimock 1989 [1966], pp. 158–9; also see Schimmel 1982, pp. 158, 266 f77 and
Das 1997, pp. 2, 24.
82 For details, see Haberman 1994.
83 Kinsley 1969, p. 182.
84 Chakravarti 1969, pp. 256–7, 296.
85 Highest form of sweetness and delight.
86 Chakravarti 1969, p. 352.
87 See Das 1997, p. 26.
88 Ibid.
196 Sarwar Alam
89 See Dimock 1989 [1966], p. 211; for parakīyā doctrines among Bengali
Sahajiyās, see pp. 194–215.
90 See Das 1997, p. 24; Schimmel 1997, pp. 276–7.
91 See Haq 1975, p. 52.
92 See Sharif 2011 [1969], p. 27.
93 Cashin 1995, p. 39.
94 Ibid., p. 54.
95 For the Sufi hadīth “Die before ye die” (mūtū qabla an tamūtū), see Schimmel
1982, p. 132.
96 Cashin 1995, p. 55. Interestingly, Cashin did not engage Eaton in his study.
97 Eaton 2000, p. 270.
98 For a comparative analysis of the legends of Layla Majnun and Radha Krishna,
see Sinha 2008.
99 Schimmel 1975, p. 429.
100 See ibid., p. 432.
101 See Schimmel 1997, pp. 264–9.
102 Shaikh 2009, p. 790.
103 See Schimmel 1997, pp. 274–6; 1982, p. 68.
104 For details, see Alam 2010, pp. 35–7.
105 See Shaikh 2009, p. 790.
106 See Petievich 2007, p. 20.
107 See Singh 2017.
108 See, among others, Dimock 1989 [1966], pp. 113, 250–51, 255–65, 270; Haq
1975, p. 287; Karim 1985, pp. 182–3, 210; Cashin 1995, p. 21.

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Part IV

Political discourse
10 Injecting God into politics
Modelling Asma’ ul Husna as a
Sufi-based panacea to political
conflict in contemporary Malaysia
Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid
and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi

Introduction: government and opposition

responsibilities in Islam
In a country that declares Islam as its state religion and proclaims for itself
the position of role model for Muslim countries in the world,1 political com-
petition amongst Malaysia’s own Muslims reaches proportions that hardly
reflect injunctions contained in the Holy Qur’an – God’s Words as revealed
to the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH: peace be upon him) and hadith (pl. aha-
dith) – the Prophet’s words and deeds as reported by his contemporaries in a
series of unbroken transmissions. The Qur’an arguably states the responsi-
bilities of both the government and the opposition. Within the context of a
functioning democratic system, if both forces play their roles accordingly to
provide the necessary checks and balances as per God’s instructions, peace
can prevail in the whole nation, of whose population around sixty per-
cent are Muslims who are constitutionally accorded the status of Malay-
sia’s Bumiputeras (sons of the soil). Nonetheless, the praxis of Malaysian
contemporary politics hardly evince qualities of exemplary leadership and
ukhuwwah (brotherhood), which may potentially unite the different camps
of Muslims irrespective of political beliefs and tendencies.
In the Holy Qur’an, Allah mentions in chapter al-Imran (3:26) that, as
the Owner of sovereignty, He confers governmental authority to whom-
soever He chooses: “Say, ‘O God, Lord of Power (and Rule). Thou givest
Power, To whom Thou pleasest, And Thou strippest off Power, From whom
Thou pleasest, Thou endues with honour, Whom Thou pleasest, And Thou
bringest low, Whom Thou pleasest, In Thy hand is all Good. Verily, over
all things, Thou hast power.’ ”2 Hence, the members of any elected govern-
ment should always bear in mind that they are actually appointed by Allah
through the means of general elections. Their main obligations to Allah as
their real appointer and boss are, as per chapter al-Hajj (22:41), to establish
their main ibadah (worship) to Allah, namely, their salah (prayer), zakah
(alms-giving), amr ma’ruf (i.e., enjoining the people to do good deeds to
Allah and the community), and nahy an al-munkar (i.e., prohibiting them
from committing bad actions to Allah and to the community).3
202 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
Being at once a huge responsibility as well as a test from Allah, holding
power presents multiple challenges. Allah has laid out the guidance and
principles for those wielding authority. In chapter Yusuf (12:53), Allah
reminds that a leader should not use power based on nafs (desire, usually
selfish). Leaders who act according to their nafs is prone to misleading the
people under his authority, as nafs is inclined toward mischief. “Nor do
I absolve my own self (of blame): the (human) soul is certainly prone to evil.
Unless my Lord do bestow His Mercy: but surely My Lord is Oft-Forgiving,
Most Merciful.”4
The Qur’anic verses on authority are elaborated further in numerous aha-
dith (sing. hadith) of the Prophet Muhammad. A hadith on leadership, for
example, likens a Muslim leader to a shield that protects the body, which is
akin to a body politic: “Verily, the leader is only a shield behind whom they
fight and he protects them. If he commands the fear of Allah the Exalted
and justice, then he will have a reward. If he commands something else, then
it will be against him.”5 In order to rule efficiently, the role of the people
could not be left behind. In another hadith narrated by Umm al-Hussein,
the Messenger of Allah (PBUH) during the farewell pilgrimage stressed to all
Muslims the necessity of obeying the leader, regardless of his race or status:
“Even if a slave were to be appointed in charge over you and he leads you
with the Book of Allah, then you must listen and obey.”6
Within a democratic setup, as is commonplace in many Muslim countries
today, different political forces vie for power against one another during
general elections. At the conclusion of the elections, one party or one coali-
tion of parties with distinct but related manifestos gets elected to helm the
government. In situations where an absolute majority is elusive, coalition
politics becomes necessary, sometimes accompanied by intense bargaining
and compromise of varying political positions. But if the distinct political
segments steadfastly hold to Islamic teachings, as found in the Qur’an and
Sunna,7 considerations of unity would overwhelm narrow political interests.
In the larger interest of the nation, the governing bloc will be challenged
by an equally capable opposing bloc whose utility lies in providing overall
checks and balances to the whole system of governance. Competition merely
signifies different views and strategies regarding governance and does not
nullify the brotherly obligation of love and kindness among fellow citizens.

The scenario of party: political competition in Malaysia

Malaysia originally gained independence from the British on August 31,
1957, as the Federation of Malaya. On September 16, 1963, the nation
state was reconstituted as Malaysia with the incorporation of the regions
of Sarawak, Sabah and Singapore. In August 1965, however, Singapore left
the Malaysian federation to form a nation state of its own. In contempo-
rary Malaysia, political competition is multifaceted, pitting many stripes,
groups, individuals, blocs, parties, bodies, organizations and alliances, both
 Injecting God into politics 203
inter-ethnic and intra-ethnic, spanning many years and periods. This is only
to be expected in a plural society of thirty-two million people. Malaysia is
populated by roughly between fifty to sixty percent Malays and other Bumi-
putera categories, twenty-five percent ethnic Chinese and seven percent eth-
nic Indians, the remainder being made up of smaller ethnic groups. While
Malays are constitutionally defined as Muslims, both Chinese and Indian
Malaysians are multi-confessional, with the former being mostly Buddhists
and Christians and the latter mainly Hindus and Christians. This yields a
religious complexion of roughly sixty percent Muslim, twenty percent Bud-
dhist, ten percent Christian and six percent Hindu, with the remainder
adhering to an array of folk and traditional religions. As Malaysia pro-
nounces “Belief in God” as its first pillar of the nation,8 atheism is not par-
ticularly welcomed, although not criminalized as such.
This chapter focuses on the oppositional political activities among Malay-
Muslims from 1987 until 2013. The period is divided into two phases: first,
1987–96, when the main oppositional political force was led by Tengku
Razaleigh Hamzah (1937–), a former Minister of Finance who unsuccess-
fully challenged Prime Minister Dr. Mahathir Mohamad (1925–) in the
presidential contest for the ruling United Malays National Organzation
(UMNO) party in 1987. Razaleigh led the UMNO splinter party Semangat
46 (S46: Spirit of 46) until its dissolution in 1996, when its members fol-
lowing Razaleigh rejoined UMNO en masse. UMNO had been governing
Malaysia since independence in 1957 under the auspices of the Perikatan
(Alliance) (1957–73) and Barisan Nasional (BN: National Front) (1974–
2018) coalitions.
The second phase, 1998–2018, corresponds to a time when myriad politi-
cal forces, generally led by former Deputy Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim
(1947–), came together to offer sustained oppositional pressure on BN
and UMNO in determined bids to unseat them from power – a feat finally
accomplished in 2018. Anwar, a well-known youth activist leading the non-
governmental organization (NGO) Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia (ABIM:
Muslim Youth Movement of Malaysia), when handpicked by Dr. Mahathir
to join UMNO in 1982, was sacked as Deputy UMNO President–cum–
Deputy Premier in September 1998, having been accused of corruption and
sodomy by Dr. Mahathir. Jailed twice in 1999 and 2014, Anwar unleashed
a loose civil society movement known as Reformasi (Reformation), whose
main platform was the fight against corruption, institutional reform and
justice for the downtrodden masses, as symbolized in the tumultuous politi-
cal journey of Anwar Ibrahim himself. To Reformasi supporters, Anwar
had been the victim of political conspiracy to deny him the Premiership.
In a twist of irony, Dr. Mahathir and Anwar reconciled in 2016, after
which Dr. Mahathir assumed leadership of a newly reconstructed oppo-
sition coalition called Pakatan Harapan (PH: Pact of Hope). PH’s prede-
cessor, Pakatan Rakyat (PR), consisting of Anwar’s Parti Keadilan Rakyat
(PKR: People’s Justice Party), the Chinese-dominated and secular-oriented
204 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
Democratic Action Party (DAP) and the Islamist Parti Islam SeMalaysia
(PAS: Islamic Party of Malaysia), survived from 2008 until 2015 on a joint
electoral agenda to unseat BN-UMNO from power. In the Fourteenth Gen-
eral Elections (GE14) of May 2018, PH, now marshalled by Dr. Mahathir
as its chairman, trounced a BN plagued by corruption allegations against
its leader Najib Razak. Dr. Mahathir eventually replaced the graft-tainted
Najib as Prime Minister, becoming the oldest elected leader of the demo-
cratic world at 93 years of age.
Malaysia’s politically reincarnated Prime Minister Dr. Mahathir Mohamad
has been fairly consistent in his position that cracks within the ummah (Mus-
lim global community) leading to chronic disunity have been caused by polit-
ical differences rather than religious faith.9 In outlining his Islamic vision
under the new PH government, Dr. Mahathir resuscitated his intention, not
unknown but rather implicitly stated during his first tenure as Prime Minis-
ter, 1981–2003, of turning Malaysia into the world’s best model of a con-
temporary Islamic polity. Such a vision is built upon convictions that Islam
is a bountiful faith for all humankind, that the maqasid (higher objectives)
as opposed to the literal approach to shari‘a (Islamic law) is most suitable
for the solution to contemporary problems of life and that problems beset-
ting other parts of the ummah, especially the Middle East, are practically
insurmountable under current conditions. As such, steadfast adherence to
the Qur’an and authentic ahadith is a prerequisite to success in both the
world and the hereafter.10 Allah Himself declares in the Qur’an: “O ye who
believe! Obey God, and obey the Apostle, and those charged with authority
among you. If ye differ in anything among yourselves, refer it to God and
His Apostle.”11
One of the commands of Allah in the Qur’an is for believers to constantly
engage in dhikr (remembrance of Allah): “For men and women who engage
much in God’s praise, for them has God prepared forgiveness and great
reward,”12 and “those who believe, and whose hearts find satisfaction in
the remembrance of God. For without doubt in the remembrance of God
do hearts find satisfaction.”13 A lot of strife happening in the ummah stems
from overwhelming emphases placed upon the laws of Allah without due
regard to the wisdom and spirit underpinning such laws. The epitome of
such mischief during the caliphate of the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH)
son-in-law ‘Ali ibn Abu Talib (601–61) was the Kharijite rebels, who mis-
used the seemingly shari‘a-centric verse meaning “the Command is for none
but God”14 to excommunicate fellow believers from the fold of Islam. This
trend extends to modern times with the multiplication of takfiri groups
intent on deposing existing Muslim governments on the basis their alleged
apostasy. What were supposed to be differences of opinion in matters where
disagreements are permitted, such as politics, have degenerated into a fierce
intra-Muslim conflict that thrives on a theology of an “angry God” who
allegedly sanctions violence for religious purposes.15 Modern Kharijites are
represented by such groups as al-Qaeda and the Islamic State of Iraq and
 Injecting God into politics 205
Syria (ISIS), a terrorist group which briefly ruled over parts of Iraq and Syria
in 2014–17, also known as the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL),
the Islamic State (IS), or DAESH – after its Arabic acronym. The implica-
tion of such takfiri ideology is that opposition to an ostensibly Islamic gov-
ernment can lead one to the path of unbelief, the punishment for which is
necessarily death.
The Kharijite-like extremist tendencies that have mushroomed in contem-
porary Muslim societies do not mean that Muslims propagating them are
devoid of Qur’anic knowledge. On the contrary, they do read the Qur’an,
but they rely almost solely on literal interpretations of the scripture to for-
mulate their understanding of God’s words. As the Prophet Muhammad
(PBUH) had anticipated:

There will come a people from the east who recite the Qur’an but it will
not go beyond their throats. They will pass through the religion just as
an arrow pierces its target and they will not return to it just as the arrow
does not return to the bow.16

Sufis, as practitioners of mystical dimensions of Islam seeking the inner

truth of God and His creations, supplement their recitation of the Qur’an
with daily dhikr, the most popular of which among turuq (sufi brother-
hoods, sing. tariqa) invariably contain repetitive invocation of the name
“Allah” and His other Asma ul-Husna (Beautiful Names), ninety-nine of
which are explicitly mentioned in the Qur’an. Techniques of dhikr dif-
fer according to the different Sufi masters, or shaykhs, heading the vari-
ous turuq, as inherited from a chain of authority that extends back to the
Prophet Muhammad (PBUH).17 The ultimate aim of dhikr is to inculcate
love of Allah, out of which are derived other virtues such as compassion,
acceptance of God’s will, thankfulness, forbearance, magnanimity, patience,
a forgiving attitude and humility. These are called mahmudah, i.e., virtuous
attributes, as opposed to mazmumah, i.e., vicious attributes, which include
traits like uncontrollable anger, greed, arrogance, vengeance, impatience,
recklessness and unwarranted inferiority.
Sufis contend that practising the shari‘a without due regard to questions
of Divine Love and Mercy will only result in Muslims who are outwardly
obedient but internally barren, not being trained in the art of discovering
the wisdom and secrets behind God’s injunctions. Without the inculca-
tion of Sufi practices in the daily lives of Muslims, engagement with God
remains restricted to His express commandments and prohibitions, with-
out utilizing the creativity of the human soul in harnessing Divine Love,
which can thereafter be transferred into the human realm as an extension
of His Bounties for all humankind, as is understood from the oft-quoted
verse of the Qur’an “we sent thee not, but as a Mercy for all creatures.”18
The creative spirituality of Sufis has been widely maligned by extremists as
bid’ah (abhorred innovations) that violate Islam’s fundamental principle of
206 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
tawheed (unitarian theology), resulting in occurrences of violence against
Sufis, such as that witnessed in Sinai, Egypt, in November 2017.19
Such tolerance exhibited in the past have greatly influenced mainstream
Sunni politics, which prioritized peace over bedlam and order over chaos.
Rebellion against those in power has traditionally been frowned upon, as
it can easily lead to prolonged unrest, which disrupts even the basic ibadah
(worship) from being publicly carried out in society.20 For this reason also,
Sufis have been misunderstood for allegedly compromising the purity of
Islam, letting matters of religion rest in the hands of unjust rulers. In truth,
Sufis prefer and believe in change via peaceful means and strive their best to
avoid pandemonium. Such a disposition has endeared them to some Muslim
leaders who find in God-centric Sufism the panacea to problems of extrem-
ism, bigotry and intolerance. In Muslim countries bedevilled by the malaise
of terrorism, such as Pakistan, calls have therefore increasingly risen for the
introduction of Sufism in the Islamic education curricula.21

Oppositional political forces in Malaysia:

prime driving factors

1. The justice agenda

Both opposition leaders of the periods we are concerned with, viz. Tengku
Razaleigh and Anwar Ibrahim, thrived on populist agendas. In 1988, the
Razaleigh-led Semangat 46 initiated the first oppositional political wave
with an anti-Mahathir agenda, focusing on Mahathir’s autocratic style in
governing the country. The Razaleigh-led oppositional coalition advanced
several arguments to canvass public support for its anti-Mahathir campaign.
First, Mahathir was blamed for letting the original UMNO be declared ille-
gal by the Registrar of Societies (ROS) in 1988 on account of procedural
irregularities during party elections, which saw Mahathir defeating Razal-
eigh’s presidential challenge by a very slim majority.22 Second, Mahathir’s
determination to terminate the Lord President,23 Saleh Abas, on grounds
of judicial misconduct, reeked of executive interference in judicial matters,
thus undermining independence of the judiciary, which undergirded the
principle of separation of powers. The removal was presumed to be related
to Mahathir’s resolve in pushing through UMNO Baru’s (New UMNO)
registration, whose legitimacy was being challenged by Razaleigh’s S46;
“46” here refers to the year 1946, when the original UMNO was founded.24
Third, Mahathir was reprimanded for launching a massive crackdown
on civil society known as Operasi Lalang (Weeding Operation) beginning
October 27, 1987, which involved the substantial use of the Internal Secu-
rity Act (ISA), which authorized detention without trial. Overall, 106 activ-
ists, politicians, academics and social figures were apprehended in a security
clampdown ostensibly intended to stymie demands and counterdemands
from disparate ethnoreligious groups, including dissenting elements within
 Injecting God into politics 207
UMNO. Even the venerable Tunku Abdul Rahman, Malaysia’s father of
independence and first prime minister, denounced the operation as undemo-
cratic for transforming the country into a police state.25
In preparation for the Eighth General Elections (GE8) of 1990, under
Razaleigh’s leadership, the oppositional political force constructed their
manifesto around issues that highlighted the ruling elites’ skewed interests
once they reached the heights of the political ladder. The manifesto con-
tained promises to defeat money politics and other democratic promises,
such as freedom of the press and an end to repressive laws. Promising socio-
economic prosperity, the manifesto projected the elimination of poverty by
the year 2000. In 1995, as GE9 approached, Razaleigh’s coalition improved
its manifesto’s democratic credentials, built on the slogan “Justice for All.”
S46 declared support for clean and fair elections, upgrading of the status of
parliament and guaranteeing that the rule of law and judicial independence
prevail.26
Razaleigh’s opposition wave petered out by virtue of his and his remaining
team of ex-UMNO warlords deciding to bury the hatchet with Mahathir in
1996. In reality, within the context of Malaysia’s patronage politics, surviv-
ing outside the UMNO state network would have always been a gargantuan
task, regardless of Razaleigh’s personal wealth. Amid Malaysia’s vibrant
economic growth in the 1990s, the most that he could do was to help PAS
turn Kelantan, from where Razaleigh hailed, into an anti-UMNO fortress –
a feat that survived his rejoining UMNO. Razaleigh never really reconciled
with Mahathir despite his being accepted back into UMNO. In contrast
with his S46 lieutenants, such as Rais Yatim, Ahmad Shabery Cheek and
Radzi Sheikh Ahmad, Razaleigh was never reappointed to a cabinet posi-
tion by Mahathir or his successors as Prime Minister, viz. Abdullah Ahmad
Badawi (2003–09) and Najib Razak (2009–18). This was despite Abdullah
Ahmad Badawi’s having been his former ally in UMNO’s Team B, which
opposed Mahathir’s presidency during the 1987 party elections. In 2018,
Razaleigh failed in what was probably his last attempt to secure the UMNO
presidency following Najib Razak’s resignation in the wake of UMNO’s dis-
astrous GE14 outing. Decrying UMNO members’ verdict of electing Najib’s
erstwhile deputy Dr. Ahmad Zahid Hamidi as the new UMNO President,
Razaleigh questioned whether UMNO’s age-old problem of money politics
had had a bearing on the election outcome.27
Anti-Mahathir sentiments also underscored the second oppositional
political wave, starting in 1998, when Anwar Ibrahim’s unceremonious
dismissals from party and government posts and humiliating treatment in
jail, which included being physically assaulted by the inspector-general of
police, Rahim Noor, triggered a wave of mass protests that revolved around
the themes of Reformasi and “Justice for Anwar.” Anti-Mahathir feelings,
Reformasi and the clarion call of “Justice for Anwar” momentarily mus-
tered disparate civil society elements into a broad-based movement that
fought for democratic reforms against corruption and abuse of power by
208 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
high-ranking members of the ruling elite. Among issues of importance that
Reformasi dwelled on were crony capitalism; nepotism; the government’s
bailout of connected companies concentration of power in the hands of the
executive branch; electoral reforms; women’s and minority rights, includ-
ing neglected Bumiputera communities; emasculation of the judiciary; the
undermining of checks and balances in governmental procedures; and lack
of transparency and accountability in decision-making. An overhaul of the
whole system of governance was deemed necessary to restore Malaysia’s
dignity in the comity of nations.28
It is clear from the previous account that justice was the paramount con-
cern of the two oppositional waves. To be sure, justice constitutes a primary
Qur’anic agenda of “restoring balance” whenever excesses are commit-
ted. Yet, to God-conscious individuals, which Sufis perennially aspire to
become, it makes no sense if one wanted to do justice to repressed human
beings without first acting justly in one’s relations with God. Hence, in the
Qur’an, the well-known verse enjoining justice is actually preceded by the
commandment to do dhikr:

And call in remembrance the favour of God unto you, and His Cov-
enant, which He ratifies with you, when ye said, we hear and we obey.
And fear God, for God knoweth well the secrets of your hearts. O you
who believe, stand out firmly for God, as witnesses to fair dealing,
and let not the hatred of others to you make you swerve to wrong and
depart from justice. Be just, that is next to piety. And fear God, for God
is well-acquainted with all that ye do.29

The embodiment of Islamic dispensation of justice regardless of ethno-

religious affiliations must surely be the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) gov-
ernance of Medina (622–632).30 His Medina Charter conferred political,
cultural and religious rights on non-Muslims, proclaiming Muslims and
non-Muslims to be of one nation (Arabic: ummah wahidah) despite differ-
ences in religious beliefs.31 Without constant remembrances of God, how
many political aspirants have we seen drowning in pleasures of the world
and intricacies of political intrigue once installed in power, in spite of count-
less assurances given to the electorate during campaigning that they would
restore justice to all in the event that they get elected to leadership posi-
tions. Notwithstanding the many failures of Muslim politicians to live up to
what is expected of being “just,” the word “justice” continues to be bandied
about by political parties claiming the mantle of Islam: the ruling Justice
and Development Party (AKP: Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi) in Turkey, the
outlawed Freedom and Justice Party (FJP: Hizb al-Hurriya wa al-’Adala)
˙
in Egypt, the Prosperous Justice Party (PKS: Partai Keadilan Sejahtera) in
Indonesia, and Anwar Ibrahim’s People’s Justice Party (PKR: Parti Keadilan
Rakyat) in Malaysia. Upon being released from jail in May 2018, Anwar
clearly emphasized justice in spelling out priorities of his reform agenda in
 Injecting God into politics 209
the new PH-led Malaysia: “Independence of the judiciary, rule of law, free
media and proper separation of powers.”32

2. Leadership
A leadership that fears and obeys God in the basic tenets of governance,
the most important of which is justice, is crucial for the success of a group,
party, country and state. It is apt here to quote the medieval scholar Ibn
Taymiyyah (1263–1328), notwithstanding his rather controversial fatwas
(legal rulings) on certain aspects of theology and fiqh (jurisprudence):

It is said that Allah allows the just state to remain even if it is led by
unbelievers, but Allah will not allow the oppressive state to remain even
if it is led by Muslims. And it is said that the world will endure with
justice and unbelief, but it will not endure with oppression and Islam.33

In a similar vein, in his study of four East Asian countries’ struggle for
democracy, Freedman asserts the importance of leadership from a charis-
matic political elite in the consolidation of democracy.34
A just leadership is one that is able to evoke in its people fear and love of
God. Dispensing justice to God is enjoining citizens of a polity to give God
what is due to Him – people’s hearts. A God-centric polity will be showered
with blessings from the heavens, as God promises: “If the people of the towns
had but believed and feared God, We should indeed have opened out to them
(all kinds of blessings) from heaven and earth. . . .”35 Such bounties are to
be received by a country’s denizens irrespective of ethnicity and religion and
may come in modern times in the form of continuously sustainable economic
development, the ability to control inflation and the discovery of minerals
and oil. Tangible bounties are meant to be distributed justly among peoples
of various faiths, confessions and denominations, one’s position in the Here-
after not being a factor in the sharing of God’s immeasurable wealth in this
world. Such wealth, when given out justly by Muslim leaders, itself becomes
a form of da’wa (propagation) of Islamic ideals to the non-Muslim popula-
tion. Fear of God will prevent Muslim leaders from victimizing non-Muslim
minorities who have sworn loyalty to the Muslim state and leadership. This
is enshrined in the principle of respect for human dignity (karamah insani-
yah) as one of the higher objectives of the shari‘a to be protected.36 A leader
who humiliates his subjects could not be said to have upheld justice. In their
awe of humanity, philosophical Sufis at times evince tendencies of throwing
doubt on institutional religion, thus incurring the wrath of orthodox Mus-
lim leaders and scholars. Consider for example the legendary Persian mystic
Husayn ibn Mansur al-Hallaj’s (857–922) utterances:

I left to their people their world and their religion

For you, O ‘my world’ and ‘my religion’!
210 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
I have lit two fires within me;
One between the ribs, and
The other within the intestines.37

Overwhelmed by zauq (spiritual intoxication), he continued:

Go, tell my friends: I have set sail
On the sea, and my raft is broken
It is on the religion of the cross that I will die
I will go neither to Batha’ (Makkah) nor to Madinah.38

It is not difficult to see why Sufis of the ecstatic type, such as al-Hallaj, are
liable to be misunderstood for allegedly advocating pantheism and religious
pluralism of the kind that compromises the Islamic faith. Indeed, al-Hallaj
was tragically executed on the caliph’s order, accused of leading the masses
astray through his infamous incantations of ana ’l-haqq (I am the Truth,
i.e., Lord). Al-Hallaj’s order of execution was also signed by his equally
renowned peer, the sufi master-cum-theologian Junayd al-Baghdadi (830–
910).39 Pouncing on the example of al-Hallaj and other ecstatic Sufis, ortho-
dox legalists have been quick to pronounce on Sufis’ alleged deviancy for
purportedly inventing methods of worship that find no basis in the Sunna.40
While this may be debatable, it is the Sufis’ universalism that is particularly
relevant to be considered by politicians. Applying the universalist philoso-
phy to the political realm, one can infer the color-blind principle of muwa-
tanah (citizenship) as a guide for treating citizens of diverse ethno-religious
persuasions in an Islamic state, in the manner elaborated by the Maurita-
nian neo-traditionalist scholar Abdullah ibn Bayyah.41

3. Failures of political leaders and alliances

In May 2018, the world witnessed a historic return to power of Dr. Mahathir
Mohamad, ousting Najib Razak as Prime Minister of Malaysia. Leading an
improbable coalition consisting of his former political enemies, now gath-
ered under PH, Dr. Mahathir’s major rallying cry during the GE14 hustings
was corruption associated with the state investment fund 1Malaysia Devel-
opment Berhad (1MDB), a portion of whose funds is said to have found
its way into Najib’s personal bank account,42 apart from being laundered
by an inner circle of state officials, including Najib’s stepson Riza Aziz and
business associate Jho Low via a complex web of transactions through sev-
eral countries’ banking systems.43 Upon assuming the reins of government,
Dr. Mahathir lamented that corruption had become a scourge besetting
Malaysia’s state administration, some of whose officials colluded with the
Najib-led coterie of graft-ridden politicians.44 Astonishingly, even individu-
als from the Islamist PAS have been implicated as alleged beneficiaries of
laundered proceeds from the 1MDB scandal.45
Ironically, it was Anwar Ibrahim’s “all-out-war against corruption” when
he was acting Prime Minister in 1997 that drove a wedge between him and
 Injecting God into politics 211
Dr. Mahathir, culminating in his twin dismissals from the country’s and
UMNO’s number two posts in September 1998. Anwar’s proposal for an
anti-corruption bill to strengthen the existing Anti-Corruption Agency ruf-
fled feathers in the UMNO-connected political establishment.46 After his
downfall, Anwar’s enemies struck back in the mainstream media by divulg-
ing names of Anwar’s own cronies who had benefited from distribution
of projects under his auspices as Finance Minister from 1994 to 1998, as
shown in Table 10.1 below.
The previous evidence does not necessarily mean that other factions in
past UMNO-dominated Malay-Muslim politics have been squeaky clean.

Table 10.1 List of Anwar Ibrahim’s cronies.

Crony Links Projects/companies Value of project

Kamarudin Ex-Secretary General KL Linear City RM10 billion

Jaffar of ABIM and PAS
Former PAS MP for KL PRT Sdn Bhd. RM 1.298 million
Tumpat, Kelantan
(1999–2013).
Now MP for Bandar Sabah Shipyard Sdn. RM 21 million
Tun Razak, Kuala Bhd
Lumpur, and Deputy
Transport Minister
(2018–).
Total RM 11.319 billion
Ibrahim Father of Anwar Pengkalen Holdings 250,000 and
Abdul Ibrahim Berhad and Nissan 3,790,500
Rahman Industrial Oxygen units of shares
(d. 2015) Incorporated respectively
Dr. Ahmad UMNO Youth head Tekala Corporation 6,751,493 units of
Zahid who defended shares
Hamidi Anwar Ibrahim
during the UMNO
General Assembly,
1998. MP for Bagan
Datoh since 1995.
Deputy Prime Minister Re-development of
and Deputy UMNO Kampung Haji
President under Abdullah Hukum,
Najib Razak. Kuala Lumpur
Now UMNO through Pantai
President and Head Dalam Sdn Bhd
of Opposition in
Parliament.
Source: Ministry of Finance Report, UMNO General Assembly, Putra World Trade Center
(PWTC), Kuala Lumpur, 1999.1
1 Utusan Malaysia, ‘Senarai kroni Anwar – Rustam Sani yang hebat mengecam kerajaan
juga mendapat projek’ [List of Anwar’s cronies – the government critic Rustam Sani also
received projects], Utusan Online, June 20, 1999, http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.
asp?y=1999&dt=0620&pub=utusan_malaysia&sec=Muka_Hadapan&pg=fp_01.htm
(accessed 20 August 2018).
212 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
Dr. Mahathir has himself previously been implicated in graft allegations
in connection with his offspring’s massive wealth.47 The “Malaysia Incor-
porated” model he invented was criticized by international agencies as
nothing more than “institutionalized corruption” that enriched politically
connected businessmen, including his son Mirzan, whose shipping company
was bailed out during the East Asian economic crisis of 1997–98.48 During
the first oppositional political wave, from 1987 to 1996, Dr. Mahathir and
his opponent, Tengku Razaleigh, were backed by separate capitalist factions
intent on leveraging the state for the purpose of surplus accumulation, out
of which patronage networks were created, nurtured and sustained.49 Raza-
leigh had persistently been contesting for top posts in UMNO, failing twice
in his bids to become deputy president in 1981 and 1984 before deciding
to challenge Dr. Mahathir for the presidency in 1987. This was one year
after Dr. Mahathir fell out with Musa Hitam, who was Deputy UMNO
President and Deputy Prime Minister from 1981 to 1986. It was after his
third defeat in 1987 that Razaleigh split from a reincarnated UMNO, his
Team B supporters finding themselves personae non gratae in Dr. Mahathir’s
new UMNO.
Whether carried out from inside or outside the party, Razaleigh justified
his oppositional activities against Dr. Mahathir on political and economic
terms. According to Razaleigh, Mahathir’s increasingly autocratic leader-
ship had broken up UMNO into fiercely competing factions that shame-
lessly engaged in unethical behavior, slander, suspicion and envy among
party comrades.50 Another contributing factor that led to the failure of the
Razaleigh-led oppositional political force was its incohesive communication
line with grassroots supporters. Using a one-way, top-down tactical move in
mobilizing support, Razaleigh’s strategy was to capture loyalties of the top-
brass UMNO leaders, who would then command the fealties of the masses,
unlike Sufi movements that have historically appealed to those at the lower
ranks of society.51 Hailing from the Kelantan royal family and himself son
of a former Kelantan chief minister, Razaleigh’s mode of operation created
a wide gap in the upper, middle and lower echelons of the opposition coali-
tion he led. Razaleigh flanked his broad-based opposition front with two
alliances that never got on well together, the Islamic-oriented Angkatan Per-
paduan Ummah (APU: Ummah Unity Movement) and the secular-inclined
Gagasan Rakyat (GR: People’s Might).
On the one hand, APU consisted of S46, PAS, Hizb al-Muslimin (HAMIM:
Party of Muslims), the Islamic Congregation Front of Malaysia (BERJASA:
Barisan Jemaah Islamiah SeMalaysia), and Kongres India Muslim Malaysia
(KIMMA: Malaysian Indian Muslim Congress). On the other hand, GR
comprised S46, DAP, Parti Rakyat Malaysia (PRM: Malaysian People’s
Party), Parti Bersatu Sabah (PBS: Sabah United Party), and the Indian Pro-
gressive Front (IPF). Managing two marriages of convenience at the same
time took its toll on Razaleigh as conflicting pressures to appease divergent
tendencies imploded. The sight of Razaleigh wearing a seemingly Christian
 Injecting God into politics 213
headgear while campaigning in Sabah in 1990 managed to rally Malay-
Muslim voters’ communal sentiments against S46, leading to its defeat in
spite of UMNO’s being on defensive mode in the wake of the party dereg-
istration and judicial crises of 1987–88.52 The communication gap between
Razaleigh and his potential rank-and-file supporters, as portrayed in Fig-
ure 10.1 below, obstructed last-ditch efforts at damage control. In an era
when the Internet was not yet available throughout the country, ethnocen-
trism and religious communalism spewed by the BN-controlled mainstream
media ruled the day. Material interests were exploited as bait to prospective
voters without their hearts bound together. In the light of GE9 of 1995, both
APU and GR collapsed as BN and UMNO registered huge electoral gains
on the back of an impressive economic growth propelled by what was then
a visionary national leadership led by the first Mahathir-Anwar partnership.
On the whole, obsession with material rewards and pecuniary benefits
became the Achilles’ heel of the failed attempts at leadership generation and
coalition building in the periods under investigation. Vested interests were
the ephemeral binding factor, but once hopes for tangible gains evaporated,
severing of relationships and destruction of alliances became inevitable.
Worldly interests can only ensure momentary attachment to a particular
cause or objective, insofar as dunya (world) is only temporary and should

PAS

HAMIM
Angkatan
Perpaduan
Ummah BERJASA

KIMMA
Voters
Razaleigh Semangat 46

DAP

Gagasan
Rakyat PBS

PRM

IPF

Figure 10.1 Razaleigh’s one-way communication method.

214 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
never be targeted by pure hearts as an aim of life. As controllers of levers
of power and resources, politicians must be extricated from hub al-dunya
(love of the world). According to Malaysia’s perseverant Sufi scholar-­activist
Ashaari Muhammad (1937–2010), whose movements Darul Arqam and
Rufaqa’ Corporation were proscribed by the government in 1994 and 2008
respectively,53 love of the world lies at the root of all evil. From love of the
world, other vices, such as avarice, envy, selfishness, enmity, vengeance and
impatience, cancerously spread in society.54
Divesting human hearts from love of this world and its pleasures consti-
tutes the essence of the trait Sufis call zuhud – conventionally understood as
renouncing the world.55 On the contrary, the world should be exploited to
the full in the manner that we toil on our plantations, in order to be able to
reap a bountiful harvest in the hereafter.56 The Turkish Sufi master Muzaffer
Ozak al-Jerrahi explains further:

“Renunciation of This World” does not mean total rejection of all the
bounties it has to offer. It means detaching one’s feelings and appetites
from those bounties. Our love and desire should be directed exclusively
toward Allah, Exalted is He. He is the True Beloved. We must be aware
of this fact and savor the delight of this awareness.57

This Sufi wisdom tallies with God’s own words, as expressed in chap-
ter al-Hadid 57, verse 20, of the Qur’an:

Know ye (all), that the life of this world is but play and amusement,
pomp and mutual boasting, and multiplying (in rivalry) among your-
selves, riches and children. Here is a similitude, how rain and the growth
which it brings forth, delight (the hearts of) the tillers, soon it withers;
thou wilt see it grow yellow, then it becomes dry, and crumbles away.
But in the Hereafter, is a penalty severe (for the devotees of wrong),
and forgiveness from God. And (His) Good Pleasure (for the devotees
of God). And what is the life of this world, but goods and chattels of
deception?58

4. Proposal for a God-centric model of appreciation

of Asma ul-Husna in politics
The authors of this chapter hold that heart-cleansing is the panacea to
political and administrative problems that transpire in horizontal human-
to-human relationships in a modern society that practises competitive poli-
tics. Without such a cleansing process, politicians as individuals seeking and
later entrusted with power upon winning elections will have a high prob-
ability of succumbing to worldly temptations related to coercive author-
ity, influence, wealth and territorial control. This argument’s premise is the
belief that the central organ of human creation is the heart, not the brain.
 Injecting God into politics 215
It is the heart that directs the brain and not the other way round, translat-
ing the commands into actions and attitudes. According to a well-known
hadith oft-repeated in Sufi literature, “Verily, in the body there is a piece of
flesh which if upright then the entire body is upright, and if corrupt then the
entire body is corrupt. No doubt it is the heart.”59
The heart can be in two contrasting states, clean or dirty, white or black.
When the heart acts according to reason, it assumes the role of the ‘aql
(mind). When it acts in accordance with base desires, the heart is also
known as the nafs. When overwhelmed by the good spirit, the heart plays
the function of the ruh (soul).60 A human being’s perennial struggle involves
his or her spiritual endeavor to cleanse his or her heart from a blackened or
soiled state to a purified or serene state via a process called tazkiyah al-nafs
(purification of the soul) or mujahadah al-nafs (fight against selfish desires).
Tawbah (repentance) forms the beginning of the tazkiyah al-nafs process.
The Companion Abu Huraira reported:

The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) said, “Verily, when the servant com-
mits a sin a black spot appears upon his heart. If he abandons the sin,
seeks forgiveness, and repents, then his heart will be polished. If he
returns to the sin, the blackness will be increased until it overcomes
his heart. It is the covering that Allah has mentioned: No, but on their
hearts is a covering because of what they have earned.”61

Apart from the discipline ingrained in obligatory rituals prescribed to all

Muslims, such as salah, zakah, siyam (fasting) and the hajj pilgrimage to
Makkah once in a lifetime, Sufi mentors known respectfully as Shaykhs are
known to prescribe their followers systematic formulae of dhikr as inherited
from past Sufi masters with pedigrees reaching the Prophet Muhammad
(PBUH). As God is the Sufis’ preoccupation, most if not all turuq place
emphasis on the invocation of Asma ul-Husna as part of their spiritual prac-
tices. In fact, utterances containing any or some of the Asma ul-Husna are
considered a great form of dhikr, next in hierarchy only to those with the
word “Allah.” In the manual for the Chistiyyah tariqa widely practised in
South Asia, for instance, it is mentioned that the Asma ul-Husna, which it
calls “The Divine Attributes,” “provide a concept of His all-encompassing,
all-pervading, all-powerful nature. . . . [and] enter into Sufi practices called
wazifahs.”62

5. The scheme outlined: Asma ul-Husna as a panacea

to political belligerence
Figure 10.2 shows that the root of the intemperate inclination to oppose,
irrespective of whether it impacts positively or negatively unity among Mus-
lims and in the nation at large, is illness of the soul. One of the greatest
spiritual sins is to lose contact with God, under which condition one is
216 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi

Figure 10.2 Root causes of the destructive opposition mentality.

bound to neglect one’s social responsibilities as well. When opposition is

made for the sake of opposing and to simply appease one’s nafs prodded by
hubris, one’s emotions are corrupted to the point of seeing only the wrong in
others while thinking that one is eternally flawless in decision-making. The
brain becomes imbalanced in its judgement as ill will reverberates around
one’s internal ecosystem, triggering physical harm against the antagonist.
But the physical harm only ensues from spiritual sins, at the level of which
the problem should be arrested. Thus, a spiritual shield at the level of the
soul is required before the wrong message is sent to the brain, which pro-
cesses information that directs the part of the body to harm another human
being, by which time it will be too late to avoid dissension in society and
breakup of ukhuwwah. The bulwark is provided by, it is contended here,
Asma ul-Husna.
Figure 10.3 shows the relationship between soul, emotion, brain and
physical activity. By purifying their souls, opposition leaders and supporters
become closer to God, Creator of all creations and Owner of unity, suc-
cess and peace. Their criticisms of the government must take into account
 Injecting God into politics 217

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

the fact that both are not blameless blocs; in the event of a change of gov-
ernment during future elections, the adversarial blocs might switch posi-
tions in the political spectrum. It is best, therefore, that criticisms are made
constructively with the intention to improve matters, not to rock the boat
such that an apparently fragile coalition government can be brought down
mid-term, as current UMNO Secretary-General Annuar Musa seems intent
on doing.63 Such a plot will be disrespectful to not only the electorate who
have chosen UMNO’s adversaries as their choice of government but also
God, who allowed the legitimate changeover of government to happen. The
opposition and government parties are bonded together by the conviction
that their positions as determined by God are for their own spiritual ben-
efits; one to serve the people and the other to repent over past mistakes and
re-organize so as to become a better alternative for the country. Invoking
the names of Allah – for example, Ya Rahman (O the Gracious), Ya Rahim
(O the Merciful), Ya Lateef (O the Gentle), Ya ‘Aleem (O the Knowledge-
able), Ya Hakeem (O the Wise), Ya Rasheed (O the Guide), Ya Khaliq (O
the Creator), and the like – gradually dismantles both the vertical barrier
between humans and God and horizontal obstacles preventing close-knit
relations among fellow makhluq (creatures of God) without distinction.
Hence, mutual kindness and respect are promoted in society in spite of
groups being on opposing sides of the political divide. As enjoined by God
218 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
Himself in the Qur’an, “The most beautiful names belong to God, so call on
Him by them. But shun such men as use profanity in His names. For what
they do, they will soon be requited.”64
Figure 10.4 outlines a simple guideline for daily practice that can be
adopted by all politically active individuals, whether in the opposition or
in the ruling bloc. The whole-soul treatment package involves the phases of
soul purification, soul enlightening, opening the hijab (barrier), soul protec-
tion, total soul submission and wisdom process. The resultant strong soul
enables a person having it to think wisely, act humbly and relate to others
modestly, allowing the management of political competition in the most
efficient and least destructive manner.
The dhikr technique previously outlined does not neglect the role of
physical activities. On the contrary, the soul and the physical body are syn-
chronized through the invocation of God’s names, as much as Salah, for
example, is also both a spiritual and a physical exercise, with priority given
invariably to the former. Figure 10.5 shows the model of holistic technique,
involving continuous and parallel soul activities through the Asma ul-Husna
therapy designed to help the politicians, supporters, NGOs and individuals
in the daily management of their political activities.
In the treatment process, all politically significant segments of society go
through the diagnosis process, realignment activities, transformative thinking

Figure 10.4 The soul treatment process.

 Injecting God into politics 219

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

solving.

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

EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE Feeling calm & strong

Generate extraordinary 99 energy
based on 99 Names of Allah Brain thinking posively
INTELLECTUAL INTELLIGENCE
Ya ‘Aziz Unusual & extraordinary
Ya ‘Alim
Extraordinary knowledgeable Ya Qowiy strength (in the soul)
Ya Hakim
& wisdom Ya Man
Ya Rosyid
Ya Sobur Extraordinary paent
Ya Rahman
Extraordinary loving & caring Ya Rahim Generate Ya Mukmin Extraordinary sincere
Ya jaami’ spiritual
energy Ya Faah Extraordinary openness
Extraordinary movated Ya Baa’ith
Ya Quddus
Ya Sami’ Purified heart
Extraordinary loyalty Ya jalil
Ya Baarik Ya Kholiq Extraordinary innovave &
Extraordinary diness & Ya Quddus Ya Baarik
Asmaulhusna creave
cleanliness Ya Musowwir
Therapy

Connecon with Allah

Source of Energy / Power

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

 Injecting God into politics 221
Concluding remarks
In this chapter, it is proposed that politicians and political activists practise
dhikr and supplication using Asma ul-Husna in the manner of the right-
eous Sufis, with a view toward exploring their inner confusions; discovering
internal love, care, strength and passion among fellow human beings; and
performing a positive working culture among fellow nationals of diverse
ethno-religious persuasions. While the terminologies and examples have
been taken from the Islamic tradition, we contend that such a scheme may
yet prove to be applicable among peoples of other faiths should their reli-
gious experts join the project with the necessary adjustments befitting a
different belief system. Peace and harmony should be the ultimate motive,
driven by the innate desire to relate among one another as distinct yet equal
creatures in the sight of God. Even for different Muslim countries, adjust-
ments can perhaps be made to accommodate the varied cultures of living
Islam within different segments of the ummah. As long as the scheme glori-
fies God as the ultimate owner of everything, regardless of whichever ver-
sion is used with respect to incoming cultural and religious adjustments,
there is a chance of success in restoring peace and sanity to our present
muddled world. And God knows best.

Notes
1 Utusan Malaysia, “Malaysia Role Model for Other Muslim Countries,” Utu-
san Online, June 16, 2000, available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.
asp?y=2000&dt=0616&pub=Utusan_Express&sec=Front_Page&pg=fp_06.
htm (accessed 18 August 2018).
2 A. Yusuf Ali, The Holy Quran, Translation and Commentary (n.p.: Islamic
Propagation Centre International, 1946), p. 129.
3 Yusuf Ali, The Holy Quran, p. 862.
4 Ibid., p. 571.
5 Sahih Muslim, hadith no. 1841, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/daily
hadithonline/2012/04/04/hadith-on-leadership-the-leader-of-the-muslims-is-a-
shield-who-defends-them-when-he-fears-allah/ (accessed 18 August 2018).
6 Sahih Muslim, hadith no. 1838, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/daily
hadithonline/2011/03/06/you-must-obey-the-ruler-in-ma%E2%80%99ruf-
well-known-good-no-matter-who-he-is/ (accessed 18 August 2018).
7 Sunna is the trodden path of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), as derived from
his words, deeds and inaction, as reported by his family and companions.
8 The others, in order of priority, are, loyalty to King and country, supremacy of
the Constitution, rule of law, and courtesy and morality. These Rukunegara (Pil-
lars of the State), as they are called, were declared in response to bloody racial
riots that occurred in and around Kuala Lumpur in May 1969.
9 Bernama, “Perbezaan fahaman politik punca umat Islam berpecah [Political
differences source of Muslim disunity],” Utusan Malaysia, December 17, 2011,
available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.asp?y=2011&dt=1217&pub=
Utusan_Malaysia&sec=Terkini&pg=bt_12.htm (accessed 18 August 2018).
10 Berita Harian, “Tun M jamin Islam di Malaysia ikut al-quran dan hadis sahih [Tun
M guarantees that Islam in Malaysia follows al-Qur’an and authentic Prophetic
222 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
traditions],” PressReader, August 1, 2018, available at www.pressreader.com/
malaysia/berita-harian5831/20180801/281522226895505 (accessed 18 August
2018). Dr Mahathir’s speech was delivered to a ‘by invitation only’ meeting,
attended by the first author, between Dr Mahathir and selected Islamic scholars
and intellectuals at the Prime Minister’s office from 3 to 5.30 pm, July 31, 2018.
11 Chapter an-Nisa’ 4: 59, The Holy Quran, p. 198.
12 Chapter al-Ahzab 33: 35. The Holy Quran, pp. 1116–7.
13 Chapter al-Ra’d 13: 28, The Holy Quran, p. 612.
14 Chapter Yusuf 12: 40, 564.
15 El Fadl 2005, pp. 139–140, 199. On the association between takfir ideology and
violence, see the video Youtube, “Takfiri Ideology Warning Very graphic content,”
January 23, 2015, available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=D47KXg12no4
(accessed 18 August 2018).
16 Sahih Bukhari, hadith no. 71231, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/dan-
gers-of-the-khawarij-ideology-of-violence/ (accessed 18 August 2018).
17 Shustery 1999, pp. 26–7.
18 Chapter al-Anbiya 21: 107, The Holy Quran, p. 846.
19 Megan Specia, “Who are Sufi Muslims and why do some extremists hate them?”
New York Times, November 24, 2017, available at www.nytimes.com/2017/
11/24/world/middleeast/sufi-muslim-explainer.html (accessed 18 August 2018).
20 Consider for instance, such reservation as expressed by the influential hadith
scholar al-Nawawi (1233–1277): “As for rebelling against the ruler and fighting
him, it is forbidden by consensus of the Muslims even if he is sinful and oppres-
sive. I have mentioned many traditions with this meaning. The people of the
Sunnah have agreed that the ruler should not be removed due to his sinfulness.
As for the view mentioned in the books of jurisprudence from some of our com-
panions that he should be removed, which is also the opinion of the Mu’tazilates,
then it is a serious mistake from them and is in opposition to the consensus. The
scholars have said the reason his removal and rebellion against him is forbidden
is because of what that entails of tribulations, bloodshed, and corruption, for the
harm in removing the ruler is greater than letting him remain.” The quote is from
Sahih Muslim, no. 1840, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/islam-forbids-
violent-rebellion-against-an-unjust-muslim-ruler/ (accessed 20 August 2018).
21 See for example, Owais Jafri, “Promoting Peace: Sufism will End Terrorism in the
Country, Says Imran,” The Express Tribune, April 28, 2013, available at https://
tribune.com.pk/story/541536/promoting-peace-sufism-will-end-terrorism-in-
the-country-says-imran/; Our Correspondent, “Sufism Best Weapon against
Extremism, Terrorism,” The News, February 28, 2018, available at www.the
news.com.pk/print/286539-sufism-best-weapon-against-extremism-terrorism
(both accessed 18 August 2018).
22 Shamsul 1988, pp. 170–88.
23 Head of Malaysia’s judiciary. Since 1994, the post has been re-named ‘Chief Justice.’
24 Milne and Mauzy 1999, pp. 47–8.
25 Means 1991, pp. 212–3.
26 Parti Melayu Semangat 46, Manifesto Parti Melayu Semangat 46, 2007/0056327W
(Kuala Lumpur: Arkib Gabungan Politik, Arkib Negara, 1995).
27 Malaysiakini, “Ku Li dakwa ada khabar angin politik wang dalam pemili-
han Umno [Ku Li claims rumours going around of money politics in UMNO
polls],” July 1, 2018, available at www.malaysiakini.com/news/432089 (accessed
19 August 2018).
28 Noor 1999, pp. 5–18.
29 Chapter al-Ma’idah 5: 8–9, The Holy Quran, p. 243.
30 Ahmad Fauzi and Mydin 2009–2010, pp. 159–71.
31 Morrison 2001, pp. 2–3.
 Injecting God into politics 223
32 The Star, “Anwar: Working with Dr M was crucial to topple BN,” The Star Online,
16 May 2018, available at www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2018/05/16/anwar-
working-with-dr-m-was-crucial-to-topple-bn/ (accessed 19 August 2018).
33 al-Amr bil Ma’rūf 1/29, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithon
line/2012/07/07/ibn-taymiyyah-allah-establishes-a-government-of-justice-even-
if-it-is-led-by-unbelievers/ (accessed 19 August 2018).
34 Freedman 2006.
35 Chapter al-A’raf 7: 96, The Holy Quran, pp. 369–70.
36 Hasan 2015, pp. 61–62, 64.
37 Quoted in Ansari 2001, p. 15.
38 Ibid., p. 18.
39 Attar 1990, pp. 113–20.
40 See for example, Zainul Abidin 2005.
41 See Hasan 2015, pp. 70–72.
42 Louis F. Burke and Thomas R. Ajamie, “1MDB: Dissecting One of World’s Big-
gest Financial Scandals,” May 5, 2017, available at www.youtube.com/watch?
v=JZABOpi68HY&list=PL20cgYM0AuYipzohSZpC8q6fPG5EsiefS&index=9
(accessed 20 August 2018).
43 Jeff Sessions, “Attorney General Sessions Delivers Remarks at the Global Forum
on Asset Recovery Hosted by the United States and the United Kingdom,”
Department of Justice, December 17, 2017, available at www.justice.gov/opa/
speech/attorney-general-sessions-delivers-remarks-global-forum-asset-recovery-
hosted-united. The USA Department of Justice’s complete report of the 1MDB
saga may be downloaded at www.justice.gov/opa/press-release/file/973671/
download (both accessed 20 August 2018).
44 Anna Coren et al., “Malaysian PM Mahathir: ‘Most of the top echelons in the
government are corrupt,” CNN, July 26, 2018, available at https://edition.cnn.
com/2018/07/25/asia/malaysia-mahathir-mohamad-interview-intl/index.html
(accessed 12 August 2018).
45 Finance Twitter, “Hard to Get Kangaroo Court in UK – ‘Holy Man’ Nik
Abduh Admits PAS Taking Bribes From UMNO,” June 28, 2018, available at
www.financetwitter.com/2018/06/hard-to-get-kangaroo-court-in-united-king
dom-holy-man-nik-abduh-admits-pas-taking-bribes-from-umno.html (accessed
2 July 2018).
46 In Hwang 2003, pp. 289–90.
47 Rahman Mohd Irwan, “Dr M Should First Answer Allegations of His Own
Corruption,” Mynewshub, March 14, 2015, available at http://eng.mynews
hub.cc/dr-m-should-first-answer-allegations-of-his-own-corruption/ (accessed
20 August 2018). For an account of Dr Mahathir’s profligacy during his prime
ministerial tenure, see Wain 2009, especially chapters 6–7.
48 Sheri Prasso and Mark Clifford, “Malaysia: The Feud,” Business Week, Novem-
ber 6, 1998, reproduced at https://dinmerican.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/a-bit-
of-history-mahathir-anwar-ibrahim-feud/ (accessed 21 August 2018).
49 Zain 1988, pp. 22–41.
50 Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah, speech delivered upon accepting candidacy for the
UMNO Presidency, Regent Hotel, Kuala Lumpur, April 19, 1987. The second
author also interviewed Tengku Razaleigh on October 26, 2010, in Kuala Lumpur.
51 Al-Hallaj, for instance, was envied for amassing a large following and accused of
instigating a Shi’a rebellion against the caliphate, see Ansari 2001, pp. 6–11.
52 Lim Kit Siang, “Pursuit of a Malaysian Dream,” Biblotheca, October 30, 1990,
available at https://bibliotheca.limkitsiang.com/1990/10/30/1990-general-elec
tions-results-could-have-been-very-different-if-not-for-the-most-irresponsible-com
munal-and-religious-distortion-and-incitement-by-the-umno-of-pbs-joining-the-
gagasan-rakyat-in-the-l/ (accessed 21 August 2018).
224 Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi
53 Ahmad Fauzi 2013, pp. 45–65.
54 Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad, Buah Fikiran Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad
Siri 2 [Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad’s Thoughts Series 2] (Rawang: Penerbitan
Minda Ikhwan, 2006), pp. 200–205.
55 Ashaari Muhammad, Pendidikan Rapat Dengan Rohaniah Manusia (Rawang:
Penerbitan Minda Ikhwan, 2006), pp. 266–77.
56 Almarhum Ustaz Ashaari Muhammad, “Dunia Tanaman Untuk Akhirat,”
Memori Arqam, May 26, 2010, available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwSAib
QKTHo (accessed 21 August 2018).
57 Al-Jerrahi 1991, p. 16.
58 Chapter al-Hadid 57: 20, The Holy Quran, pp. 1503–4.
59 Sahih Bukhari, hadith no. 52; Sahih Muslim, hadith no. 1599, available at http://
dailyhadith.abuaminaelias.com/2011/02/14/protect-your-heart-by-avoiding-doubtful-
matters/ (accessed 23 August 2018).
60 Al-Jiasi 1976, p. 28.
61 Sunan al-Tirmidhi, hadith no. 3334, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/
dailyhadithonline/2012/09/13/hadith-on-sin-when-a-muslim-commits-a-sin-a-
black-spot-appears-on-his-heart-until-he-repents/ (accessed 23 August 2018).
62 Chisti 1989, p. 171.
63 Ranjit Singh, “UMNO will take over government after mid-term, Annuar claims,”
Malay Mail Online, August 10, 2018, available at www.malaymail.com/s/
1661016/umno-will-take-over-government-after-mid-term-annuar-claims
(accessed 23 August 2018).
64 Chapter Al-A’raf 7: 180, The Holy Quran, p. 396.

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

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

Allah, rhyme and Communism in Haddad reflect one meaning: the uni-
formity of the universe that moves along a regular, deep rhythm, led by
an absolute truth, which is justice, love and goodness. God in Haddad
 Sufism and communism 229
is reflected in the rhythm that regulates all existence and all human
life, and in the rhyme that regulates poetry, which is the essence of the
human being. God is reflected in the absolute good, in human aspira-
tion, in human struggle, and in human endeavor toward dignity, free-
dom, goodness, beauty and happiness.2

In the following lines, we will explore Sufism in Haddad’s poetry first and
communism second.

Sufism in Haddad’s poetry

1. The prominence of Sufi figures and poets

The influence of prominent Sufi poets on Haddad is clear and strong.
Haddad invokes names of prominent Sufi poets, invites their text in his
poem and uses their known style in his work – for instance, along the lines
of several Sufi poets, such as ʿAbd al-Rahim al-Buraʿi (d. 2005). Haddad
invites the names of places in the Arabian Peninsula to invoke the connota-
tions with the Prophet’s history and the longing to visit these places. As an
example, in his poem “Hope and Promise,” Haddad writes,

Ramadān says: get three dates and a gallop of milk

˙ my iftār on the way of the beloved prophet
So I start
˙ of Hijāz; I hear Tuhāmah and Najd
I smell the breeze
˙ I carry the passion of compassion
I see the peaks of honor;
I stand with the light of guidance, a preacher in every Friday’s sermon.3

In a different poem, Haddad, using the genre of madīh, where the poet enu-
merates the praises of the Prophet, invites al-Busayri˙(808–96 h / 1213–95
ce), the Sufi author of the most popular madīh poem, “al-Burdah.” Haddad
writes, ˙

The Prophet’s light that shines on you with goodness

And protects you like trees and birds
That gifted you al-burdah4, O, Ibn Zuhayr5
Colors are blooming and in the right time they emerge
From them, Sīdī al-Busayri wrote his peom!6

Here, Haddad invokes and joins two prominent poets: Kaʿb ibn Zuhayr (d.
24 h / 662 ce) who, praising the Prophet, received the Prophet’s burdah;
and al-Busayri (608–96 h / 1213–95 ce), who wrote one of the most popu-
lar poems praising the Prophet and claimed that after writing it, he had a
vision in which the Prophet gave him his burdah. By invoking these two
poets, Haddad roots himself in a long Sufi tradition of gathering to recite
praises of the Prophet by singing al-burdah.
230 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
Haddad invites the famous poet Hassan ibn Thabit (d. 55 h / 674 ce), a
Companion of the Prophet, whose role could be similar to a modern propa-
gandist, as he composed many poems to defend Muslims and attack their
enemies. Haddad writes,

First, from Medina, Hassan started out

Raised a sword of tongue and came down on the unbelievers.
Second, from night to dawn all creatures
Believed in Labid’s prostration, when he read al-Baqarah.
Third, in early morning Busayri said I came
From green Egypt with a tribes of poets’ speech
For I love the Prophet!7

Here, Haddad invokes Labid ibn Rabiʿah (d. 41 h / 661 ce), who announced
that, after his conversion to Islam, he would recite Surah al-Baqarah instead
of his poems.
It is interesting here that Haddad translates his nationalism into a repeated
invocation of Busayri, who is a central figure in Egyptian Sufism. Another
figure that is centralized in Haddad’s poetry is the famous Egyptian Sufi,
philosopher and poet ʿUmar ibn al-Farid (576–632 h / 1181–1235 ce).
Haddad writes,

Sīdī Ibn al-Farid, Āh!

Every spirit says: Allah
Oh, most Kind of creature, most Compassionate
Your Mercy has no limits!
In the extended shadow, we are.
Every look of love is up!
It is a paradise of love miracles.
I recited before ʿUmar ibn al-Farid tawāšīh.8
˙ .9
Our heart is still in the paradise of tarāwīh
˙
The melody that keeps us awake is beautiful, glamorous.
We longed for the breeze of Hijaz, and kind the breeze was
Returned with a voice reciting “sāʾiq al-azʿān”
And a voice singing “ghayrī ʿala al-sulwān” ˙
And one from Mecca carrying Ramadan’s drum
Eloquently singing “hittah min kabadī!”10
˙
Here, once again, Haddad roots his nationalism in a continuity of his poem
“hittah min kabadī” with two poems of Ibn al-Farid, “sāʾiq al-azʿān” and
˙
“ghayrī ˙ of the
ʿala al-sulwān.” In fact, “hittah min kabadī” is a verse in one
˙
most popular religious songs in Egypt today: al-Misahharātī, where Haddad
cleverly mixes nationalist and Sufi passions: ˙˙

My craft is misahharātī, a wanderer in our country

Loved and walked˙ ˙ as a lover long nights
 Sufism and communism 231
Every inch, every piece of my country
Is a piece of my heart
A piece of a passionate song!

Brilliantly, Haddad calls himself misahharātī, a word that refers to the traditional
Egyptian drummer who wakes people ˙ ˙ up to pray the Dawn Prayer in Rama-
dan. Haddad’s call, therefore, is a call for religious and national awakening!
In another interesting poem, Haddad disclosed that he had been influ-
enced by Sufism since his childhood, a time when he was raised Christian.
He writes,

I thank God for his grace!

I am of the patience of this life.
I am this life’s striving longing.
A child, I heard “turned to Kuthbān Tayy”!
Where is Kuthbān Tayy? ˙
I had no idea, but ˙
I have a feeling that
From afar, the deserts sand
Is flowing around because of its multitude!11

Hearing Ibn al-Farid’s Sufi poem “Turned to Kuthbān Tayy” as a child,

˙
Haddad informs us, was the seed of his conversion and passion for Sufism!

2. The prominence of Sufi symbols and traditions

in Haddad’s poetry
There are numerous Sufi symbols in Haddad’s poetry, but here we will men-
tion just a few examples of them. Following the tradition of madīh genre –
˙ poems
poetry that is devoted to the praise of the Prophet, Haddad starts his
with blessings for the Prophet. We especially see this practice repeated in
two of his collections, al-Hadrah al-Zakiyyah and Ya Ahl al-Amanah. For
instance, he starts his poem “From the Hearts of the Believers” by saying

Oh people of honesty, soft heart, and longing

You who come together in the pure presence
First to say is to bless the Prophet
Oh the master of ʿAdnan’s children, the light of faith
You are eternally the light of all times!12

Haddad keeps this introduction in all his poems of al-Hadrah al-Zakiyyah.

Blessing the Prophet in Haddad, as it is at the Sufis, is a method to invite
blessings, goodness and even miracles in the believer’s life. Haddad writes,

For the good blessings of the Prophet, I get his satisfaction.

And I see the Prophet’s hands blessing the mosques.
232 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
By blessing the Prophet, the mosques grow up
And the mosques’ builders grow stronger.
And the energy of the poet spreads among those who stay awake in night.13

Tawassul, or resorting to intermediary, is a controversial issue among main-

stream Islam but is considered a cornerstone of Sufism. Haddad stands
clearly in support of tawassul as he writes,

When thirst squeezed me

When my heart trembled
I said, “Oh Prophet” and received fresh power!14

Haddad uses the Sufi symbols of green flags and crescents, which are com-
monly used in Sufi celebrations, by saying

I am coming to you in the shadow

Of the green flags and crescents
Having only a question
How to find you?15

He uses expressions that are common in Egyptian popular Sufism, for

instance, tāqit al-qadr, which refers to a window in Heaven that, once
opened in˙ al-Qadr Night – a night in the month of Ramadan when the
Qurʾan was revealed to Muhammad for the first time – lets the prayers in
so they are answered. He also uses tuyūr khadrah, or green birds, and nadr,
or vow, which are common in Sufi ˙literature ˙and practices. Haddad writes,

For my love of the Prophet, I saw tāqit qadr

˙ Badr16
As if I grew up the angels’ horses in
Even the green birds tweeted in my chest
Leading candles of hope, so I could fulfill my vow
Because I love the Prophet!17

In another poem, Haddad shifts the focus to the famous Sufi tombs in Egypt,
those of Zaynab and al-Husayn, the grandchildren of the Prophet, and to
the famous Egyptian Sufi dhikr Allah Hayy. He writes,
˙
You, the Mother of Orphans18
Your scarf is like a cloud
Full of goodness, full of peace
Oh prayers of parents!
Where is my heart?
Am I dreaming? Am I asleep?
The moon is wandering in the space
Oh Tahirah, Oh Umm Hashim19
 Sufism and communism 233
Oh Sayidna al-Husayn
Where is my heart?
For the lovers, for the lovers
Those who are here, those who are absent
Everyone has a share
Carrying my heart in my hands
Where is my heart?
Ramadan says, “Where is my heart?”
My heart is here in the neighborhood
From al-Sayida to al-Husayn, my heart goes forth and back
Oh crescent on the two minarets
Watering the nights
I made the eye tears happy, smelled the breeze of light
Blessed the Prophet and my dhikr is Allah Hayy!20
˙
Another Sufi tradition that Haddad invites in his poetry is nadhr, plural
nudhūr, or vow offering. In his poem “The Good Word” he writes,

I go around and around

To fulfill the nudhūr.
In night, the dawn is walking
Accompanied by the light of the full moon.
Higher than the maize
More stable than the full moon
Is the good word!21

Reflecting on the traditional Egyptian dhikr, which is typically accompanied

by singing and dancing, Haddad writes,

We rose up to perform dhikr; we rose up to sing the hymns.

Four thousand villages we found
With us swinging!22

In his poem “I Swear with Nūn,” we see numerous Sufi expressions that
invite some reflection. In this poem, he writes,

My eyes looked around; how far they looked around!

Seeing dhikr groups and circles.
In my heart, I found all the signs of verses.
Allah; reciting his name the hearts are in peace.
My god can forgive all sins.
One day, I was dreaming of all times
Walking, asking god for forgiveness with one thousand adhān23
Entered a house with large yard, and large hall
Oh people of brevity, generosity and kindness
234 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
Oh people of honesty, soft heart, and longing
This world has been immersed in light.
In good ʿanbar, and the smoke of gāwī24
The night is a green cloud, walking softly.
The honey river pleaded to the gardens.
The palm trees sang, and so did the grapes and the figs.
Oh my eye, where did you go?
Oh my awaken eye!
Oh paradise of Allah that is everywhere
I swear with nūn25 and the believers.
The heart of tonight is green, compassionate.
Oh kind natured, softhearted!
When I came to serve tarīqah,
Our Shaykh who knows ˙ the secret of truth,
Stretched his right hand and said oh my Murid!
Your eye in my eye; your hand in my hand,
All creatures are siblings.
I swear with nūn and the believers,
The heart of tonight is green, compassionate.
Oh good nature, and close siblings!
He said, my murīd if you are sincere
In your sea of love, you won’t find a coast
Neither by poems nor by songs
With any meaning of meanings.
Only the martyr is called a lover!26

The numerous Sufi symbols and concepts here are unmistakable. What is
especially interesting in Haddad, however, is his gentle weaving of Sufism
and Marxism, so gentle that it wouldn’t offend the religious audience. Two
instances of this weaving are prominent in this short piece. First, his state-
ment that “all creatures are siblings” is a statement that is rooted at once
in mystic Sufism and humanist Marxism. Second, he declares that only the
martyr can be a true lover. Because this poem was written shortly after
the 1973 war, shahid, or the martyr, will resonate in both the Sufi and the
Nationalist fields of meaning. Death is the only true sign of both national
love and loving god. The entire Sufi experience is yet anchored in a notice-
able Egyptian symbol, the thousand minarets, for Cairo has been known as
the city of one thousand minarets!
Haddad includes a dimension of Sufi unity, where all creatures are in fact
united in the love of god. This Sufi unity does not, in fact, fall far away from
humanist Marxism, which includes a strong concern for nature. He writes,

The trees cried in the wind.

The nāys27 are always wounded.
Just let the full moon emerge!
 Sufism and communism 235
The nights are gardens of full.28
My heart is one heart, the heart of all.
Every look of love is up.
It is a paradise of love miracles!29

Haddad carefully selects one Sufi symbol that suits him in representing both
Marxian and Sufi ideals and repeats it in his poems to the point that it
becomes his signature. This symbol is the deer, which the Prophet protected
from being slaughtered and then freed. In a long hadith piece, which is not
accepted by scholars but is celebrated by Sufis, al-Asbahani narrates that

the Messenger of Allah, peace and prayers be upon him, passed by peo-
ple, who had hunted a deer, and tied her to a tent column. The deer
said, “Oh Messenger of Allah, I was taken and I have two baby deer.
Would you take the permission for me to go breastfeed them and come
back to these people?” The Prophet said, “Who is the owner of this?”
The people said, “We are, Messenger of Allah.” He said, “Let her go to
breastfeed her babies, and come back to you!” They said, “Who would
guarantee that?” He said, “I do!” They let her go, so she went away,
breastfed her babies, and came back to them, so they tied her up. The
Messenger of Allah passed by them and said,” Where are the owners of
this?” They said, “Here we are, Messenger of Allah!” He said, “Would
you sell her to me?” They said, “She is yours, Messenger of Allah!” He
said, “Let her go!” They untied her, and she went away!30

Haddad uses the symbolism of the deer to represent simultaneously mys-

tic and national liberation. The love of the Prophet frees the heart of the
believer from the prison and ties of sinful desires. The story, as told by
Haddad, sheds light on the liberation from tyranny, violence and oppression
to a world of love, compassion and mercy. Haddad writes,

The dawn rises up; darkness submits in.

The truth is clear.
Swords and spears between heaven and earth do not cut!
The eye of the deer turns around and sees
The distressed baby suckling back again!31

It is the pain of injustice, oppression and imprisonment, which Haddad him-

self suffered, that is represented here in the story of the deer. This image is
contrasted with a beautiful image of peace, where Haddad, using the same
symbolism of the deer, writes,

Look at the deer, whose guarantor is the Prophet!

Embracing her baby, oh boy!
Her eyes checking him up and down
236 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
Secure in the kingdom of God
The river of honey and the extending light
It is the light of the Prophet!32

Marxism in Haddad’s poetry

As deeply rooted in Sufism Haddad was, he was also deeply rooted in Marx-
ism, not only in terms of ideology but in terms of engagement and activism.
Below, we will reflect on some aspects of this engagement, as represented in
his poetry.

1. Advocating for liberty

At the center of the Nationalist Movement in Egypt before the 1952 Revolu-
tion, there was Haddad. As Egypt was subject to the ruling monarchy and
aristocracy, with a heavy presence of the British military, Haddad, as a part
of the nationalists’ intelligentsia and vanguard, called for complete political
independence, freedom and social justice. His first collection was published
in 1952, though it had been authored before that and carried the title The
Free Behind Bars! The poems in this collection were mostly supportive of
the oppressed intellectuals who were imprisoned for their ideas and intel-
lectual activism against the royal regime. In one of these poems, “Gifting my
Poems,” written in 1950, Haddad uses revolutionary ideas that match the
ideals of the Egyptian Communist Movement at that time. He wrote,

Oh you tyrant, who tortures the masses!

Torture them even more!
Take away even the little they still have!
They renew your youth, and you kill them.
Oh tyrant, torturer of people, pile them up!
In prison, droves of workers, peasants and students!
The tired strugglers on burš33 sleep them down!
Dominate all creatures with your power, your lust!
Counting on foreign armies, which tomorrow we will defeat.
The barefoot, who has no shoes, tomorrow, will step on your neck.
That who built your towers tomorrow will be their destroyer!34

This 1950 poem was indeed a prophecy of the coming Revolution, which
started as a military coup but was immediately supported by the masses to
get rid of the non-Egyptian royal family, as well as their entire regime.
In another poem from the same collection, “The Prison Begins in the Canal,”
he writes on freedom and the necessary sacrifices for it. Haddad writes,

You, who is sending me blessing and greeting,

You, who receive blessing from the martyr,
You both fought for justice and freedom
 Sufism and communism 237
With steel he died, in steel you are tied
Miserable ghosts and memories around me
And the deprived, the oppressed, the slaves
A world, its free are the prisoner and the victim
Subject to conspiracies, and bad times they are.35

Protesting the British intervention in Egyptian politics and their control of

Egypt through their proxy, the King, Haddad wrote,

After they had a dinner of chicken and roosts

After they ate their dessert
– And ask Ibn Nafisah36, if he was the baker of their bread,
The War Envoy leaned over the Paša and told him
You must open Tūr again!37
Do you hear me?˙ Do you understand? This is my advice!
This is a clear instruction from London.
Communism in an Islamic country? What a scandal!
And their number everyday goes up!38

In this short piece, Haddad briefs up the national problem in Egypt and
answers the main critique to communism. The problem, according to him,
is one of social justice – where the Pasha eats chicken and roost, but the
worker has nothing to eat. Communism sounds like the perfect solution
here. Addressing the main critique to communism in Egypt at that time –
its contradiction to Islam, the main culture of the country, a critique that
Haddad has to encounter at the personal level. He answers it with equal
irony: Is it Great Britain that is concerned about Islam in Egypt? The prob-
lem is economic and political, not cultural. Communism is the solution.
Those who turn it into an ideological battle, for instance, the Muslim Broth-
ers, would indeed be siding with Great Britain, the enemy of communism.
Haddad goes one step further by rooting his communist activism in the
ideals of Islam, arguing that this is indeed the strongest manifestation of this
religion. He writes,

Why did not I accept worshipping the idols?

Why did not I find the weakest of faith enough?
They imprisoned me.
Why my heart is Egyptian, my eyes are Egyptian?
And my life is a word in the service of the country?
They imprisoned me.
Demanding justice, light and freedom,
Cloth for the unclothed men and women,
Comfort for the tired men and women,
Mercy for the thirst men and women,
One hour for the poor men and women
Of humanity they live as humans,
They imprisoned me!39
238 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
Haddad states clearly that obeying the tyrants is like worshipping idols.
The weakest of faith that he mentions is a direct reference to the report of
hadith, where the Prophet urges Muslims to change the wrongdoing by their
hands, or by their words, if they could not change it by their hands, or by
their hearts – that is, by not approving it in themselves, which is, according
to the Prophet, the weakest of faith. Haddad obviously identifies his com-
munist activism with changing the wrongdoing by the hands!
Injustice is contradictory to religion, which Haddad announces in the fol-
lowing verses:

Oh Christians and Muslims!

Which religion, which creed
Accepts a starving child
And the rich complaining of overweight?
Accepts a poor worker
And the rich complaining of comfort?
And this is what we are supposed to consent to
But if you want to complain, make it an inside whisper!40

In another poem, Haddad invokes Islamic motivations to stimulate nation-

alist brevity. He writes,

Carry your sword, oh young Arab!

Between you and your princess is the stupid guard
And the Pasha, the Mamluk, and the foreigner.
Allah Akbar! Pray upon the Prophet!
Carry your sword, oh young Arab!
The night is long; the light is dime.
But if you have your sword, and your running horse,
Your shield is your faith and your brave heart.
The spikes are good omen of the roses on the road!41

2. Celebrating the leaders of enlightenment

and revolution in Egypt
In addition to celebrating prominent Sufi figures, Haddad wrote many
poems to celebrate prominent nationalist figures in Egypt, whether intel-
lectuals, political activists, politicians, scholars or artists. In one poem,
Haddad writes on Tahtawi (1216–90 h / 1801–73 ce), the Egyptian pioneer
of enlightenment, saying:

Oh those, who hear me, who are of the same country,

From High Egypt to Cairo!
Time comes; time goes.
Science emphasizes its amazing power.
 Sufism and communism 239
Crossed the wide seas a man with wider steps.
He came to be Rifāʿah Rāfiʿ al-Tahtawi.42

In another poem, he praised Ahmad ʿUrabi (1841–1911 ce), the mili-

tary leader who rebelled against the Khedive and fought the British Army.
Haddad wrote,

Everyone who sang for the love of the country,

Everyone whose way was Egypt,
Who raised his children a vow for the country,
Everyone whose heart is in peace, whose dhikr is for God,
Knowing the maqām, status, of justice, the status of freedom,
Everyone who prays during the last third of the nights, switching place
with the martyrs,43
Everyone riding his horse, raising his sword,
Protecting the land from the step of the enemies,
Feeling the spirit of this land in his blood,
Four thousand villages are his cousins,
His Imam is Ahmad ʿUrabi!
Everyone who is as faithful as his father and mother,
Drinking the water of the Nile, fed by the peasants,
His Imam is Ahmad ʿUrabi!44

Clearly, Haddad unites in harmony nationalist and religious emotions. He

uses the famous Sufi concept of tarīqah not to refer to a specific Sufi group
˙ tariqa of the nationalists. He also uses
but to refer to Egypt itself as the
nadhr, a vow, which Sufis practice frequently, as they vow a variety of gifts
to saints, but he uses it in a nationalist context, where one’s children are
vowed to the homeland. We see dhikr and qiyām, commonly practiced by
Sufis, as qualifications for the good nationalist, who protects the country.
Ahmad ʿUrabi himself is portrayed as Imām. As of justice and freedom,
˙
Haddad describes them as maqām, using another prominent Sufi concept.
All these Sufi concepts stand in harmony next to a call to fight for the pro-
tection of the homeland and its justice and freedom, with an unmistakable
emphasis on the working class and their struggle for economic justice.
Numerous are those nationalist icons that Haddad dedicated poems for
them, for instance, ʿAbd Allah al-Nadim (1261–1314 h / 1842–96 ce),
Gamal ʿAbd al-Nasir(1918–70 ce), ʿAbd al-Munʿim Riyad (1919–69 ce),
and Mustafa Kamil (1291–1326 h / 1874–1908 ce). Of Mustafa Kamil,
Haddad wrote,

Our first greeting is to our Mother,

Whose wings embrace us.
Oh, you, the green word, the faithful!
Our greeting to the land that gave birth
240 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
To Mustafa Kamil.
A beautiful hope in shape and form
As sweet as Friday of all days.
With the secret of your devotion,
You find the speech
That has always existed and was missing
And the song: Bilādī, Bilādī!45/46

Haddad expands his scope to include singers, musicians, actors, poets,

sculptors, et al., whom he selects carefully to represent as national icons.
One of those is Sayid Darwish (1892–1923 ce), considered the founder of
modern Egyptian music. Darwish is especially appreciated for creating music
that is both beautiful and representative of the people’s hopes and pains, as
he was close to the nationalist movement of his time. In his songs, one can
hear the voice of the workers, peasants and students, among other sectors
and groups of the society. He moved from Alexandria to Cairo and has been
known as fannān al-šaʿb, or the people’s artist. Of Darwish, Haddad wrote,

Once upon a time, since I ever remember,

The sun was rising, but my voice it could not hear.
I stopped singing to it, as I hide in the maze fields.
I opened my window, and so did to my heart,
And brought the sea breeze to Cairo,
And set free the voice of the girl and the boy,
And raised my art to the level of the people,
Strongly, my art came back to its origin,
Egypt came back to me with the power of revolution.
In my heart, the revolution is extending roots,
A hopeful song, a written destiny.
With me, the John Smith are blowing in the furnace,
The bakers are setting fire in the oven.
I bake to all people dinner and breakfast.
With me, the peasants are filling in the mill,
Tattooing on my heart the lion and the sparrow,
Filling the dough with light,
Writing to me the days of the year, of time.
The breeze with their breath comes a melody.
And a question in my ears, like a pulse of light,
Oh Egyptian, oh Sayid, your father is Darwish,
Does the Nile run or it does not run?
The Nile runs and so does the gears.
The dawn is rising with the artisans.
Egypt has to be Egyptian.
Every word she says is a song.
And every wish and hope a constitution!47
 Sufism and communism 241
Of Umm Kalthum (1898–1975 ce), the most famous Egyptian singer of
the twentieth century, Haddad wrote,

You are ignorant of Egypt and her secret unless,

You listen to the best voice in the world.
Here is the duha (morning,) the layl saja (night covering with
darkness)˙ and
˙ the truth,
Your heart is tender and the entire people are anxious.
Look at the wonder, the gathering and the comfort!
And the night is braids of a peasant girl.
The promise brought them together.
The breeze of Sabā wind, a waterfall of jasmine
˙
Is your voice, Madonna of all; sing for us!48

Interestingly, in the middle of a poem dedicated to Umm Kalthum, Haddad

is using the first two verses of Sura 93 of the Qurʾan: “By the morning
brightness and by the night when it grows still.”49 It was not completely
unexpected, when Umm Kalthum would sing a song, for her to use the same
two verses from the Qurʾan. Haddad finds in this harmonious coexistence
of nationalism and religion in Umm Kalthum a reflection of his own.
Haddad writes about an Egyptian comedian, ʿAli al-Kassar (1887–1957 ce)
who was quite popular during the first half of the twentieth century, as he
typically played the role of the working-class Egyptian in a number of mov-
ies and plays:

They called him a joker.

They mixed the nonsense with the good speech.
And used the word taškhīs.50
˙ a cheap one.
They called it a foolish art,
What is wrong in joking?
...
Oh Egypt, the most beautiful country!
Art is called: ʿAli al-Kassar!51

Haddad wrote a poem on Mahmud Mukhtar (1891–1934 ce), the promi-

nent founder of modern Egyptian sculpture. He wrote,

In a free land that gives birth to free people,

Makes your hands everyday rough,
And everyday, it makes your heart tender,
And tells you: know Egypt, Mukhtar!
The beginning of her existence was worshipping and art!52

Among those intellectuals and artists, Haddad writes a poem to the

popular Qurʾan reciter Muhammad Rifʿat (1882–1950 ce) Rifʿat, whose
242 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
recitation is still quite popular, has been known for his exceptionally beauti-
ful voice. Rifʿat, like most prominent Qurʾan reciters in Egypt, had studied
Arabic music, which he applied to his recitation. By including Rifʿat in his
poems, Haddad points to the harmony of religion and art, a consistent char-
acter he sees in Egypt, as he mentioned in his poem on Mukhtar. Of Rifʿat,
Haddad writes,

Oh people of alleys in the years of occupation!

Longing is singing, and paradise is for the oppressed.
Egypt swore to bring victory to the orphans,
Under the light of Shaykh Muhammad Rifʿat’s voice
Reading the Qurʾan!53

Sufism and Marxism (dif)fused

In October 1974, President Anwar al-Sadat announced his new Economic
Openness Policy, which turned Egypt away from older socialist policies and
toward liberal economy and private market dynamics. In 1975, Haddad
suffered from constant and severe dizziness, which made it impossible for
him to leave the house without assistance. Haddad’s mysterious disease
was diagnosed as psychological depression that was due to the new turn in
Egypt’s regime, and he was advised to be on antidepressant medications. For
four years, Haddad used these medications, without writing a single word.
These four years ended with Haddad suffering a heart attack. Realizing that
his days wee numbered, Haddad started working again quite energetically,
as he was, according to his own words, in a race with death.
To the end of his days, Haddad used to emphasize that he is both a Muslim
and a communist. He would not accept being called a leftist, and he would
immediately correct it by saying, “No, I am a communist.” He wrote his
Sufi collection, al-Hadrah al-Zakiyyah, during his last years. However, his
siding with the working class seems to have taken a new direction. This turn
in Haddad’s poetry was observed by several critics.54 They all refer this turn
to the period in Haddad’s life after his release from prison in 1969. His son,
poet Amin Haddad, relates to his father that in the second period he was in
prison, 1959 to 1964, he met with all sectors of society, from all regions of
Egypt, and listened to their stories and songs. This turning point manifests
itself in the type of poetry Haddad wrote about the working class. No longer
do we see them only through the Marxian lens, where they are reduced into
an exploited class struggling for its bread. Nor do we see Haddad losing
interest in this class. What we really see after his release, especially during the
last six years of his life, 1979 to 1985, is a diversity of artisans whose work
is portrayed as beautiful, magnificent and poetic, in complete harmony with
both their environment and life itself. This Sufi framing of the working class,
I argue, is the heart of Haddad’s final work, where Sufism and communism
not only coexist but also blend. Without denial of injustice or hardship, he
 Sufism and communism 243
delves into a deeper level of existence, where there is harmony and beauty.
As an example of this type of poetry, Haddad writes about al-ʿattāl, or the
man whose job is to carry heavy stuff, saying

Before the leaning of my shoulder under the carriage,

My heart leant down!
No matter how wage was little,
No matter how struggle and hardship I am having,
When your lap carry my head,
I know that hardship is better!55

What Haddad sees here is the love that is carried in the heart of this man.
When he puts his head in his woman’s lap, he experiences a love that is bigger
than any heavy thing he has carried, and this makes him happy. Haddad adds,

My heart went tender.

I said give me a heavy bag,
On it, put another bag,
Above it, put mountains
Of dust and stones,
And I will race the horse!
For the mother of the children,
Made my breath sweet.
When her lap carries my head
I know that hardship is better!56

What Haddad captures here is a world of love and moments of happi-

ness that defy hardship and daily struggling; he gives a deep meaning to this
struggle and makes it the heart of life and the birth of new lives!
Haddad draws pictures of harmony, almost pantheistic, that reflect the
unity of workers, their labor and the environment around them. Of the
blacksmith, Haddad writes,

My arm says, oh the Mighty!

My heart says, oh the Generous!
My shop is black, as black as the coal.
But the breadth of my voice and my hands
Gives birth to the sword
That once passes through,
Fills the squares with light.
Listen my boy to the song of blacksmith!
We have darkness in darkness!
We have fire flaming in fire!
We have power in our arms
Reaches the sun of the day!
244 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
Yes, mind is a virtue,
But determination is more valuable!
We were, you who like drama,
Blacksmith from Arabian Nights!
Time turned against us.
Threw burdens, heavy ones.
But we certainly rose up,
And raised the wall straight.
We have darkness in darkness.
We have fire flaming in fire!57

The rhythm in the Arabic poet echoes the strong regular rhythm of the
blacksmith’s hammer. Those who like drama see blackness and fire, but the
blacksmiths, with their virtues of power and determination, proudly rise up,
straighten out long walls and create swords. Those swords reflect their mak-
ers’ power and determination to cut through the night to spread the light of
the blacksmith’s fire and the sun, which their power can reach!
We see the same harmony in Haddad’s poem on the gardener. If the
essence of the blacksmith is fire, power and determination, the essence of
the gardener is beauty, love and the behavior of birds. He writes,

Tell you the truth my boy,

We are all of birds!
Except in gardens and trees, we cannot live.
The straws of the nest are still on our cloth.
Oh morning of grace!
I wake up wandering,
Singing to the roses,
Giving away my fingers for them,
With a voice that is quiet, soft, heavenly and loud!
Oh rose, you smell like the rose scent
The scent of my lover, oh my heart!58

Obviously, Haddad transcends work as physical labor to shed light on it

as an activity that brings the worker in harmony with his environment and
earns him happiness and joy. Work transforms the worker and brings him
closer to the nature he is working on, whether it is steel and fire or trees and
roses. In his poem about the upholsterer, he writes that every worker resem-
bles his work and describes the upholsterer as having a beard that looks like
cotton. A sense of humor and spirit of love spreads through all his poems
on workers, seeing beauty and harmony, as in his poems on the sailor, who
transports people in small boats; the seller of the fruits; or the camel man.
We always see workers singing for love, joyous as they work, in harmony
with their work and surroundings.
 Sufism and communism 245
In 1985, Haddad died, a Sufi and a communist. Hisham al-Salamuni, an
Egyptian playwright, said that Haddad told him during his last years that
poetry came to him smoothly; he would find verses emerging at his desk as
a gift from God; and he would immediately prostrate to God, thanking Him
for the gift and hoping it would not cease.59

Notes
1 See Mahmud Amin al-ʿAlim 1990, pp. 82–5.
2 Ibid.
3 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 24.
4 Al-Burdah is a striped garment worn in Arabia.
5 Kaʿb ibn Zuhayr (D. 26 H/646 ce) is a poet who attacked the Prophet and Mus-
lims with his poems, but later on converted to Islam and praised the Prophet, so
the Prophet gifted him with his burdah.
6 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 55.
7 Ibid., pp. 73, 74.
8 Hymns.
9 A long prayer during the nights of Ramadan.
10 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 87, 88.
11 Ibid., pp. 5, 57.
12 Ibid., pp. 4, 9.
13 Ibid., p. 127.
14 Ibid., p. 9.
15 Ibid., p. 11.
16 Badr is the name of the first battle between Muslims and the pagans of Quraysh,
where Muslims defeated their enemies. Muslims believe that angels on horses
fought along their side on this day.
17 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 11.
18 One of the popular Egyptian titles of Zaynab.
19 Two of the popular Egyptian titles of Zaynab.
20 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 16.
21 Ibid., p. 19.
22 Ibid., p. 20.
23 The public call to prayer.
24 ʿAnbar is an oriental perfume; gāwī is a kind of incense. They both are used by
Egyptian Sufis in dhikr meetings.
25 Nūn is an Arabic alphabet letter. There is a chapter in the Qurʾan that is called
Nūn, as God starts the chapter by swearing with the letter nūn.
26 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 57–58.
27 The nāy is a popular Middle Eastern musical instrument made of bamboo.
28 Arabian jasmine.
29 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 86.
30 al-Asbahani 1986, pp. 2, 375.
31 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 130.
32 Ibid., p. 130.
33 A thin cover of the prison floor, on which prisoners sleep.
34 Haddad 2006, pp. 2, 9.
35 Ibid., pp. 1, 11.
36 Ibn Nafisah is a name that implies a humble background of its carrier.
37 Tūr is a prison in Sinai that was used to keep the political prisoners in.
˙
246 Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed
38 Haddad 1952, p. 17.
39 Ibid., p. 21.
40 Ibid., p. 14.
41 Ibid., p. 19.
42 Haddad 2002, p. 11.
43 Haddad is referring to two reports of Hadīth in this verse. In the first report,
the Prophet says, “Our Lord, the Blessed,˙ the Superior, comes every night down
on the nearest Heaven to us when the last third of the night remains, saying:
“Is there anyone to invoke Me, so that I may respond to invocation? Is there
anyone to ask Me, so that I may grant him his request? Is there anyone seeking
My forgiveness, so that I may forgive him?”” In the second report, the Prophet
says, “The souls of the martyrs are in green birds, suspended from the fruit of
Paradise, or the trees of Paradise.”
44 Haddad 2002, pp. 19–20.
45 It is the national anthem of Egypt. It was written by Muhammad Yunus al-Qadi
1888–1969 ce,) and turned into a song by the most famous Egyptian musician
Sayid Darwish (1892–1923 ce.) The words of the song were taken from a speech
given by Mustafa Kamil in 1907.
46 Haddad 2002, p. 39.
47 Ibid., pp. 98–9.
48 Ibid., pp. 121–2.
49 M.A.S. Abdel Haleem, The Qur’an (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 425.
50 A derogatory word that was in common use in early 20th century to describe the
profession of acting in Egypt.
51 Haddad 2002, p. 143.
52 Ibid., p. 94.
53 Ibid., pp. 110–111.
54 “Fuʾad Haddad,” Al-Jazeera, available at www.aljazeera.net/programs/thebanned/
2007/5/14/‫فؤاد‬- ‫حداد‬
‫حداد‬-‫فؤاد‬
55 Haddad 2002, pp. 223–4.
56 Ibid., pp. 224–5.
57 Ibid., pp. 227–30.
58 Ibid., pp. 192–3.
59 www.aljazeera.net/programs/thebanned/2007/5/14/‫فؤاد‬- ‫حداد‬
‫داؤف‬-‫دادح‬

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Reading of the Poetry of Fuʾad Haddad.” Al-Yasār Journal (7) (September): 82–85.
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AL-Asbahani, Abu Naʿim. 1986. Dalaʾil al-Nubwuah. Beirut: Dār al-Nafaʾis.
“Fuʾad Haddad.” AL-Jazeera. Available at www.aljazeera.net/programs/thebanned/
‫فؤاد‬-‫حداد‬
2007/5/14/‫حداد‬-‫فؤاد‬
Haddad, Fuʾad. 1952. The Free Behind Bars. Cairo: Unknown Publisher.
———. 2002. Egyptian Egypt is Singing. Cairo: al-Hayʾah al-Masriyyah al-ʿAmmah
li-al-Kitab. ˙
———. 2006. The Complete Works. Cairo: al-Hayʾah al-ʿAmmah li-Qusur al-Thaqafah.
Index

a’ala ‘illiyyin 170 al-dhat 188

‘Abbasids 12 al-Farabi 62
ʿAbd al-Malik 150 al-Farisi, Salman 7
Abdul Rahman, Shah 41, 42, 49 al-Faruqi, Umar 100
Abi’l-Khayr 16 al-Gilani, ‘Abd al-Qadir 133, 143n14
Abrahamic 14, 15, 18 al-Ghazali, Imam Abu Hamid 11, 57,
Abu Bakr 142 141, 164
Adab 3, 152, 162, 168, 174 al-Hallaj, Husayn b. Mansur 9, 10, 11,
Adham, Ibrahin b. 9, 12, 14, 19, 20 16, 27, 49, 209, 210, 223n51, 224
Abdul Hadi, Mawlana 180 – 93, al-Hannan, Abdullah 181
194n35, 198 al-Ḥusayn 232, 233
Abdul Karim 181 Ali, Kazi Asad 181
Abdul Karim (author) 191, 196n108, ‘Alid 140, 141, 144n67
197 ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib 133, 139, 140, 141,
Abdul Rahman, Tunku 207 143n20, 144n67, 204
advaita 16 ‘alim see ‘ulama’
ahl-i dil 5 al-Jerrahi, Muzaffer Ozak 214, 224n57
ahl al-kitāb 149 al-Junayd 6, 10, 13, 14
Ahmed, Munshi Safiuddin 181 al-Kassar, ‘Ali 241
Ahmed, Shahab 3, 22n10, 22n14, al-khaṭṭ al-mansūb 150
22n20, 26, 143n5, 145, 158n34, al-Khuza‘i, Imran b. al-Husayn 7
158n37, 159 Allah 11, 14, 49, 55n41, 75, 76, 116,
ʿAʾisha 157 118, 120, 122, 123, 125, 161, 162,
al-‘Adawiyya, Rabi‘a 7, 8, 9, 14, 26, 163, 167, 170, 172, 173, 183, 201,
70, 197 202, 204, 205, 209, 214, 215, 217,
al-ʿAlim, Maḥmud Amin 228, 245n1 220, 222n5, 223n33, 224, 227,
‘alam-e-amr 174 228, 230, 232, 234, 235, 238, 246;
‘alam-i wajd 161 see also Khuda
Alam, Mahbubul 181 al-Ma’mun 12
Alam, Muhammad Musa 181 al-Muhasibi, Abu ‘Abdullah Harith ibn
al-aqlām al-sitta 151 Asad 8, 9, 10, 13, 14, 17, 29
al-Aṣbahani 235, 245n30, 246 al-Mustaʿṣimi, Yaqut 151
al-Astarabadi, Fadlallah 137, 144n45 al-nabī al-ummī 149
al-Basri, Hasan 10, 13, 14, 28 al-Nadim, ʿAbd Allah 239
al-Buraʿi, ʿAbd al-Raḥim 229 al-Qadr 232
al-Burdah 229, 245n4 al-Qaeda 204
al-Busayri 229 al-Qandusi, Muḥammad ibn al-Qasim
al-Darda, Abu 7 152
al-Darda, Umm 7 al-Sadat, Anwar 242
248 Index
al-Salamuni, Hisham 245 awliya 133; awliyā’/awliya Allah 11,
al-Wadūd 5, 178 170; Awliya, Nizam al-Din 96, 97,
al-Yaman, Hudhayfa b. 7 98, 180; Awliya, Siyar al-99; Awliya,
‘amal 161, 165, 176 Tarikh-e 111n11, 112n17, 112n18,
Amanat Shah 181 112n19, 114
Amiri, Ahmed Nur 182 ayāt 6, 157; see also signs
Amir Khusrau/Khusro 49, 97 – 9, Ayaz, Fariduddin 98, 111n3, 113
111n3, 111n5, 112n16, 180 Azad, Maulana Abul Kalam 33
Amiruzzaman Shah 181
amrit 46 Baba Bhandari 182
ana’l-Haqq 10, 49, 210 Babur, Zahiruddin Muhammad 36
Andrae, Tor 18, 20, 25n115, 25n155, Badarayana 19
25n156, 26 Badawi, Abdullah Ahmad 207
annihilation 1, 6, 10, 11, 18, 20, 58, Bahmani Empire 100
172, 173, 179; see also fanā’ Bairāgī 73, 76, 85
Anushirvan, Khusrau I. 12 Bajan, Baha al-Din Shah 99, 100, 101,
Antov, Nikolay x, 136, 144n37, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 110,
144n39 111n7, 111n10, 112n13, 112n14,
Aphraates 13 112n17, 112n18, 112n19, 113
Apostle Paul 20 Bakk, Masʿud 101, 112n12
Aqida 59 Baldic, Julian 12, 15, 23n30, 25n121, 26
‘Aql 8 Bandyopādhyāy, Asit Kumār 196
Arab 11, 20, 26, 36, 238; Arabia 26, bānī 46
28, 81, 115, 245; Arabian 116, 229, baqā’18, 48, 76, 101; baqā’ billah 20, 173
244, 245n28; Arabic xii, 5, 7, 10, 13, baraka/barakat 22n5, 36, 37, 171
36, 43, 47, 54n13, 55n29, 55n41, Bashir, Hajji 173, 174
59, 60, 75, 95, 106, 110, 149, 150, Shahzad Basir 144n46, 145, 179,
151, 157, 158n1, 159, 175n1, 205, 194n10, 194n15, 196
208, 242, 244, 245n25; Arabs 12, batin/bāṭinī 47, 157
28, 123, 183 bāul vii, 72 – 88, 88n18, 89n43, 89n47,
Arahat 20 89n49, 89n54, 89, 90, 91, 181
Arbab-i dil 161 Bāul, Parvarthy 84
Arberry, Arthur J. 23n33, 24n68, Bāul, Sanatan Das 84
24n73, 24n74, 80, 80n84, 25n116, Bawa, Oudesh Rani Bawa 102, 177
25n120, 25n131, 25n139, 26 Bayram, Hacı 133
Aristotle 35, 44, 62 Bayt al-hikma 12
Arjuna 190 Behl, Aditya 110, 113n28
Asad, Talal 2, 3, 4, 22n8, 22n9, 134, Bektashi 59
135, 143n27, 143n28, 143n29 Bengal 21, 26, 27, 35, 72 – 6, 78 – 84,
Asceticism 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 22n5, 86, 88, 88n18, 89 – 91, 182, 191 – 3,
24n81, 28, 37, 70n8, 132, 163, 164 196 – 7; Bengali 72 – 5, 80, 83 – 7, 90,
Asian: Central Asian 4; East Asian 209, 95, 181, 186, 190, 191, 196n89,
212; South Asian 12, 35, 72, 83, 196, 198; Bengalis 77, 84, 86
90, 95, 96, 97, 99, 102, 103, 110, Berkey, Jonathan P. 12, 24n100,
111n10, 113, 159, 168, 177, 182, 24n101, 24n102, 24n103, 26
189, 192; Southeast Asian 225, 226 bhadralok 80
Asma’ ul-Husna 8, 9, 201, 205, 214, Bhagavad-Gītā 15 – 18
215, 216, 218, 220, 221 Bhai Bala 53
Atçıl, Abdurrahman 145, 143n16 Bhai Mardana 38, 40, 50 – 2
Athens 12 bhakti 16, 19, 34, 72, 74, 76, 90, 180,
Ᾱtman 16, 18 182, 186, 189 – 93
Attar, Farid ud-Din 37, 42, 49, Bhatacariya, Upendra 80
223n39, 224 Bhujpuri, Abdus Salam 181
 Index 249
Bindu sadhana 75 Dard, Mir 107, 112n23
Bistami, Abu Yazid 9 – 11, 13 – 18 dargah 36, 97, 100, 108, 111n10;
Brahman 15, 16, 18, 19, 74 – 6 see also shrine
Brahmanism 74 darśana 45
Brahmasūtra 19 Darvish, Fazar Ali 181
Brahmo Samaj 80, 81 Darvish, Shah Yusuf Ali 181
Buddha 21; Buddhism 12, 19 – 21, 82; Darwish, Sayid 240, 246n45
Buddhist 10 – 12, 15, 17, 20, 34 – 5, darwish/dervish 5, 64, 67 – 8, 73, 116,
37 – 8, 72, 74 – 6, 81 – 2, 91, 123, 163, 120, 123 – 5, 129, 132, 139, 145,
181 – 2, 191, 203; Buddhist Jatakas 224; see also faqir
37; see also Siddhartha Gautama Dasgupta, Shashibhusan 88n35, 90,
buland o bala-tar 172 191, 196
Bullhe Shah 50 Datta, Manmohan 181
Bumiputera 201, 201, 208 David 8, 9, 14, 19
Bürgel, Johan Christoph 156, 158n34 Deccan /Deccani 9 – 7, 99, 100, 102,
burqa 42, 55n22 106 – 7, 110, 111n4, 111n5, 113
Delwar, Muhammad 181
Calder, Norman 34, 143n26 democracy 26, 198, 209, 225
Calligraphy viii, 22, 43, 147, 151 – 157, Déroche, François 150, 158n4, 158n8,
158n15, 159 – 60 159
Capwell, Charles 73, 82, 88n4, 89 dhikr/zikr 14, 76, 106, 133, 172,
Carey, William 90 204 – 5, 208, 215, 218, 221, 232 – 3,
Cashin, David 191, 196n93, 196n96, 239, 245n24
196n108, 196 Dimock, Edward C. 189 – 90, 195n81,
caste 17, 18, 39, 40, 74 – 6, 81, 186 196n89, 196n108, 197
Catholic church 64 Dionysius of Syria 13, 18
Chaitanya/Caitanya 77, 190 du’a 171
Cheek, Ahmad Shabery 207 Dutt, Michael Madhusudan 86
Chisti, Muin al-Din 182 Dylan, Bob 72, 79, 81, 83, 89n47,
Chittick, William C. 23n45, 23n50, 89n48, 89, 90
23n58, 26, 28, 116 – 7, 127n3,
128n7, 129, 195n65 Eade, John 85, 89n56, 90
Chowdhuri, Fazu Mian 181 Eaton, Richard M. 21, 26n162, 26,
Chowdhuri, Hajji Ayub Ali 81 54n11, 55, 88n7, 112n21, 113,
Christian 4, 7, 9, 11 – 15, 18, 20, 21, 191 – 2, 196n96, 196n97, 197
24n97, 35, 71, 73, 85 – 7, 115, 121, Eickelman, Dale F. 2, 22n4, 22n5, 26
123, 135, 145, 155, 163, 182, 192, Election 86, 201 – 2, 204, 206 – 7, 214,
203, 212, 228, 231, 238 217, 224n52, 226
Colonial Raj 33 El-Zein, Abdul Hamid 2, 22n6, 26, 134
Communism viii, 228 – 9, 237, 242, Ernst, Carl 21, 23n53, 25n160, 26 – 7,
246; Marxian 228, 235, 242; 96, 99, 112n12, 112n20, 124,
Marxism 228, 234, 236, 242 128n37, 129, 160, 194n6
Constitution/constitutionally 201, 203,
221n8, 240 fanā’1, 10, 11, 18 – 20, 48, 101, 178;
Cooperson, Michael 4, 23n24, fanā’ fi’l-lah 173, 178; fanā’ fi’l-
24n104, 26 shaykh 178, 189, 193
culture 1 – 4, 11 – 12, 21 – 2, 26 – 7, 33, faqir 5, 26, 73, 76; see also
36 – 8, 53, 83, 86, 88, 113, 115 – 7, darwish/dervish
129, 132 – 4, 145, 149, 155, 159, Farhad 20, 192
164, 219, 221, 226, 237 Farid, Shaykh 33, 36 – 7, 40, 42, 44 – 5
fayz 171
darbar 169, 181 – 2, 195 Fazlul Karim 181
dard 172, 189 fiqh 151, 209
250 Index
flame 10, 49, 52, 124, 185, 187 Harder, Hans 25n145, 26n164, 27,
flute 41, 86, 182, 184 – 6, 189, 192 180, 186, 189, 191 – 2, 194n26,
Frembgen, Jurgen 165, 175n17 194n29, 194n30, 194n32, 194n34,
195n39 – 43, 195n48 – 50, 195n55,
Geertz, Clifford 1, 2, 4, 22n2, 22n3, 27 195n61, 195n63, 195n74, 197
Gharib, Burhan al-Din 96 – 102, 108, Harrison, George 72, 79, 82, 88n41,
110, 111n5, 111n6, 113 88n42, 89n45, 90
ghazal 42, 97 – 8, 103, 107 – 110, 111n2, Hatim, Musa 212
112n23, 113n27, 113 Haq, Muhammad Enamul 19, 20,
Ghifari, Abu Dharr 7 25n150, 27
Ginsberg, Allen 72, 79, 81 – 3, 91 haqiqat 105 – 6
Gitanjali 80, 90 Helminski, Camille 27
Golam ar-Rahman, Sayyid 182 Helminski, Kabir 7, 23n43, 23n57, 27,
Golden Temple 33 194n1, 197
gopī 19, 189, 190; gopībhāva Hickman, Bill 132 – 3, 143n13, 143n15,
189, 190 143n17, 143n18, 145
Gorakhnath 41, 196 Hindavi 97, 99, 102 – 4, 110
Gospel 15, 20 Hindu 11, 15 – 19, 21, 29, 33 – 5, 38 – 41,
governance 86, 110, 202, 208 – 9 44, 46, 48, 52 – 3, 55, 74 – 9, 81 – 2,
Greek 4, 5, 12, 13, 23n32, 43 – 4, 86 – 7, 89, 97, 100, 121, 178, 181 – 3,
115, 122 189, 191 – 3, 203; Hinduism 10, 12,
Grossman, Sally 82 – 3 15 – 20, 34, 74, 82, 85 – 6, 189
Gujari 96, 101 – 3, 106 – 7, 110 Hir 19, 189
Gurmukhi 33 Hodgson, Marshall 2 – 4, 15, 23n13,
Guru Arjan 33, 46 23n35, 25n125, 27, 144n37, 145
Gurudas Faqir 181 Hubert (saint) 12, 13, 20
Guru Granth Sahib 33 – 4, 36, 39, 40, Husayn, Farid 181
45 – 6, 49, 50, 53 – 4, 54n14, 56 Husayni, Lutfunnesa 181
Guru Nanak vii, 33 – 43, 45 – 53, 54n2, Husayni, Sayyid Siraj al-Din 107
54n3, 54n4, 54n12, 54n14, 54n16, ḥusn al-khaṭṭ 149
54n20, 54n22, 55n32, 55n45, 56 Hussaini, Syed Shah Khusro 99, 111n5

Ḥaddad, Fu’ad 228 – 45, 245n3, 245n6, Ibn al-‘Arabi 6, 16, 19, 47 – 8, 164, 188,
245n10, 245n17, 245n20, 245n26, 189, 196
245n29, 245n31, 245n34, 246n38, Ibn al-Bawwab 151
246n42, 246n44, 246n46, 246n51, Ibn al-Farid, ‘Umar 230 – 31
246n54, 246n55, 246 Ibn Muqla 151
hadith 2, 15, 11, 137 – 8, 140, 149, Ibn Nafisah 137, 245n36
151, 157, 178, 196n95, 201 – 2, 215, Ibn Rabiʿah, Labid 230
221n5, 221n6, 222n16, 222n20, Ibn Taymiyyah 209, 223n33
223n33, 224n59, 224n61, 226, 235, Ibn Thabit, Hassan 230
238; ahadith 5, 201 – 2, 204, 226; Ibn Zuhayr, Ka‘b 229, 245n5
hadith qudsi 5, 178, 188 Ibrahim, Anwar 203, 206, 207, 208,
hagiography viii, 22, 112n12, 113, 147, 210, 211, 228n48, 226
159, 161 – 3, 168, 170, 172 – 3, 175, identity 33 – 6, 60, 74, 85 – 6, 115, 118,
175n3, 177 124, 190, 193; politics viii, 22, 33 – 5,
Hali, Abdul Gafur 181 89, 90, 113, 124, 145, 201 – 2, 204,
hama ūst 19 206 – 7, 211, 214, 219, 222n27, 225,
Hamdullah, Shaykh 152, 154 228, 237
Hamzah, Tengku Razaleigh 203, 206, Idries Shah 59
212, 223n50, 226 ihsan 6, 7
Hanssen, Kristin 73, 74, 88n3, 90 ijāza 152
Harbingiri, Mawlana Aminul Haq 181 Ikbal, Afzal 116, 128n4, 129
 Index 251
‘ilm 8, 138, 144n49, 146, 172 Karamustafa, Ahmet T. 3, 4, 23n21,
India 10, 16 – 20, 33 – 6, 38, 43, 79 – 85, 23n30, 24n75, 24n86, 24n88,
89n46, 89, 90, 96 – 7, 106, 113, 151, 24n92, 24n96, 27, 143n7, 143n9,
178, 189, 212; Indian 4, 12, 17, 19, 143n11, 144n37, 144n41, 145
20, 24n102, 33, 36 – 8, 46, 80, 82 – 3, kashf 168
88n23, 89, 90, 99, 102, 113 – 5, 181, kashfu-’l-qubur 20
197, 203, 212 Khairuzzaman Master 181
Indian National Congress 33 khalifa 96, 161 – 2, 165 – 6, 168, 173,
Indonesia 2, 208, 225 – 6; Indonesian 95 175, 177
Iran 12, 37, 96, 100, 115 – 6, 145; Khan, Bashir Muhammad 111n11, 113
Iranian 9, 107, 115, 138, 145, Khan, Inayat 85
176n18, 177, 192 Khanqa/Khanqah 36, 102
IS 205; ISIS 205; ISIL 205; DAESH 205 Kharijite 139, 204 – 5
Islamicate 3, 27, 38 – 9, 43; Islamic Khwurd, Mir 99
civilization 3, 4, 110, 159; Islamic Kinsley, David 190, 195n83, 197
Protestantism 5; islams 2; Sufi Islam Knight, Lisa 73 – 4, 76 – 7, 79, 88n2,
1, 4, 11, 21, 87, 137 88n11, 88n17, 88n26, 88n29, 90
‘ishq 7, 172, 178 – 9, 181, 194n6; ‘ashiq Knysh, Alexander 4, 23n27, 23n31,
172, 184; ‘ishq-i ilahi 162 – 3; ‘ishq-e 24n61, 24n66, 24n75, 24n77, 27
haqiqi 35; ‘ishq-e majazi 35, 189; Koprulu, Fuad 115 – 6, 119, 127n1,
ma’ashuq 184; madhhab al-‘ishq 7; 128n14, 129
mazhab-e eshq 7 Krishna 18, 19, 75 – 6, 82, 89n45,
Shah Ismail 131 90, 189 – 90, 197; Hare Krishna
Īśvara 16, 18 89n45, 90; Krishnabhakta 189;
Ithbat-i-nafi 20 Krishnabhakti 192; Krishna
consciousness 82; Krishna mantra 82;
jahiliyya 140 Kṛṣṇalīlā 190
Jain 34, 35, 74; Jaina sutras 37 Kufic 150, 153
jalal 188
jamal 188 Lalon 73, 76, 80, 181
Jamuna River 97 langar 33, 36, 166 – 7
Janamsakhi 37 – 9, 41, 45, 54n16, Launay, Robert I2, 22n7, 27
54n22, 55n23, 55n31, 56 Lawrence, Bruce B. 3, 21, 23n18,
Jesus 8, 14, 51 – 2, 69n1, 71, 192 25n160, 27, 112n12, 112n20, 113
Jew 4, 14, 18, 28, 65, 82, 121; Layla 19, 192, 196n98, 198
Buddhist Jew 82; Jewish 11, 14, 35, Lewisohn, Leonard 29, 46, 55n35, 56,
66, 123, 163; Judeo-Christian 12; 69n5, 197
Judeo-Islamic 192 Lindholm, Charles 163, 173, 175n9,
justice 27, 98, 202 – 3, 206 – 9, 222n33, 177
222n43, 224, 226, 228, 236 – 7, 239; lingam 75
injustice 7, 235, 238, 242; social Lings, Martin 19, 23n30, 25n144, 27
justice 236 – 7 Lozowick, Lee 84

Kabir, Bhagat 41 Mahabharata 37

Kadamba 184, 190 Mahathir, Muhamad 203 – 4, 206 – 7,
Kafadar, Cemal 139, 143n4, 144n57, 210 – 13, 221n10, 223n44, 223n47,
145 223n48, 225 – 7
kafir 138, 144n51; kufr 138, 144n51; Maizbhandari, Shafiul Bashar 181
takfiri 204 – 5, 222n15, 226 Maizbhandari, Sayyid Abul Bashar 181
Kanchanpuri, Abdul Ghani 181 Majnun 19, 192, 196
kāma 78 Malāmatī 7, 29
Kamil, Mustafa 239 – 40, 246n45 Malamud, Margaret 179, 194n11,
karamat 37, 168 194n19, 197
252 Index
Malaysia 201 – 4, 206 – 12, 221n1, murid 152, 162, 179, 234
221n9, 221n10, 222n23, 222n27, murshid 76, 162, 168, 178 – 80, 182 – 4,
223n44, 223n48, 223n52, 224 – 7 186 – 9, 192 – 4
malfuzat 97, 99, 102, 111n4, 162 Musa, Annuar 217
Mandakini, Bajlul Karim 181 Music viii, 1, 4, 9, 22, 39, 56, 72 – 4,
Manichaenism 12 76 – 89, 95, 97 – 101, 106, 112n20,
Manjheli, Shaykh 101 123, 147, 156, 164 – 5, 176, 181,
mard 180, 189 193, 240, 242; Musical 21 – 2, 35, 49,
ma‘rifa 8, 11 72, 74, 76 – 7, 79 – 81, 83 – 4, 86, 96,
ma’rifat-i haq 162 98 – 102, 106, 110, 182, 188, 190 – 1,
masjid 5; see also mosque 245n27
Masnavi/Mathnawi 56, 63, 66, 70n9, Muslim 1 – 4, 6, 7, 12 – 15, 17 – 20, 26 – 7,
70, 192; masnavi 103 29, 33 – 9, 41 – 4, 46 – 8, 52, 55n22,
Massignon, Louis 18, 20, 23n30, 58, 60, 62 – 3, 65, 69n3, 74 – 8, 80 – 1,
24n67, 24n69, 24n76, 24n78, 24n82, 85 – 7, 89 – 90, 95, 99, 106, 110,
24n83, 24n87, 24n91, 24n95, 24n99, 113, 115 – 6, 126, 132 – 5, 138 – 41,
24n102, 25n135, 25n138, 25n140, 145, 149 – 50, 155, 159, 163, 175,
25n142, 25n158, 27, 28 175n18, 177 – 8, 182 – 4, 189, 192,
māyā 16, 18 197, 201 – 6, 208 – 9, 211 – 3, 215,
McLeod, William H. 34, 45, 54n2, 219, 221, 221n1, 221n5, 221n6,
54n3, 54n4, 54n12, 54n17, 54n19, 221n9, 222n19, 222n20, 224n59,
54n20, 54n22, 55n32, 56 224n61, 225 – 6, 228, 230, 237 – 8,
Medina Charter 208 242, 245n5, 245n16
Melkert, Christopher 58, 69n4, 71 Mutlaqa-e Ahmadi 180
metadoxy 131, 139
Metcalf, Barbara D. 36, 54n7, 56 Nabani Das Baul 81 – 2
Mimnagari, Abdul Jabbar 181 nafs 8, 16, 23n39, 50, 119 – 20, 122,
mi‘raj 10, 18 124, 133, 175n18, 189, 196, 202,
Mir-ʿAli 152 215, 216, 219; mujahadah al-nafs
Mir Dard, Khwaja 107, 112n23 215; nafs al-lawwama 189, 192; nafs
Misri, Dhu’l-Nun 8, 9 al-mulhima 192; nafs al-mutma’ina
mokṣa 12, 16, 18 189, 193; tazkiyah al-nafs 215
Mongol 36 – 7, 131 Najib Razak 204, 207, 210 – 11
Monsieur Ibrahim vii, 57 – 8, 60, 61, 63, namaz 138, 144n52; namaz-e ‘ushshaq
67, 69 99; see also salah/salat
Moroccan 26, 152, 159, 176n18, 176 Nasir, Gamal ʿAbd al- 230, 239
Morocco 2 Muhammad Nasiruddin 181
Moses 8, 14, 183, 192 Nasr, Seyyid Hossein 23n38,
Mosque 5, 36, 38, 42, 64, 68, 81, 85, 23nn40 – 2, 23n44, 26n165, 28, 46,
102, 166 – 8, 231 – 2; see also masjid 55n34, 56, 157, 158n3, 158n39,
mu’aththar fih 188 158n40, 159, 188, 194n1, 195n64,
mu’aththir 188 195n66, 197
Mughal empire 36, 99, 107 Nātha 34, 41, 191, 193; Nātha cult
muhabba/mahabbat 8, 10, 48, 104, 181 191; Nātha yogi 34; Nāthism 191;
Muhammad (Prophet) 4, 6, 8, 14, 37, Nāthist 191
59, 137 – 8, 140 – 1, 143n20, 149, Rab Nawaz 161 – 2, 164, 168 – 71,
153 – 4, 156 – 7, 173, 178, 182, 192, 173, 175, 175n2, 175n7,
198, 201, 204 – 5, 208, 215, 221n7, 176nn21 – 28, 177
232, 241 Nazrul Islam, Kazi 78, 81, 85 – 6,
Muhammad Rifʿat 241 – 2 88n37, 89 – 90
Muhiuddin, Sayyid 181 Nicholson, Reynold A. 15, 19 – 20,
Muhsin Auliya 181 23n29, 24n105, 25n119, 25n123,
Mukhtar, Mahmud 241 – 2 25n141, 25n143, 25n151, 25n152,
 Index 253
25n153, 25n157, 28, 56, 70n8, Radha 19, 75 – 6, 89n45, 90, 189 – 90,
70n9, 70 196n98
nirvāna 10, 12, 20 Rahman, Fazlur 6, 7, 16, 23n26,
Nityananda, Srii 76, 82 23n27, 23n31, 23n7, 23n54,
24n105, 25nn129 – 34, 28
Openshaw, Jeanne 73 – 4, 88n9, Rahmatullah 100, 101
89n51, 90 Rais Yatim 207
Orientalism 155, 159, 129 Raj, Alam Chand 38
Orlovsky, Peter 81 Rajapuri, Aliullah 181
orthodoxy Intro 4; Alam 25; Baris 1, 2, Ramanuja 17
4, 7 – 16, 23 Ramayana 37
Ottoman viii, 26, 115, 130 – 9, 143n8, Yogi Ramsuratkumar 84
145 – 6, 151, 154, 157 Ranjha 19, 189
Ottoman-Safavid 131, 136, 141 rasa 46, 55n33, 75, 190
Rasul Allah 161, 172 – 3
Paban Das Baul 79 Ravi Shankar 82, 88n42
Palacios, Miguel Asin 12, 15 Raj, Alam Chand 38
Pandit, Askar Ali 181 reformasi 203, 207 – 8, 226
Pandit Shah Qutubi, Maqbul 181 Riyad, ʿAbd al-Munʿim 239
parakīyā 190, 196n89 Riza Aziz 210
Akhtar Parvez 102, 111n7, 112n13, Roxburgh, David 156, 158n32, 159
112n19, 113 Roy, Asim 191, 197
Pir 5, 54n13, 75, 152, 162, 164 – 71, rubayat 168
176n20; see also Shaykh ruh 170, 215
Platonic 2, 164; Neoplatonic/ Eşrefoğlu Rumi viii, 130 – 4,
Neoplatonist 11, 15 136 – 42, 143n1, 144n47, 144n48,
politics viii, 22, 33 – 5, 89 – 90, 113, 124, 144nn50 – 5, 144n60 – 2, 144nn64 – 8,
145, 201 – 2, 206 – 7, 211, 214, 219, 144nn70 – 4, 144n76, 144n77,
222n27, 225, 228, 237 145nn78 – 80, 146
prīyā 187 Rumi, Jalaluddin 8, 29, 46, 51 – 2,
Prophet Idris 153 55n36, 55, 63, 66 – 7, 70n8, 70n9,
Punjab 33, 35 – 9, 41, 50, 52, 54, 56, 70, 115 – 8, 120 – 27, 129, 164, 18,
112n13, 198; Punjabi 37 – 9, 52 – 3, 192, 197
54n14, 56, 168, 189 Ryhanuddin Shah, Mawlana 181
Purana 37, 48
Purna Das Baul 82 – 4 Safak, Elif 115, 117 – 20, 122 – 3, 127,
128nn15 – 18, 128nn20 – 31, 128n49,
Qalandarī 7 128n50, 129
“Qaqshal,” Afzal Beg Khan 108 Safavid 131, 136, 138, 145 – 6
Qasida 164, 168 – 9, 174 Sahajiyā 75, 190 – 1, 196n89; Buddhist
qawwali 97 – 9, 101, 109, 111n3, Sahajiyā 76; Vaiṣṇva Sahajiyā 189,
112n16, 113n27, 113 – 4, 164 – 5, 181 191, 193, 197
Qur’an 2, 6, 10, 11, 14 – 6, 18, 21, 28, Said, Edward 155, 158n27, 159
43, 48 – 9, 59, 60, 64 – 5, 69, 69n5, Saju, Badrunnisa 182
75, 90, 97, 105, 122, 125, 137 – 8, Salafi 3
141 – 2, 145, 149, 157, 158n3, 159, salah/salat 138, 201, 215, 218; see also
161, 178, 201 – 2, 204 – 5, 208, namaz
214, 218 – 9, 221nn2 – 4, 221n10, sama‘ 9, 56, 97, 99, 100, 112n20, 113,
222nn11 – 13, 222n18, 222n29, 124 – 5, 165, 181
223n35, 224n58, 224n64, 225, 227, Sāṁkhya school 18
246n49, 246; Qur’anic 5, 10, 11, 14, saṁsāra 18, 19
21, 37, 48, 178, 192, 202, 205, 208 Sangu Mal 38
Qutb 141 Sanjit Acariya 181
254 Index
Śaṅkara 15 – 19 signs 1, 5, 6, 28, 44, 99, 109, 157, 168,
Sant 34, 41, 45, 51 184, 198, 233; see also ayat
Sarker, Roji vii, 72 – 3, 85 – 7 Sijzi, Amir Hasan 96, 97, 110, 113
Sarwari, ‘Abd al-Qadir 108, 113n26, Sikh 22, 33 – 7, 39 – 44, 47, 49, 50, 52,
114 54, 54n16, 54n22, 54n26, 54n31,
Sava-sadhana 20 56; LGBT Sikh 42; Sikh canon 33,
Sayyid Sultan 191 37 – 8, 45; Sikh Guru 36, 38 – 40, 42,
Schick, İrvin C. 155, 158n5, 158n28, 46 – 7, 53 – 4, 56; Sikhism 33 – 4; Sikh-
159 Muslim/Muslim-Sikh 35, 44; Sikh
Schimmel, Annemarie 6, 20, 23n32, religion 33, 45, 54n2, 54n3, 56; Sikh
23n36, 23n51, 23n52, 24n70, 24n79, scripture 34, 37, 44 – 5, 48; Sikh-Sufi
24n89, 24n90, 24n93, 24n94, 42, 47, 49, 50, 53
25nn146 – 8, 25n154, 28, 49, 54n21, Sindi, Abu ‘Ali 9, 15, 17, 18
55n39, 55n40, 56, 112n21, 114, Smith, Margaret 12 – 15, 18, 20, 23n47,
117 – 18, 128n5, 128n6, 128n10, 24n97, 24nn106 – 8, 25n118, 28, 29
128n11, 129, 152 – 3, 158n2, Sohag, Musa Sada 180
158n14, 158n16, 158nn19 – 22, Song viii, 36, 42, 67, 72, 75, 77 – 87,
158n24, 159, 163 – 4, 175nn10 – 14, 88n18, 89 – 91, 96 – 7, 99, 101 – 2,
177 – 9, 188 – 9, 192, 194n4, 194n7, 106 – 7, 110 – 11, 111n3, 113, 168,
194n9, 194n12, 194n14, 194n17, 178, 180 – 7, 189 – 94, 194n28,
194n18, 194n23, 195n69, 195n70, 194n35, 194n37, 195nn38 – 42,
195n72, 195nn78 – 81, 196n90, 195n44 – 6, 195n53, 195n54,
196n95, 196nn99 – 101, 103, 198 195n62, 230 – 1, 234, 240 – 3, 246n45
Schmitt, Éric-Emmanuel 57 sufi vii, viii, 1, 3, 5, 6, 8 – 11, 13 – 16,
Schuon, Frithjof 19, 23n49, 25n149, 28 19 – 22, 23n29, 23n32, 26 – 7, 33 – 9,
seli 38 41 – 2, 44, 46 – 53, 54n5, 54n13,
Sen, Bhai Girishchandra 75, 90 54n14, 55n50, 50, 56 – 64, 67 – 8,
Sen, Kshiti Mohan 80, 81, 88n33, 90 69n3, 72, 74 – 6, 80, 81, 84, 87,
Sen, Mimlu 79 95 – 7, 99 – 102, 105 – 111, 111n4,
Sena dynasty 74 111n10, 111n11, 112n20, 112n23,
Shadhu 20, 77 113, 115 – 7, 119 – 25, 129 – 30,
Shahapuri, Sayyid Mejbah Uddin 132 – 4, 137 – 43, 143n14, 144n67,
Kazi 181 145 – 6, 149, 152 – 7, 159, 162 – 6,
shahīdbāzī 192 168 – 70, 172 – 5, 175n18, 176 – 80,
Shaikh, Sa‘diyya 189, 198 182, 188 – 93, 194n23, 196n95,
Shaivite Śākta 75 196 – 8, 201, 205 – 6, 208 – 10,
Shantineketan 73, 79, 82 212, 214 – 5, 221, 222n19, 224 – 6,
Sharaf, Firoz Din 52 229 – 35, 238 – 9, 242, 245, 245n24;
shari‘a 11, 105, 118, 122, 125 – 6, 131, ahl al-suffa 5; safa 5; suf 5; suffa 5;
136 – 7, 141, 204 – 5, 209, 227 sufi Islam 1, 3, 11, 87, 137; sufism
Sharify-Funk, Meena 152, 158n15, 159 vii, viii, 1, 3, 5 – 7, 9 – 11, 13, 15,
Sheehan, Thomas 69, 69n1, 69n3, 17, 19 – 22, 26 – 9, 34, 50, 56 – 64,
70n11, 71 68, 69n1, 69n3, 70, 85, 90, 107,
Sheikh Sharaf 41 – 2 111n5, 112n23, 113, 115 – 8, 121 – 4,
Shiite/Shi‘i/Shi‘ism 116, 131, 139, 134, 129 – 33, 136 – 7, 139 – 40, 145, 151,
140, 142, 144n67; Ghulat Shi’ism 156, 158n15, 159, 163, 168, 174,
131; Scriptural Shi’ism 131; Twelver 176 – 7, 182, 188, 191, 196 – 8, 206,
Shi’ite 131 222n21, 225 – 32, 234, 236, 242;
Shil, Ramesh Chandra 180 – 86, 188, sophos 5
190 – 93, 194n35, 196 Sufi Karim 168
Shirin 19, 192 Sufi orders 11, 38, 87, 106, 136,
shrine 1, 33, 36 – 7, 74, 100, 111n10, 139 – 41, 144n67, 146, 152 – 3,
165 – 6, 168; see also dargah 162 – 3, 166, 175n18, 176; Chisti/
 Index 255
yya 37, 97 – 100, 110, 112n20, Umm Kalthum 241
113, 159, 215; Kaṭṭanīyya 152; ‘unsuri jism 170
Maizbhandariyya 180, 182, 188, Upaniṣad 15 – 20; Bṛhadāraṇyaka 15,
193; Mevlevi/yya 152; Naqshbandi/ 16; Chāndogya 15, 16; Kaṭha 16;
yya 37, 112n23, 115, 152 – 3, 162, Mundaka 16; Śvetāśvatara 16
168, 173; Qadiri/yya 37, 133, upāya 76
143n14, 152; Suhrawardi/yya 37; Ahmad ʿUrabi 239
Yassawiye 115 Urdu vii, 52, 95 – 7, 100, 102 – 3,
Sultanate 36; Brahmani 99; Delhi 106 – 11, 111n1, 111n7, 112n23,
Sultanate 99, 102, 112n12, 113 112n26, 113 – 4, 162, 168, 175n2,
Sunni 100, 131, 134 – 5, 137 – 42, 175n3, 181
144n67, 160, 206; sunnitization ‘urs 165, 167
132, 146 usul-e-sab‘a 193
svakīya 190 Abu Hashim ‘Uthman b. Sharik 5
Swami Prabhupada 82, 85 ʿUthman ibn ʿAffan 150
Śyāma 185 – 6
Vaiṣṇva/ Vaiṣṇavite 34, 38, 72, 74 – 6,
Tabligh 170 85, 181, 189 – 92; Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇva
Tabriz, Shams-i 116, 124, 129 189, 191; Vaiṣṇva padābali 181;
Tagore 73, 77, 79 – 83, 85 – 6, 88n31, Vaiṣṇva Sahajiyā 75, 189, 191, 193,
88n32, 88n34, 90 197; Vaiṣṇvism 190, 196 – 7
takwa 139 Vali Deccani 107, 112n23
tāntrīc 20, 72, 74 – 5, 77, 79, 83, 91, Veda 15, 17 – 18, 44, 48, 78; Atharva
191; tantra 77, 77, 84, 88n23 44; Bhaktivedānta 82; Rig 44; Sama
taqlid 154 – 5 44; Vedānta 16, 18; Vedāntic 12, 15,
tariqa viii, 96, 115, 141, 153, 173, 178, 17 – 19; Vedāntin 15, 17; Yajur 44
180, 188, 193, 205, 215, 227; tariqat vernacular 37, 95 – 7, 102, 110 – 11
105 – 6; turuq 152, 205; turuqa Vṛndāvana 190
205, 215
taṣawwuf 5, 20; see also sufi: Sufism waḥdat al-wujud 47 – 8
Taşköprüzade, Ahmed 133 Weber, Max 2
tawajjuh 178 wilaya 142
tawakkul 13, 14, 161, 168 Wilson, Brett 134 – 5, 143n25, 144n30,
tazkira 111n8, 112n24, 162 – 3, 168 146
Thielemann, Selina 83, 89n49, 89
tilak 38, 76, 79 Yamuna 184, 186, 190
Tolstoy 35, 44, 55n28, 56 Yasawi, Ahmad 115 – 6
Trimingham, Spencer 141, 143n24, yoga 20 – 1, 34, 75, 176n18, 191; yogic
144n75, 146 19, 76, 79, 191; yogi 34, 196; yogini
Tughlaq, Muhammad bin 97 186
Ṭūr 237, 245n37 Yusuf (Prophet) 19, 192, 202, 222n14
ṭuyūr khaḍrah 232
Zaehner, Robert C. 12, 15 – 18, 20,
‘ulama’ 6, 7, 9, 11, 36, 159, 166; see 24n79, 25nn126 – 8, 25n136,
also ‘alim 25n157, 29
‘Umar (Caliph) 100, 141 Zakariya, Mohamed 154 – 6, 158n25,
Umayyad 5, 13, 150 158n29, 160
Ümit, Ahmet 115, 117, 123 – 4, Zindapir 162 – 70, 172 – 3, 174 – 5, 177
128nn38 – 48, 129 Zoroastrian 115, 121; Zoroastrianism
ummah 204, 208, 212 – 3, 221, 226 12
Umm al-Hussein 202 Zulaykha 19, 192