From the article "Silence is death - Censorship in the Arab world" by Trevor Mostyn
in The Daily Star [Lebanon]
Monday, October 31, 2005
[At a conference on 'Freedom of Expression in Music' held in Beirut] the Pakistani modern musician Salman Ahmed showed a film in which he tried to persuade traditional clerics in a Pakistani madraseh that his music was not sinful. He even sang verses of the Koran to them, accompanied by his guitar.
"I researched with scholars," he said, "and discovered that no verse in the Koran prohibits music. [The clerics] invoke a hadith which only allows the duff (drum) to be played. However, most of Islamic tradition has come to us through Sufism which believes in cultural expressiveness through poetry, music and dance, attempting to reach God through love. The puritan Taliban view is alien to most people. People who want to ban music are a minority but conservatives have taken power in the media."
In the madraseh he told the clerics that the prophet David had been given the gift of voice. "When he sang the mountains swayed. I told them that there is melody throughout the universe, from our heart-beat to the sound of the azzan. How can there be no room for this in Islam? The leading talib told me that I was going to go to hell. I quoted verses from Iqbal [the Urdu poet]. I argued that Islam is a religion of reason and knowledge and that we must free ourselves from ritual. So I was curiously touched when the talib suddenly said to me, 'Salman, I don't want you to be angry with me.' And then, once the mike was off, he sang verses from the Koran, beautifully. I said 'Why the change? You are singing but for two hours you condemned singing'. He smiled at me."
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Madho Lal Hussain of Lahore: Beyond Hindu and Muslim
Madho Lal Hussain of Lahore: Beyond Hindu and Muslim. By Yoginder Sikand from Pakistan Christian Post, Oct. 31, 2005
`Shah Hussain! Shahadat Paye O Jo Maran Mitran De Age (Shah Hussain! He [alone] attains martyrdom who dies at the feet of his beloved)
Sufism has had a long and rich history in the Indian sub-continent. It is perhaps in Punjab, more than in any other part of this vast land, that Sufism has struck the deepest roots, producing many great exponents and exercising a pervasive influence on the minds of the ommon people. To this very day, the innumerable Sufis of this region are held in the highest esteem by millions of Muslims, Sikhs, Dalits and Hindus of the province and beyond.
Shah Hussain is one such mystic who is still fondly remembered by millions of ordinary Punjabis four centuries after his death1. He was born in Lahore in 1539 A.D. into a family of the Dhatha Rajput tribe.2 This tribe had recently converted to Islam, hence the epithet "Shah" attached to his name.3 Even as a child Hussain showed a marked preference for red clothes, which explains why he was also called Lal (Persian for "red") Hussain.4 Hussain`s strong mystical inclinations were apparent very early in his life. In childhood itself he managed to memorize the entire Qur`an under the guidance of his teacher, Shaikh Abu Bakr. Then, at the
age of ten he was initiated into the Oadiriyah Sufi order by the renowned saint Bahlul Shah Daryai of Chiniot.5 For the next twenty-six years he lived under the strict supervision of his Pir (spiritual master), faithfully following all the rites and practices of orthodox Islam, and leading a life of great austerity.
At the age of thirty-six an incident occurred that was to completely change Hussain`s life. One day while at a madrasa studying a tafsir (commentary) on the Our`an under the tutelage of Shaikh Sadullah of Lahore, he came across the Qur`anic verse: "The life of this world is nothing but a game and a sport." He asked the Shaikh to explain the verse and was told that it meant that the world should be shunned. Hussain refused to accept this interpretation and asserted, instead, that the words of the verse must be taken literally. He told his teacher that, in accordance with his understanding of this verse, he would spend the rest of his life in enjoyment.6 It was during this period of his life that Hussain met Madho, a Brahmin lad. The two men became so closely associated that in the popular mind the saint is most commonly known as Madho Lal Hussain, as if the two had been fused into one. The intensely close relationship that blossomed between them has been the subject of much speculation and controversy, starting in their very lifetime. John Subhan, an expert on Indian Sufism, writes that their contemporaries saw this intimate connection between a Hindu boy and a Muslim faqir of "questionable character" as "a disgrace", though he himself sees this "irresistible attraction" between the two men in terms of "fervent love".8 Like wise, the Punjabi historian
Shafi Aquil speaks of the relationship between Madho and Hussayn as one of "boundless love" and for this employs language generally used to describe male-female relationships. Thus, he writes, "Shah Hussayn was in love with Madho and Madho himself, too, desired him" (Madho se Shah Hussayn ko pyar tho aur khud Madho bhi unko chahte the). He goes on to add that, "Under no condition could Shah Hussayn bear to be separated from Madho".9
Nur Ahmad Chishti, author of the Sufi chronicle Tahqiqat-i-Chishti, suggests that some among the couple`s contemporaries saw their relationship as `improper`. He writes that Madho`s relatives, "seeing him sleeping in the same bed with Lal Hussain, came to murder them both."10 However, as luck would have it, he adds,that "the power of Hussain made them blind and, as they could not find the door, they returned". Lajwanti Ramkrishna, a recognized authority on the Punjabi Sufis, relates that many people "had become suspicious of the un-natural [sic] relationship" between the two. 11 Whatever the case might be, the story of the two lovers is a fascinating one that is unparalleled in the annals of Punjabi Sufism.
The historical records give varying accounts of Hussain`s first encounter with Madho. The author of the Tahqiqat-i-Chishti writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding through the main market of Lahore on a "majestic horse in a fashionable manner."12 So wonderstruck was he at Madho`s beauty that "he then tried in vain to possess the lad for sixteen years, at the end of which he succeeded." Rizvi, an acclaimed authority on Indian Sufism, also writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding in the market and says that upon seeing him he felt instantly "under the
intoxication of a mystical trance." Thereafter, he adds, Hussain shifted to Shahdara, the suburb of Lahore where Madho lived and "began following him like a household slave."13 Ramakrishna says that some believe that Hussain`s first meeting with Madho took place during a liquor-drinking bout at a wine shop but he prefers to believe that it was Madho`s regular attendance at his Sufi preaching sessions that attracted Hussayn to "the handsome youth."14
"The love of Hussain for Madho", writes one biographer, "was unique and he did all that lay in his power to please the boy."15 It is said that not for a single day did the two fail to meet each other. So overpowering was Hussain`s fascination for Madho that he would often rise in the middle of the night, cross the river Ravi and walk for several miles to Madho`s house. Madho`s parents, however, did not approve of their son`s relationship with Hussain. Once they plotted to take Madho away with them to the Hindu holy town of Haridwar for a pilgrimage, hoping that separation from Hussain might cause Madho to forget him. Hussain, however, could not bear the thought of being kept apart from his dear one. Accordingly, he refused to let Madho`s parents take him along with them but promised them that he would send him to Haridwar later. When Madho`s parents reached Haridwar, so the story goes, Hussain made Madho shut his eyes and then, after striking his foot upon the ground, made him open them again. Madho did as he was told and found himself miraculously transported all at once to Haridwar. His parents were amazed at his sudden arrival all the way from Lahore.16 Thereafter, it is said, Madho left his parents` house and began living with Hussayn.17
It is possible and, indeed, very likely that Hussain`s relationship with Madho had a deep impact on his thinking, his mystical poetry and, most of all, on his religious life. In his passionate love for Madho he bravely defied the norms of his own society, expressing a stern
indictment of the orthodox theologians, for whom religion had been reduced to a set of soulless rituals, rigid rules and strict restrictions, drained of love, joy, compassion and emotion.18
Hussain`s relationship with the Hindu Madho also appears to have made him profoundly tolerant in his attitude towards other religions. To please Madho he celebrated with great enthusiasm, Basant, the Punjabi spring festival, as well as the Hindu festival of Holi. During Holi, for example, Madho and Hussain would follow the Hindu custom of throwing coloured powder on each other.20 According to the medieval Persian text Hasanat-ul-Arifin, Hussain is said to have asserted that he was "neither a Muslim nor a pagan"21, thus suggesting an eclecticism and breath of vision which few in his generation possessed or appreciated. Ramakrishna also notes that Hussain had close spiritual links with the Hindu mystic Chhaju Bhagat and Guru Arjan of the Sikhs.22
Hussain`s undying love for Madho is also clearly reflected in his poems or Kafis which are still considered as some of the most precious gems of Punjabi literature today. True spiritual realization, he believed, could only be attained through infinite love, for, as he wrote:
This youth will not come back again So laugh and play while you can with your lover.
Love, believed Hussain, can so intimately unite two souls (or a human being with God) that they lose their individualities and separateness and merge completely into each other. In much the same way, Madho and Hussain became so inseparable that they became known by one single name-Madho Lal Hussain.
Perhaps it was referring to this that Shah Hussayn wrote: Ranjhe Ranjha Menu Sab Koi Akho Heer Na Akho Koi
Let everyone now call me Ranjha, not Heer [for no longer am I Heer since I have become one with Ranjha.) 23
Hussain breathed his last in 1599 and was buried in Lahore on the banks of the Ravi. Madho survived him by forty-eight years, and he was put to rest in a tomb next to Hussain`s. The shrine, containing the graves of the two inseparable lovers-united in death as they had been in life-continues to attract large numbers of faithful pilgrims to this very day.
NOTES:
1. Hussain is best known for his poetry. He was the first to write kafis set to classical Hindustani ragas and raginis.
2. Ramakrishna, however, adds that according to the Tazkira Aulia-i-Hind, he belonged to a family of converted Kayasths, the caste of professional scribes. For more on Hussain`s ancestry, see Lajwanti Ramakrishna, "Punjabi Sufi Saints" (New Delhi: Ashajanak Publications, 1973), p.32.
3. A title often adopted by new converts to Islam.
4. This is despite the fact that orthodox Islamic theologians frowned upon the wearing of red garments by Muslim men.
5. For greater details see "Shah Hussain-Kalam" (Islamabad: Lok Virsa Publications, 1987).
6. Ramakrishna writes that such intimate love between Sufi males was not at all unusual. In fact, it can be said to have been perfectly normal for many Persian Sufis and for Indian mystics influenced by them. She notes that the orthodox opponents of the Sufis, however, charged that they kept handsome youths only "to satisfy [their] animal nature" (p. 40).
7. John A. Subhan, "Sufism: Its Saints and Shrines" (Lucknow: The Lucknow Publishing House, 1960, p. 279.
8. Shafi Aquil, "Punjabi Ke Qadim Shayar" (Karachi: Anjuman Taraqqi-i Urdu), p. 114.
9. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 35.
10. Ramakrishna, op. cit., pp. 35-36.
11. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 34.
12. Saiyed Atthar Abbas Rizvi, "A History or Sufism in India" (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1992), vol. 2, p. 65.
13. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 34.
14. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 36.
15. Subhan, op. cit., p. 279.
16. Subhan (op.cit., p. 80) writes that upon witnessing the miracle, Madho`s parents and Madho converted to Islam. Ramakrishna (op. clt., p. 36), however, believes that this was not the case.
17. Aquil (op. cit., p. 100), writes that one day a certain Maulvi Abdul Hakim of Sialkot approached Hussain in order to become his disciple. At this Hussain is said to have burst into a fit of laughter saying,
"You are from among those who strictly follow the Shariah (Islamic law). So then, why do you wish to give me a bad name [by seeking to become my disciple]?" 18. Rizvi, op. cit., p. 65. Indeed, till as late as the end of the last century, the use of coloured powder on the occasion of Holi was the main feature of the annual celebrations at the twin tombs of Hussain and Madho. Today, however, under pressure from the puritans, this practice has reportedly stopped.
19. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 36.
20. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 39.
21. Here, Hussain is also probably referring to himself in his intimate
relationship with God.
`Shah Hussain! Shahadat Paye O Jo Maran Mitran De Age (Shah Hussain! He [alone] attains martyrdom who dies at the feet of his beloved)
Sufism has had a long and rich history in the Indian sub-continent. It is perhaps in Punjab, more than in any other part of this vast land, that Sufism has struck the deepest roots, producing many great exponents and exercising a pervasive influence on the minds of the ommon people. To this very day, the innumerable Sufis of this region are held in the highest esteem by millions of Muslims, Sikhs, Dalits and Hindus of the province and beyond.
Shah Hussain is one such mystic who is still fondly remembered by millions of ordinary Punjabis four centuries after his death1. He was born in Lahore in 1539 A.D. into a family of the Dhatha Rajput tribe.2 This tribe had recently converted to Islam, hence the epithet "Shah" attached to his name.3 Even as a child Hussain showed a marked preference for red clothes, which explains why he was also called Lal (Persian for "red") Hussain.4 Hussain`s strong mystical inclinations were apparent very early in his life. In childhood itself he managed to memorize the entire Qur`an under the guidance of his teacher, Shaikh Abu Bakr. Then, at the
age of ten he was initiated into the Oadiriyah Sufi order by the renowned saint Bahlul Shah Daryai of Chiniot.5 For the next twenty-six years he lived under the strict supervision of his Pir (spiritual master), faithfully following all the rites and practices of orthodox Islam, and leading a life of great austerity.
At the age of thirty-six an incident occurred that was to completely change Hussain`s life. One day while at a madrasa studying a tafsir (commentary) on the Our`an under the tutelage of Shaikh Sadullah of Lahore, he came across the Qur`anic verse: "The life of this world is nothing but a game and a sport." He asked the Shaikh to explain the verse and was told that it meant that the world should be shunned. Hussain refused to accept this interpretation and asserted, instead, that the words of the verse must be taken literally. He told his teacher that, in accordance with his understanding of this verse, he would spend the rest of his life in enjoyment.6 It was during this period of his life that Hussain met Madho, a Brahmin lad. The two men became so closely associated that in the popular mind the saint is most commonly known as Madho Lal Hussain, as if the two had been fused into one. The intensely close relationship that blossomed between them has been the subject of much speculation and controversy, starting in their very lifetime. John Subhan, an expert on Indian Sufism, writes that their contemporaries saw this intimate connection between a Hindu boy and a Muslim faqir of "questionable character" as "a disgrace", though he himself sees this "irresistible attraction" between the two men in terms of "fervent love".8 Like wise, the Punjabi historian
Shafi Aquil speaks of the relationship between Madho and Hussayn as one of "boundless love" and for this employs language generally used to describe male-female relationships. Thus, he writes, "Shah Hussayn was in love with Madho and Madho himself, too, desired him" (Madho se Shah Hussayn ko pyar tho aur khud Madho bhi unko chahte the). He goes on to add that, "Under no condition could Shah Hussayn bear to be separated from Madho".9
Nur Ahmad Chishti, author of the Sufi chronicle Tahqiqat-i-Chishti, suggests that some among the couple`s contemporaries saw their relationship as `improper`. He writes that Madho`s relatives, "seeing him sleeping in the same bed with Lal Hussain, came to murder them both."10 However, as luck would have it, he adds,that "the power of Hussain made them blind and, as they could not find the door, they returned". Lajwanti Ramkrishna, a recognized authority on the Punjabi Sufis, relates that many people "had become suspicious of the un-natural [sic] relationship" between the two. 11 Whatever the case might be, the story of the two lovers is a fascinating one that is unparalleled in the annals of Punjabi Sufism.
The historical records give varying accounts of Hussain`s first encounter with Madho. The author of the Tahqiqat-i-Chishti writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding through the main market of Lahore on a "majestic horse in a fashionable manner."12 So wonderstruck was he at Madho`s beauty that "he then tried in vain to possess the lad for sixteen years, at the end of which he succeeded." Rizvi, an acclaimed authority on Indian Sufism, also writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding in the market and says that upon seeing him he felt instantly "under the
intoxication of a mystical trance." Thereafter, he adds, Hussain shifted to Shahdara, the suburb of Lahore where Madho lived and "began following him like a household slave."13 Ramakrishna says that some believe that Hussain`s first meeting with Madho took place during a liquor-drinking bout at a wine shop but he prefers to believe that it was Madho`s regular attendance at his Sufi preaching sessions that attracted Hussayn to "the handsome youth."14
"The love of Hussain for Madho", writes one biographer, "was unique and he did all that lay in his power to please the boy."15 It is said that not for a single day did the two fail to meet each other. So overpowering was Hussain`s fascination for Madho that he would often rise in the middle of the night, cross the river Ravi and walk for several miles to Madho`s house. Madho`s parents, however, did not approve of their son`s relationship with Hussain. Once they plotted to take Madho away with them to the Hindu holy town of Haridwar for a pilgrimage, hoping that separation from Hussain might cause Madho to forget him. Hussain, however, could not bear the thought of being kept apart from his dear one. Accordingly, he refused to let Madho`s parents take him along with them but promised them that he would send him to Haridwar later. When Madho`s parents reached Haridwar, so the story goes, Hussain made Madho shut his eyes and then, after striking his foot upon the ground, made him open them again. Madho did as he was told and found himself miraculously transported all at once to Haridwar. His parents were amazed at his sudden arrival all the way from Lahore.16 Thereafter, it is said, Madho left his parents` house and began living with Hussayn.17
It is possible and, indeed, very likely that Hussain`s relationship with Madho had a deep impact on his thinking, his mystical poetry and, most of all, on his religious life. In his passionate love for Madho he bravely defied the norms of his own society, expressing a stern
indictment of the orthodox theologians, for whom religion had been reduced to a set of soulless rituals, rigid rules and strict restrictions, drained of love, joy, compassion and emotion.18
Hussain`s relationship with the Hindu Madho also appears to have made him profoundly tolerant in his attitude towards other religions. To please Madho he celebrated with great enthusiasm, Basant, the Punjabi spring festival, as well as the Hindu festival of Holi. During Holi, for example, Madho and Hussain would follow the Hindu custom of throwing coloured powder on each other.20 According to the medieval Persian text Hasanat-ul-Arifin, Hussain is said to have asserted that he was "neither a Muslim nor a pagan"21, thus suggesting an eclecticism and breath of vision which few in his generation possessed or appreciated. Ramakrishna also notes that Hussain had close spiritual links with the Hindu mystic Chhaju Bhagat and Guru Arjan of the Sikhs.22
Hussain`s undying love for Madho is also clearly reflected in his poems or Kafis which are still considered as some of the most precious gems of Punjabi literature today. True spiritual realization, he believed, could only be attained through infinite love, for, as he wrote:
This youth will not come back again So laugh and play while you can with your lover.
Love, believed Hussain, can so intimately unite two souls (or a human being with God) that they lose their individualities and separateness and merge completely into each other. In much the same way, Madho and Hussain became so inseparable that they became known by one single name-Madho Lal Hussain.
Perhaps it was referring to this that Shah Hussayn wrote: Ranjhe Ranjha Menu Sab Koi Akho Heer Na Akho Koi
Let everyone now call me Ranjha, not Heer [for no longer am I Heer since I have become one with Ranjha.) 23
Hussain breathed his last in 1599 and was buried in Lahore on the banks of the Ravi. Madho survived him by forty-eight years, and he was put to rest in a tomb next to Hussain`s. The shrine, containing the graves of the two inseparable lovers-united in death as they had been in life-continues to attract large numbers of faithful pilgrims to this very day.
NOTES:
1. Hussain is best known for his poetry. He was the first to write kafis set to classical Hindustani ragas and raginis.
2. Ramakrishna, however, adds that according to the Tazkira Aulia-i-Hind, he belonged to a family of converted Kayasths, the caste of professional scribes. For more on Hussain`s ancestry, see Lajwanti Ramakrishna, "Punjabi Sufi Saints" (New Delhi: Ashajanak Publications, 1973), p.32.
3. A title often adopted by new converts to Islam.
4. This is despite the fact that orthodox Islamic theologians frowned upon the wearing of red garments by Muslim men.
5. For greater details see "Shah Hussain-Kalam" (Islamabad: Lok Virsa Publications, 1987).
6. Ramakrishna writes that such intimate love between Sufi males was not at all unusual. In fact, it can be said to have been perfectly normal for many Persian Sufis and for Indian mystics influenced by them. She notes that the orthodox opponents of the Sufis, however, charged that they kept handsome youths only "to satisfy [their] animal nature" (p. 40).
7. John A. Subhan, "Sufism: Its Saints and Shrines" (Lucknow: The Lucknow Publishing House, 1960, p. 279.
8. Shafi Aquil, "Punjabi Ke Qadim Shayar" (Karachi: Anjuman Taraqqi-i Urdu), p. 114.
9. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 35.
10. Ramakrishna, op. cit., pp. 35-36.
11. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 34.
12. Saiyed Atthar Abbas Rizvi, "A History or Sufism in India" (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1992), vol. 2, p. 65.
13. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 34.
14. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 36.
15. Subhan, op. cit., p. 279.
16. Subhan (op.cit., p. 80) writes that upon witnessing the miracle, Madho`s parents and Madho converted to Islam. Ramakrishna (op. clt., p. 36), however, believes that this was not the case.
17. Aquil (op. cit., p. 100), writes that one day a certain Maulvi Abdul Hakim of Sialkot approached Hussain in order to become his disciple. At this Hussain is said to have burst into a fit of laughter saying,
"You are from among those who strictly follow the Shariah (Islamic law). So then, why do you wish to give me a bad name [by seeking to become my disciple]?" 18. Rizvi, op. cit., p. 65. Indeed, till as late as the end of the last century, the use of coloured powder on the occasion of Holi was the main feature of the annual celebrations at the twin tombs of Hussain and Madho. Today, however, under pressure from the puritans, this practice has reportedly stopped.
19. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 36.
20. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 39.
21. Here, Hussain is also probably referring to himself in his intimate
relationship with God.
In the footsteps of Abraham [at Urfa in Turkey]
In the footsteps of Abraham by Yoginder Sikand from the Deccan Herald, Oct. 30, 2005
The little shrine of Abraham, below the castle supposed to have been built by the tyrannical king Nimrod in Turkey, consists of a cave where the prophet is said to have been born, writes Yoginder Sikand.
As the road wound its way towards Turkey’s Anatolian heartland, the spires and minarets of Anatkya faded into the distance. Vast stretches of sandy sea-shore, colonised now by rows upon rows of swanky high-rise apartments and show rooms, huddled along the road. Gradually, we moved into dry and mountainous and largely uninhabited countryside, pockmarked by an occasional impoverished village or the crumbling ruins of some medieval castle.
Six hours later, we stopped at Gaziantep, little town, for a bite. After a lunch of Turkish pizza-flat, thin bread topped with fresh goat’s cheese and tomatoes, we headed further east. Our destination was the Biblical city of Urfa, place of birth of the Patriarch Abraham. Abraham, or Ibrahim as Muslims know him, is a central figure in the Bible and the Quran, and as such is deeply revered by Muslims, Christians and Jews alike.
Because of its association with Abraham, Urfa, or Ur as the Bible calls it, is one of the greatest centres of pilgrimages in all of Turkey. We got to Urfa late at night, when all the hotels had closed, and so we had to take a room in a grubby little inn. The next morning we awoke as the call to prayer from the mosque attached to Abraham’s shrine drifted into the room.
Abraham's shrine is situated at the foot of a massive promontory ringed on all sides by steep walls of a castle said to date back to Babylonian and Chaldean times, almost 3500 years ago. Legend has it that the castle was built by the tyrannical king Nimrod, who figures prominently in the story told about Abraham. Nothing of the castle remains today, however, except for its walls and pillars and some underground passageways. The little shrine of Abraham, below the castle, consists of a cave where the prophet is said to have been born, inside which is an underground stream which flows out of the shrine into a large, tree-laced pool outside. According to local lore, Nimrod, angered by Abraham’s vehement denunciations of polytheism and idolatry, threw him into a fire, but the fire miraculously turned into the water which, till this day, continues to feed the pool. Numerous old seminaries and mosques, some over a thousand years old, stand on either side of the pool. Closeby, is the shrine of another Biblical figure, Job, who is highly regarded by Muslims as well, as the prophet Ayub.
Unlike most other Turkish towns, Urfa has still managed to retain its traditional flavour. Narrow cobbled lanes wind through its old quarters with their Ottoman-style mosques and mansions, all converging in the grand bazaar, which dates back to medieval times.
Each section has its own mosque and the bigger sections have a 'hani' or a caravanserai that was, in earlier times, used by itinerant traders as inns to stay in. Today, they are used as restaurants.
On my second day in Urfa, I chanced upon a Sufi master who had come to Urfa to perform a pilgrimage to the prophet Abraham's shrine along with his disciples. Rosy-cheeked, pleasantly plump and ever-smiling Haji Baba Noor Muhammad was the sort of man whom one would think had never harmed a fly in his life.
He invited me to join him and his students at a function that was being organised at the shrine the next morning. Soon after the early morning prayers gave over, three dozen disciples sat together in a large circle and the Haji began a soft, melodious chant from the Quran, his followers then repeating after him.
The recitation of the ninety-nine names of God then followed, and the function, which stretched into over three hours, finally gave over with a cup of water from Abraham's spring being passed round from which all of us took a sip.
Later that day, Haji Baba announced, he and his disciples would be travelling to the village of Harran to visit some of his followers. I joined them, and we set off for Harran, a little Arab village not far from the Syrian frontier.
The bus, which was heading for the border, dropped us off at a little settlement, and, scrambling out, we were greeted by a large crowd of villagers who had come to greet Haji Baba and his entourage. They had a herd of donkeys in waiting to take us all to Harran, some ten miles away. I covered the distance to Harran on foot, instead.
Like Urfa, Harran, too, is associated with the story of Abraham. According to the Bible, when Abraham left Urfa, he first came to Harran and stayed here for several years with his family. Harran was once a flourishing town, today it’s an entirely Arab village and its poverty-stricken inhabitants live in houses that are almost unchanged since Biblical times.
That night Haji Baba’s host invited us all for a ceremony at his house. Sufi litanies and prayers carried on till the wee hours of the morning, and finally we settled down to a simple dinner of fresh bread, cheese, dates, milk. The call to prayer was sounded, and that over, I made my way back through the cotton fields to the highway, hitching a ride to the Syrian border, my next destination.
Changing seasons in Kashmir
Changing seasons in Kashmir
by Anand K Sahay from DNA India
Sunday, October 30, 2005 21:00 IST
The political change that will soon occur in Kashmir is along the lines that the Valley — not just Jammu — expected, even if analysts in Delhi are confounded. This is why there are no critical voices in Srinagar, which has taken the shift in its stride. The popular sentiment is for getting on with it, not to give credence to theories and gossip.
In Kashmir, the terrorists have made the same mistake that the Indian state had made once — they did not account for the people; their sensibilities, their temper. The militants and their masterminds are finally paying the price. The denouement has come in slow stages but it has surely arrived. The ordinary Kashmiri, as became obvious during a recent trip to the Valley, does not now seem to have any sympathy left for what has euphemistically been known as ‘ the militancy’.
Go anywhere in the state — towns and country, villages, forded rural streams, in Srinagar and even the parts hit by the earthquake, the feeling is palpable — the old days are gone. A striking aspect of the changed scene is that one doesn’t any more hear the litany of complaints that one did before against the behaviour of the uniformed forces.
Indeed, now they talk of the gross indecencies heaped by terrorists on ordinary folk over many years, of the arm-twisting and extortions, of violating of women, of wanton killings on the excuse that the “executed” person was an informer.
The constant cry against human rights abuses by the security forces one heard earlier has now given way to the breaking of silence over the acts of grossness that the terrorist groups engaged in.
Perhaps this is why the question of thinning out the troops on the ground — for which General Pervez Musharraf made such a pitch in his UN speech last month, naming even sectors in northern Kashmir where he thought this brooked no delay — finds no echo among the populace.
It is common to hear that the people can lodge complaints against abuses by instruments of the state, and courts do provide relief. But against rights violations by terrorist elements, there exists no forum of appeal.
It is important to remember that while Delhi believes in democracy, in respect of Kashmir it appointed a series of political contractors to run the show. Before 2002, elections were just a game. Democracy’s outer shell was maintained, the insides were kept hollow. The result was the turbulence of the nineties.
Worse, while Kashmiris craved democracy, the Pakistan-backed putschist elements and their Kashmiri collaborators gave them stiff doses of Wahabism as a part of their wider project to establish “Nizam-e-Mustafa” — Kingdom of God for the faithful — and incorporate the Valley as a part of Pakistan.
In day-to-day life, this meant that the Kashmris were told to behave not like heathens, but like ‘true Muslims’ — in effect, to renounce their syncretic indigenous faith which was a glorious mix of Kashmiri Shaivism and Sufi Islam propagated in the fourteenth century by the ascetic order of Muslim “rishis”.
This really meant that the ‘brothers’ who had come from across the frontier to render solidarity and to liberate were asking the people of Kashmir to change their basic values and treat their own home-grown faith in contempt.
This was nothing less than wholesale cultural subversion, and the Kashmiri rebelled. The inner pulse and personality of Kashmir had no place in the intruder’s scheme. Therefore, the purported Islamic thread did not prove to be enough of a binding force.
When the people perceived that their essence as a community was being sought to be trampled, they just walked away from the ‘liberator’ who is now viewed as a trouble-making alien. This is why people do not cheer any more when terrorists hit a target.
Terrorists can still strike at will as they have of late. But this is because infiltration continues (and given the terrain, stopping ingress is not easy) and at any given time there is present in Kashmir a reasonably-sized force of armed irregular foreign troopers. But the vital element of local support is now almost entirely absent.
The Kashmiri now wants to get back the lost tempo of everyday living. Every village has a hallowed sufi shrine at which muslims and hindus used to congregate for their spiritual sustenance, and there are several major shrines across the Valley. In the high noon of militancy, people would be afraid to visit them. That phase has ended.
Interestingly, many Kashmiri muslims now think that the pandits who fled to Jammu have been more successful than them at keeping the flame of Kashmiri culture, language, and art forms alive and they want to re-discover that flame. As a local Kashmiri Muslim poet Farooq Nazki said, “They had fled because of people like me.” Now everyone wants them back.
The writer is a political affairs analyst based in Delhi
by Anand K Sahay from DNA India
Sunday, October 30, 2005 21:00 IST
The political change that will soon occur in Kashmir is along the lines that the Valley — not just Jammu — expected, even if analysts in Delhi are confounded. This is why there are no critical voices in Srinagar, which has taken the shift in its stride. The popular sentiment is for getting on with it, not to give credence to theories and gossip.
In Kashmir, the terrorists have made the same mistake that the Indian state had made once — they did not account for the people; their sensibilities, their temper. The militants and their masterminds are finally paying the price. The denouement has come in slow stages but it has surely arrived. The ordinary Kashmiri, as became obvious during a recent trip to the Valley, does not now seem to have any sympathy left for what has euphemistically been known as ‘ the militancy’.
Go anywhere in the state — towns and country, villages, forded rural streams, in Srinagar and even the parts hit by the earthquake, the feeling is palpable — the old days are gone. A striking aspect of the changed scene is that one doesn’t any more hear the litany of complaints that one did before against the behaviour of the uniformed forces.
Indeed, now they talk of the gross indecencies heaped by terrorists on ordinary folk over many years, of the arm-twisting and extortions, of violating of women, of wanton killings on the excuse that the “executed” person was an informer.
The constant cry against human rights abuses by the security forces one heard earlier has now given way to the breaking of silence over the acts of grossness that the terrorist groups engaged in.
Perhaps this is why the question of thinning out the troops on the ground — for which General Pervez Musharraf made such a pitch in his UN speech last month, naming even sectors in northern Kashmir where he thought this brooked no delay — finds no echo among the populace.
It is common to hear that the people can lodge complaints against abuses by instruments of the state, and courts do provide relief. But against rights violations by terrorist elements, there exists no forum of appeal.
It is important to remember that while Delhi believes in democracy, in respect of Kashmir it appointed a series of political contractors to run the show. Before 2002, elections were just a game. Democracy’s outer shell was maintained, the insides were kept hollow. The result was the turbulence of the nineties.
Worse, while Kashmiris craved democracy, the Pakistan-backed putschist elements and their Kashmiri collaborators gave them stiff doses of Wahabism as a part of their wider project to establish “Nizam-e-Mustafa” — Kingdom of God for the faithful — and incorporate the Valley as a part of Pakistan.
In day-to-day life, this meant that the Kashmris were told to behave not like heathens, but like ‘true Muslims’ — in effect, to renounce their syncretic indigenous faith which was a glorious mix of Kashmiri Shaivism and Sufi Islam propagated in the fourteenth century by the ascetic order of Muslim “rishis”.
This really meant that the ‘brothers’ who had come from across the frontier to render solidarity and to liberate were asking the people of Kashmir to change their basic values and treat their own home-grown faith in contempt.
This was nothing less than wholesale cultural subversion, and the Kashmiri rebelled. The inner pulse and personality of Kashmir had no place in the intruder’s scheme. Therefore, the purported Islamic thread did not prove to be enough of a binding force.
When the people perceived that their essence as a community was being sought to be trampled, they just walked away from the ‘liberator’ who is now viewed as a trouble-making alien. This is why people do not cheer any more when terrorists hit a target.
Terrorists can still strike at will as they have of late. But this is because infiltration continues (and given the terrain, stopping ingress is not easy) and at any given time there is present in Kashmir a reasonably-sized force of armed irregular foreign troopers. But the vital element of local support is now almost entirely absent.
The Kashmiri now wants to get back the lost tempo of everyday living. Every village has a hallowed sufi shrine at which muslims and hindus used to congregate for their spiritual sustenance, and there are several major shrines across the Valley. In the high noon of militancy, people would be afraid to visit them. That phase has ended.
Interestingly, many Kashmiri muslims now think that the pandits who fled to Jammu have been more successful than them at keeping the flame of Kashmiri culture, language, and art forms alive and they want to re-discover that flame. As a local Kashmiri Muslim poet Farooq Nazki said, “They had fled because of people like me.” Now everyone wants them back.
The writer is a political affairs analyst based in Delhi
A note on Sufism in Zanzibar, in "Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Vote"
Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Vote: Political, Racial, Religious Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Elections
A Muslim woman walks in the narrow streets of Stone Town next to a poster of Seif Shariff Hamad, the leader of the opposition party the Civic United Front , CUF , Friday, Oct. 28, 2005 in Zanzibar. More than 90 percent of Zanzibaris are Muslim, but most follow a very gentle form of Sufi Islam. The more fundamentalist sects have always had a hard time taking hold here.Nevertheless, the ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi party has always used the specter of radical Islam in elections campaigns, using slogans such as "Don't vote for the beard" to imply that voting for the bearded Hamad is a vote for radicals.(AP Photo/Karel Prinsloo)
By CHRIS TOMLINSON Associated Press Writer
The Associated Press
ZANZIBAR, Tanzania Oct 28, 2005 — On the narrow streets of Zanzibar, women wear bright African cloth, pastel Indian tunics and black head-to-toe veils, reflecting the multiculturalism that has thrived on these islands for centuries.
It is a picture of peaceful co-existence, the norm in this archipelago. But months of violence in the lead-up to weekend elections are proof of political, racial and religious tensions.
Sunday's vote has greater significance than ever before, with many Zanzibaris viewing the balloting as Western-style democracy's last chance. Two previous elections were seen as deeply flawed by violence and fraud. A third in that mold would give radicals fodder for their argument that Islam is the only answer to the island's problems.
"Western democracy has not worked in Zanzibar," said Mussa Ame Mussa, a leader in Zanzibar's Islamic Propagation Organization.
Mussa says his group is merely observing the elections and stays out of politics. But he was recently arrested and charged with making radical speeches criticizing the government. He called for the formation of Islamic parties, banned in Zanzibar under the constitution.
More than 90 percent of the people of Zanzibar, a semiautonomous part of Tanzania, are Muslim. Overall, Tanzania's population of 36 million is about 44 percent Christian and 34 percent Muslim.
Most Zanzibaris follow a gentle form of Sufi Islam. The more fundamentalist sects have always had a hard time taking hold here.
Nevertheless, the ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi party has always used the specter of radical Islam in election campaigns, with slogans such as "Don't vote for the beard" suggesting that a vote for bearded opposition leader Seif Shariff Hamad is a vote for radicals.
"I feel there is that threat" of radical Islam, said Hamad, the presidential candidate of the Civic United Front, or CUF. "Especially in areas where the people are poor, desperate, where there is no hope there you will find these youths who will be influenced by these radical forces."
Omar Sharif and Sufism: Sharif credits grandsons for career lift
Posted on Sun, Nov. 20, 2005
Sharif credits grandsons for career lift
by SCHEHEREZADE FARAMARZI
Associated Press OUARZAZATE, Morocco -
At 73, Omar Sharif is as charming as ever, smiling with those moist brown eyes and the trademark gap in his front teeth that have served him well in a long, distinguished life in the movies.
But the recent rebound in that career, he says, is thanks to advice from his two grandsons.
"I spent a long time making very bad films because I was in a bad moment of my career and also I needed money for my family and so on," said the actor, who reportedly ran up enormous gambling debts in his obsession with bridge - a gambling habit he says he's given up.
Sharif, who was in the Moroccan desert shooting a TV series, "The Ten Commandments," said in an interview that he found his grandsons teasing him. So the actor who burst onto Western screens in the 1964 epic "Lawrence of Arabia" decided to quit until a good role came along.
The dry spell lasted five years.
Then came the French movie "Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Quran," a 2003 film directed by Francois Dupeyron.
Sharif won the French prize for best actor for his role as an aging Turkish Muslim shopkeeper in the Paris of the 1960s who befriends a lonely teenage Jewish boy, Momo. He teaches Momo about the esoteric traditions of Islam and the beauty and wisdom of Sufi Islam.
The Egyptian-born actor has long been an advocate of Muslim-Jewish friendship.
"I have a grandson who has a Jewish mother and I have a grandson who has a Muslim mother. ... I love them the same and they love each other. And everybody should love each other. That's why I made this French film - a Muslim man adopts a Jewish boy," said Sharif, who was born as Michel Shalhoub to affluent Christian Lebanese-Syrian parents and later converted to Islam.
Offers for movies began pouring in after "Monsieur Ibrahim."
"Now I have 10 scripts every day offered to me and I choose the periods that I want to shoot and how long I want to be on a film," Sharif said, flashing that gap-toothed smile.
He appears in only four scenes in "The Ten Commandments" in his role as Moses' father-in-law Jethro. That is "just perfect," he said - he had to spend only two weeks in Ouarzazate, where director David Lean filmed part of "Lawrence of Arabia" more than 40 years ago.
In that film, Sharif's Arab chieftain character made one of the most beautiful entrances in film history, riding out of shimmering desert haze toward Peter O'Toole, who played the British adventurer T.E. Lawrence. Sharif earned an Academy Award nomination.
After that, he played a Russian in "Dr. Zhivago," a German in "Night of the Generals," an Austrian in "Mayerling," an American in "Funny Girl," a Mexican in "MacKenna's Gold" and a Cuban in "Che."
His billing is usually a bit lower these days. "You know, at my age, it's very difficult to find leading roles for old men," he said.
"I just did St. Peter," he added. "As a Muslim I did St. Peter. Now I'm playing Moses' father-in-law. But Moses is for all the religions. St. Peter is Christian completely.
"And of course I don't know what happens when it comes out in the Arab countries," he said with a chuckle while pouring himself a cup of mint tea.
Before he came to the world stage, Sharif was a star of Egyptian films and married to popular actress Faten Hamama. Now, he does Egyptian movies, with social themes, when "there's something I want to say to the Egyptian people, to criticize."
A script he wrote in 1989 and acted in was called "Aragos" - "The Puppeteer" - a film about a buffoon whose shows dramatize the promise of former President Gamal Abdel-Nasser's socialist revolution.
The puppeteer spoke "the truth about what was in Egypt" through his puppet, Sharif said. When questioned by police, he would protest: "It's not me ... this idiot's speaking, I don't say these things, it's him.'"
In 2006, he plans to do a 30-episode series during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, a prime time throughout the Arab world for broadcasting TV serials.
He will play a successful Egyptian businessman living in the United States who returns to Egypt with his daughter after his wife dies, to show her his native country. "It's about me really," Sharif said.
Although his new films made in Egypt have a message, they are not political, he said, because "I don't find any terrible fault in the political situation in Egypt." The problems are poverty, ignorance and overpopulation, he said.
Sharif sees no chance for democracy in the Arab world. "Because we are tribal people. We are not nations."
Now that his son, Tarek, has resettled in Egypt and taken an Egyptian as his second wife, Sharif spends a lot of time in Cairo, to be near his little grandson, Karim. His older grandson, Omar, a university student, lives in Canada.
Sharif credits grandsons for career lift
by SCHEHEREZADE FARAMARZI
Associated Press OUARZAZATE, Morocco -
At 73, Omar Sharif is as charming as ever, smiling with those moist brown eyes and the trademark gap in his front teeth that have served him well in a long, distinguished life in the movies.
But the recent rebound in that career, he says, is thanks to advice from his two grandsons.
"I spent a long time making very bad films because I was in a bad moment of my career and also I needed money for my family and so on," said the actor, who reportedly ran up enormous gambling debts in his obsession with bridge - a gambling habit he says he's given up.
Sharif, who was in the Moroccan desert shooting a TV series, "The Ten Commandments," said in an interview that he found his grandsons teasing him. So the actor who burst onto Western screens in the 1964 epic "Lawrence of Arabia" decided to quit until a good role came along.
The dry spell lasted five years.
Then came the French movie "Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Quran," a 2003 film directed by Francois Dupeyron.
Sharif won the French prize for best actor for his role as an aging Turkish Muslim shopkeeper in the Paris of the 1960s who befriends a lonely teenage Jewish boy, Momo. He teaches Momo about the esoteric traditions of Islam and the beauty and wisdom of Sufi Islam.
The Egyptian-born actor has long been an advocate of Muslim-Jewish friendship.
"I have a grandson who has a Jewish mother and I have a grandson who has a Muslim mother. ... I love them the same and they love each other. And everybody should love each other. That's why I made this French film - a Muslim man adopts a Jewish boy," said Sharif, who was born as Michel Shalhoub to affluent Christian Lebanese-Syrian parents and later converted to Islam.
Offers for movies began pouring in after "Monsieur Ibrahim."
"Now I have 10 scripts every day offered to me and I choose the periods that I want to shoot and how long I want to be on a film," Sharif said, flashing that gap-toothed smile.
He appears in only four scenes in "The Ten Commandments" in his role as Moses' father-in-law Jethro. That is "just perfect," he said - he had to spend only two weeks in Ouarzazate, where director David Lean filmed part of "Lawrence of Arabia" more than 40 years ago.
In that film, Sharif's Arab chieftain character made one of the most beautiful entrances in film history, riding out of shimmering desert haze toward Peter O'Toole, who played the British adventurer T.E. Lawrence. Sharif earned an Academy Award nomination.
After that, he played a Russian in "Dr. Zhivago," a German in "Night of the Generals," an Austrian in "Mayerling," an American in "Funny Girl," a Mexican in "MacKenna's Gold" and a Cuban in "Che."
His billing is usually a bit lower these days. "You know, at my age, it's very difficult to find leading roles for old men," he said.
"I just did St. Peter," he added. "As a Muslim I did St. Peter. Now I'm playing Moses' father-in-law. But Moses is for all the religions. St. Peter is Christian completely.
"And of course I don't know what happens when it comes out in the Arab countries," he said with a chuckle while pouring himself a cup of mint tea.
Before he came to the world stage, Sharif was a star of Egyptian films and married to popular actress Faten Hamama. Now, he does Egyptian movies, with social themes, when "there's something I want to say to the Egyptian people, to criticize."
A script he wrote in 1989 and acted in was called "Aragos" - "The Puppeteer" - a film about a buffoon whose shows dramatize the promise of former President Gamal Abdel-Nasser's socialist revolution.
The puppeteer spoke "the truth about what was in Egypt" through his puppet, Sharif said. When questioned by police, he would protest: "It's not me ... this idiot's speaking, I don't say these things, it's him.'"
In 2006, he plans to do a 30-episode series during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, a prime time throughout the Arab world for broadcasting TV serials.
He will play a successful Egyptian businessman living in the United States who returns to Egypt with his daughter after his wife dies, to show her his native country. "It's about me really," Sharif said.
Although his new films made in Egypt have a message, they are not political, he said, because "I don't find any terrible fault in the political situation in Egypt." The problems are poverty, ignorance and overpopulation, he said.
Sharif sees no chance for democracy in the Arab world. "Because we are tribal people. We are not nations."
Now that his son, Tarek, has resettled in Egypt and taken an Egyptian as his second wife, Sharif spends a lot of time in Cairo, to be near his little grandson, Karim. His older grandson, Omar, a university student, lives in Canada.
Vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba [Bulgaria]
The Vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba as a Source on the History of Unorthodox Islam in North-Eastern Bulgaria by Nevena Gramatikova
As Islam marched westward through the Balkans after the 14th Century, unorthodox Islam — enjoying strong positions in Anatolia — found fertile ground in the newly conquered Bulgarian lands. It arrived there through the proselytising of dervişes and şeyhs from mystical Sufi sects, considered by the orthodox ulema as incompatible with Islam.[1] Such teachings included that of Kalenders and Abdals (essentially indistinguishable), Haydars and Hurufs. One may also include here the Yesevi, Babayı and Bektaşi, who shared some beliefs and worship practices with the aforementioned sects. Subsequently all these mystical tendencies were to interfuse and become part of the Bektaşi amalgam. The process involved the migration of Turkic individuals, families and clans of unorthodox Muslim persuasions. Some yearned for booty from the frontlines of Islamic-Christian wars, others hoped for better land, yet others were forcibly interned no longer to pose a nonconformist threat in the Asiatic heartland of the Ottoman Empire, or as prisoners of war. A number of official Ottoman sources testify to the fact that the Bulgarian lands in second half of the 16th Century already had a significant unorthodox Muslim presence, resulting from forced settlement under Selim I and Süleyman I.[2] Some of these people’s modern ancestors claim even earlier arrival. However, the Author has no access to sufficiently early Ottoman documents to prove or disprove these claims. The aforesaid shows that the genesis and spread of the Demir Baba Sultan cult enjoyed fertile soil in the 16th and 17th Centuries.
The unorthodox Muslims who settled in the Bulgarian lands created their own particular culture, intrinsically linked with Islam. Aspects of it are the architecture and scriptural heritage which furnish valuable information on Islamic trends in the Balkans. Their creators saw these buildings and manuscripts as hallowed: sacred works intended to preserve their religious, philosophical, and moral/ethical beliefs for posterity. Such a manuscript is the vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba. It is the work of unorthodox Muslims from North-Eastern Bulgaria, and is proof that a written tradition existed among them. This tradition did not boast a great diversity of genre and style, its products being correctly viewed as ‘folklore.’ However, it does represent a source in the study of unorthodox Muslim worship in Bulgaria.
Demir Baba is part of the local folklore of the Kızılbaş Alevi villages of Sevar, Ostrovo, Mwdrevo, Biserci, Svexari, and Lwvino near Razgrad, and Preslavci, Qernik, Bradvari, and Vodno near Silistra. The manuscript, Haza kitab Vilâyet-nâme-i Timur Baba Sultanin beyan (A Book Which Reveals the Wonders of Timur Baba Sultan) compiles some of the legends current among the Kızılbaş. The Author has traced three transcripts of this manuscript: one photographic and two xerographic copies, both the latter of the same original. So far it has proved impossible to determine whether the photographic copy was made from an original or a transcript. Externally, the manuscript concerned is similar to other vilâyet-nâmes, such as that of Hacı Bektaş Veli.[3] The possibility of the latter manuscript serving as stylistic and visual prototype of the former cannot be ruled out.
The photographic copy comprises 186 pages, each (apart from the front and last pages) with fifteen lines. The text is in Ottoman Turkish with vowel marks. There is no precise dating information, but page 5 carries the date Muharrem, 1129 After Hegira (16 December 1716 to 15 January 1717). The date follows due eulogies to Allah from the author or transcriber, and a listing of Timur Baba’s lineage. All would seem to indicate that this date does indeed note the time when the manuscript was created. It is possible that the year may not be 1129 AH: this part of the date is unclear, possibly due to poor photographic technique. The year may equally well be 1029 AH. The latter year (1029 AH) features in the xerographic copy of the same manuscript, with the rest of the text being identical in content with the photographic copy. Thus the manuscript may have been created in December 1619. Since the Author has no other manuscripts, she can speculate no further on dating.
A legend among the Kızılbaş has Demir Baba being born in 1530 and dying in 1650. His Arab father, Turanoğlu Hacı Ali Dede, had come from the Hejaz* after completing his hacılık.* Demir Baba’s 120 year lifespan is typical of those ascribed by legend to other Muslim mystic-saints, including ones in the Bektaşi pantheon.
The manuscript describes events during the reign of Süleyman I the Magnificent (1520-1566). The subject saint is variously named Timur Baba, Demir Baba, Kara Demir, Demir Pehlivan, Timur Ata, and Demir Ata. The titles of Baba and Ata are commonly given to travelling Turkic preachers. The leaders of Kızılbaş religious communes are also called Baba or Dede. Apart from being a religious leader, the Baba or Dede is also an elder in secular life. The Kızılbaş have retained many practices from patriarchal and clan times, and these appellations — as well as the worship of Demir Baba and other Muslim Turkic saints — show traces of the resilient Turkic ancestor cult.[4]
By the time of the aforementioned events, the cult to saints had finally merged with the Sufi movement in Sufism. God’s Chosen Ones (evliya) were adopted by mystical Sufi orders.[5] The text of Demir Baba’s life does not indicate which order he belonged to. An addendum to the photographically copied manuscript indicates that he had belonged to the Babayı tariqa.[6] This may be confirmed by the Babayı affiliation of local people in villages where worship to Demir Baba is most firmly entrenched. The text makes clear that Demir Baba was a follower of the Sufi tradition of Otman Baba, whose name was Hüssam Şah Gani.[7] Indeed, Otman Baba and Demir Baba are the ‘premier saints’ of the Bulgarian Kızılbaş.
On the other hand, the 17th Century saw the merging of the Bektaşi and Babayı pantheons in the Bulgarian lands. Until then, despite their shared religious doctrine, the two tariqas had shown various degrees of deference to some saints. The quashing of differences made Demir Baba as much a Babayı as a Bektaşi saint, as the manuscript proves. The anonymous authors of legends included in the life link Demir Baba with other patron saints of tekkes, Akyazılı Baba, Kıdemli Baba, Tay Hızır, Kızana Sultan, Otman Baba, Kızıl Deli Sultan, and Dursun Baba, inter alia.[8] These tekkes were linked with Bektaşism in terms of worship and organisation. However, it is also clear that the division between Babayı and Bektaşi, perceptible even today, was alive then: the Sufi hats (tac) of Otman Baba and Demir Baba were made of seven pieces of cloth; a Bektaşi leader and saint would wear a tac made from a dozen pieces of cloth. Some researchers claim that Demir Baba’s tac was also 12-sided. In fact, his seven-sided hat was exchanged for a 12-sided one later, the new hat being brought by Bektaşi dervişes from Rusçuk.*[9]
According to the manuscript, Demir Baba is a descendant of Ali bin Abu Talib and his son Hussayin. His direct lineage stems from the fourth Shi’a Imam Ali Al Asghar, known as Zeyn Al Abidin (the Pure and Honourable One who Beautifies the Lord’s Servants). The preamble to the lineage reads, “He is the son of those who coalesced, and also the son of the infidels of fire!” The text does not make it clear whether this applies specifically to Timur Baba. However, in Muslim parlance “infidels of fire” meant Zoroastrians. This could be an allusion to the legend — whose veracity researchers doubt — that the mother of the fourth Imam, Zeyn Al Abidin, was a Persian princess and daughter of the last Sasanid king Yezdigerd III.[10]
The manuscript states that Akyazılı Baba divined the impending birth of a brave man who would grow to assume the global importance of a Pole (a Qutb), and be a source of hope of the mystical road to God. The text places Demir Baba’s birth at 1521-‘2AD, after Süleyman I’s accession. Sultan Süleyman I is presented as close to Akyazılı Baba, who was then Pole of Poles (Qutb Al Aqtab): one who had attained supreme spiritual development. In the Sufi concept the Qutb is the pole which supports the world. The Qutb Al Aqtab heads the invisible hierarchy of saints. The true substance of Islam (Al Hakiqat Al Muhamadiyya) was incarnated into the one known as the Pole of His Time (Qutb Az Zamanihi). This true substance was the light or Muhammad’s shining (An Noor Al Muhammidi) and personified the image of the divine in its entirety, and the divine awareness of light, of which all else was created.[11]
The text makes it clear that the Qutb Az Zamanihi Akyazılı Baba and his adherents were Roumelian Abdals (Abdalan-ı Rum). They played a significant role in 13th-16th Century Anatolian religious life.[12] Their beliefs and rites tended to Shi’a and extreme pantheistic Sufi practice, while simultaneously admixing with many non-Islamic beliefs. Akyazılı Baba belonged to the celibate Abdal derviş branch. He was a saint of a rank which could communicate with God. As such, he knew he needed a successor who would inherit his spiritual might and rank. At his insistence, that saint — who would free people of their distress — was to be fathered by his closest Abdal derviş, Hacı Dede.
Many of the traditions, rites, and prayers written in the text are performed today at Kizilbaş religious gatherings in North-Eastern Bulgaria. This may mean that the author of the Timur Baba vilâyet-nâme was a local man from this confessional community. A religious song (nefes) in the manuscript is still sung by older Kızılbaş.[13] Its author was ‘Hatai.’ This was the literary pseudonym of the Safavid Kızılbaş ruler Shah İsmail. However, he Author cannot be certain whether authorship is indeed his, or that of Hata’i, a 17th Century Bektaşi poet. The song itself is such that those who sing it would have to have fairly extreme Shi’a views. It describes the importance of the Kırklar* festival in religious life, and prescribes how it should be celebrated. The number forty features often. This number is sacred in Alevi/Bektaşi doctrine. It symbolises the forty adherents of Ali who are worshipped in the Shi’a confession and Bektaşism. Their names are kept secret, but it is known that Selman-ı Farisi is among them.[14]
Legends dealing directly with Timur Baba start on page 29. After Timur’s lengthy religious tuition, Akyazılı Baba blessed him as spiritually knowledgeable, and introduced the basis of doctrine to him. This marked the passage of Timur through all stages of preparation and enlightenment in the Babayı order (and by analogy the Bektaşi order). This meant he had attained the calling of righteous (vilâya). Henceforth he had to prove this righteousness by performing a multitude of miracles (keramet). Timur reached this stage at age 22-23. If one takes his year of birth as 1521-‘2, this would mean the event took place around 1543-‘5; if one takes 1530 as the year of his birth, then the event took place around 1552-‘3.
Before bestowal of higher spiritual power, Timur Baba accompanied Akyazılı Baba on a tour of famous tekkes frequented by the Babayı and Bektaşi among the Kızılbaş: those of Otman Baba, Mustafa Baba, Yolkulu Baba, Hıfız Baba, Kızana Sultan, Dikkeli Hüseyin Baba, Musa Baba, and Ali Bey Tay Hızır.[15] Ziyar or ziyaret, the ritual visit to the tomb of a deceased saint (or the habitation of a living one), aimed at spiritual communion between mystic and saint in which the latter would extend his grace onto the former.[16] Through ziyar, the visiting mystic could also obtain the saint’s sacred spiritual virtue (baraka). The spiritual significance of ziyar is similar to that of hacc.
Legends describing the miracles of Timur Baba bestow a mythological aura to their derviş subject. His supernatural powers enabled him to level forests; the power of his voice rent sea and mountain aquiver. Muslims see the ability to perform miracles as a manifestation of the divine grace invested in a saint.
A number of prayers sent to Allah and his beloved Muhammad and Ali show that Timur Baba was member of the Shi’a confession in Islam. They display the cult to the characteristic Islamic ‘trinity’ of Allah, Muhammad and Ali. This cult (Teslis) is a central Shi’a and Bektaşi tenet.[17]
Vanquishing the Serpent in Tartary and Muscovy, victory over the infidel army in the battle of Budim, the gift of water, and the ability to grant and deny life are just some of Timur Baba’s miracles, seen by believers as proof of God’s disposition towards him. His kilim and towel — attributes in worship — became intermediaries in transmitting his power and holiness to lay believers. He passed gifts of gratitude for his feats on to religious institutions in M’kkah and M’dinah, and ones of the road followed by him.[18] In Islam, such acts raise one closer to God.
The Author’s grounds for attributing the manuscript to Sufi literature are the mentions of the apparent and covert (zahir and batın) ways of Allah. It was the covert way that was the kısmet, fate and enigma of Chosen Ones. It was the way of those who had attained divine truth (gerçek erenler). Timur Baba Sultan was such a man, and the Alevi Kızılbaş in the Bulgarian lands also perceive themselves as such.
The vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba genuinely contains rich and valuable information about unorthodox Muslims’ religious cults in the Bulgarian lands during the 16th and 17th Centuries. That is indeed why this manuscript and others like it had a significant place in these Muslims’ lives. They were sources of knowledge and a device for preserving their cultural and religious traditions. Evidence of this is a note on page 4: “I beseech thou, Oh ones of the gathering of men who have attained Divine Revelation, to safeguard this creation that I too may peruse this vilâyet-nâme from beginning to end!” Despite living within the confines of their religious community, the Alevi Muslims[19] recognised that their books were a mirror of themselves, and a window to the outside world.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Стайнова, М. [Staynova, M.]: „Ислам и исламская религиозная пропаганда в Болгарии” [“Islam and Islamic Religious Propaganda in Bulgaria”], „Османская империя. Система государственного управления, социальные и этнорелигиозные проблемы” [The Ottoman Empire: Governance, Social and Ethnic/Religious Problems], Москва 1986;
[2] Димитров, Стр.; Жечев, Н.; Тонев, В. [Dimitrov, S.; Jeqev, N.; Tonev, V.]: История на Добруджа, т. 3 [A History of the Dobrudja, Volume 3], стр. стр. 34-36, София 1988; Barkan, Ö. L.: XV ve XVI-nci asirlarda Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda zirai ekonominin hukuki ve mali esasları. I. Kanunlar. İstanbul 1943: 272-277
Стойков, Р. [Stoykov, R.], „Селища и демографски облик на Североизточна България и Добруджа през втората половина на ХVІ в.” [“Settlement and demographic patterns in North-Eastern Bulgaria and the Dobrudja in the Second Half of the 16th Century”], „Известия на Варненското археологическо дружество” [Notices of the Varna Archaeological Society] 1964, стр. 15, Варна 1964; Димитров, Стр. [Dimitrov, S.]: „Нови данни за демографските отношения в Южна Добруджа през първата половина на ХVІ в.” [New Data on Demographic Relations in the Southern Dobrudja in the First Half of the 16th Century], История [Istoriä] 1997: ‘8, ‘9; Радушев, E; Ковачев, Р. [Radusev, E, Kovaqev, R.]: Опис на регистри от Истанбулския османски архив към Генералната дирекция на държавните архиви на Република Турция [An Inventory of Registers in the Istanbul Ottoman Archive at the General Administration of the National Archives of the Turkish Republic] №19, стр. 21, София 1996.
[3] Gölpınarlı, A. (Haz.): Manakıb-i Hacı Bektaş-i Veli «Vilâyet-name». İstanbul 1990: XXIX.
* Today’s Saudi Arabia. Translator
* Pilgrimage to the Muslim Holy Cities (Turkish). Translator
[4] Басилов, Вл. Н. [Basilov, V. N.]: „Культ святых в исламе” [The Cult to Saints in Islam], стр. 69, Москва 1970.
[5] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: „Суфийские ордены в исламе” [Islamic Sufi Orders], стр. 33, Москва 1989.
[6] Haza kitab vilâyetname Timur Baba Sultanın, manuscript in the Author’s archives.
[7] Gölpınarlı, A.: in memoriam, Hatira sayisi. Otman Baba vilâyet-namesi, The Journal of Turkish Studies, Vol. 9b: LIX.
[8] Evliya Çelebi: Seyahatname. 1314-1318, III, V, İstanbul; Димитров, Стр. (преводач, съставител и редактор) [Dimitrov, S., Translator, Compiler and Editor]: „Евлия Челеби. Пътепис” [Evliya Çelebi: a Travelogue], стр. стр. 289-296, София 1972; Гаджанов, Д. Г. [Gadjanov, D. G.]: „Пътуване на Евлия Челеби из българските земи през средата на ХVІІ в.” [“A Journey by Evliya Celebi throught the Bulgarian Lands in the Middle of the 17th Century”], „Периодично списание на Българското книжовно дружество в София” [The Periodical Journal of the Bulgarian Learned Society in Sofia], кн. кн. 9-10, год. ХХІ, стр. стр. 639-724.
* Today’s city of Ruse in Bulgaria. Translator.
[9] According to field study data from Kızılbaş community elders, Governors of the Demir Baba Tekke, and older Kızılbaş people.
[10] Петрушевский, И. П. [Petrushevskiy, I. P.]: „Ислам в Иране в VІІ-ХV в. в.” [Islam in Iran in the 7th to the 15th Centuries], Л., 1966, стр. 244.
[11] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: op. cit., стр. 135.
[12] Barkan, Ö. L.: "Osmanlı imparatorluğunda Bir iskan ve kolonizasyon metodu olarak Vakıflar ve temlikler. İstila devirlerinin kolonizatör Türk dervisleri ve zaviyeler" Vakıflar Dergisi 2 (1942): 279-383; Köprülü, M. F.: Türk Edebiyatında İIk Mutasavvıflar. Ankara 1984: 53, 351.
[13] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 10.
* ‘Forty’ (Turkish). Translator.
[14] Христов, Хр., С. Бисерова, Българските алиани. Сборник етнографски материали, [The Bulgarian Alevi: a Collection of Ethnographical Materials] стр. стр. 74-75, 145-146; Noyan, B.: Bektaşilık Alevilik Nedir? İstanbul 1995: 65.
[15] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 67-8.
[16] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: op. cit., стр. стр. 33, 96, 149
[17] Eyuboğlu, İ. Z.: Bütün Yönleriyle Bektaşilik-Alevilik. İstanbul 1980: 141-4.
[18] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 67-8.
[19] The designation Alevi is officially accepted and used in the Bulgarian literature (Alian, plural Aliani in Bulgarian)
Not your father’s Ramadan [on Youssou N’Dour ]
Not your father’s Ramadan: Sengalese superstar Youssou N’Dour, who protested the Iraq war, talks about the beauty of Africa, Sufism and his fight against fundamentalism. (Larry Blumenfeld - Salon)
October 27, 2005
Oct. 26, 2005 | On Sunday evening at New York’s Carnegie Hall, Youssou N’Dour was caught between an elderly Senegalese griot and an unhappy soundman. Seems the xalam, a five-stringed Senegalese folk lute, wasn’t easy to mike. The opening concert of his four-night series just hours away, N’Dour nonetheless radiated calm.
N’Dour — the most popular singer in Africa and the archetypal world-music star — is used to reconciling antiquity with modernity. Besides, he’s negotiated trickier divides.
In March 2003, on the eve of the most ambitious American tour of his career, N’Dour simply canceled. “As a matter of conscience,” he wrote in a press statement, “I question the United States government’s apparent intention to commence war in Iraq. I believe that coming to America at this time would be perceived in many parts of the world — rightly or wrongly — as support for this policy.”
N’Dour’s sinewy tenor, dazzling vocal melismata, and urgent, engaging lyrics (mostly concerned with social responsibility and cultural memory) are the face of mbalax (um-balak), the popular Senegalese music that blends centuries-old praise-singing and percussion with Afro-Cuban arrangements and guitar-based Western pop. His band, the Super Étoile, has held sway over Senegalese fans since its formation in 1979. He’s since captured the ear of a worldwide audience, first with his singing on Peter Gabriel’s hit “In Your Eyes,” then through a series of wide-ranging, acclaimed albums for American labels.
N’Dour’s music is the perfect amalgam of old and new, indigenous and foreign. His music’s instrumentation ranges from talking drum (a staple of Senegalese music) to drum loops and synthesizers. His lyrics, sung mostly in his native Wolof, concern basic things — the need for hard work, respect for women, love of God and of fellow man — as well as more complicated issues — political struggles over electrical service in Dakar, or the need to remain connected to one’s home. 1990’s “Set” (which means “clean” or “pure” in Wolof) was a motivating cry for young Senegalese to clean up their environment and to demand “transparency” in politics and business.
Wednesday night at Carnegie Hall, N’Dour performs the music of “Egypt,” a dazzling CD that won a Grammy Award last year and is his most ambitious work to date: original songs about Senegalese Sufi tradition, performed with an Egyptian orchestra accented by Senegalese vocals and percussion. (N’Dour brings this music to seven more American cities through Nov. 13.) The orchestral setting coaxes his voice into heightened tenderness, but his messages are pointed as ever. Senegalese Islam is largely Sufi: “These songs celebrate the caliphs, saints and sages of my faith,” N’Dour told me, “to praise the tolerance of my often misunderstood religion.”
“Who better than Muslim artists to assume a kind of duty now,” he wrote in a Carnegie program book, “to protect Islam, and all the beautiful cultures of Islam, from its slanderers at both poles of the malicious, ignorant, ideologically inane morass of speech which passes for a ‘dialogue of religions’ in these challenging times?”
With Carnegie staffers, three publicists, and an independent film crew buzzing around N’Dour, stealing time to speak at a nearby hotel suite proved a challenge. But once seated, N’Dour, who spoke mostly in French through a translator, was eager to reflect on his new music and his return to the United States.
Looking back, are you glad you canceled your tour when you did?
If I had it to do again, I would do it again. I didn’t make the decision simply because there was a war mounting against a Muslim country. I did it because the war that was mounting was unjust. I could not bring the joy that I bring to my audiences in that context and in that environment. There were a lot of violent events that took place here in New York before this war, but I think the bringing on of the war was an attempt to weaken the United Nations.
Now, do you arrive with any ambivalence?
No, I don’t have a problem. Even though the conflict is still going on in Iraq, I think the U.S. is a great country with a lot of great people. And now, I know a lot of people who say now that we may have been right — that it was not right for the United States to invade Iraq. I know that I’m not Bruce Springsteen. But it was a symbolic statement that I wanted to make.
Is the music of your “Egypt” CD an attempt to counter the face of Islamic fundamentalism?
I don’t dwell on the effect of the music in terms of politics or about how people are going to perceive this tour. I am not overly interested in that. It is music meant to be beautiful and fun and it has pan-African content. It’s a great musical opportunity. It’s not as if I am a lawyer for any cause.
But don’t you find the messages of Muslim fundamentalists who command headlines at odds with your message in “Egypt”?
I think that in all religions you find fundamentalism and, for me, it’s always a minority — even if they are in the limelight now, getting the attention of the world. Every religion has its extremists. I think the majority of Muslim people are of the same frame of mind as I am.
Yes, but not the majority of those in power…
Those who are in power don’t always or even usually speak for the majority, and we need to remember that. This may be as true in your country as in the Middle East.
This album is surrounded by a message, it contains a strong message, but I did not create this message. It is the message of my faith, shared by many. It is something that some people are ignorant about, and I am trying to make those people aware. Some may have forgotten it and I am trying to remind them.
How did the music of “Egypt” come about?
It was a personal thing, really — just for me and those close to me. During the Ramadan, we have prayers, and every night we talk about our religion, Islam. And one day, I had the idea to play while we talked about it. And that idea brought back memories of how, when I was 10 years old, my father used to play recordings of Um Kulthum [the beloved Egyptian singer]. The two ideas began to merge for me in my mind, and then I talked to someone about finding Egyptian Arabic musicians to help me with this music. He mentioned Fathy Salama, who did the orchestral arrangements.
I always had some conflict over how to sing praises of a religious nature. I always had in mind to find a different form for this kind of praise singing. I wanted to sing about all the leaders of the brotherhoods. We have six famous brotherhoods, and I wanted to describe them all. I talked about the leaders, their stories, their families, and how they participated in the social development of Senegal.
Is there something distinct about the Senegalese experience of Islam? How does it differ from Islam in the Middle East?
The promotion of Islam in Africa may have begun with spokesmen from the Arab world, but in Senegal we have our own guides who have created their own turuq [Arabic for “ways” or “pathways”].
But I think that Sufism fits all over the world. The concept is not anything that fits standard Western ideas — it’s always related to culture, to music, to religion. It is a dominant religion in Senegal. The music that it creates calls into question the idea that the Muslim religion is not only a matter of Arabs or that it does not belong only to the Arabs. In the West, you have always associated the Islamic faith 100 percent with Arab culture. This in itself is a fundamentalist attitude and it is mistaken.
Does the act of working with Egyptian musicians in a largely Arabic musical style signify outreach on your part?
I’m not playing with Egyptian musicians to attain an Arab public. There’s content, there’s subject matter that’s common to us. And this record is a contribution to that commonality, an affirmation of that commonality.
If you wish to correct the view in the West of Islam, are you also talking about our images of Senegal, or all of Africa?
I think people should know more of Africa in terms of its joie de vivre, its feeling for life. In spite of the images that one knows about Africa — the economic poverty, the corruption — there’s a joy to living and a happiness in community, living together, in community life, which may be missing here in America. And I think America can learn from that. It’s a face of Africa that is not commonly shown in the news media, and if it were, I think Americans could learn a lot.
Considering the prevalent image Westerners have of African governments as corrupt, I wonder how you see the current American political environment?
The corruption, the corrupted and the corrupters are the same thing. Sometimes the money that is tied to the corruption process in Africa ends up here, you know. I think America is a great country that should have in its head a conscience and a responsibility that is equal to its achievements. I like the various movements that I see here in America. People here don’t leave action to the government. Action is not the exclusive province of the government. I like that idea very much.
This quality of Africans I’ve mentioned, to be happy in spite of trouble, despite challenge, is a force for development — and it could very well make Africa develop very rapidly in a way that people may not expect.
The question of modernization is central to disturbances in the Middle East and in Africa. Everyone is after modernization, no matter where they come from. But you have to be careful about it, and more importantly, you have to have sense about it. A comedian told me a story recently: He was in a rich Arab country and there were all these air conditioners in one spot. He looked up and there was no ceiling. There was air conditioning, but no roof.
The four-night series you curated for Carnegie Hall spans ancient musical styles to the freshest Senegalese pop. Is it fair to say that all of your music has at its core the tension between tradition and modernity?
My music is like a spinning ball. It can turn in one direction, and then it comes back to origins. And I think I am in a moment in my musical life where I’m feeling more sure of myself, and I think I’ve found a mix that suits me and makes me feel confident. I feel free of the expectations that people had of me, the symbol that perhaps I had become earlier in my career.
The symbol that I’d become created a tension between people interested in my music who favored a modern approach and people who favored a traditional or conservative approach, and between these two camps there was a lot of fighting. And now I think I’ve reached the point in time where the fighting is less important to me, less important to anyone, and people are more apt to sense the music on its own terms. Something that comes back to me is the experience of Miles Davis, who at a point in time was free to express himself without the fetters of people wanting one particular Miles or another. And I don’t know why, but somehow I sense that I’m in the same place that he might have been.
What does the griot mean in modern-day terms?
We’re always tempted by the weight of the present. But we need to think about history too. When we step outside of the day-to-day, that’s when we are able to share the most. Sometimes I am content to be immersed in the present moment. But not too much of the time. The griot is a bridge. If you want to go to Senegal the griot can take you there — through music, through dance, by telling stories.
Is there a special meaning or poignancy to performing this music, which was conceived during one Ramadan, in the U.S. during another Ramadan [which runs through Nov. 3]?
It’s very interesting: There was a big debate on Senegalese radio, with professors, Islamic leaders, musicians and rappers about making music and performing during Ramadan. The moderator was an Islamic studies specialist, and he asked, “Why during Ramadan is there no music? If you’re stopping your music during Ramadan, then aren’t you saying that the music is not acceptable for the religion?” This was a very important point for me.
I’m sorry, but I don’t remember reading anywhere that you can’t play music after sundown during Ramadan. People like me have decided to ask ourselves, “Why?” Maybe we’ll do something different. Maybe it is time to do some things differently.
October 27, 2005
Oct. 26, 2005 | On Sunday evening at New York’s Carnegie Hall, Youssou N’Dour was caught between an elderly Senegalese griot and an unhappy soundman. Seems the xalam, a five-stringed Senegalese folk lute, wasn’t easy to mike. The opening concert of his four-night series just hours away, N’Dour nonetheless radiated calm.
N’Dour — the most popular singer in Africa and the archetypal world-music star — is used to reconciling antiquity with modernity. Besides, he’s negotiated trickier divides.
In March 2003, on the eve of the most ambitious American tour of his career, N’Dour simply canceled. “As a matter of conscience,” he wrote in a press statement, “I question the United States government’s apparent intention to commence war in Iraq. I believe that coming to America at this time would be perceived in many parts of the world — rightly or wrongly — as support for this policy.”
N’Dour’s sinewy tenor, dazzling vocal melismata, and urgent, engaging lyrics (mostly concerned with social responsibility and cultural memory) are the face of mbalax (um-balak), the popular Senegalese music that blends centuries-old praise-singing and percussion with Afro-Cuban arrangements and guitar-based Western pop. His band, the Super Étoile, has held sway over Senegalese fans since its formation in 1979. He’s since captured the ear of a worldwide audience, first with his singing on Peter Gabriel’s hit “In Your Eyes,” then through a series of wide-ranging, acclaimed albums for American labels.
N’Dour’s music is the perfect amalgam of old and new, indigenous and foreign. His music’s instrumentation ranges from talking drum (a staple of Senegalese music) to drum loops and synthesizers. His lyrics, sung mostly in his native Wolof, concern basic things — the need for hard work, respect for women, love of God and of fellow man — as well as more complicated issues — political struggles over electrical service in Dakar, or the need to remain connected to one’s home. 1990’s “Set” (which means “clean” or “pure” in Wolof) was a motivating cry for young Senegalese to clean up their environment and to demand “transparency” in politics and business.
Wednesday night at Carnegie Hall, N’Dour performs the music of “Egypt,” a dazzling CD that won a Grammy Award last year and is his most ambitious work to date: original songs about Senegalese Sufi tradition, performed with an Egyptian orchestra accented by Senegalese vocals and percussion. (N’Dour brings this music to seven more American cities through Nov. 13.) The orchestral setting coaxes his voice into heightened tenderness, but his messages are pointed as ever. Senegalese Islam is largely Sufi: “These songs celebrate the caliphs, saints and sages of my faith,” N’Dour told me, “to praise the tolerance of my often misunderstood religion.”
“Who better than Muslim artists to assume a kind of duty now,” he wrote in a Carnegie program book, “to protect Islam, and all the beautiful cultures of Islam, from its slanderers at both poles of the malicious, ignorant, ideologically inane morass of speech which passes for a ‘dialogue of religions’ in these challenging times?”
With Carnegie staffers, three publicists, and an independent film crew buzzing around N’Dour, stealing time to speak at a nearby hotel suite proved a challenge. But once seated, N’Dour, who spoke mostly in French through a translator, was eager to reflect on his new music and his return to the United States.
Looking back, are you glad you canceled your tour when you did?
If I had it to do again, I would do it again. I didn’t make the decision simply because there was a war mounting against a Muslim country. I did it because the war that was mounting was unjust. I could not bring the joy that I bring to my audiences in that context and in that environment. There were a lot of violent events that took place here in New York before this war, but I think the bringing on of the war was an attempt to weaken the United Nations.
Now, do you arrive with any ambivalence?
No, I don’t have a problem. Even though the conflict is still going on in Iraq, I think the U.S. is a great country with a lot of great people. And now, I know a lot of people who say now that we may have been right — that it was not right for the United States to invade Iraq. I know that I’m not Bruce Springsteen. But it was a symbolic statement that I wanted to make.
Is the music of your “Egypt” CD an attempt to counter the face of Islamic fundamentalism?
I don’t dwell on the effect of the music in terms of politics or about how people are going to perceive this tour. I am not overly interested in that. It is music meant to be beautiful and fun and it has pan-African content. It’s a great musical opportunity. It’s not as if I am a lawyer for any cause.
But don’t you find the messages of Muslim fundamentalists who command headlines at odds with your message in “Egypt”?
I think that in all religions you find fundamentalism and, for me, it’s always a minority — even if they are in the limelight now, getting the attention of the world. Every religion has its extremists. I think the majority of Muslim people are of the same frame of mind as I am.
Yes, but not the majority of those in power…
Those who are in power don’t always or even usually speak for the majority, and we need to remember that. This may be as true in your country as in the Middle East.
This album is surrounded by a message, it contains a strong message, but I did not create this message. It is the message of my faith, shared by many. It is something that some people are ignorant about, and I am trying to make those people aware. Some may have forgotten it and I am trying to remind them.
How did the music of “Egypt” come about?
It was a personal thing, really — just for me and those close to me. During the Ramadan, we have prayers, and every night we talk about our religion, Islam. And one day, I had the idea to play while we talked about it. And that idea brought back memories of how, when I was 10 years old, my father used to play recordings of Um Kulthum [the beloved Egyptian singer]. The two ideas began to merge for me in my mind, and then I talked to someone about finding Egyptian Arabic musicians to help me with this music. He mentioned Fathy Salama, who did the orchestral arrangements.
I always had some conflict over how to sing praises of a religious nature. I always had in mind to find a different form for this kind of praise singing. I wanted to sing about all the leaders of the brotherhoods. We have six famous brotherhoods, and I wanted to describe them all. I talked about the leaders, their stories, their families, and how they participated in the social development of Senegal.
Is there something distinct about the Senegalese experience of Islam? How does it differ from Islam in the Middle East?
The promotion of Islam in Africa may have begun with spokesmen from the Arab world, but in Senegal we have our own guides who have created their own turuq [Arabic for “ways” or “pathways”].
But I think that Sufism fits all over the world. The concept is not anything that fits standard Western ideas — it’s always related to culture, to music, to religion. It is a dominant religion in Senegal. The music that it creates calls into question the idea that the Muslim religion is not only a matter of Arabs or that it does not belong only to the Arabs. In the West, you have always associated the Islamic faith 100 percent with Arab culture. This in itself is a fundamentalist attitude and it is mistaken.
Does the act of working with Egyptian musicians in a largely Arabic musical style signify outreach on your part?
I’m not playing with Egyptian musicians to attain an Arab public. There’s content, there’s subject matter that’s common to us. And this record is a contribution to that commonality, an affirmation of that commonality.
If you wish to correct the view in the West of Islam, are you also talking about our images of Senegal, or all of Africa?
I think people should know more of Africa in terms of its joie de vivre, its feeling for life. In spite of the images that one knows about Africa — the economic poverty, the corruption — there’s a joy to living and a happiness in community, living together, in community life, which may be missing here in America. And I think America can learn from that. It’s a face of Africa that is not commonly shown in the news media, and if it were, I think Americans could learn a lot.
Considering the prevalent image Westerners have of African governments as corrupt, I wonder how you see the current American political environment?
The corruption, the corrupted and the corrupters are the same thing. Sometimes the money that is tied to the corruption process in Africa ends up here, you know. I think America is a great country that should have in its head a conscience and a responsibility that is equal to its achievements. I like the various movements that I see here in America. People here don’t leave action to the government. Action is not the exclusive province of the government. I like that idea very much.
This quality of Africans I’ve mentioned, to be happy in spite of trouble, despite challenge, is a force for development — and it could very well make Africa develop very rapidly in a way that people may not expect.
The question of modernization is central to disturbances in the Middle East and in Africa. Everyone is after modernization, no matter where they come from. But you have to be careful about it, and more importantly, you have to have sense about it. A comedian told me a story recently: He was in a rich Arab country and there were all these air conditioners in one spot. He looked up and there was no ceiling. There was air conditioning, but no roof.
The four-night series you curated for Carnegie Hall spans ancient musical styles to the freshest Senegalese pop. Is it fair to say that all of your music has at its core the tension between tradition and modernity?
My music is like a spinning ball. It can turn in one direction, and then it comes back to origins. And I think I am in a moment in my musical life where I’m feeling more sure of myself, and I think I’ve found a mix that suits me and makes me feel confident. I feel free of the expectations that people had of me, the symbol that perhaps I had become earlier in my career.
The symbol that I’d become created a tension between people interested in my music who favored a modern approach and people who favored a traditional or conservative approach, and between these two camps there was a lot of fighting. And now I think I’ve reached the point in time where the fighting is less important to me, less important to anyone, and people are more apt to sense the music on its own terms. Something that comes back to me is the experience of Miles Davis, who at a point in time was free to express himself without the fetters of people wanting one particular Miles or another. And I don’t know why, but somehow I sense that I’m in the same place that he might have been.
What does the griot mean in modern-day terms?
We’re always tempted by the weight of the present. But we need to think about history too. When we step outside of the day-to-day, that’s when we are able to share the most. Sometimes I am content to be immersed in the present moment. But not too much of the time. The griot is a bridge. If you want to go to Senegal the griot can take you there — through music, through dance, by telling stories.
Is there a special meaning or poignancy to performing this music, which was conceived during one Ramadan, in the U.S. during another Ramadan [which runs through Nov. 3]?
It’s very interesting: There was a big debate on Senegalese radio, with professors, Islamic leaders, musicians and rappers about making music and performing during Ramadan. The moderator was an Islamic studies specialist, and he asked, “Why during Ramadan is there no music? If you’re stopping your music during Ramadan, then aren’t you saying that the music is not acceptable for the religion?” This was a very important point for me.
I’m sorry, but I don’t remember reading anywhere that you can’t play music after sundown during Ramadan. People like me have decided to ask ourselves, “Why?” Maybe we’ll do something different. Maybe it is time to do some things differently.
Monday, December 26, 2005
An interview with Junoon & Salman Ahmed
An interview with Junoon & Salman Ahmed
By Nafiza Dawla
Wed, 16 Mar 2005, 11:44:00
From New Nation Online Edition
Junoon, a Pakistani rock and roll band group. It is one of the biggest rock and roll, and band music groups of Asia. The word Junoon means obsession. Salman Ahmed and Ali Azmat are the two vocalist of the group. Formed in 1990, it released albums namely Junoon (1991), Kashmakash, Talaash (1993), Inquilab (1996), Azadi (1997), Andaz (2001), Pervaaz (2002), Ishaq (2002) and Deewar (2003). Junoon received award for outstanding achievements in Music and Peace by UNESCO. The BBC honoured the group with an award for Contribution to Asian Culture at the exclusive BBC Asian Awards Ceremony.
Salman Ahmed, songwriter/lead guitarist/composer, born in Lahore, Pakistan, obtained graduation in medical science from reputed King Edward Medical College. Salman Ahmad is most likely the only the living rock star, who is also a medical doctor .The New Nation got an opportunity to take his interview despite his busy time in Bangladesh as the group performed several musical programmes in Dhaka and Chittagong.
Life Style (The New Nation) : Would you please make a comment on your performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: We are satisfied with our performance in Bangladesh. It is a thrill to sing in front of 40,000 spectators. We visited Bangladesh thrice in the past but the experience we got this time was unique.
LS: Do you think that you have been succeeded to satisfy the audience by your performances?
Salman: Yes. The crowds cheered us every moment, which is rare even in our own country.
LS: What were the purposes behind your visit and performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: Bangladesh is one of the countries in our world tour.
LS: What’s your next plan?
Salman:To release an album titled Infinity in two months time
LS: How did you feel Bangladeshi people during your short visit?
Salman: The Bangladeshi people were friendly to us. Whenever we went, they greeted us and became pleased at our performance. They are really fond of music.
LS: Do you find any difference in the culture arena of Bangladesh between your previous visits and the present?
Salman: The audience responded to us this time more cordially than before. They have become more progressive and practical.
LS: Do you think that cultural heritage would be affected as the band music is flourishing is day by day?
Salman: No. If we love our traditional music and then reform, there will be no adverse impact.
LS. What is the different between Dil Dil Pakistan and Ghoom Tana?
Salman: The former represents western music and later modern style as been mixed. Ghoom Tana' is a project on HIV/Aids and friendship. I wrote and composed the song and then looked for the ideal female voice from India who could complement the melody and the lyrics. Shubha Mudgal's got this ethereal voice and she seemed to be the perfect choice. I got goose bumps in the studio when I recorded with her. I was also very honoured and deeply touched by Naseerudin Shah agreeing to do the voice over and Nandita Da She was perfect for the part because she really believes in the message behind it.
LS: Does the Junoon music come out of the Sufi’s music?
Salman: Junoon's Sufi leanings were inspired mainly due to my work and association with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I studied and performed with him and he has remained a lasting influence. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan always said to me, “Do not forget your own traditional music.” I think Bangladesh has a lot of traditional music and I am really proud of my own culture. I don't like musical labels because they are usually inaccurate. The Beatles played all kinds of music inspired from the west and the east yet they were always known as a pop/rock band. That's the way I see Junoon - a band that plays music to express joy, freedom and love.
LS: Sate details of your band members?
Salman: The other member of Junoon is Sabir Zafar, lyricist of the band Junnon, who has become one of Pakistan's leading lyricists. Sabir and Salman collaborated to produce such classic poetry as "Sayonee" and "Mitti". He returned to form on "Gharaj Baras". The band producer, John Alec has produced every Junoon album beginning with Azadi. John mastered Parvaaz at Abbey Road studios in the U.K, and regularly tours with Junoon in all international appearances. John has established his own picturesque studios overlooking the Hudson River in Grandview, New York, where Junoon recorded and produced many tracks from this album. Road Manager, Yousuf, manages tour and is a component of the Junoon machine. Manager Shehryar Ahmad set up Junoon.com in 1996. His goal is to get Junoon as a number one singer on the Billboard charts. S. Ishtiaq Ahmed is the Sound/Monitor Engineer.
LS: How do you think that President Parveez Musharraf is also a Junoon’s fan?
Salman: He is really a great—a great leader. He promotes the young musician and also inspires them. Few months ago, the Royal Albert Hall with President Musharraf as Chief Guest saw a concert. At Albert Hall he rolled up his sleeves and stood up and clapped to the encore of 'Jazba-e-Junoon’, which he specially requested.
LS: You are also an actor, so how do you feel as an actor?
Salman: Basically I am a composer and a singer, so mostly I comfort with music.
Salman Ahmad's documentary "It's My Country Too" was telecasted, BBC2 on 15th March. The character is relating, the Muslims living in the United States.
LS. Which kind of song do you like to listen?
Salman: I listen to a lot of Blues, rock, Qawwali and Old Bollywood film songs. My CD collection includes Robert Johnson, John Lee hooker, Led Zeppelin, Beatles, Radiohead, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and R.D.Burman.
Interview by : Nafiza Dawla
Photo : Arman Hossain Bappy
By Nafiza Dawla
Wed, 16 Mar 2005, 11:44:00
From New Nation Online Edition
Junoon, a Pakistani rock and roll band group. It is one of the biggest rock and roll, and band music groups of Asia. The word Junoon means obsession. Salman Ahmed and Ali Azmat are the two vocalist of the group. Formed in 1990, it released albums namely Junoon (1991), Kashmakash, Talaash (1993), Inquilab (1996), Azadi (1997), Andaz (2001), Pervaaz (2002), Ishaq (2002) and Deewar (2003). Junoon received award for outstanding achievements in Music and Peace by UNESCO. The BBC honoured the group with an award for Contribution to Asian Culture at the exclusive BBC Asian Awards Ceremony.
Salman Ahmed, songwriter/lead guitarist/composer, born in Lahore, Pakistan, obtained graduation in medical science from reputed King Edward Medical College. Salman Ahmad is most likely the only the living rock star, who is also a medical doctor .The New Nation got an opportunity to take his interview despite his busy time in Bangladesh as the group performed several musical programmes in Dhaka and Chittagong.
Life Style (The New Nation) : Would you please make a comment on your performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: We are satisfied with our performance in Bangladesh. It is a thrill to sing in front of 40,000 spectators. We visited Bangladesh thrice in the past but the experience we got this time was unique.
LS: Do you think that you have been succeeded to satisfy the audience by your performances?
Salman: Yes. The crowds cheered us every moment, which is rare even in our own country.
LS: What were the purposes behind your visit and performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: Bangladesh is one of the countries in our world tour.
LS: What’s your next plan?
Salman:To release an album titled Infinity in two months time
LS: How did you feel Bangladeshi people during your short visit?
Salman: The Bangladeshi people were friendly to us. Whenever we went, they greeted us and became pleased at our performance. They are really fond of music.
LS: Do you find any difference in the culture arena of Bangladesh between your previous visits and the present?
Salman: The audience responded to us this time more cordially than before. They have become more progressive and practical.
LS: Do you think that cultural heritage would be affected as the band music is flourishing is day by day?
Salman: No. If we love our traditional music and then reform, there will be no adverse impact.
LS. What is the different between Dil Dil Pakistan and Ghoom Tana?
Salman: The former represents western music and later modern style as been mixed. Ghoom Tana' is a project on HIV/Aids and friendship. I wrote and composed the song and then looked for the ideal female voice from India who could complement the melody and the lyrics. Shubha Mudgal's got this ethereal voice and she seemed to be the perfect choice. I got goose bumps in the studio when I recorded with her. I was also very honoured and deeply touched by Naseerudin Shah agreeing to do the voice over and Nandita Da She was perfect for the part because she really believes in the message behind it.
LS: Does the Junoon music come out of the Sufi’s music?
Salman: Junoon's Sufi leanings were inspired mainly due to my work and association with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I studied and performed with him and he has remained a lasting influence. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan always said to me, “Do not forget your own traditional music.” I think Bangladesh has a lot of traditional music and I am really proud of my own culture. I don't like musical labels because they are usually inaccurate. The Beatles played all kinds of music inspired from the west and the east yet they were always known as a pop/rock band. That's the way I see Junoon - a band that plays music to express joy, freedom and love.
LS: Sate details of your band members?
Salman: The other member of Junoon is Sabir Zafar, lyricist of the band Junnon, who has become one of Pakistan's leading lyricists. Sabir and Salman collaborated to produce such classic poetry as "Sayonee" and "Mitti". He returned to form on "Gharaj Baras". The band producer, John Alec has produced every Junoon album beginning with Azadi. John mastered Parvaaz at Abbey Road studios in the U.K, and regularly tours with Junoon in all international appearances. John has established his own picturesque studios overlooking the Hudson River in Grandview, New York, where Junoon recorded and produced many tracks from this album. Road Manager, Yousuf, manages tour and is a component of the Junoon machine. Manager Shehryar Ahmad set up Junoon.com in 1996. His goal is to get Junoon as a number one singer on the Billboard charts. S. Ishtiaq Ahmed is the Sound/Monitor Engineer.
LS: How do you think that President Parveez Musharraf is also a Junoon’s fan?
Salman: He is really a great—a great leader. He promotes the young musician and also inspires them. Few months ago, the Royal Albert Hall with President Musharraf as Chief Guest saw a concert. At Albert Hall he rolled up his sleeves and stood up and clapped to the encore of 'Jazba-e-Junoon’, which he specially requested.
LS: You are also an actor, so how do you feel as an actor?
Salman: Basically I am a composer and a singer, so mostly I comfort with music.
Salman Ahmad's documentary "It's My Country Too" was telecasted, BBC2 on 15th March. The character is relating, the Muslims living in the United States.
LS. Which kind of song do you like to listen?
Salman: I listen to a lot of Blues, rock, Qawwali and Old Bollywood film songs. My CD collection includes Robert Johnson, John Lee hooker, Led Zeppelin, Beatles, Radiohead, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and R.D.Burman.
Interview by : Nafiza Dawla
Photo : Arman Hossain Bappy
Aaj Rung Hai
Aaj Rung Hai
I came across this Urdu poem and the story of its origin
while looking into the background of an article I read in
New Straits Times - Persekutuan,Malaysia, titled "Pakistani colour and couture" on or before October 24, 2005. Unfortunately I can no longer locate the article I read. But, if you click on the title here, you will
get to the page that is the source of the material below and also that contains
links to two audio files of the poem.
Aaj rung hai maan
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri
Moray mehboob kay ghar rang hai ri
Sajan milaavra, sajan milaavra,
Sajan milaavra moray aangan ko
Aaj rung hai........
Mohay pir paayo Nijamudin aulia
Nijamudin aulia mohay pir payoo
Des bades mein dhoondh phiree hoon
Toraa rung man bhayo ri......,
Jag ujiyaaro, jagat ujiyaaro,
Main to aiso rang aur nahin dekhi ray
Main to jab dekhun moray sung hai,
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri.
(It is almost impossible to translate the word rung into English. It is not colour, hue or anything like that. May be something like glow or brilliance or gorgeousness may come close to it. There are many different legends explaining the use of this word in the qawwali. Most of them point to the fact that [the great Sufi and writer in both Persian and Urdu] Amir Khusrau sang these line ecstatically when he came back to his mother after meeting Nizamuddin Aulia [his Sufi master] for the first time, after a long search for an ideal sufi master [this being] reason why the lines are addressed to the mother.)
What a glow everywhere I see, Oh mother, what a glow;
Ive found the beloved, yes I found him,
In my courtyard;
I have found my pir Nizamuddin Aulia.
I roamed around the entire world,
looking for an ideal beloved;
And finally this face has enchanted my heart.
The whole world has been opened for me,
Never seen a glow like this before.
Whenever I see now, he is with me,
Oh beloved, please dye me in yourself;
Dye me in the colour of the spring, beloved;
What a glow, Oh, what a glow.
I came across this Urdu poem and the story of its origin
while looking into the background of an article I read in
New Straits Times - Persekutuan,Malaysia, titled "Pakistani colour and couture" on or before October 24, 2005. Unfortunately I can no longer locate the article I read. But, if you click on the title here, you will
get to the page that is the source of the material below and also that contains
links to two audio files of the poem.
Aaj rung hai maan
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri
Moray mehboob kay ghar rang hai ri
Sajan milaavra, sajan milaavra,
Sajan milaavra moray aangan ko
Aaj rung hai........
Mohay pir paayo Nijamudin aulia
Nijamudin aulia mohay pir payoo
Des bades mein dhoondh phiree hoon
Toraa rung man bhayo ri......,
Jag ujiyaaro, jagat ujiyaaro,
Main to aiso rang aur nahin dekhi ray
Main to jab dekhun moray sung hai,
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri.
(It is almost impossible to translate the word rung into English. It is not colour, hue or anything like that. May be something like glow or brilliance or gorgeousness may come close to it. There are many different legends explaining the use of this word in the qawwali. Most of them point to the fact that [the great Sufi and writer in both Persian and Urdu] Amir Khusrau sang these line ecstatically when he came back to his mother after meeting Nizamuddin Aulia [his Sufi master] for the first time, after a long search for an ideal sufi master [this being] reason why the lines are addressed to the mother.)
What a glow everywhere I see, Oh mother, what a glow;
Ive found the beloved, yes I found him,
In my courtyard;
I have found my pir Nizamuddin Aulia.
I roamed around the entire world,
looking for an ideal beloved;
And finally this face has enchanted my heart.
The whole world has been opened for me,
Never seen a glow like this before.
Whenever I see now, he is with me,
Oh beloved, please dye me in yourself;
Dye me in the colour of the spring, beloved;
What a glow, Oh, what a glow.
Mahan got its name from Sassanid governor [old news]
Mahan got its name from Sassanid governor
TEHRAN, Oct. 17 (MNA) -- The green city of Mahan in the mainly arid Kerman Province dates back to the time of Sassanid King Khosrow Anushirvan.
The name of Mahan is probably rooted in the name of Azar-Mahan who was appointed by Anushirvan to rule the regions of Kerman and Sistan-Baluchestan.
The director of Kerman Studies Center, Seyyed Mohammad-Ali Golabzadeh, who has recently released his book “Mahan”, writes that the rule of Azar-Mahan might be the only reason for choosing the name Mahan.
Azar-Mahan was an influential governor who performed great works in Kerman and Mahan with the support of the Sassanid king. His wide economic and civic activities in Mahan improved the finical situation of the people during his governorship, such that they gradually were able to help other cities of Iran as well.
Azar-Mahan died during the reign of Hormoz, the son of Anushirvan.
Golabzadeh has written the book in five chapters, “Name and Natural Geography of Mahan”, “Mahan over the History”, “Mahan in the Travelogues”, “Shah Nematollah Vali Monument”, and “Cultural Status of Mahan”.
He points to the Monument of Shah Nematollah Vali, the poet, sage, Sufi and founder of an order of dervishes, as the main reason for the fame of the city.
Sufi Shah Nureddin Nematollah Vali was born in Aleppo (now in northern Syria), spending much of his early life in Iraq including seven years in Mecca. He then traveled to Samarqand, Herat and Yazd before finally settling in Mahan in 1406. He is said to have lived for one hundred years, from 1331 to 1431, and is the founder of the Nematollahi order of Sufi dervishes who still gather at the sanctuary in Mahan.
Thirty five kilometers south of Kerman, there lies the city of Mahan with its gardens and monuments. Shahzadeh Garden is worth a visit with its charming gardens and a collection of pools leading to a large palace. The palace was once the summer residence of a prince though nobody is really sure of his identity.
RM/ML
TEHRAN, Oct. 17 (MNA) -- The green city of Mahan in the mainly arid Kerman Province dates back to the time of Sassanid King Khosrow Anushirvan.
The name of Mahan is probably rooted in the name of Azar-Mahan who was appointed by Anushirvan to rule the regions of Kerman and Sistan-Baluchestan.
The director of Kerman Studies Center, Seyyed Mohammad-Ali Golabzadeh, who has recently released his book “Mahan”, writes that the rule of Azar-Mahan might be the only reason for choosing the name Mahan.
Azar-Mahan was an influential governor who performed great works in Kerman and Mahan with the support of the Sassanid king. His wide economic and civic activities in Mahan improved the finical situation of the people during his governorship, such that they gradually were able to help other cities of Iran as well.
Azar-Mahan died during the reign of Hormoz, the son of Anushirvan.
Golabzadeh has written the book in five chapters, “Name and Natural Geography of Mahan”, “Mahan over the History”, “Mahan in the Travelogues”, “Shah Nematollah Vali Monument”, and “Cultural Status of Mahan”.
He points to the Monument of Shah Nematollah Vali, the poet, sage, Sufi and founder of an order of dervishes, as the main reason for the fame of the city.
Sufi Shah Nureddin Nematollah Vali was born in Aleppo (now in northern Syria), spending much of his early life in Iraq including seven years in Mecca. He then traveled to Samarqand, Herat and Yazd before finally settling in Mahan in 1406. He is said to have lived for one hundred years, from 1331 to 1431, and is the founder of the Nematollahi order of Sufi dervishes who still gather at the sanctuary in Mahan.
Thirty five kilometers south of Kerman, there lies the city of Mahan with its gardens and monuments. Shahzadeh Garden is worth a visit with its charming gardens and a collection of pools leading to a large palace. The palace was once the summer residence of a prince though nobody is really sure of his identity.
RM/ML
Writing a Fugue of Mystics, Misery and Memoir [old news]
Writing a Fugue of Mystics, Misery and Memoir
PROFILE- a review of Rafi Zabor's *I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir*
By Marcela Valdes
October 14, 2005
In "I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir" Rafi Zabor's heady, 472-page memoir, he portrays his life as a series of unpredictable transformations. The first major life twist occurred in 1969, the summer of love, when Zabor was 23 and fresh from Brooklyn College. It was then that he left his parents' home in Brooklyn, where he'd been raised as a secularized Jew, and moved to Berkeley, Calif. There he took up with a group of "pseudo-Gurdjieff" Sufis who followed the guidance of a mathematician-turned-acid-dealer.
The second twist occurred in 1985, when Zabor, an unemployed writer in his late 30s who had a novel under contract, a rapidly diminishing bank account and a severe case of writer's block, returned to the family home to watch over his dying parents. Though they passed away within months of each other, in 1986 and '87, he still lives in their old Kensington apartment.
"Subliminally it's probably not the best place for me to be, but I don't notice it," Zabor said in an interview at the apartment. His parents' old flock wallpaper still hangs in the hallway; their furniture decorates most of the living room. In "I, Wabenzi," Zabor declares that he's never "been that keen on the symbols of worldly status," and his apartment bears him out; the whole residence seems to have turned gray. Though twice in his life he has received windfalls of $200,000 — once as an inheritance from his parents, the other after winning the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction for his novel "The Bear Comes Home" (W.W. Norton & Company, 1997) — it appears that the only expensive items in the house are a stereo and a drum set. There's a large hole in the carpet by the sofa, and the cushions at one end of the couch hold a permanent dent that marks the spot where Zabor likes to sit while he writes.
To understand how Zabor got from Brooklyn to Berkeley and back again takes some doing. His conversation isn't particularly linear, and his memoir is spread over four volumes, of which "I, Wabenzi" is only the first. It covers his childhood in Brooklyn and part of his time in California, as well as his first year in a Sufi commune in England during the 1970s and last years of his parents' lives, but its thoughts and scenes appear by association and not chronology. The memoir's future volumes, Zabor said, will cover some of the gaps left in this one — including his father's frustrated ambition to become a major Yiddish novelist. They'll also recount the road trip he took in a used Mercedes after his parents' death — from England to Belgium to Turkey to Israel. ("Wabenzi" is Swahili slang for people who own Benzes.)
"I'd rather be a musician than a writer," Zabor told me, and it's clear that music exerts a big influence on the style and structure of his book. The chapters are shaped as fugues: In them, the lives of at least a dozen people are spliced together for maximum symphonic effect. For example, take Zabor's account of visiting his mother's sister, Rose. The scene begins in the 1980s, shortly after his parents' death, when an awkward comment from Rose provokes Zabor to stare down at his coffee and bite into a "tight curl of rugelach," which works as a sort of Brooklyn madeleine.
As he chews it, Zabor remembers how, as a boy in the 1950s, he loved Friday mornings. That was when he could escape next door to watch Rose bake delicious challah, coffee cake and tsibeleh kichlach. "Fry-day is Bake-day!" he'd squeal as he ran down the hall. And from Rose's sweet-smelling kitchen springs the memory of her genteel home and the contrast of his parents' apartment, where the furniture was less expensive and his mother was "an inexplicably violent presence" given to screaming fits and paranoid accusations that routinely left her son shaking with helpless hysteria.
Understandably, Zabor isn't eager to connect such traumatic childhood experiences to his later embrace of Sufism. He is, after all, a true believer. On the side table next to his writing spot on the sofa, framed photographs of his gurus — Mahmut Rauf and Bülent Rauf, two Turkish brothers who exemplified worldliness and asceticism, respectively — watch over the dark room. Zabor speaks of them with the sort of teasing affection obviously meant as a guard against complete adoration. "He looks like someone out of P.G. Wodehouse," he said, admiring Bülent's cheerful photograph. "He looks like Uncle Fred in the springtime."
But there's no denying that Beshara, the commune organized around Bülent in the 1970s, provided Zabor with the kind of nurturing, open-minded family he never had in Brooklyn. Zabor's body had turned against him on his drive to California in '69. His circulation shut down, so he was freezing even on the hottest summer days. He said that this and other ailments were caused by "horrible feelings of guilt and responsibility." In his memoir, Zabor attributes these emotions to a girlfriend's abortion, but chronology suggests they were tied more closely to his decision to leave New York despite his father's objections.
At Beshara, Zabor recovered his well-being and discovered the new self he longed for when he packed his bags in Brooklyn. In the hands of a younger or more ideological writer, the commune surely would have appeared as an idyll of serenity and good will. At 59, however, Zabor is too savvy and experienced for that. He entered Beshara with the skepticism of a born-and-bred New Yorker, marveling at the director's studied theatricality and noticing the social politics that divided the commune into rival, high-schoolish cliques.
Eight months after his first transforming mystical vision there, Zabor recalled, "the whole place went kaflooey." Beshara's members overthrew its directors and reformed in Scotland, leaving behind a wake of traumatized lives. Zabor is saving that story for the second, as yet unpublished, volume of his memoir. But in "I, Wabenzi" he does describe the coup's aftereffects. One of the commune's old stars winds up as a crude alcoholic in 1980s London. Meanwhile another one nurses a heroin addiction in New York's East Village. And, around the same time in Brooklyn, Zabor himself was paralyzed with grief from his parents' deaths. Only a joy ride across Europe to Turkey, he thought, could set him right again.
It's tempting to point out that Zabor's new religion didn't save him or his friends from these miseries. But then again what religion does? And it's easy to finger his unhappy childhood and track a path from there to his conversion. But, in the end, you have to admire Zabor's resistance to reductive cause-and-effect. At Beshara, he learned, many of the members were Jewish. Not all of them came from families as searing as his. What united them was a belief in the truth of mystical experience — visions, trances, disembodied voices — an interest in Bülent, and an appreciation for the gnomic writings of a 12th-century Sufi theologian named Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi. Who are we to say that they are wrong?
Marcela Valdes is a book review editor for Publishers Weekly. Her writing also has appeared in Bookforum, The Believer and the San Francisco Chronicle.
PROFILE- a review of Rafi Zabor's *I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir*
By Marcela Valdes
October 14, 2005
In "I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir" Rafi Zabor's heady, 472-page memoir, he portrays his life as a series of unpredictable transformations. The first major life twist occurred in 1969, the summer of love, when Zabor was 23 and fresh from Brooklyn College. It was then that he left his parents' home in Brooklyn, where he'd been raised as a secularized Jew, and moved to Berkeley, Calif. There he took up with a group of "pseudo-Gurdjieff" Sufis who followed the guidance of a mathematician-turned-acid-dealer.
The second twist occurred in 1985, when Zabor, an unemployed writer in his late 30s who had a novel under contract, a rapidly diminishing bank account and a severe case of writer's block, returned to the family home to watch over his dying parents. Though they passed away within months of each other, in 1986 and '87, he still lives in their old Kensington apartment.
"Subliminally it's probably not the best place for me to be, but I don't notice it," Zabor said in an interview at the apartment. His parents' old flock wallpaper still hangs in the hallway; their furniture decorates most of the living room. In "I, Wabenzi," Zabor declares that he's never "been that keen on the symbols of worldly status," and his apartment bears him out; the whole residence seems to have turned gray. Though twice in his life he has received windfalls of $200,000 — once as an inheritance from his parents, the other after winning the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction for his novel "The Bear Comes Home" (W.W. Norton & Company, 1997) — it appears that the only expensive items in the house are a stereo and a drum set. There's a large hole in the carpet by the sofa, and the cushions at one end of the couch hold a permanent dent that marks the spot where Zabor likes to sit while he writes.
To understand how Zabor got from Brooklyn to Berkeley and back again takes some doing. His conversation isn't particularly linear, and his memoir is spread over four volumes, of which "I, Wabenzi" is only the first. It covers his childhood in Brooklyn and part of his time in California, as well as his first year in a Sufi commune in England during the 1970s and last years of his parents' lives, but its thoughts and scenes appear by association and not chronology. The memoir's future volumes, Zabor said, will cover some of the gaps left in this one — including his father's frustrated ambition to become a major Yiddish novelist. They'll also recount the road trip he took in a used Mercedes after his parents' death — from England to Belgium to Turkey to Israel. ("Wabenzi" is Swahili slang for people who own Benzes.)
"I'd rather be a musician than a writer," Zabor told me, and it's clear that music exerts a big influence on the style and structure of his book. The chapters are shaped as fugues: In them, the lives of at least a dozen people are spliced together for maximum symphonic effect. For example, take Zabor's account of visiting his mother's sister, Rose. The scene begins in the 1980s, shortly after his parents' death, when an awkward comment from Rose provokes Zabor to stare down at his coffee and bite into a "tight curl of rugelach," which works as a sort of Brooklyn madeleine.
As he chews it, Zabor remembers how, as a boy in the 1950s, he loved Friday mornings. That was when he could escape next door to watch Rose bake delicious challah, coffee cake and tsibeleh kichlach. "Fry-day is Bake-day!" he'd squeal as he ran down the hall. And from Rose's sweet-smelling kitchen springs the memory of her genteel home and the contrast of his parents' apartment, where the furniture was less expensive and his mother was "an inexplicably violent presence" given to screaming fits and paranoid accusations that routinely left her son shaking with helpless hysteria.
Understandably, Zabor isn't eager to connect such traumatic childhood experiences to his later embrace of Sufism. He is, after all, a true believer. On the side table next to his writing spot on the sofa, framed photographs of his gurus — Mahmut Rauf and Bülent Rauf, two Turkish brothers who exemplified worldliness and asceticism, respectively — watch over the dark room. Zabor speaks of them with the sort of teasing affection obviously meant as a guard against complete adoration. "He looks like someone out of P.G. Wodehouse," he said, admiring Bülent's cheerful photograph. "He looks like Uncle Fred in the springtime."
But there's no denying that Beshara, the commune organized around Bülent in the 1970s, provided Zabor with the kind of nurturing, open-minded family he never had in Brooklyn. Zabor's body had turned against him on his drive to California in '69. His circulation shut down, so he was freezing even on the hottest summer days. He said that this and other ailments were caused by "horrible feelings of guilt and responsibility." In his memoir, Zabor attributes these emotions to a girlfriend's abortion, but chronology suggests they were tied more closely to his decision to leave New York despite his father's objections.
At Beshara, Zabor recovered his well-being and discovered the new self he longed for when he packed his bags in Brooklyn. In the hands of a younger or more ideological writer, the commune surely would have appeared as an idyll of serenity and good will. At 59, however, Zabor is too savvy and experienced for that. He entered Beshara with the skepticism of a born-and-bred New Yorker, marveling at the director's studied theatricality and noticing the social politics that divided the commune into rival, high-schoolish cliques.
Eight months after his first transforming mystical vision there, Zabor recalled, "the whole place went kaflooey." Beshara's members overthrew its directors and reformed in Scotland, leaving behind a wake of traumatized lives. Zabor is saving that story for the second, as yet unpublished, volume of his memoir. But in "I, Wabenzi" he does describe the coup's aftereffects. One of the commune's old stars winds up as a crude alcoholic in 1980s London. Meanwhile another one nurses a heroin addiction in New York's East Village. And, around the same time in Brooklyn, Zabor himself was paralyzed with grief from his parents' deaths. Only a joy ride across Europe to Turkey, he thought, could set him right again.
It's tempting to point out that Zabor's new religion didn't save him or his friends from these miseries. But then again what religion does? And it's easy to finger his unhappy childhood and track a path from there to his conversion. But, in the end, you have to admire Zabor's resistance to reductive cause-and-effect. At Beshara, he learned, many of the members were Jewish. Not all of them came from families as searing as his. What united them was a belief in the truth of mystical experience — visions, trances, disembodied voices — an interest in Bülent, and an appreciation for the gnomic writings of a 12th-century Sufi theologian named Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi. Who are we to say that they are wrong?
Marcela Valdes is a book review editor for Publishers Weekly. Her writing also has appeared in Bookforum, The Believer and the San Francisco Chronicle.
Central Asia: Masters Try To Revive Old Ways Of Teaching Traditional Music [old news]
Central Asia: Masters Try To Revive Old Ways Of Teaching Traditional Music
By Janyl Chytyrbaeva October 13, 2005
Musicians from across Central Asia gathered on the shores of Lake Issyk-Kul in eastern Kyrgyzstan recently for a workshop on traditional music. For 12 days in August, more than 100 students and their teachers played songs beneath the snow- capped Tien Shan Mountains near the Chinese border. They also explored ways traditional music has been passed down through the generations in Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan. The workshop departs from the way modern Western notation used to teach music in Central Asia during the Soviet era. As RFE/RL reports, it is part of broader attempts by Central Asian masters to revive ancient oral musical traditions that suffered under the Soviet education system.
Chok-Tal, Kyrgyzstan; 13 October 2005 (RFE/RL) -- One of the most fascinating aspects of the Summer School of Traditional Music in eastern Kyrgyzstan is the way it has brought together ancient musical ideas and teaching methods from different parts of Central Asia.
Nuriddin Rakhmonkulov is a 15-year-old from northern Tajikistan who is obsessed with his local musical heritage. His hometown of Khodjent is at the western edge of the Ferghana Valley -- a region that includes parts of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. It is a place where ancient Persian and Turkic cultures have been blending together for centuries.
Rakhmonkulov is studying a six-cycle musical form known as shashmakom. These instrumental and vocal traditions date back to the 7th century and have ties to Sufism -- the mystic branch of Islam that also incorporates influences of ancient shamanism.
Rakhmonkulov sings of a new spring coming, a flower bed that begins to flourish after a long winter, and blossoms that inspire other flowers to bloom:
The song poetically captures the essence of the summer music camp. The students and teachers there have come from special music schools across Central Asia -- and they are inspiring each other as they try to revive the ancient oral methods of teaching music that had been neglected under the Soviet system.
Rakhmankulov's own school is a center for musical prodigies called Hunar -- which means "art" or "talent" in Tajik. Others at the workshop come from similar schools in Dushanbe, Bishkek, Almaty, and Kazakhstan's western city of Kzyl-Orda.
Almas Almatov is a famous performer and teacher who traveled to Lake Issyk-Kul with four of his students from the Turan school and research center in Kzyl-Orda.
Formed after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Almatov's institution has rigorous entry standards that aim to preserve ancient Kazakh artistic traditions. One requirement is a family lineage of musicians dating back at least seven generations. Students also must demonstrate profound talent.
Almatov says his school also is using ancient teaching principles where masters called "ustads" pass on the music and legends of Kazakh folklore directly through oral instruction, rather than the modern European method of written notation introduced under the Soviet education system.
"Our [method of teaching] the traditional singing called 'jyr' has been acknowledged by the Ministry of Education of Kazakhstan and standardized. So it is now being taught as a subject at specialized schools for music. This year, five of our students graduated [after completing this new program at the Turan school.] We are planning to accept another 10 new students [this year]," Almatov says.
Gulshat Baisabaeva is a professor of musicology at the Kyrgyz National Conservatory in Bishkek who joined the workshop. Baisabaeva also teaches about "ulamysh" -- ancient Kyrgyz myths and legends -- at the Ustat-shakirt Center in the Kyrgyz capital:
"We work like our Kyrgyz ancestors taught us. I am not a conservative. Let young people know all about the world's music -- oriental or modern Western music. I am proud of young talented musicians who can recognize Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' in the middle of the night. But sometimes, people have arranged the traditional and tragic Kyrgyz melody of 'Sarynjy Bokoi' in a way that has girls dancing to it. This is not right. We should start by learning about our own history," Baisabaeva said.
Contrary to what is typical in general education in Central Asia, where a majority of school teachers are women, most "ustads" tend to be older men. One younger master from Tajikistan who took part in the workshop was 26-year-old Tojiddin Rakhimov.
Having studied as a child himself under Muzafor Mukhidinov -- one of Tajikistan's revered masters -- Rakhimov tells RFE/RL he feels it is now his turn to pass along the knowledge to young talents. "I myself grew up as an orphan," he says. "That is why I love children very much. When I learned this art of music, I wanted to work with children. I love to teach what I know to the children."
Two of Rakhimov's students from the Navo music center in Dushanbe traveled with him to the summer workshop at Lake Issyk-Kul.
One is Latofat Abdurashidova, a 7-year-old girl who memorizes traditional Persian poetry set to music. Another is a 7-year-old boy named Faridun Mamadaliev. Together the children are studying "aruz" -- a system of quantitative poetics used in classical verse -- like pentameter or hexameter. They sing to the accompaniment of Rakhimov on a long-necked Central Asian lute called a kashgar rubab.
(RFE/RL correspondent Ron Synovitz contributed to this report.)
By Janyl Chytyrbaeva October 13, 2005
Musicians from across Central Asia gathered on the shores of Lake Issyk-Kul in eastern Kyrgyzstan recently for a workshop on traditional music. For 12 days in August, more than 100 students and their teachers played songs beneath the snow- capped Tien Shan Mountains near the Chinese border. They also explored ways traditional music has been passed down through the generations in Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan. The workshop departs from the way modern Western notation used to teach music in Central Asia during the Soviet era. As RFE/RL reports, it is part of broader attempts by Central Asian masters to revive ancient oral musical traditions that suffered under the Soviet education system.
Chok-Tal, Kyrgyzstan; 13 October 2005 (RFE/RL) -- One of the most fascinating aspects of the Summer School of Traditional Music in eastern Kyrgyzstan is the way it has brought together ancient musical ideas and teaching methods from different parts of Central Asia.
Nuriddin Rakhmonkulov is a 15-year-old from northern Tajikistan who is obsessed with his local musical heritage. His hometown of Khodjent is at the western edge of the Ferghana Valley -- a region that includes parts of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. It is a place where ancient Persian and Turkic cultures have been blending together for centuries.
Rakhmonkulov is studying a six-cycle musical form known as shashmakom. These instrumental and vocal traditions date back to the 7th century and have ties to Sufism -- the mystic branch of Islam that also incorporates influences of ancient shamanism.
Rakhmonkulov sings of a new spring coming, a flower bed that begins to flourish after a long winter, and blossoms that inspire other flowers to bloom:
The song poetically captures the essence of the summer music camp. The students and teachers there have come from special music schools across Central Asia -- and they are inspiring each other as they try to revive the ancient oral methods of teaching music that had been neglected under the Soviet system.
Rakhmankulov's own school is a center for musical prodigies called Hunar -- which means "art" or "talent" in Tajik. Others at the workshop come from similar schools in Dushanbe, Bishkek, Almaty, and Kazakhstan's western city of Kzyl-Orda.
Almas Almatov is a famous performer and teacher who traveled to Lake Issyk-Kul with four of his students from the Turan school and research center in Kzyl-Orda.
Formed after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Almatov's institution has rigorous entry standards that aim to preserve ancient Kazakh artistic traditions. One requirement is a family lineage of musicians dating back at least seven generations. Students also must demonstrate profound talent.
Almatov says his school also is using ancient teaching principles where masters called "ustads" pass on the music and legends of Kazakh folklore directly through oral instruction, rather than the modern European method of written notation introduced under the Soviet education system.
"Our [method of teaching] the traditional singing called 'jyr' has been acknowledged by the Ministry of Education of Kazakhstan and standardized. So it is now being taught as a subject at specialized schools for music. This year, five of our students graduated [after completing this new program at the Turan school.] We are planning to accept another 10 new students [this year]," Almatov says.
Gulshat Baisabaeva is a professor of musicology at the Kyrgyz National Conservatory in Bishkek who joined the workshop. Baisabaeva also teaches about "ulamysh" -- ancient Kyrgyz myths and legends -- at the Ustat-shakirt Center in the Kyrgyz capital:
"We work like our Kyrgyz ancestors taught us. I am not a conservative. Let young people know all about the world's music -- oriental or modern Western music. I am proud of young talented musicians who can recognize Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' in the middle of the night. But sometimes, people have arranged the traditional and tragic Kyrgyz melody of 'Sarynjy Bokoi' in a way that has girls dancing to it. This is not right. We should start by learning about our own history," Baisabaeva said.
Contrary to what is typical in general education in Central Asia, where a majority of school teachers are women, most "ustads" tend to be older men. One younger master from Tajikistan who took part in the workshop was 26-year-old Tojiddin Rakhimov.
Having studied as a child himself under Muzafor Mukhidinov -- one of Tajikistan's revered masters -- Rakhimov tells RFE/RL he feels it is now his turn to pass along the knowledge to young talents. "I myself grew up as an orphan," he says. "That is why I love children very much. When I learned this art of music, I wanted to work with children. I love to teach what I know to the children."
Two of Rakhimov's students from the Navo music center in Dushanbe traveled with him to the summer workshop at Lake Issyk-Kul.
One is Latofat Abdurashidova, a 7-year-old girl who memorizes traditional Persian poetry set to music. Another is a 7-year-old boy named Faridun Mamadaliev. Together the children are studying "aruz" -- a system of quantitative poetics used in classical verse -- like pentameter or hexameter. They sing to the accompaniment of Rakhimov on a long-necked Central Asian lute called a kashgar rubab.
(RFE/RL correspondent Ron Synovitz contributed to this report.)
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Pakistanis can now make it to Ajmer {old news]
Posted on 04 Oct 2005 # IANS NewKerala.com
Pakistanis can now make it to Ajmer
By M.R. Narayan Swamy, Islamabad: Come January and Pakistanis will be able to travel to the famed Sufi shrine of Ajmer in Rajasthan by train.
The train service between Khokhrapar in Pakistan and Munabao in India is to start in January 2006, India's External Affairs Minister K. Natwar Singh informed Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf at Rawalpindi.
This will make travel easy for Pakistanis intending to visit the Ajmer shrine, which is revered by millions in the subcontinent.
Musharraf travelled to the shrine and prayed there for peace between India and Pakistan during his visit to India in April.
Pakistanis can now make it to Ajmer
By M.R. Narayan Swamy, Islamabad: Come January and Pakistanis will be able to travel to the famed Sufi shrine of Ajmer in Rajasthan by train.
The train service between Khokhrapar in Pakistan and Munabao in India is to start in January 2006, India's External Affairs Minister K. Natwar Singh informed Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf at Rawalpindi.
This will make travel easy for Pakistanis intending to visit the Ajmer shrine, which is revered by millions in the subcontinent.
Musharraf travelled to the shrine and prayed there for peace between India and Pakistan during his visit to India in April.
For India and Islam: Maulana Azad’s Vision of Religious Pluralism. [old news]
For India and Islam: Maulana Azad’s Vision of Religious Pluralism. By Yoginder Sikand. India Oct. 2, 2005
More than fifty years after ‘independence’, India is still struggling hard to come to terms with religious plurality. It is here that the example of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, one of the leading lights of the freedom movement, and one whose legacy is today little known, is particularly valuable. What is especially instructive about Azad's life was his firm faith in Islam as well as his passionate commitment to communal harmony and a secular state. In this he provided a firm rebuttal to both Hindu as well as Muslim communalists who believed that commitment to one’s religion by definition meant unrelenting hostility to other faiths and their adherents.
As his title suggests, Azad was trained as a Maulana, an orthodox scholar of Islamic law and religion. Like many of his age, Azad’s Islamic spirituality was deeply imbued a broadminded Sufi mysticism that was firmly rooted in Islamic tradition and, at the same time, comfortable with religious plurality. In some of Azad's writings one can even discern a celebration of religious diversity.
The most striking instance of this is an essay that he wrote in 1910 on the famous Sufi, Sarmad Shahid, who was executed by Aurangzeb after being charged with heresy. Sarmad actually had a male Hindu admirer, Abhay Chand, and for his love for Abhay Chand was but an expression of his deep love for God.Azad terms this relationship between the Muslim mystic and the Hindu man a manifestation of divine love, adding that through this Sarmad was able to reach the realm of truth which is far beyond what Azad described as empty debates on
‘belief’ and ‘disbelief’. Azad’s faith in the essential oneness of humankind and of all religions stemmed essentially from the Sufi concept of wahdat-al-wujud or ‘The Unity of Existence’. According to concept, the light of God is present everywhere and all of creation is His manifestation. As Azad so beautifully put it in his address to the Khilafat Congress in 1920, "Truth is one and the same everywhere, but it has various guises". The fatal mistake that human beings had made, however, Azad added, was that they had equated particular external forms this one Truth with the Truth itself, thus leading to endless religious quarrels.
In Azad's own words: "The misfortune is that the world worships mere terms and not their inner meaning”. "Thus”, he says, “though all may worship the same Truth, they will fight with each other on account of differences of the terms that they employ. If the veils of these externals and terms can be lifted so that Truth and Reality come before all unveiled, then, at once, all quarrels of this world will end, and all who quarrel will see that what all seek is one and the same".
Azad's commitment to the oneness of religion was itself deeply rooted in his own understanding of the Quran. The Quran mentions that God has sent prophets to every nation (qaum) without exception and that all of them, from Adam, the first, to Muhammad, the last, have taught the same religion – ‘the Surrender (to God)’ or al-Islam in Arabic. The difference in the message of these various prophets was in the externals or laws and rituals associated with this one religion or deen. The core of their message however, was one and the same—surrender to God and the performance of good deeds. As Azad put it in his commentary of the Quran, the Tarjuman-al Quran: "The Quran states that the difference which exist between one religion and another are not differences in deen, the basic spirit of religion, but simply in its outward form”. In a celebrated work of his entitled Ghubar-i- Khatir, Azad drew close parallels between these Sufi concepts and the idea of pantheism of as expounded in the Hindu philosophic scriptures, the Upanishads. If, at root, all religions reflected the same message, then, for Azad, there was no room in Islam for religious hatred and prejudice. As he wrote in his journal al- Hilal in 1913:
"Islam does not commend narrow-mindedness and racial and religious prejudice. It does not make the recognition of merit and virtue of human benevolence, mercy and love dependent upon and subject to distinctions of race and religion.
Rather, Islam actually teaches us to respect every man who is good, whatever his religion, and to be drawn towards merits and virtues, whatever be the religion or race of the person who possesses them. If human beings were to be free of religious prejudice, then how much more would God Himself have to be above such failings!”
Azad believed that all human beings, irrespective of religion, were creatures of God. God, he said, was, above all, the, ‘Sustainer’ (Rabb) of all people and He would reward them all for good deeds and not simply for belonging to one religious community or the other.
Azad's Islamic universalism led him on to fiercely oppose both Muslim as well as Hindu communalism that saw no place for a genuinely religiously plural and democratic independent India. This made him into a vehement opponent of the Pakistan scheme put forward in 1940 by the Muslim League and encouraged by the Hindu Mahasabha and Hindu chauvinist elements within the Congress Party. For him, as he put it in a speech in 1946, the very idea of dividing territories into ‘Pak’ (literally, ‘pure’) and ‘Na-Pak’ (impure') was itself un-Islamic.
Indeed, as he saw it, Partition would undoubtedly bad for India but it would, actually, prove to be even worse for the Muslims themselves. Azad believed that it was fanciful to imagine, as Muslim League leaders apparently did, that the mere fact of following the same religion could provide the base for a separate state for all Indian Muslims, mirroring the Hindu Mahsabha’s demand for Hindu Rashtra. In his book, “India Wins Freedom”, Azad went so far as to write that: "It is one of the greatest frauds on the people to suggest that religion can unite areas which are geographically, economically, linguistically and culturally different". For him the example of the Prophet Muhammad was itself revealing in this regard. After shifting to Medina from Mecca, the Prophet had entered into a pact with the Jews of Medina, bringing them and the Muslims into one ‘nation’ (ummat). Accordingly, Azad suggested that this itself showed that Islam allowed for Muslims and non-Muslims to live together in one country, and he used this to stress the need for a united India of Hindus, Muslims and others.
Azad's passionate pleas for religious harmony and a truly plural and democratic India, however, fell on deaf ears as India descended into a blood bath in 1947, instigated by Hindu and Muslim communal forces, including sections within Azad’s own Congress Party itself, and actively encouraged by the British. More than fifty years on, the lessons of history are yet to be learnt. And while fierce battles continue to erupt in the name of religion, memories of Azad's life-long commitment to genuine religiosity and religious large-heartedness no longer receive even lip-sympathy.
More than fifty years after ‘independence’, India is still struggling hard to come to terms with religious plurality. It is here that the example of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, one of the leading lights of the freedom movement, and one whose legacy is today little known, is particularly valuable. What is especially instructive about Azad's life was his firm faith in Islam as well as his passionate commitment to communal harmony and a secular state. In this he provided a firm rebuttal to both Hindu as well as Muslim communalists who believed that commitment to one’s religion by definition meant unrelenting hostility to other faiths and their adherents.
As his title suggests, Azad was trained as a Maulana, an orthodox scholar of Islamic law and religion. Like many of his age, Azad’s Islamic spirituality was deeply imbued a broadminded Sufi mysticism that was firmly rooted in Islamic tradition and, at the same time, comfortable with religious plurality. In some of Azad's writings one can even discern a celebration of religious diversity.
The most striking instance of this is an essay that he wrote in 1910 on the famous Sufi, Sarmad Shahid, who was executed by Aurangzeb after being charged with heresy. Sarmad actually had a male Hindu admirer, Abhay Chand, and for his love for Abhay Chand was but an expression of his deep love for God.Azad terms this relationship between the Muslim mystic and the Hindu man a manifestation of divine love, adding that through this Sarmad was able to reach the realm of truth which is far beyond what Azad described as empty debates on
‘belief’ and ‘disbelief’. Azad’s faith in the essential oneness of humankind and of all religions stemmed essentially from the Sufi concept of wahdat-al-wujud or ‘The Unity of Existence’. According to concept, the light of God is present everywhere and all of creation is His manifestation. As Azad so beautifully put it in his address to the Khilafat Congress in 1920, "Truth is one and the same everywhere, but it has various guises". The fatal mistake that human beings had made, however, Azad added, was that they had equated particular external forms this one Truth with the Truth itself, thus leading to endless religious quarrels.
In Azad's own words: "The misfortune is that the world worships mere terms and not their inner meaning”. "Thus”, he says, “though all may worship the same Truth, they will fight with each other on account of differences of the terms that they employ. If the veils of these externals and terms can be lifted so that Truth and Reality come before all unveiled, then, at once, all quarrels of this world will end, and all who quarrel will see that what all seek is one and the same".
Azad's commitment to the oneness of religion was itself deeply rooted in his own understanding of the Quran. The Quran mentions that God has sent prophets to every nation (qaum) without exception and that all of them, from Adam, the first, to Muhammad, the last, have taught the same religion – ‘the Surrender (to God)’ or al-Islam in Arabic. The difference in the message of these various prophets was in the externals or laws and rituals associated with this one religion or deen. The core of their message however, was one and the same—surrender to God and the performance of good deeds. As Azad put it in his commentary of the Quran, the Tarjuman-al Quran: "The Quran states that the difference which exist between one religion and another are not differences in deen, the basic spirit of religion, but simply in its outward form”. In a celebrated work of his entitled Ghubar-i- Khatir, Azad drew close parallels between these Sufi concepts and the idea of pantheism of as expounded in the Hindu philosophic scriptures, the Upanishads. If, at root, all religions reflected the same message, then, for Azad, there was no room in Islam for religious hatred and prejudice. As he wrote in his journal al- Hilal in 1913:
"Islam does not commend narrow-mindedness and racial and religious prejudice. It does not make the recognition of merit and virtue of human benevolence, mercy and love dependent upon and subject to distinctions of race and religion.
Rather, Islam actually teaches us to respect every man who is good, whatever his religion, and to be drawn towards merits and virtues, whatever be the religion or race of the person who possesses them. If human beings were to be free of religious prejudice, then how much more would God Himself have to be above such failings!”
Azad believed that all human beings, irrespective of religion, were creatures of God. God, he said, was, above all, the, ‘Sustainer’ (Rabb) of all people and He would reward them all for good deeds and not simply for belonging to one religious community or the other.
Azad's Islamic universalism led him on to fiercely oppose both Muslim as well as Hindu communalism that saw no place for a genuinely religiously plural and democratic independent India. This made him into a vehement opponent of the Pakistan scheme put forward in 1940 by the Muslim League and encouraged by the Hindu Mahasabha and Hindu chauvinist elements within the Congress Party. For him, as he put it in a speech in 1946, the very idea of dividing territories into ‘Pak’ (literally, ‘pure’) and ‘Na-Pak’ (impure') was itself un-Islamic.
Indeed, as he saw it, Partition would undoubtedly bad for India but it would, actually, prove to be even worse for the Muslims themselves. Azad believed that it was fanciful to imagine, as Muslim League leaders apparently did, that the mere fact of following the same religion could provide the base for a separate state for all Indian Muslims, mirroring the Hindu Mahsabha’s demand for Hindu Rashtra. In his book, “India Wins Freedom”, Azad went so far as to write that: "It is one of the greatest frauds on the people to suggest that religion can unite areas which are geographically, economically, linguistically and culturally different". For him the example of the Prophet Muhammad was itself revealing in this regard. After shifting to Medina from Mecca, the Prophet had entered into a pact with the Jews of Medina, bringing them and the Muslims into one ‘nation’ (ummat). Accordingly, Azad suggested that this itself showed that Islam allowed for Muslims and non-Muslims to live together in one country, and he used this to stress the need for a united India of Hindus, Muslims and others.
Azad's passionate pleas for religious harmony and a truly plural and democratic India, however, fell on deaf ears as India descended into a blood bath in 1947, instigated by Hindu and Muslim communal forces, including sections within Azad’s own Congress Party itself, and actively encouraged by the British. More than fifty years on, the lessons of history are yet to be learnt. And while fierce battles continue to erupt in the name of religion, memories of Azad's life-long commitment to genuine religiosity and religious large-heartedness no longer receive even lip-sympathy.
Belongings of Zahiroddoleh go on view tomorrow [old news]
Tehran: 16:10 , 2005/10/02 Mehr News
Belongings of Zahiroddoleh go on view tomorrow
TEHRAN, Oct. 2 (MNA) -- Two personal belongings of Zahiroddoleh are to be put on display in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”, which opens tomorrow at Tehran’s Sahebgharanieh Palace in the Niavaran Complex.
The felt hats of Zahiroddoleh and his wife bearing the name of Imam Ali (AS) and several poems praising the Imam in embroidery and his kashkul (a vessel suspended by a chain and carried by a dervish), which is embossed with patterns and poems, are among the items that will be on display.
A selection of 110 works from the private collection of Fereydun Jahanshahi, including paintings, calligraphy works, coins, documents, and traditional artworks from the Safavid, Afshariyeh, Zand, and Qajar dynasties will be put on view in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”.
Jahanshahi is a researcher of Iranian art and culture.
Ali-Khan Zahiroddoleh, a prominent 19th-century personality of the Davallu Qajar clan, married Nassereddin Shah Qajar's daughter at the age of 16. He was interested in Sufism and was known for his talent. He was a disciple of Safi Ali Shah, one of the influential leaders of the Nematollahi order of dervishes. During the lifetime of Safi Ali Shah he attained a high rank in the order. Upon the demise of Safi Ali Shah in 1898 he replaced him as the leader of the order and adopted the name Safa Ali Shah.
In line with his will, he was buried under a tree in Darband's Zahiroddoleh cemetery in northern Tehran.
RM/HG
END
Belongings of Zahiroddoleh go on view tomorrow
TEHRAN, Oct. 2 (MNA) -- Two personal belongings of Zahiroddoleh are to be put on display in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”, which opens tomorrow at Tehran’s Sahebgharanieh Palace in the Niavaran Complex.
The felt hats of Zahiroddoleh and his wife bearing the name of Imam Ali (AS) and several poems praising the Imam in embroidery and his kashkul (a vessel suspended by a chain and carried by a dervish), which is embossed with patterns and poems, are among the items that will be on display.
A selection of 110 works from the private collection of Fereydun Jahanshahi, including paintings, calligraphy works, coins, documents, and traditional artworks from the Safavid, Afshariyeh, Zand, and Qajar dynasties will be put on view in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”.
Jahanshahi is a researcher of Iranian art and culture.
Ali-Khan Zahiroddoleh, a prominent 19th-century personality of the Davallu Qajar clan, married Nassereddin Shah Qajar's daughter at the age of 16. He was interested in Sufism and was known for his talent. He was a disciple of Safi Ali Shah, one of the influential leaders of the Nematollahi order of dervishes. During the lifetime of Safi Ali Shah he attained a high rank in the order. Upon the demise of Safi Ali Shah in 1898 he replaced him as the leader of the order and adopted the name Safa Ali Shah.
In line with his will, he was buried under a tree in Darband's Zahiroddoleh cemetery in northern Tehran.
RM/HG
END
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Sufism takes centre stage at Toronto music festival
Sufism takes centre stage at Toronto music festival [old news]
By Catherine Kustanczi-Johnson, CBCUnlocked
Updated: Sep 30, 2005, 08:55
Say the word "Sufi" in most Western social circles, and you'll probably be greeted with blank stares.
There may be a few nods of recognition from those who own Coleman Barks' translations of Sufism's most famous poet, Jalal Al-Din Rumi. Certainly, Rumi's been the most openly embraced Sufi in Western culture, thanks in large part to Barks' works.
Still, there remains much the West is in the dark about when it comes to Sufism, Islam, the art of ecstasy, and convening with the Divine.
How to translate that into music? The Small World Music Festival has a few ideas. The festival is presenting two artists this weekend with interesting connections to the Islamic-based mystical tradition.
Nawal, a native of the Comoros Islands (off the Eastern coast of Africa in the Indian ocean), is a descendant of the grand Sufi holy man, El-Maarouf. She's received much international acclaim for mixing traditional instrumentation with Arab rhythms, and Sufi chants, all the while confronting social and spiritual issues with equal zeal.
Perhaps what makes Nawal especially unique is her position as a Muslim Comoran woman, making a name for herself in the international community. She hasn't lost sight of her traditions, but she's wide open to future possibilities as well, as she proves on her first release, "Kweli" ("Truth"), which she'll be performing songs from Saturday night at the Lula Lounge in Toronto. As if to further that path of innovation, she's composing music for "Sahel Opera", set to premiere in Mali next year.
Sidi Goma plays Toronto's Small World Music Festival, Oct. 1
While Nawal mixes new with old, Sidi Goma revel in its own fascinating Sufi traditions.
The 12-piece band brings its Indo-African rhythms to the Al Green Theatre Sunday night. Along with that comes a fascinating insight into a history virtually unknown in the West and a unique musical experience.
Sidi Goma can trace its roots back to the East African people who originally arrived in Gujarat, India, as sailors, soldiers, and slaves, eight centuries ago. The "Black Sidis," as they came to be known, maintained their Sufi roots and beliefs while adapting to their new Indian surroundings.
As a result, Sidi Goma weaves together Indian-influenced African movement, instruments, rhythms and lyrics with Sufi songs and rituals (such as the qawwalis Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan popularized before his death) into what one can only describe as an inimitable musical tapestry of utterly unique proportions.
Composed of four lead musicians and eight dancers, Sidi Goma presents what it describes as the music of its ancestors. Performing to critical acclaim at WOMEX in 2003, the group has since gone on to tour India with its show, "The Remembered Rhythms." This is its first time in Canada, and the program promises to present an overview of Sidi ritual performance, from the traditional call to prayer, to various percussive solos and dances as well as seated songs.
Nawal performs at Lula Lounge on Saturday, October 1st, 8pm. Sidi Goma performs at the Al Green Theatre on Sunday, October 2nd, 8pm.
By Catherine Kustanczi-Johnson, CBCUnlocked
Updated: Sep 30, 2005, 08:55
Say the word "Sufi" in most Western social circles, and you'll probably be greeted with blank stares.
There may be a few nods of recognition from those who own Coleman Barks' translations of Sufism's most famous poet, Jalal Al-Din Rumi. Certainly, Rumi's been the most openly embraced Sufi in Western culture, thanks in large part to Barks' works.
Still, there remains much the West is in the dark about when it comes to Sufism, Islam, the art of ecstasy, and convening with the Divine.
How to translate that into music? The Small World Music Festival has a few ideas. The festival is presenting two artists this weekend with interesting connections to the Islamic-based mystical tradition.
Nawal, a native of the Comoros Islands (off the Eastern coast of Africa in the Indian ocean), is a descendant of the grand Sufi holy man, El-Maarouf. She's received much international acclaim for mixing traditional instrumentation with Arab rhythms, and Sufi chants, all the while confronting social and spiritual issues with equal zeal.
Perhaps what makes Nawal especially unique is her position as a Muslim Comoran woman, making a name for herself in the international community. She hasn't lost sight of her traditions, but she's wide open to future possibilities as well, as she proves on her first release, "Kweli" ("Truth"), which she'll be performing songs from Saturday night at the Lula Lounge in Toronto. As if to further that path of innovation, she's composing music for "Sahel Opera", set to premiere in Mali next year.
Sidi Goma plays Toronto's Small World Music Festival, Oct. 1
While Nawal mixes new with old, Sidi Goma revel in its own fascinating Sufi traditions.
The 12-piece band brings its Indo-African rhythms to the Al Green Theatre Sunday night. Along with that comes a fascinating insight into a history virtually unknown in the West and a unique musical experience.
Sidi Goma can trace its roots back to the East African people who originally arrived in Gujarat, India, as sailors, soldiers, and slaves, eight centuries ago. The "Black Sidis," as they came to be known, maintained their Sufi roots and beliefs while adapting to their new Indian surroundings.
As a result, Sidi Goma weaves together Indian-influenced African movement, instruments, rhythms and lyrics with Sufi songs and rituals (such as the qawwalis Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan popularized before his death) into what one can only describe as an inimitable musical tapestry of utterly unique proportions.
Composed of four lead musicians and eight dancers, Sidi Goma presents what it describes as the music of its ancestors. Performing to critical acclaim at WOMEX in 2003, the group has since gone on to tour India with its show, "The Remembered Rhythms." This is its first time in Canada, and the program promises to present an overview of Sidi ritual performance, from the traditional call to prayer, to various percussive solos and dances as well as seated songs.
Nawal performs at Lula Lounge on Saturday, October 1st, 8pm. Sidi Goma performs at the Al Green Theatre on Sunday, October 2nd, 8pm.
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Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Salman Ahmed of Junoon on music at a Pakistani madrassah
From the article "Silence is death - Censorship in the Arab world" by Trevor Mostyn
in The Daily Star [Lebanon]
Monday, October 31, 2005
[At a conference on 'Freedom of Expression in Music' held in Beirut] the Pakistani modern musician Salman Ahmed showed a film in which he tried to persuade traditional clerics in a Pakistani madraseh that his music was not sinful. He even sang verses of the Koran to them, accompanied by his guitar.
"I researched with scholars," he said, "and discovered that no verse in the Koran prohibits music. [The clerics] invoke a hadith which only allows the duff (drum) to be played. However, most of Islamic tradition has come to us through Sufism which believes in cultural expressiveness through poetry, music and dance, attempting to reach God through love. The puritan Taliban view is alien to most people. People who want to ban music are a minority but conservatives have taken power in the media."
In the madraseh he told the clerics that the prophet David had been given the gift of voice. "When he sang the mountains swayed. I told them that there is melody throughout the universe, from our heart-beat to the sound of the azzan. How can there be no room for this in Islam? The leading talib told me that I was going to go to hell. I quoted verses from Iqbal [the Urdu poet]. I argued that Islam is a religion of reason and knowledge and that we must free ourselves from ritual. So I was curiously touched when the talib suddenly said to me, 'Salman, I don't want you to be angry with me.' And then, once the mike was off, he sang verses from the Koran, beautifully. I said 'Why the change? You are singing but for two hours you condemned singing'. He smiled at me."
Read More
in The Daily Star [Lebanon]
Monday, October 31, 2005
[At a conference on 'Freedom of Expression in Music' held in Beirut] the Pakistani modern musician Salman Ahmed showed a film in which he tried to persuade traditional clerics in a Pakistani madraseh that his music was not sinful. He even sang verses of the Koran to them, accompanied by his guitar.
"I researched with scholars," he said, "and discovered that no verse in the Koran prohibits music. [The clerics] invoke a hadith which only allows the duff (drum) to be played. However, most of Islamic tradition has come to us through Sufism which believes in cultural expressiveness through poetry, music and dance, attempting to reach God through love. The puritan Taliban view is alien to most people. People who want to ban music are a minority but conservatives have taken power in the media."
In the madraseh he told the clerics that the prophet David had been given the gift of voice. "When he sang the mountains swayed. I told them that there is melody throughout the universe, from our heart-beat to the sound of the azzan. How can there be no room for this in Islam? The leading talib told me that I was going to go to hell. I quoted verses from Iqbal [the Urdu poet]. I argued that Islam is a religion of reason and knowledge and that we must free ourselves from ritual. So I was curiously touched when the talib suddenly said to me, 'Salman, I don't want you to be angry with me.' And then, once the mike was off, he sang verses from the Koran, beautifully. I said 'Why the change? You are singing but for two hours you condemned singing'. He smiled at me."
Madho Lal Hussain of Lahore: Beyond Hindu and Muslim
Madho Lal Hussain of Lahore: Beyond Hindu and Muslim. By Yoginder Sikand from Pakistan Christian Post, Oct. 31, 2005
`Shah Hussain! Shahadat Paye O Jo Maran Mitran De Age (Shah Hussain! He [alone] attains martyrdom who dies at the feet of his beloved)
Sufism has had a long and rich history in the Indian sub-continent. It is perhaps in Punjab, more than in any other part of this vast land, that Sufism has struck the deepest roots, producing many great exponents and exercising a pervasive influence on the minds of the ommon people. To this very day, the innumerable Sufis of this region are held in the highest esteem by millions of Muslims, Sikhs, Dalits and Hindus of the province and beyond.
Shah Hussain is one such mystic who is still fondly remembered by millions of ordinary Punjabis four centuries after his death1. He was born in Lahore in 1539 A.D. into a family of the Dhatha Rajput tribe.2 This tribe had recently converted to Islam, hence the epithet "Shah" attached to his name.3 Even as a child Hussain showed a marked preference for red clothes, which explains why he was also called Lal (Persian for "red") Hussain.4 Hussain`s strong mystical inclinations were apparent very early in his life. In childhood itself he managed to memorize the entire Qur`an under the guidance of his teacher, Shaikh Abu Bakr. Then, at the
age of ten he was initiated into the Oadiriyah Sufi order by the renowned saint Bahlul Shah Daryai of Chiniot.5 For the next twenty-six years he lived under the strict supervision of his Pir (spiritual master), faithfully following all the rites and practices of orthodox Islam, and leading a life of great austerity.
At the age of thirty-six an incident occurred that was to completely change Hussain`s life. One day while at a madrasa studying a tafsir (commentary) on the Our`an under the tutelage of Shaikh Sadullah of Lahore, he came across the Qur`anic verse: "The life of this world is nothing but a game and a sport." He asked the Shaikh to explain the verse and was told that it meant that the world should be shunned. Hussain refused to accept this interpretation and asserted, instead, that the words of the verse must be taken literally. He told his teacher that, in accordance with his understanding of this verse, he would spend the rest of his life in enjoyment.6 It was during this period of his life that Hussain met Madho, a Brahmin lad. The two men became so closely associated that in the popular mind the saint is most commonly known as Madho Lal Hussain, as if the two had been fused into one. The intensely close relationship that blossomed between them has been the subject of much speculation and controversy, starting in their very lifetime. John Subhan, an expert on Indian Sufism, writes that their contemporaries saw this intimate connection between a Hindu boy and a Muslim faqir of "questionable character" as "a disgrace", though he himself sees this "irresistible attraction" between the two men in terms of "fervent love".8 Like wise, the Punjabi historian
Shafi Aquil speaks of the relationship between Madho and Hussayn as one of "boundless love" and for this employs language generally used to describe male-female relationships. Thus, he writes, "Shah Hussayn was in love with Madho and Madho himself, too, desired him" (Madho se Shah Hussayn ko pyar tho aur khud Madho bhi unko chahte the). He goes on to add that, "Under no condition could Shah Hussayn bear to be separated from Madho".9
Nur Ahmad Chishti, author of the Sufi chronicle Tahqiqat-i-Chishti, suggests that some among the couple`s contemporaries saw their relationship as `improper`. He writes that Madho`s relatives, "seeing him sleeping in the same bed with Lal Hussain, came to murder them both."10 However, as luck would have it, he adds,that "the power of Hussain made them blind and, as they could not find the door, they returned". Lajwanti Ramkrishna, a recognized authority on the Punjabi Sufis, relates that many people "had become suspicious of the un-natural [sic] relationship" between the two. 11 Whatever the case might be, the story of the two lovers is a fascinating one that is unparalleled in the annals of Punjabi Sufism.
The historical records give varying accounts of Hussain`s first encounter with Madho. The author of the Tahqiqat-i-Chishti writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding through the main market of Lahore on a "majestic horse in a fashionable manner."12 So wonderstruck was he at Madho`s beauty that "he then tried in vain to possess the lad for sixteen years, at the end of which he succeeded." Rizvi, an acclaimed authority on Indian Sufism, also writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding in the market and says that upon seeing him he felt instantly "under the
intoxication of a mystical trance." Thereafter, he adds, Hussain shifted to Shahdara, the suburb of Lahore where Madho lived and "began following him like a household slave."13 Ramakrishna says that some believe that Hussain`s first meeting with Madho took place during a liquor-drinking bout at a wine shop but he prefers to believe that it was Madho`s regular attendance at his Sufi preaching sessions that attracted Hussayn to "the handsome youth."14
"The love of Hussain for Madho", writes one biographer, "was unique and he did all that lay in his power to please the boy."15 It is said that not for a single day did the two fail to meet each other. So overpowering was Hussain`s fascination for Madho that he would often rise in the middle of the night, cross the river Ravi and walk for several miles to Madho`s house. Madho`s parents, however, did not approve of their son`s relationship with Hussain. Once they plotted to take Madho away with them to the Hindu holy town of Haridwar for a pilgrimage, hoping that separation from Hussain might cause Madho to forget him. Hussain, however, could not bear the thought of being kept apart from his dear one. Accordingly, he refused to let Madho`s parents take him along with them but promised them that he would send him to Haridwar later. When Madho`s parents reached Haridwar, so the story goes, Hussain made Madho shut his eyes and then, after striking his foot upon the ground, made him open them again. Madho did as he was told and found himself miraculously transported all at once to Haridwar. His parents were amazed at his sudden arrival all the way from Lahore.16 Thereafter, it is said, Madho left his parents` house and began living with Hussayn.17
It is possible and, indeed, very likely that Hussain`s relationship with Madho had a deep impact on his thinking, his mystical poetry and, most of all, on his religious life. In his passionate love for Madho he bravely defied the norms of his own society, expressing a stern
indictment of the orthodox theologians, for whom religion had been reduced to a set of soulless rituals, rigid rules and strict restrictions, drained of love, joy, compassion and emotion.18
Hussain`s relationship with the Hindu Madho also appears to have made him profoundly tolerant in his attitude towards other religions. To please Madho he celebrated with great enthusiasm, Basant, the Punjabi spring festival, as well as the Hindu festival of Holi. During Holi, for example, Madho and Hussain would follow the Hindu custom of throwing coloured powder on each other.20 According to the medieval Persian text Hasanat-ul-Arifin, Hussain is said to have asserted that he was "neither a Muslim nor a pagan"21, thus suggesting an eclecticism and breath of vision which few in his generation possessed or appreciated. Ramakrishna also notes that Hussain had close spiritual links with the Hindu mystic Chhaju Bhagat and Guru Arjan of the Sikhs.22
Hussain`s undying love for Madho is also clearly reflected in his poems or Kafis which are still considered as some of the most precious gems of Punjabi literature today. True spiritual realization, he believed, could only be attained through infinite love, for, as he wrote:
This youth will not come back again So laugh and play while you can with your lover.
Love, believed Hussain, can so intimately unite two souls (or a human being with God) that they lose their individualities and separateness and merge completely into each other. In much the same way, Madho and Hussain became so inseparable that they became known by one single name-Madho Lal Hussain.
Perhaps it was referring to this that Shah Hussayn wrote: Ranjhe Ranjha Menu Sab Koi Akho Heer Na Akho Koi
Let everyone now call me Ranjha, not Heer [for no longer am I Heer since I have become one with Ranjha.) 23
Hussain breathed his last in 1599 and was buried in Lahore on the banks of the Ravi. Madho survived him by forty-eight years, and he was put to rest in a tomb next to Hussain`s. The shrine, containing the graves of the two inseparable lovers-united in death as they had been in life-continues to attract large numbers of faithful pilgrims to this very day.
NOTES:
1. Hussain is best known for his poetry. He was the first to write kafis set to classical Hindustani ragas and raginis.
2. Ramakrishna, however, adds that according to the Tazkira Aulia-i-Hind, he belonged to a family of converted Kayasths, the caste of professional scribes. For more on Hussain`s ancestry, see Lajwanti Ramakrishna, "Punjabi Sufi Saints" (New Delhi: Ashajanak Publications, 1973), p.32.
3. A title often adopted by new converts to Islam.
4. This is despite the fact that orthodox Islamic theologians frowned upon the wearing of red garments by Muslim men.
5. For greater details see "Shah Hussain-Kalam" (Islamabad: Lok Virsa Publications, 1987).
6. Ramakrishna writes that such intimate love between Sufi males was not at all unusual. In fact, it can be said to have been perfectly normal for many Persian Sufis and for Indian mystics influenced by them. She notes that the orthodox opponents of the Sufis, however, charged that they kept handsome youths only "to satisfy [their] animal nature" (p. 40).
7. John A. Subhan, "Sufism: Its Saints and Shrines" (Lucknow: The Lucknow Publishing House, 1960, p. 279.
8. Shafi Aquil, "Punjabi Ke Qadim Shayar" (Karachi: Anjuman Taraqqi-i Urdu), p. 114.
9. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 35.
10. Ramakrishna, op. cit., pp. 35-36.
11. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 34.
12. Saiyed Atthar Abbas Rizvi, "A History or Sufism in India" (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1992), vol. 2, p. 65.
13. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 34.
14. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 36.
15. Subhan, op. cit., p. 279.
16. Subhan (op.cit., p. 80) writes that upon witnessing the miracle, Madho`s parents and Madho converted to Islam. Ramakrishna (op. clt., p. 36), however, believes that this was not the case.
17. Aquil (op. cit., p. 100), writes that one day a certain Maulvi Abdul Hakim of Sialkot approached Hussain in order to become his disciple. At this Hussain is said to have burst into a fit of laughter saying,
"You are from among those who strictly follow the Shariah (Islamic law). So then, why do you wish to give me a bad name [by seeking to become my disciple]?" 18. Rizvi, op. cit., p. 65. Indeed, till as late as the end of the last century, the use of coloured powder on the occasion of Holi was the main feature of the annual celebrations at the twin tombs of Hussain and Madho. Today, however, under pressure from the puritans, this practice has reportedly stopped.
19. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 36.
20. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 39.
21. Here, Hussain is also probably referring to himself in his intimate
relationship with God.
Read More
`Shah Hussain! Shahadat Paye O Jo Maran Mitran De Age (Shah Hussain! He [alone] attains martyrdom who dies at the feet of his beloved)
Sufism has had a long and rich history in the Indian sub-continent. It is perhaps in Punjab, more than in any other part of this vast land, that Sufism has struck the deepest roots, producing many great exponents and exercising a pervasive influence on the minds of the ommon people. To this very day, the innumerable Sufis of this region are held in the highest esteem by millions of Muslims, Sikhs, Dalits and Hindus of the province and beyond.
Shah Hussain is one such mystic who is still fondly remembered by millions of ordinary Punjabis four centuries after his death1. He was born in Lahore in 1539 A.D. into a family of the Dhatha Rajput tribe.2 This tribe had recently converted to Islam, hence the epithet "Shah" attached to his name.3 Even as a child Hussain showed a marked preference for red clothes, which explains why he was also called Lal (Persian for "red") Hussain.4 Hussain`s strong mystical inclinations were apparent very early in his life. In childhood itself he managed to memorize the entire Qur`an under the guidance of his teacher, Shaikh Abu Bakr. Then, at the
age of ten he was initiated into the Oadiriyah Sufi order by the renowned saint Bahlul Shah Daryai of Chiniot.5 For the next twenty-six years he lived under the strict supervision of his Pir (spiritual master), faithfully following all the rites and practices of orthodox Islam, and leading a life of great austerity.
At the age of thirty-six an incident occurred that was to completely change Hussain`s life. One day while at a madrasa studying a tafsir (commentary) on the Our`an under the tutelage of Shaikh Sadullah of Lahore, he came across the Qur`anic verse: "The life of this world is nothing but a game and a sport." He asked the Shaikh to explain the verse and was told that it meant that the world should be shunned. Hussain refused to accept this interpretation and asserted, instead, that the words of the verse must be taken literally. He told his teacher that, in accordance with his understanding of this verse, he would spend the rest of his life in enjoyment.6 It was during this period of his life that Hussain met Madho, a Brahmin lad. The two men became so closely associated that in the popular mind the saint is most commonly known as Madho Lal Hussain, as if the two had been fused into one. The intensely close relationship that blossomed between them has been the subject of much speculation and controversy, starting in their very lifetime. John Subhan, an expert on Indian Sufism, writes that their contemporaries saw this intimate connection between a Hindu boy and a Muslim faqir of "questionable character" as "a disgrace", though he himself sees this "irresistible attraction" between the two men in terms of "fervent love".8 Like wise, the Punjabi historian
Shafi Aquil speaks of the relationship between Madho and Hussayn as one of "boundless love" and for this employs language generally used to describe male-female relationships. Thus, he writes, "Shah Hussayn was in love with Madho and Madho himself, too, desired him" (Madho se Shah Hussayn ko pyar tho aur khud Madho bhi unko chahte the). He goes on to add that, "Under no condition could Shah Hussayn bear to be separated from Madho".9
Nur Ahmad Chishti, author of the Sufi chronicle Tahqiqat-i-Chishti, suggests that some among the couple`s contemporaries saw their relationship as `improper`. He writes that Madho`s relatives, "seeing him sleeping in the same bed with Lal Hussain, came to murder them both."10 However, as luck would have it, he adds,that "the power of Hussain made them blind and, as they could not find the door, they returned". Lajwanti Ramkrishna, a recognized authority on the Punjabi Sufis, relates that many people "had become suspicious of the un-natural [sic] relationship" between the two. 11 Whatever the case might be, the story of the two lovers is a fascinating one that is unparalleled in the annals of Punjabi Sufism.
The historical records give varying accounts of Hussain`s first encounter with Madho. The author of the Tahqiqat-i-Chishti writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding through the main market of Lahore on a "majestic horse in a fashionable manner."12 So wonderstruck was he at Madho`s beauty that "he then tried in vain to possess the lad for sixteen years, at the end of which he succeeded." Rizvi, an acclaimed authority on Indian Sufism, also writes that Hussain first saw Madho riding in the market and says that upon seeing him he felt instantly "under the
intoxication of a mystical trance." Thereafter, he adds, Hussain shifted to Shahdara, the suburb of Lahore where Madho lived and "began following him like a household slave."13 Ramakrishna says that some believe that Hussain`s first meeting with Madho took place during a liquor-drinking bout at a wine shop but he prefers to believe that it was Madho`s regular attendance at his Sufi preaching sessions that attracted Hussayn to "the handsome youth."14
"The love of Hussain for Madho", writes one biographer, "was unique and he did all that lay in his power to please the boy."15 It is said that not for a single day did the two fail to meet each other. So overpowering was Hussain`s fascination for Madho that he would often rise in the middle of the night, cross the river Ravi and walk for several miles to Madho`s house. Madho`s parents, however, did not approve of their son`s relationship with Hussain. Once they plotted to take Madho away with them to the Hindu holy town of Haridwar for a pilgrimage, hoping that separation from Hussain might cause Madho to forget him. Hussain, however, could not bear the thought of being kept apart from his dear one. Accordingly, he refused to let Madho`s parents take him along with them but promised them that he would send him to Haridwar later. When Madho`s parents reached Haridwar, so the story goes, Hussain made Madho shut his eyes and then, after striking his foot upon the ground, made him open them again. Madho did as he was told and found himself miraculously transported all at once to Haridwar. His parents were amazed at his sudden arrival all the way from Lahore.16 Thereafter, it is said, Madho left his parents` house and began living with Hussayn.17
It is possible and, indeed, very likely that Hussain`s relationship with Madho had a deep impact on his thinking, his mystical poetry and, most of all, on his religious life. In his passionate love for Madho he bravely defied the norms of his own society, expressing a stern
indictment of the orthodox theologians, for whom religion had been reduced to a set of soulless rituals, rigid rules and strict restrictions, drained of love, joy, compassion and emotion.18
Hussain`s relationship with the Hindu Madho also appears to have made him profoundly tolerant in his attitude towards other religions. To please Madho he celebrated with great enthusiasm, Basant, the Punjabi spring festival, as well as the Hindu festival of Holi. During Holi, for example, Madho and Hussain would follow the Hindu custom of throwing coloured powder on each other.20 According to the medieval Persian text Hasanat-ul-Arifin, Hussain is said to have asserted that he was "neither a Muslim nor a pagan"21, thus suggesting an eclecticism and breath of vision which few in his generation possessed or appreciated. Ramakrishna also notes that Hussain had close spiritual links with the Hindu mystic Chhaju Bhagat and Guru Arjan of the Sikhs.22
Hussain`s undying love for Madho is also clearly reflected in his poems or Kafis which are still considered as some of the most precious gems of Punjabi literature today. True spiritual realization, he believed, could only be attained through infinite love, for, as he wrote:
This youth will not come back again So laugh and play while you can with your lover.
Love, believed Hussain, can so intimately unite two souls (or a human being with God) that they lose their individualities and separateness and merge completely into each other. In much the same way, Madho and Hussain became so inseparable that they became known by one single name-Madho Lal Hussain.
Perhaps it was referring to this that Shah Hussayn wrote: Ranjhe Ranjha Menu Sab Koi Akho Heer Na Akho Koi
Let everyone now call me Ranjha, not Heer [for no longer am I Heer since I have become one with Ranjha.) 23
Hussain breathed his last in 1599 and was buried in Lahore on the banks of the Ravi. Madho survived him by forty-eight years, and he was put to rest in a tomb next to Hussain`s. The shrine, containing the graves of the two inseparable lovers-united in death as they had been in life-continues to attract large numbers of faithful pilgrims to this very day.
NOTES:
1. Hussain is best known for his poetry. He was the first to write kafis set to classical Hindustani ragas and raginis.
2. Ramakrishna, however, adds that according to the Tazkira Aulia-i-Hind, he belonged to a family of converted Kayasths, the caste of professional scribes. For more on Hussain`s ancestry, see Lajwanti Ramakrishna, "Punjabi Sufi Saints" (New Delhi: Ashajanak Publications, 1973), p.32.
3. A title often adopted by new converts to Islam.
4. This is despite the fact that orthodox Islamic theologians frowned upon the wearing of red garments by Muslim men.
5. For greater details see "Shah Hussain-Kalam" (Islamabad: Lok Virsa Publications, 1987).
6. Ramakrishna writes that such intimate love between Sufi males was not at all unusual. In fact, it can be said to have been perfectly normal for many Persian Sufis and for Indian mystics influenced by them. She notes that the orthodox opponents of the Sufis, however, charged that they kept handsome youths only "to satisfy [their] animal nature" (p. 40).
7. John A. Subhan, "Sufism: Its Saints and Shrines" (Lucknow: The Lucknow Publishing House, 1960, p. 279.
8. Shafi Aquil, "Punjabi Ke Qadim Shayar" (Karachi: Anjuman Taraqqi-i Urdu), p. 114.
9. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 35.
10. Ramakrishna, op. cit., pp. 35-36.
11. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 34.
12. Saiyed Atthar Abbas Rizvi, "A History or Sufism in India" (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1992), vol. 2, p. 65.
13. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 34.
14. Ramakrishna, op.cit., p. 36.
15. Subhan, op. cit., p. 279.
16. Subhan (op.cit., p. 80) writes that upon witnessing the miracle, Madho`s parents and Madho converted to Islam. Ramakrishna (op. clt., p. 36), however, believes that this was not the case.
17. Aquil (op. cit., p. 100), writes that one day a certain Maulvi Abdul Hakim of Sialkot approached Hussain in order to become his disciple. At this Hussain is said to have burst into a fit of laughter saying,
"You are from among those who strictly follow the Shariah (Islamic law). So then, why do you wish to give me a bad name [by seeking to become my disciple]?" 18. Rizvi, op. cit., p. 65. Indeed, till as late as the end of the last century, the use of coloured powder on the occasion of Holi was the main feature of the annual celebrations at the twin tombs of Hussain and Madho. Today, however, under pressure from the puritans, this practice has reportedly stopped.
19. Quoted in Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 36.
20. Ramakrishna, op. cit., p. 39.
21. Here, Hussain is also probably referring to himself in his intimate
relationship with God.
In the footsteps of Abraham [at Urfa in Turkey]
In the footsteps of Abraham by Yoginder Sikand from the Deccan Herald, Oct. 30, 2005
The little shrine of Abraham, below the castle supposed to have been built by the tyrannical king Nimrod in Turkey, consists of a cave where the prophet is said to have been born, writes Yoginder Sikand.
As the road wound its way towards Turkey’s Anatolian heartland, the spires and minarets of Anatkya faded into the distance. Vast stretches of sandy sea-shore, colonised now by rows upon rows of swanky high-rise apartments and show rooms, huddled along the road. Gradually, we moved into dry and mountainous and largely uninhabited countryside, pockmarked by an occasional impoverished village or the crumbling ruins of some medieval castle.
Six hours later, we stopped at Gaziantep, little town, for a bite. After a lunch of Turkish pizza-flat, thin bread topped with fresh goat’s cheese and tomatoes, we headed further east. Our destination was the Biblical city of Urfa, place of birth of the Patriarch Abraham. Abraham, or Ibrahim as Muslims know him, is a central figure in the Bible and the Quran, and as such is deeply revered by Muslims, Christians and Jews alike.
Because of its association with Abraham, Urfa, or Ur as the Bible calls it, is one of the greatest centres of pilgrimages in all of Turkey. We got to Urfa late at night, when all the hotels had closed, and so we had to take a room in a grubby little inn. The next morning we awoke as the call to prayer from the mosque attached to Abraham’s shrine drifted into the room.
Abraham's shrine is situated at the foot of a massive promontory ringed on all sides by steep walls of a castle said to date back to Babylonian and Chaldean times, almost 3500 years ago. Legend has it that the castle was built by the tyrannical king Nimrod, who figures prominently in the story told about Abraham. Nothing of the castle remains today, however, except for its walls and pillars and some underground passageways. The little shrine of Abraham, below the castle, consists of a cave where the prophet is said to have been born, inside which is an underground stream which flows out of the shrine into a large, tree-laced pool outside. According to local lore, Nimrod, angered by Abraham’s vehement denunciations of polytheism and idolatry, threw him into a fire, but the fire miraculously turned into the water which, till this day, continues to feed the pool. Numerous old seminaries and mosques, some over a thousand years old, stand on either side of the pool. Closeby, is the shrine of another Biblical figure, Job, who is highly regarded by Muslims as well, as the prophet Ayub.
Unlike most other Turkish towns, Urfa has still managed to retain its traditional flavour. Narrow cobbled lanes wind through its old quarters with their Ottoman-style mosques and mansions, all converging in the grand bazaar, which dates back to medieval times.
Each section has its own mosque and the bigger sections have a 'hani' or a caravanserai that was, in earlier times, used by itinerant traders as inns to stay in. Today, they are used as restaurants.
On my second day in Urfa, I chanced upon a Sufi master who had come to Urfa to perform a pilgrimage to the prophet Abraham's shrine along with his disciples. Rosy-cheeked, pleasantly plump and ever-smiling Haji Baba Noor Muhammad was the sort of man whom one would think had never harmed a fly in his life.
He invited me to join him and his students at a function that was being organised at the shrine the next morning. Soon after the early morning prayers gave over, three dozen disciples sat together in a large circle and the Haji began a soft, melodious chant from the Quran, his followers then repeating after him.
The recitation of the ninety-nine names of God then followed, and the function, which stretched into over three hours, finally gave over with a cup of water from Abraham's spring being passed round from which all of us took a sip.
Later that day, Haji Baba announced, he and his disciples would be travelling to the village of Harran to visit some of his followers. I joined them, and we set off for Harran, a little Arab village not far from the Syrian frontier.
The bus, which was heading for the border, dropped us off at a little settlement, and, scrambling out, we were greeted by a large crowd of villagers who had come to greet Haji Baba and his entourage. They had a herd of donkeys in waiting to take us all to Harran, some ten miles away. I covered the distance to Harran on foot, instead.
Like Urfa, Harran, too, is associated with the story of Abraham. According to the Bible, when Abraham left Urfa, he first came to Harran and stayed here for several years with his family. Harran was once a flourishing town, today it’s an entirely Arab village and its poverty-stricken inhabitants live in houses that are almost unchanged since Biblical times.
That night Haji Baba’s host invited us all for a ceremony at his house. Sufi litanies and prayers carried on till the wee hours of the morning, and finally we settled down to a simple dinner of fresh bread, cheese, dates, milk. The call to prayer was sounded, and that over, I made my way back through the cotton fields to the highway, hitching a ride to the Syrian border, my next destination.
Read More
In the footsteps of Abraham by Yoginder Sikand from the Deccan Herald, Oct. 30, 2005
The little shrine of Abraham, below the castle supposed to have been built by the tyrannical king Nimrod in Turkey, consists of a cave where the prophet is said to have been born, writes Yoginder Sikand.
As the road wound its way towards Turkey’s Anatolian heartland, the spires and minarets of Anatkya faded into the distance. Vast stretches of sandy sea-shore, colonised now by rows upon rows of swanky high-rise apartments and show rooms, huddled along the road. Gradually, we moved into dry and mountainous and largely uninhabited countryside, pockmarked by an occasional impoverished village or the crumbling ruins of some medieval castle.
Six hours later, we stopped at Gaziantep, little town, for a bite. After a lunch of Turkish pizza-flat, thin bread topped with fresh goat’s cheese and tomatoes, we headed further east. Our destination was the Biblical city of Urfa, place of birth of the Patriarch Abraham. Abraham, or Ibrahim as Muslims know him, is a central figure in the Bible and the Quran, and as such is deeply revered by Muslims, Christians and Jews alike.
Because of its association with Abraham, Urfa, or Ur as the Bible calls it, is one of the greatest centres of pilgrimages in all of Turkey. We got to Urfa late at night, when all the hotels had closed, and so we had to take a room in a grubby little inn. The next morning we awoke as the call to prayer from the mosque attached to Abraham’s shrine drifted into the room.
Abraham's shrine is situated at the foot of a massive promontory ringed on all sides by steep walls of a castle said to date back to Babylonian and Chaldean times, almost 3500 years ago. Legend has it that the castle was built by the tyrannical king Nimrod, who figures prominently in the story told about Abraham. Nothing of the castle remains today, however, except for its walls and pillars and some underground passageways. The little shrine of Abraham, below the castle, consists of a cave where the prophet is said to have been born, inside which is an underground stream which flows out of the shrine into a large, tree-laced pool outside. According to local lore, Nimrod, angered by Abraham’s vehement denunciations of polytheism and idolatry, threw him into a fire, but the fire miraculously turned into the water which, till this day, continues to feed the pool. Numerous old seminaries and mosques, some over a thousand years old, stand on either side of the pool. Closeby, is the shrine of another Biblical figure, Job, who is highly regarded by Muslims as well, as the prophet Ayub.
Unlike most other Turkish towns, Urfa has still managed to retain its traditional flavour. Narrow cobbled lanes wind through its old quarters with their Ottoman-style mosques and mansions, all converging in the grand bazaar, which dates back to medieval times.
Each section has its own mosque and the bigger sections have a 'hani' or a caravanserai that was, in earlier times, used by itinerant traders as inns to stay in. Today, they are used as restaurants.
On my second day in Urfa, I chanced upon a Sufi master who had come to Urfa to perform a pilgrimage to the prophet Abraham's shrine along with his disciples. Rosy-cheeked, pleasantly plump and ever-smiling Haji Baba Noor Muhammad was the sort of man whom one would think had never harmed a fly in his life.
He invited me to join him and his students at a function that was being organised at the shrine the next morning. Soon after the early morning prayers gave over, three dozen disciples sat together in a large circle and the Haji began a soft, melodious chant from the Quran, his followers then repeating after him.
The recitation of the ninety-nine names of God then followed, and the function, which stretched into over three hours, finally gave over with a cup of water from Abraham's spring being passed round from which all of us took a sip.
Later that day, Haji Baba announced, he and his disciples would be travelling to the village of Harran to visit some of his followers. I joined them, and we set off for Harran, a little Arab village not far from the Syrian frontier.
The bus, which was heading for the border, dropped us off at a little settlement, and, scrambling out, we were greeted by a large crowd of villagers who had come to greet Haji Baba and his entourage. They had a herd of donkeys in waiting to take us all to Harran, some ten miles away. I covered the distance to Harran on foot, instead.
Like Urfa, Harran, too, is associated with the story of Abraham. According to the Bible, when Abraham left Urfa, he first came to Harran and stayed here for several years with his family. Harran was once a flourishing town, today it’s an entirely Arab village and its poverty-stricken inhabitants live in houses that are almost unchanged since Biblical times.
That night Haji Baba’s host invited us all for a ceremony at his house. Sufi litanies and prayers carried on till the wee hours of the morning, and finally we settled down to a simple dinner of fresh bread, cheese, dates, milk. The call to prayer was sounded, and that over, I made my way back through the cotton fields to the highway, hitching a ride to the Syrian border, my next destination.
Changing seasons in Kashmir
Changing seasons in Kashmir
by Anand K Sahay from DNA India
Sunday, October 30, 2005 21:00 IST
The political change that will soon occur in Kashmir is along the lines that the Valley — not just Jammu — expected, even if analysts in Delhi are confounded. This is why there are no critical voices in Srinagar, which has taken the shift in its stride. The popular sentiment is for getting on with it, not to give credence to theories and gossip.
In Kashmir, the terrorists have made the same mistake that the Indian state had made once — they did not account for the people; their sensibilities, their temper. The militants and their masterminds are finally paying the price. The denouement has come in slow stages but it has surely arrived. The ordinary Kashmiri, as became obvious during a recent trip to the Valley, does not now seem to have any sympathy left for what has euphemistically been known as ‘ the militancy’.
Go anywhere in the state — towns and country, villages, forded rural streams, in Srinagar and even the parts hit by the earthquake, the feeling is palpable — the old days are gone. A striking aspect of the changed scene is that one doesn’t any more hear the litany of complaints that one did before against the behaviour of the uniformed forces.
Indeed, now they talk of the gross indecencies heaped by terrorists on ordinary folk over many years, of the arm-twisting and extortions, of violating of women, of wanton killings on the excuse that the “executed” person was an informer.
The constant cry against human rights abuses by the security forces one heard earlier has now given way to the breaking of silence over the acts of grossness that the terrorist groups engaged in.
Perhaps this is why the question of thinning out the troops on the ground — for which General Pervez Musharraf made such a pitch in his UN speech last month, naming even sectors in northern Kashmir where he thought this brooked no delay — finds no echo among the populace.
It is common to hear that the people can lodge complaints against abuses by instruments of the state, and courts do provide relief. But against rights violations by terrorist elements, there exists no forum of appeal.
It is important to remember that while Delhi believes in democracy, in respect of Kashmir it appointed a series of political contractors to run the show. Before 2002, elections were just a game. Democracy’s outer shell was maintained, the insides were kept hollow. The result was the turbulence of the nineties.
Worse, while Kashmiris craved democracy, the Pakistan-backed putschist elements and their Kashmiri collaborators gave them stiff doses of Wahabism as a part of their wider project to establish “Nizam-e-Mustafa” — Kingdom of God for the faithful — and incorporate the Valley as a part of Pakistan.
In day-to-day life, this meant that the Kashmris were told to behave not like heathens, but like ‘true Muslims’ — in effect, to renounce their syncretic indigenous faith which was a glorious mix of Kashmiri Shaivism and Sufi Islam propagated in the fourteenth century by the ascetic order of Muslim “rishis”.
This really meant that the ‘brothers’ who had come from across the frontier to render solidarity and to liberate were asking the people of Kashmir to change their basic values and treat their own home-grown faith in contempt.
This was nothing less than wholesale cultural subversion, and the Kashmiri rebelled. The inner pulse and personality of Kashmir had no place in the intruder’s scheme. Therefore, the purported Islamic thread did not prove to be enough of a binding force.
When the people perceived that their essence as a community was being sought to be trampled, they just walked away from the ‘liberator’ who is now viewed as a trouble-making alien. This is why people do not cheer any more when terrorists hit a target.
Terrorists can still strike at will as they have of late. But this is because infiltration continues (and given the terrain, stopping ingress is not easy) and at any given time there is present in Kashmir a reasonably-sized force of armed irregular foreign troopers. But the vital element of local support is now almost entirely absent.
The Kashmiri now wants to get back the lost tempo of everyday living. Every village has a hallowed sufi shrine at which muslims and hindus used to congregate for their spiritual sustenance, and there are several major shrines across the Valley. In the high noon of militancy, people would be afraid to visit them. That phase has ended.
Interestingly, many Kashmiri muslims now think that the pandits who fled to Jammu have been more successful than them at keeping the flame of Kashmiri culture, language, and art forms alive and they want to re-discover that flame. As a local Kashmiri Muslim poet Farooq Nazki said, “They had fled because of people like me.” Now everyone wants them back.
The writer is a political affairs analyst based in Delhi
Read More
by Anand K Sahay from DNA India
Sunday, October 30, 2005 21:00 IST
The political change that will soon occur in Kashmir is along the lines that the Valley — not just Jammu — expected, even if analysts in Delhi are confounded. This is why there are no critical voices in Srinagar, which has taken the shift in its stride. The popular sentiment is for getting on with it, not to give credence to theories and gossip.
In Kashmir, the terrorists have made the same mistake that the Indian state had made once — they did not account for the people; their sensibilities, their temper. The militants and their masterminds are finally paying the price. The denouement has come in slow stages but it has surely arrived. The ordinary Kashmiri, as became obvious during a recent trip to the Valley, does not now seem to have any sympathy left for what has euphemistically been known as ‘ the militancy’.
Go anywhere in the state — towns and country, villages, forded rural streams, in Srinagar and even the parts hit by the earthquake, the feeling is palpable — the old days are gone. A striking aspect of the changed scene is that one doesn’t any more hear the litany of complaints that one did before against the behaviour of the uniformed forces.
Indeed, now they talk of the gross indecencies heaped by terrorists on ordinary folk over many years, of the arm-twisting and extortions, of violating of women, of wanton killings on the excuse that the “executed” person was an informer.
The constant cry against human rights abuses by the security forces one heard earlier has now given way to the breaking of silence over the acts of grossness that the terrorist groups engaged in.
Perhaps this is why the question of thinning out the troops on the ground — for which General Pervez Musharraf made such a pitch in his UN speech last month, naming even sectors in northern Kashmir where he thought this brooked no delay — finds no echo among the populace.
It is common to hear that the people can lodge complaints against abuses by instruments of the state, and courts do provide relief. But against rights violations by terrorist elements, there exists no forum of appeal.
It is important to remember that while Delhi believes in democracy, in respect of Kashmir it appointed a series of political contractors to run the show. Before 2002, elections were just a game. Democracy’s outer shell was maintained, the insides were kept hollow. The result was the turbulence of the nineties.
Worse, while Kashmiris craved democracy, the Pakistan-backed putschist elements and their Kashmiri collaborators gave them stiff doses of Wahabism as a part of their wider project to establish “Nizam-e-Mustafa” — Kingdom of God for the faithful — and incorporate the Valley as a part of Pakistan.
In day-to-day life, this meant that the Kashmris were told to behave not like heathens, but like ‘true Muslims’ — in effect, to renounce their syncretic indigenous faith which was a glorious mix of Kashmiri Shaivism and Sufi Islam propagated in the fourteenth century by the ascetic order of Muslim “rishis”.
This really meant that the ‘brothers’ who had come from across the frontier to render solidarity and to liberate were asking the people of Kashmir to change their basic values and treat their own home-grown faith in contempt.
This was nothing less than wholesale cultural subversion, and the Kashmiri rebelled. The inner pulse and personality of Kashmir had no place in the intruder’s scheme. Therefore, the purported Islamic thread did not prove to be enough of a binding force.
When the people perceived that their essence as a community was being sought to be trampled, they just walked away from the ‘liberator’ who is now viewed as a trouble-making alien. This is why people do not cheer any more when terrorists hit a target.
Terrorists can still strike at will as they have of late. But this is because infiltration continues (and given the terrain, stopping ingress is not easy) and at any given time there is present in Kashmir a reasonably-sized force of armed irregular foreign troopers. But the vital element of local support is now almost entirely absent.
The Kashmiri now wants to get back the lost tempo of everyday living. Every village has a hallowed sufi shrine at which muslims and hindus used to congregate for their spiritual sustenance, and there are several major shrines across the Valley. In the high noon of militancy, people would be afraid to visit them. That phase has ended.
Interestingly, many Kashmiri muslims now think that the pandits who fled to Jammu have been more successful than them at keeping the flame of Kashmiri culture, language, and art forms alive and they want to re-discover that flame. As a local Kashmiri Muslim poet Farooq Nazki said, “They had fled because of people like me.” Now everyone wants them back.
The writer is a political affairs analyst based in Delhi
A note on Sufism in Zanzibar, in "Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Vote"
Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Vote: Political, Racial, Religious Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Elections
A Muslim woman walks in the narrow streets of Stone Town next to a poster of Seif Shariff Hamad, the leader of the opposition party the Civic United Front , CUF , Friday, Oct. 28, 2005 in Zanzibar. More than 90 percent of Zanzibaris are Muslim, but most follow a very gentle form of Sufi Islam. The more fundamentalist sects have always had a hard time taking hold here.Nevertheless, the ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi party has always used the specter of radical Islam in elections campaigns, using slogans such as "Don't vote for the beard" to imply that voting for the bearded Hamad is a vote for radicals.(AP Photo/Karel Prinsloo)
By CHRIS TOMLINSON Associated Press Writer
The Associated Press
ZANZIBAR, Tanzania Oct 28, 2005 — On the narrow streets of Zanzibar, women wear bright African cloth, pastel Indian tunics and black head-to-toe veils, reflecting the multiculturalism that has thrived on these islands for centuries.
It is a picture of peaceful co-existence, the norm in this archipelago. But months of violence in the lead-up to weekend elections are proof of political, racial and religious tensions.
Sunday's vote has greater significance than ever before, with many Zanzibaris viewing the balloting as Western-style democracy's last chance. Two previous elections were seen as deeply flawed by violence and fraud. A third in that mold would give radicals fodder for their argument that Islam is the only answer to the island's problems.
"Western democracy has not worked in Zanzibar," said Mussa Ame Mussa, a leader in Zanzibar's Islamic Propagation Organization.
Mussa says his group is merely observing the elections and stays out of politics. But he was recently arrested and charged with making radical speeches criticizing the government. He called for the formation of Islamic parties, banned in Zanzibar under the constitution.
More than 90 percent of the people of Zanzibar, a semiautonomous part of Tanzania, are Muslim. Overall, Tanzania's population of 36 million is about 44 percent Christian and 34 percent Muslim.
Most Zanzibaris follow a gentle form of Sufi Islam. The more fundamentalist sects have always had a hard time taking hold here.
Nevertheless, the ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi party has always used the specter of radical Islam in election campaigns, with slogans such as "Don't vote for the beard" suggesting that a vote for bearded opposition leader Seif Shariff Hamad is a vote for radicals.
"I feel there is that threat" of radical Islam, said Hamad, the presidential candidate of the Civic United Front, or CUF. "Especially in areas where the people are poor, desperate, where there is no hope there you will find these youths who will be influenced by these radical forces."
Read More
Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Vote: Political, Racial, Religious Tensions Simmer Ahead of Zanzibar Elections
A Muslim woman walks in the narrow streets of Stone Town next to a poster of Seif Shariff Hamad, the leader of the opposition party the Civic United Front , CUF , Friday, Oct. 28, 2005 in Zanzibar. More than 90 percent of Zanzibaris are Muslim, but most follow a very gentle form of Sufi Islam. The more fundamentalist sects have always had a hard time taking hold here.Nevertheless, the ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi party has always used the specter of radical Islam in elections campaigns, using slogans such as "Don't vote for the beard" to imply that voting for the bearded Hamad is a vote for radicals.(AP Photo/Karel Prinsloo)
By CHRIS TOMLINSON Associated Press Writer
The Associated Press
ZANZIBAR, Tanzania Oct 28, 2005 — On the narrow streets of Zanzibar, women wear bright African cloth, pastel Indian tunics and black head-to-toe veils, reflecting the multiculturalism that has thrived on these islands for centuries.
It is a picture of peaceful co-existence, the norm in this archipelago. But months of violence in the lead-up to weekend elections are proof of political, racial and religious tensions.
Sunday's vote has greater significance than ever before, with many Zanzibaris viewing the balloting as Western-style democracy's last chance. Two previous elections were seen as deeply flawed by violence and fraud. A third in that mold would give radicals fodder for their argument that Islam is the only answer to the island's problems.
"Western democracy has not worked in Zanzibar," said Mussa Ame Mussa, a leader in Zanzibar's Islamic Propagation Organization.
Mussa says his group is merely observing the elections and stays out of politics. But he was recently arrested and charged with making radical speeches criticizing the government. He called for the formation of Islamic parties, banned in Zanzibar under the constitution.
More than 90 percent of the people of Zanzibar, a semiautonomous part of Tanzania, are Muslim. Overall, Tanzania's population of 36 million is about 44 percent Christian and 34 percent Muslim.
Most Zanzibaris follow a gentle form of Sufi Islam. The more fundamentalist sects have always had a hard time taking hold here.
Nevertheless, the ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi party has always used the specter of radical Islam in election campaigns, with slogans such as "Don't vote for the beard" suggesting that a vote for bearded opposition leader Seif Shariff Hamad is a vote for radicals.
"I feel there is that threat" of radical Islam, said Hamad, the presidential candidate of the Civic United Front, or CUF. "Especially in areas where the people are poor, desperate, where there is no hope there you will find these youths who will be influenced by these radical forces."
Omar Sharif and Sufism: Sharif credits grandsons for career lift
Posted on Sun, Nov. 20, 2005
Sharif credits grandsons for career lift
by SCHEHEREZADE FARAMARZI
Associated Press OUARZAZATE, Morocco -
At 73, Omar Sharif is as charming as ever, smiling with those moist brown eyes and the trademark gap in his front teeth that have served him well in a long, distinguished life in the movies.
But the recent rebound in that career, he says, is thanks to advice from his two grandsons.
"I spent a long time making very bad films because I was in a bad moment of my career and also I needed money for my family and so on," said the actor, who reportedly ran up enormous gambling debts in his obsession with bridge - a gambling habit he says he's given up.
Sharif, who was in the Moroccan desert shooting a TV series, "The Ten Commandments," said in an interview that he found his grandsons teasing him. So the actor who burst onto Western screens in the 1964 epic "Lawrence of Arabia" decided to quit until a good role came along.
The dry spell lasted five years.
Then came the French movie "Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Quran," a 2003 film directed by Francois Dupeyron.
Sharif won the French prize for best actor for his role as an aging Turkish Muslim shopkeeper in the Paris of the 1960s who befriends a lonely teenage Jewish boy, Momo. He teaches Momo about the esoteric traditions of Islam and the beauty and wisdom of Sufi Islam.
The Egyptian-born actor has long been an advocate of Muslim-Jewish friendship.
"I have a grandson who has a Jewish mother and I have a grandson who has a Muslim mother. ... I love them the same and they love each other. And everybody should love each other. That's why I made this French film - a Muslim man adopts a Jewish boy," said Sharif, who was born as Michel Shalhoub to affluent Christian Lebanese-Syrian parents and later converted to Islam.
Offers for movies began pouring in after "Monsieur Ibrahim."
"Now I have 10 scripts every day offered to me and I choose the periods that I want to shoot and how long I want to be on a film," Sharif said, flashing that gap-toothed smile.
He appears in only four scenes in "The Ten Commandments" in his role as Moses' father-in-law Jethro. That is "just perfect," he said - he had to spend only two weeks in Ouarzazate, where director David Lean filmed part of "Lawrence of Arabia" more than 40 years ago.
In that film, Sharif's Arab chieftain character made one of the most beautiful entrances in film history, riding out of shimmering desert haze toward Peter O'Toole, who played the British adventurer T.E. Lawrence. Sharif earned an Academy Award nomination.
After that, he played a Russian in "Dr. Zhivago," a German in "Night of the Generals," an Austrian in "Mayerling," an American in "Funny Girl," a Mexican in "MacKenna's Gold" and a Cuban in "Che."
His billing is usually a bit lower these days. "You know, at my age, it's very difficult to find leading roles for old men," he said.
"I just did St. Peter," he added. "As a Muslim I did St. Peter. Now I'm playing Moses' father-in-law. But Moses is for all the religions. St. Peter is Christian completely.
"And of course I don't know what happens when it comes out in the Arab countries," he said with a chuckle while pouring himself a cup of mint tea.
Before he came to the world stage, Sharif was a star of Egyptian films and married to popular actress Faten Hamama. Now, he does Egyptian movies, with social themes, when "there's something I want to say to the Egyptian people, to criticize."
A script he wrote in 1989 and acted in was called "Aragos" - "The Puppeteer" - a film about a buffoon whose shows dramatize the promise of former President Gamal Abdel-Nasser's socialist revolution.
The puppeteer spoke "the truth about what was in Egypt" through his puppet, Sharif said. When questioned by police, he would protest: "It's not me ... this idiot's speaking, I don't say these things, it's him.'"
In 2006, he plans to do a 30-episode series during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, a prime time throughout the Arab world for broadcasting TV serials.
He will play a successful Egyptian businessman living in the United States who returns to Egypt with his daughter after his wife dies, to show her his native country. "It's about me really," Sharif said.
Although his new films made in Egypt have a message, they are not political, he said, because "I don't find any terrible fault in the political situation in Egypt." The problems are poverty, ignorance and overpopulation, he said.
Sharif sees no chance for democracy in the Arab world. "Because we are tribal people. We are not nations."
Now that his son, Tarek, has resettled in Egypt and taken an Egyptian as his second wife, Sharif spends a lot of time in Cairo, to be near his little grandson, Karim. His older grandson, Omar, a university student, lives in Canada.
Read More
Sharif credits grandsons for career lift
by SCHEHEREZADE FARAMARZI
Associated Press OUARZAZATE, Morocco -
At 73, Omar Sharif is as charming as ever, smiling with those moist brown eyes and the trademark gap in his front teeth that have served him well in a long, distinguished life in the movies.
But the recent rebound in that career, he says, is thanks to advice from his two grandsons.
"I spent a long time making very bad films because I was in a bad moment of my career and also I needed money for my family and so on," said the actor, who reportedly ran up enormous gambling debts in his obsession with bridge - a gambling habit he says he's given up.
Sharif, who was in the Moroccan desert shooting a TV series, "The Ten Commandments," said in an interview that he found his grandsons teasing him. So the actor who burst onto Western screens in the 1964 epic "Lawrence of Arabia" decided to quit until a good role came along.
The dry spell lasted five years.
Then came the French movie "Monsieur Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Quran," a 2003 film directed by Francois Dupeyron.
Sharif won the French prize for best actor for his role as an aging Turkish Muslim shopkeeper in the Paris of the 1960s who befriends a lonely teenage Jewish boy, Momo. He teaches Momo about the esoteric traditions of Islam and the beauty and wisdom of Sufi Islam.
The Egyptian-born actor has long been an advocate of Muslim-Jewish friendship.
"I have a grandson who has a Jewish mother and I have a grandson who has a Muslim mother. ... I love them the same and they love each other. And everybody should love each other. That's why I made this French film - a Muslim man adopts a Jewish boy," said Sharif, who was born as Michel Shalhoub to affluent Christian Lebanese-Syrian parents and later converted to Islam.
Offers for movies began pouring in after "Monsieur Ibrahim."
"Now I have 10 scripts every day offered to me and I choose the periods that I want to shoot and how long I want to be on a film," Sharif said, flashing that gap-toothed smile.
He appears in only four scenes in "The Ten Commandments" in his role as Moses' father-in-law Jethro. That is "just perfect," he said - he had to spend only two weeks in Ouarzazate, where director David Lean filmed part of "Lawrence of Arabia" more than 40 years ago.
In that film, Sharif's Arab chieftain character made one of the most beautiful entrances in film history, riding out of shimmering desert haze toward Peter O'Toole, who played the British adventurer T.E. Lawrence. Sharif earned an Academy Award nomination.
After that, he played a Russian in "Dr. Zhivago," a German in "Night of the Generals," an Austrian in "Mayerling," an American in "Funny Girl," a Mexican in "MacKenna's Gold" and a Cuban in "Che."
His billing is usually a bit lower these days. "You know, at my age, it's very difficult to find leading roles for old men," he said.
"I just did St. Peter," he added. "As a Muslim I did St. Peter. Now I'm playing Moses' father-in-law. But Moses is for all the religions. St. Peter is Christian completely.
"And of course I don't know what happens when it comes out in the Arab countries," he said with a chuckle while pouring himself a cup of mint tea.
Before he came to the world stage, Sharif was a star of Egyptian films and married to popular actress Faten Hamama. Now, he does Egyptian movies, with social themes, when "there's something I want to say to the Egyptian people, to criticize."
A script he wrote in 1989 and acted in was called "Aragos" - "The Puppeteer" - a film about a buffoon whose shows dramatize the promise of former President Gamal Abdel-Nasser's socialist revolution.
The puppeteer spoke "the truth about what was in Egypt" through his puppet, Sharif said. When questioned by police, he would protest: "It's not me ... this idiot's speaking, I don't say these things, it's him.'"
In 2006, he plans to do a 30-episode series during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, a prime time throughout the Arab world for broadcasting TV serials.
He will play a successful Egyptian businessman living in the United States who returns to Egypt with his daughter after his wife dies, to show her his native country. "It's about me really," Sharif said.
Although his new films made in Egypt have a message, they are not political, he said, because "I don't find any terrible fault in the political situation in Egypt." The problems are poverty, ignorance and overpopulation, he said.
Sharif sees no chance for democracy in the Arab world. "Because we are tribal people. We are not nations."
Now that his son, Tarek, has resettled in Egypt and taken an Egyptian as his second wife, Sharif spends a lot of time in Cairo, to be near his little grandson, Karim. His older grandson, Omar, a university student, lives in Canada.
Vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba [Bulgaria]
The Vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba as a Source on the History of Unorthodox Islam in North-Eastern Bulgaria by Nevena Gramatikova
As Islam marched westward through the Balkans after the 14th Century, unorthodox Islam — enjoying strong positions in Anatolia — found fertile ground in the newly conquered Bulgarian lands. It arrived there through the proselytising of dervişes and şeyhs from mystical Sufi sects, considered by the orthodox ulema as incompatible with Islam.[1] Such teachings included that of Kalenders and Abdals (essentially indistinguishable), Haydars and Hurufs. One may also include here the Yesevi, Babayı and Bektaşi, who shared some beliefs and worship practices with the aforementioned sects. Subsequently all these mystical tendencies were to interfuse and become part of the Bektaşi amalgam. The process involved the migration of Turkic individuals, families and clans of unorthodox Muslim persuasions. Some yearned for booty from the frontlines of Islamic-Christian wars, others hoped for better land, yet others were forcibly interned no longer to pose a nonconformist threat in the Asiatic heartland of the Ottoman Empire, or as prisoners of war. A number of official Ottoman sources testify to the fact that the Bulgarian lands in second half of the 16th Century already had a significant unorthodox Muslim presence, resulting from forced settlement under Selim I and Süleyman I.[2] Some of these people’s modern ancestors claim even earlier arrival. However, the Author has no access to sufficiently early Ottoman documents to prove or disprove these claims. The aforesaid shows that the genesis and spread of the Demir Baba Sultan cult enjoyed fertile soil in the 16th and 17th Centuries.
The unorthodox Muslims who settled in the Bulgarian lands created their own particular culture, intrinsically linked with Islam. Aspects of it are the architecture and scriptural heritage which furnish valuable information on Islamic trends in the Balkans. Their creators saw these buildings and manuscripts as hallowed: sacred works intended to preserve their religious, philosophical, and moral/ethical beliefs for posterity. Such a manuscript is the vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba. It is the work of unorthodox Muslims from North-Eastern Bulgaria, and is proof that a written tradition existed among them. This tradition did not boast a great diversity of genre and style, its products being correctly viewed as ‘folklore.’ However, it does represent a source in the study of unorthodox Muslim worship in Bulgaria.
Demir Baba is part of the local folklore of the Kızılbaş Alevi villages of Sevar, Ostrovo, Mwdrevo, Biserci, Svexari, and Lwvino near Razgrad, and Preslavci, Qernik, Bradvari, and Vodno near Silistra. The manuscript, Haza kitab Vilâyet-nâme-i Timur Baba Sultanin beyan (A Book Which Reveals the Wonders of Timur Baba Sultan) compiles some of the legends current among the Kızılbaş. The Author has traced three transcripts of this manuscript: one photographic and two xerographic copies, both the latter of the same original. So far it has proved impossible to determine whether the photographic copy was made from an original or a transcript. Externally, the manuscript concerned is similar to other vilâyet-nâmes, such as that of Hacı Bektaş Veli.[3] The possibility of the latter manuscript serving as stylistic and visual prototype of the former cannot be ruled out.
The photographic copy comprises 186 pages, each (apart from the front and last pages) with fifteen lines. The text is in Ottoman Turkish with vowel marks. There is no precise dating information, but page 5 carries the date Muharrem, 1129 After Hegira (16 December 1716 to 15 January 1717). The date follows due eulogies to Allah from the author or transcriber, and a listing of Timur Baba’s lineage. All would seem to indicate that this date does indeed note the time when the manuscript was created. It is possible that the year may not be 1129 AH: this part of the date is unclear, possibly due to poor photographic technique. The year may equally well be 1029 AH. The latter year (1029 AH) features in the xerographic copy of the same manuscript, with the rest of the text being identical in content with the photographic copy. Thus the manuscript may have been created in December 1619. Since the Author has no other manuscripts, she can speculate no further on dating.
A legend among the Kızılbaş has Demir Baba being born in 1530 and dying in 1650. His Arab father, Turanoğlu Hacı Ali Dede, had come from the Hejaz* after completing his hacılık.* Demir Baba’s 120 year lifespan is typical of those ascribed by legend to other Muslim mystic-saints, including ones in the Bektaşi pantheon.
The manuscript describes events during the reign of Süleyman I the Magnificent (1520-1566). The subject saint is variously named Timur Baba, Demir Baba, Kara Demir, Demir Pehlivan, Timur Ata, and Demir Ata. The titles of Baba and Ata are commonly given to travelling Turkic preachers. The leaders of Kızılbaş religious communes are also called Baba or Dede. Apart from being a religious leader, the Baba or Dede is also an elder in secular life. The Kızılbaş have retained many practices from patriarchal and clan times, and these appellations — as well as the worship of Demir Baba and other Muslim Turkic saints — show traces of the resilient Turkic ancestor cult.[4]
By the time of the aforementioned events, the cult to saints had finally merged with the Sufi movement in Sufism. God’s Chosen Ones (evliya) were adopted by mystical Sufi orders.[5] The text of Demir Baba’s life does not indicate which order he belonged to. An addendum to the photographically copied manuscript indicates that he had belonged to the Babayı tariqa.[6] This may be confirmed by the Babayı affiliation of local people in villages where worship to Demir Baba is most firmly entrenched. The text makes clear that Demir Baba was a follower of the Sufi tradition of Otman Baba, whose name was Hüssam Şah Gani.[7] Indeed, Otman Baba and Demir Baba are the ‘premier saints’ of the Bulgarian Kızılbaş.
On the other hand, the 17th Century saw the merging of the Bektaşi and Babayı pantheons in the Bulgarian lands. Until then, despite their shared religious doctrine, the two tariqas had shown various degrees of deference to some saints. The quashing of differences made Demir Baba as much a Babayı as a Bektaşi saint, as the manuscript proves. The anonymous authors of legends included in the life link Demir Baba with other patron saints of tekkes, Akyazılı Baba, Kıdemli Baba, Tay Hızır, Kızana Sultan, Otman Baba, Kızıl Deli Sultan, and Dursun Baba, inter alia.[8] These tekkes were linked with Bektaşism in terms of worship and organisation. However, it is also clear that the division between Babayı and Bektaşi, perceptible even today, was alive then: the Sufi hats (tac) of Otman Baba and Demir Baba were made of seven pieces of cloth; a Bektaşi leader and saint would wear a tac made from a dozen pieces of cloth. Some researchers claim that Demir Baba’s tac was also 12-sided. In fact, his seven-sided hat was exchanged for a 12-sided one later, the new hat being brought by Bektaşi dervişes from Rusçuk.*[9]
According to the manuscript, Demir Baba is a descendant of Ali bin Abu Talib and his son Hussayin. His direct lineage stems from the fourth Shi’a Imam Ali Al Asghar, known as Zeyn Al Abidin (the Pure and Honourable One who Beautifies the Lord’s Servants). The preamble to the lineage reads, “He is the son of those who coalesced, and also the son of the infidels of fire!” The text does not make it clear whether this applies specifically to Timur Baba. However, in Muslim parlance “infidels of fire” meant Zoroastrians. This could be an allusion to the legend — whose veracity researchers doubt — that the mother of the fourth Imam, Zeyn Al Abidin, was a Persian princess and daughter of the last Sasanid king Yezdigerd III.[10]
The manuscript states that Akyazılı Baba divined the impending birth of a brave man who would grow to assume the global importance of a Pole (a Qutb), and be a source of hope of the mystical road to God. The text places Demir Baba’s birth at 1521-‘2AD, after Süleyman I’s accession. Sultan Süleyman I is presented as close to Akyazılı Baba, who was then Pole of Poles (Qutb Al Aqtab): one who had attained supreme spiritual development. In the Sufi concept the Qutb is the pole which supports the world. The Qutb Al Aqtab heads the invisible hierarchy of saints. The true substance of Islam (Al Hakiqat Al Muhamadiyya) was incarnated into the one known as the Pole of His Time (Qutb Az Zamanihi). This true substance was the light or Muhammad’s shining (An Noor Al Muhammidi) and personified the image of the divine in its entirety, and the divine awareness of light, of which all else was created.[11]
The text makes it clear that the Qutb Az Zamanihi Akyazılı Baba and his adherents were Roumelian Abdals (Abdalan-ı Rum). They played a significant role in 13th-16th Century Anatolian religious life.[12] Their beliefs and rites tended to Shi’a and extreme pantheistic Sufi practice, while simultaneously admixing with many non-Islamic beliefs. Akyazılı Baba belonged to the celibate Abdal derviş branch. He was a saint of a rank which could communicate with God. As such, he knew he needed a successor who would inherit his spiritual might and rank. At his insistence, that saint — who would free people of their distress — was to be fathered by his closest Abdal derviş, Hacı Dede.
Many of the traditions, rites, and prayers written in the text are performed today at Kizilbaş religious gatherings in North-Eastern Bulgaria. This may mean that the author of the Timur Baba vilâyet-nâme was a local man from this confessional community. A religious song (nefes) in the manuscript is still sung by older Kızılbaş.[13] Its author was ‘Hatai.’ This was the literary pseudonym of the Safavid Kızılbaş ruler Shah İsmail. However, he Author cannot be certain whether authorship is indeed his, or that of Hata’i, a 17th Century Bektaşi poet. The song itself is such that those who sing it would have to have fairly extreme Shi’a views. It describes the importance of the Kırklar* festival in religious life, and prescribes how it should be celebrated. The number forty features often. This number is sacred in Alevi/Bektaşi doctrine. It symbolises the forty adherents of Ali who are worshipped in the Shi’a confession and Bektaşism. Their names are kept secret, but it is known that Selman-ı Farisi is among them.[14]
Legends dealing directly with Timur Baba start on page 29. After Timur’s lengthy religious tuition, Akyazılı Baba blessed him as spiritually knowledgeable, and introduced the basis of doctrine to him. This marked the passage of Timur through all stages of preparation and enlightenment in the Babayı order (and by analogy the Bektaşi order). This meant he had attained the calling of righteous (vilâya). Henceforth he had to prove this righteousness by performing a multitude of miracles (keramet). Timur reached this stage at age 22-23. If one takes his year of birth as 1521-‘2, this would mean the event took place around 1543-‘5; if one takes 1530 as the year of his birth, then the event took place around 1552-‘3.
Before bestowal of higher spiritual power, Timur Baba accompanied Akyazılı Baba on a tour of famous tekkes frequented by the Babayı and Bektaşi among the Kızılbaş: those of Otman Baba, Mustafa Baba, Yolkulu Baba, Hıfız Baba, Kızana Sultan, Dikkeli Hüseyin Baba, Musa Baba, and Ali Bey Tay Hızır.[15] Ziyar or ziyaret, the ritual visit to the tomb of a deceased saint (or the habitation of a living one), aimed at spiritual communion between mystic and saint in which the latter would extend his grace onto the former.[16] Through ziyar, the visiting mystic could also obtain the saint’s sacred spiritual virtue (baraka). The spiritual significance of ziyar is similar to that of hacc.
Legends describing the miracles of Timur Baba bestow a mythological aura to their derviş subject. His supernatural powers enabled him to level forests; the power of his voice rent sea and mountain aquiver. Muslims see the ability to perform miracles as a manifestation of the divine grace invested in a saint.
A number of prayers sent to Allah and his beloved Muhammad and Ali show that Timur Baba was member of the Shi’a confession in Islam. They display the cult to the characteristic Islamic ‘trinity’ of Allah, Muhammad and Ali. This cult (Teslis) is a central Shi’a and Bektaşi tenet.[17]
Vanquishing the Serpent in Tartary and Muscovy, victory over the infidel army in the battle of Budim, the gift of water, and the ability to grant and deny life are just some of Timur Baba’s miracles, seen by believers as proof of God’s disposition towards him. His kilim and towel — attributes in worship — became intermediaries in transmitting his power and holiness to lay believers. He passed gifts of gratitude for his feats on to religious institutions in M’kkah and M’dinah, and ones of the road followed by him.[18] In Islam, such acts raise one closer to God.
The Author’s grounds for attributing the manuscript to Sufi literature are the mentions of the apparent and covert (zahir and batın) ways of Allah. It was the covert way that was the kısmet, fate and enigma of Chosen Ones. It was the way of those who had attained divine truth (gerçek erenler). Timur Baba Sultan was such a man, and the Alevi Kızılbaş in the Bulgarian lands also perceive themselves as such.
The vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba genuinely contains rich and valuable information about unorthodox Muslims’ religious cults in the Bulgarian lands during the 16th and 17th Centuries. That is indeed why this manuscript and others like it had a significant place in these Muslims’ lives. They were sources of knowledge and a device for preserving their cultural and religious traditions. Evidence of this is a note on page 4: “I beseech thou, Oh ones of the gathering of men who have attained Divine Revelation, to safeguard this creation that I too may peruse this vilâyet-nâme from beginning to end!” Despite living within the confines of their religious community, the Alevi Muslims[19] recognised that their books were a mirror of themselves, and a window to the outside world.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Стайнова, М. [Staynova, M.]: „Ислам и исламская религиозная пропаганда в Болгарии” [“Islam and Islamic Religious Propaganda in Bulgaria”], „Османская империя. Система государственного управления, социальные и этнорелигиозные проблемы” [The Ottoman Empire: Governance, Social and Ethnic/Religious Problems], Москва 1986;
[2] Димитров, Стр.; Жечев, Н.; Тонев, В. [Dimitrov, S.; Jeqev, N.; Tonev, V.]: История на Добруджа, т. 3 [A History of the Dobrudja, Volume 3], стр. стр. 34-36, София 1988; Barkan, Ö. L.: XV ve XVI-nci asirlarda Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda zirai ekonominin hukuki ve mali esasları. I. Kanunlar. İstanbul 1943: 272-277
Стойков, Р. [Stoykov, R.], „Селища и демографски облик на Североизточна България и Добруджа през втората половина на ХVІ в.” [“Settlement and demographic patterns in North-Eastern Bulgaria and the Dobrudja in the Second Half of the 16th Century”], „Известия на Варненското археологическо дружество” [Notices of the Varna Archaeological Society] 1964, стр. 15, Варна 1964; Димитров, Стр. [Dimitrov, S.]: „Нови данни за демографските отношения в Южна Добруджа през първата половина на ХVІ в.” [New Data on Demographic Relations in the Southern Dobrudja in the First Half of the 16th Century], История [Istoriä] 1997: ‘8, ‘9; Радушев, E; Ковачев, Р. [Radusev, E, Kovaqev, R.]: Опис на регистри от Истанбулския османски архив към Генералната дирекция на държавните архиви на Република Турция [An Inventory of Registers in the Istanbul Ottoman Archive at the General Administration of the National Archives of the Turkish Republic] №19, стр. 21, София 1996.
[3] Gölpınarlı, A. (Haz.): Manakıb-i Hacı Bektaş-i Veli «Vilâyet-name». İstanbul 1990: XXIX.
* Today’s Saudi Arabia. Translator
* Pilgrimage to the Muslim Holy Cities (Turkish). Translator
[4] Басилов, Вл. Н. [Basilov, V. N.]: „Культ святых в исламе” [The Cult to Saints in Islam], стр. 69, Москва 1970.
[5] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: „Суфийские ордены в исламе” [Islamic Sufi Orders], стр. 33, Москва 1989.
[6] Haza kitab vilâyetname Timur Baba Sultanın, manuscript in the Author’s archives.
[7] Gölpınarlı, A.: in memoriam, Hatira sayisi. Otman Baba vilâyet-namesi, The Journal of Turkish Studies, Vol. 9b: LIX.
[8] Evliya Çelebi: Seyahatname. 1314-1318, III, V, İstanbul; Димитров, Стр. (преводач, съставител и редактор) [Dimitrov, S., Translator, Compiler and Editor]: „Евлия Челеби. Пътепис” [Evliya Çelebi: a Travelogue], стр. стр. 289-296, София 1972; Гаджанов, Д. Г. [Gadjanov, D. G.]: „Пътуване на Евлия Челеби из българските земи през средата на ХVІІ в.” [“A Journey by Evliya Celebi throught the Bulgarian Lands in the Middle of the 17th Century”], „Периодично списание на Българското книжовно дружество в София” [The Periodical Journal of the Bulgarian Learned Society in Sofia], кн. кн. 9-10, год. ХХІ, стр. стр. 639-724.
* Today’s city of Ruse in Bulgaria. Translator.
[9] According to field study data from Kızılbaş community elders, Governors of the Demir Baba Tekke, and older Kızılbaş people.
[10] Петрушевский, И. П. [Petrushevskiy, I. P.]: „Ислам в Иране в VІІ-ХV в. в.” [Islam in Iran in the 7th to the 15th Centuries], Л., 1966, стр. 244.
[11] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: op. cit., стр. 135.
[12] Barkan, Ö. L.: "Osmanlı imparatorluğunda Bir iskan ve kolonizasyon metodu olarak Vakıflar ve temlikler. İstila devirlerinin kolonizatör Türk dervisleri ve zaviyeler" Vakıflar Dergisi 2 (1942): 279-383; Köprülü, M. F.: Türk Edebiyatında İIk Mutasavvıflar. Ankara 1984: 53, 351.
[13] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 10.
* ‘Forty’ (Turkish). Translator.
[14] Христов, Хр., С. Бисерова, Българските алиани. Сборник етнографски материали, [The Bulgarian Alevi: a Collection of Ethnographical Materials] стр. стр. 74-75, 145-146; Noyan, B.: Bektaşilık Alevilik Nedir? İstanbul 1995: 65.
[15] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 67-8.
[16] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: op. cit., стр. стр. 33, 96, 149
[17] Eyuboğlu, İ. Z.: Bütün Yönleriyle Bektaşilik-Alevilik. İstanbul 1980: 141-4.
[18] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 67-8.
[19] The designation Alevi is officially accepted and used in the Bulgarian literature (Alian, plural Aliani in Bulgarian)
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The Vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba as a Source on the History of Unorthodox Islam in North-Eastern Bulgaria by Nevena Gramatikova
As Islam marched westward through the Balkans after the 14th Century, unorthodox Islam — enjoying strong positions in Anatolia — found fertile ground in the newly conquered Bulgarian lands. It arrived there through the proselytising of dervişes and şeyhs from mystical Sufi sects, considered by the orthodox ulema as incompatible with Islam.[1] Such teachings included that of Kalenders and Abdals (essentially indistinguishable), Haydars and Hurufs. One may also include here the Yesevi, Babayı and Bektaşi, who shared some beliefs and worship practices with the aforementioned sects. Subsequently all these mystical tendencies were to interfuse and become part of the Bektaşi amalgam. The process involved the migration of Turkic individuals, families and clans of unorthodox Muslim persuasions. Some yearned for booty from the frontlines of Islamic-Christian wars, others hoped for better land, yet others were forcibly interned no longer to pose a nonconformist threat in the Asiatic heartland of the Ottoman Empire, or as prisoners of war. A number of official Ottoman sources testify to the fact that the Bulgarian lands in second half of the 16th Century already had a significant unorthodox Muslim presence, resulting from forced settlement under Selim I and Süleyman I.[2] Some of these people’s modern ancestors claim even earlier arrival. However, the Author has no access to sufficiently early Ottoman documents to prove or disprove these claims. The aforesaid shows that the genesis and spread of the Demir Baba Sultan cult enjoyed fertile soil in the 16th and 17th Centuries.
The unorthodox Muslims who settled in the Bulgarian lands created their own particular culture, intrinsically linked with Islam. Aspects of it are the architecture and scriptural heritage which furnish valuable information on Islamic trends in the Balkans. Their creators saw these buildings and manuscripts as hallowed: sacred works intended to preserve their religious, philosophical, and moral/ethical beliefs for posterity. Such a manuscript is the vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba. It is the work of unorthodox Muslims from North-Eastern Bulgaria, and is proof that a written tradition existed among them. This tradition did not boast a great diversity of genre and style, its products being correctly viewed as ‘folklore.’ However, it does represent a source in the study of unorthodox Muslim worship in Bulgaria.
Demir Baba is part of the local folklore of the Kızılbaş Alevi villages of Sevar, Ostrovo, Mwdrevo, Biserci, Svexari, and Lwvino near Razgrad, and Preslavci, Qernik, Bradvari, and Vodno near Silistra. The manuscript, Haza kitab Vilâyet-nâme-i Timur Baba Sultanin beyan (A Book Which Reveals the Wonders of Timur Baba Sultan) compiles some of the legends current among the Kızılbaş. The Author has traced three transcripts of this manuscript: one photographic and two xerographic copies, both the latter of the same original. So far it has proved impossible to determine whether the photographic copy was made from an original or a transcript. Externally, the manuscript concerned is similar to other vilâyet-nâmes, such as that of Hacı Bektaş Veli.[3] The possibility of the latter manuscript serving as stylistic and visual prototype of the former cannot be ruled out.
The photographic copy comprises 186 pages, each (apart from the front and last pages) with fifteen lines. The text is in Ottoman Turkish with vowel marks. There is no precise dating information, but page 5 carries the date Muharrem, 1129 After Hegira (16 December 1716 to 15 January 1717). The date follows due eulogies to Allah from the author or transcriber, and a listing of Timur Baba’s lineage. All would seem to indicate that this date does indeed note the time when the manuscript was created. It is possible that the year may not be 1129 AH: this part of the date is unclear, possibly due to poor photographic technique. The year may equally well be 1029 AH. The latter year (1029 AH) features in the xerographic copy of the same manuscript, with the rest of the text being identical in content with the photographic copy. Thus the manuscript may have been created in December 1619. Since the Author has no other manuscripts, she can speculate no further on dating.
A legend among the Kızılbaş has Demir Baba being born in 1530 and dying in 1650. His Arab father, Turanoğlu Hacı Ali Dede, had come from the Hejaz* after completing his hacılık.* Demir Baba’s 120 year lifespan is typical of those ascribed by legend to other Muslim mystic-saints, including ones in the Bektaşi pantheon.
The manuscript describes events during the reign of Süleyman I the Magnificent (1520-1566). The subject saint is variously named Timur Baba, Demir Baba, Kara Demir, Demir Pehlivan, Timur Ata, and Demir Ata. The titles of Baba and Ata are commonly given to travelling Turkic preachers. The leaders of Kızılbaş religious communes are also called Baba or Dede. Apart from being a religious leader, the Baba or Dede is also an elder in secular life. The Kızılbaş have retained many practices from patriarchal and clan times, and these appellations — as well as the worship of Demir Baba and other Muslim Turkic saints — show traces of the resilient Turkic ancestor cult.[4]
By the time of the aforementioned events, the cult to saints had finally merged with the Sufi movement in Sufism. God’s Chosen Ones (evliya) were adopted by mystical Sufi orders.[5] The text of Demir Baba’s life does not indicate which order he belonged to. An addendum to the photographically copied manuscript indicates that he had belonged to the Babayı tariqa.[6] This may be confirmed by the Babayı affiliation of local people in villages where worship to Demir Baba is most firmly entrenched. The text makes clear that Demir Baba was a follower of the Sufi tradition of Otman Baba, whose name was Hüssam Şah Gani.[7] Indeed, Otman Baba and Demir Baba are the ‘premier saints’ of the Bulgarian Kızılbaş.
On the other hand, the 17th Century saw the merging of the Bektaşi and Babayı pantheons in the Bulgarian lands. Until then, despite their shared religious doctrine, the two tariqas had shown various degrees of deference to some saints. The quashing of differences made Demir Baba as much a Babayı as a Bektaşi saint, as the manuscript proves. The anonymous authors of legends included in the life link Demir Baba with other patron saints of tekkes, Akyazılı Baba, Kıdemli Baba, Tay Hızır, Kızana Sultan, Otman Baba, Kızıl Deli Sultan, and Dursun Baba, inter alia.[8] These tekkes were linked with Bektaşism in terms of worship and organisation. However, it is also clear that the division between Babayı and Bektaşi, perceptible even today, was alive then: the Sufi hats (tac) of Otman Baba and Demir Baba were made of seven pieces of cloth; a Bektaşi leader and saint would wear a tac made from a dozen pieces of cloth. Some researchers claim that Demir Baba’s tac was also 12-sided. In fact, his seven-sided hat was exchanged for a 12-sided one later, the new hat being brought by Bektaşi dervişes from Rusçuk.*[9]
According to the manuscript, Demir Baba is a descendant of Ali bin Abu Talib and his son Hussayin. His direct lineage stems from the fourth Shi’a Imam Ali Al Asghar, known as Zeyn Al Abidin (the Pure and Honourable One who Beautifies the Lord’s Servants). The preamble to the lineage reads, “He is the son of those who coalesced, and also the son of the infidels of fire!” The text does not make it clear whether this applies specifically to Timur Baba. However, in Muslim parlance “infidels of fire” meant Zoroastrians. This could be an allusion to the legend — whose veracity researchers doubt — that the mother of the fourth Imam, Zeyn Al Abidin, was a Persian princess and daughter of the last Sasanid king Yezdigerd III.[10]
The manuscript states that Akyazılı Baba divined the impending birth of a brave man who would grow to assume the global importance of a Pole (a Qutb), and be a source of hope of the mystical road to God. The text places Demir Baba’s birth at 1521-‘2AD, after Süleyman I’s accession. Sultan Süleyman I is presented as close to Akyazılı Baba, who was then Pole of Poles (Qutb Al Aqtab): one who had attained supreme spiritual development. In the Sufi concept the Qutb is the pole which supports the world. The Qutb Al Aqtab heads the invisible hierarchy of saints. The true substance of Islam (Al Hakiqat Al Muhamadiyya) was incarnated into the one known as the Pole of His Time (Qutb Az Zamanihi). This true substance was the light or Muhammad’s shining (An Noor Al Muhammidi) and personified the image of the divine in its entirety, and the divine awareness of light, of which all else was created.[11]
The text makes it clear that the Qutb Az Zamanihi Akyazılı Baba and his adherents were Roumelian Abdals (Abdalan-ı Rum). They played a significant role in 13th-16th Century Anatolian religious life.[12] Their beliefs and rites tended to Shi’a and extreme pantheistic Sufi practice, while simultaneously admixing with many non-Islamic beliefs. Akyazılı Baba belonged to the celibate Abdal derviş branch. He was a saint of a rank which could communicate with God. As such, he knew he needed a successor who would inherit his spiritual might and rank. At his insistence, that saint — who would free people of their distress — was to be fathered by his closest Abdal derviş, Hacı Dede.
Many of the traditions, rites, and prayers written in the text are performed today at Kizilbaş religious gatherings in North-Eastern Bulgaria. This may mean that the author of the Timur Baba vilâyet-nâme was a local man from this confessional community. A religious song (nefes) in the manuscript is still sung by older Kızılbaş.[13] Its author was ‘Hatai.’ This was the literary pseudonym of the Safavid Kızılbaş ruler Shah İsmail. However, he Author cannot be certain whether authorship is indeed his, or that of Hata’i, a 17th Century Bektaşi poet. The song itself is such that those who sing it would have to have fairly extreme Shi’a views. It describes the importance of the Kırklar* festival in religious life, and prescribes how it should be celebrated. The number forty features often. This number is sacred in Alevi/Bektaşi doctrine. It symbolises the forty adherents of Ali who are worshipped in the Shi’a confession and Bektaşism. Their names are kept secret, but it is known that Selman-ı Farisi is among them.[14]
Legends dealing directly with Timur Baba start on page 29. After Timur’s lengthy religious tuition, Akyazılı Baba blessed him as spiritually knowledgeable, and introduced the basis of doctrine to him. This marked the passage of Timur through all stages of preparation and enlightenment in the Babayı order (and by analogy the Bektaşi order). This meant he had attained the calling of righteous (vilâya). Henceforth he had to prove this righteousness by performing a multitude of miracles (keramet). Timur reached this stage at age 22-23. If one takes his year of birth as 1521-‘2, this would mean the event took place around 1543-‘5; if one takes 1530 as the year of his birth, then the event took place around 1552-‘3.
Before bestowal of higher spiritual power, Timur Baba accompanied Akyazılı Baba on a tour of famous tekkes frequented by the Babayı and Bektaşi among the Kızılbaş: those of Otman Baba, Mustafa Baba, Yolkulu Baba, Hıfız Baba, Kızana Sultan, Dikkeli Hüseyin Baba, Musa Baba, and Ali Bey Tay Hızır.[15] Ziyar or ziyaret, the ritual visit to the tomb of a deceased saint (or the habitation of a living one), aimed at spiritual communion between mystic and saint in which the latter would extend his grace onto the former.[16] Through ziyar, the visiting mystic could also obtain the saint’s sacred spiritual virtue (baraka). The spiritual significance of ziyar is similar to that of hacc.
Legends describing the miracles of Timur Baba bestow a mythological aura to their derviş subject. His supernatural powers enabled him to level forests; the power of his voice rent sea and mountain aquiver. Muslims see the ability to perform miracles as a manifestation of the divine grace invested in a saint.
A number of prayers sent to Allah and his beloved Muhammad and Ali show that Timur Baba was member of the Shi’a confession in Islam. They display the cult to the characteristic Islamic ‘trinity’ of Allah, Muhammad and Ali. This cult (Teslis) is a central Shi’a and Bektaşi tenet.[17]
Vanquishing the Serpent in Tartary and Muscovy, victory over the infidel army in the battle of Budim, the gift of water, and the ability to grant and deny life are just some of Timur Baba’s miracles, seen by believers as proof of God’s disposition towards him. His kilim and towel — attributes in worship — became intermediaries in transmitting his power and holiness to lay believers. He passed gifts of gratitude for his feats on to religious institutions in M’kkah and M’dinah, and ones of the road followed by him.[18] In Islam, such acts raise one closer to God.
The Author’s grounds for attributing the manuscript to Sufi literature are the mentions of the apparent and covert (zahir and batın) ways of Allah. It was the covert way that was the kısmet, fate and enigma of Chosen Ones. It was the way of those who had attained divine truth (gerçek erenler). Timur Baba Sultan was such a man, and the Alevi Kızılbaş in the Bulgarian lands also perceive themselves as such.
The vilâyet-nâme of Demir Baba genuinely contains rich and valuable information about unorthodox Muslims’ religious cults in the Bulgarian lands during the 16th and 17th Centuries. That is indeed why this manuscript and others like it had a significant place in these Muslims’ lives. They were sources of knowledge and a device for preserving their cultural and religious traditions. Evidence of this is a note on page 4: “I beseech thou, Oh ones of the gathering of men who have attained Divine Revelation, to safeguard this creation that I too may peruse this vilâyet-nâme from beginning to end!” Despite living within the confines of their religious community, the Alevi Muslims[19] recognised that their books were a mirror of themselves, and a window to the outside world.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Стайнова, М. [Staynova, M.]: „Ислам и исламская религиозная пропаганда в Болгарии” [“Islam and Islamic Religious Propaganda in Bulgaria”], „Османская империя. Система государственного управления, социальные и этнорелигиозные проблемы” [The Ottoman Empire: Governance, Social and Ethnic/Religious Problems], Москва 1986;
[2] Димитров, Стр.; Жечев, Н.; Тонев, В. [Dimitrov, S.; Jeqev, N.; Tonev, V.]: История на Добруджа, т. 3 [A History of the Dobrudja, Volume 3], стр. стр. 34-36, София 1988; Barkan, Ö. L.: XV ve XVI-nci asirlarda Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda zirai ekonominin hukuki ve mali esasları. I. Kanunlar. İstanbul 1943: 272-277
Стойков, Р. [Stoykov, R.], „Селища и демографски облик на Североизточна България и Добруджа през втората половина на ХVІ в.” [“Settlement and demographic patterns in North-Eastern Bulgaria and the Dobrudja in the Second Half of the 16th Century”], „Известия на Варненското археологическо дружество” [Notices of the Varna Archaeological Society] 1964, стр. 15, Варна 1964; Димитров, Стр. [Dimitrov, S.]: „Нови данни за демографските отношения в Южна Добруджа през първата половина на ХVІ в.” [New Data on Demographic Relations in the Southern Dobrudja in the First Half of the 16th Century], История [Istoriä] 1997: ‘8, ‘9; Радушев, E; Ковачев, Р. [Radusev, E, Kovaqev, R.]: Опис на регистри от Истанбулския османски архив към Генералната дирекция на държавните архиви на Република Турция [An Inventory of Registers in the Istanbul Ottoman Archive at the General Administration of the National Archives of the Turkish Republic] №19, стр. 21, София 1996.
[3] Gölpınarlı, A. (Haz.): Manakıb-i Hacı Bektaş-i Veli «Vilâyet-name». İstanbul 1990: XXIX.
* Today’s Saudi Arabia. Translator
* Pilgrimage to the Muslim Holy Cities (Turkish). Translator
[4] Басилов, Вл. Н. [Basilov, V. N.]: „Культ святых в исламе” [The Cult to Saints in Islam], стр. 69, Москва 1970.
[5] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: „Суфийские ордены в исламе” [Islamic Sufi Orders], стр. 33, Москва 1989.
[6] Haza kitab vilâyetname Timur Baba Sultanın, manuscript in the Author’s archives.
[7] Gölpınarlı, A.: in memoriam, Hatira sayisi. Otman Baba vilâyet-namesi, The Journal of Turkish Studies, Vol. 9b: LIX.
[8] Evliya Çelebi: Seyahatname. 1314-1318, III, V, İstanbul; Димитров, Стр. (преводач, съставител и редактор) [Dimitrov, S., Translator, Compiler and Editor]: „Евлия Челеби. Пътепис” [Evliya Çelebi: a Travelogue], стр. стр. 289-296, София 1972; Гаджанов, Д. Г. [Gadjanov, D. G.]: „Пътуване на Евлия Челеби из българските земи през средата на ХVІІ в.” [“A Journey by Evliya Celebi throught the Bulgarian Lands in the Middle of the 17th Century”], „Периодично списание на Българското книжовно дружество в София” [The Periodical Journal of the Bulgarian Learned Society in Sofia], кн. кн. 9-10, год. ХХІ, стр. стр. 639-724.
* Today’s city of Ruse in Bulgaria. Translator.
[9] According to field study data from Kızılbaş community elders, Governors of the Demir Baba Tekke, and older Kızılbaş people.
[10] Петрушевский, И. П. [Petrushevskiy, I. P.]: „Ислам в Иране в VІІ-ХV в. в.” [Islam in Iran in the 7th to the 15th Centuries], Л., 1966, стр. 244.
[11] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: op. cit., стр. 135.
[12] Barkan, Ö. L.: "Osmanlı imparatorluğunda Bir iskan ve kolonizasyon metodu olarak Vakıflar ve temlikler. İstila devirlerinin kolonizatör Türk dervisleri ve zaviyeler" Vakıflar Dergisi 2 (1942): 279-383; Köprülü, M. F.: Türk Edebiyatında İIk Mutasavvıflar. Ankara 1984: 53, 351.
[13] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 10.
* ‘Forty’ (Turkish). Translator.
[14] Христов, Хр., С. Бисерова, Българските алиани. Сборник етнографски материали, [The Bulgarian Alevi: a Collection of Ethnographical Materials] стр. стр. 74-75, 145-146; Noyan, B.: Bektaşilık Alevilik Nedir? İstanbul 1995: 65.
[15] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 67-8.
[16] Тримингэм, Дж. С. [Trimmingham, J. S]: op. cit., стр. стр. 33, 96, 149
[17] Eyuboğlu, İ. Z.: Bütün Yönleriyle Bektaşilik-Alevilik. İstanbul 1980: 141-4.
[18] Vilâyetname-i Timur Baba, v. 67-8.
[19] The designation Alevi is officially accepted and used in the Bulgarian literature (Alian, plural Aliani in Bulgarian)
Not your father’s Ramadan [on Youssou N’Dour ]
Not your father’s Ramadan: Sengalese superstar Youssou N’Dour, who protested the Iraq war, talks about the beauty of Africa, Sufism and his fight against fundamentalism. (Larry Blumenfeld - Salon)
October 27, 2005
Oct. 26, 2005 | On Sunday evening at New York’s Carnegie Hall, Youssou N’Dour was caught between an elderly Senegalese griot and an unhappy soundman. Seems the xalam, a five-stringed Senegalese folk lute, wasn’t easy to mike. The opening concert of his four-night series just hours away, N’Dour nonetheless radiated calm.
N’Dour — the most popular singer in Africa and the archetypal world-music star — is used to reconciling antiquity with modernity. Besides, he’s negotiated trickier divides.
In March 2003, on the eve of the most ambitious American tour of his career, N’Dour simply canceled. “As a matter of conscience,” he wrote in a press statement, “I question the United States government’s apparent intention to commence war in Iraq. I believe that coming to America at this time would be perceived in many parts of the world — rightly or wrongly — as support for this policy.”
N’Dour’s sinewy tenor, dazzling vocal melismata, and urgent, engaging lyrics (mostly concerned with social responsibility and cultural memory) are the face of mbalax (um-balak), the popular Senegalese music that blends centuries-old praise-singing and percussion with Afro-Cuban arrangements and guitar-based Western pop. His band, the Super Étoile, has held sway over Senegalese fans since its formation in 1979. He’s since captured the ear of a worldwide audience, first with his singing on Peter Gabriel’s hit “In Your Eyes,” then through a series of wide-ranging, acclaimed albums for American labels.
N’Dour’s music is the perfect amalgam of old and new, indigenous and foreign. His music’s instrumentation ranges from talking drum (a staple of Senegalese music) to drum loops and synthesizers. His lyrics, sung mostly in his native Wolof, concern basic things — the need for hard work, respect for women, love of God and of fellow man — as well as more complicated issues — political struggles over electrical service in Dakar, or the need to remain connected to one’s home. 1990’s “Set” (which means “clean” or “pure” in Wolof) was a motivating cry for young Senegalese to clean up their environment and to demand “transparency” in politics and business.
Wednesday night at Carnegie Hall, N’Dour performs the music of “Egypt,” a dazzling CD that won a Grammy Award last year and is his most ambitious work to date: original songs about Senegalese Sufi tradition, performed with an Egyptian orchestra accented by Senegalese vocals and percussion. (N’Dour brings this music to seven more American cities through Nov. 13.) The orchestral setting coaxes his voice into heightened tenderness, but his messages are pointed as ever. Senegalese Islam is largely Sufi: “These songs celebrate the caliphs, saints and sages of my faith,” N’Dour told me, “to praise the tolerance of my often misunderstood religion.”
“Who better than Muslim artists to assume a kind of duty now,” he wrote in a Carnegie program book, “to protect Islam, and all the beautiful cultures of Islam, from its slanderers at both poles of the malicious, ignorant, ideologically inane morass of speech which passes for a ‘dialogue of religions’ in these challenging times?”
With Carnegie staffers, three publicists, and an independent film crew buzzing around N’Dour, stealing time to speak at a nearby hotel suite proved a challenge. But once seated, N’Dour, who spoke mostly in French through a translator, was eager to reflect on his new music and his return to the United States.
Looking back, are you glad you canceled your tour when you did?
If I had it to do again, I would do it again. I didn’t make the decision simply because there was a war mounting against a Muslim country. I did it because the war that was mounting was unjust. I could not bring the joy that I bring to my audiences in that context and in that environment. There were a lot of violent events that took place here in New York before this war, but I think the bringing on of the war was an attempt to weaken the United Nations.
Now, do you arrive with any ambivalence?
No, I don’t have a problem. Even though the conflict is still going on in Iraq, I think the U.S. is a great country with a lot of great people. And now, I know a lot of people who say now that we may have been right — that it was not right for the United States to invade Iraq. I know that I’m not Bruce Springsteen. But it was a symbolic statement that I wanted to make.
Is the music of your “Egypt” CD an attempt to counter the face of Islamic fundamentalism?
I don’t dwell on the effect of the music in terms of politics or about how people are going to perceive this tour. I am not overly interested in that. It is music meant to be beautiful and fun and it has pan-African content. It’s a great musical opportunity. It’s not as if I am a lawyer for any cause.
But don’t you find the messages of Muslim fundamentalists who command headlines at odds with your message in “Egypt”?
I think that in all religions you find fundamentalism and, for me, it’s always a minority — even if they are in the limelight now, getting the attention of the world. Every religion has its extremists. I think the majority of Muslim people are of the same frame of mind as I am.
Yes, but not the majority of those in power…
Those who are in power don’t always or even usually speak for the majority, and we need to remember that. This may be as true in your country as in the Middle East.
This album is surrounded by a message, it contains a strong message, but I did not create this message. It is the message of my faith, shared by many. It is something that some people are ignorant about, and I am trying to make those people aware. Some may have forgotten it and I am trying to remind them.
How did the music of “Egypt” come about?
It was a personal thing, really — just for me and those close to me. During the Ramadan, we have prayers, and every night we talk about our religion, Islam. And one day, I had the idea to play while we talked about it. And that idea brought back memories of how, when I was 10 years old, my father used to play recordings of Um Kulthum [the beloved Egyptian singer]. The two ideas began to merge for me in my mind, and then I talked to someone about finding Egyptian Arabic musicians to help me with this music. He mentioned Fathy Salama, who did the orchestral arrangements.
I always had some conflict over how to sing praises of a religious nature. I always had in mind to find a different form for this kind of praise singing. I wanted to sing about all the leaders of the brotherhoods. We have six famous brotherhoods, and I wanted to describe them all. I talked about the leaders, their stories, their families, and how they participated in the social development of Senegal.
Is there something distinct about the Senegalese experience of Islam? How does it differ from Islam in the Middle East?
The promotion of Islam in Africa may have begun with spokesmen from the Arab world, but in Senegal we have our own guides who have created their own turuq [Arabic for “ways” or “pathways”].
But I think that Sufism fits all over the world. The concept is not anything that fits standard Western ideas — it’s always related to culture, to music, to religion. It is a dominant religion in Senegal. The music that it creates calls into question the idea that the Muslim religion is not only a matter of Arabs or that it does not belong only to the Arabs. In the West, you have always associated the Islamic faith 100 percent with Arab culture. This in itself is a fundamentalist attitude and it is mistaken.
Does the act of working with Egyptian musicians in a largely Arabic musical style signify outreach on your part?
I’m not playing with Egyptian musicians to attain an Arab public. There’s content, there’s subject matter that’s common to us. And this record is a contribution to that commonality, an affirmation of that commonality.
If you wish to correct the view in the West of Islam, are you also talking about our images of Senegal, or all of Africa?
I think people should know more of Africa in terms of its joie de vivre, its feeling for life. In spite of the images that one knows about Africa — the economic poverty, the corruption — there’s a joy to living and a happiness in community, living together, in community life, which may be missing here in America. And I think America can learn from that. It’s a face of Africa that is not commonly shown in the news media, and if it were, I think Americans could learn a lot.
Considering the prevalent image Westerners have of African governments as corrupt, I wonder how you see the current American political environment?
The corruption, the corrupted and the corrupters are the same thing. Sometimes the money that is tied to the corruption process in Africa ends up here, you know. I think America is a great country that should have in its head a conscience and a responsibility that is equal to its achievements. I like the various movements that I see here in America. People here don’t leave action to the government. Action is not the exclusive province of the government. I like that idea very much.
This quality of Africans I’ve mentioned, to be happy in spite of trouble, despite challenge, is a force for development — and it could very well make Africa develop very rapidly in a way that people may not expect.
The question of modernization is central to disturbances in the Middle East and in Africa. Everyone is after modernization, no matter where they come from. But you have to be careful about it, and more importantly, you have to have sense about it. A comedian told me a story recently: He was in a rich Arab country and there were all these air conditioners in one spot. He looked up and there was no ceiling. There was air conditioning, but no roof.
The four-night series you curated for Carnegie Hall spans ancient musical styles to the freshest Senegalese pop. Is it fair to say that all of your music has at its core the tension between tradition and modernity?
My music is like a spinning ball. It can turn in one direction, and then it comes back to origins. And I think I am in a moment in my musical life where I’m feeling more sure of myself, and I think I’ve found a mix that suits me and makes me feel confident. I feel free of the expectations that people had of me, the symbol that perhaps I had become earlier in my career.
The symbol that I’d become created a tension between people interested in my music who favored a modern approach and people who favored a traditional or conservative approach, and between these two camps there was a lot of fighting. And now I think I’ve reached the point in time where the fighting is less important to me, less important to anyone, and people are more apt to sense the music on its own terms. Something that comes back to me is the experience of Miles Davis, who at a point in time was free to express himself without the fetters of people wanting one particular Miles or another. And I don’t know why, but somehow I sense that I’m in the same place that he might have been.
What does the griot mean in modern-day terms?
We’re always tempted by the weight of the present. But we need to think about history too. When we step outside of the day-to-day, that’s when we are able to share the most. Sometimes I am content to be immersed in the present moment. But not too much of the time. The griot is a bridge. If you want to go to Senegal the griot can take you there — through music, through dance, by telling stories.
Is there a special meaning or poignancy to performing this music, which was conceived during one Ramadan, in the U.S. during another Ramadan [which runs through Nov. 3]?
It’s very interesting: There was a big debate on Senegalese radio, with professors, Islamic leaders, musicians and rappers about making music and performing during Ramadan. The moderator was an Islamic studies specialist, and he asked, “Why during Ramadan is there no music? If you’re stopping your music during Ramadan, then aren’t you saying that the music is not acceptable for the religion?” This was a very important point for me.
I’m sorry, but I don’t remember reading anywhere that you can’t play music after sundown during Ramadan. People like me have decided to ask ourselves, “Why?” Maybe we’ll do something different. Maybe it is time to do some things differently.
Read More
October 27, 2005
Oct. 26, 2005 | On Sunday evening at New York’s Carnegie Hall, Youssou N’Dour was caught between an elderly Senegalese griot and an unhappy soundman. Seems the xalam, a five-stringed Senegalese folk lute, wasn’t easy to mike. The opening concert of his four-night series just hours away, N’Dour nonetheless radiated calm.
N’Dour — the most popular singer in Africa and the archetypal world-music star — is used to reconciling antiquity with modernity. Besides, he’s negotiated trickier divides.
In March 2003, on the eve of the most ambitious American tour of his career, N’Dour simply canceled. “As a matter of conscience,” he wrote in a press statement, “I question the United States government’s apparent intention to commence war in Iraq. I believe that coming to America at this time would be perceived in many parts of the world — rightly or wrongly — as support for this policy.”
N’Dour’s sinewy tenor, dazzling vocal melismata, and urgent, engaging lyrics (mostly concerned with social responsibility and cultural memory) are the face of mbalax (um-balak), the popular Senegalese music that blends centuries-old praise-singing and percussion with Afro-Cuban arrangements and guitar-based Western pop. His band, the Super Étoile, has held sway over Senegalese fans since its formation in 1979. He’s since captured the ear of a worldwide audience, first with his singing on Peter Gabriel’s hit “In Your Eyes,” then through a series of wide-ranging, acclaimed albums for American labels.
N’Dour’s music is the perfect amalgam of old and new, indigenous and foreign. His music’s instrumentation ranges from talking drum (a staple of Senegalese music) to drum loops and synthesizers. His lyrics, sung mostly in his native Wolof, concern basic things — the need for hard work, respect for women, love of God and of fellow man — as well as more complicated issues — political struggles over electrical service in Dakar, or the need to remain connected to one’s home. 1990’s “Set” (which means “clean” or “pure” in Wolof) was a motivating cry for young Senegalese to clean up their environment and to demand “transparency” in politics and business.
Wednesday night at Carnegie Hall, N’Dour performs the music of “Egypt,” a dazzling CD that won a Grammy Award last year and is his most ambitious work to date: original songs about Senegalese Sufi tradition, performed with an Egyptian orchestra accented by Senegalese vocals and percussion. (N’Dour brings this music to seven more American cities through Nov. 13.) The orchestral setting coaxes his voice into heightened tenderness, but his messages are pointed as ever. Senegalese Islam is largely Sufi: “These songs celebrate the caliphs, saints and sages of my faith,” N’Dour told me, “to praise the tolerance of my often misunderstood religion.”
“Who better than Muslim artists to assume a kind of duty now,” he wrote in a Carnegie program book, “to protect Islam, and all the beautiful cultures of Islam, from its slanderers at both poles of the malicious, ignorant, ideologically inane morass of speech which passes for a ‘dialogue of religions’ in these challenging times?”
With Carnegie staffers, three publicists, and an independent film crew buzzing around N’Dour, stealing time to speak at a nearby hotel suite proved a challenge. But once seated, N’Dour, who spoke mostly in French through a translator, was eager to reflect on his new music and his return to the United States.
Looking back, are you glad you canceled your tour when you did?
If I had it to do again, I would do it again. I didn’t make the decision simply because there was a war mounting against a Muslim country. I did it because the war that was mounting was unjust. I could not bring the joy that I bring to my audiences in that context and in that environment. There were a lot of violent events that took place here in New York before this war, but I think the bringing on of the war was an attempt to weaken the United Nations.
Now, do you arrive with any ambivalence?
No, I don’t have a problem. Even though the conflict is still going on in Iraq, I think the U.S. is a great country with a lot of great people. And now, I know a lot of people who say now that we may have been right — that it was not right for the United States to invade Iraq. I know that I’m not Bruce Springsteen. But it was a symbolic statement that I wanted to make.
Is the music of your “Egypt” CD an attempt to counter the face of Islamic fundamentalism?
I don’t dwell on the effect of the music in terms of politics or about how people are going to perceive this tour. I am not overly interested in that. It is music meant to be beautiful and fun and it has pan-African content. It’s a great musical opportunity. It’s not as if I am a lawyer for any cause.
But don’t you find the messages of Muslim fundamentalists who command headlines at odds with your message in “Egypt”?
I think that in all religions you find fundamentalism and, for me, it’s always a minority — even if they are in the limelight now, getting the attention of the world. Every religion has its extremists. I think the majority of Muslim people are of the same frame of mind as I am.
Yes, but not the majority of those in power…
Those who are in power don’t always or even usually speak for the majority, and we need to remember that. This may be as true in your country as in the Middle East.
This album is surrounded by a message, it contains a strong message, but I did not create this message. It is the message of my faith, shared by many. It is something that some people are ignorant about, and I am trying to make those people aware. Some may have forgotten it and I am trying to remind them.
How did the music of “Egypt” come about?
It was a personal thing, really — just for me and those close to me. During the Ramadan, we have prayers, and every night we talk about our religion, Islam. And one day, I had the idea to play while we talked about it. And that idea brought back memories of how, when I was 10 years old, my father used to play recordings of Um Kulthum [the beloved Egyptian singer]. The two ideas began to merge for me in my mind, and then I talked to someone about finding Egyptian Arabic musicians to help me with this music. He mentioned Fathy Salama, who did the orchestral arrangements.
I always had some conflict over how to sing praises of a religious nature. I always had in mind to find a different form for this kind of praise singing. I wanted to sing about all the leaders of the brotherhoods. We have six famous brotherhoods, and I wanted to describe them all. I talked about the leaders, their stories, their families, and how they participated in the social development of Senegal.
Is there something distinct about the Senegalese experience of Islam? How does it differ from Islam in the Middle East?
The promotion of Islam in Africa may have begun with spokesmen from the Arab world, but in Senegal we have our own guides who have created their own turuq [Arabic for “ways” or “pathways”].
But I think that Sufism fits all over the world. The concept is not anything that fits standard Western ideas — it’s always related to culture, to music, to religion. It is a dominant religion in Senegal. The music that it creates calls into question the idea that the Muslim religion is not only a matter of Arabs or that it does not belong only to the Arabs. In the West, you have always associated the Islamic faith 100 percent with Arab culture. This in itself is a fundamentalist attitude and it is mistaken.
Does the act of working with Egyptian musicians in a largely Arabic musical style signify outreach on your part?
I’m not playing with Egyptian musicians to attain an Arab public. There’s content, there’s subject matter that’s common to us. And this record is a contribution to that commonality, an affirmation of that commonality.
If you wish to correct the view in the West of Islam, are you also talking about our images of Senegal, or all of Africa?
I think people should know more of Africa in terms of its joie de vivre, its feeling for life. In spite of the images that one knows about Africa — the economic poverty, the corruption — there’s a joy to living and a happiness in community, living together, in community life, which may be missing here in America. And I think America can learn from that. It’s a face of Africa that is not commonly shown in the news media, and if it were, I think Americans could learn a lot.
Considering the prevalent image Westerners have of African governments as corrupt, I wonder how you see the current American political environment?
The corruption, the corrupted and the corrupters are the same thing. Sometimes the money that is tied to the corruption process in Africa ends up here, you know. I think America is a great country that should have in its head a conscience and a responsibility that is equal to its achievements. I like the various movements that I see here in America. People here don’t leave action to the government. Action is not the exclusive province of the government. I like that idea very much.
This quality of Africans I’ve mentioned, to be happy in spite of trouble, despite challenge, is a force for development — and it could very well make Africa develop very rapidly in a way that people may not expect.
The question of modernization is central to disturbances in the Middle East and in Africa. Everyone is after modernization, no matter where they come from. But you have to be careful about it, and more importantly, you have to have sense about it. A comedian told me a story recently: He was in a rich Arab country and there were all these air conditioners in one spot. He looked up and there was no ceiling. There was air conditioning, but no roof.
The four-night series you curated for Carnegie Hall spans ancient musical styles to the freshest Senegalese pop. Is it fair to say that all of your music has at its core the tension between tradition and modernity?
My music is like a spinning ball. It can turn in one direction, and then it comes back to origins. And I think I am in a moment in my musical life where I’m feeling more sure of myself, and I think I’ve found a mix that suits me and makes me feel confident. I feel free of the expectations that people had of me, the symbol that perhaps I had become earlier in my career.
The symbol that I’d become created a tension between people interested in my music who favored a modern approach and people who favored a traditional or conservative approach, and between these two camps there was a lot of fighting. And now I think I’ve reached the point in time where the fighting is less important to me, less important to anyone, and people are more apt to sense the music on its own terms. Something that comes back to me is the experience of Miles Davis, who at a point in time was free to express himself without the fetters of people wanting one particular Miles or another. And I don’t know why, but somehow I sense that I’m in the same place that he might have been.
What does the griot mean in modern-day terms?
We’re always tempted by the weight of the present. But we need to think about history too. When we step outside of the day-to-day, that’s when we are able to share the most. Sometimes I am content to be immersed in the present moment. But not too much of the time. The griot is a bridge. If you want to go to Senegal the griot can take you there — through music, through dance, by telling stories.
Is there a special meaning or poignancy to performing this music, which was conceived during one Ramadan, in the U.S. during another Ramadan [which runs through Nov. 3]?
It’s very interesting: There was a big debate on Senegalese radio, with professors, Islamic leaders, musicians and rappers about making music and performing during Ramadan. The moderator was an Islamic studies specialist, and he asked, “Why during Ramadan is there no music? If you’re stopping your music during Ramadan, then aren’t you saying that the music is not acceptable for the religion?” This was a very important point for me.
I’m sorry, but I don’t remember reading anywhere that you can’t play music after sundown during Ramadan. People like me have decided to ask ourselves, “Why?” Maybe we’ll do something different. Maybe it is time to do some things differently.
Monday, December 26, 2005
An interview with Junoon & Salman Ahmed
An interview with Junoon & Salman Ahmed
By Nafiza Dawla
Wed, 16 Mar 2005, 11:44:00
From New Nation Online Edition
Junoon, a Pakistani rock and roll band group. It is one of the biggest rock and roll, and band music groups of Asia. The word Junoon means obsession. Salman Ahmed and Ali Azmat are the two vocalist of the group. Formed in 1990, it released albums namely Junoon (1991), Kashmakash, Talaash (1993), Inquilab (1996), Azadi (1997), Andaz (2001), Pervaaz (2002), Ishaq (2002) and Deewar (2003). Junoon received award for outstanding achievements in Music and Peace by UNESCO. The BBC honoured the group with an award for Contribution to Asian Culture at the exclusive BBC Asian Awards Ceremony.
Salman Ahmed, songwriter/lead guitarist/composer, born in Lahore, Pakistan, obtained graduation in medical science from reputed King Edward Medical College. Salman Ahmad is most likely the only the living rock star, who is also a medical doctor .The New Nation got an opportunity to take his interview despite his busy time in Bangladesh as the group performed several musical programmes in Dhaka and Chittagong.
Life Style (The New Nation) : Would you please make a comment on your performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: We are satisfied with our performance in Bangladesh. It is a thrill to sing in front of 40,000 spectators. We visited Bangladesh thrice in the past but the experience we got this time was unique.
LS: Do you think that you have been succeeded to satisfy the audience by your performances?
Salman: Yes. The crowds cheered us every moment, which is rare even in our own country.
LS: What were the purposes behind your visit and performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: Bangladesh is one of the countries in our world tour.
LS: What’s your next plan?
Salman:To release an album titled Infinity in two months time
LS: How did you feel Bangladeshi people during your short visit?
Salman: The Bangladeshi people were friendly to us. Whenever we went, they greeted us and became pleased at our performance. They are really fond of music.
LS: Do you find any difference in the culture arena of Bangladesh between your previous visits and the present?
Salman: The audience responded to us this time more cordially than before. They have become more progressive and practical.
LS: Do you think that cultural heritage would be affected as the band music is flourishing is day by day?
Salman: No. If we love our traditional music and then reform, there will be no adverse impact.
LS. What is the different between Dil Dil Pakistan and Ghoom Tana?
Salman: The former represents western music and later modern style as been mixed. Ghoom Tana' is a project on HIV/Aids and friendship. I wrote and composed the song and then looked for the ideal female voice from India who could complement the melody and the lyrics. Shubha Mudgal's got this ethereal voice and she seemed to be the perfect choice. I got goose bumps in the studio when I recorded with her. I was also very honoured and deeply touched by Naseerudin Shah agreeing to do the voice over and Nandita Da She was perfect for the part because she really believes in the message behind it.
LS: Does the Junoon music come out of the Sufi’s music?
Salman: Junoon's Sufi leanings were inspired mainly due to my work and association with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I studied and performed with him and he has remained a lasting influence. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan always said to me, “Do not forget your own traditional music.” I think Bangladesh has a lot of traditional music and I am really proud of my own culture. I don't like musical labels because they are usually inaccurate. The Beatles played all kinds of music inspired from the west and the east yet they were always known as a pop/rock band. That's the way I see Junoon - a band that plays music to express joy, freedom and love.
LS: Sate details of your band members?
Salman: The other member of Junoon is Sabir Zafar, lyricist of the band Junnon, who has become one of Pakistan's leading lyricists. Sabir and Salman collaborated to produce such classic poetry as "Sayonee" and "Mitti". He returned to form on "Gharaj Baras". The band producer, John Alec has produced every Junoon album beginning with Azadi. John mastered Parvaaz at Abbey Road studios in the U.K, and regularly tours with Junoon in all international appearances. John has established his own picturesque studios overlooking the Hudson River in Grandview, New York, where Junoon recorded and produced many tracks from this album. Road Manager, Yousuf, manages tour and is a component of the Junoon machine. Manager Shehryar Ahmad set up Junoon.com in 1996. His goal is to get Junoon as a number one singer on the Billboard charts. S. Ishtiaq Ahmed is the Sound/Monitor Engineer.
LS: How do you think that President Parveez Musharraf is also a Junoon’s fan?
Salman: He is really a great—a great leader. He promotes the young musician and also inspires them. Few months ago, the Royal Albert Hall with President Musharraf as Chief Guest saw a concert. At Albert Hall he rolled up his sleeves and stood up and clapped to the encore of 'Jazba-e-Junoon’, which he specially requested.
LS: You are also an actor, so how do you feel as an actor?
Salman: Basically I am a composer and a singer, so mostly I comfort with music.
Salman Ahmad's documentary "It's My Country Too" was telecasted, BBC2 on 15th March. The character is relating, the Muslims living in the United States.
LS. Which kind of song do you like to listen?
Salman: I listen to a lot of Blues, rock, Qawwali and Old Bollywood film songs. My CD collection includes Robert Johnson, John Lee hooker, Led Zeppelin, Beatles, Radiohead, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and R.D.Burman.
Interview by : Nafiza Dawla
Photo : Arman Hossain Bappy
Read More
By Nafiza Dawla
Wed, 16 Mar 2005, 11:44:00
From New Nation Online Edition
Junoon, a Pakistani rock and roll band group. It is one of the biggest rock and roll, and band music groups of Asia. The word Junoon means obsession. Salman Ahmed and Ali Azmat are the two vocalist of the group. Formed in 1990, it released albums namely Junoon (1991), Kashmakash, Talaash (1993), Inquilab (1996), Azadi (1997), Andaz (2001), Pervaaz (2002), Ishaq (2002) and Deewar (2003). Junoon received award for outstanding achievements in Music and Peace by UNESCO. The BBC honoured the group with an award for Contribution to Asian Culture at the exclusive BBC Asian Awards Ceremony.
Salman Ahmed, songwriter/lead guitarist/composer, born in Lahore, Pakistan, obtained graduation in medical science from reputed King Edward Medical College. Salman Ahmad is most likely the only the living rock star, who is also a medical doctor .The New Nation got an opportunity to take his interview despite his busy time in Bangladesh as the group performed several musical programmes in Dhaka and Chittagong.
Life Style (The New Nation) : Would you please make a comment on your performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: We are satisfied with our performance in Bangladesh. It is a thrill to sing in front of 40,000 spectators. We visited Bangladesh thrice in the past but the experience we got this time was unique.
LS: Do you think that you have been succeeded to satisfy the audience by your performances?
Salman: Yes. The crowds cheered us every moment, which is rare even in our own country.
LS: What were the purposes behind your visit and performances in Bangladesh?
Salman: Bangladesh is one of the countries in our world tour.
LS: What’s your next plan?
Salman:To release an album titled Infinity in two months time
LS: How did you feel Bangladeshi people during your short visit?
Salman: The Bangladeshi people were friendly to us. Whenever we went, they greeted us and became pleased at our performance. They are really fond of music.
LS: Do you find any difference in the culture arena of Bangladesh between your previous visits and the present?
Salman: The audience responded to us this time more cordially than before. They have become more progressive and practical.
LS: Do you think that cultural heritage would be affected as the band music is flourishing is day by day?
Salman: No. If we love our traditional music and then reform, there will be no adverse impact.
LS. What is the different between Dil Dil Pakistan and Ghoom Tana?
Salman: The former represents western music and later modern style as been mixed. Ghoom Tana' is a project on HIV/Aids and friendship. I wrote and composed the song and then looked for the ideal female voice from India who could complement the melody and the lyrics. Shubha Mudgal's got this ethereal voice and she seemed to be the perfect choice. I got goose bumps in the studio when I recorded with her. I was also very honoured and deeply touched by Naseerudin Shah agreeing to do the voice over and Nandita Da She was perfect for the part because she really believes in the message behind it.
LS: Does the Junoon music come out of the Sufi’s music?
Salman: Junoon's Sufi leanings were inspired mainly due to my work and association with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I studied and performed with him and he has remained a lasting influence. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan always said to me, “Do not forget your own traditional music.” I think Bangladesh has a lot of traditional music and I am really proud of my own culture. I don't like musical labels because they are usually inaccurate. The Beatles played all kinds of music inspired from the west and the east yet they were always known as a pop/rock band. That's the way I see Junoon - a band that plays music to express joy, freedom and love.
LS: Sate details of your band members?
Salman: The other member of Junoon is Sabir Zafar, lyricist of the band Junnon, who has become one of Pakistan's leading lyricists. Sabir and Salman collaborated to produce such classic poetry as "Sayonee" and "Mitti". He returned to form on "Gharaj Baras". The band producer, John Alec has produced every Junoon album beginning with Azadi. John mastered Parvaaz at Abbey Road studios in the U.K, and regularly tours with Junoon in all international appearances. John has established his own picturesque studios overlooking the Hudson River in Grandview, New York, where Junoon recorded and produced many tracks from this album. Road Manager, Yousuf, manages tour and is a component of the Junoon machine. Manager Shehryar Ahmad set up Junoon.com in 1996. His goal is to get Junoon as a number one singer on the Billboard charts. S. Ishtiaq Ahmed is the Sound/Monitor Engineer.
LS: How do you think that President Parveez Musharraf is also a Junoon’s fan?
Salman: He is really a great—a great leader. He promotes the young musician and also inspires them. Few months ago, the Royal Albert Hall with President Musharraf as Chief Guest saw a concert. At Albert Hall he rolled up his sleeves and stood up and clapped to the encore of 'Jazba-e-Junoon’, which he specially requested.
LS: You are also an actor, so how do you feel as an actor?
Salman: Basically I am a composer and a singer, so mostly I comfort with music.
Salman Ahmad's documentary "It's My Country Too" was telecasted, BBC2 on 15th March. The character is relating, the Muslims living in the United States.
LS. Which kind of song do you like to listen?
Salman: I listen to a lot of Blues, rock, Qawwali and Old Bollywood film songs. My CD collection includes Robert Johnson, John Lee hooker, Led Zeppelin, Beatles, Radiohead, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and R.D.Burman.
Interview by : Nafiza Dawla
Photo : Arman Hossain Bappy
Aaj Rung Hai
Aaj Rung Hai
I came across this Urdu poem and the story of its origin
while looking into the background of an article I read in
New Straits Times - Persekutuan,Malaysia, titled "Pakistani colour and couture" on or before October 24, 2005. Unfortunately I can no longer locate the article I read. But, if you click on the title here, you will
get to the page that is the source of the material below and also that contains
links to two audio files of the poem.
Aaj rung hai maan
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri
Moray mehboob kay ghar rang hai ri
Sajan milaavra, sajan milaavra,
Sajan milaavra moray aangan ko
Aaj rung hai........
Mohay pir paayo Nijamudin aulia
Nijamudin aulia mohay pir payoo
Des bades mein dhoondh phiree hoon
Toraa rung man bhayo ri......,
Jag ujiyaaro, jagat ujiyaaro,
Main to aiso rang aur nahin dekhi ray
Main to jab dekhun moray sung hai,
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri.
(It is almost impossible to translate the word rung into English. It is not colour, hue or anything like that. May be something like glow or brilliance or gorgeousness may come close to it. There are many different legends explaining the use of this word in the qawwali. Most of them point to the fact that [the great Sufi and writer in both Persian and Urdu] Amir Khusrau sang these line ecstatically when he came back to his mother after meeting Nizamuddin Aulia [his Sufi master] for the first time, after a long search for an ideal sufi master [this being] reason why the lines are addressed to the mother.)
What a glow everywhere I see, Oh mother, what a glow;
Ive found the beloved, yes I found him,
In my courtyard;
I have found my pir Nizamuddin Aulia.
I roamed around the entire world,
looking for an ideal beloved;
And finally this face has enchanted my heart.
The whole world has been opened for me,
Never seen a glow like this before.
Whenever I see now, he is with me,
Oh beloved, please dye me in yourself;
Dye me in the colour of the spring, beloved;
What a glow, Oh, what a glow.
Read More
I came across this Urdu poem and the story of its origin
while looking into the background of an article I read in
New Straits Times - Persekutuan,Malaysia, titled "Pakistani colour and couture" on or before October 24, 2005. Unfortunately I can no longer locate the article I read. But, if you click on the title here, you will
get to the page that is the source of the material below and also that contains
links to two audio files of the poem.
Aaj rung hai maan
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri
Moray mehboob kay ghar rang hai ri
Sajan milaavra, sajan milaavra,
Sajan milaavra moray aangan ko
Aaj rung hai........
Mohay pir paayo Nijamudin aulia
Nijamudin aulia mohay pir payoo
Des bades mein dhoondh phiree hoon
Toraa rung man bhayo ri......,
Jag ujiyaaro, jagat ujiyaaro,
Main to aiso rang aur nahin dekhi ray
Main to jab dekhun moray sung hai,
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri.
(It is almost impossible to translate the word rung into English. It is not colour, hue or anything like that. May be something like glow or brilliance or gorgeousness may come close to it. There are many different legends explaining the use of this word in the qawwali. Most of them point to the fact that [the great Sufi and writer in both Persian and Urdu] Amir Khusrau sang these line ecstatically when he came back to his mother after meeting Nizamuddin Aulia [his Sufi master] for the first time, after a long search for an ideal sufi master [this being] reason why the lines are addressed to the mother.)
What a glow everywhere I see, Oh mother, what a glow;
Ive found the beloved, yes I found him,
In my courtyard;
I have found my pir Nizamuddin Aulia.
I roamed around the entire world,
looking for an ideal beloved;
And finally this face has enchanted my heart.
The whole world has been opened for me,
Never seen a glow like this before.
Whenever I see now, he is with me,
Oh beloved, please dye me in yourself;
Dye me in the colour of the spring, beloved;
What a glow, Oh, what a glow.
Mahan got its name from Sassanid governor [old news]
Mahan got its name from Sassanid governor
TEHRAN, Oct. 17 (MNA) -- The green city of Mahan in the mainly arid Kerman Province dates back to the time of Sassanid King Khosrow Anushirvan.
The name of Mahan is probably rooted in the name of Azar-Mahan who was appointed by Anushirvan to rule the regions of Kerman and Sistan-Baluchestan.
The director of Kerman Studies Center, Seyyed Mohammad-Ali Golabzadeh, who has recently released his book “Mahan”, writes that the rule of Azar-Mahan might be the only reason for choosing the name Mahan.
Azar-Mahan was an influential governor who performed great works in Kerman and Mahan with the support of the Sassanid king. His wide economic and civic activities in Mahan improved the finical situation of the people during his governorship, such that they gradually were able to help other cities of Iran as well.
Azar-Mahan died during the reign of Hormoz, the son of Anushirvan.
Golabzadeh has written the book in five chapters, “Name and Natural Geography of Mahan”, “Mahan over the History”, “Mahan in the Travelogues”, “Shah Nematollah Vali Monument”, and “Cultural Status of Mahan”.
He points to the Monument of Shah Nematollah Vali, the poet, sage, Sufi and founder of an order of dervishes, as the main reason for the fame of the city.
Sufi Shah Nureddin Nematollah Vali was born in Aleppo (now in northern Syria), spending much of his early life in Iraq including seven years in Mecca. He then traveled to Samarqand, Herat and Yazd before finally settling in Mahan in 1406. He is said to have lived for one hundred years, from 1331 to 1431, and is the founder of the Nematollahi order of Sufi dervishes who still gather at the sanctuary in Mahan.
Thirty five kilometers south of Kerman, there lies the city of Mahan with its gardens and monuments. Shahzadeh Garden is worth a visit with its charming gardens and a collection of pools leading to a large palace. The palace was once the summer residence of a prince though nobody is really sure of his identity.
RM/ML
Read More
TEHRAN, Oct. 17 (MNA) -- The green city of Mahan in the mainly arid Kerman Province dates back to the time of Sassanid King Khosrow Anushirvan.
The name of Mahan is probably rooted in the name of Azar-Mahan who was appointed by Anushirvan to rule the regions of Kerman and Sistan-Baluchestan.
The director of Kerman Studies Center, Seyyed Mohammad-Ali Golabzadeh, who has recently released his book “Mahan”, writes that the rule of Azar-Mahan might be the only reason for choosing the name Mahan.
Azar-Mahan was an influential governor who performed great works in Kerman and Mahan with the support of the Sassanid king. His wide economic and civic activities in Mahan improved the finical situation of the people during his governorship, such that they gradually were able to help other cities of Iran as well.
Azar-Mahan died during the reign of Hormoz, the son of Anushirvan.
Golabzadeh has written the book in five chapters, “Name and Natural Geography of Mahan”, “Mahan over the History”, “Mahan in the Travelogues”, “Shah Nematollah Vali Monument”, and “Cultural Status of Mahan”.
He points to the Monument of Shah Nematollah Vali, the poet, sage, Sufi and founder of an order of dervishes, as the main reason for the fame of the city.
Sufi Shah Nureddin Nematollah Vali was born in Aleppo (now in northern Syria), spending much of his early life in Iraq including seven years in Mecca. He then traveled to Samarqand, Herat and Yazd before finally settling in Mahan in 1406. He is said to have lived for one hundred years, from 1331 to 1431, and is the founder of the Nematollahi order of Sufi dervishes who still gather at the sanctuary in Mahan.
Thirty five kilometers south of Kerman, there lies the city of Mahan with its gardens and monuments. Shahzadeh Garden is worth a visit with its charming gardens and a collection of pools leading to a large palace. The palace was once the summer residence of a prince though nobody is really sure of his identity.
RM/ML
Writing a Fugue of Mystics, Misery and Memoir [old news]
Writing a Fugue of Mystics, Misery and Memoir
PROFILE- a review of Rafi Zabor's *I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir*
By Marcela Valdes
October 14, 2005
In "I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir" Rafi Zabor's heady, 472-page memoir, he portrays his life as a series of unpredictable transformations. The first major life twist occurred in 1969, the summer of love, when Zabor was 23 and fresh from Brooklyn College. It was then that he left his parents' home in Brooklyn, where he'd been raised as a secularized Jew, and moved to Berkeley, Calif. There he took up with a group of "pseudo-Gurdjieff" Sufis who followed the guidance of a mathematician-turned-acid-dealer.
The second twist occurred in 1985, when Zabor, an unemployed writer in his late 30s who had a novel under contract, a rapidly diminishing bank account and a severe case of writer's block, returned to the family home to watch over his dying parents. Though they passed away within months of each other, in 1986 and '87, he still lives in their old Kensington apartment.
"Subliminally it's probably not the best place for me to be, but I don't notice it," Zabor said in an interview at the apartment. His parents' old flock wallpaper still hangs in the hallway; their furniture decorates most of the living room. In "I, Wabenzi," Zabor declares that he's never "been that keen on the symbols of worldly status," and his apartment bears him out; the whole residence seems to have turned gray. Though twice in his life he has received windfalls of $200,000 — once as an inheritance from his parents, the other after winning the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction for his novel "The Bear Comes Home" (W.W. Norton & Company, 1997) — it appears that the only expensive items in the house are a stereo and a drum set. There's a large hole in the carpet by the sofa, and the cushions at one end of the couch hold a permanent dent that marks the spot where Zabor likes to sit while he writes.
To understand how Zabor got from Brooklyn to Berkeley and back again takes some doing. His conversation isn't particularly linear, and his memoir is spread over four volumes, of which "I, Wabenzi" is only the first. It covers his childhood in Brooklyn and part of his time in California, as well as his first year in a Sufi commune in England during the 1970s and last years of his parents' lives, but its thoughts and scenes appear by association and not chronology. The memoir's future volumes, Zabor said, will cover some of the gaps left in this one — including his father's frustrated ambition to become a major Yiddish novelist. They'll also recount the road trip he took in a used Mercedes after his parents' death — from England to Belgium to Turkey to Israel. ("Wabenzi" is Swahili slang for people who own Benzes.)
"I'd rather be a musician than a writer," Zabor told me, and it's clear that music exerts a big influence on the style and structure of his book. The chapters are shaped as fugues: In them, the lives of at least a dozen people are spliced together for maximum symphonic effect. For example, take Zabor's account of visiting his mother's sister, Rose. The scene begins in the 1980s, shortly after his parents' death, when an awkward comment from Rose provokes Zabor to stare down at his coffee and bite into a "tight curl of rugelach," which works as a sort of Brooklyn madeleine.
As he chews it, Zabor remembers how, as a boy in the 1950s, he loved Friday mornings. That was when he could escape next door to watch Rose bake delicious challah, coffee cake and tsibeleh kichlach. "Fry-day is Bake-day!" he'd squeal as he ran down the hall. And from Rose's sweet-smelling kitchen springs the memory of her genteel home and the contrast of his parents' apartment, where the furniture was less expensive and his mother was "an inexplicably violent presence" given to screaming fits and paranoid accusations that routinely left her son shaking with helpless hysteria.
Understandably, Zabor isn't eager to connect such traumatic childhood experiences to his later embrace of Sufism. He is, after all, a true believer. On the side table next to his writing spot on the sofa, framed photographs of his gurus — Mahmut Rauf and Bülent Rauf, two Turkish brothers who exemplified worldliness and asceticism, respectively — watch over the dark room. Zabor speaks of them with the sort of teasing affection obviously meant as a guard against complete adoration. "He looks like someone out of P.G. Wodehouse," he said, admiring Bülent's cheerful photograph. "He looks like Uncle Fred in the springtime."
But there's no denying that Beshara, the commune organized around Bülent in the 1970s, provided Zabor with the kind of nurturing, open-minded family he never had in Brooklyn. Zabor's body had turned against him on his drive to California in '69. His circulation shut down, so he was freezing even on the hottest summer days. He said that this and other ailments were caused by "horrible feelings of guilt and responsibility." In his memoir, Zabor attributes these emotions to a girlfriend's abortion, but chronology suggests they were tied more closely to his decision to leave New York despite his father's objections.
At Beshara, Zabor recovered his well-being and discovered the new self he longed for when he packed his bags in Brooklyn. In the hands of a younger or more ideological writer, the commune surely would have appeared as an idyll of serenity and good will. At 59, however, Zabor is too savvy and experienced for that. He entered Beshara with the skepticism of a born-and-bred New Yorker, marveling at the director's studied theatricality and noticing the social politics that divided the commune into rival, high-schoolish cliques.
Eight months after his first transforming mystical vision there, Zabor recalled, "the whole place went kaflooey." Beshara's members overthrew its directors and reformed in Scotland, leaving behind a wake of traumatized lives. Zabor is saving that story for the second, as yet unpublished, volume of his memoir. But in "I, Wabenzi" he does describe the coup's aftereffects. One of the commune's old stars winds up as a crude alcoholic in 1980s London. Meanwhile another one nurses a heroin addiction in New York's East Village. And, around the same time in Brooklyn, Zabor himself was paralyzed with grief from his parents' deaths. Only a joy ride across Europe to Turkey, he thought, could set him right again.
It's tempting to point out that Zabor's new religion didn't save him or his friends from these miseries. But then again what religion does? And it's easy to finger his unhappy childhood and track a path from there to his conversion. But, in the end, you have to admire Zabor's resistance to reductive cause-and-effect. At Beshara, he learned, many of the members were Jewish. Not all of them came from families as searing as his. What united them was a belief in the truth of mystical experience — visions, trances, disembodied voices — an interest in Bülent, and an appreciation for the gnomic writings of a 12th-century Sufi theologian named Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi. Who are we to say that they are wrong?
Marcela Valdes is a book review editor for Publishers Weekly. Her writing also has appeared in Bookforum, The Believer and the San Francisco Chronicle.
Read More
PROFILE- a review of Rafi Zabor's *I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir*
By Marcela Valdes
October 14, 2005
In "I, Wabenzi: A Souvenir" Rafi Zabor's heady, 472-page memoir, he portrays his life as a series of unpredictable transformations. The first major life twist occurred in 1969, the summer of love, when Zabor was 23 and fresh from Brooklyn College. It was then that he left his parents' home in Brooklyn, where he'd been raised as a secularized Jew, and moved to Berkeley, Calif. There he took up with a group of "pseudo-Gurdjieff" Sufis who followed the guidance of a mathematician-turned-acid-dealer.
The second twist occurred in 1985, when Zabor, an unemployed writer in his late 30s who had a novel under contract, a rapidly diminishing bank account and a severe case of writer's block, returned to the family home to watch over his dying parents. Though they passed away within months of each other, in 1986 and '87, he still lives in their old Kensington apartment.
"Subliminally it's probably not the best place for me to be, but I don't notice it," Zabor said in an interview at the apartment. His parents' old flock wallpaper still hangs in the hallway; their furniture decorates most of the living room. In "I, Wabenzi," Zabor declares that he's never "been that keen on the symbols of worldly status," and his apartment bears him out; the whole residence seems to have turned gray. Though twice in his life he has received windfalls of $200,000 — once as an inheritance from his parents, the other after winning the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction for his novel "The Bear Comes Home" (W.W. Norton & Company, 1997) — it appears that the only expensive items in the house are a stereo and a drum set. There's a large hole in the carpet by the sofa, and the cushions at one end of the couch hold a permanent dent that marks the spot where Zabor likes to sit while he writes.
To understand how Zabor got from Brooklyn to Berkeley and back again takes some doing. His conversation isn't particularly linear, and his memoir is spread over four volumes, of which "I, Wabenzi" is only the first. It covers his childhood in Brooklyn and part of his time in California, as well as his first year in a Sufi commune in England during the 1970s and last years of his parents' lives, but its thoughts and scenes appear by association and not chronology. The memoir's future volumes, Zabor said, will cover some of the gaps left in this one — including his father's frustrated ambition to become a major Yiddish novelist. They'll also recount the road trip he took in a used Mercedes after his parents' death — from England to Belgium to Turkey to Israel. ("Wabenzi" is Swahili slang for people who own Benzes.)
"I'd rather be a musician than a writer," Zabor told me, and it's clear that music exerts a big influence on the style and structure of his book. The chapters are shaped as fugues: In them, the lives of at least a dozen people are spliced together for maximum symphonic effect. For example, take Zabor's account of visiting his mother's sister, Rose. The scene begins in the 1980s, shortly after his parents' death, when an awkward comment from Rose provokes Zabor to stare down at his coffee and bite into a "tight curl of rugelach," which works as a sort of Brooklyn madeleine.
As he chews it, Zabor remembers how, as a boy in the 1950s, he loved Friday mornings. That was when he could escape next door to watch Rose bake delicious challah, coffee cake and tsibeleh kichlach. "Fry-day is Bake-day!" he'd squeal as he ran down the hall. And from Rose's sweet-smelling kitchen springs the memory of her genteel home and the contrast of his parents' apartment, where the furniture was less expensive and his mother was "an inexplicably violent presence" given to screaming fits and paranoid accusations that routinely left her son shaking with helpless hysteria.
Understandably, Zabor isn't eager to connect such traumatic childhood experiences to his later embrace of Sufism. He is, after all, a true believer. On the side table next to his writing spot on the sofa, framed photographs of his gurus — Mahmut Rauf and Bülent Rauf, two Turkish brothers who exemplified worldliness and asceticism, respectively — watch over the dark room. Zabor speaks of them with the sort of teasing affection obviously meant as a guard against complete adoration. "He looks like someone out of P.G. Wodehouse," he said, admiring Bülent's cheerful photograph. "He looks like Uncle Fred in the springtime."
But there's no denying that Beshara, the commune organized around Bülent in the 1970s, provided Zabor with the kind of nurturing, open-minded family he never had in Brooklyn. Zabor's body had turned against him on his drive to California in '69. His circulation shut down, so he was freezing even on the hottest summer days. He said that this and other ailments were caused by "horrible feelings of guilt and responsibility." In his memoir, Zabor attributes these emotions to a girlfriend's abortion, but chronology suggests they were tied more closely to his decision to leave New York despite his father's objections.
At Beshara, Zabor recovered his well-being and discovered the new self he longed for when he packed his bags in Brooklyn. In the hands of a younger or more ideological writer, the commune surely would have appeared as an idyll of serenity and good will. At 59, however, Zabor is too savvy and experienced for that. He entered Beshara with the skepticism of a born-and-bred New Yorker, marveling at the director's studied theatricality and noticing the social politics that divided the commune into rival, high-schoolish cliques.
Eight months after his first transforming mystical vision there, Zabor recalled, "the whole place went kaflooey." Beshara's members overthrew its directors and reformed in Scotland, leaving behind a wake of traumatized lives. Zabor is saving that story for the second, as yet unpublished, volume of his memoir. But in "I, Wabenzi" he does describe the coup's aftereffects. One of the commune's old stars winds up as a crude alcoholic in 1980s London. Meanwhile another one nurses a heroin addiction in New York's East Village. And, around the same time in Brooklyn, Zabor himself was paralyzed with grief from his parents' deaths. Only a joy ride across Europe to Turkey, he thought, could set him right again.
It's tempting to point out that Zabor's new religion didn't save him or his friends from these miseries. But then again what religion does? And it's easy to finger his unhappy childhood and track a path from there to his conversion. But, in the end, you have to admire Zabor's resistance to reductive cause-and-effect. At Beshara, he learned, many of the members were Jewish. Not all of them came from families as searing as his. What united them was a belief in the truth of mystical experience — visions, trances, disembodied voices — an interest in Bülent, and an appreciation for the gnomic writings of a 12th-century Sufi theologian named Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi. Who are we to say that they are wrong?
Marcela Valdes is a book review editor for Publishers Weekly. Her writing also has appeared in Bookforum, The Believer and the San Francisco Chronicle.
Central Asia: Masters Try To Revive Old Ways Of Teaching Traditional Music [old news]
Central Asia: Masters Try To Revive Old Ways Of Teaching Traditional Music
By Janyl Chytyrbaeva October 13, 2005
Musicians from across Central Asia gathered on the shores of Lake Issyk-Kul in eastern Kyrgyzstan recently for a workshop on traditional music. For 12 days in August, more than 100 students and their teachers played songs beneath the snow- capped Tien Shan Mountains near the Chinese border. They also explored ways traditional music has been passed down through the generations in Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan. The workshop departs from the way modern Western notation used to teach music in Central Asia during the Soviet era. As RFE/RL reports, it is part of broader attempts by Central Asian masters to revive ancient oral musical traditions that suffered under the Soviet education system.
Chok-Tal, Kyrgyzstan; 13 October 2005 (RFE/RL) -- One of the most fascinating aspects of the Summer School of Traditional Music in eastern Kyrgyzstan is the way it has brought together ancient musical ideas and teaching methods from different parts of Central Asia.
Nuriddin Rakhmonkulov is a 15-year-old from northern Tajikistan who is obsessed with his local musical heritage. His hometown of Khodjent is at the western edge of the Ferghana Valley -- a region that includes parts of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. It is a place where ancient Persian and Turkic cultures have been blending together for centuries.
Rakhmonkulov is studying a six-cycle musical form known as shashmakom. These instrumental and vocal traditions date back to the 7th century and have ties to Sufism -- the mystic branch of Islam that also incorporates influences of ancient shamanism.
Rakhmonkulov sings of a new spring coming, a flower bed that begins to flourish after a long winter, and blossoms that inspire other flowers to bloom:
The song poetically captures the essence of the summer music camp. The students and teachers there have come from special music schools across Central Asia -- and they are inspiring each other as they try to revive the ancient oral methods of teaching music that had been neglected under the Soviet system.
Rakhmankulov's own school is a center for musical prodigies called Hunar -- which means "art" or "talent" in Tajik. Others at the workshop come from similar schools in Dushanbe, Bishkek, Almaty, and Kazakhstan's western city of Kzyl-Orda.
Almas Almatov is a famous performer and teacher who traveled to Lake Issyk-Kul with four of his students from the Turan school and research center in Kzyl-Orda.
Formed after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Almatov's institution has rigorous entry standards that aim to preserve ancient Kazakh artistic traditions. One requirement is a family lineage of musicians dating back at least seven generations. Students also must demonstrate profound talent.
Almatov says his school also is using ancient teaching principles where masters called "ustads" pass on the music and legends of Kazakh folklore directly through oral instruction, rather than the modern European method of written notation introduced under the Soviet education system.
"Our [method of teaching] the traditional singing called 'jyr' has been acknowledged by the Ministry of Education of Kazakhstan and standardized. So it is now being taught as a subject at specialized schools for music. This year, five of our students graduated [after completing this new program at the Turan school.] We are planning to accept another 10 new students [this year]," Almatov says.
Gulshat Baisabaeva is a professor of musicology at the Kyrgyz National Conservatory in Bishkek who joined the workshop. Baisabaeva also teaches about "ulamysh" -- ancient Kyrgyz myths and legends -- at the Ustat-shakirt Center in the Kyrgyz capital:
"We work like our Kyrgyz ancestors taught us. I am not a conservative. Let young people know all about the world's music -- oriental or modern Western music. I am proud of young talented musicians who can recognize Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' in the middle of the night. But sometimes, people have arranged the traditional and tragic Kyrgyz melody of 'Sarynjy Bokoi' in a way that has girls dancing to it. This is not right. We should start by learning about our own history," Baisabaeva said.
Contrary to what is typical in general education in Central Asia, where a majority of school teachers are women, most "ustads" tend to be older men. One younger master from Tajikistan who took part in the workshop was 26-year-old Tojiddin Rakhimov.
Having studied as a child himself under Muzafor Mukhidinov -- one of Tajikistan's revered masters -- Rakhimov tells RFE/RL he feels it is now his turn to pass along the knowledge to young talents. "I myself grew up as an orphan," he says. "That is why I love children very much. When I learned this art of music, I wanted to work with children. I love to teach what I know to the children."
Two of Rakhimov's students from the Navo music center in Dushanbe traveled with him to the summer workshop at Lake Issyk-Kul.
One is Latofat Abdurashidova, a 7-year-old girl who memorizes traditional Persian poetry set to music. Another is a 7-year-old boy named Faridun Mamadaliev. Together the children are studying "aruz" -- a system of quantitative poetics used in classical verse -- like pentameter or hexameter. They sing to the accompaniment of Rakhimov on a long-necked Central Asian lute called a kashgar rubab.
(RFE/RL correspondent Ron Synovitz contributed to this report.)
Read More
By Janyl Chytyrbaeva October 13, 2005
Musicians from across Central Asia gathered on the shores of Lake Issyk-Kul in eastern Kyrgyzstan recently for a workshop on traditional music. For 12 days in August, more than 100 students and their teachers played songs beneath the snow- capped Tien Shan Mountains near the Chinese border. They also explored ways traditional music has been passed down through the generations in Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan. The workshop departs from the way modern Western notation used to teach music in Central Asia during the Soviet era. As RFE/RL reports, it is part of broader attempts by Central Asian masters to revive ancient oral musical traditions that suffered under the Soviet education system.
Chok-Tal, Kyrgyzstan; 13 October 2005 (RFE/RL) -- One of the most fascinating aspects of the Summer School of Traditional Music in eastern Kyrgyzstan is the way it has brought together ancient musical ideas and teaching methods from different parts of Central Asia.
Nuriddin Rakhmonkulov is a 15-year-old from northern Tajikistan who is obsessed with his local musical heritage. His hometown of Khodjent is at the western edge of the Ferghana Valley -- a region that includes parts of Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. It is a place where ancient Persian and Turkic cultures have been blending together for centuries.
Rakhmonkulov is studying a six-cycle musical form known as shashmakom. These instrumental and vocal traditions date back to the 7th century and have ties to Sufism -- the mystic branch of Islam that also incorporates influences of ancient shamanism.
Rakhmonkulov sings of a new spring coming, a flower bed that begins to flourish after a long winter, and blossoms that inspire other flowers to bloom:
The song poetically captures the essence of the summer music camp. The students and teachers there have come from special music schools across Central Asia -- and they are inspiring each other as they try to revive the ancient oral methods of teaching music that had been neglected under the Soviet system.
Rakhmankulov's own school is a center for musical prodigies called Hunar -- which means "art" or "talent" in Tajik. Others at the workshop come from similar schools in Dushanbe, Bishkek, Almaty, and Kazakhstan's western city of Kzyl-Orda.
Almas Almatov is a famous performer and teacher who traveled to Lake Issyk-Kul with four of his students from the Turan school and research center in Kzyl-Orda.
Formed after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Almatov's institution has rigorous entry standards that aim to preserve ancient Kazakh artistic traditions. One requirement is a family lineage of musicians dating back at least seven generations. Students also must demonstrate profound talent.
Almatov says his school also is using ancient teaching principles where masters called "ustads" pass on the music and legends of Kazakh folklore directly through oral instruction, rather than the modern European method of written notation introduced under the Soviet education system.
"Our [method of teaching] the traditional singing called 'jyr' has been acknowledged by the Ministry of Education of Kazakhstan and standardized. So it is now being taught as a subject at specialized schools for music. This year, five of our students graduated [after completing this new program at the Turan school.] We are planning to accept another 10 new students [this year]," Almatov says.
Gulshat Baisabaeva is a professor of musicology at the Kyrgyz National Conservatory in Bishkek who joined the workshop. Baisabaeva also teaches about "ulamysh" -- ancient Kyrgyz myths and legends -- at the Ustat-shakirt Center in the Kyrgyz capital:
"We work like our Kyrgyz ancestors taught us. I am not a conservative. Let young people know all about the world's music -- oriental or modern Western music. I am proud of young talented musicians who can recognize Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' in the middle of the night. But sometimes, people have arranged the traditional and tragic Kyrgyz melody of 'Sarynjy Bokoi' in a way that has girls dancing to it. This is not right. We should start by learning about our own history," Baisabaeva said.
Contrary to what is typical in general education in Central Asia, where a majority of school teachers are women, most "ustads" tend to be older men. One younger master from Tajikistan who took part in the workshop was 26-year-old Tojiddin Rakhimov.
Having studied as a child himself under Muzafor Mukhidinov -- one of Tajikistan's revered masters -- Rakhimov tells RFE/RL he feels it is now his turn to pass along the knowledge to young talents. "I myself grew up as an orphan," he says. "That is why I love children very much. When I learned this art of music, I wanted to work with children. I love to teach what I know to the children."
Two of Rakhimov's students from the Navo music center in Dushanbe traveled with him to the summer workshop at Lake Issyk-Kul.
One is Latofat Abdurashidova, a 7-year-old girl who memorizes traditional Persian poetry set to music. Another is a 7-year-old boy named Faridun Mamadaliev. Together the children are studying "aruz" -- a system of quantitative poetics used in classical verse -- like pentameter or hexameter. They sing to the accompaniment of Rakhimov on a long-necked Central Asian lute called a kashgar rubab.
(RFE/RL correspondent Ron Synovitz contributed to this report.)
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Pakistanis can now make it to Ajmer {old news]
Posted on 04 Oct 2005 # IANS NewKerala.com
Pakistanis can now make it to Ajmer
By M.R. Narayan Swamy, Islamabad: Come January and Pakistanis will be able to travel to the famed Sufi shrine of Ajmer in Rajasthan by train.
The train service between Khokhrapar in Pakistan and Munabao in India is to start in January 2006, India's External Affairs Minister K. Natwar Singh informed Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf at Rawalpindi.
This will make travel easy for Pakistanis intending to visit the Ajmer shrine, which is revered by millions in the subcontinent.
Musharraf travelled to the shrine and prayed there for peace between India and Pakistan during his visit to India in April.
Read More
Pakistanis can now make it to Ajmer
By M.R. Narayan Swamy, Islamabad: Come January and Pakistanis will be able to travel to the famed Sufi shrine of Ajmer in Rajasthan by train.
The train service between Khokhrapar in Pakistan and Munabao in India is to start in January 2006, India's External Affairs Minister K. Natwar Singh informed Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf at Rawalpindi.
This will make travel easy for Pakistanis intending to visit the Ajmer shrine, which is revered by millions in the subcontinent.
Musharraf travelled to the shrine and prayed there for peace between India and Pakistan during his visit to India in April.
For India and Islam: Maulana Azad’s Vision of Religious Pluralism. [old news]
For India and Islam: Maulana Azad’s Vision of Religious Pluralism. By Yoginder Sikand. India Oct. 2, 2005
More than fifty years after ‘independence’, India is still struggling hard to come to terms with religious plurality. It is here that the example of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, one of the leading lights of the freedom movement, and one whose legacy is today little known, is particularly valuable. What is especially instructive about Azad's life was his firm faith in Islam as well as his passionate commitment to communal harmony and a secular state. In this he provided a firm rebuttal to both Hindu as well as Muslim communalists who believed that commitment to one’s religion by definition meant unrelenting hostility to other faiths and their adherents.
As his title suggests, Azad was trained as a Maulana, an orthodox scholar of Islamic law and religion. Like many of his age, Azad’s Islamic spirituality was deeply imbued a broadminded Sufi mysticism that was firmly rooted in Islamic tradition and, at the same time, comfortable with religious plurality. In some of Azad's writings one can even discern a celebration of religious diversity.
The most striking instance of this is an essay that he wrote in 1910 on the famous Sufi, Sarmad Shahid, who was executed by Aurangzeb after being charged with heresy. Sarmad actually had a male Hindu admirer, Abhay Chand, and for his love for Abhay Chand was but an expression of his deep love for God.Azad terms this relationship between the Muslim mystic and the Hindu man a manifestation of divine love, adding that through this Sarmad was able to reach the realm of truth which is far beyond what Azad described as empty debates on
‘belief’ and ‘disbelief’. Azad’s faith in the essential oneness of humankind and of all religions stemmed essentially from the Sufi concept of wahdat-al-wujud or ‘The Unity of Existence’. According to concept, the light of God is present everywhere and all of creation is His manifestation. As Azad so beautifully put it in his address to the Khilafat Congress in 1920, "Truth is one and the same everywhere, but it has various guises". The fatal mistake that human beings had made, however, Azad added, was that they had equated particular external forms this one Truth with the Truth itself, thus leading to endless religious quarrels.
In Azad's own words: "The misfortune is that the world worships mere terms and not their inner meaning”. "Thus”, he says, “though all may worship the same Truth, they will fight with each other on account of differences of the terms that they employ. If the veils of these externals and terms can be lifted so that Truth and Reality come before all unveiled, then, at once, all quarrels of this world will end, and all who quarrel will see that what all seek is one and the same".
Azad's commitment to the oneness of religion was itself deeply rooted in his own understanding of the Quran. The Quran mentions that God has sent prophets to every nation (qaum) without exception and that all of them, from Adam, the first, to Muhammad, the last, have taught the same religion – ‘the Surrender (to God)’ or al-Islam in Arabic. The difference in the message of these various prophets was in the externals or laws and rituals associated with this one religion or deen. The core of their message however, was one and the same—surrender to God and the performance of good deeds. As Azad put it in his commentary of the Quran, the Tarjuman-al Quran: "The Quran states that the difference which exist between one religion and another are not differences in deen, the basic spirit of religion, but simply in its outward form”. In a celebrated work of his entitled Ghubar-i- Khatir, Azad drew close parallels between these Sufi concepts and the idea of pantheism of as expounded in the Hindu philosophic scriptures, the Upanishads. If, at root, all religions reflected the same message, then, for Azad, there was no room in Islam for religious hatred and prejudice. As he wrote in his journal al- Hilal in 1913:
"Islam does not commend narrow-mindedness and racial and religious prejudice. It does not make the recognition of merit and virtue of human benevolence, mercy and love dependent upon and subject to distinctions of race and religion.
Rather, Islam actually teaches us to respect every man who is good, whatever his religion, and to be drawn towards merits and virtues, whatever be the religion or race of the person who possesses them. If human beings were to be free of religious prejudice, then how much more would God Himself have to be above such failings!”
Azad believed that all human beings, irrespective of religion, were creatures of God. God, he said, was, above all, the, ‘Sustainer’ (Rabb) of all people and He would reward them all for good deeds and not simply for belonging to one religious community or the other.
Azad's Islamic universalism led him on to fiercely oppose both Muslim as well as Hindu communalism that saw no place for a genuinely religiously plural and democratic independent India. This made him into a vehement opponent of the Pakistan scheme put forward in 1940 by the Muslim League and encouraged by the Hindu Mahasabha and Hindu chauvinist elements within the Congress Party. For him, as he put it in a speech in 1946, the very idea of dividing territories into ‘Pak’ (literally, ‘pure’) and ‘Na-Pak’ (impure') was itself un-Islamic.
Indeed, as he saw it, Partition would undoubtedly bad for India but it would, actually, prove to be even worse for the Muslims themselves. Azad believed that it was fanciful to imagine, as Muslim League leaders apparently did, that the mere fact of following the same religion could provide the base for a separate state for all Indian Muslims, mirroring the Hindu Mahsabha’s demand for Hindu Rashtra. In his book, “India Wins Freedom”, Azad went so far as to write that: "It is one of the greatest frauds on the people to suggest that religion can unite areas which are geographically, economically, linguistically and culturally different". For him the example of the Prophet Muhammad was itself revealing in this regard. After shifting to Medina from Mecca, the Prophet had entered into a pact with the Jews of Medina, bringing them and the Muslims into one ‘nation’ (ummat). Accordingly, Azad suggested that this itself showed that Islam allowed for Muslims and non-Muslims to live together in one country, and he used this to stress the need for a united India of Hindus, Muslims and others.
Azad's passionate pleas for religious harmony and a truly plural and democratic India, however, fell on deaf ears as India descended into a blood bath in 1947, instigated by Hindu and Muslim communal forces, including sections within Azad’s own Congress Party itself, and actively encouraged by the British. More than fifty years on, the lessons of history are yet to be learnt. And while fierce battles continue to erupt in the name of religion, memories of Azad's life-long commitment to genuine religiosity and religious large-heartedness no longer receive even lip-sympathy.
Read More
More than fifty years after ‘independence’, India is still struggling hard to come to terms with religious plurality. It is here that the example of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, one of the leading lights of the freedom movement, and one whose legacy is today little known, is particularly valuable. What is especially instructive about Azad's life was his firm faith in Islam as well as his passionate commitment to communal harmony and a secular state. In this he provided a firm rebuttal to both Hindu as well as Muslim communalists who believed that commitment to one’s religion by definition meant unrelenting hostility to other faiths and their adherents.
As his title suggests, Azad was trained as a Maulana, an orthodox scholar of Islamic law and religion. Like many of his age, Azad’s Islamic spirituality was deeply imbued a broadminded Sufi mysticism that was firmly rooted in Islamic tradition and, at the same time, comfortable with religious plurality. In some of Azad's writings one can even discern a celebration of religious diversity.
The most striking instance of this is an essay that he wrote in 1910 on the famous Sufi, Sarmad Shahid, who was executed by Aurangzeb after being charged with heresy. Sarmad actually had a male Hindu admirer, Abhay Chand, and for his love for Abhay Chand was but an expression of his deep love for God.Azad terms this relationship between the Muslim mystic and the Hindu man a manifestation of divine love, adding that through this Sarmad was able to reach the realm of truth which is far beyond what Azad described as empty debates on
‘belief’ and ‘disbelief’. Azad’s faith in the essential oneness of humankind and of all religions stemmed essentially from the Sufi concept of wahdat-al-wujud or ‘The Unity of Existence’. According to concept, the light of God is present everywhere and all of creation is His manifestation. As Azad so beautifully put it in his address to the Khilafat Congress in 1920, "Truth is one and the same everywhere, but it has various guises". The fatal mistake that human beings had made, however, Azad added, was that they had equated particular external forms this one Truth with the Truth itself, thus leading to endless religious quarrels.
In Azad's own words: "The misfortune is that the world worships mere terms and not their inner meaning”. "Thus”, he says, “though all may worship the same Truth, they will fight with each other on account of differences of the terms that they employ. If the veils of these externals and terms can be lifted so that Truth and Reality come before all unveiled, then, at once, all quarrels of this world will end, and all who quarrel will see that what all seek is one and the same".
Azad's commitment to the oneness of religion was itself deeply rooted in his own understanding of the Quran. The Quran mentions that God has sent prophets to every nation (qaum) without exception and that all of them, from Adam, the first, to Muhammad, the last, have taught the same religion – ‘the Surrender (to God)’ or al-Islam in Arabic. The difference in the message of these various prophets was in the externals or laws and rituals associated with this one religion or deen. The core of their message however, was one and the same—surrender to God and the performance of good deeds. As Azad put it in his commentary of the Quran, the Tarjuman-al Quran: "The Quran states that the difference which exist between one religion and another are not differences in deen, the basic spirit of religion, but simply in its outward form”. In a celebrated work of his entitled Ghubar-i- Khatir, Azad drew close parallels between these Sufi concepts and the idea of pantheism of as expounded in the Hindu philosophic scriptures, the Upanishads. If, at root, all religions reflected the same message, then, for Azad, there was no room in Islam for religious hatred and prejudice. As he wrote in his journal al- Hilal in 1913:
"Islam does not commend narrow-mindedness and racial and religious prejudice. It does not make the recognition of merit and virtue of human benevolence, mercy and love dependent upon and subject to distinctions of race and religion.
Rather, Islam actually teaches us to respect every man who is good, whatever his religion, and to be drawn towards merits and virtues, whatever be the religion or race of the person who possesses them. If human beings were to be free of religious prejudice, then how much more would God Himself have to be above such failings!”
Azad believed that all human beings, irrespective of religion, were creatures of God. God, he said, was, above all, the, ‘Sustainer’ (Rabb) of all people and He would reward them all for good deeds and not simply for belonging to one religious community or the other.
Azad's Islamic universalism led him on to fiercely oppose both Muslim as well as Hindu communalism that saw no place for a genuinely religiously plural and democratic independent India. This made him into a vehement opponent of the Pakistan scheme put forward in 1940 by the Muslim League and encouraged by the Hindu Mahasabha and Hindu chauvinist elements within the Congress Party. For him, as he put it in a speech in 1946, the very idea of dividing territories into ‘Pak’ (literally, ‘pure’) and ‘Na-Pak’ (impure') was itself un-Islamic.
Indeed, as he saw it, Partition would undoubtedly bad for India but it would, actually, prove to be even worse for the Muslims themselves. Azad believed that it was fanciful to imagine, as Muslim League leaders apparently did, that the mere fact of following the same religion could provide the base for a separate state for all Indian Muslims, mirroring the Hindu Mahsabha’s demand for Hindu Rashtra. In his book, “India Wins Freedom”, Azad went so far as to write that: "It is one of the greatest frauds on the people to suggest that religion can unite areas which are geographically, economically, linguistically and culturally different". For him the example of the Prophet Muhammad was itself revealing in this regard. After shifting to Medina from Mecca, the Prophet had entered into a pact with the Jews of Medina, bringing them and the Muslims into one ‘nation’ (ummat). Accordingly, Azad suggested that this itself showed that Islam allowed for Muslims and non-Muslims to live together in one country, and he used this to stress the need for a united India of Hindus, Muslims and others.
Azad's passionate pleas for religious harmony and a truly plural and democratic India, however, fell on deaf ears as India descended into a blood bath in 1947, instigated by Hindu and Muslim communal forces, including sections within Azad’s own Congress Party itself, and actively encouraged by the British. More than fifty years on, the lessons of history are yet to be learnt. And while fierce battles continue to erupt in the name of religion, memories of Azad's life-long commitment to genuine religiosity and religious large-heartedness no longer receive even lip-sympathy.
Belongings of Zahiroddoleh go on view tomorrow [old news]
Tehran: 16:10 , 2005/10/02 Mehr News
Belongings of Zahiroddoleh go on view tomorrow
TEHRAN, Oct. 2 (MNA) -- Two personal belongings of Zahiroddoleh are to be put on display in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”, which opens tomorrow at Tehran’s Sahebgharanieh Palace in the Niavaran Complex.
The felt hats of Zahiroddoleh and his wife bearing the name of Imam Ali (AS) and several poems praising the Imam in embroidery and his kashkul (a vessel suspended by a chain and carried by a dervish), which is embossed with patterns and poems, are among the items that will be on display.
A selection of 110 works from the private collection of Fereydun Jahanshahi, including paintings, calligraphy works, coins, documents, and traditional artworks from the Safavid, Afshariyeh, Zand, and Qajar dynasties will be put on view in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”.
Jahanshahi is a researcher of Iranian art and culture.
Ali-Khan Zahiroddoleh, a prominent 19th-century personality of the Davallu Qajar clan, married Nassereddin Shah Qajar's daughter at the age of 16. He was interested in Sufism and was known for his talent. He was a disciple of Safi Ali Shah, one of the influential leaders of the Nematollahi order of dervishes. During the lifetime of Safi Ali Shah he attained a high rank in the order. Upon the demise of Safi Ali Shah in 1898 he replaced him as the leader of the order and adopted the name Safa Ali Shah.
In line with his will, he was buried under a tree in Darband's Zahiroddoleh cemetery in northern Tehran.
RM/HG
END
Read More
Belongings of Zahiroddoleh go on view tomorrow
TEHRAN, Oct. 2 (MNA) -- Two personal belongings of Zahiroddoleh are to be put on display in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”, which opens tomorrow at Tehran’s Sahebgharanieh Palace in the Niavaran Complex.
The felt hats of Zahiroddoleh and his wife bearing the name of Imam Ali (AS) and several poems praising the Imam in embroidery and his kashkul (a vessel suspended by a chain and carried by a dervish), which is embossed with patterns and poems, are among the items that will be on display.
A selection of 110 works from the private collection of Fereydun Jahanshahi, including paintings, calligraphy works, coins, documents, and traditional artworks from the Safavid, Afshariyeh, Zand, and Qajar dynasties will be put on view in the exhibition “Manifestation of Beauty”.
Jahanshahi is a researcher of Iranian art and culture.
Ali-Khan Zahiroddoleh, a prominent 19th-century personality of the Davallu Qajar clan, married Nassereddin Shah Qajar's daughter at the age of 16. He was interested in Sufism and was known for his talent. He was a disciple of Safi Ali Shah, one of the influential leaders of the Nematollahi order of dervishes. During the lifetime of Safi Ali Shah he attained a high rank in the order. Upon the demise of Safi Ali Shah in 1898 he replaced him as the leader of the order and adopted the name Safa Ali Shah.
In line with his will, he was buried under a tree in Darband's Zahiroddoleh cemetery in northern Tehran.
RM/HG
END
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Sufism takes centre stage at Toronto music festival
Sufism takes centre stage at Toronto music festival [old news]
By Catherine Kustanczi-Johnson, CBCUnlocked
Updated: Sep 30, 2005, 08:55
Say the word "Sufi" in most Western social circles, and you'll probably be greeted with blank stares.
There may be a few nods of recognition from those who own Coleman Barks' translations of Sufism's most famous poet, Jalal Al-Din Rumi. Certainly, Rumi's been the most openly embraced Sufi in Western culture, thanks in large part to Barks' works.
Still, there remains much the West is in the dark about when it comes to Sufism, Islam, the art of ecstasy, and convening with the Divine.
How to translate that into music? The Small World Music Festival has a few ideas. The festival is presenting two artists this weekend with interesting connections to the Islamic-based mystical tradition.
Nawal, a native of the Comoros Islands (off the Eastern coast of Africa in the Indian ocean), is a descendant of the grand Sufi holy man, El-Maarouf. She's received much international acclaim for mixing traditional instrumentation with Arab rhythms, and Sufi chants, all the while confronting social and spiritual issues with equal zeal.
Perhaps what makes Nawal especially unique is her position as a Muslim Comoran woman, making a name for herself in the international community. She hasn't lost sight of her traditions, but she's wide open to future possibilities as well, as she proves on her first release, "Kweli" ("Truth"), which she'll be performing songs from Saturday night at the Lula Lounge in Toronto. As if to further that path of innovation, she's composing music for "Sahel Opera", set to premiere in Mali next year.
Sidi Goma plays Toronto's Small World Music Festival, Oct. 1
While Nawal mixes new with old, Sidi Goma revel in its own fascinating Sufi traditions.
The 12-piece band brings its Indo-African rhythms to the Al Green Theatre Sunday night. Along with that comes a fascinating insight into a history virtually unknown in the West and a unique musical experience.
Sidi Goma can trace its roots back to the East African people who originally arrived in Gujarat, India, as sailors, soldiers, and slaves, eight centuries ago. The "Black Sidis," as they came to be known, maintained their Sufi roots and beliefs while adapting to their new Indian surroundings.
As a result, Sidi Goma weaves together Indian-influenced African movement, instruments, rhythms and lyrics with Sufi songs and rituals (such as the qawwalis Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan popularized before his death) into what one can only describe as an inimitable musical tapestry of utterly unique proportions.
Composed of four lead musicians and eight dancers, Sidi Goma presents what it describes as the music of its ancestors. Performing to critical acclaim at WOMEX in 2003, the group has since gone on to tour India with its show, "The Remembered Rhythms." This is its first time in Canada, and the program promises to present an overview of Sidi ritual performance, from the traditional call to prayer, to various percussive solos and dances as well as seated songs.
Nawal performs at Lula Lounge on Saturday, October 1st, 8pm. Sidi Goma performs at the Al Green Theatre on Sunday, October 2nd, 8pm.
Read More
By Catherine Kustanczi-Johnson, CBCUnlocked
Updated: Sep 30, 2005, 08:55
Say the word "Sufi" in most Western social circles, and you'll probably be greeted with blank stares.
There may be a few nods of recognition from those who own Coleman Barks' translations of Sufism's most famous poet, Jalal Al-Din Rumi. Certainly, Rumi's been the most openly embraced Sufi in Western culture, thanks in large part to Barks' works.
Still, there remains much the West is in the dark about when it comes to Sufism, Islam, the art of ecstasy, and convening with the Divine.
How to translate that into music? The Small World Music Festival has a few ideas. The festival is presenting two artists this weekend with interesting connections to the Islamic-based mystical tradition.
Nawal, a native of the Comoros Islands (off the Eastern coast of Africa in the Indian ocean), is a descendant of the grand Sufi holy man, El-Maarouf. She's received much international acclaim for mixing traditional instrumentation with Arab rhythms, and Sufi chants, all the while confronting social and spiritual issues with equal zeal.
Perhaps what makes Nawal especially unique is her position as a Muslim Comoran woman, making a name for herself in the international community. She hasn't lost sight of her traditions, but she's wide open to future possibilities as well, as she proves on her first release, "Kweli" ("Truth"), which she'll be performing songs from Saturday night at the Lula Lounge in Toronto. As if to further that path of innovation, she's composing music for "Sahel Opera", set to premiere in Mali next year.
Sidi Goma plays Toronto's Small World Music Festival, Oct. 1
While Nawal mixes new with old, Sidi Goma revel in its own fascinating Sufi traditions.
The 12-piece band brings its Indo-African rhythms to the Al Green Theatre Sunday night. Along with that comes a fascinating insight into a history virtually unknown in the West and a unique musical experience.
Sidi Goma can trace its roots back to the East African people who originally arrived in Gujarat, India, as sailors, soldiers, and slaves, eight centuries ago. The "Black Sidis," as they came to be known, maintained their Sufi roots and beliefs while adapting to their new Indian surroundings.
As a result, Sidi Goma weaves together Indian-influenced African movement, instruments, rhythms and lyrics with Sufi songs and rituals (such as the qawwalis Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan popularized before his death) into what one can only describe as an inimitable musical tapestry of utterly unique proportions.
Composed of four lead musicians and eight dancers, Sidi Goma presents what it describes as the music of its ancestors. Performing to critical acclaim at WOMEX in 2003, the group has since gone on to tour India with its show, "The Remembered Rhythms." This is its first time in Canada, and the program promises to present an overview of Sidi ritual performance, from the traditional call to prayer, to various percussive solos and dances as well as seated songs.
Nawal performs at Lula Lounge on Saturday, October 1st, 8pm. Sidi Goma performs at the Al Green Theatre on Sunday, October 2nd, 8pm.
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