My Prophet Muhammad

I woke up a little late today. It was Eid Milad un Nabi (birth anniversary of Prophet Muhammad), a gazetted holiday in India. My WhatsApp message was filled with the greetings on the occasion from my friends, students and colleagues. With a cup of tea in my hand, I started browsing the newspaper. The frontpage headline caught my attention, ‘Days after Beheading of School Teacher Three killed in French church; Islamist terror attack: Macron’. A sense of shame, guilt and embarrassment crippled me and it became really difficult to reply to those messages or to greet others on the pious occasion of the Eid-milad un Nabi. I was thinking, how can anyone kill people for ‘blasphemy’, in the name of the Prophet who is known as rahmat-ul lil ‘aalamin (mercy/kindness for the world). Since my childhood I have been listening to a rawayet (tradition) that, ‘when the Prophet was in Mecca, Abu Jahal (an uncle and an enemy of the Prophet and his Din) on seeing the Prophet started cussing him then another sahabi (companion of the Prophet) passed by and began praising him. People enquired the Prophet, ‘why was Abu Jahal cursing and the other man praising him?, the Prophet replied, ‘I am a mirror, people see their own faces in me’. After the bloodless conquest of Mecca, what did the Prophet do to those who had chewed the heart and liver of his favourite uncle? He had forgiven one and all, without any discrimination. Those who consider themselves to be his followers should always keep in mind that their actions somehow are associated with him.

Bilal ibn Rabah calling for prayer, Islamic miniature from Siyer-i Nebi,
Ottoman Empire , 1500s, blackpast.org

The expression, ‘my Prophet Muhammad’ here signifies the Prophet, I have known from my childhood. A historical or divine personality is what we know from the information we are fed from our childhood. The stories we listen to shape our minds, create biases for or against. Unfortunately, Islam has always been studied as either theology or history. Nobody thinks of the mythology when it comes to Islam. But communities are shaped not by the theologies nor by the histories. It is shaped by the myths and the stories around it. Muslim theologians, obviously reject these myths and stories as bidat (innovations). But they do not realise that these myths and stories have created the community itself. Many stories are taken from the ahadis (traditions of the prophet) and other rawayet (traditions/sometimes unverified ones). Some of these stories are told on a regular basis as a pious act. Stories like, Bibi Syeda ki Kahani (story of Bibi Syeda), Dus Bibiyon ki Kahani (story of the ten ladies) and Lakadhare ki kahani (story of the wood-cutter) are told and listened to piously on one occasion or the other. The stories are read from a booklet and, generally women and children listen to it as an act of piety. After the completion of the stories, sweets/sugar are distributed among the listeners. The stories themselves remind the listeners about the merits of the pious act of telling and listening to them.  

One such versified story is told and listened to on Thursday night every week. The compendium comprising Noornama, ahadnama and aahunama is about Prophet Muhammad. I have grown up listening to the compendium, commonly known as Noornama.  The story is about the creation of the noor of the Prophet before the Creation. It tells us that the noor (the light) was created from the Creator himself. After thousands of years, the Creator created a tree with thousands of branches. The noor of the Prophet then was made into a shape of a peacock and the peacock was asked to live on the branches of that tree. After sometime, the Creator created a similar peacock, which was a mirror and God asked the peacock to look into the mirror peacock. The peacock (the noor of the Prophet) looked into the mirror and broke into a sweat. The beads of sweat started falling, the one lakh twenty four thousand drops from the mouth created the prophets, and the droplets from the forehead were three hundred thirteen, which became mursaleen (the prophets with books). Lakhs of droplets thus fell became the malayek (the angels). The drops which fell from the face became the animal kingdom. The four droplets fell from the eyes and became the great four angels (Angels Gabriel, Mikhael, Israel and Israfel). The two droplets which fell from the shoulders, became the sun and the moon. The four droplets from the cheeks became the skies--the sky, the throne, the slate and the pencil (arsh, kursi and loh o qalam). The two droplets fell from the nose and became heaven and hell. The story basically introduces us to the concept of whadat ul wajud of Ibn al Arabi, that the Creator created everything from his own self. According to the story of the Noornama the noor of the Prophet, then was asked to choose the material from which he is to be created. The noor was asked to visit each of them, the fire, the wind, the water and the earth. The noor visited each of them and asked what they will do when sent in the world; all of them except the earth replied that they will do whatever they liked. When the noor asked the earth/dust what she would do in the world, the earth replied that she is nothing but dust and the Almighty has all the power, who has created all, she will do whatever the Creator wanted her to do. The noor of the Prophet liked her humility and servitude to the Creator and chose it to be the material from which he was to be created. The noor of the Prophet hugged her with affection and thus the Creator created the prophet in the form of a man with the dust! I always loved the way the Prophet chose humility on pride of fire, wind and water. 

In the same compendium, the story about a deer was my favourite, and it always brought tears into my eyes. The story was that, once the Prophet was going somewhere and found a deer tied with a rope. The deer seeing the Prophet asked for help. The Prophet went near her. She told him that a hunter had caught and tied her. She could not feed her small kids who must have been looking for their mother. She told the Prophet that she just wanted a few moments to feed her kids and tell them that God is the only Provider and Protector after she was gone. She further promised that she will come back to her captor after feeding her children. The Prophet released her. The hunter appeared on the scene and started shouting on the Prophet. The Prophet told him that the deer will come back after feeding her children as she had promised. The hunter was not convinced and kept cursing the Prophet. Soon the deer came back with her children, seeing that the hunter was astonished and fell at the feet of the Prophet and freed the deer. 

Apart from these tales of piety, we used to read stories in our maktab (primary Muslim schools) about the Prophet, I remember one such story: 

The story begins with a header: ‘One should honor his guest whether he is a Muslim or not’

    

Prophet Mohammad always emphasized on giving respects to visiting guests. Once a group of Jews visited the Prophet, since the number of guests was large and he had limited resources, he asked his sahabi (companions) to distribute one person each among themselves and honor them in befitting manners. One of them was known for his mischievous activities, therefore none from among the companions of the Prophet agreed to host him and he stayed with the Prophet himself. The Prophet prepared all kinds of good food for the guest. A well-known mischief like him ate all the food and did not think of other people whose guest he was! The prophet did not say anything to him and made his bed for his comfortable stay.  After such an over-eating, he fell ill with an upset stomach. By dawn, he even soiled the bed and left home without informing anyone, when the Prophet came looking for him, he did not find his guest. He enquired about the guest but no one had any clue about him. The companions of the Prophet could not bear the insult inflicted on the Prophet of Allah and started fuming at the Jew, the Prophet of Allah said, ‘do not say anything to the man, he was my guest and it is my duty to be respectful to him’. The Prophet then started washing the bed-sheet with his own hand. In the meantime, the Jew came back to take his jewel studded sword, which he had left in the room and he saw that Prophet Muhammad is washing his clothes which he had soiled with his feces. Seeing this he felt ashamed and offered his apologies to the Prophet.

Now the narrator of the story says, dear children! Be alert! Always take care of your guest by offering him good food, with your gentle smile and good behavior, it doesn’t matter if he is a non-Muslim, he is equally honorable and your duties towards your guests are the same.

These and other such stories made ‘my Prophet Muhammad’ who is compassionate, who likes humility, compassion and human values. The Prophet knew how to ignore those who cursed him and forget and forgive those who gave him pain. Those who are killing in his name are committing crime against my Prophet. No one except rightfully constituted state, has any right to ‘punish’ anyone. Also, there should be no punishment for reading, writing, speaking or expressing anything. Unqualified freedom of speech and expression should be the goal of all humankind.  

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My introduction to Babri Masjid-Ramjanam Bhoomi dispute

A long pending issue of Ayodhya was finally decided by the Supreme Court of India last year in favour of Ramjanam Bhoomi. All legal options exhausted by the Muslim party paved the way for the construction of the Ramjanam Bhoomi temple. The court had also compensated Muslims by a plot of six acres of land for the construction of a mosque in a prominently located place in Ayodhya. The prominence was of course had to be decided by the government. And the central government was asked to come up with a Trust which had to supervise the construction of the temple. The Supreme Court in its 1000 plus page judgement, however, decided on the basis of longest occupation of the 'property'. The Hindu party , according to the court, had shown its longest occupation of the 'property'. Muslims couldn't prove the exclusive occupancy of the 'property' from the time of Babur to Emperor Aurangzeb and therefore, they lost the case. (Click here for the judgement).

Photo: Asiavillenews

Those who are interested in knowing the long history of the dispute should go through the supreme Court Judgement. A few books like , Ayodhya ki wah syaah Raat : Babri Masjid mein Ramlala ke Prakat hone ka sach by Krishna Jha and Dhrendra Kumar Jha translated in Hindi by Anil Rajim waale , Falcon and Falcon , Delhi, 2015 (original English title of the same book was first published by Harper and Collins in 2012) and a booklet by Irfan Habib published CPI M publication are particularly useful for the post Independence Stories related to the dispute. 

Photo: Hinduexistence.org

I was introduced to the dispute in a strange manner. I had passed my primary school, which was located near my home. There was no middle or high school nearby those days. I had to go to the sub-divisional town for my Sixth class. To reach the town, one could walk as it was not more than three kilometres. Since the town was situated on a very busy road, namely , G.T. Road which connects Kolkata to Delhi , it was difficult for a child of around 10 years of age to walk down daily to the school and on such a busy road, we used to take an alternative way. We, here, means I and my friend Sanjay both of us were studying in the same class and of almost the same age. The alternate route required us to cross a seasonal river, Morhar. The route was quite deserted. Therefore, I and Sanjay, who were friends in our primary school had become great friends, because none of us dared to go to the school alone. Schools, in those days, used to start from 10:00 A.M. Most of the time, I used to go to his house first, then with him, crossed the river to reach the school. Our friendship had become very strong. His elder sister, Manju didi was very affectionate to me, his dadi loved me like her own grand son, his mother always offered food or fresh cucumber or turnip from her kitchen garden. His father never had any interest in me or him. His uncle took interest in our friendship. And I didn't like his interfering attitude, he was not affectionate , he rather tried to know more about me , perhaps, more than what I knew about myself. This behaviour of his was uncomfortable for me, I don't know why! As far as my family's relations to Sanjay was concerned, it was not good at all! They all teased me for having a friend who lived in Passitola (locality of toddy tappers). They had nothing particular against him except that he lived in that mohalla, where illegal liquor was also sold. My mother's concern was that if I have ever had food at his home! My Amma was affectionate to Sanjay, but he was not allowed inside my home. This pinched me a lot, therefore, I preferred to go to his house than asking him to come to my home. And strangely Sanjay never complained about this. He never insisted on coming to my home. These things never came in our friendship. It would not be out of place that he forced his father to get his name changed from Sanjay Kumar Paswan to Sanjay Kumar so that we both could share the same letter 'k' of our surnames; his Kumar, and mine, Khan!

I can write a lot more about our friendship, which was innocent; which was not under any influence of movies, like Dharam Veer or Sholay, because we never watched films together; but that one year of class 6 was enough for my parents to send me to a private school in the district town! 

That friend, Sanjay, once, while going to the school told me that an idol of Ramji made of gold has appeared in Ayodhya. The idol was very huge, had jewels as its eyes, and that was too precious. 'The Muslims say that the idol is a mosque', I was shocked to know that Muslims were claiming an idol to be a mosque!! I blatantly gave my judgement, 'Muslims, if usurping the idol, are doing great wrong'.

Later on,  I saw many rallies, gatherings and writings on walls about Babri Masjid, Ramlala, Mulla and Pakistan! Two slogans written on walls entertained us everywhere, Babur ki santano Bharat chhodo and Rajeev, Baburi Masjid waapis karo--Syed shahabuddin !! My guilt of being from the Muslim community started increasing. I thought, leaving all shame, Muslims are fighting for the 'mosque' made of an idol because it was made of gold!! It hurted! I had this much sense that idols are not only prohibited in our religion but also ridiculed in whatever stories I heard from my elders. And all the people were fighting for an idol?!! Slowly and steadily I got to know the story of the dispute but not from my elders, because they never thought it proper to tell a child, in this case me about these conflicts. We, the children were uninformed participants of the drama. We were seeing the rallies , reading the  slogans on the wall and participating in discussions arising out of the situation. Coping with the questions alone. Sanjay, however, always assured me that if he remained near me he would save me from the Hindus, I had nothing to assure him of  because, by now, I knew that, it is we, who were under threat. People were guarding the mohalla, and a peace committee had been formed. All night elders used to sit on the terrace with guns. Diesel oil procured for agriculture purposes was divided among many small canisters to be used in 'emergency'. We were the participants of the drama but had no clue why it was  happening. Sometimes, it was heard that some Mun Mun Singh kidnapped a local boss Ranwa and the situation got out of hand after hearing a very loud explosion; the whole night was spent on the terrace! As soon as the dawn broke everything became very normal. 

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Where I have been when Kashmir exodus was taking place!

For the last many years, I have faced a constant question, that where I have been when Kashmir exodus was taking place! And this question pops up now and then when I raise my voice against any injustice happening today. I assured them I used to question governments earlier too, and this is not the first time I am speaking against injustice around me. And yes, this is the beauty of democracy. But, to some extent, I started taking the question in its literal sense. In fact, I really don’t remember at all, the exodus of Kashmiri Hindus. I only remember a question of general knowledge, which my teacher gave me to memorize, the full form of JKLF! The acronym and its full form raised a question in my mind, why JK Liberation front? India won its freedom from the British in 1947 itself, why then an organisation is named Liberation front? That remained a dead question, and no one replied to this question of mine then. My father was a regular listener of BBC Urdu and Hindi Radio services, therefore, I had heard names of a few countries; Iraq and Iran were fighting, Soviet had waged war in Afghanistan and Chechen guerrillas were terrorising Soviets, I thought these guerrillas were the wild animals, who were like those jackals and the boars which often roamed in our sugarcane fields. Please don’t try to fix a chronology for these events, this is how I remember the things. Haphazard, little surreal and sometimes insane. The knowledge of home front was more of a micro level, for me, my village and the qasba where I was growing, and later the district town were planets of my universe.


I have decided to recount the days of my childhood until I find the answer of the actual question, that what I was doing when the exodus of Kashmiri Hindus was taking place, now I know when if you do not know then Google it! I am not promising you when I will tell you what I was doing then but yes you will get a chance to peep into my life. I know what you are thinking, yeah, I know I am not a great man that you would like to listen to my personal story. I am not asking you to listen to my story, instead, you will get to know the story of a Muslim boy born in 1980. A lot was happening those days, my first memory is of the day, when Indira Gandhi was killed (nobody from my family believe that I remember this! they think I must have heard sometime later and committed to memory as of my own!). I was sitting in front of my house on a charpoy and a neighbour of mine came and announced, ‘have you heard something, Indira Gandhi mad gayee’ (Indira Gandhi died)! I have no further memories of the event. The second memory, which I recall to this day that General Zia of Pakistan died in a plane crash and Benazir Bhutto distributed laddus. I was wondering why that lady was distributing laddus? the shock was obvious, we used to get laddus when our school distributed it after unfurling of the national flag in Independence Day. These were the initial memories. My memory, in fact, begins from the time of the Rath Yatra of Advani! I still remember the date 9-11 December, ‘Shila Pujan’, when, one of my father’s raiyyat told him on his face, that he will repay all the loans he had taken after 11th of December!

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