IN his book, Revenge and Reconciliation,¹ Rajmohan Gandhi shared a fascinating story about Hamzabhai, a man in his fifties. During the Mumbai riots in early 1993, his 25 year old son was stabbed to death. Hamzabahi was a person of limited means who earned his livelihood by selling nylon. Before dying, his son had revealed the names of the assailants to his father. ‘Tell us the names’, relatives demanded, wanting revenge. Hamzabhai refused. A few months later, in a meeting in Shillong, he explained his reluctance, ‘I did not want another father to go through what I had gone through.’

According to Rajmohan Gandhi, Hamzabhai could have as easily told himself: ‘I will make another father go through what I have gone through, but Hamzabhai was receptive to grace.’ There are many stories of this kind one comes across while reading or researching on Hindu-Muslim violence in India prior to, during, and after India’s Partition. What we learn from this story is that even ‘ordinary’ human beings understand the futility of revenge, and the virtue of forgiveness. But, unfortunately, that is not how Hindu-Muslims relations are generally shaped.

In a context of the growing political influence of Hindu right wing ideology, Hindu-Muslim relations have become increasingly conflict-ridden and violent, particularly following the mobilization for a Ram janmabhoomi temple at Ayodhya. The various Hindu right organizations involved, routinely advocating the idea of correcting what they believe was historical injustice, have contributed to the growing fear, hatred and violence that mark inter-community relations in recent years. Even as the possible forms of violence inflicted by cow vigilante groups, or the ghar wapasi and love jihad programmes might undergo change, the general trend seems to be leading towards a substantial polarization of Indian society around Hindu-Muslim identity. Many more Muslims today fear that they could well be deprived of their rights as citizens if the ideological project of the Hindu Rashtra succeeds in its entirety.

 

At the heart of this evolving conflict-ridden relationship between Hindus and Muslims lies the notion of revenge against Indian Muslims, seen by the Hindu right largely as outsiders and invaders, disloyal and violent people. This perception about Muslims is not just limited to stray extremist followers of the Hindu right, but is shared by a vast majority of conservative Hindus, for instance, in the writing of noted author Nirad Chaudhuri, just to name one. The recurrent references to Shivaji Maharaj or Maharana Pratap by Prime Minister Narendra Modi in his speeches is yet another reflection of a similar understanding of history and the Muslim past.²

In the domain of ideas, the notion of revenge that has found robust expression in the ideology of the Hindu right could be traced mainly to differences over interpretations of history. These perceptions, ‘progressive’ historians argue, have arisen primarily because of flawed interpretations of history. For instance, while medieval rule is seen as Muslim, the period of British rule is rarely viewed as Christian. This failure to distinguish between ordinary Muslims and Muslim ruling elites is in large measure responsible for such disturbing generalizations of the character and behaviour of Indian Muslims. Unsurprisingly, Islam continues to be seen primarily through the lens of various atrocities and misdeeds of Muslim rulers in the past, for which present generations of Muslims have to pay the price.

 

Noted scholar M. Mujeeb, former Vice Chancellor of Jamia Milia Islamia, in his book Indian Muslims explains how this distorted view has become a dominant tendency about looking at Islam in South Asia generally. He writes: ‘No Indian Muslim state was or aimed at being a theocracy. It was Islamic only in the sense that the ruler was a Muslim and the ruling elites mainly Muslim. The glorifications of court historians notwithstanding, there were always religious minded persons or groups who on principle avoided kings and courts as something by nature evil. Examples could be given of rulers who were fanatical; but their fanaticism was more a matter of personal disposition, and not a policy commended by the Shariah of Islam.’

‘The Indian Muslim states were not secular, but they were not religious either. They were governments of minorities ruling in their own interest; apart from the religious affiliation (of the state) with the masses of the Muslims, they could not be even be called communal. The difference, from a sociological point of view, between the minority governments of the Muslims and of the Rajputs who preceded them, was that the ruling minority of Muslims was not a clan or a caste or a class; it remained a minority but its members kept on changing. If adherence to religious tradition and law is adopted as the criterion, the Rajput Hindu state was perhaps more religious than the Indian Muslim states.’³

 

On the other hand, most of the tracts by Hindu right ideologues are suffused with arguments about revenge. Even when there is some appreciation about the fluidity of the religious line dividing Hindus and Muslims, hinting at substantial similarities, the hatred for Muslims or Islam invariably runs deep. Arguably, the most terrifying case for revenge was made by Savarkar in his book, Six Glorious Epochs of Indian History, in which he even justifies rape as a political tool as a matter of revenge. Savarkar also goes so far as to suggest that Shivaji should have ordered his troops to rape Muslim women.⁴

In recent days there has been considerable discussion in the media, as well as in serious academic fora, on the controversial decision taken by the current government in renaming Delhi’s Aurangzeb Road as Dr A.P.J. Kalam Marg. Even though Kalam, arguably one of our most popular presidents, was also a Muslim, this renaming could easily be interpreted as an act of revenge by the Hindu right, an attempt to ‘correct’ the contentious legacy of Mughal rule (also seen as Muslim rule). Such extreme views on Aurangzeb are not limited to the Hindu right alone. Interestingly, historians continue to debate Aurangzeb’s role in history and his public image.

American historian Audrey Truschke’s recent book, Aurangzeb: the Man and the Myth, argues that since he was a man of his time, so his barbaric side needs to be seen in that context.⁵ At the same time, she does draw attention to the fact that ‘detractors continue to trumpet that Aurangzeb destroyed certain temples, without simultaneously acknowledging that he also issued many firmans protecting Hindu temples and granted stipends and land to Brahmins. They denounce the restrictions placed on the celebration of Holi without mentioning that he also clamped down on Mohurram and Eid festivities. They omit altogether that Aurangzeb regularly consulted with Hindu ascetics on health matters and employed more Hindus in his administration than any prior Mughal ruler by a substantial margin.’⁶ Between 1679 and 1707, Aurangzeb increased Hindu participation at the elite levels of the Mughal state by nearly 50%; the proportion of Hindus rose to 31.6% of the Mughal nobility.⁷

 

Similar decontextualized interpretations of history, particularly relating to the medieval period, have contributed to the spread of deep-seated prejudices against Muslims. It has generated pejorative images of Islam, creating a general atmosphere for revenge of different types. The renaming of streets is one such. On the other hand, Hindu kings like Shivaji or Maharana Pratap, as also some other heroes of the Hindu right, are routinely absolved of their many alleged violations and acts of barbarity. Equally, most historians do not want to even raise questions regarding their (Hindu icons) position with regard to caste atrocities, untouchability, the system of sati or at their own women in general. Judged by modern standards of human rights or women rights, there is little to commend, far less glorify, these ‘Hindu’ kings.

 

Stated directly, contentious interpretations of history and historical figures during the period of medieval rule have encouraged the Hindu right to foreground revenge as the most appropriate if not only way to deal with Muslims. At the height of the Ayodhya movement, the choicest abuses were hurled at Muslims, some of which continue to be mouthed even now. For instance, Indian Muslims are often described as Babar ki aulad (Babar’s children). In an important work dealing with arguably one of the country’s most infamous cases of custodial killing (Malliana), former policeman Vibhuti Narain Rai argues that most of the actors associated with the killings, directly or indirectly, seemed to have been carried away by the argument that the ‘Muslims should be taught a lesson.’⁸ Why? On whose behalf?

We need to return to these distorted interpretations of history to find answers to such questions. Similar arguments echo in the analysis of the Gujarat violence of 2002 in the writings of scholars and activists like Harsh Mander or Siddharth Varadarajan. ‘Go to Pakistan’, an abuse exclusively used by the Hindu right for Indian Muslims, is also reflective of a similar attitude. As an aside, evidently the Hindu right is not up to date with the geopolitics of the region because the old Pakistan no longer exists and a new country called Bangladesh has been created. The abuse, however, has yet to change.

There is a need to ask more fundamental questions about Hindu and Muslim identity to make sense of the place of revenge or forgiveness in Hindu-Muslim relations, such as who, after all, are Indian Muslims? Unlike multiple references to Jews or Christians, there is no mention of Hindu identity in the Holy Koran, even though it is likely that there were trade interactions between the subcontinent and residents of the Arabian peninsula. Possibly any noticeable Muslim interaction with Hindus began only with the spread of Islam in South Asia, long after the death of Prophet Mohammad. What was the religion of Indian Muslims before they embraced Islam? Were they Hindus? If so, how do we understand this extant hostility between two communities? Why the call for revenge? What might forgiveness mean in this context?

 

Increasingly, the Hindu right is convinced that most Indian Muslims were once Hindus; the entire project of ghar wapasi is after all premised on this understanding. On one occasion, RSS chief Mohan Bhagwat, commenting on ghar wapasi reportedly said that Muslims are apna mal, ‘our own property’ – people of Hindu stock who were misled to convert to Islam under particular circumstances. These views are more clearly expressed in the writings of Golwalkar in his book, Bunch of Thoughts.⁹ He writes that only a handful of Muslims came here as enemies and invaders, and that a large number of them became Muslims owing to force or deception. Deen Dayal Upadhyaya, a leading ideologue of the Jana Sangh, and Prime Minister Modi’s philosophical guru, called for a shuddhikaran/purification of Muslims. In a recent event held in Kochi, Kerala, the prime minister quoted him at length. Intriguingly though, the mainstream media interpreted ‘purification’ as ‘empowerment’ – a spin suggestive of just how fearful Indian media has become of political power. These ideas of Deen Dayal Upadhyaya are very similar to those attributed to Golwalkar.

 

Unfortunately, very few are aware that there are many famous Indians whose personal history reflects a mixed Muslim and Hindu past in earlier generations, showing some kind of continuity. For instance, noted political leader Lajpat Rai’s father embraced Islam for a while, as did one of Mahatma Gandhi’s sons. Prominent nationalist leader, Saifuddin Kitchlu, against whose arrest a protest was organized at Jallianwala Bagh that eventually came to be known as the Jallianwala Bagh massacre in Indian history, was a descendant of Prakash Ram Kitchlu. There are many such examples of this continuity and intermingling between the two religious communities.

Yet, the fact remains that even now there is no definitive theory of conversion of Muslims from Hindu stock. For instance, how did people come to embrace Islam in South Asia? Was it owing to Islam as a faith? Or force? Or for some other reason? Historians have not been able to satisfactorily resolve this puzzle. It is plausible that all three factors contributed to the spread of Islam, not just in India but elsewhere. Scholars have also advanced varied explanations for conversion, relating not just to which religion or caste the converts originally belonged, but also the period. Whatever be the case, Hindus and Muslims are not as distinctly alien to each other as is often believed or presented. There is some continuity in the history of their religious past. Even as this encourages the Hindu right to ask for a ghar wapasi, there is usually no clear idea as to how such a project could be carried out by the followers of a non-evangelical religion like Hinduism, where caste identities are fixed. No leader has any clarity about the caste position of Muslims who may participate in the ghar wapasi project, would eventually occupy. So how should we interpret this project – as a way to forgive their ‘led astray’ brothers? One is not too sure. Perhaps it is not revenge.

 

To now refer to another interesting narrative of conversion that we learn about from noted Moroccan sociologist, Fatima Mernissi. In 1979, Fatima Mernissi interviewed an African-American Muslim in Berkeley in order to understand how a Californian like him had come to embrace Islam. It appears that in this particular case, it was the word rahma which proved decisive for his conversion: ‘That was the word; that was the code. I searched for it for so long. And here it was!’ One Friday, a Syrian friend brought him to the San Francisco mosque. That day the Imam chose as the text of his sermon the verse that she (Fatima) had been taught to recite as a youngster when she had a fear of the dark: ‘Kataba Rabbukum ‘ala nafsihi al-rahma’ (Your Lord hath prescribed for Himself mercy.’ Sura 6, v. 54). She further elaborates as follows: Rahma is a rich concept with multiple dimensions: sensitiveness (al-riqa), tenderness (al-ta’ attuf), and also forgiveness (al maghfira). It is everything that is sweet and tender. Like a womb, it is nourishing and safe. Rahma has its roots in uterus, rahm. Rain is rahma, because it bring prosperity (al-khayar). The umma, the mythic Muslim community, is overflowing with rahma, as is the relationship of love that links the members of a family and make each one concerned about the fate of the others.¹⁰

While there are many illustrations of this kind, equally one can cite examples of the use of force to spread the message of Islam, even during the Prophet’s own time. However, most accounts do suggest that towards the end of his life, the Prophet did instruct his followers that no person should be forced to accept Islam and that every non-Muslim should have the same rights and dignity in a city, and that nothing should be denied to him or her on account of his/her religion.

 

The future of Hindu-Muslim relations is likely to be shaped primarily by how different political ideologies look at the place of revenge or forgiveness in their interpretation of history. Atrocities or violence have not always been inter-religious in nature; they have equally been intra-religious. For instance, there has been large-scale caste related violence in Hindu society long before the advent of Islam in the subcontinent. If the project is to strengthen the idea of citizenship, and pursue human dignity, Hindu-Muslim relations would substantially improve if only we could look at history more objectively and recognize that a political ideology that pursues a project of revenge is unlikely to contribute towards building a more humane India. As the story of Hamzabhai reminds us, forgiveness is a virtue which is present among people of all classes and regions. It is thus crucial to harness those energies to expand the contours of humanity in our time.

 

Footnotes:

1. Rajmohan Gandhi, Revenge or Reconciliation. Penguin, New Delhi, 1997.

2. ‘Snatching Shivaji from Shiv Sena’, The Indian Express, 29 December 2016.

3. M. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims. Mushilal Manoharlal, New Delhi, 2003 (1967), pp. 556-557.

4. V.D. Savarkar, Six Glorious Epochs of Indian History (trans. S.T. Godbole). Bal Savarkar, Bombay, 1971.

5. Audrey Truschke, Aurangzeb: The Man and the Myth. Penguin, New Delhi, 2017. Also see my review, ‘About Aurangzeb’s Reputation’, The Hindustan Times, 21 April 2017.

6. Truschke, ibid., p. 10.

7. Truschke, ibid., p. 73.

8. Vibhuti Narain Rai, Hashimpura 22 May: The Forgotten Story of India’s Biggest Custodial Killing. Penguin Books, Delhi, 2016. Also see my review, ‘A Modern Day Jallianwala Bagh’, The Hindustan Times, 4 March 2017.

9. M.S. Golwalkar, Bunch of Thoughts. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, Nagpur, 1966.

10. Fatima Mernissi, Islam and Democracy: Fear of the Modern World. Basic Books, New York, 2002, p. 87-88.

 

References:

Amrita Basu, Violent Conjecture in Democratic India. Cambridge, New Delhi, 2015.

Mujibur Rehman, ‘Explaining Inconvenient Truths of Election 2014: Muslim Voters, Modi and Hindutva’, in Mujibur Rehman (ed.), The Rise of Saffron Power: Reflections on Indian Politics. Routledge, New Delhi, 2017, forthcoming.

Mujibur Rehman (ed.), Communalism in Postcolonial India: Changing Contours. Routledge, New Delhi, 2016.