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Aligarh and Women’s Education: A Brief Overview

Aligarh, UTTAR PRADESH :

Women’s education in nineteenth-century India was no easy task. In the case of Muslim women, the task was even more difficult due to their triply marginal identity: as colonial subjects, as women, and as Muslims. Not only did the custom of purdah added to their seclusion from the social and cultural changes, their men hated everything about the western cultural influence (being displaced as rulers by the British). As a result, the middle class (the initiators of reform) was to develop late among the Indian Muslims than their Hindu counterparts. Nevertheless, by the late nineteenth century, a middle-class among the Indian Muslims was fledging. For this, no institution of the nineteenth-century can be given more commendation than Aligarh Muslim University.

Formed in 1920, the Aligarh Muslim University just completed its hundred years as a modern residential university. There has been a perception that the Aligarh Movement, for whatever reasons, neglected the issue of modern education to Muslim women. But there is more to this argument, some things to be explored, some to be re-interpreted.

This article, therefore, attempts to trace the genesis and trajectory of women’s educational reform in Aligarh through the profile of a woman reformer – Waheed Jahan (1886-1939), wife of Shaikh Abdullah (1874-1965), and the co-founder of Aligarh’s first girls’ school. Waheed Jahan was a pioneer of Muslim women’s education at Aligarh in the early twentieth century. Her role in ending the relative isolation of Indian Muslim women, while at the same time preserving the Muslim identity of the community, is worthwhile to recall. Her biography was published in Urdu by her husband in 1954. [1]

The educational reforms among Indian women were mostly started by men. Such men started with writings advocating women’s education. In this regard, among Muslims, Nazir Ahmad (1833-1912) published his novel, Mirat-ul-Arus, in 1869; Altaf Hussain Hali (1837-1914) published Majlis-un-Nissa, in 1874. Soon, magazines and journals followed, like the Tahzib un-Niswan by Sayyid Mumtaz Ali (1860-1935), the Khatoon by Shaikh Abdullah and Waheed Jahan, and the Ismat by Rashid-ul- Khairi (1868-1936). Gail Minault regards these as ’The Big Three.’ [2] Apart from literary activism, others tried more practical measures, like opening schools for Muslim girls.

As the movement intensified, so did the opposition against it. In such an atmosphere, even the talk of women’s education by a woman herself was quite a chivalry.

Yet, unexpectedly, there were women who defied the odds and broke the ground. Rashid-un-Nissa of Patna, became the first Muslim woman to write an Urdu novel, Islah-un-Nissa in 1881 (published in 1894), when writing was a distant dream for Muslim women. Rokeya Sakhawat Husain (1880-1932), a widow herself, pioneered Muslim women’s education in Bengal. Muhammadi Begam (1878-1908) edited one of the leading ladies’ home journals, Tahzib-un-Niswan. One such icon of women’s education at Aligarh was Waheed Jahan.

Waheed was born in 1874 in a landholding family in Delhi. Her father Mirza Ibrahim Beg was of Mughal ancestry, serving as a minor municipal official in Delhi. Her only brother, Bashir Mirza went to the Mohammadan Anglo-Oriental College (MAO Colege), Aligarh, where he befriended Shaikh Abdulla (a Kashmiri convert to Islam, named Thakur Das before conversion).

As was the custom, Waheed received no formal schooling. She learnt Urdu and Persian from her father and arithmetic and elementary English from a visiting English tutoress.

Ismat Chughtai, in her autobiography, Kagazi hai Pairahan, records, how Waheed Jahan, before her marriage, had dreamt of establishing a school for the girls. She would gather the servants’ children and teach them, and soon the rudimentary school became popular among her neighbours. It is noteworthy that, at a time when others (mostly men) were still imagining a school for girls (that too only in their writings), Waheed, in her own limited capacity, was practically making a difference.

In 1902, Waheed married Shaikh Abdullah – a lawyer at Aligarh, and an ardent supporter of women’s education since his school days. Following the marriage to a woman with some education, he began to consider concrete ways to promote Muslim women’s education. The Mohammadan Education Conference (MEC, founded at Aligarh by Sir Syed Ahmad in 1886) had established a Women’s Education Section (WES) in 1896 to start a Normal School for girls and to train female (zenana) teachers. In 1902, Shaikh became the secretary of WES, which by then had merely achieved anything beyond discussions and debates around women’s education.

Luckily, Waheed’s marriage to a reformist like Abdullah helped her materialize her dream. To champion women’s education, they started an Urdu monthly, the Khatoon, in 1904 with Waheed Jahan as editor. Begum Sultan Jahan (1858-1930) of Bhopal, Binnat Nazir-al-Baqir, Suharwardiya Begum, and Binnat Nasiruddin Haider were some important female contributors to the journal.

The paucity of funds made it impossible to start a Normal School. Waheed Jahan advised her husband to start a primary school for the elite (Sharif) girls. In 1904, the Mohammadan Educational Conference passed a resolution to start a girls’ school in Aligarh. Waheed proved to be an efficient manager and fund-raiser for the cause.

Her capacities as a fund-raiser and organizer were displayed in 1905, when she organized a meeting of Muslim women in Aligarh, with participants from far corners of Lahore and Bombay. Judging from the context of the time when purdah among Muslims was so harsh, even the idea of organizing such an event was quite revolutionary.

Aware of women education in Turkey and Egypt and its benefits to society, she tried to convince other women; she said:

When women meet among themselves, there will be more solidarity. . . Now there is a division between educated and uneducated women. Uneducated women, who do not go out, think that respectability is confined to the four walls of their houses. They think that people who live beyond those walls are not respectable and not worthy of meeting. But God has ordained education for both men and women, so that such useless ideas can be dispensed with. . . [3]

The meeting was a success, the exhibition of women’s craft secured good funds; finally, the women passed a resolution favouring a girls’ school in Aligarh. In October 1906, Aligarh Zenana Madrasa (girls’ school) opened its doors, and seventeen students were enrolled. Urdu, arithmetic, needlework, and the Quran formed the curriculum. Leaving her own children in servants’ care, Waheed took the responsibility of supervising the school. Within six months, the number of students increased to fifty-six. Waheed’s efforts secured the school a cumulative grant of Rs. 15,000 and a monthly grant of Rs. 250. By 1909, the school taught 100 students and shifted to a larger building.

The opposition to girls’ school took new forms. One amusing story is recorded in Shaikh Abdullah’s Urdu memoir (1969), Mushahedaat o Taaassuraat. [4] Maintaining purdah, the girls were carried in daulis (curtained carriages) to school, and some street urchins started harassing the school going girls by lifting the curtains of their daulis. The mischief only stopped when Shaikh gave one of the miscreants a good thrashing. In another incident, Shaikh confronted a tehsildar who had accused the school of making the girls insolent.

When the Abdullahs proposed a girls’ boarding school, it invited opposition from elite corners. The European principal of MAO College, W.A.J Archbold; Ziauddun Ahmad (1873-1947); and Viqar-ul-Mulk (1841-1917) opposed vehemently.

The couple, however, succeeded in 1914, witnessing the transformation of the school into a boarding school. The same year saw the culmination of Muslim women’s activism by the foundation of Anjuman-i-Khavatin-i-Islam (AKI) at the same venue. Begum Sultan Jahan (1858-1930) of Bhopal graced the foundational ceremony of the boarding school, felicitating Waheed; she urged other women to follow her example. Fyzee sisters, Abru Begum, Begum Shafi, and Begum Shah Nawaz were the other dignitaries.

The Begum was already active in various social and educational reform projects. She served as the first chancellor of AMU from 1920 until her death in 1930. Having a woman as the first chancellor was indeed a historic feat.

Only nine girls became the residents, most of them from Waheed’s own family. By the end of the year, the enrollment rose up to twenty-five. This was the result of what the historian Gail Minault calls as Abdullahs’ portrayal of girls’ school as an extension of girls’ families and also of their own. To make the school successful, Waheed used to invite the parents of girls to Aligarh, for a few days stay in the hostel, to convince them that the conditions there were safe enough to let their daughters stay, records Sheikh Abdullah, in his Mushahedaat o Taaassuraat. She supervised everything – housekeeping, laundry, shopping, and even tasted each dish cooked for the girls.

It could be said that Waheed Jahan acted as a foster mother to these girls, counselling, nursing, and treating them as a part of her own extended family. They called each other as Apa (sister), Shaikh Abdullah as Papa Mian, and Waheed Jahan as Ala Bi. This created a sense of sisterhood among the girls.

This familial system of ethos still remains unique to the Aligarh Women’s College.

The boarding school project contained other complex problems, such as maintaining proper purdah. Both Shaikh and Waheed agreed that the purdah practiced in the Sharif society was more restrictive than purdah sanctioned by the Shari’a (Islamic Law). But to secure social acceptance for their school, they chose to go with strict purdah, building fortress-like walls to fend off the male gaze, students’ mails were scrutinized, and only close relatives were allowed inside.

This accommodation of purdah within the gamut of their reformist agenda, to gain social acceptance, was indeed very astute of the Abdullahs. Thus, Waheed Jahan succeeded in preserving both the elite and the “Muslim” identity of herself and her community while simultaneously breaking the relative isolation of Indian Muslim women. The girls’ school became an intermediate college in 1925 and started degree classes in 1937 (with 250 students). Waheed passed away in 1939, only after seeing her school becoming a degree college.

The relation between education and social change is complex, varying from culture to culture and among different classes in the same culture.

True, that Aligarh movement was late to include women’s education in its fold. Even the school founded by the Abdullahs did not fulfil all its expectations – their choosing an exclusively elite (Sharif) clientele limited the impact of their reforms.

But their efforts indeed bore fruits; the educational reforms for Muslim women at Aligarh contributed to many social developments. After the formation of AKI in 1914, the number of meetings and associations (for women-only) increased rapidly in the 1930’s. The growth in the number of educated women created a market for new publications for and by women.

The Aligarh Women’s College produced many women of substance, who made sure to shine above and beyond purdah, some figuratively and others literally. These ladies excelled in various fields, from teaching to medicine to writing.

Rashid Jahan, Waheed Jahan’s daughter, became a successful physician, a radical writer, and a staunch communist. Her short stories in Angare (1932) became the opening salvo of the Urdu Progressive Writers Movement (1936). Rakhshanda Jalil, in her biographical work on Rashid, A Rebel and her Cause: The Life and Work of Rashid Jahan, writes that Angare was a “document of disquiet”; a self-conscious attempt “to shock people out of their inertia, to show how hypocrisy and sexual oppression had so crept in everyday life”. Rashid became an inspiration for a generation of women writers such as Ismat Chughtai, Attia Hosain, Sadia Begum Sohravi, and Razia Sajjad Zaheer, among others.

Like all other reform movements of that time period, the Aligarh movement had its limitations too. For a start, it did prioritize men’s education over women’s, for various reasons (a story that needs to be told elsewhere), but by the early twentieth century, things were changing. The Aligarh movement not only took up the cause of women’s education actively, but it also let women (Like Wahid Jahan) be a part of the process.

Notes

[1] Shaikh Abdullah, Savanih-i- Umri-i- Abdullah Begum, Aligarh, 1954

[2] Gail Minault, Gender, Language, and Learning: Essays in Indo-Muslim Cultural History, Permanent Black Publications, Ranikhet, 2009, p. 87

[3] Khatoon 3, 1 (Jan 1906) “Ladies Conference”, pp 7-8

[4] Shaikh Abdullah, Mushahidat-wa-Ta’asurat, Female Education Association, Aligarh, 1969, pp. 234-6

(Ishrat Mushtaq is PhD Candidate, Centre of Advanced Study in History, Aligarh Muslim University and Sajad Hassan Khan is PhD. Candidate, Centre of Advanced Study in History, Aligarh Muslim University. Article courtesy: Mainstream Weekly.)

Janata Weekly does not necessarily adhere to all of the views conveyed in articles republished by it. Our goal is to share a variety of democratic socialist perspectives that we think our readers will find interesting or useful. —Eds.

source: http://www.janataweekly.org / Janata Weekly / Home / by Ishrat Mushtaq and Saad Hassan Khan / January 24th, 2021

Why India Must Remember its First Muslim Jurist

Delhi, Mughal Period / Sitapur, British India:

The first Muslim judge of a high court in colonial times, Syed Mahmood’s professional conduct offers a counterpoint to the declining standards in Indian judiciary.

WHEN Justice Abdul Nazeer addressed the 16th national council meeting of the RSS-affiliated Akhil Bharatiya Adhivakta Parishad at Hyderabad last December, he said, “Great lawyers and judges are not born but made by proper education and great legal traditions, as were Manu, Kautilya, Katyayana, Brihaspati, Narada, Parashar, Yajnavalkya, and other legal giants of ancient India.” In the symposium on “Decolonisation of the Indian Legal System”, Justice Nazeer also said the “continued neglect of their great knowledge and adherence to the alien colonial legal system is detrimental to the goals of our Constitution and against our national interests…”.

Perhaps Justice Nazeer should have also recalled 19th-century jurist Justice Syed Mahmood (1850-1903). A pioneer in bold assertions against the colonial judiciary, he produced incisive legal commentaries that reflect an audacious dissenter’s point of view. Writing in an Urdu newspaper, his father, Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, narrates Mahmood’s resignation from the Allahabad High Court in 1893 to “protect the self-respect of Indians against the racism of British judges”.

In that era, conceptions of nationhood were still evolving in India. Indian judges would not muster the courage to contest the racism of the imperial power or fellow European judges. But Mahmood did, in intrepid ways. Khan founded the Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental (MAO) College at Aligarh in 1877 and figures prominently but contentiously, stereotyped as a British loyalist and separatist in debates on contemporary nationalism. Mahmood supported his father’s modern education project, but unfortunately, his contributions are largely ignored by historians and the legal fraternity.

By 1920, MAO College, now Aligarh Muslim University, was the most prominent residential university in the country. Its history department has been a premier centre for advanced studies for a half-century. In 1889, primarily on Syed Mahmood’s initiative and his gifts in terms of books, journals and cash, AMU established a law department. Yet, he was neglected in its research. Only in 1973, seven years after the centenary of the Allahabad High Court, the Aligarh Law Journal brought out Mahmood’s contributions, and legal scholars reflected on his high calibre as a lawyer and judge.

The good news is, in 2004, Alan M. Guenther did his doctoral thesis on Mahmood at McGill University, Canada, which is available online for the public to access. His meticulous and well-researched account touches almost every aspect of Mahmood’s public life. Guenther also published an extended essay in 2011on Mahmood’s views on English education in 19th-century India. (In 1895, Mahmood had written a book on the theme for his speeches at the Educational Conference.)

In 1965, Asaf Ali Asghar Fyzee (1899-1981) complained, “Syed Mahmood’s contributions to the transformation of Muslim law in India have been largely neglected by historians and survive primarily as footnotes in legal texts on Muslim law.” Guenther, too, observes, “…overshadowed by the life and writings of his illustrious father, Ahmad Khan, his legacy has not received the attention it deserves. A large part of his father’s achievements in the reform of education, in fact, would not have been possible without the assistance of Syed Mahmood. But when he reached the age at which his father had made his most significant achievements, [Mahmood] had his life cut short.”

Mahmood had laid out his life plans clearly. S. Khalid Rashid, writing in 1973, reports that Mahmood decided early on that, like his ancestors, he would devote the first third of his life to educating himself, the second to earn a living, and the last to “retired study, authorship and devotion to matters of public utility”. But Guenther writes about how Mahmood’s health had deteriorated through alcohol abuse and disease. He died before he turned 53, broken by forced retirement, estranged from his father (who had died five years previously), stripped of responsibilities at the college he had helped found, separated from wife and son, and in poverty. He was selling personal items to repay debts. “His father’s numerous writings and letters are still republished, but Syed Mahmood’s contributions to Muslim thought are hidden in bound volumes of the Indian Law Reports and brittle files of government correspondence,” Guenther writes.

One aspect of Mahmood’s last years is captured by Prof. Iftikhar Alam Khan’s Urdu books, Sir Syed: Daroon-e-Khana (2006, 2020) and the recent Rufaqa-e-Sir Syed: Rafaqat, Raqabat wa Iqtidar Ki Kashmakash. These accounts expose the smear campaigns of the three companion successors of Sir Syed—Samiullah, Mohsin-ul-Mulk and Viqar-ul-Mulk—against Syed Mahmood as they vied for the secretary’s post at MAO College. Often European members of MAO College conspired with them. Exploiting his weaknesses and eccentricities, they ousted him to get a hold over college affairs, compounding his hurt during his tragic final years.

SYED MAHMOOD’S ROLE IN SIR SYED’S EDUCATIONAL ENTERPRISE

Having returned to India in 1872 after studying in England, Mahmood took time out of his budding legal career to assist his father’s reform work, particularly setting up MAO College. He prepared a detailed plan along the lines of his experiences in Cambridge. His specific aim, explained in February 1872, was to produce future leaders of India through an educational institution whose residential nature would be “as indispensable an education as the course of study itself”. The aim was to create a society of students and teachers quite different from the rest of society.

He travelled with his father to Punjab in 1873 and spoke at a rally to promote the project. In 1889, Sir Syed introduced a motion to nominate Mahmood as joint secretary of the board of trustees of MAO College by highlighting his assistance despite the opposition he faced. In particular, he considered his son’s influence the primary factor that persuaded European professors to come to India and teach there.

European staff members confirmed this around six years later when there was renewed opposition to Mahmood continuing as joint secretary. The principal, Theodore Beck (1859-1899), testified, “Syed Ahmad….acknowledged his reliance on Syed Mahmood for advice in all matters, and his imprint could be noted in the correspondence relating to the school. He declared his firm conviction that Syed Mahmood was the one person who shared his vision for the college, and apart from him, no one would be able to administer the school in keeping with that vision.” However, Samiullah (1834-1908) disagreed with Sir Syed on this count. As a result, a tussle for power began in the college management. The power-play could explain why AMU felt inhibited in bringing out a biography of Mahmood, a research gap that Guenther’s doctoral thesis fills. He has extensively relied on important correspondences of Mahmood preserved in the London India Office (British) Library.

SYED MAHMOOD’S TRYST WITH MUSLIM LAW

Mahmood is a forgotten pioneer of the transformation of Muslim law in modern South Asia. In 1882, at just 32, he became the first Muslim judge of the high courts in British India. He delivered numerous landmark decisions that shaped Muslim law, the law in general, and its administration.

Earlier, he blazed a trail his younger contemporaries followed in their judicial roles in British India. He was one of the first Indian Muslims to study in England and train in the English system of jurisprudence, the first Indian to enrol as a barrister in the High Court of Judicature at Allahabad in 1872, the first appointed as a district judge in the restructured judicial system of Awadh in 1879 and the first Indian assigned as a puisne judge to the High Court at Allahabad. He was the first Muslim in any High Court of India. He cleared a path for Indian Muslims to participate in administering justice in India. But his contribution is not limited to creamy career opportunities for Muslim youngsters. His lasting legacy is how Muslim law is perceived and administered in South Asia today.

CHAMPION OF ACCESSIBLE JUSTICE

An abiding concern of Mahmood was the cost of administration of justice. Court procedures were lengthy and expensive, and the “mass of law” was complicated. Distance from courts was another concern, for which he proposed a network of village courts for “on-the-spot” adjudication. He sought to make justice accessible through unpaid tribunals and honorary munsifs. He prepared a comprehensive draft for this, Guenther informs.

Furthermore, he attacked the [racial] mindset and court fees and stamp duties on legal documents. He ruled in August 1884 and February 1885 that “…if justice costs the same amount [to the] rich and poor, it follows that the rich man will be able to purchase it, whilst the poor man will not.” He declared, more than once, that British judges in India were too quick to find fraud.

In a speech at the Allahabad Bar in April 1885, Mahmood raised the language issue in judicial transactions, saying laws should be in languages intelligible to the masses. He insisted on the vernacular in arguments, pleadings and justice delivery and translated verdicts so that people unfamiliar with English could rest assured that judgments are reasoned. Of course, the issue of judicial language continues to be debated, and for this, acknowledgement is due to Mahmood.

AN INDIAN DISSENTER IN THE HIGH NOON OF BRITISH COLONIALISM

Mahmood is known most for outstanding dissenting judgements. In volume 2 of his 2021 book, Discordant Notes, Justice (retd.) Rohinton F. Nariman writes that Mahmood was known for detailed judgments, some of which stand out for thoroughness and fearless language. Mahmood would refer to the original Sanskrit versions when ruling on Hindu laws and the Arabic texts for Muslim laws, rather than using interpretations of the relevant texts.

From the 1860s to 1880s, during the codification of laws, he sought limits on importing British laws and protested that the local context was getting overlooked. His concern was not just the laws but their efficacy and adaptability within India’s cultural diversity.

Guenther observes, “…throughout his life, he identified himself as a Muslim as well as an Indian and a subject of the British crown, and that he was actively involved in the education and improvement of the Indian Muslim community. At the same time, Mahmood… [made] efforts to promote harmony between people of diverse backgrounds, and…[supported] initiatives that improved the situation of all Indians, regardless of religious affiliation…”

An anecdote from Altaf Hali’s Hayat-e-Javed (1901), cited by Shamsur Rahman Faruqi (2006), is worth sharing. “Contrary to the culture of sycophancy and genuflecting before the English colonial authority….Syed Ahmad Khan and his high-profile and brilliant son Syed Mahmud strived to conduct themselves as if they were equal to the English….Syed Ahmad Khan had stayed away from the [1867 Agra] Durbar because Indians had been given seats inferior to the English. A medal was to be conferred on Syed Ahmad Khan at that Durbar. Williams, the then Commissioner of Meerut, was later deputed to present the award to Syed Ahmad Khan at Aligarh railway station. Willams broke protocol and showed his anger at having to do the task under duress and said that government orders bound him, or he wouldn’t be presenting the medal to Syed Ahmad Khan. Syed Ahmad Khan accepted the medal, saying he wouldn’t have taken the award, except that he too was bound by government orders.”

Indian democracy is an outcome of anti-colonial nationalism, and dissent is its core component: Mahmood’s dissent contributed to nationalism in his time. In 2022, the V-Dem Institute described India as an electoral autocracy where dissent is being criminalised, and the judiciary is failing to contain the majoritarian upsurge. Mahmood’s professional conduct is an encouraging counterpoint to the degeneration in the Indian judiciary.

WHAT DID MAHMOOD THINK OF THE INDIAN NATIONAL CONGRESS?

According to Guenther, though Mahmood never joined the Congress, he was “equally aloof” from the anti-Congress propaganda his father indulged in. “…a rare catholicity characterised his views on most of the controversial questions,” he writes. He adds, “His acceptance among the Hindus [elites] generally was demonstrated by the fact that they tried to send him as their representative to the Imperial Legislative Council, though he never received that appointment.”

Nonetheless, like his father, Mahmood harboured class and regional prejudices. Guenther reveals an article Mahmood wrote in The Pioneer on 4 September 1875, suggesting the government must strive to with the sympathies of the “higher classes of natives”. When challenged to defend his position by “Another Native” in the same newspaper two weeks later, Mahmood responded that people in Punjab and the North-western Provinces [now Uttar Pradesh] were, historically speaking, of “much greater political significance” than those of Lower Bengal. Gunther cites his write-up: “…any educational system that succeeded in ‘attracting the Bengalee and fail(ed) to exercise any influence upon the higher classes of the Rajpoot, the Sikh, and the Mussulman’ must be regarded as a failure.”

Considering the socio-regional composition of top functionaries of AMU, even impartial insiders would testify that it still harbours regional and sub-regional prejudices. The Sir Syed Academy is releasing many publications during the ongoing centenary celebration of AMU. Publishing Guenther’s dissertation may be a fitting tribute to Mahmood, who must be regarded as a prominent co-founder of MAO College.

Mohammad Sajjad teaches modern and contemporary Indian History at Aligarh Muslim University. Md. Zeeshan Ahmad is a lawyer based in Delhi. The views are personal.

First published by Newsclick.

source: http://www.theleaflet.in / The Leaflet / Home> History / by Mohammad Sajjad and Zeeshan Ahmad / April 01st, 2022