Deoband (Uttar Pradesh): At the Darul Uloom madrasa here, the resident mufti issued a religious decree last September calling photography a form of idol worship. His fatwa, bearing seal and signature, ordered Muslims: “Burn the photographs that you have in your possession. Also, acquire those photographs, which are in the possession of others and burn them. If they refuse to give it to you, buy it from them and burn them.”
(Narrated by Priyanka P. Narain and Harikrishna Katragadda)
Some students and faculty took the command to heart and don’t allow anyone to take photos of them anymore.
And then there’s Abdus Salam Qasmi, the madrasa’s computer teacher.
The former student at Darul Uloom teaches students software applications, such as Adobe PageMaker and PhotoShop—programmes which require the use of photography. On a recent day, pulling a camera stand from his drawer, Qasmi said with a hint of mocking conspiracy, “Sometimes, I give them a small camera and teach them how to take photos and edit them.”
Such are the complexities and contradictions of Islamic education today. Perhaps nowhere in India is the dichotomy reflected as strongly as this madrasa—one of the most important Islamic seminaries in the world and the birthplace of Deobandism, an ideological strain to which the Taliban claims allegiance.
As the government plans to modernize education and infrastructure in the nation’s 12,000 madrasas, to add the teaching of math, civics and science to that of the Quran, a debate wages inside those schools as to just what strings might be attached to the increased aid. In many cases, the poorest choose Islamic schooling because their parents want them to have shelter and food, as much as an education.
Meanwhile, a conference of Islamic scholars begins here today to discuss allegations that madrasas have turned into breeding grounds for terrorism. A similar, fundamental question forms the heart of the matter: How can Islam be reconciled to modern life?
Should it be reconciled at all?
Despite the internal conflicts, each morning in Deoband starts with a comforting rhythm, one that has unfolded for 140 years. Dawn breaks in long torn strips of mist and dust snaking around the minarets and domes of Deoband. In the cold and semi-darkness, when night has not quite departed, the muezzin summons the faithful to prayer and the 3,500 students at the Darul Uloom madrasa answer the call. So begins another day of learning.
Do we look like terrorists?
Aadil Khan, a soft-spoken 20-year-old from Bhopal, quotes from the Ramayana and believes all religions lead to the same god. He says shyly that when he finishes his education in two years, he wants to start his own madrasa back home. It’s a dream many share. And like so many other students, Khan is aware of outside perception: “You must have heard that we are terrorists here. Now you have met us? What do you think—do we look like terrorists to you?”