I have heard from reliable sources that this happened at a time when the government had decided to award a substantial increase in salary to sub-judges, but that because of Sir Sayyid’s behaviour it was a long time before this increase materialized, and Sir Sayyid and his fellow sub-judges had to do without it.
~
Sir Sayyid on his stay in London
The historian W. Cantwell Smith, said aptly of Sir Sayyid’s visit to England that ‘he suddenly saw European civilization in full swing and was overwhelmed by it, dazed like a young child.’ But reading his account of it we feel the strength of his conviction that his fellow countrymen needed to acquire the good things that the English had and his ardent desire that he and they should bend all their efforts in acquiring them:
I want to write a little about my private life here; this will probably be of interest to my countrymen and will either astonish them, or excite their ridicule, or provide them with another arrow of censure to loose at me.
When I reached London I stayed three or four days in Charing Cross Hotel. I had not enough money to be able to rent a house, buy furniture for it and engage a servant; and so I rented lodgings. Lodgings means that the owner of a house lets some rooms in it. He provides the necessary furniture, including even beds and bedding. The owner is called the landlord and his wife the land-lady. Food too is provided by her, and she arranges for servants to look after us. Every week she gives a bill for us to pay, and we live in complete comfort.
The house we live in belongs to Mr J. Ludlum. He has a wife, Mrs Ludlum, and she has two sisters, Miss Ellen West and Miss Fanny West, who sometimes come to stay as their sister’s guests for two or three weeks. Mr Ludlum has all the capabilities and accomplishments which you would expect to find in the most able gentlemen. He is well versed in numerous branches of knowledge and is so interested in them that when he has time he goes at night to meetings of various societies to hear lectures on chemistry or biology or zoology or other subjects. (Societies like these are formed by ordinary people; people attending lectures pay a fee of a few coppers, and this covers the expenses of the hall, the equipment and the lecturer’s fees. In this way ordinary people have acquired an education such as the greatest philosophers in India never had.)
Six months have passed, but in my room I have never so much as heard his voice and have never encountered him except for occasional chance meetings when we exchanged a few words or greeted each other as I was leaving or going into my room. What courtesy!—to bear in mind all the time that there are others in the house who should not be put to any trouble. Anyway, I do not want to describe Mr Ludlum’s virtues, because it is possible that others here may not possess them, and what I want to write is a sketch which will give my fellow countrymen some picture of the state of education here.
Mrs Ludlum is such a highly capable, highly educated, highly cultured, and good lady that no words of mine can describe her. She is the incarnation of culture, courtesy and human goodness. She personally attends with the greatest efficiency to all the work of the house and all the household management, and Mr Ludlum does not have to concern himself with anything other than going to his office and attending his lectures.
Her two sisters are just as cultured and just as accomplished. One of them, Miss Ellen West, is very fond of reading. These days I am writing a book on the Muslim religion, and have got together a number of English books on the subject—some in favour of it, and some against it, and some by completely irreligious people who do not believe in any religion and reject them all. Some days ago Miss Ellen West fell ill—really very ill. On the next day, when she felt a little better, but still very weak, so that she could not easily get out of bed and move about, she sent a message to me asking if I could send her one of the books I had recently bought so that she could pass the time in reading it. I said I hadn’t any book of that kind, only religious books, and these too full of argument and controversy. She said,‘No matter, send me one of them.’ So I did. Within two days she had finished it, and when she had completely recovered and emerged from her sick room she made some very good points about this book.
From this you should understand how well-educated women of something lower than middle-class status are. Is it not amazing that a sick woman should pass the time in reading a book of this kind? Have you seen anything like this in the home of any nobleman, nawab, rajah, or gentleman in India? If in India a woman were to go out into the street and walk around completely naked, how amazed and flabbergasted our countrymen would be. I tell you without exaggeration that people here are no less amazed when they learn that the women in India cannot read and write and are given absolutely no education.
These days I am living in a very interesting house... We have six rooms in it—four bedrooms (one for each of the four of us). Hamid, Mahmud and Mirza Khudadad Beg’s bedrooms are rather better than mine and are more fully furnished than mine, because they read in these rooms in the evenings. In my room there are only the things I need to sleep there... I have a room to write and read in, and to do my literary work in. And we have our meals and our tea in this same room. Then there is a big furnished room called a sitting room—that is, a reception room. We sometimes sit there together and amuse ourselves, and it is there that we receive any friend who comes to visit any of us.
Our kind landlady has engaged two maidservants to attend to our needs. One is called Anne Smith and the other Elizabeth Matthews. The latter is a young girl from a poor family, and does all the odd jobs. The other is an extremely intelligent,capable,welleducated girl—who can read books, write to the extent that is necessary and with a neat handwriting, and read the newspapers. And she enjoys doing all these things. She does her work with all the regularity and efficiency of a machine.
We get fully dressed in our bedrooms, and at about eight o’clock go to the reading and writing room. Meanwhile Anne Smith has cleaned both rooms, and dusted everything—chairs, tables, shelves, pictures, writing materials, books—and put everything in its proper place. She lights a fire in the fireplace when it is cold enough to make this necessary. If any letter has come for anyone she looks to see who it is addressed to and puts it in front of that person’s seat. If a newspaper comes she puts it in the middle, and whoever wants to read it first can do so. In short, we come into the room and find everything arranged ready for us. At about nine o’clock she comes and knocks at the door to ask permission to come in, and when this is given she comes in, lays a cloth on the table and sets out the breakfast things. She speaks in a very proper way, respectful and yet at the same time pleasant... She is extremely polite; she calls us all ‘Sir’, addresses Hamid as ‘Mr Hamid’, Mahmud as ‘Mr Mahmud’, and Mirza Khudadad Beg as ‘Mr Beg’. She has found out that this is not Mirza Khudadad Beg’s full name, and has once or twice said, ‘Sir, please pardon me; your full name is very difficult.’ This amuses us and now we all call him ‘Mr Beg’. Anyway, in this way everything is ready on time, and it is the same with dinner and supper...And all of this is the result of education.
Just look at this youngster Elizabeth Matthews. Despite the fact that she earns only a very small wage, she regularly buys a half-penny paper called The Echo and reads it in her spare time. Sometimes she picks up a copy of Punch, looks at the pictures of women’s manners and customs and enjoys the editor’s oblique comments on them.
Above all the shops there are signboards bearing the name of the owners in large gold letters, or letters in other colours. The maidservants can read them all, and do all the shopping there.
The cabmen and coachmen all keep a newspaper under their seat. The moment they set down their passenger they get it out and read it. Think of it. Their status is comparable to that of the ekka*—drivers that ply for hire in Benares. Until general education is developed to this degree, civilization and culture will never come, and our nation will never be respected.
The whole secret of all this progress in England is only this: here everything, every branch of knowledge, every a
rt, is conveyed in the language which everyone, or nearly everyone, speaks.
It follows that all those who genuinely seek the well-being of India and want it to progress must be convinced that the wellbeing of India depends entirely on this: all branches of knowledge, from the lowest to the highest, must be imparted in the language of the people. I think that as an admonition for the future, these words should be engraved in huge letters on the peaks of the Himalayas: ‘Unless all branches of knowledge are imparted to Indians in their own language, India will never attain the rank of an educated and cultured nation. This is true! This is true! This is true!’
The government faces a very great difficulty here. The language of the government is not the language of the country, and, that being so, people feel very little incentive to pay any attention to the vernacular; because it is still the case that no one in India feels any other motive for study but the desire for government service. No one wants to acquire knowledge because he values it.
But, all you who wish India well, do not expect anyone else to do the job for you. Rely upon yourselves; support one another, raise money, and extend the teaching of all branches of knowledge, high and low, throughout the country. Then when you have acquired knowledge, education and culture, the greed for employment in government service will count for nothing in your eyes. I hope that sooner or later that day will come, will certainly come, will be sure to come!
~
The New Men and the Old
The views of Sir Sayyid and his supporters met with virulent opposition from the powerful conservative forces in Indian Muslim society. Sir Sayyid’s occasional extremism provoked an equally extreme response, but it would be a grave mistake to regard this as the major cause of this response. To the pillars of the Old Light the mere fact that an idea was new was sufficient to condemn it.
By the time of Sir Sayyid’s death in 1898 the New Light had become the predominant ideology of the leaders of the Muslim community. Whatever the Old Light could offer in hopes of a restoration of Muslim glory in some indefinite future, it clearly had no solution for the problems of the here and now. The New Light clearly did offer a solution, and in the absence of any clear alternative, it gained increasing acceptance.
Sarshar: The Tale of Azad
There is an amusing illustration of the clash of attitudes in a work of fiction by Ratan Nath Sarshar (1846–1902) entitled The Tale of Azad (Fasana i Azad). Azad, the hero, is a determined and enthusiastic champion of the New Light. His henchman, Khoji, though personally loyal to Azad, is an equally firm upholder of the Old. The form of the book in itself reflects the influence of the changing attitudes. It has elements of the traditional Persian dastan (disconnected episodes in the life of a highly romanticized, long-ago, hero), but Sarshar’s intention is to write a contemporary story reflecting the realities of daily life:
Azad and Khoji are on a railway journey from Lucknow. When they reach the station Azad finds the refreshment room. There is nothing at all exaggerated in the account that follows:
Azad was delighted with what he saw; everything was spotlessly clean and in its proper place. From one end of the room to the other were tables with chairs arranged round them, and glasses set out upon them. Lamps were burning brightly on all sides. Azad sat down.‘Bring me something to eat,’ he said.‘But, mind you, no wine, and nothing with pork in it.’...The waiter, spick and span in his clean uniform, and with a turban on his head, brought him all manner of English dishes [sic] which he served from costly plates of the most expensive kind. Azad plied his knife and fork with a will, and finished off with lemonade and soda-water. When he came out, there was Khoji, his bedding unrolled on the platform, eating parathas and kababs.
‘You look as though you’re doing all right,’ said Azad,‘the way you’re scoffing those kababs.’
‘That’s right,’ said Khoji,‘some of us like kababs and some of us like wine.’
‘What do you mean, “Some of us like wine”? Do you think I’ve been drinking wine? I never touch the stuff. I’ll swear on the Quran I haven’t touched a drop. You might as well accuse me of eating pork.’
Khoji smiled,‘Right!’ he said.‘You wouldn’t let that chance slip. “You might as well say I’ve been eating pork!” he said. Well said! You have to think these things forbidden or repulsive to keep off them. But both are allowed to you. You think it’s a great thing to have them. Well done, my friend! Today you’ve really shown what you’re capable of.’
‘Have you finished? Or do you want to go on abusing me? I tell you, you can put me on oath. I’ve not so much as put my hand to wine; I’ve not even looked at pork.’
‘You put that well. All right, you haven’t put your hand to wine. But it went down your throat, I’ll be bound. And anyway, who takes any notice of your oaths? An oath means nothing to you. I can’t make out to this day what your religion is... Oh well, we shall all get the reward of our deeds. Why should I worry about it?’
‘You’re not going to admit you’re wrong, are you?’
‘Why should I? Didn’t I see you with my own eyes using a knife and fork?’
‘Well? Do you think you drink wine with a knife and fork?’
‘How do I know how you drink wine? Better ask one of your drunken friends about that. But I’m sorry you’re so far gone. What a pity! What a shame!’
‘Do just one thing for me: just go into the refreshment room and see for yourself.’
‘What, me? Me, a true Muslim, go into a refreshment room? God forbid! God save us! You go if you want to. But me? Go into a refreshment room? May God protect me!’
Azad left Khoji to his kababs and strolled along the platform. A gentleman with a beard a yard long accosted him,‘Well, sir, may I know your name?’
‘Azad.’
‘Azad.’* He smiled.‘Yes, indeed. The name suits you. Freedom and free-thinking are written all over you. And your religion?’
[Azad quoted a Persian verse and then replied] ‘Respected sir, your humble servant is a Muslim. Islam is my faith, and I observe the shariat. And your name, Maulvi Sahib?’
‘Never mind my name. Allow me to express my sorrow.’
‘Please do. Burst into tears if you like. But remember that Muharram isn’t far off. You’ll be able to weep then to your heart’s content. Why so impatient?’
‘You say you are a Muslim and observe the shariat, and yet you go into a restaurant and drink wine. God have mercy on us! My good man, do you never think of Judgement Day?’
‘Respected sir, what can I say? I have no more to say to you. God save us!’
‘Pardon me if I am rude; but think of yourself when you say “God save us!”Well, you have done Satan’s work, but praise God that your better self reproaches you.’
‘Maulana, I swear by God I took only food in the restaurant, and that too only what Islam permits. Be fair! What is wrong with that? After all, in Istambul everybody—including the most eminent doctors of Islam—dine with Christians. Why on earth is it that in India Muslims think it a sin?’
‘Listen, I’ll explain it all to you. To eat in a restaurant is not creditable to a Muslim. If you’d spread your mat and had the same food brought out to you, that would have been all right. That too would have been open to objection, but not to the same extent. Then again, you may swear as many oaths as you like, with the Quran raised in your hand, but no one will believe that you didn’t have pork and wine. If you trade in coals your hands will get black. And don’t talk to me about Istambul. The Shah of Persia drinks wine and orders the most expensive brandy. But does that make wine-drinking permissible? Let the Turks eat with Christians as much as they like. That doesn’t mean that we should. It’s against our traditions to do so. Have you got to live in Istambul? Or have you got to live here in India? When you’re in Istambul, do as they do. But are we talking about Istambul or are we talking about India? After all, there’s no lack of food outside the restaurant—kababs, parathas, biscuits, everything. So what was to be gained by go
ing there? Why make yourself conspicuous and get yourself laughed at for nothing?’
‘My dear sir. First, the food in there is fine and tasty. Secondly, the place is spotlessly clean. Then you can sit and enjoy the food. There’s a man to pull the fan. The fan is clean. The plates are clean. The tables are clean. There are four waiters standing ready to serve you. Can I get all that outside? God save us!’
‘The food may be fine according to your taste. And for the fan, out here you can pay a pice and get yourself fanned for an hour at a time. And what do you want with cleanliness when you are travelling? Besides, it’s not as though things out here are filthy dirty. If you’re over-particular, that’s quite another matter. Anyway, it’s your business and you can get on with it. But youngsters should listen to what their elders tell them. I’ve told you. But you must do as you like.’
A Thousand Yearnings Page 29
