Roland E. Miller - Mappila Muslim Culture - How A Historic Muslim Community in India Has Blended Tradition and Modernity-State Univ of New York PR (2015)

Mappila Muslim Culture
SUNY series in Religious Studies

——————
Harold Coward, editor
How a Historic Muslim Community in India

Has Blended Tradition and Modernity
Roland E. Miller
Published by State University of New York Press, Albany
© 2015 State University of New York
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Printed in the United States of America
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

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For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY

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Production, Eileen Nizer

Marketing, Michael Campochiaro
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Miller, Roland E.
Mappila Muslim culture : how a historic Muslim community in India has
blended tradition and modernity / Roland E. Miller.
pages cm. — (SUNY series in religious studies)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4384-5601-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN 978-1-4384-5602-7 (e-book)
1. Moplahs—History. 2. Kerala (India)—History. I. Title.
DS432.M65M538 2015
305.6'97095483—dc23 2014027725
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my Mappila friends,
with respect and gratitude . . .
Contents
Preface xi
A Note on Foreign Terms and Style xiii
Part I
The Becoming of Mappila Muslim Culture:
A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope
1 The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting 3

Mappila Identity 3
The Malayalam Cultural Setting 5
The Islamic Cultural Setting 13
2 The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture 25

The Historical Shaping 25
The Cultural Legacy 41
3 The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on

Mappila Culture 49
Two Language Worlds 49
Developmental Contrasts and Sporadic Culture
Contacts 51
The European Cultural Intrusion and Its
Connecting Role 60
Indo-Muslim Influences on the Mappilas: A Summary 70
4 The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism 73

The Pillar of Arabic 75
The Pillar of the Qurʾan 79
Traditionalist Religious Education 81
Traditionalist Clergy and Their Training 85
viii Contents
5 The Great Transition in Mappila Culture:

Four Change Factors 93
Theological Reform 94
The Impact of Communism 103
Modern Secular Education 109
The Impact of Gulf Money and Gulf Custom 117
Conclusion 125
6 Mappila Character and Personality Today 127

Mythical Elements in the Mappila Image 128
The Mappila Character and Personality 133
The Sense of Being Mappila 134
Part II
The Being of Mappila Muslim Culture:
A Profile of Changing Customs and Notable Achievements
7 Key Life Moments: Birth, Marriage, Death 139

Pregnancy, Birth, and Early Childhood 140
Family Planning 143
Marriage 146
Divorce: The Practices and the Problem 154
Old Age and Death 156
8 Family Custom: Home Life, Interrelationships, Inheritance 161

The Mappila Home and Its Rhythm of Life 161
Mutual Interrelations within the Family 167
The Mappila Inheritance Pattern 173
The Marumakkathāyam or Matrilineal Tradition 177
9 Aspects of Personal Behavior 183

Mappila Occupations 184
Mappila Dress and Ornamentation 187
Mappila Food 191
Cleanliness, Pollution, and Sanitation 195
Tabus: Stimulants and Extramarital Behavior 197
Pleasures and Role Models 201
10The Landscape of Mappila Social Behavior:

Group Distinctions, Educational Variety, Political
Alignments, Theological Factions, Decision Making 207
Group Distinctions: Arab Descent, Caste-Like
Clans, Class Features 208
Contents ix
Current Educational Profile 212

Mappila Political Alignments 220
The Mappila Theological Factions 223
The Community’s Decision-Making Process 229
photo gallery follows page 232
11Social Behavior (cont’d): Leadership and Some Selected

Leaders, Community Service, Community Relations 233
Mappila Leadership Resources and Representative
Leaders 233
Mappila Social Service and Trusts 242
Mappila Relations with Non-Muslims 246
12 Religious Rituals and Festivals: Saints and Superstition 253

The Prescribed Rituals 253
Major and Minor Festivals 259
The Mappila Respect for Saints 262
The Celebration of the Saints 272
Superstition and Magic 280
13Mappila Artistic Expression: Mosque Architecture,

Embellished Houses, the Material Arts, Song, and Dance 291
Mosque Architecture 291
Embellished Homes 298
The Material Arts 300
Mappila Music: Song, Instruments, and Dance 303
14 Mappila Literature 315

Malayalam Literature Is Born: Mappilas Remain Aloof 315
Arabic Literature and the Mappilas: An Unfulfilled
Vision 319
Arabic-Malayalam Literature: A Synthetic Medium 322
Literature in Malayalam Enters the Cultural Scene 327
Mappila Journals and Newspapers 329
Mappila Novelists in Malayalam: A Cultural Wave 333
Mappila Nonfiction Writers 344
Mappila Poetry 345
Conclusion: The Significance of Mappila Culture 349

A Resource for Wider Cultural Understanding 349
The Implication That a Cultural Renaissance
Is Possible 351
The Importance of Determined Behavioral Change 352
x Contents
Appendix A: Islamic and Malayalam Terms for Culture 355
Appendix B: The Ali Raja Kingdom in Kannur 357
Appendix C: The Origins of Traditionalism in the

Islamic Heartlands and Its Structure 361
Appendix D: The Nizamiyya Syllabus 365
Appendix E: Mappila Culture on the Laccadive Islands

(Lakshwadeep) 367
Notes 369
Glossary 397
Bibliography 405
Index 419
Preface
This book examines the thinking and acting of the Mappila Muslims
of Kerala within their religious and social context. In an earlier study
of Mappila history and theology1 I could only give passing attention
to this intriguing community’s cultural phenomena. I hope that this
volume will serve to make up that deficiency.
Certain cultural achievements rise like mountains out of the
plains. The considerable size of the Mappila community and its dis-
tinctive social experience are enough to make it inherently important,
but its cultural implications go farther. Whether it be their adaptive
spirit, their capacity to change behavior patterns, or their refreshing
attitude toward interreligious harmony, Mappilas and their culture
have a significance beyond their boundaries. They have struggled
through serious difficulties to make a successful social adaptation. It
needs no saying that such symbols of cultural progress have a special
importance in our contemporary world.
There are many definitions of “culture.” I take it in the broad
sense of learned and cultivated behavior. In that perspective, few
societies have had such a long and radical experience with culture
change as the Mappilas, and in describing their ideas and practices
I will emphasize that aspect of their story. Two scholarly opinions
are relevant to this approach. The noted French Muslim philosopher,
Muhammad Arkoun, maintains that in dealing with the wide range
of Muslim societies we need “a reflective history of culture” in addi-
tion to purely descriptive studies.2 In a similar vein, from his social
science point of view, G. O. Lang writes:3
Older views in the study of culture change tended to focus

on cultural elements themselves. The emphasis has shifted
to the study of changing relationships between elements,
change between groups of individuals sharing a common
or different culture, change between elements of a society
xi
xii Preface
and adjustments of individual personalities to their chang-

ing cultures.
In this work I deal with Mappila culture in two major parts which I
call the Becoming and the Being of the Mappilas. The first six chapters
outline how they arrived at the present moment. What accounts for
their quite striking cultural blend? In the succeeding eight chapters
I describe the current customs and accomplishments of the Mappilas
in key areas; in almost all of them the factor of change has become a
crucial element. Bearing in mind the length and breadth of the Map-
pila experience I have used the tradition of clear divisions to make
the material easily usable, but at the same time I have also attempted
to personalize the description as much as possible.
No writer on a people’s culture can feel completely satisfied with
his or her presentation. The topic is inherently broad and perceptions
vary widely among individual members of the Mappila community.
Moreover, there are also many academic disciplines and methodolo-
gies dedicated to the task of investigating religio-social cultures in
their various aspects, and each has a role to play in the full study of
Muslim societies grounded on the principle of a unified life under
divine guidance. In addition to the methods of Islamic studies and
religious studies I am also indebted to the approach of social sci-
ences. In what follows I have tried to present Mappila culture with
reasonable accuracy, some understanding and relative completeness,
but I must beg the forbearance of my Mappila friends where they
feel undue lack in the materials or any unintended misrepresentation.
I could not have reached this goal without the support of many
individuals. They include the Mappila advisors mentioned in the text
and notes, and countless other friends too numerous to mention—the
happy result of many years spent in Malabar. Fellow scholars and
students have remained warm in their encouragement over a long
period. My wife Mary Helen gave me steady companionship and aid;
she and my son Michael also provided helpful photos. The editors and
staff at SUNY Press, and their reviewers, gave valuable assistance. I
sincerely thank all of them. To God I am very grateful for the strength
and time to complete this formidable but personally satisfying task.
Roland E. Miller
Ottawa, Canada
2014
A Note on Foreign Terms
and Style
This volume is prepared for the general public, but a limited number
of Malayalam and Arabic terms have been introduced where neces-
sary. Arabic terms are part and parcel of customary Mappila usage,
while Malayalam terms arise naturally from the culture context. Each
term is explained the first time used, and its meaning is later repeated
in the glossary. Both the terms Malayalam and Malayali may be used
as nouns or as adjectives; Malayalam applies to the area and language,
and Malayali to the people.
The transliteration schemes for the Arabic and Malayalam words
are those used in the writer’s The Mappila Muslims of Kerala. For both
languages long vowels are indicated by a dash over the letters. In
the case of Arabic the letters ain and hamza, for which there are no
English equivalents, are indicated by the marks ʿ and ʾ respectively.
The words sharia and madrasa, now common in English, are used as
equivalents of sharīʿa and madrasa, but Qurʾān is maintained in that
form. Some arbitrary decisions are inevitable in the use of diacritical
marks with names. The names of places and modern individuals are
unpointed, while names from the classical age are pointed. In the text
itself palatal Malayalam consonants are not singled out in book titles
by the sign of a dot placed under the letter, but they are in the notes
and in the bibliography.
The translation of Malayalam materials, unless otherwise indi-
cated, are by the writer. Qurʾān quotations are generally taken from
Marmaduke Pickthall’s English translation but Yusuf Ali’s text is also
used. In regard to footnote abbreviations EI 2 refers to the second edi-
tion of the Encyclopedia of Islam. In the notes the second and subse-
quent appearance of a source is noted by the use of a shortened title,
with publication data deleted. The bibliography is a list of works
consulted; for further sources see the writer’s entry on “Mappilas” in
xiii
xiv A Note on Foreign Terms and Style
El2. General works on Kerala and Indian Islam are voluminous and
no effort is made to include those that are not directly relevant. For
reasons of convenience the common Western dates are used rather
than either the Malayalam or Muslim calendars.
Part I
The Becoming of
A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope

1
The Mappilas and Their Composite

Culture Setting
Who are the Mappilas? Where are they located? How was their cul-
ture formed? Our study of Mappila Muslim culture begins with these
basic questions.
It is possible to answer the questions in a simple, straightforward
manner. The Mappilas are the Malayali Muslims of southwest India,
where they constitute a large and distinct community of more than
eight million members. Their culture is the offshoot of a successful
marriage between the Malayalam and the Islamic cultural traditions.
Their way of life has developed over more than thirteen centuries as
the oldest Muslim community in South Asia.
Yet simplicity conceals as well as reveals. The Mappilas are not
stick figures, but flesh and blood. They are living people in motion.
Their culture is not an abstract time-bound collection of habits and
customs. It is, rather, the ongoing behavioral reflection of a dynamic
human development. At a deeper level, therefore, our answers to the
questions raised above require a journey into the life and spirit of a
people. In a sense, they require a personal meeting, one that brings
both learning and pleasure.
The primary purpose of this opening chapter is to point to and
to delineate the twofold source of Mappila culture. It flows from both
the Malayalam and Islamic worlds, and both stream into the living
culture of the Mappilas down to the present. Before beginning that
story we will look more closely at Mappila identity through a visit
with Abdulla and Amina.
Mappila Identity
I had traveled along the road to Malappuram many times, but its live-
liness never seemed to lessen or to become dull. The road teems with
3
4 Mappila Muslim Culture
people and activity. On both sides pedestrians walk briskly, dodging

one another and the endless stream of cycles, three-wheelers, cars,
buses, and lorries. The goats, “brake-testing” water buffalo, and ox-
carts that once occupied much of the road space are no longer vis-
ible. People move in and out of the open-front shops that line the
streets—general provision stores, cloth and clothing establishments,
pharmacies, hardware suppliers, restaurants and tea-shops, and many
more. Behind them stretches an open area, the town playing-field or
maidan, where football teams are active. Next to it is the site of the
weekly market, where everything from brinjals to books are on sale.
It is evening, and from the nearby educational institutions children
and youth pour out in huge numbers. Evening is also the going-out
and visiting time in Mappila culture. I am on my way to see old
family friends.
Abdulla and Amina are expecting me. They live in a house that
overlooks this busy scene. This is their space, their town, in their state
called Kerala. A quarter of the state population are Mappila Muslims
who live in towns like this, alongside Hindu and Christian neighbors,
interacting harmoniously. Their name “Mappila” is an honorific title
meaning “great child” that goes back to their origins.1 It was quite
respectfully given to them by Hindus when they first came to Kerala.
The name carries intimations of their double-streamed Arab–Malay-
alam cultural background. Many centuries have passed by since then,
and now Mappilas are experiencing tremendous change.
Abdulla’s family is an example of that phenomenon. His par-
ents were very poor, but he went to school, became a lawyer, and
worked hard to pull himself up on the economic scale. Amina also
went against the trend and managed to become a teacher. Now they
have a nice home, proudly cared for. As I arrived I was greeted with
great warmth by all the members of the family. For a time we talked
happily together in Malayalam, the common language of the region,
sharing family news. I was then led to a sumptuous meal, with spe-
cial Mappila ingredients. It was not only a culinary feast but also a
friendship-fest, especially meaningful because of our differing back-
grounds. Abdulla brought in my taxi driver, a stranger to both of us,
and seated him also at the table. The time flew by all too quickly.
As I returned to my destination through the now darkened
streets of this emotional center of Mappila culture, I reflected on the
remarkable story of this society and pondered its future. Abdulla’s
family represents a community that goes back to the earliest days of
Islam experiencing a long period of peaceful intercultural growth,
then passed through terrible and testing times, but is now developing
The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting 5
a behavioral synthesis. The saga has cultural significance, heaped up

and overflowing. It begs for wider recognition and fuller description.
The Mappila Muslims are better known now than they once were, but
still labor under a shadow of concealment. The course of historical
events, especially in the Malabar2 region of northern Kerala, conspired
to put the Mappilas into a defined image box. There is an old Malabar
proverb, however, that declares: “If you put anything inside, it will
surely be known outside.”3 It is time, and for good reasons high time,
for the Mappilas to be better known outside.4
One of those good reasons is the sheer size of the Mappila
Muslim population. In their numbers they make up a major social
group both within the Indian nation and within the global Islamic
profile. The estimated Muslim population (2014) in Kerala State is
over 8,900,0005: this is a figure that is larger in size than 22 out of
the 44 Muslim majority countries in the world. There are other sub-
stantial reasons, however, for making Mappila culture more widely
known. They represent a significant example of successful Muslim
cultural adaptation, one that points to possibility for contemporary
Muslims engaged in cultural interrelationships. The Mappilas are a
notable example of self-change, moving from a negative to a positive
cultural image. Finally, the culture content of Mappila life has unique
customary aspects that make up a fascinating chapter in the wider
story of human cultural development.
The Mappila Muslims have both a clear identity and social sig-
nificance. The rich complexity of their learned behavior cannot be
appreciated, however, without examining its two forming streams.
The Mappilas are Malayali Muslims. They draw on their Malayalam
heritage for their everyday life and at the same time on their Islamic
heritage for their faith, religious ethos, and many customs. We turn
first to the Malayalam culture stream.
The Malayalam Culture Setting
The task of making Mappila culture better known takes us to a lively

society in southwest India set amidst a lush tropical splendor. The
home of the Mappilas stretches from Cape Comorin to Mangalore
but for our purposes we will confine ourselves to the state of Kerala
where the overwhelming majority reside. Its culture and language
are called Malayalam, and the people are Malayalis.6 Generally quick
of mind and independent in outlook, they have produced a distinct
culture that constantly draws on external influences but never loses
its traditional core ethos. The Mappila Muslims are contributing mem-
bers of that vibrant culture. Some of its informing factors that we will
consider are the state’s natural endowments, the extreme population
pressure, the enterprising spirit of the people, the paradoxical factors
of social diversity and solidarity, and the mobility of the society.
The word Malayalam means “the place between the mountains
and the sea.” It refers to Kerala’s geographical setting as a coastal
strip of land bordered on one side by the Arabian Sea (=the Indian
Ocean) and on the other by the Western Ghat mountains. It is only
576 kilometers (360 miles) north and south and never exceeds 112
kilometers (70 miles) east and west. The first impression it gives is
that of an extended garden. The terrain is alternately hilly, the tops
often crowned with coconut palm trees, or it is flat, well-watered
alluvial fields that produce rice and other crops. Almost countless
homes cluster under the trees, alongside the rice paddy fields, or near
the rivers and canals that run down to the sea. The tropical scene is
the product of two annual monsoons that bring an average of 320
centimeters (160 inches) of rain a year to the area.
If the beauty of nature is the first impression one has of Kerala,
its productivity is even more important. While the state has the hustle
and bustle associated with modernity, with high technology one of
its major new industrial developments, statistically and at heart the
Malayalis are still heavily involved with agriculture. The state produc-
es 92 percent of India’s rubber, 70 percent of its coconuts, 60 percent
of its tapioca, and large amounts of coffee, tea, and bananas.7 Many
of the spices that were so important in Mappila history continue to be
raised, especially pepper and ginger. Paddy fields still remain despite
the steady encroachment of the growing population and the intrusive
development of crops other than rice. They stretch out in undulating
flow, glowing with their delicate shades of green.
Could there be any shadow on such a lovely scene? Alas, its
beauty cannot hide the tensions in Mappila history that revolved
around the ownership of the fields. At a very early stage in Kera-
la history, a complicated land tenure system had evolved that was
marked by echelons of ownership and management. The system gave
Mappilas and other tenants and poor laborers no ready access to land
ownership. Therefore, when the Marxist government in 1969 decreed
that the maximum holding of the most productive rice fields would
be ten acres and the remainder would have to be distributed among
the landless, agricultural workers from all backgrounds breathed a
sigh of relief. Through modest payments tenant farmers could now
become the absolute owners of the land they tilled. It was one of the
most radical property decisions ever taken in a free society.8
The coconut plantations contend with the rice paddies for
Malayali affection. By some the word Kerala is said to signify “land
of the coconut.” Others derive the term from Chera, the name of a
prominent ruling dynasty. Whatever the fact may be, Malayalis regard
the coconut as a divine gift. It thrives almost everywhere, in low-
lying, well-watered areas, on the roadside, in the yards of homes, and
on hill plantations. All of its parts are useful—the leaves for the roof;
the fruit fiber for ropes, baskets and mats; the pulp for food and for
the extraction of oil; and the juice of the tender fruit for a refreshing
drink on a hot day. When, after fifty years or so, the tree dies, its
decay-resistant wood is used for building. Only a Malayali who has
lost his soul will cut down a tree before that time. And, if necessary,
he will even let it grow through his roof!
The mountains and the sea also contribute their share to Kera-
la’s productive beauty. In the mountains grow great hardwood trees.
Although declining in number, they are still hauled by elephants from
inaccessible jungles and are either floated down rivers or placed on
lorries to be taken to lumberyards. The great groves of multipurpose
bamboo, however, are now virtually exhausted. The sea too is boun-
teous with the fish that mean so much both for the diet of Malayalis
and for the economy of the state. It has made its fierce power so
clearly evident that granite rock protecting walls have been construct-
ed along Kerala’s coast to prevent its shore from disappearing under
the waves. Without exception Malayalis are united in their affection
for their home.
If beauty reigns in southwest India, density is her consort. If
nature’s grandeur impresses, humanity’s mass overwhelms. There are
two important things that must be said about Kerala’s population.
The first is that it is massive considering the space. The second is that
it is unusually balanced in its religious makeup. The state is one of
the most crowded places in the world. It contains 33,406,061 people
(2011 census) within an area of 38,863 square kilometers (15,175 square
miles). The ratio of 859 per sq.km. (or 2199 per sq.m.) is extraordinari-
ly high, and can be matched by only a very few other global regions.
In fact, Kerala is simply one big village. A low infant mortality rate
of 16 per 1,000 and an average life expectancy of 70.3 ironically con-
tribute to the population pressure that is the state’s major problem.
Family planning awareness is strong and the annual growth rate is
now below one percent. This achievement is remarkable, but its full
effect will not be felt for another generation. In the meantime, the
demographic reality has major implications for domiciliary decisions,
for employment possibilities, for human relations, and for lifestyles
in general.
Equally remarkable is the relatively balanced nature of Kerala’s
religious population. Its people are 56.2 percent Hindu, 24.7 percent
Muslim, and 19.1 percent Christian. This ratio has no parallel else-
where. The relative equilibrium points to three critical factors in the
state’s history. The first is the cultural spaciousness of the host Hindu
society that was open to the development of both Christianity and
Islam. The second is the centuries-long interreligious harmony within
this trialogical situation that made possible the development of new
faith communities.9 The third is the cultural interaction inevitably
involved. No one who has observed children pouring out of the state’s
elementary schools can be insensitive to the various levels of interac-
tion entailed by this unusual religious profile.
A final comment on Kerala’s religious population is that the
Muslim share is steadily increasing. Fifty years ago the comparative
percentages were 61.6 for Hindus, 17.5 for Muslims, and 20.8 for
Christians. The increase is not unique since it parallels the national
statistics.10 The number of Mappilas is particularly high in the north-
ern region of the state, where 34 percent are Muslims.
The statistics underline what the traveler discovers, namely, that
Malayalis live in an intermingled manner. Mappilas are dispersed
throughout the southwest coastal region; there are areas where more
Mappilas reside than elsewhere, but there are few places where only
Mappilas live. Behind that reality lies practical necessity related to
the availability and cost of living space. The price of land is almost
unbelievable high in comparison with personal income. Many people
cannot afford to purchase their own home and must live with relatives
or rent space. When they do get a chance to obtain a house and com-
pound, it is the cost rather than the makeup of the neighborhood that
is the main factor. In sum, Malayalis make their choices as to where
to live based on practical rather than on religious grounds. Hindus,
Muslims, and Christians commonly live together.
It is not religious ghettoism but another kind of cultural dream
that is visible in the Malayali living pattern, and that is the deep desire
for some separation and independence. While nature is a beneficent
self-giving friend, one’s fellow human beings are inevitably competi-
tors. They crowd in on you, and compete for the good things of life.
The partial answer is a place of your own. There you can include
a portion of kindly nature, however small, and to a degree exclude
an ever-present humanity. So you build a compound wall, or even

a thorn fence, around your little space. That also serves to keep out
the omnipresent and voracious goat! Within that guarded space is
your home, a little garden, always some flowers, a coconut tree, per-
haps even a papaya tree. From its privacy and serenity the Malayali
develops the accommodating spirit that makes possible a neighbor-
hood culture within the turbulence of a highly compressed society.
A journey through Kerala, from Kasaragode District to the north to
Trivandrum District in the south, is therefore a journey through a vil-
lage of homely compounds interspersed by commercial areas.
The density of Kerala’s population affects not only its home life,
but also its economy. It creates the great search for jobs that character-
izes the society. The search for jobs!—it is the dominant drive in all
of India where more than three million new jobs are created annually
but fifteen million new babies are born. Yet nowhere is the pressure
more deeply felt than in Kerala where the male unemployment is
calculated by some to be 25 percent, including many educated and
qualified individuals. The rate among women is even higher. The
perpetual problem has many social and political repercussions. On the
one hand, it has forced Malayalis into a global diaspora and family
disruption. On the other hand, within the state, economic disappoint-
ment was a major factor that gave rise to the communist movement
which swept past social and religious defenses to capture the hearts
of many Malayalis. Not only did this result in long years of gover-
nance by the Communist Party–Marxist, but it also produced one of
the most volatile sociopolitical scenes in the nation.
Fed by the burning desire for social justice Kerala began to be
known as a culture of protest. The powerful labor unions refined
its instruments: the strike, the gherāo, and the jātha. The gherāo is a
forced sit-in. The jātha is street march of protesters. No cause is too
slight to attract a procession, especially by those who felt oppressed.
The sight is sobering; the sound disturbing. The leader, often a pro-
fessional, declares the cause and the single-file procession responds
with slogans shouted in unison. Kerala society has passed through
decades of protest. As conditions improve, it is now emerging from
that activity, but heated remonstrance continues to be a social reality.
Malayali survival and the current economic advance have not come
from protest, however, but from sheer determination.
Productive nature and population density are two shaping fac-
tors in Malayalam culture, but to them we now add a third element,
namely, personal enterprise. Here is where the generally resolute
Malayali personality comes into play. Much has been written and said
of the Malayali initiative, creative energy, and venturesome disposi-

tion. They are at work in the forces re-shaping the society, including
the development of an industrial base, the commitment to education,
and the enthusiastic involvement in democratic political debate.
The current commercial and industrial surge in Kerala is chal-
lenging agriculture as the state’s lifeblood. The commercial habit has
been in the Malayali blood for centuries. However, the current age
has added a new and vibrant interest in technological development.
The billboards along the roads entice observers to the full range of
high-tech consumer goods. Within Kerala today their manufacture is
under way. The state’s culture has always had a great range of folk
arts and crafts, but industry is now surpassing them in its forward
march. It includes the processing of food and textiles, the production
of chemicals, fertilizers, aluminum and titanium, electrical equipment,
and even ships and rockets. The factories are drawing Malayalis into
an urban-industrial mode with its culture-leveling modalities. In that
process the new leaders are the producers of computer and electronic
hardware in the busy cities of the central region. As the economy
surges forward there is more capacity to buy the advertised consumer
goods, and there are new smiles on many faces.
No description of Malayalam culture is complete without high-
lighting its commitment to education. Fundamentally, it stems from
the well-known Malayali intellectual ability and love for the things
of the mind. The latter manifests itself not only in formal schooling
but also in the general interest in public discourse and in the unusual
skill in rational debate. The commitment has made Kerala the most
educated state in India, and one of the most literate populations in
the world. The overall literacy rate in 2011 was 94 percent (males
94.2; females 87.9). Almost everyone goes to school, schools and col-
leges dot the landscape, and the seven crowded universities pour out
graduates (many of whom leave Kerala) in every conceivable field.
It may be said that the state’s greatest product and largest export is
educated people.
The educational development in Kerala, the most literate state in
India, benefited from various stimuli that played on the innate intel-
lectualism of its citizens. Interest in Western education was aroused
already in the early 1800s by Christian missions and later by colonial
administrators, but the modern stimulations have come from the need
for jobs. Malayalis surged ever higher on the scale of educational
degrees to get employment. They recognized that the knowledge of
English was a key factor in getting jobs outside the state, and as a
result its study became a cottage industry. Its continued flourishing
is attested to by the upsurge of English medium schools. While the

need for employment in a highly competitive environment became the
most powerful factor in the educational drive of Malayalam society, a
supplementary motivation flowed from the highly developed dowry
system that, in varying degrees, affects all Malayalis. It was partly to
avoid extortionist demands that parents encouraged the education
of their daughters, so much so that the state claims the second high-
est percentage of female university graduates in the world. We will
leave until later the Mappila struggle with modern education; it was
all the more trying for many in view of the fact that Mappilas share
the basic Malayali abilities.
Much of what we have said so far points to the fourth element
in Malayalam culture that we will highlight, namely, its combined
characteristic of diversity–solidarity. This is a quality of many states
in India, but in Kerala it has a special intensity related to its small
size. Diversity within population compression easily leads to turbu-
lence. No visitor in the state can fail to be struck by the great varia-
tion that exists in a small area. Some of the differences are related
to wealth and class. A large home and a small hut stand side by
side. Toyotas flash along the roads, but the buses groan with their
overloads. Within a small radius a temple, a church, and a mosque
may meet the eye. They represent differing views on life, dissimilar
customs, and varied festivals. Siva Ratri, Christmas, and Bakr-Id each
have their particular qualities. The common language, especially the
religious language, has dialectical variations. The educated and the
uneducated travel different roads. At a deeper level, there are vary-
ing opinions about the meaning of life and questions of right and
wrong. Political differences are often acute, whether the issues are
local, national, or international
The enthusiastic Malayali participation in the political process
testifies to the society’s diversity as well as to its energetic commit-
ment to the democratic principle itself. Issues are debated, voting
participation is high, parties proliferate, newspapers highlight politi-
cal reports, and politicians are everywhere. But the phenomenon is
marked by a paradox—the side-by-side existence of individualism
and groupism. They are like an alternating current. On the one hand,
groupism is powerful. The caste system of the Hindus—be they Brah-
min, Nayar, Ezhuvar, or—is legendary in the influence it exercises.
Syrian Christians are often referred to as a virtual caste, and there are
other contending groups. Muslims have major divisions despite the
concept of a single unified community. The factionalism is a powerful
factor in the political process affecting alignments and realignments,
in the process producing a constant flux. On the other hand, the pro-
verbial Malayali individualism is equally powerful. Individuals go on
making up their own minds despite group pressures. They cannot be
driven but must be persuaded. The unpredictable interplay between
groupism and individualism, and the mutual accommodations aris-
ing from and essential to it, are important elements in the society’s
cultural development and its communal harmony.
What saves the society from fragmentation or unmanageable
turbulence is the remarkable fact of Malayali solidarity. The diversity
is a diversity within fellow-feeling, a diversity in oneness. Malayalis
are sometimes charged with being clannish. That spirit is forged in the
heat of experience. They have had to learn to give and take, to hold
on to that which they consider crucial for their personal existence,
and at the same time to give the same privilege to others, avoiding
contention. The experience has created an emotional bond that under-
lies intra-Malayali relations. It is strengthened by a common pride in
their Kerala home. That is why, wherever there are Malayalis in the
world, they sooner or later create a Malayala samaj or association. To
others that emotional bond appears as proud clannishness, but to the
Malayalis themselves it is their sense of solidarity that holds them
together against high odds. The Mappilas contribute to the diversity
and participate in the solidarity.
For the final characteristic in Malayalam culture we point to
its mobility. Malayalis give the appearance of being a people on the
move. Mobility runs deeper than physical movement, but that alone
is impressive. Every means of transportation is used and is crowded.
Join me as I stand on a railway platform in the evening. The Manga-
lore Mail is due to arrive any moment. Hundreds of people are poised
for the struggle ahead, the effort to find a seat. They come from every
social and economic class, but their common purpose causes them to
crowd together. Unity within diversity! The hawkers are ready to run
up and down beside the train to sell their wares, while the porters
tie up their turbans and get ready for business. The train arrives and
disgorges a host of passengers. As they get down from the passenger
bogies they meet those getting up. Confusion prevails! With only ten
minutes for the process, how will it end? A women’s compartment is
opposite to where I am standing and watching. There is huge pres-
sure as the women strive to climb into the compartment and find a
seat, but there is also an inherent decency and understanding. They
have learned to deal with the problem of mobility. But where are
they all going?
The employment market, the educational system, and political

activity are all factors in the embracive mobility. It is accentuated by
the practice of the government, Kerala’s major employer, to transfer
its staff every three years. The mobility, however, also takes Malayalis
far from their home soil. They themselves joke about “the Malabar
hotels” found everywhere in the nation, and some say, even on the
moon! Long before it was fashionable to take advantage of job oppor-
tunities in the Gulf states, Christian nurses from Kerala were already
staffing many of the hospitals in the Middle East. Malayali business-
men, teachers, and health professionals have gone to every shore. The
incessant traveling causes family strains and financial burdens, but
certainly within Kerala it draws people together. It is easy to see that
on the train. Once the passengers are seated they begin conversing
with each other as though they were old friends.
Productive nature, population pressure, an enterprising spirit,
diversity–solidarity, and constant movement are some of the main
elements in Malayalam culture. There are many other characteristics
that could be cited. The Mappilas share them as Malayalis, and their
behavior accords with that reality. Hence, we must view their image
through the Malayalam lens. As resident citizens of the Malayalam
village and full participants in its life they are the co-creators of the
Malayalam culture as well as its heirs and benefactors. Yet that is
only half the story. The Mappilas are Muslims as well as Malayalis. We
therefore turn next to Islamic culture, the second stream in the shap-
ing of their society.
The Islamic Cultural Setting
Into the Malayalam world came Muslims from South Arabia. They
came early, but not overnight. When they came, they brought Islam
with them in their cultural dress, in turn adopting Malayalam ways.
In the next chapter we will examine in greater detail who the South
Arabs were, how they came, and the reception they received. Here we
restrict ourselves to a basic and critical question. In Islam, and hence
in an Islam-based culture, what are the principles that help Muslims
who are in a trans-cultural movement, whether they are Bangladeshis
coming to Canada in modern times, or South Arabs coming to Kera-
la in yesterday’s world? From the Islamic perspective, what enabled
Mappilas to be part of the remarkable intercultural development that
followed their arrival in southwest India?
In examining that important issue we must first consider what

is meant by the phrase “Islamic culture.” Is it simply a collective term
meaning the sum of all individual Muslim cultures in the world? Or
does it have a core content of its own? Muslim believers would say
it is the latter. There is indeed a core that is common to all individual
Muslim cultures. That core is the classical Muslim faith as it was
worked out in the first Islamic century, which concentrated on the
teaching of the Qurʾān and the life pattern of the Prophet Muham-
mad. What builds on that in Muslim societies is culture, but it is
Islamic culture because it is permeated by the spirit and ideals of the
core. The relation of the two—core of faith and behavioral buildup—
is understood differently by various Muslims. Two Muslim nations
demonstrate that difference: Saudi Arabia virtually identifying the
two and Turkey sharply distinguishing between them. Muslims, in
short, do not have a worked-out, agreed theory of culture.11 There is
a blurring of distinction between religion and culture, complicating
change and development.12 Reflecting that reality, the Islamic termi-
nology used for culture is also imprecise and varied (see Appendix A).
Nevertheless, if we take Islamic religion in the narrow sense to
refer to the basic revealed truths about faith and life, and Islamic cul-
ture to signify the Muslim community’s general learned behavior, we
may say that Islam has provided at least four clear ways to deal with
cultural matters. Even though they have not always been referred to
or evenly applied, they have enabled Muslims to respond to, to sift,
to absorb, to tolerate, or to decline aspects of another culture. They
naturally constitute the Mappila resource for their engagement with
Malayalam culture. The four elements are:
1. Religious conviction: Islam inculcates a Godward direc-

tion and frame of reference for all of life. Mappila reli-
gious conviction is legendary for its intensity.
2. Practicality: Islam allows an accepting attitude toward
various facets of human culture as long as they do not
violate God’s will. Mappilas are pragmatic in relation to
culture.
3. Legal Flexibility: Islam provides a basis in law for dealing
with human folkways. While remaining loyal to Muslim
personal and cultic law, Mappilas have been culturally
accommodating.
4. Equality: Islam teaches the importance of personal
responsibility, and allows individual freedom in behav-
ioral practice. Mappilas honor tradition and respect

clergy, but they espouse the right to culture change.
In one way or another Mappilas have drawn on these principles

of Islamic culture. In their early tradition they may have done so
intuitively; in the middle period the principles were overlaid and
smothered by a blanket of traditionalism; but in the present period
Mappilas are consciously raising up and discussing culture theory as
they contend with modernity.
In the remainder of this section we will consider in greater detail
each of these crucial principles: religious conviction, practicality, legal
flexibility, and equality.
Religious Conviction: Life Has a Godward Direction
The Forming Attitude
Muslim life and culture are informed by the religious conviction

that life has a Godward direction. During the Prophet Muhammad’s
lifetime a qibla or direction was established for prayer. The earliest
Muslims prayed toward Jerusalem, but that was changed to Mecca.
There is an indentation in mosque walls that marks the direction.
As some theologians have put it, this is a symbol of a fundamental
truth.
To live in the Godward direction includes everything we think,
say, or do. Of course, there are certain specific religious duties, each
having their own significance, but they too are reminders that our
whole life should be turned toward God and conducted in the aware-
ness of God. The idea of life direction is therefore associated with
the concept of life unity or tawhīd. A believer is not to think that he
or she lives in two separate worlds—the one sacred and the other
non-sacred. There is nothing non-sacred because God created it all
and rules it all. He is “the Lord of the Worlds” and “the Best of
all Creators.” My life, therefore, is to be a unitive life, a tawhīd life.
Physically, mentally, and spiritually, all of it is to have its direction
toward God. There are some areas of life that are non-prescribed, as
we shall see, but the entire world of culture is to be infused by the
conviction that life is sacred and is to be entirely surrendered to God.
This means that in the undelineated areas of culture, the divinely
commanded ethics of goodness and righteousness, justice and kind-
ness, and respect for all of God’s creation, are to be reflected through
personal and community behavior.
This fundamental attitudinal approach sets the relation of reli-

gion and culture for Muslims, and gives them a reference point for
both cultural growth and cultural criticism. As to cultural growth,
Muslims are free to express themselves, in good conscience, through
all of God’s forms. The Qurʾān, the basic authority of Islam, makes
that clear. God “hath made of service to you whatsoever is in the
heavens and whatsoever is in the earth: it is all from Him . . . portents
for people who reflect” (45:13). And again, “All that is in the heavens
and all that is in the earth glorifies Allah” (64:1). This applies then to
the treasures of Malayalam culture (to which Mappilas adapted) as
much as to Arab culture, to Indonesian culture as much as to Persian
culture. It may be a lute or sitar or gamelan, a pagoda or a dome, all
good things that are in the world are potential means to build a cul-
ture if those who utilize them do so in the spirit of awe and gratitude.
Since Muslims are to consider the forms and values of culture
from a spiritual center, that is also their basic guide for cultural criti-
cism. Does something, in general, pass the test of loyalty to God’s
will? If it does, it is certainly acceptable. If it does not, it should be
reformed or abandoned. The will of God is the clear reference point.13
Muslim life in this world is God-referenced. The practical issues
are not dealt with as though God has nothing to do with them. That
cannot be imagined! . . . Muslims want to do what God wants them
to do.
The Mappila Attitude: A Special Case
Mappila religious conviction also informs Mappila life and culture,

but its intensity is proverbial and makes it a special case. All Malayalis
are aware of the characteristic, and many commentators have noted
it. Mappila religious emotion runs deep and imbues societal affairs.
But what are its marks? The answer is not so obvious as might be
expected if a statistically high performance of prescribed religious
duty is taken as the criterion for measuring strength of conviction.
The basic Islamic beliefs called imān are faith in God, in God’s
angels, in prophets, in sacred books, and in the resurrection and the
day of judgment. Mappilas accept these as all other Muslims do. The
fundamental religious duties, called dīn, are the confession of faith,
the fivefold prayer, fasting during Ramadan, alms-giving, and the
pilgrimage to Mecca. These too are routine for Mappilas. All together,
the beliefs and practices constitute islām, one’s surrendering to God,
or ibādat, one’s service to God. Are Mappilas in any way noteworthy
in their performance of these constitutive religious duties? That would

be hard to prove.
The confession of faith, “There is no god but God, and Muham-
mad is the apostle of God,” is pronounced in Arabic, but that is com-
mon in the Muslim world. In regard to the required prayers, Mappilas
are relatively relaxed in their observance. Although many pray five
times daily, some who have busy days do not. Mosque attendance
at the Friday noon congregational prayer has been increasing, but it
does not include an especially high percentage of the eligible male
worshippers. As to fasting, the percentage of those who observe the
requirements is also unquestionably on the rise, and the Ramadan
night lectures are well attended, but quite a few are lax in their per-
formance. While Mappila generosity is a common characteristic, the
standard of alms-giving does not exceed that of comparative Muslim
societies. Only in the attendance at the pilgrimage do Mappilas exceed
the average, but often other factors than piety are involved. Except for
the ever-present nominal adherents, Mappilas in general do strive to
be faithful in the performance of their religious duties, but that is true
of many Muslims. We must look elsewhere then for specific marks of
the singular Mappila religious conviction.
We find them in two characteristics—the attribute of personal
commitment and the readiness to give public expression to religious
concerns. We take first the factor of quiet commitment. Mappilas on
the whole are deeply devoted to their faith. They do not, as it were,
wear it on their sleeve. It is reserved rather than ostentatious. There is
a serenity in it that is stronger than mere contentment. In this context
the Islamic expression “to be satisfied with their faith” comes to mind.
Yet Mappila inner devoutness tends to transcend satisfaction. It is a
feeling that they are on the path of those who receive God’s blessing
and guidance, protection and sustenance. Mappilas not only feel sus-
tained by what they believe, they are strongly dedicated to the honor
of God. The latter explains why under certain conditions Mappilas
can become aroused, even enflamed, despite their general reserve,
when they believe that elements of their faith are being impugned
or threatened. All this describes the personal inward side of Mappila
religious conviction that is not open to statistical measurement but
fundamentally conditions cultural understanding.
The second decisive element in the Mappila religious conviction
is a paradoxical contrast to the quality of quiet commitment. Not foot-
ball, not the price of food, not even politics can attract Mappila public
expression and controversy as much as religious issues. The intensity
of those expressions defies description. Public meetings focusing on

religious matters are massively attended, the open critiques are vehe-
ment and biting, and the faithful are eloquently exhorted to move in
one direction or another. This is not a form of communalism for most
of the issues argued are internal to the Muslim community—whether
it be the role of saints, the method of zakāt payment, the place of
secular education in the community’s priorities, or the relative merits
and demerits of certain religious leaders. The basic Malayali spirit
is evident in this debating interest, but that is not the whole story.
The phenomenon declares that Mappilas are people who believe that
religious truth is determinative for life, and that religious concerns
are worth attending to.
The Practical Muslim Approach to Culture
The second element in Islamic cultural theory is pragmatism. Muslims

take some pride in viewing their religion as a quite practical approach
to life. They regard Islam as “the middle way,” a path that conforms
to natural capacities. From this it is a very easy jump to an accept-
ing attitude in regard to the habits and customs of others, as long as
they are not specifically un-Islamic. The approach developed when
Islam spread, since no other attitude is functional for a global religion.
However, the tilt to workability has been present in Islam from its
very inception when it was still a peninsular faith. This fact is clearly
evident from the practical behavior of the first Muslim believers in
regard to their cultural environment.
The early Muslims were committed to the elimination of any-
thing that conflicted with the unity of God or threatened the welfare
of the believing community but in other respects they were very down
to earth on cultural matters. They certainly did not reject everything
in their pre-Islamic tradition. Its values were dear to them, including
honor, loyalty, hospitality, endurance, self-control, love of story, and
ballad. Its customs were cherished, and they did not believe that by
becoming Muslims they would have to give all of them up. In tak-
ing that approach they simply followed the pattern of the Prophet
Muhammad and the Qurʾān. The Prophet, for example, retained many
aspects of the pre-Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca, eliminating only its
idolatrous aspects. This is a fact of critical importance for worldwide
Muslims as they deal with cultural issues. It implies a general prin-
ciple of respect for local traditions, even admiration and free choice.
Using that approach the first believers created what we might
call the western Arabian Muslim cultural model.14 Its profile is derived
mainly from the culture of Medina where the Prophet lived his last
ten years. Mecca, the original home of Muhammad, saw the begin-
ning of various rituals associated with the basic religious duties, but
it was from Medina that the pattern for everyday community living
emerged, the Prophet himself being the model. Its social ideals were
that of a new fellowship based on common faith rather than tribal
kinship, but its context was Arabian culture. That affected everything.
Prescribed Muslim behavior comes from two primary sacred
sources. The first is the Arabic Qurʾān, the Word of God for Muslim
believers. It calls them to the straight path and describes it. Although
the amount of specific behavioral legislation in the Qurʾān is only
about three percent of the total material, the legislative verses deal
with significant areas of life. They include the performance of reli-
gious duties and such key family matters as marriage and inheritance.
In addition, ethical instructions are given for general behavior. Beyond
the relevant Quranic passages there is a second source for Muslim
manners and customs. That is the life and custom of Muhammad
whose conduct or sunna is recorded in hallowed stories called Hadīth.
In these traditions the narrators set forth a life pattern that Muslims
regard as divinely guided. Nevertheless, since the Prophet was an
Arab and lived in Arabia, the Hadīth also reflect that cultural environ-
ment. Thus, both by sacred Word and by respected life, the Arabian
cultural stream entered the life of all Muslims wherever they might
be in the world. In the case of Mappilas the influence of that cultural
idiom is especially strong because of their direct and ongoing linkage
with southern Arabia.
While the influence of Arabian culture through the sacred lan-
guage, through specific instructions, and through the behavioral
model is undeniable, nevertheless it is also a limited one. Non-Arab
Muslims do not for a moment believe that they must become Arabian
in culture in order to be Muslims. They are aware that there is a dis-
tinction between being Muslim and being Arabian. They remember
the practical approach of the first Muslims to their culture, and in
that same pragmatic and respectful spirit they deal with their own
customary traditions. As Islam moved out of the Arabian Peninsula
into the Palestinian, Persian, Syrian, and Turkish worlds, the spirit of
cultural pragmatism and love for their personal heritage guided new
Muslim believers. It is true that Arab Muslims always regarded their
Arabian culture as superior and for a time even required new Mus-
lims to take associate membership in an Arab tribe through a patron,
so becoming known as clients (mawālī). This placed the new non-Arab
Muslims into a position of dependency that at times came close to
enslavement.15 The unequal status ended in 750 CE with the fall of

the Arabian Ummayad dynasty and the rise of the Persian Abbasids.
Even the very idea of Arab cultural superiority went into decline
and was replaced by the principle of practicality in cultural relations.
Inevitably the Muslim world became what it is today, a kaleidoscope
of varied Muslim cultures. Within that panoply the Mappilas have an
honored place as pioneers in adaptation.
A Legal Basis for Cultural Flexibility
We turn next to the role of law in Muslim behavior. The sharia, the
code of law in Islam, tends toward the detailed prescription of Muslim
behavior, but it also draws some flexibility from three legal principles
that modify its rigidity. They are the right of personal interpretation,
the recognition of unregulated areas in personal behavior, and the
acknowledgement of supplementary sources of law to deal with non-
Muslim customs. These principles have been accepted by most legal
scholars, though sometimes grudgingly and with differing interpreta-
tions. They undergird the Muslim ability to deal with varying cultural
situations and to integrate their lives accordingly. Many contemporary
Muslims, and especially Muslims in minority situations, regard them
as essential for a workable modern Islamic approach to culture.
These enabling provisions have special significance for Muslim
communities who by choice or necessity live without the full scope
of the traditional religious law. That includes Muslims in India who
never had the full sharia during many long periods of Muslim rule
and do not have it today. Modern India is a democratic nation with
a secular constitution. It does not recognize religious law except for
ritual and family law. The latter provision allows religious communi-
ties, including Mappilas, to enjoy their personal law, but otherwise
they are obligated to observe the law of the national state.
It is significant that this cultural flexibility was inherent in the
Muslim attitude from the earliest Islamic times and long before the
sharia was formulated. The history of that attitude is enlightening.
The Arabic term sharīʿa means “clear road to the watering place.” We
may define it as the defined path along which the believer travels
under the guidance of God. At first only the matters that the Qurʾān
takes up were regulated. In their conceptual eagerness, however, most
Muslim legal scholars gradually extended the idea to incorporate all
human actions. They argued two things: first that the Creator Lord
is the Master of His creation and nothing is outside His sovereignty,
and second that the whole of a believer’s life is to be surrendered to
God in righteous living. From these two primary motifs they made a
quantum leap to the conclusion that, in principle, all actions should be

regulated. They also assumed that because of their training they were
the ones to decide on the regulations! Not only was it a self-important
assumption, but it also left them with a virtually impossible task.
The problem is that the Qurʾān does not offer a list of rules for
every human action and every cultural decision. It provides instruc-
tion for the essential duties that give form to Muslim behavior, but
beyond that it presents principles for general application rather than
regulations. The scholars, however, wanted specific rules. They there-
fore turned to the model or custom (sunna) of the Prophet Muham-
mad. They drew guidance from Hadīth, the stories of what he said
and did. Nevertheless, there remained many aspects of life regarding
which both the Qurʾān and the Hadīth were silent. So the scholars
went on to develop the ideas of analogy and community consensus as
further sources of law. Out of the process came the first legal ground
for flexibility, namely, the right of private interpretation (ijtihād). To
draw an analogy someone must apply their reasoning power. To have
consensus there must be an accumulation of opinion. The admission
of rational judgment and opinion meant cultural movement rather
than rigid tradition.
The second ground for flexibility came when scholars realized
that it is quite impossible to have a regulation for every human action.
The best that can be done is to identify those actions that are obliga-
tory or recommended, and those that are forbidden or discouraged.
The bulk of human actions, it was agreed, fall into the intermediate
zone of “neutral” for which there is no regulation and no reward or
punishment. It does not matter what football team you like, or what
kind of tea you prefer! Some essentially neutral actions like watch-
ing television may, for certain reasons, move into the discouraged
category. Contrariwise, a discouraged action may become neutral or
even recommended. An illustration of the latter comes from the 1930s
in Saudi Arabia. Sheikh Abdullah ibn Hassan, then the chief religious
judge (qādī), had quite violently opposed radio as the work of the
devil. One day he was with King Ibn Saud in Riyadh. The king,
who was distressed, made the judge listen to the call of prayer being
delivered in Mecca, a full 1,280 km. away. “Is this wrong?” he asked.
The jurist changed his view and radio migrated to the recommended
category!16 The recognition that there is a large sphere of unregulated
behavior, and that movement within categories is possible, helps to
ensure a measure of legal flexibility.
A third legal factor entered the picture with the unofficial rec-
ognition that non-Muslim cultures can also be considered a legiti-
mate source of allowed practice. This was a forced development.
The scholars had to contend with the fact that many people were
not prepared to give up their cherished customs when they became
Muslims. They brought their traditions with them into Islam. This was
taking place before the sharīʿa was fully formed. The influx of Greek
culture was instrumental in the development of what has been called
“the Golden Age of Islam.” Other cultures brought valuable gifts.
The legal scholars were compelled to find a place in their system for
indigenous custom.
While the traditional Muslim jurists never formally admitted
local culture as an official source of law, they gave it de facto unofficial
recognition. The technical terms they used for customary behavior are
ʿurf and ʿādat. They coined a third term, qanūn, for acceptable non-
Muslim administrative practice. Despite their unofficial status ʿurf
and ʿādat have a high level of importance in the Muslim world.17
An Indian Muslim legal scholar Asaf Fyzee, even refers to them as a
“material source” of law.18 Those Mappilas who follow the matriar-
chal system of inheritance, which we will later examine in detail, are
benefactors of this legal permissiveness. An Indonesian Muslim who
is the chief editor of a journal of Muslim culture renders his opinion
that this cultural tolerance strengthens rather than weakens Islam:19
. . . Islam demonstrates distinctive dynamics in its encoun-

ter with local cultures. The dynamics primarily occur since
culture develops systems of symbols, where Islam is being
negotiated creatively, and given new meanings.
In the light of this legal flexibility we may conclude that in the Map-
pila adaptation to the local Kerala culture the community was operat-
ing within the frame of reference of Muslim legal principles.
Cultural Decision-Making: The Principle of Free and Equal
As the final element in our consideration of Islamic cultural theory we

will consider the connected principles of freedom and equality. Who
has the right to make cultural decisions? In effect, every Muslim has
the right since all believers are created spiritually equal. This is seem-
ingly straightforward. However, the principle runs hard up against
the development of clergy authority and the tyranny of rulers. Out of
authoritarianism came strong differences of opinion and culture con-
troversies. As Muslims engage with modern cultural developments
these have become more heated. Lay believers are contending with
clergy for the recovery of their freedom to make appropriate cultural
decisions.
Islamic teaching is in their favor. The principle of human equal-

ity and individual responsibility undergirds its approach to authority.
The idea of personal responsibility runs through the Qurʾān, reaching
its climax in the graphic admonitions related to the day of judgment.
Then all human beings will appear before God “solitary” (6:95) and
fully responsible for what they have done (82:19). “A soul will know
what it has sent before it.”
The basic Islamic affirmations leave no room for a priestly prin-
ciple. Not only is every believer individually responsible for his or
her destiny, each one approaches God directly in prayer with no inter-
mediary required. The pilgrimage events reinforce the sense of equal-
ity as well as the sense of oneness. King and peasant stand side by
side, and together move around the Kaʿba There is also no room for
a teaching magisterium. The Qurʾān and the guided Prophet are all
sufficient. If there is to be any competition among you, the Prophet
Muhammad said, let it be in piety. That is the leadership standard!
Doctrinal issues, then, belong to the whole community which operates
by consensus. There is no council with powers beyond consensus-
building. As for individual teachers, their power rests not on their
position, whatever it may be, but on the merit of the opinion they
have to offer. We have already noted that every individual Muslim
has a similar right to offer an opinion.20
Over the years Muslim practice has varied considerably from this
theory. The early Muslims had no religious workers except Qurʾān
readers and those who gave the call to prayer. But as time passed and
as the believing community grew and developed other needs arose.
There was a need for someone to lead the congregational prayers and
conduct the Friday preaching in the mosque, for teaching in the reli-
gious schools, for conducting marriage and burial functions, and for
interpreting the law. Such needs constituted an irresistible pressure for
the development of clergy. Once that happened the clergy very quick-
ly became influential. As jurisprudence became more complex and
detailed, the need for special knowledge and training was felt even
more, and this in turn led to increased clergy power and authority.
That was further enhanced by their association with religious trusts
(waqfs) that provided economic strength to their system. Finally, the
authority of some of the clergy grew to great heights because of their
association with sacred shrines, some of them receiving recognition
as saints. How could it happen! Clericalism in Islam grew almost
exponentially, and eventually overshadowed the foundational theory
of free responsible action. Hence, Sir Muhammad Iqbal cried out to
the Muslim world, putting it in poetic language: “Rechisel then thine
ancient frame, and create a new thing!”21
Most Muslims today accept the validity of the clergy vocation.

They recognize the need for their services and value them. They know
that they cannot carry out the clerical functions. Neither are they
scholars of religion. Their behavioral decision making is habitual or
intuitive rather than studied out, and is based on their inherited sense
of the Muslim way of life. Therefore, they maintain genuine respect
for learned religious teachers, welcome their guidance, and support
them financially. The members of the Muslim community also realize
that it is the clerical function to raise good questions regarding Islamic
loyalty and to give good opinions about the truths of the faith. Yet,
there has also been a dismal side in the Muslim experience. Despite
the numberless ʿulamāʾ who undoubtedly carried out their functions
earnestly and well, in general throughout the Muslim world the role
of the clergy has been controversial because they have appeared to be
guardians of traditionalism rather than supporters of progress. This,
we will see, was very much the plight of the Mappilas. In their case
in the past century a combination of daring theological reformers and
educated lay leaders has resulted in their laying fresh hold on the
principles of spiritual equality and discretionary freedom, and they
have produced a cultural transformation.
Abdulla is on his way to the market to purchase rice. Rice is the staple
Malayali food. Abdulla will only buy the unboiled rice that Amina
prefers. He enjoys her cooking, and is already looking forward to
the next meal. Today Abdulla will not eat the rice until after sunset
because it is the month of Ramadan when Muslims fast. To eat like all
Malayalis and to fast like all Muslims—the dual approach symbolizes
Abdulla’s composite cultural setting and background.
Two cultures came together. An Islam-based cultural stream
with its defined religious commitment but practical approach joined
the dynamic and free-flowing Malayalam river of life. As they came
together there were overlapping areas which made the union possible,
and distinctive areas which made it mutually enriching, but above all
there was a process of cultural interpenetration. It produced a new
and unique form of Muslim, and at the same time a new and unique
form of Malayali, the Malayali Muslim and the Muslim Malayali,
the Mappila. A double flower—Abdulla and Amina—had emerged
to enhance the garden of humanity.
How did this happen? We turn to Chapter 2 and the blossoming
of Mappila culture.
2
The Emergence of the

Mappila People and Their Culture
Two cultural traditions met and coalesced, leaving many petals on the
Mappila flower. In this chapter we will review how this twofold cul-
tural interpenetration took place, and we will note the uneven legacy
that it left. There was no artificiality in the sociohistorical process.
People did not sit around a table and discuss how the Malayalam and
Muslim cultures could be brought together. A group of courageous
men boarded little Arab dhows and sailed them across the dangerous
sea to Kerala’s shores, and the rest of the story follows from that.
The interaction of two societal traditions passed through a centuries-
long time period, gradually shaping a new people and giving them
their cultural being. It is hardly surprising that the heritage today is
a composite one. We will point out its variations. It has a “here and
there” aspect, that is, cultural phenomena may differ from place to
place depending on where Mappilas live. It has a “then and now”
feature, that is, what was true only a short time back is no longer
so. This leaves a “some not others” character in Mappila culture that
challenges and conditions its accurate description.
The Historical Shaping
How does one deal with a society that has experienced so much and
for so long? In what follows we will limit ourselves to the highlights
of its history that relate directly to the cultural developments.1
The Community’s Origin and Rise, 622–1498
Kerala’s location on the sea coast made it open to international way-

farers. From time immemorial the trading vessels came both from
the east and the west. In early days the region was famed for its
25
teak, ivory, pearls, and spices. It was the spices that were the biggest
drawing-card. Facilitated by the tropical climate it was, and is, the
natural home of almost every spice that can be named. By the time
that European explorers came into the picture, trade had been going
on for more than 2,500 years. Phoenicians, Romans, Chinese, Arabs,
Persians, and others came to Kerala’s port towns and exchanged their
goods. It was a peaceful enterprise, controlled by mutual commercial
advantage.
Arabs from southern Arabia where frankincense resin is tapped
knew the value of spices. Already in the pre-Islamic era they had been
drawn to southwest India by the pepper and the irresistible lure of its
promised wealth. For long centuries they controlled the trade on the
Arabian Sea, collaborating with Malayali producers and middlemen,
and then trans-shipping the goods to other societies, often with the
help of Viennese merchants. They came to Kollam on the southern
coast, to Muziris near Cochin on the central coast, and later to Calicut
on the Malabar coast. The Zamorin or “Sea-Lord,” a Brahmin ruler
of Calicut and his Nayar sub-chiefs, as well as the Kolattiri Rajas at
Kannur to the north particularly welcomed the traders and their buy-
ing power. In this business-based interaction we situate the genesis
of Mappila Muslim culture.
To clarify that point we must go to the beginnings of Islam
itself. Historic Islam was born during the lifetime of the Prophet
Muhammad (570–632 CE), and by the time of his death the Arabian
Peninsula was Muslim in faith. The Arab traders were polytheists in
pre-Islamic times.2 After the Prophet Muhammad’s successful preach-
ing they came to Kerala’s shores as the followers of Islam. Their faith
had changed, but not much else, and the previous amicable relations
continued as usual. Not only did the Arab Muslim traders remain
the commercial partners of the region’s Hindus, some of them also
married indigenous women and took up residence in the area. When
they did so, they received the hospitable name “Mappila,” which
we introduced earlier. The term is a combination of two Malayalam
words: “great” (maha) and “child” (pilla). The phrase “great child” was
a respectful synonym for son-in-law, and is still so utilized in con-
temporary colloquial Malayalam. Its usage by friendly Hindus was
their way of giving the hand of welcome to the new Arab members
of their families. Out of such settlement patterns and marriage unions
the Mappila Muslims received their origin.
Conversion was also a factor in early Mappila growth, but we
are unable to judge its extent. There is a report that the Zamorin of
The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture 27
Calicut looked benevolently on conversion to Islam.3 More significant

is the recurrent tradition that an important Kerala ruler turned to the
faith. The Perumāls were the Chera rulers of the middle region of
Kerala, and were its most important dynasty. The last in line of these
rulers was Cheraman Perumāl. One persistent rumor maintains that
he accepted Islam sometime in the ninth century CE. In the Mappila
version of the story, however, the event occurred at Mecca during the
lifetime of the Prophet Muhammad. After his conversion Cheraman
Perumāl is said to have engaged in a disciplined effort to establish
Islam in his homeland. The missionary work was led by his com-
panion, a Mālik ibn Dīnār, who founded several mosques.4 Although
the historicity of this event is shrouded in the past and may never
be clarified, the fact of the tradition is a testimony to the growing
impact of Mappila Islam. If true, it also points to the possible influ-
ence of Malayalam high culture on the Mappila development at its
beginning stages.
We may now estimate how the early Mappilas approached
the intercultural engagement in terms of the Islamic cultural theory
sketched in the previous chapter. Of the four elements that we sug-
gested, three were almost certainly present in the early Mappila devel-
opment period. The factors of religious conviction and practicality
must have dominated. If it had not been for the sincerity of their faith,
they would have been rapidly assimilated and lost to sight. Practicality
was the other main factor. Far from home they simply accepted what
was possible in their new environment. As to their personal right to
do so, they would not have questioned that. Both formal clergy and
religious law were undeveloped at this time. These were pre-sharia,
first-stage, proto-believers dedicated to their surrender to God and
obedience to His will. To grasp what that implied for daily life in
their new home, they trusted to the memory of what the Qurʾān said
and their common sense. Thus, we may say that in general the first
Mappilas adhered to the nascent Islamic cultural principles as they
engaged with the still unformed Malayalam culture. When we assert
that the Mappila emerged from a fusion of two cultures, it is well
to remember that the latter were both in their plastic stage. Hence,
the development as it took place could not have been predicted and
its details cannot be discerned. The Mappilas are a cultural surprise.
The language that the Arab traders met was coastal Malayalam,
then in its own earliest period of development. It is possible that some
staff members of local rulers or a few indigenous business people
learned the southern Arabic dialect but the opposite is more likely,
namely, that the Arab traders learned Malayalam to carry on their

business. However, they would not have had the same interest in the
local writing since, for them, Arabic had a sacred quality. That basic
feeling has stayed with Mappilas all through their history, accounting
for the formation of the hybrid Arabic-Malayalam form of writing
that we will consider later. But Malayalam became their spoken lan-
guage, certainly in the case of those who intermarried and took up
permanent residence. The decision was critical. It opened the door to
Malayalam culture and assured that the Mappilas would be Malayali
Muslims. In turn, the new citizens contributed to the development of
the Malayalam language through the introduction of various Arabic
terms that eventually filtered into the vocabulary. Long before the
evolution of Urdu as the dominant Muslim language of North India,
the Mappilas had made Malayalam the first functioning Muslim lan-
guage of India. The Urdu language, as we shall see, has played only
a minor role in Mappila life.5
The Malayalam culture that was opened up to the Mappilas
by this linguistic development was pluralist in nature. Hindu cul-
ture included a vast range of religious phenomena. The rulers were
tolerant toward different points of view. Though both Jainism and
Buddhism were in decline by the time that the Mappilas arrived on
the scene, their cultural marks were present. The old Dravidian dei-
ties were maintained but at the same time Vaisnavism and Saivism
were being introduced—a Hindu tradition holds that the Cheraman
Perumāl became a convert to Saivism and an activist for its cause!
The influence of Brahminism, descending from the north, became
strong in the eighth century CE, changing both the religious and
the social structure of Kerala society. The monistic philosophy of
Sankaracarya (d. 820), the noted Hindu thinker, became a power-
ful influence in the development of Vedanta, and Kalady in central
Kerala is his shrine today; some wonder about his possible awareness
of Muslim thought.
Christians had for a long time been interrelating with their envi-
ronment. They traced their origin to the visit of the apostle St. Thom-
as, but historical evidence begins with the arrival of Thomas of Cana,
an East Syrian trader in 345, soon to be followed by others.6 They too
settled and intermarried, were even called “Mappila,” and founded
the strong Syrian Christian community that has played a vital role in
Kerala history. The Jews cannot be forgotten. They had been trading
with southwest India from the days of Solomon. The clear evidence
of a settled Jewish presence at Cochin comes from the close of the
tenth century, but it is entirely probable that some Jews took refuge
there as early as the first-century Roman persecution in Palestine.

They settled at several centers in the Cochin area and attracted some
adherents to their faith.
We can only surmise the exact progress of the Mappila adap-
tation process within this multicultural flux. The complex religious
milieu must have appeared baffling to them, and their new Islamic
faith forbade close involvement. At the same time, the advantages—
indeed, the necessity—of social cooperation must also have seemed
obvious to them. Interreligious living was part and parcel of their
situation, and we do not have any sense that it was a problem for
them. In their own way they became active participants in the larger
cultural development. The austere Arabian element surely remained a
steady factor in their makeup, and continues to the present day, but
this did not visibly disturb the non-Muslim Malayalis who were led
by hospitable people like the Zamorin of Calicut. We do not know of
any negative rivalries. The immigrants were welcomed as they were.
Some of the local residents may even have been interested in the new
ideas of Islam when they came to know about them.
These remarkable relationships were held together by the glue
of common commercial interest. That glue can give way, as we shall
see, but for the next eight centuries it had a powerful binding effect,
and things went well for the new Mappila culture family. Neverthe-
less, we must look deeper than commerce for a dynamic that enabled
such a harmony to prevail. It may have been influenced by concepts
such as maryāda. Krishna Ayyar takes this Malayalam idea to mean
a common code of conduct based on chivalry, tolerance, and a care-
ful regard for the rights of others.7 Dictionary entries add words like
manners, propriety, respect, decency, and civility to the meaning of the
term that Brahmins took from their sastras. Commercial glue would
not have stuck without some sort of maryāda element in Malayali
psychology and behavior.
Sustained and peaceful cultural interaction readily yields some
transformation. During that long period Mappilas grew and devel-
oped, not only numerically but also as an integrating community.
There are hints that by the end of the fifteenth century they may have
accounted for ten percent of the Malabar population.8 Their cultural
integration is typified by their adoption of Malayalam architecture for
their mosques. As we consider how Hindus, Christians, and Muslim
co-existed within their pluralist context we may conclude that this is
possibly the longest era of relative interreligious harmony known to
human history. We can only view the fact with some sense of aston-
ishment and seek to understand its meaning for our time.
The Community’s Decline and Fall: 1498–1921
Mappila Society Declines as Europeans Arrive
It is said that all good things must come to an end, and fortunes will
change, but not all endings are as traumatic as the Mappila experience
after the fifteenth century. It was not only Mappila misfortune but
the misfortune of the entire Malayalam culture, for the old harmony
suddenly fell by the wayside.
What brought about the change was the advent of the Europe-
ans. They had long been looking for a direct link to the spice coast
that bypassed the Arab-controlled Middle Eastern trade routes. Their
particular interest was the pepper that the Portuguese leader Afonso
Albuquerque called “the greatest thing made in India.”9 At about
US$75.00 or Indian Rs.3500 per pound (today’s equivalent) only the
upper classes in Europe could afford it, but the profits were great.
Portuguese and Spanish explorers were further encouraged by a papal
charter called the padroado (“ecclesiastical patronage”) that added the
objectives of colonization and religious propagation to the commercial
interest.10 The Portuguese then found the bypass they sought around
the Cape of Good Hope. With the help of a Muslim pilot, Vasco da
Gama made his way across the Arabian Sea to Kerala’s shore, landing
on May 17, 1498, at Kappad, nine kilometers north of Calicut. There is
no bay there, and barely an indentation on the shore where two black
rocks edge out into the ocean. Did the winds drive them ashore? The
small neglected monument at Kappad commemorates the event but
gives no clue to its huge significance.
Da Gama’s arrival ushered in the colonial era that would end up
in Western preeminence. Not only he, but also his successor Albuquer-
que, amply demonstrated that this would be a cruel age. The latter
murdered the Zamorin in Calicut in 1510 for siding with the Arab
traders and committed other atrocities at Goa. The Portuguese were
followed by the Dutch, English, and French competitors, all of whom
formed trading companies to exploit the new possibilities. Cultural
influencing accompanied their activities, although their national poli-
cies differed. It is summarized below.
The Mappilas were in the way of this development. Their sup-
port of Middle East connections and the Arab traders put them on the
wrong side of the equation. For a short time their traditional Hindu
friends stood by them against the Europeans, but the economic reali-
ties forced a reconfiguration of the relationships. When the spice trade
came under European control, Hindu landowners and producers went
with the stronger power. The Mappilas were the losers in the struggle.
It was no consolation to them that the Malayali Christians were also
badly affected—they were sadly divided as the result of the attempts
to impose papal authority over their church that had other affiliations.
These difficulties could not be compared with the disaster that befell
the Mappilas. They attempted to retrieve their situation by militant
resistance led by naval warriors called the Kunhali Marakkars, but
the efforts failed. They lost their economic base, their friendship with
Hindus, and their ability to respond creatively to the new situation.
Islamic cultural theory provided no answer to the problem of defeat
until much later in Indian Muslim history.
The broad and gentle cultural stream along which the Mappila
development had traveled was now virtually blocked and it entered
a dark and narrow channel. The Mappilas in the main became a com-
munity of poor laborers, fishermen, shopkeepers and religious work-
ers. Deep poverty became the general pattern, although there were
exceptions in the coastal cities where businessmen were located. The
land tenure system gave no entry to Mappilas, making it impossible
to replace trade with agriculture. Defense and survival were the key
words, not cultural progress. Mappilas generally wanted nothing to
do with the newly dominant Western culture and did not differentiate
between its varied shades. The Portuguese power was broken when
the Dutch seized Cannanore (Kannur) in 1556 and Cochin (Kochi) in
1663, while the English took Tellicherry in 1663 and Calicut in 1666,
the French settling for Mahe in 1725. The Mappilas regarded them
all as their enemies and what they brought culturally as anathema
(haram). Their religion served as a kind of final defense, its prac-
tice becoming as static as a fortress wall. The free-flowing cultural
movement of the past turned into a protective customary behavior.
Emotionally, Mappilas were devastated and forlorn. In the future it
would take only the right sparks to ignite their bitterness into violent
reactions against the seemingly hopeless situation.
A deceptive ray of hope and a momentary period of respite
came when two Muslim rulers, Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan—father
and son—advanced in turn into Malabar from their nearby base in
Mysore. From 1757 to 1799 they held sway almost as far south as
Cochin. They brought Mappilas the flavor of another kind of Mus-
lim culture, but were essentially imperialist in style and self-serving.
They helped Mappilas to an extent materially, but also left negative
marks; Mappila numbers increased and they gained a few other
practical advantages, but the negative effects cannot be discounted.
In particular, the experience enhanced their already well-developed
f eelings that the answer to their problems lay in militancy. Moreover,

the Mysorean rulers, especially Tipu, are generally considered to have
been aggressive in their religious policy.11 Their abrasiveness rubbed
off on the Mappilas, further influencing an already embittered psy-
chology. Some Mappilas used the opportunity to take revenge on the
Nayars, whom they considered to be their oppressors. What seemed
like a recovery was really a bad time in Muslim-Hindu relations as
vindictiveness overcame charity. These forty-two years were the first
and last time in their fourteen centuries of history that the Mappilas
lived under Muslim rule.
A Note on the Colonial Cultural Contributions
Before proceeding to the final steep downhill slope in the Mappila

decline, we will pause to examine some cultural results from the Euro-
pean “outsider” presence in Mappila society. They are significant even
though they do not offset its negative effect on the Mappila condi-
tion and psyche. Their presence affected Mappila customs, but more
significantly it opened the door to another whole stream of influ-
ence on Mappila culture that joined the Malayalam and South Ara-
bian streams. The Mappilas now became additionally engaged with
the Western culture of modernity. This third stream not only made
some behavioral contributions, but it also introduced a fundamental
approach in which improvement and change are constant elements.
In this section, however, we will limit ourselves to noting some of
the specific contributions of each of the colonial powers, adding some
negative factors. For the sake of completeness we will also include
the Mysorean legacy.
The Portuguese. The Portuguese were present among the Mappilas

for over one and a half centuries but their influence on local custom
was confined to port cities. On a broader level they left an imprint on
the Malayalam vocabulary, and in the arts their architectural impact is
visible in the bungalow style of house construction and in the forms
of church architecture. In agriculture they introduced fruits such
as pineapples, papayas, guava, and custard apples. They probably
also brought in potatoes and tapioca. New strains of coconuts were
developed, tobacco was introduced, and cashew nut cultivation was
started. We may well ask, what would the Mappila festival dish of
biriyāni be without cashew nuts? They also set up the first printing
press in Kerala in 1577, publishing the first book, a study of Christian
teaching. The coir industry was developed, and its products were
exported. Socially, the Portuguese accepted and practiced intermar-

riage, but their religious policy was controlled by a fierce animus
against Muslims. They were also rigorous in their treatment of Hindus
at Goa, and took negative steps against the ancient Syrian Christian
community in central Kerala. On the moral side, in their later stages,
the Portuguese presented a deteriorating picture that must have had
a negative influence. Corruption and nepotism were rampant. The
combination of indolence and riotous living took their toll. In 1522,
when a desperate Portuguese official wrote to the King of Portugal
that the only objective of the Goan Portuguese was social gatherings,
he couched his appeal in these sad words: “Help us, Senhor, for we
are sinking.”12
The Dutch. The Portuguese were sinking indeed, but the Dutch
were ready to step in. The defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588 had
opened the door for the Dutch and the English to follow the Spanish
and Portuguese on their colonial way. Dutch trading ships first visited
Calicut in 1604, and their first settlement was set up at Purakkad in
1642, but it was Cochin that became their chief base. They were as
interested as the other Europeans in controlling the pepper, cardamom
and ginger trade, and to that end they vigorously participated in the
shifting coalitions of the various rajas. Their religious approach was
relatively balanced, and they were not anti-Muslim in spirit; yet there
is no evidence that the Mappilas noticeably benefited from that toler-
ance. The Dutch were laid back in their approach and their century
of dominance left only a somewhat shadowed cultural imprint. They
encouraged new ways of textile dyeing and coconut production, as
well as indigo cultivation and salt-farming. Their groundbreaking and
still appreciated contribution was a great multivolume botanical work,
Hortus Malabaricus (1678–1703) that described the medicinal properties
of Kerala plants, and they also established a leprosy care center at
Pallipuram. Their most important act, but one that had only marginal
impact on Mappilas, was to re-open the once flourishing Indian trade
with the Indonesian Archipelago. From their Pulical factory on the
Tamil Coromandel coast they traded their gold for cotton, then took
the cotton to Indonesia where they re-traded it for spices. It was there
in Southeast Asia that their real interest lay, and in 1795 they surren-
dered Cochin to the English and withdrew to the east.
The French. The French contended with the Mughuls and the Eng-
lish for control of India, but little of that struggle manifested itself in
the Mappila area. The latter was not a crucial region for the French
and their cultural contribution was proportionately weak. From their
base in Mahe in North Malabar they supported the Mysorean rulers
against the English and tried to extend their own trading influence
north to Nilesvaram and south to Tanur. From 1760 to 1819 Mahe
changed hands four times until it was finally attached to the French
territory of Pondicherry. The French excelled at the intricacies of pep-
per politics. It cannot be said that their skill exceeded that of the Rajas
of North Malabar with their conflicting interests and intrigues, but
from their Mahe base they wove their webs that took in the English
at Tellicherry, the Dutch at Kannur, the Ali Raja of Dharmapattanum,
and the Hindu suppliers of the spices. In the process the French lan-
guage became intermittently known. Less ennobling was the spread
of French weaponry and their steady supply of alcohol, still attested
to in the markets of Mahe.
The Mysoreans. The Mysore rulers fall into a different category

than the Europeans since they were Muslims, but at the same time
they were cultural outsiders. Although they were present in North
and Central Kerala for a short time only, their culture trail affected
the Mappilas, including their policy of power through military action
with a religious flavor, which we have noted above. Their impact on
custom is revealed in Malabar place names, from Sultan Battery to
Feroke (Farukkabad) where Tipu set up his capital in 1788, and in
some administrative terms. They built roads and established trade
centers. In the interest of centralized taxation they made improve-
ments in the land ownership system and revenue collection, much of
which was later retained by the English. Reflecting his ethical posi-
tion, Tipu Sultan attempted to ban certain Hindu social customs such
as polyandry and dress habits that left the upper body bare. In 1792
he ceded Malabar to the English.
The English. The English were in control of Kerala longer than any
other outside power, and their cultural impact is accordingly deep-
er. Nevertheless, the impact on Mappilas was not full scale because
by the time the English entered the scene the Mappilas had already
developed strong resistance against external cultural pressures. What
can be said of the English influence is that it established a firm basis
for the Mappila engagements with modern culture that took place in
force after 1947, particularly in framing a new linguistic and educa-
tional environment.
During the first half of the 1600s the English could only do some
probing along the southwestern coast from their base in Surat. What
Calicut was to the southwest, Surat in Gujarat was to the northwest.
It was a rich trading seaport from which textiles and jewelry were
shipped to the Middle East and beyond. Receiving the usual firman or
permit from the local Muslim authority the English had settled there as
the Portuguese and Dutch had done before them. From there in 1615
English ships captained by James Keeling traveled to the southwest
coast, touching on Calicut, Ponnani, Kodungalur, and Cochin. But the
time was not yet ripe for the English. In 1634 they made a treaty with
the tired Portuguese, giving the English access to all Portuguese-held
ports. As a result, their first export of pepper went out from Cochin
in 1636. Since Malabar and Cochin were overcrowded, the English
chose to establish factories at Vizhinjam (1644) and Anjengo (1684) in
the south. Anjengo, a narrow spit of land between Trivandrum and
Kollam, was deeded to them by the Queen of Attingal. Later (in 1699)
they established another base at Tellicherry to serve as the center of
their Malabar operations. For the next century they were only one of
the external “players” on the Kerala scene, but in the end the English
outdid their competitors.
The English were the representatives of the English East India
Company, and their cultural contribution was framed by their twofold
economic purpose: commerce and land revenue. They had discovered
that, of the two, land revenue was more lucrative, but this required
territorial control. Hence, they abandoned the general practice of the
Europeans to stay in fortified trade centers on the coast, and instead
they followed the Mysorean pattern of territorial domain. Thereby,
they came into direct, long-term contact with the Mappilas. Through
a series of imperial commissions following the defeat of Tipu Sultan
they instituted their design, declared pepper to be a monopoly of the
Company, and in 1800 made Malabar an administrative district of
the Madras Presidency. The control of Cochin soon followed, and in
1805 the Raja of Travancore accepted British protection and agreed to
abide by English advice in internal administrative affairs, the counsel
to be given by an English “Resident.” The stage was set for nearly
150 years of intense cultural influence.
The English cultural influence on Malayali life was far-reaching.
Three of its elements have a primary status. The first, and one fre-
quently mentioned in public speeches, was the sense of order that
they brought and implemented. It corresponded with the ideals of
the populace and brought relief after three centuries of turbulence.
The second was the principle of equal justice under law, effected by
a relatively impartial court system. The third was the introduction of
“Western” education that opened new worlds for Malayalis. The first
English school was founded in Trivandrum in 1834, in Ernakulam in
1837, and in Calicut in 1848, but modern educational ideas were also
reflected in teacher training centers and in Malayalam schools.
The cultural influence also came through a lifestyle pattern that
affected male dress, recreation, and home furnishings. It did not touch
everyone but was attractive to many. Some economic and material
benefits were visible. The English introduced coffee, tea, and rubber in
that order into the plantation industry, providing some employment.
Other jobs became available to the public through the civil service
and police requirements. The diet was enhanced by the introduction
of new vegetables and other products. The first public hospital was
built in Calicut in 1857 and by 1931 there were thirteen such institu-
tions, but the general health care and sanitation needs of the populace
were barely touched. In their religious policies the English attempted
to be even-handed, but were not perceived to be so.
The macro-contributions of the English are well-known. To
facilitate the accomplishment of their economic and political goals
they constructed roads, improved port facilities, introduced railway
services, and set up communications systems. The major duty of a
tightly managed administrative system was revenue control, and
accordingly the chief district officer was called the “Collector.” The
English accepted and reinforced the complex land ownership system
with its different levels of agrarian rights13 and utilized it to help
collect taxes. Thereby, they added to the alienation of the landless
tenants that included many Mappilas.
Although the English contribution, taken in total, was a formi-
dable one, much of it passed by the Mappilas. They did not feel the
same way about English culture as they had about Malayalam culture,
and the majority did not take to it happily. They had considered
other Malayalis, even though non-Muslims, to be their wider fam-
ily, neighbors, and often friends. Even in the stressful interreligious
conditions that prevailed after 1498, this inherent Malayali neighborli-
ness asserted itself at local levels. The English, however, including the
thoughtful among them, did not ordinarily fall into the category of
neighbor. Rather, they were a colonial occupying power, everywhere
visible and dominant with their administrators, military personnel,
and cantonments. The Mappilas also continued to feel marginalized as
the English tilted toward the land-owning elites. Because the English
monopolized the pepper trade and operated a revenue system that
favored the wealthy, they appeared to be in direct continuity with

the Portuguese. They were an alien and oppressive presence, with
an unappreciated set of social and religious ideals. Mappilas used
the English trains and went to the English post office, but on the
whole they were not open to the English culture. They maintained a
defensive posture against its influence.
To their credit some British administrators showed their regard
for the Mappilas and sought to create a positive relation with them.
They had sympathy for their social problems and tried to alleviate
some of the worst conditions. All the English administrators were
anxious that peace prevail, and they believed that Mappila education
was an important element in making that possible. From time to time
they took earnest steps to promote it. Some Mappilas responded in
kind and showed interest in the new thinking and techniques that
had come their way. B. Poker Sahib of Kannur (d. 1965) just prior to
World War I became the first Mappila to take a BA degree, and then
followed it with a distinguished legal and political career. There were
other trailblazers who sought some sort of rapprochement with Brit-
ish/Western/modern culture, but they represented a minor tone. The
major tone was cultural resistance led by determined religious leaders,
and the English were not able to materially modify it. That failure
was a factor in the traumatic events that finally culminated in 1921.
The Final Fall: The Mappila Rebellion, 1921
After the forces of the English East India Company defeated Tipu Sul-
tan, a series of militant Mappila reactions took place.14 One outbreak
after the other occurred in the nineteenth century—a total of 57—as
the Mappilas lashed out against the British, against their Hindu allies,
and against their own depressed and hopeless conditions. We must
understand how desperate those conditions were. Mappilas lived on
very meagre incomes. Women planted rice and carried headloads to
help put rice on the table. Very frequently there was no rice. Health
was at a low level. Sickness, malnutrition, and anemia were constant,
and it was not until the last third of the twentieth century that killer
diseases began to be contained. The life expectancy was abysmally
low. Mappilas worked hard and died young. They did not lose their
faith, for that was all they had to sustain themselves, but they could
not see signs of hope.
This situation continued until finally culminating and ending
in the ill-fated Mappila Rebellion of 1921. Today some regard it as
a war of liberation in relation to India’s freedom movement. If it
was that, it caused greater suffering than any other single event in
the history of that movement, barring the Partition itself. Its sorrows
were an outcome for which Mappilas must take responsibility, but
not only they. Their opposition to the British had received the rousing
encouragement of representatives of the freedom movement, includ-
ing Mahatma Gandhi and Shawkat Ali. The two addressed a Calicut
meeting August 18, 1920, exhorting joint action against the British raj.
The national leaders were apparently unaware of the volatile nature
of the local context.
The Rebellion was spontaneous rather than planned, an emo-
tional statement of grievance rather than a designed participation in
the swaraj movement. It started quite unexpectedly out of a minor
Khilafat incident and an ill-advised British response. From 1916 to
1924 the Khilafat Movement in wider India had drawn Hindus and
Muslims together; in Malabar it had little strength, yet it became the
occasion for the initial outbreak of the Rebellion that was led by a
respected religious leader, Ali Musaliar.15
Ali Musaliar (1854–1921) had achieved a venerated status among
some Mappilas. He had studied at the Ponnani madrasa and then for
seven years at Mecca. There he met the well-known North Indian
Muslim leaders, Mahmud Hasan and Husain Ahmad Madani. From
Mecca he went to Kavaratti in the Laccadive Islands where he spent
eight years in teaching and writing. He returned to Malabar in 1896
when he heard of the loss of an elder brother in fighting against the
British. Interested in the struggle for freedom, he enlisted his own
efforts in the Khilafat cause and began organizing volunteers in the
Tirurangadi area of South Malabar.
On August 19, 1921, the British arrested three Khilafat workers
at Tirurangadi and Ali Musaliar led the protest against that decision.
Other Malabar leaders of the freedom movement like K. P. Kesava
Menon, Muhammad Abdurrahiman, and E. Moidu Moulavi coun-
selled restraint in the spirit of noncooperation and nonviolence and
urged him to seek peace. But a day later the British conducted a
surprise attack to arrest 24 more Khilafat workers. This was the spark
that lit the Mappila tinderbox. Opposing the action, Ali Musaliar
and his colleagues took refuge in the ancient mosque at Tirurangadi
that still stands, but were surrounded and surrendered. Ali Musaliar
was charged with sedition and later executed at Coimbatore. Instead
of suppressing the opposition, the British raid ignited an uprising
that spread throughout Malabar. Its rapid advance would not have
occurred, however, if it had not been for the fundamental Mappila
sense of alienation.
It is widely agreed that the primary causes of the outbreak were

the severe economic distress of the Mappila community and the feel-
ing that there was no way out. Religion also came into play, but
mainly to motivate the response. Pockets of poorly armed Mappilas,
especially in the interior areas, rose up in violent protest. They were
ready to be martyrs (shahīds) for the faith. Hindu landowners became
a target of some of the violence, injecting a communal tone, but often
local friendships prevailed over animosity. That fact, combined with
the spotty outbursts, gave a strange aura to the Rebellion. In the end
the struggle was largely an exercise in futility since it did not take
long for the British and their superior weapons to overcome their
opponents. The losses were large—in damage to the Mappila image,
in the decline of Hindu-Muslim relations, and above all in the human
suffering and sacrifice.16
The Mappila image that had already been deteriorating for a
century took a serious blow. The events projected a national impres-
sion of a violent and religiously fanatic culture. In Malabar Hindu–
Muslim relations suffered greatly. Hindus counted their losses in the
number of the dead, the refugees, the damaged or polluted temples,
and in the 200 to 250 persons forcibly converted. At the all-India
level the understanding relationships fostered by the Khilafat Move-
ment suffered a serious setback. The human suffering and sacrifice
were considerable. The British military forces had many casualties.
The major losses, however, belonged to the Mappilas themselves. Up
to 10,000 died, of which 252 were in British court-ordered executions;
502 were sentenced to life imprisonment; and thousands more were
jailed in special prisons in India and as far away as the Andaman
Islands.17 The Mappilas themselves felt deeply betrayed because they
had been led to believe that if they revolted, all of India would rise
up with them against the British. They were now in shambles, and
daily they had to look at the special police force that was set up to
keep the community in check. The culturally confident Mappilas of
the past were a distant memory, and their community’s psychology
had suffered a seemingly fatal blow.
The Revival of the Mappilas: From 1921 to the Present
Is there any merit in a dead end? Only if it is seen as opportunity.

In such a dire situation as that which faced the Mappila community
after 1921, the opportunity to start over needs to be seized. There
must be someone to create a path up and over the events of the past,
a path that leads to a new plateau of possibility. Fortunately for the
Mappilas, there were such people. A remarkable group of reformers

stepped forward, determined that their community would now set
out on a new road and a new direction. It was a dramatic decision
that led to renewal and eventually to new heights in Mappila cultural
development, but it did not take place overnight.
It took time and incredible effort to pierce the pall of gloom
that had descended on the Mappila community. The recovery took
two stages—from 1921 to 1947 when foundational figures prepared
the ground, and the years after 1947 when the momentum for change
took over. In the end it appeared as if the inherent Malayali energy
and enterprise came to the rescue of the recumbent Mappilas. Since
the details of this cultural revival and renewal are the subject of a
coming chapter, at this point we will content ourselves with a brief
summary. Within the complex recovery story there were two key ele-
ments: the first, theological reform; and the second, the acceptance of
modern education.
The first factor in the revival was a fresh interpretation of the
Qurʾān. A group of theologians broke out of the traditionalist mold
and at the same time young, educated Mappilas began to demand
more enlightened religious leaders. All desired a fresh, learned, and
dynamic interpretation of the Qurʾān; lay Mappilas sought after and
found scriptural support for the social changes they deemed appro-
priate. They also wanted some changes in the community’s behavior.
Many of the accumulated customs that had come to define Mappila
culture came under their critical attack. Describing them as examples
of ignorant and un-Islamic, even shameful conduct, they tried to set
aside such practices. The reformers believed that the reputation of
Islam was at stake in the struggle for a rational exegesis and ethic.
At the same time, educators believed that the reputation of
Mappila society was involved in the struggle for modern education.
The community as a whole had taken a position against it, but the
post-Rebellion Mappila intellectual leaders now felt that they had the
evidence to show that such opposition was disastrous in its effects. In
the next chapter we shall see how Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan had issued
the same call for change after the cataclysm of the Indian “Mutiny”
in 1867. Now in southwest India, after the calamity of 1921, history
was repeating itself. New Mappila leaders arose who believed that it
is Islamically correct to accept a culture of progress. No longer should
everything modern and Western be regarded as inherently wrong and
threatening. Utilizing modernity’s possibilities we can become “an
honourable Muslim community.”18
What happened next constitutes one of the greatest stories of

cultural renaissance and change to take place within a traditional
Muslim community. With the changes has come some loss of tradi-
tional customs. Recently a Mappila leader put it simply, and a little
regretfully, when he said, “There has been a cultural mingling.”19 He
means that Mappilas have lost some of their colorful traits and habits
that made them stand out. Yet contemporary Mappilas are generally
proud of their new culture, and its wheel has not yet stopped turning.
The Cultural Legacy
The legacy that Mappila history has left behind has a threefold aspect:
• a “here and there” quality;

• a “then not now” and “some not others” quality; and
• a double and contrasting cultural vision.
We will deal with each of these three aspects in turn.
The Here and There Legacy
The historical process of Mappila becoming has left some differentia-

tion among Muslims in the three major regions of Kerala—southern,
central, and northern. It goes without saying that there are also varia-
tions within the regions, mainly related to urban–rural differences.
The respective population statistics in the three regions provide
an introduction to the variation. Of the total Muslim population in
the state about 69 percent is in the northern region, while the cen-
tral region has 15 percent and the southern region 16 percent of the
total. The same approximate proportion carries over to the relation
of Muslim population to the general population in each region. Thus,
in the southern region about 10 percent of the general population
is Muslim, and in the central region it is 9 percent. In the northern
region, however, the figure is 36 percent. The difference in the ratios
affect the cultural development. Where a minority is relatively small
it must take special care to be cooperative in practical affairs, but at
the same time it may become quite protective in matters of personal
identity. A strong minority is able to develop a distinct cultural profile
of its own, and to become a social force. We shall deal briefly with
the regional differences in cultural development, taking special note

of the major cities, namely, Quilon (Kollam), Cochin (Kochi), Calicut
(Kozhikode), and Cannanore (Kannur).
In the southern region the Muslim development is mainly coast-
al. Islam did not penetrate inland to a significant degree. It had its
start in the same way as the northern area through the Arab traders
who brought their faith with them to Kollam and to Barace (Purak-
kad) near Alleppey. Hindu culture was very strong. It was hospitable,
but there was no overwhelming patronage to match that of the Zamo-
rin in Calicut. Christian culture was firmly established in the interior,
and Muslims largely remained in the port cities. In Alleppey District,
for example, over 17 percent of the urban population is Muslim, but
it is only 3 to 4 percent in rural areas.
Muslim history in the southern region centers on the city of
Kollam, which was known as Kaulam to the Arab geographers.20 It is
the southernmost of the three major Kerala trading emporia that also
include Muziris and Calicut, Kollam reached its height in the ninth
century CE when it became the capital city of the kingdom of Venad,
and epigraphic evidence reveals the presence of Muslims there at that
time.21 Kollam also welcomed the ships of China that exchanged silk
and other goods with traders from the West in its busy harbor. Marco
Polo, who accompanied a Mongol fleet to Kollam in 1290 to 1292,
noted the city’s thriving commerce. The China connection continued
up to the Ming dynasty in the fifteenth century, its lasting mark being
houses with curved roofs in the pattern of Chinese junks, as well as
Chinese fishing nets. Kollam suffered from the repeated invasions of
the Tamil Chola forces and was burned down in 1096, but it recov-
ered and through its door Muslim presence spread northward along
the coast.
South of Kollam in the Trivandrum area, Malayalam culture
interfaced with Tamil culture, and the presence of some Tamil Mus-
lims (Labbais) there cannot be considered surprising. A major mod-
ern symbol of southern Muslim culture came from the village of
Wakkom in Trivandrum District where the influential Muhammad
Abdul Khader Maulavi emerged to initiate the contemporary Map-
pila theological revival; his seminal reform movement eventually
moved northward through Kodungalur to Malabar. North of Kollam
the Alleppey area included Muslims interested in modern education.
Many of them were businessmen. It is reported that an administrator
named Kesava Das brought Rawthar Muslims from Tamil country to
Alleppey to offset the Dutch trade control of Cochin, and they played
a leading role in the commercial Alleppey culture.22
In the central region that has Cochin (Kochi) as its traditional

capital the development of Islam flowed from Muziris, now the port
of Kodungalur (Cranganore). Muziris is a name that is no longer used
since the harbor that is situated at the mouth of the great Periyar River
silted up in 1341. Until then it ranked as one of the major ports of
the ancient world and is frequently noted in the accounts of travelers
and geographers. It traded with the Chinese to the East and with the
Phoenicians and Romans to the West. The Romans came there in force,
stationing two cohorts and building a temple of Augustus. Pepper,
ginger, turmeric, gems, and silks went out in the Roman trade, and
gold and minerals came in. At a very early stage Jews and Christians
came along with the tide of commerce. After the fall of the Western
Roman Empire, the Arabs took over the sea trade with Muziris. Along
with Persians they had participated in it pre-Islamic times, but after
the advent of Islam they not only became dominant in the trade but
also brought Islam with them into that powerful Hindu region.
Kodungalur was the famed center of the Chera kingdom and
the Perumāl rulers whom we have previously mentioned. It was also
known as Mahodayapuram or Tiruvanchikulam (Vanchi). From its
site in the basin of the Periyar River its influence spread in every
direction and continued until finally defeated by the Tamil Cholas
in 1102 CE. It was a cultural melting-pot. Christians at Kodungalur
today cherish a presumed relic of St. Thomas, and a few Jews are
scattered through the area. Muslims there proudly welcome visitors to
what they consider to be the oldest mosque in Kerala. It was the vital
Hindu culture, however, that dominated the area. While Christians
were well imbedded and had set up their own flourishing pepper
gardens, they were subject to the Chera rajas. When the Portuguese
and Dutch entered the scene and took over the Kochi trade, they
favored the Christians in their trading policy. The Kochi raja and
lesser rajas, who feared the rise of Calicut, saw their hope in the
Christian alignment, and Muslims received little attention or support.
They experienced only a modest development in the central region,
similar to the south. The exception was at Kodungalur, and to a lesser
extent, in the city of Kochi.
At Kodungalur, Muslims developed a special culture that ulti-
mately included a strong economic base and a high respect for edu-
cation. In modern times the area became the base and instrument of
the Mappila intellectual reform as the home of the Aikya Sankhum
Society, founded in 1922. Apart from its tilt to education in the central
region, Muslim culture was marked by generally harmonious com-
munal relations. That fact is appropriately reflected in the title of a
current English-language journal issued from Cochin and entitled al-

Harmony,23 a publication on Islamic thought and ethics that does not
hesitate to include Hindu, Christian and Jewish writers.
The northern region, also called Malabar, contains the bulk of
the Mappilas and hence is the source of much of the material in this
volume. It has four culture areas: the coastal area, the North Malabar
section, the interior of South Malabar, and the fisher-folk. Overall,
the northern region exhibits a combination of religious loyalty and
cultural adaptability.
Calicut is the center of the coastal culture and the commercial
headquarters for the entire region. It is the third of the three ancient
trading ports of Kerala, even though its poor harbor makes it an
improbable location for such a distinction. It grew to that level under
the enterprising leadership of the Zamorin, especially as Muziris fell
back. Lying nearest to the Arabian Peninsuala, it became the natural
gateway for Islam. The trade between Calicut and Hadramaut on the
southern Arabian coast became very active. Even today at Beypore
near Calicut, a few wooden dhows are still being made by hand in
the old manner. Many Calicut Mappilas continue to take pride in their
Arab descent and connection, and this reality informs their marriage
arrangements. In the past the relationship provided the base for Map-
pila economic strength, and in recent times that has been vigorously
renewed. In the social sphere Calicut became and remained a practical
laboratory for Hindu–Muslim cooperation.
In North Malabar the Mappila cultural development centered
on the coastal city of Kannur. There the growth of Islam was marked
by intermarriage with and the conversion of Nayars and other higher
caste Hindu classes. The cultural profile that evolved was therefore
much more than of an integrated community, freely adapting to its
environment. Its chief mark was the retention of the old matrilineal
system of inheritance that continued in many Muslim families. This
phenomenon is not visible elsewhere in global Islamic culture except
among the Minangkabau Muslims of Indonesia and the Tuaregs of
North Africa. As in Calicut, local rajas and Nayar sub-chiefs wel-
comed the Arab Muslim traders, but the development took another
twist when one Nayar convert took the name Ali Raja and developed
the only indigenous Mappila kingdom that ever existed. Although
only a small principality located in a Kannur suburb, it played a vital
role in events during the European era. It fashioned its own cultural
history including the periodic admission of female rulers (Bibis)! (See
Appendix B.) The royal family played a decisive role in keeping most
North Malabar Muslims out of the Mappila Rebellion.
But Malabar Islam did not stay on the coast and in the cities.
It also penetrated into the interior of South Malabar. There lower
castes of Hindu society, and especially outcastes, began to turn to
Islam. Undoubtedly, the desire for social and economic betterment
was a major factor in the development. A surge of accessions to Islam
came during the reigns of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan. After becoming
Muslim new converts typically retained many of their old habits and
sentiments. We do not know of any formal teaching process dedicated
to helping new Muslims in their understanding of the faith, although
after 1900 a center for the instruction of converts, the Maunat-ul-Islam
Sabha, was established at Ponnani. There seems to have been little
or no grounding of new believers in the great Islamic intellectual
and cultural traditions. As a result, the marks of the interior Mappila
became simple faith, sterling loyalty, and an untutored outlook. Since,
in the course of time, they became the bulk of the Mappila community
in Kerala, these traits tended to define the term “Mappila” in wider
India. It was their culture that especially British writers reported as
Mappila culture, and the events of 1921 undergirded that reputation.
At the same time, it is here that the engagement with modernity has
produced the most striking cultural transformation.
For the fourth culture area we go to the sea itself and draw
brief attention to the Mappila fisher-folk, a distinct social group with
many unique customs. Some of them will be reported on later in this
work. Similar subcultures are to be found elsewhere in India and in
the Muslim world. In speaking of Kurdish culture, Philip Kreyenbroek
draws out a general truth: “Ancient traditions persist in local forms
of Islam in many areas, and the divergences between the religions of
the village and the urban academy can be found in most parts of the
world.”24 This holds true among Mappilas for whom local traditions
and pride are frequently involved in their social phenomena. No other
group, however, displays more idiosyncratic characteristics than the
fisher-folk. From Mangalore in the north to Cochin in the south they
made Islam their faith, and poised between land and sea they have
followed their own cultural path.
The “Then Not Now” and “Some Not Others” Legacies
Abdulla and two friends were entertaining a visitor. They had gone to
the city to attend a meeting of the working committee of their party.
Abdulla enjoyed rising early and going for a walk on the promenade.
There they met a visitor and together looked out to sea. The waves
came thundering in, pounding against the granite rocks. “The beach
used to be very wide,” they said, “but now it is like this.” Then they
took the visitor to a hotel (cafe) and ate bajis (fritters) together.
“It used to be like this, but now it is like this.” Again and again
a Mappila may be heard speaking those words. He is referring to the
mobility of their culture. The waves of change have come crashing in
on the Mappila shore and have eroded the tradition. Some behavioral
elements associated with the Mappilas belong to the past and are no
longer seen today. The rapidity of contemporary change has accentu-
ated the process bringing uneasiness. “Then it was like that, but now
it is like this,” is a frequent Mappila comment.
A simple custom that illustrates this point is the male hair style.
Until fifty years ago Mappila men could be distinguished by their
clean-shaven heads. The original reason for the practice is unknown.
It continued moderately into the last quarter of the twentieth century
and still lingers on today among a few of the elderly. In effect it has
virtually disappeared so that Mappila hair styling today does not
differ from that of other communities.
“Here and there” plus “then and now” equals “some not others,”
a common equation in human cultures. Some Mappilas hold certain
opinions, others think differently; some act in certain ways, others
behave differently. The number of the “some” and the “others” is in
constant flux. Although the range of new habits among Mappilas is
constantly widening, the strength of the past traditions ensures an
intermingling. A custom that illustrates these elements is the nercha,
a Mappila religious festival that celebrates the merits of a saint. This
controversial subject will be discussed in detail later. For now it is suf-
ficient to note that the nerchas have disappeared in some places, where
they once flourished, as the result of vehement criticisms by reform-
minded Mappilas. In those places they have taken on the appearance
of a country fair. Yet saints continue to be venerated, several nerchas
are still observed, and the great shrine at Mambram has been only
mildly affected by the criticism. In summary, the “some not others”
factor must be an understood background to any description of con-
temporary Mappila culture.
The Double, Contrasting Cultural Vision
One vision emanates from the first culture period, another contrasting
one from the second period. A legacy leaves specific phenomena, but
also embraces a vision. Mappilas have two cultural visions. The fact
that they are still contending with each other gives the culture both a
lively and a schizophrenic appearance. The fact that they are blending
is a testimony to the Malayalam tradition of accommodation and the

Muslim tradition of consensus-buiIding.
We may sum up the first period from 622 to 1498 as one marked
by a practical and open orientation, by pleasant interreligious rela-
tions, and by an informal process of customary adaptation. In regard
to the adaptation, next to the acceptance of the Malayalam language
the key integrating Mappila custom was intermarriage. Arab Muslim
men married Malayali Hindu women. The women, as mothers do,
passed on aspects of their own Malayalam cultural tradition to their
children. Thereby, a process of natural adaptation was set in motion.
That custom is long gone. Intermarriage between Mappilas and mem-
bers of other communities is now a rarity, a practice that belongs to
the “then not the now.” Other forms of adaptation, however, were
carried forward. They ranged from dress to food, from architectural
forms to agricultural methods, from weddings to recreation. Mappilas
adopted the everyday living habits of Malayalis, and they became a
natural part of their own behavior.
However, the chief legacy of the first period is its vision, its
informing spirit, rather than a group of specific habits. That is the
vision and spirit of cultural openness and harmonious inter-living.
These represent the great abiding heritage of the first eight centuries,
and remarkably the vision is alive and belongs to the Mappila now.
For four centuries the idea of cultural progress had become a casu-
alty of various events, but it has experienced a rebirth in the modern
period. That, in turn, has led to new cultural adaptations, not this time
to traditional Malayalam culture, but rather to the new technologi-
cal culture that has been embraced by virtually all Malayalis. With
reference to the factor of pleasant communal relations, this vision
too is alive. While there have been tensions and isolated incidents,
since 1947 there have been no major communal upsets in Kerala like
those of the nineteenth century. In sum, what still influences Mappilas
today is the legacy of cultural hospitality and the good memory of
Pax Malayala.
The contrasting vision stems from the second major period in
Mappila history, the period of European dominance and Mappila
resistance. We have summed up its spirit as one of defensiveness.
That expressed itself in the rejection of any further adaptation and in
the development of traditionalism. There is no doubt that the feeling
of threat stifles cultural progress. The felt need is watchful safeguard-
ing—the important thing is to survive, not to adapt. From this expe-
rience a set of simple customs emerged in the Mappila community
as the visible demonstration of heroic and unchanging faith. They
became the pillars for the medieval structure of Mappila culture, and
its preservation in that form became the community’s chief cultural
goal. Since we will discuss Mappila traditionalism in detail in Chapter
4, here we will simply note that many of the basic customs generated
in that period continue into the present day. Some members of the
community cherish them and observe them, while others disavow
them or try to alter them.
There is a positive contribution for contemporary Muslims in
this legacy from the second period. Under extreme duress Mappi-
las resolutely reaffirmed the first element in Islamic cultural theory,
namely, the importance of genuine religious conviction. This vision
they passed on to the present as an endowment from those difficult
years. It is the Mappilas of the current age who have recaptured the
other three elements of Islamic cultural theory that we have cited—
practicality, flexibility, and equality. Yet the message of oppressed
Mappilas that culture cannot replace faith and still be Islamic, and
their willingness to endure trials for the sake of their conviction, con-
stitutes a powerful contemporary vision. The blending of two cultural
visions challenges Mappila society today.
We have touched on the role of the Malayalam, South Arabian
Islamic, and European cultures in the formation of Mappila culture.
We now ask whether North Indian Muslims had anything to do with
the Mappila formation, and if so, what? That is our next chapter.
3
The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim

Influence on Mappila Culture
Mappilas represent only 6 percent of India’s large Muslim population

which numbers 138 million people (2001) and makes up 13.4 percent
of the nation. It was less than that if one considers the figures for
the pre-Partition era. The question of a possible Indo-Muslim cul-
tural influence on the Mappila development is therefore a natural
one. However, the phrase “Indian Islam” is itself a collective one that
disguises the cultural variety in a vast mosaic of Muslims from Bengal
to Kashmir to Kerala. For centuries the Urdu language and Indo-
Persian culture provided a kind of unity to Muslims in the northern
and central areas of the subcontinent. If there was cultural influence
it would most naturally have come from that area.
The conventional wisdom is that there was little impact, and the
opinion has a strong basis. As distant as Calicut is from Delhi, so cul-
turally separate have they been over past years, Mappilas developed
earlier than North Indian Muslims and went their own way. Professor
M. Mujeeb has expressed their lack of connections in these words:
“The settlements in South India with which their history begins had no
continuous or living contact with centres of culture in the north. . . .”1
If Mappilas had little contact with the north, the north also gave them
almost no attention. Nevertheless, it is our purpose in this chapter
to probe more deeply into the question of possible interaction and
influence. We will do so in three sections—the two language worlds,
the developmental contrasts and sporadic contacts, and the differing
calendars for modernization. We close with the query: What cultural
elements if any have Mappilas received from other Indian Muslims?
Two Language Worlds
Abdulla is talking to Rashid’s teacher in the schoolyard. The topic

of conversation is Rashid’s language option. In elementary school
49
Malayalam begins in the first grade, English is added in the second

grade, and Hindi enters the program in the fourth or fifth grade.
The curriculum follows the national three-language formula. How-
ever, Arabic can be substituted for one Malayalam paper. Abdulla
addresses the teacher: “Let Rashid take Arabic also.” Abdulla knows
that Arabic will be easy for Rashid because of his madrasa studies.
The possibility of Urdu never enters the discussion. It fleetingly passes
through the teacher’s mind, but he does not raise the subject. Abdulla
makes his way home. Without realizing it, his choice tells the tale of
two cultures.
Mappila culture is informed by three languages—Malayalam,
Arabic, and English. Urdu has never found a home in Mappila soci-
ety, although a few adults have learned it. Among Muslims in North
and Central India, however, Urdu became the binding element. Lan-
guage and culture are sister and brother and cannot be separated.
The linguistic divisions are a major factor in the cultural distinctions
that exist among Indian Muslims from Kashmir to Bengal to Kerala.
Certainly this factor has deeply affected the possibility of cultural
interaction between Mappilas and North Indian Muslims.
Persian was the court language of the Muslim rulers in North
India. When Persian, together with Turkish and Arabic, began to play
on the vernacular dialects (Prakrit), Urdu was born in the form of a
working market language, the development taking place sometime
in the twelfth through fourteenth centuries. The root meaning of the
term Urdu, namely “royal encampment,” refers to the fact that the
new language was the lingua franca of the royal bazaar.2 Its script
is a Persianized form of Arabic, further modified to include other
sounds. Much later the new language also received the name Hin-
dustani. (Daud Rahbar notes that it was John Gilchrist of Calcutta (d.
1841) who invented that term.) The British utilized Urdu as a working
administrative language after the day of Persian ended in 1837. By an
alteration in vocabulary, drawing on Sanskrit words and utilizing the
Devanagiri script, the language became modern Hindi.3
Not only Muslims but many Hindus used Urdu, and especially
after 1500 it became a rich, bridging literary vehicle. However, there
was no channel for the language or its literature into Mappila life.
After 1947 the position of Urdu in India deteriorated. It was listed
as a recognized official language in the constitution of India, but the
fact that it was not a state language and the fact that Hindi has come
forward as the national language has practically reduced its standing.
This has caused great anguish among North and Central Indian Mus-
lims. Mappilas are aware of that sorrow but have not had to share it
The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on Mappila Culture 51
personally because in Kerala Urdu never advanced beyond being a

course in state schools. That being the case, it was English, not Urdu,
which became the linguistic channel for the converse between Map-
pilas and other Indian Muslims.
Developmental Contrasts and Sporadic Culture Contacts
The developmental contrasts between Mappilas and North Indian

Muslims are striking, but an occasional connecting rivulet appeared.
North Indian Muslims to 1526: Diverse Cultural Roads
The two Muslim developments traveled diverse roads. In terms of

their external connection, the Mappilas were related to Arab culture.
On the other hand, North Indian Muslims in particular, but also to an
extent Central Indian Muslims, were related to Afghan, Persian, and
Turkish customs. In terms of their origin in India, the Mappilas rep-
resent a peaceful commerce-related movement. Northern and Central
Indian Muslims reflect a conquest-related entry. These and other early
differences are startling and continued into the later cultural histories.
Significant Muslim influence in North India began with Mahmud
of Ghazna (d. 1030), although an Arab general named Muhammad
ibn Qasim had invaded Sind already in 711 CE. The town of Ghazni,
as it is now called, lies about 150 kilometers southwest of Kabul in
Afghanistan. From that base Mahmud, whose father had been a Turk-
ish slave, established an empire that eventually included much of
Iran and northwest India. Between 1001 and 1026 he marched into
India seventeen times in search of booty. He especially targeted Hindu
temples, the most notable being the great temple of Somnath in Guja-
rat in 1026. Thereby, he set a rough pattern for other Turco-Afghan
military adventurers. Their entry opened a stream of influence that
sowed many seeds in the fertile Indian cultural soil, but at the same
time their militant methodology also negatively affected their interac-
tion with its indigenous societies and left bad memories.
The invaders were generally greedy and rapacious warriors,
and nothing can mitigate that reality. However, some of them were
also patrons of the arts; they gathered the greatest known scholars
and craftsmen around them and sponsored their work. This had a
two-way effect. Aspects of India’s high culture and learning became
known in the Abbasid Empire to the West and, conversely, at least
a few representatives of the Islamic Golden Age made their way to
India. The most prominent example of that interchange may be al-

Bīrūnī (973–1048), a Persian who had been brought to Ghazna by
Mahmud. He was a peerless scholar in the fields of mathematics and
astronomy, natural science, geography and history, and even Sanskrit.
The author of over one hundred works, his “Description of India”
(Kitāb Tahʾrik al-Hind), which he presented in 1030, stands as a work
of enduring value. He has been rightly extolled as “the impartial
observer of customs and creeds.”4 The contrast between Mahmud
and al-Bīrūnī could not be greater; they represent the two sides of the
next eight centuries of Muslim court history. Mappila history in the
southwest region of the subcontinent was already in its fifth century,
but it had not been marked by either tyranny or scholarship of such
magnitude.
The Ghaznavids ruled much of what is now Pakistan and the
Indian Punjab until 1186 when a Perso-Afghan dynasty called the
Ghurids replaced them. They were named after their town near Herat
in Afghanistan. Muizz-ud-Din, their leader, defeated a large Hindu
army at Peshawar and annexed Lahore. The Ghurid technique was
to place their outposts under the charge of Turkish slaves, giving
rise to the name “Slave Dynasty.” These ambitious individuals were
anything but slavish, and they further extended Muslim rule as far
as Bengal. Because one of them, Iltumish, made Delhi their capital in
1210, the subsequent period of Muslim rule is called the Delhi Sul-
tanate (1210–1526) which experienced five dynasties. Through them
aspects of Persian, Afghan, and Turkish culture began to blend into
North Indian Muslim culture, at least at court and administrative lev-
els. Cultural development, however, was not their first interest. They
engaged in interminable warfare and were as cruel to each other as
to the general populace.
An injection of Muslim learning came as the result of traumat-
ic developments north of India. From 1219 Genghis Khan (d. 1227)
began the mighty Mongol invasions that swept across Central Asia,
the Middle East, and Eastern Europe. In 1258 they captured and dev-
astated Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate and the center
of Muslim culture. Before and after the event scholars and artisans
began to flee in different directions, and some of the refugees found
a home in North India. We can only imagine what a boon Mappilas
would have experienced in their great developmental years if the
wave of refugee culture had somehow reached them, but they had
no direct connection with these events.
It was the short-lived Khilji Dynasty of the Delhi Sultanate
(1290–1320) that brought about the first North Indian Muslim relation-
ship with the south. It, too, reflected the Turkish culture stream. The
harsh ʿAlā-ud-Dīn (d. 1315), whom Mujeeb calls “the first effective
Indian Muslim ruler,”5 is its chief figure. He assumed ownership of
the land, set up a centralized administration, and established a rev-
enue system that subsequently filtered down through Tipu Sultan’s
policies into Malabar and Mappila life. ʿAlā-ud-Dīn extended his rule
to much of India, but in many places that simply meant recognizing
existing Hindu authorities if they pledged loyalty. One of his gener-
als, Malik Kafur, conducted two military expeditions (1311–1313) as
far south as Madura in today’s Tamilnad, having been invited in by
a local Pandyan ruler. Thereby, North Indian Muslim forces entered
what some early geographers called the Maʾbar (not to be confused
with Malabar).6 It lay within 150 kilometers of the Mappilas and their
“black gold” (pepper), yet there is no evidence that Malik Kafur was
aware of it or tempted by it. In any event, he had enough booty
which included 612 elephants, 20,000 horses, 95,000 maunds of gold,
and boxes full of jewelry.7 He left behind a small unstable sultanate
at Madura that became independent under Jalal-ud-Din Shāh in 1335,
but which lasted only until 1378.8
It is arguably fortunate that relations between the Mappilas and
the northern Muslims did not get closer at this time for the fourteenth
century was a high level point in Hindu-Muslim relations in Kerala,
while in much of wider India they had plummeted to a new low. The
Tughluk dynasty that succeeded the Khiljis could not hold their new
empire together. Their practice of appointing foreign nobility to be
governors of subordinate kingdoms fostered internecine rivalries and
increased their remoteness from local cultures. The policies of Firuz
Shah (d. 1338) aggravated the Hindu–Muslim estrangement. He was
aggressive in his treatment of Hindus in a way that went consider-
ably beyond the imposition of the jizya, a special tax imposed on
non-Muslim subjects in lieu of military service. The weakness of the
Tughluks made it easy for the savage Timur (Tamerlane) to launch an
invasion from Samarqand in what is now Uzbekistan, in 1398. Using
the excuse that previous rulers had been too tolerant toward Hindus,
he ruthlessly destroyed Delhi. When he left—and fortunately he did
so soon—everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It was said that after his
fearsome raid the sound of a bird could not be heard for two months!
Timur (d. 1405) left behind an anarchic situation. Ironically, the
chaos led to a more positive intercultural situation in Central India.
The Sayyids ruled briefly (1414–1451), followed by an Afghan dynasty
called the Lodis (1451–1526), who moved their capital to Agra. They
were the final dynasty in the Delhi Sultanate, and their sovereignty
had a very limited range. As Delhi’s power decreased, the process

of decentralization accelerated. Two strong and independent realms
arose in the south central region of India called the Deccan Plateau.
They competed with each other, creating a bulwark across Central
India that northern forces and influences could not traverse. One of
the domains was Hindu, the great Vijayanagar Empire (1336–1556).
Its capital city, Vijayanagar, situated 250 kilometers inland from Goa,
was 96 kilometers in circumference and was surrounded by seven
huge circular walls. The ruins are one of the marvels of India today.
Its equally great competitor was the Muslim Bahmani Sultanate.
The Bahmani Sultanate (1347–1518), named after its founder,
had its capital at Gulbarga (later Bidar), about 150 kilometers north
of Vijayanagar and 100 kilometers west of Hyderabad. Although it
was in frequent conflict with surrounding Hindu kingdoms, it was
not culturally aloof, and in its time various elements fused together
in Deccan culture. Moreover, like Vijayanagar it had a relationship
with the west coast and was involved in the same Arab trade as the
Mappilas were. We do not have evidence of direct commercial rela-
tions, but it is not beyond the bounds of possibility. Between 1490
and 1518 the Sultanate dissolved into five small successor Muslim
states, the two major ones being Bijaypur (1489–1686) in the west and
Golconda (1512–1687) in the east. Bijaypur, which lies in present-day
Karnataka State, is only 300 kilometers from the border of Kerala,
and was the closest of the Deccan dynasties to the Mappila area, but
direct intercultural contacts would have to wait until the short-lived
reigns of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan. K. M. Panikkar sees evidence
of “a synthesis of culture” in Bijaypur, and “the interpenetration of
Hindu and Muslim culture.” The most visible patterns of adaptation
are among Sufi mystics, partially Islamicized castes, and Muslims
involved in certain vocations and arts such as music.9
Rare Mughul Connections: 1526–1857
The Mughul Empire was the greatest of the Indian Muslim empires
and the most formative influence on Muslim culture in much of India.
Mughul is Arabic for Mongol; thus the Mongol influence came into
India three centuries after the conquest of Central Asia, but in hybrid
form. The Mongols who came were now Islamicized and Persian-
ized. The individual who started it off was Zuhr al-Din Muhammad
Babur (1483–1530). He was a descendant of Timur on his father’s
side and Genghis Khan on his mother’s, bearing the heritage of both
the Tatar Turks and the Mongols. Thus, he personally symbolized
culture streams that flowed into the “Mughul” being. Babur was the
ruler of Kabul in Afghanistan. In 1526 he invaded India, crushing the
power of the Lodis and other sub-rulers, and laid the foundation of
the Mughul state.
Babur’s grandson Akbar (1542–1605), rightly called “the Great,”
was the noblest Muslim ruler of India and the builder of the national
state. With his military and administrative skills he consolidated Mus-
lim power north of the Deccan. In this he did not differ materially
from other conquerors. What distinguished him was his religiously
spacious and culturally creative approach. He appointed Hindus to
senior positions in government, and removed the jizya tax. Not only
did he model tolerance in his administrative policies, but he was also
personally curious and sought to understand other points of view.
His court was the scene of a constant exchange of religious ideas.
Not only philosophy, but also the arts interested Akbar, in particular
architecture. His magnificent structures at Agra and Fathepur Sikri
are stunning testimonies to that interest. Akbar created a powerful
resource for cultural interaction through his conciliatory policy of
sulh-i kull, universal toleration. As far as we know Mappilas did not
hear of it, although that had been their policy for centuries. While
Akbar was welcoming the Portuguese Jesuits to his court, their colo-
nial administrators in Kerala were busy supplanting tolerance with
a contrary spirit.
The death of Akbar the Great left a great void although Jehangir,
his son, and Shah Jahan, his grandson, continued many of his policies.
Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal, a love poem to his queen, Mumtaz
Mahal, the entire structure being completed in 1649. It was designed
by an intercultural council of Muslim architects. However, the stream
of Akbar’s irenic approach ran dry after the death of its final represen-
tative, Dara Shukoh (1615–1659), who was Shah Jahan’s son. He led a
movement of rapprochement with Hindu culture. A learned literary
figure, he traced the common elements between Sufism and Vedanta
philosophy, and in 1657 translated the Upanishads into Persian. But
he never made it to the position of Emperor. The competition was
won by his younger brother, Aurangzeb, who allowed Dara Shukoh
to be executed.
Aurangzeb (1618–1707) was a towering ruler who extended
the Mughul Empire to its farthest reach, taking its influence to the
deep south of India. His administration was characterized by both
efficiency and ruthlessness; many consider him to have been the
ablest of the Indian monarchs. Yet he also adopted a controversial
religious policy. Thoroughly orthodox, he was personally interested in
traditional Sunni law and theology, and publicly interested in Islami-

cizing society as much as possible. He was therefore unsympathetic
toward his Hindu subjects and their culture. He restored the jizya,
discontinued Hindu court customs such as music and dance, replaced
Hindu administrative officers with Muslims, destroyed new Hindu
temples, and appointed censors for public morals in major cities.
Aurangzeb planted the seed of a development in orthodox reli-
gious education which was to become the most important Indian
Muslim influence on the Mappilas. In the 1690s he donated a prop-
erty and a pension to a well-known family of scholars in Lucknow
to finance their study center, the Faranji Mahal. A scion of the family,
Mulla Muhammad Nizam al-Din (d. 1748), using his own and his
father’s ideas, developed a syllabus that received the name dars-i-
Nizamiyya. It is narrowly focused on the reading of respected Islamic
authorities under the guidance of a trained scholar who strictly con-
trols the educational process. It eventually became the leading cur-
riculum in South Asia for the training of Muslim religious workers,
although various institutions made their own adaptations from time
to time (cf. Appendix D for the Deoband example). The syllabus is a
primary guide for Mappila religious education in its protective mode.
The contrast between the approaches of Akbar and Aurangzeb
illustrates the range of opinion among North Indian Muslims on ques-
tions of religion and culture, and religion and state. If Akbar leaned
to the establishment of a national state, Aurangzeb tilted toward the
idea of some sort of Islamic state. As Shaikh Ikram puts it: “He was
deeply committed to the ordering of his government according to
Muslim law.”10 Except for him, however, Muslim rulers never moved
seriously in the direction of forming a classic Islamic state, and they
seldom exercised compulsion in regard to religious affiliation. In gen-
eral, they subordinated religious concerns to the practical policies
required for the conduct of their administration. The “practicality”
in Islamic cultural theory helps account for the fact that the majority
of India’s populace remained steadfastly Hindu despite centuries of
Muslim rule.
The chief problem that Aurangzeb faced during his reign was
the independently minded and turbulent Deccan area. He spent years
of his life there, both as Viceroy and as Emperor, in pacification efforts.
The rising Mahratta Hindu powers under the dynamic leadership of
Shivaji Raja and his son Sambhuji could not be suppressed; however,
he did manage to force the Muslim kingdoms of Bijaypur and Gol-
conda to their knees.
Farther south, the most visible result of his empire-building was

the kingdom of Arcot that lay between Bangalore and Madras. In 1690
Aurangzeb appointed Zulfiqar Ali Khan as the Nawāb or governor of
the Carnaitic region (the northern and eastern portions of Tamilnad,
including the coastal area). The governor established his headquarters
at Arcot, being responsible to Nizam-ul-Mulk, who was Aurangzeb’s
Viceroy at Hyderabad, but after Aurangzeb’s death he and his suc-
cessors became independent. At its peak the Arcot rule extended to
the south beyond Tanjore and Trichinopoly to Tinnevelly at the bot-
tom of the subcontinent, only a short distance from Trivandrum, but
its forces did not enter southern Kerala. In the period between 1710
and 1740 when Deccan stability was shaken, a large number of Mus-
lim scholars and artisans entered Arcot and thereby introduced Dec-
can Muslim culture into Tamilnad.11 The educational institutions that
eventually developed from this movement, especially the madrasas
at Vellore and Umarabad, were taken advantage of by Mappilas for
the training of clergy. The Arcot kingdom, however, did not remain
strong. It became a British vassal in 1781, and by 1875 the line of
twelve Nawābs came to an end.11
For the Mughuls, it was all downhill after Aurangzeb died in
1707. They rapidly descended into the shadows of their one-time
greatness, dividing and subdividing into subsidiary powers. As far
as the south is concerned, their bright spot was the rise of Hyderabad,
the capital of the former kingdom of Golconda. Asaf Jah Nizam-ul-
Mulk, the Mughul Viceroy in the Deccan, declared independence in
1724. Hyderabad flourished on its own. It became known as a place
of relative Muslim–Hindu amity, and its architecture became a blend
of Muslim and Hindu styles. This leads us to a brief discussion of
the grassroots cultural realities of this period and their relation to the
Mappila development.
Indo-Muslim Cultural Adaptation and Sufi Contacts with Mappilas
No Indian Muslim rulers opened formal political connections with

Kerala, and therefore relations with Mappilas could only have been
indirect and casual, if they existed at all. However, Indo-Islam was
passing through its own process of cultural adaptation. In that light
we may ask two questions. The first is whether this process is in
any way similar to the earlier Mappila adaptation, and the second is
whether through informal channels some of that later influence may
have reached the Mappilas.
What happens with rulers and courts is one thing. What hap-
pens on the ground among ordinary people may be another. The
political story of North Indian Islam gives the impression of a heavy
imprint from Central Asian and Middle Eastern cultures. The grass-
roots developments reveal another development. Two scholarly Mus-
lim authorities emphasize different sides of this picture. Ishtiaq H.
Qureshi, a historian, thinks of Indian Muslim culture as a tree onto
which other branches are grafted. The tree is the original culture that
Muslims brought with them from Islamic lands. That was maintained
but “some Indian elements were added.” He says: 12 “The Muslims of
the sub-continent were no longer Arabs, Turks, Afghans or Iranians;
they had developed a distinct character. This trend is present in almost
every aspect of life. In some the Indian element is weak; in others it
is strong, but it has left its impress everywhere.”
S. M. Ikram, another historian, thinks of the relationship between
foreign Muslim culture and indigenous Indian culture as a more inti-
mate process, a kind of amalgam in which the indigenous element is
much stronger than is usually recognized. Confining himself to the
period of Muslim rule in India, he sees four strands in the Indo-Mus-
lim culture that emerged: the Islamic, the Turkish, the Persian, and
the indigenous in which he includes the Afghan element. He contends
that the indigenous element must be given more weight considering
the fact that the vast majority of Muslims were of Indian origin. He
declares that the “Indian element is in their very blood, and shows
itself not only in numerous usages and practices carried over from
their ancestral Hindu society, but even in unconscious reactions and
the basic mental makeup.” He adds, however, that the Turkish rulers
contributed most in the realms of government, law, dress, and food;
the Persians most in the spheres of literature, the fine arts, mysti-
cism, and philosophy; while Islam was the comprehensive base. Ikram
believes that the tension between the two heterogeneous elements,
Indian and foreign, was resolved by a “middle of the road” approach
that is in the normal Muslim tradition.13 The Mappila experience sup-
ports this analysis.
The “resolving” of the tensions, however, is not always auto-
matic or easy. Murray Titus has outlined some of the usages of
Hindu culture carried over by Muslim groups at grassroots levels.
They include saint veneration, sacred sites, idolatrous practices, par-
ticipation in non-Muslim festivals and observances, caste distinctions,
and others.14 Similarly, in four multi-authored volumes their editor,
Imtiaz Ahmed, a social scientist, has documented the wide variations
that cultural interaction has left behind in its wake.15 S. A. A. Rizvi
is therefore of the following opinion: “Islam in the context of the
Indian sub-continent developed along lines quite different from other

west Asian regions, evolving a culture which was broadly Islamic but
whose principal characteristics were indigenous.”16
The realities expressed in this scholarly opinion lead us to con-
clude that the Mappilas were not on a lonely road in their cultural
adaptation, apart from their role as pioneers. What was unique about
their adaptation was not its fact but its Malayalam-Arab form. We
must still ask the question whether any of the Indo-Muslim adapta-
tion became known to Mappilas and influential among them, possibly
through informal channels. The probable answer is “very few” since
the social intercourse necessary for that to happen was not present.
Moreover, the indigenization taking place among various Muslim
groups in different parts of India was related to local conditions, and
cultural portability could not easily take place. The exception was
Sufism and its connected saint veneration where there was cultural
movement.
Between 1200 and 1650 CE the following major Sufi orders were
introduced into India: the Chishti, Qadiri, Shattiri, Naqshabandi,
Suhrawardi, Kubrawi, Kalandari, and Aydarusi.17 Each one had some
distinguishing features in its teaching along with a core scripture.
Each venerated their leaders. Each was prominent in specific regions,
and each developed offshoots. The Chishti, Qadiri, and Naqshabandi
orders came closest to having an all-India influence. Their representa-
tives certainly moved deeper and with greater tenacity into India’s
southlands than the Muslim armies could do. Of the influence of the
Persian Sufi, Muʿīnuddīn Chishtī (d. 1226) who settled at Ajmer it
is said:18
His dwelling place soon became a nucleus for the Islami-

cization of central and southern India. The Chishti order
spread rapidly and conversions in India during that period
were due mainly to the untiring activity of the Chishti saints
whose simple and unsophisticated preaching and practice
of the love of God impressed many Hindus. . . .
Yet the influence was sporadic rather than sustained. After a

thorough search Professor V. Kunhali has uncovered the tracks of
eleven orders in the State of Kerala, but he also notes that “none of
these facts establish any vital influence of Sufism in Malabar from
other parts of the country.”19
The Malayali and Indo-Muslim cultural developments ran on
different tracks. There was commonality in the basic religious beliefs
and practices to be sure. Thereafter the tracks switched and separated.
The Mappila development was confined by space, long in history, and

concentrated in one language and culture context. The wider Indian
Muslim development covered much of India, was shorter in time, and
dealt with an array of cultures and subcultures. Mappilas developed
from below without political power, while North and Central Indian
Muslims developed from above, led by political rulers. Significantly,
the tracks parted ways, and there was no mechanism in place to
draw them together for a common journey. In Bengal where, in Aziz
Ahmad’s words, “culture was eclectically a synthesis of Hindu and
Muslim elements,”20 the developmental track ran parallel in many
ways to the Mappila one, but there was no mutual contact. It was
only with the advent of British predominance over a disunited India
that Mappilas and other Indian Muslims began to be drawn together
by common political dilemmas and an alien bridging culture.
The European Cultural Intrusion and Its Connecting Role
The English Takeover and Indo-Muslim Sense of Loss
Da Gama started the colonial movement into India at the same time
that Babur introduced Mughul rule. For two centuries the movements
overlapped. After Aurangzeb’s death the Mughuls fell back and the
English advanced. By 1868 they claimed sovereignty and the so-called
British Raj began. It had two effects on Mappila culture. Directly, it
introduced wider facets of European culture, and indirectly it helped
channel a partially modernized Indian Muslim culture pattern. Ele-
ments of both found their way into the integrated Arab–Malayalam
ethos, enlarging and enriching that cultural profile.
Among the European colonial powers in contact with Muslims
in north and central India it was the French who offered some com-
petition to the English in their influence, but it was a rather mod-
est one. The French were present for a short time only and had too
limited resources to make an enduring impact.21 Pondicherry on the
Tamil coast became their main base. By 1706 it had 40,000 residents
compared to Calcutta’s 22,000,22 and it became an enduring center for
French culture. In the Deccan area the talented French leader Joseph
Dupleix (d. 1763) developed a design to build a French empire. The
method was to forge early alliances with local Muslim aspirants for
power, supporting them financially as well as militarily, and when
those princes succeeded in gaining control the French would become
their court advisors. The princes not only appreciated the French
assistance, but felt that it gave them a buffer against the rising Eng-
lish power. The Hyderabad and Mysore rulers were drawn into the
European rivalry. Hyder Ali desired “ultimate contact with French
power in India.”23 This rather blatantly corrupting system must have
involved an element of cultural interchange, but it was expensive and
soon exhausted the French exchequer. Dupleix was recalled in 1754.
In 1789, at the dawn of the French Revolution, the French company
ended its activity in India.
The political and cultural fields were left to the English, and they
did not hesitate to take advantage. It is through them that the Indian
Muslim engagement with Western culture took place in depth. The
English East India Company was formed in 1600. In ever-increasing
cooperation with the British Government, it fended off other Europe-
ans, won over or subjected Indian rulers, and assumed hegemony in
India. The venture was as effective as it was high-handed. Bombay,
now Mumbai, illustrates how blithely imperious was the European
attitude. The city was presented to England as part of a dowry given
by John IV of Portugal to Charles II of England on behalf of his
daughter, Catherine of Braganza! Although the west coast was for
centuries the important one, it was the east coast, especially Bengal,
which became the prime venue for the English political power and
cultural influence. In 1698 the English were granted three villages
that became the base for Calcutta. There they established Fort Wil-
liam, which eventually became the center of English administration.
But what was there to administrate? Was not the English East
India Company a commercial enterprise? That is certainly the way
it was envisioned in London, and also by the first traders in India.
But we have already seen how, in Malabar, the Company adopted a
policy of territorial rule to accompany their commercial activity. When
they experienced a hard time because of the seafaring attacks of the
Mappila Kunjali Marakkars and the Hindi Mahrattas, the Bombay
Governor, then the administrator of Malabar, recommended managing
commerce “with a sword in your hands.” And, in 1687, the Company
directors themselves instructed its staff “to establish such a politie of
civil and military power, and create and secure such a large revenue
to secure both . . . as may be the foundation of a large well grounded,
secure English dominion in India for all time to come.”24 It couldn’t be
said more clearly. In 1688 Sir John Child, whose brother was behind
the policy change, tried to test it out by blocking the Mughul trade
along the west coast. He was defeated and had to appeal to Emperor
Aurangzeb for pardon, which was granted. Aurangzeb had led the
way in welcoming commerce with the English and in 1715 a successor,
Farrukhsiyar, gave the Company special trading privileges through-

out the Empire. Had the Mughuls known about the new Company
policy, they might have thought twice.
In the dark tumult of the 1700s, Mughul power faded. On the
western side of India the powerful Mahratta kingdom held sway, and
it was gradually moving northward toward Delhi. There the Mughuls
reeled under the invasion of Emperor Nadir Shah of Persia in 1739. A
kind of Timur number two, he sacked Delhi and carried off its riches,
including Shah Jahan’s gold-enameled and. jewel-encrusted Peacock
throne. The northwest of India beyond the Indus River had been effec-
tively lost by the Mughuls. In the east, where Bengal was nominally
under Mughul Viceroys, there was turmoil. Political intrigue ruled
the day. Robert Clive’s victory over the weakened Nawāb Sirāj-ud-
Dawlah at Plassey in 1757 paved the way for the conquest of the
entire region. In the south the French loss had encouraged the Nizam
of Hyderabad to place himself under the protection of the Company
in 1768, and on May 4, 1799, two English armies met and overcame
Tipu Sultan at his Seringapatam fort near Mysore City, affirming the
Company’s authority in southwest India.
The Company’s rapid move into territorial rule caused some
consternation in London and admonitions against political interven-
tion were sent out, but events in India passed them by. William Hast-
ings, the first governor-general of Bengal, led the forward charge to
full English control during the years from 1758 to1785. The Mughul
emperor could no longer offer serious opposition, and in 1803 he too
came under British “protection.” Although he was allowed to keep
his title and maintain the pretense of Muslim rule, his authority for
all intents and purposes had ended. He was given a lavish annual
grant that enabled him to continue to live a comfortable life. Some
of the well-entrenched regional kingdoms presented another story.
They included the Muslim kingdom at Oudh, the Sikh kingdom in
the Punjab, the Rajputs of Rajasthan, the Mahratta Confederacy, and
others. Their resistance was stronger. The Company dealt with them
by a variety of means, however, from diplomacy to military conquest.
By the time they defeated the Mahrattas in 1818, it could be said that
the Company’s takeover of India was more or less complete, even
though about half of its territory was still held by the more than
350 princely states. Its quite astonishing and seemingly inexorable
forward march had ended in success, and English culture became a
universal factor in Indian life.
In the subsequent decades in England there was increasing dis-
satisfaction with the Company’s activities. It revealed a lively human
rights conscience that developed from a variety of sources—the French

and American revolutions, the influence of utilitarian philosophers,
and the voice of evangelical Christians. British government adminis-
trators had also become quite critical of the affairs of the “Honourable
Company.” None of this displeasure could begin to match the Indian
anger and resentment. That led to a combined Muslim–Hindu revolt
in 1857—the Indian “Mutiny” that was marked by heroism and cru-
elty on both sides and that brought major repercussions. Ending the
charade of Muslim rule, the British sent into exile Bahadur Shah Zafar,
the last Mughul Emperor, to Rangoon, Burma. This was followed in
England by the passage of the India Act of 1858, by which the Crown
assumed the direct control of India’s affairs. It ended one anamoly—
a commercial firm running a country—by creating another one: the
sight of a small European nation assuming control over a vast Asian
land! What did this mean for Muslims? I. H. Qureshi sums up their
feeling of despair: “The Muslim community in the sub-continent had
reached a dead end.”25
A New Wave of Indian Muslim Thinking
It was certainly the dead end of Muslim rule, but it also marked a
beginning, the commencement of a struggle to find a new way of
doing things. The European culture was no longer on the perimeter of
India in the port cities. It was in the seat of power. It now reached out
in education as well as commerce, in law as well as politics. Muslims
had to engage with it or be irrelevant. In Kerala traditionalist Mus-
lims had said, “We can’t engage with it; we have to defend against
it.” Among North Indian and Bengali Muslims there were also many
who had the same opinion, but others struggled to find some sort
of compromise. Out of that struggle came two major North Indian
Muslim contributions to Mappila culture: a new intellectual approach
and a new political approach.
Some Positive Responses to the Challenge of Modern Culture
The partial collapse of important elements in traditional Indian Mus-

lim culture had started earlier than 1857, two of the main factors being
a decline in leadership quality and a waning of common grassroots
piety. A great strength of Indo-Muslim culture had been the synthe-
sis of respected leadership and faithful behavior. Evidently respect
for leaders had diminished in the years after Aurangzeb. Esteemed
scholars like Shāh Walī-Allāh (1703–1762) pinned their hopes for the
Muslim community on the rise of a new sharia-minded ruler, but that

did not happen. His son. Shāh Abdul Aziz (1726–1784) issued a fatwā,
a religio-legal opinion, in which he scathingly attacked despotic Mus-
lim sultans, declaring: “This domination of immorality and injustice
is a curse for the community and the people . . . Men who are wise
and upright keep as far away as possible from the sultans of our
time.”26 Common morality had also been weakened. This is evident
from the rise of a series of charismatic revivalists who called for the
end of superstitious practices and immoral living. In brief, traditional
Muslim society was not in a strong position to deal with the powerful
new cultural elements that were represented by the English outsiders.
A logical source for the new leadership required by the Muslim
community was its clergy, but they were not, as a whole, equipped
for the task. Some of them judged the English Christians to be kāfir
and declared that Muslims were in a state of war (dār al-harb) against
them. A few even called for emigration from India. The bulk of the
clergy did not take this position, but neither did they offer a mindset
to ordinary Muslims that would help them deal with the forces of
modernization. As Professor Mujeeb puts it: “The theological outlook
prevented the old Muslim concept of life from yielding to the pressure
of new circumstances, and extending into and assembling to itself new
intellectual and emotional experiences.”27
The situation was not entirely hopeless. There had been some
positive developments even before 1867. An example of that was
the appearance of the Delhi College. Founded in 1792 as a language
school, it became a semi-Westernized, Urdu-based college in 1824. By
1831, 300 students were also studying English under its auspices. It
began the task of translating English scientific works into Urdu. Some
of Sir Sayyid’s later colleagues received their training there, and Aziz
Ahmad affirms that “the humanism of the nineteenth century north
Indian Muslim elite is traceable in large part to the Delhi College.”28
Unfortunately, the College became one of the casualties of the Indian
Mutiny.
The need for a fresh style of Indo-Muslim leadership became
abundantly clear when a new policy favoring English education was
introduced by William Bentinck, governor-general of India (1827–
1835), partly resulting from the influence of T. B. Macaulay. The fate-
ful decision made knowledge of the English language the linchpin of
colonial policy. It ordered that henceforth all government funding for
education would be given to English-medium educational institutions.
In 1837 English also replaced Persian as the language of the courts.
Thereby, the prime vehicle of Muslim culture and also the medium
for the meeting of Muslim and Hindu cultures in North India, was
set aside, opening the way for the permeation of Western civilizational
emphases into Indian society. A decade later it was decreed that for
employment in public offices preference would be given to those with
a knowledge of English. And in 1854 a dispatch of Charles Wood,
chairman of the Company Board, outlined a complete structure for a
universal educational system and ordered that in its institutions “the
education conveyed in them should be exclusively secular.”29
Hindus dealt with the new development better than Muslims.
They felt less hesitation in letting the new wave wash over their lives.
Some sensed its potential for their revival, and Hindu reform move-
ments like the progressive Brahmo Samaj arose and encouraged mod-
ern education. For the Muslim, such modernization seemed like the
approving and institutionalizing of the victor’s culture, and another
terrible setback. But amidst this bewilderment and resentment a new
figure arose with a surprising message.
Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817–1898) is known far and wide for
his effort to calm Muslim fears in regard to English culture. He urged
his fellow Muslims, “Let us not fear the new culture, but rather let
us make its good things our own.” He chose progress over tradition,
cultural openness over fossilization, and in effect made the Islamic
cultural principles of practicality, flexibility, and personal freedom ele-
ments in his approach. Among the good things he saw in English
culture he gave the highest place to Western education. Sir Sayyid
was the first and most vibrant figure in the intellectual renaissance
that emerged, but he was not the only Indian Muslim to espouse the
merits of modernity. In Calcutta, Sayyid Amir Ali (1849–1928) wrote
the Spirit of Islam (1891), presenting Islam as a modern adaptable
religion interested in intellectual liberty; in Hyderabad, Chiragh Ali
(1844–1895) called for the revamping of Muslim social laws in the
light of modern needs and conditions; and in Bombay, Badr al-Din
Tyabji (1844–1906), another High Court judge, became a leader of the
Indian National Congress. They represented a small but influential
group of educated, liberal Muslims who gave powerful leadership to
a community in great need.30
Sir Sayyid had taken employment in the Company’s civil service
and had engaged in scholarly pursuits. After the Mutiny he became
a bridge between the Muslims and the British. He pleaded with his
fellow Muslims to adopt a post-Mutiny policy of loyalty to the British
and progress in modern education. It was certainly a daring proposal,
but there was also logic in it if Muslims were to recover and take their
rightful place in society. He saw the need for a new Islamic kalām, that
is, a new synthesis of Islamic thought with modern scientific thought,

like other fusions that had taken place in the Islamic past. He argued
for a full openness to scientific knowledge, contending that Muslims
have two revelatory books to read, the book of the Qurʾān and the
book of nature. In the latter we see God’s works, so there is no con-
flict between what science discovers in nature and what faith finds
in the Qurʾān. In fact, it may even be said that Islam is nature, and
nature is Islam. He did not concede that his approach might under-
mine faith, as some critics charged. Again and again he affirmed his
own religious conviction and said, “Of all the innumerable wonders
of the universe, the most marvellous is religion. . . .”31 His was a bold
position and a mighty call to learning.
To put his views into effect, in the years between 1875 and 1878
Sir Sayyid established the Muhammadan Anglo-Oriental College at
Aligarh in Uttar Pradesh. It was a remarkable achievement entail-
ing much personal sacrifice. His model was Cambridge University in
England. The College, which later became Aligarh University, was the
source of many of the educated Muslim leaders who later joined with
Hindus in the freedom movement. To help soften orthodox criticism
Sir Sayyid placed a conservative and independent theological insti-
tution in the center of the new College. As part of his wide-ranging
views, the reformer also held that Muslim conduct and behavior are
subject to the test of rationality, and he smiled at the pretentious
effort of some opponents to create a new sin called “resembling an
infidel.” At the heart of all he did was his concern for the uplift
of his community. It drove his policies in regard to Muslim–British,
and Muslim–Hindu relations. After the Indian National Congress got
going, he worried that the Muslim community would lose out if it
did not develop strong community organizations of its own and to
that end he established the Muhammadan Educational Conference in
1886, which became the All-India Muslim League in 1906.
There is some disagreement as to what happened next among
grassroots North Indian Muslims. S. Abid Husain, a prominent twen-
tieth-century Indian Muslim thinker, represents the common view that
despite the sterling efforts of Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan and his suc-
cessors, the new cultural influences made little impact on ordinary
Muslims, and in fact they were resisted by many. He says: “The Mus-
lims of the North had profound dislike for the British Government as
well as for Western learning and culture. So their attitude to the new
age, which was now overtaking them, was entirely hostile.” For the
middle class, the British cultural edifice constituted “forced submis-
sion,” while the masses and the religious teachers view it “with bitter
resentment.” The religious teachers “regarded the English, in spite

of all their claims to religious impartiality, as the enemies of Islam
and the patrons of Christianity.” Not only was English education “a
danger to religion,” but that applied to Western culture in general.
Abid Husain concludes:
Its secular character they regarded as irreligious. Its higher

standard of living, they condemned as wasteful. The easier
social relations between men and women appeared to be
immoral; the male European dress divested of dignity and
the female dress lacking in modesty.32
Some Muslim commentators regard such analyses as overstate-

ments. S. Rizvi, for example, suggests that “the myth of initial dis-
sociation from British rule is unfounded.”33 Yet the evidence of the
Muslim backlash against the new culture is strong. Peter Hardy holds
the view that the resistance developed because “outside the collab-
orating classes, religious passion among Muslims had grown since
1857.”34 Certainly British authorities felt the problem, and they were
concerned enough to strive to redress the situation. This, in turn, led
to the Government of India Resolutions of August 7, 1871, and June
13, 1873, to encourage Muslim education; the 1882 Hunter Educational
Commission which dealt with the causes and proposed solutions; and
the July 15, 1885 Government of India resolution endorsing specific
measures to bring about improvements. In sum, the North Indian
Muslim engagement with European culture had at least two forms:
the appreciation of the educated class and the disapproval of clergy
and commoners.
We cannot be sure when and how an awareness of this striking
North Indian involvement with English culture reached the Mappi-
las. It was almost certainly after the lifetime of Sir Sayyid. Abdul
Khader Wakkom Maulavi reported on the proceedings of the All India
Muhammadan Educational Conference in his journal Swadeshabhimani
(“The Patriot”), founded in 1906. Promoters of the Aligarh College
came to the Kerala area before the First World War, and from 1911
forward educational associations were formed, particularly in Cochin
State. Sheikh Muhmmad Hamadani Tangal advocated a form of edu-
cation that integrated the religious and secular spheres. After a per-
sonal visit to the Muhammadan Anglo-Oriental College in Aligarh,
he resolved to construct a similar institution at Alwaye, utilizing
Egyptian teachers, but the combination of orthodox opposition and
the advent of war in 1914 aborted the plan.35 Occasionally Malayali
uslim students attended northern schools, including Aligarh, but

M
not so many that it resulted in a steady stream of influence into Ker-
ala. The awareness of the North Indian Muslim intellectual movement
was present among Mappilas, but as an aura rather than as a clear
set of ideas. Some materials were translated into Malayalam36 but
the amount was quite limited. On the whole, what the North Indian
Muslim intellectual experience provided the Mappilas was an encour-
aging background for what they, in the end, had to do for themselves.
Political influences, however, had a more direct impact.
The Idea of Community Uplift through Political Action
The desire of Sir Sayyid and his colleagues for educational improve-
ment was directly related to their concern for the welfare of Muslim
society. They observed how the majority Hindu community and other
communities were forging ahead economically and socially. The ques-
tion was how the Muslim community could play catch-up and obtain
a fair share in the progress of Indian society. Modern education was
one way to achieve that goal, but Muslim thinking also moved into
the direction of political action. The impulse for that thinking arose
from Muslim participation in the freedom struggle. Some saw it as a
cooperative effort with other communities, while others viewed it as
a separate endeavor.
The idea that a community can save itself through politics is
not groundbreaking, but in India it became a radical notion when it
was linked with the theory that Muslims and Hindus are two distinct
peoples rather than two cultural entities within one people.
The Indian National Congress was the primary vehicle of the
freedom movement and it included many leading Muslims. While
concerns for the welfare of the Muslim family had led to the formation
of the Muslim League in 1906, it was not intended to be a political
rival of the Congress. Its stated purpose was to represent Muslim
needs to the British government. When the government, in 1909, for
the first time allowed separate electorates, the action gave some cre-
dence to the concept of distinct peoplehood. However, that idea did
not gather force, and for the next decade the Congress and the League
worked closely together. Their cooperative relationship became even
stronger when the fate of the Caliph of Islam in Istanbul became a
concern of pan-Islamically inclined Indian Muslims. An anti-British
Khilafat movement (1919–1924) evolved and drew together Hindus
and Muslims around this rallying point, but the Movement dwindled
away when Kemal Ataturk in Turkey abolished the caliphate. The
Mappila Rebellion that we have considered also negatively affected

cooperative activities. As the ties between Hindus and Muslims weak-
ened the Muslim League idea of “a nation within a nation” began
to draw more attention. In the 1930s Muslim support of that concept
became stronger under the eloquent advocacy of Muhammad Ali Jin-
nah (1876–1948), a one-time Congress stalwart. In 1940 he put forth his
argument that Muslims cherish different philosophies and customs,
and as a distinct people they therefore require a separate nation. Only
in this way, he averred, can we Muslims think “in consonance with
our own ideals and according to the genius of our people.”37 In Jin-
nah’s provocative thesis Indian Muslim culture was abstracted from
its integrated existence and politicized. He was enunciating a position
that made nonsense out of long centuries of Mappila coexistence in
Kerala. Nevertheless, in the heated atmosphere of the freedom strug-
gle it gained a hearing. Some ordinary Muslims were moved by the
message, and some intellectuals, especially in the Aligarh Movement,
found it appealing.
Other Muslims saw it differently, but events were moving swift-
ly. Vainly nationalist Muslims argued that India is one nation with dif-
ferent cultures, and Muslims are an intrinsic part of its multicultural
reality. Vainly Muslim religious leaders, who resented the Aligarh
intellectuals, argued that it was not the Hindus but the British who
were the Muslim opponents. Vainly the Indian National Congress
leaders contended that a secular democracy meant equal treatment for
all and this would be sustained in free India. Vainly esteemed Muslim
leaders like Abul Kalam Azad (1888–1958) put themselves on the line
for a united India. The mass of North Indian Muslims chose to fol-
low Jinnah and the League, the British acquiesced, and on August 15,
1947, India was divided. So also was the Indian Muslim family that
represented about 25 percent of the undivided nation’s population.
About 14 percent wound up in Pakistan and 11 percent in free India,
each segment facing a new and distinct cultural task.
The freedom movement brought Mappilas and North Indian
Muslims together more than any other factor. Mappilas had been
struggling against the European occupation since 1498, but the twen-
tieth-century passage through the Khilafat, Non-Cooperation, Civil
Disobedience, and Quit India movements had put them together
with others engaged in the same struggle. Not only did Gandhiji
and Shawkat Ali come to Calicut, but Jawaharlal Nehru in 1928
and Liaquat Ali Khan in 1944 also came to Malabar. Two Mappila
Congress leaders, Muhammad Abdurrahiman and E. Moidu Mou-
lavi, established the journal Al-Amin in 1924 to encourage Mappila
articipation in the freedom movement. After 1934 the majority of

p
Mappilas chose to be involved through the Muslim League, but most
did not accept the cultural argument for two nations that was being
voiced. As Malayali Muslims they had survived by another principle,
the idea of plural cultures in harmony.
A few Mappilas, however, thought that Malabar might possibly
become a “Moplastan” within the boundaries of free India, but in the
end that vision received little support.38 Although similar thoughts
were being floated in different parts of India before the Partition,
in the case of the Mappilas the suggestion was really an appeal for
recognition. Mappilas who put the idea forward were saying, “We
too are here. Please notice us.”39 When the Partition did come in 1947
only a few Mappilas emigrated to the new nation of Pakistan. What
that traumatic event did for them, however, was to make them more
conscious of their fellow Muslims elsewhere in India and more sen-
sitive to their hopes and fears. Also, it opened for them the idea of
“salvation by politics” that has been playing out from the birth of
modern Kerala in 1956 to the present.
Indo-Muslim Influence on the Mappilas: A Summary
The North and Central Indian Muslim influence on the Mappilas was
accidental and modest, rather than deliberate and ongoing. Never-
theless to that extent it has some significance. It is true that up to
1900 the physical contacts and cultural intersections were rare. When
the Khiljis and the Mughuls made military forays into the southern
region, even setting up small kingdoms, they did come near the south-
west coastal area but never penetrated its environs. Thus the much
earlier flow of Arab Muslims was not matched by a later entry by
North or Central Indian Muslims. We may even doubt the extent of
the northern Muslim awareness of the Mappila existence. It is true
that Ibn Battūta, the peripatetic medieval Muslim traveler, was in
Delhi from 1333 to 1342, en route to Malabar and thè Maldive Islands,
but few may have heeded his reports about the Muslims in those
regions. In a similar vein it is also true that the Calicut Zamorin’s
fame had spread as far as the Persian court of Timur’s son and suc-
cessor, Shah Rukh (d. 1447). Consistent with that ruler’s policy to send
embassies to known powers he had had also dispatched his envoy,
the historian ʿAbd al-Razzāk, to Calicut between 1441 and 1444; he
reported favorably about the standard of life and the well-being of
the Muslims there. Such visits lead to the conclusion that the trad-
ing Mappilas were probably better known among Muslims beyond

India than within its boundaries. The colonial naval dominance and
the British unification of India brought change to that situation but
the Mappilas turned inward in their outlook, rather than northward.
Under the British rule there were various administrative linkages
but no encouragement to other Indian Muslims to establish direct rela-
tions with the restless Mappilas. Some Indo-Muslim cultural influence
did reach them through the southward movement of the Nizamiyya
educational syllabus and the occasional visitation of itinerant Sufis
and teachers. However, it was not until after 1900 when the northern
engagement with modern culture began to be known among Malayali
Muslims that the contact became significant. The Aligarh-led Indo-
Muslim intellectual renaissance had a late but inspirational effect on
some Mappila reformers, and the all-India Muslim political involve-
ments made an important impact on the Mappilas from 1921 to 1947.
Of themselves, these influences were not strong enough or
steady enough to stimulate decisive change among Mappilas. The
unique and very powerful Mappila traditionalism was too culturally
dominating to yield to them. Other factors would have to enter in to
enable such change. Our next chapter deals with the reality of that
traditionalism which continues to affect key areas of the community’s
customary behavior.
4
The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism
The Mappilas entered the 1950s with a large majority in the tradition-
alist mode of thinking and acting. Thereafter the community experi-
enced a cultural transformation that affected many of its members.
In this chapter we consider the traditionalism, in the next chapter the
transformation and its excitement.
Mappila traditionalism has four mighty pillars in its structure—
the Arabic language, the Holy Qurʾān, religious education, and its
clergy. We will take up each of them in turn. These fundamentals are
important for all Muslims, but traditionalism maintains a particular
approach to each one. In the past the approach was so tightly woven,
so carefully nourished, and so dominating that on the whole it shaped
and controlled Mappila behavior. It created the Mappila public image.
It made Mappila culture imitative and static, and virtually unable to
move with the times.
The cultural story of the past sixty years is the effort of contem-
porary Mappilas to overcome rigid traditionalism and to create a new
being. That does not imply a denial of the importance of tradition.
Like the vast majority of Malayalis, Mappilas too respect the good
things of the past, and seek to retain them and pass them on to their
children. In that sense they are traditional. This attitude is illustrated
by a common Malayali practice. When a male office worker or other
employee comes home, he likes to remove the conventional trousers
and put on a mundu, a long cloth wrapped around the waist. He
finds the garment comfortable and relaxing. Mappilas like Abdulla
and Amina are traditional in that manner—they appreciate many of
their old customs and do not give them up lightly—but they also
know that some changes are necessary.
Traditionalism goes much farther than appreciation of one’s heri-
tage. It is against culture change, except in quite insignificant matters.
It implies being locked in the past. In its approach the term has special
reference to religion. A dictionary defines it as “especially excessive
73
reverence for the religious past.”1 The phrase “excessive reverence”

implies virtual idolizing. Traditionalism ignores historical factors and
contexts, unquestioningly accepts whatever comes from the religious
past and tries to make it the standard for the present. It holds that
the past was somehow pure and that nothing can change. In fact,
traditionalism fears change, resists it, and is quick to condemn what
is new and different; to that extent it is culturally fossilizing. On the
part of its leaders, it may become an ideology and a philosophy of
control. On the part of its followers, it is the way to keep the faith
and to remain secure.
In discussing the difference between being traditional and tradi-
tionalist, Jaroslav Pelikan suggests that it is like the difference between
life and death. He summarizes the distinction in this epigram:2
Tradition is the living faith of the dead;

traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.
The epigram suggests that to be traditional is to respect and to utilize

the wisdom of our forefathers, but also to realize that we now have a
new environment and we must be alert to its own realities. In short,
it means being alive to both past and present, seeking to creatively
integrate the two. To be traditionalist is to regard the behavior of the
dead as authoritative in every respect, ignoring current conditions. In
sum, it means being alive to the past, but striving to faithfully imitate
it in the present.
The two views are both visible in the contemporary Mappila
cultural experience. Their distinction becomes evident when we fol-
low Abdulla and Amina to meetings with their traditionalist friends,
Ahmad and Zaynaba.
Abdulla and Amina are going in different directions. Amina is
at the hospital, and Abdulla is walking with his friend. We follow
Amina first.
Amina’s cousin Zaynaba has been visiting her. She lives in an
interior place and cannot see Amina very often. Amina notices that
Zaynaba is anemic and not feeling well. She is worried and has decid-
ed to take Zaynaba to the nearby mission hospital. Its woman doctor
is famous for her care. They sit patiently on the benches with the
other women until they are called. The doctor decides that Zaynaba
needs an injection. As the doctor uncovers her upper arm she sees
a cord tied around it with a little box attached. It is an amulet. Mis-
chievously the doctor asks Zaynaba, “What is that?” Zaynaba giggles
nervously. She soon realizes that the doctor is having fun, and then
The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism 75
they both laugh. Amina smiles from the background. Her upper arm
is clear. Although her personal attire is quite customary, she does not
believe in charms. Zaynaba keeps the amulet on her arm. It makes
her feel safer.
It is later in the evening now, and Abdulla is walking down
the street with his friend Ahmad. Their work is finished for the day.
They are headed for the bus-stand because Ahmad also lives in an
interior place. The buses come rushing down the road with their blar-
ing horns, racing each other as they carry their overloads, narrowly
missing pedestrians who are stretching out their arms to try to get
them to stop. Nevertheless, Abdulla and Ahmad are able to have
a conversation as they walk carefully along the edge of the road.
The next day is Friday, and both will attend their mosque for the
noon prayer. In Abdulla’s mosque the speaker will give the sermon
in Malayalam. Where Ahmad is going the khātib will read an Arabic
homily from a 200-year-old collection of sermons. Abdulla asks him,
“Aren’t you tired of listening to something you can’t follow? Anyway,
it is out of date.” Ahmad is not offended because they are friends.
He replies, “I’m used to it, and it is our custom.”
This chapter is about the Ahmads and the Zaynabas of Mappila
culture. To understand them we will consider the pillars of tradi-
tionalist Mappilas—the way they approach the study of Arabic, their
method of Quranic study and interpretation, the type of religious
education espoused and practiced, and the training of religious work-
ers who are the guardians of the approach.
The Pillar of Arabic
It is often said that regulatory law called the sharia is the single most
important unitive factor in Muslim culture. It would be easy to make
the same claim for the Arabic language, especially in the case of the
Mappilas. Its impact on them has been both continuing and vital. It
is the language of their land of origin and their sacred scripture, both
sufficient reasons for their esteem. Without dismissing the Mappila
love for Malayalam, their mother tongue, their regard for Arabic is
a kind of wonder. Arguably, very few Muslim societies outside of
the Arab world can match the Mappila experience with Arabic. The
stature it holds has great emotional, linguistic, religious, and educa-
tional implications.
The emotional element underlies all else. We may sum it up with
the phrase “an undying respect.” Actually, very few Mappilas today
are fluent in Arabic apart from those who have spent some time in
Saudi Arabia or Egypt, but all share a warm conviction of its inher-
ent nobility. That feeling is evidenced by the many Arabic terms in
colloquial Malayalam, through their willingness to let Arabic be the
centerpiece of early education, and by the esteem given to those who
master its intricacies. But, above all, the Mappila regard for Arabic is
expressed in the repetition of sacred phrases.
Listen to their sound! The fundamental instinct of surrender to
the Almighty is powerfully represented by the repetition of Allāhu
akbar!, “God is greater.” The everyday phrase “Praise God!” is not
expressed by the Malayalam devatinnu stōthrum!, but rather by the
Arabic al-hamdu lilāh! The magnifying of God comes in the phrase
subhana llāhu, “glory be to God!” And the acceptance of the divine
will is expressed by the common in shā Allāh, “if God wills.” At the
beginning of a public meeting, the opening, called the bismilla, is
recited in Arabic: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compas-
sionate” (bismillāhi rahmāni rahīmi). When a Muslim formally confesses
his or her faith, it is in the Arabic words: la ilāha illa lāh wa Muham-
madu rasūl lāhi, “There is no deity but God, and Muhammad is his
messenger.” Ideally, those words should also be whispered into the
ears of a dying person, and the phrase has therefore been called “the
passport of the soul.”3
The content of these phrases is important, but the key is the
sound. Nothing elevates Arabic more effectively to the level of sacred
sound than the call to prayer (adhān). With its rhythmic chants it ser-
enades and summons the believer five times daily with these words:
Allah is most great [four times]

I bear witness that there is no god but Allah
I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah
Come to prayer! Come to prayer!
Come to salvation! Come to salvation!
There is no god but Allah!
[The call to the dawn prayer adds: “Prayer is better than

sleep.”
The call to the Friday noon prayer closes with the words:
“The prayer is now instituted.”]
The mosque service itself resounds with Arabic since the prayer of
individual worshippers (the salāt) contains various Arabic formulae
and petitions that are learned from youth. Everywhere Mappila piety
is reinforced by the Sacred Sound. The emphasis on Arabic stems from
the belief that it is the vehicle of God’s final revelation. In the devel-
opment of Mappila culture this tended to preclude its use as a liter-
ary language except for the production of some religious materials,
usually in a very simple format. Other factors are involved, however.
The first is that those who brought the language to Kerala’s shores
were sailors and traders, not teachers or writers. Second, the place
from which the language first came was not a region of high literary
culture. The first Mappilas probably came from the Hadramaut area
of Southern Arabia; it is an extended valley (wādī) between Yemen at
one end and Western Uman at the other, remote from the centers of
Arabic literary culture. Yemen had its own ancient civilization cen-
tered in the valleys that were watered by the great Marib dam, but
it was an agricultural, not a literary, culture. Similarly, the Hadramis
were engaged in agrarian and commercial vocations, and were not
the promoters of literature and the arts.
Since many Mappilas trace their descent to the Hadramaut, we
may enlarge on its cultural emphases. From pre-Roman times it was a
center for frankincense production and trade from Europe to the East.
Over the centuries the travel-loving Hadramis ranged from Mala-
bar to Indonesia.4 The Mappila cultural development was informed
by this steady linguistic flow, especially the religious language. The
Hadramis were pious, and their language was the vehicle of faith.
After the coming of Islam Tarim, the capital of Hadramaut, became
known as “a stronghold of religion” and as “the city of religion par
excellence.”5 While it was also called the city of learning, this was a
learning related to the religious sciences. It was for this reason that
an early eighth-century al-Taʿīf poet named Yazīd ibn Maqsam gave
it praise:6
Greetings Hadhramaut!
The followers of tradition, research and study know thee
Distinguished by judgment amid Barbarian and Arab
In days of Ignorance and Islam.
Such South Arabian influences ensured that Arabic would become the
dominant religious language of the Mappilas, and, indeed, no other
outcome would have been possible.
The situation differs when it comes to conversational and literary
Arabic. In Kerala Arabic could only be maintained as a conversational
tongue for the first generation of Mappilas. Thereafter, its use as a

speaking language faded in favor of Malayalam. Where a language
is unspoken it cannot develop a body of literary works, except in
restricted circles. Hence, in Mappila culture Arabic has functioned
mainly as a religious language, and only in recent years has it emerged
from that narrow perspective.
The Arabic language, however, did play a role in the devel-
opment of Malayalam itself, in particular for the Mappila usage in
Malabar where it became a dialect called “Mappila Malayalam.” This
added to the range of distinctive dialects that exist in spoken Malay-
alam. In the Mappila case there are various idiomatic nuances. For
example, instead of the standard Malayalam “yeniku manasilākunilla”
(“I don’t understand”), an uneducated interior Malabar Mappila
might say, “icciku piṭi ilia” (“I don’t have a handle on it”). However,
what gives Mappila Malayalam its special quality is not its occasional
patois, but rather its Arabic content, particularly in its religious lan-
guage. Thus, the following might be a conversation between a Map-
pila and a non-Muslim Malayali. The non-Muslim might ask, “Ningl
yewidē pōyi?” that is, “Where did you go?” The Mappila might reply,
“Nyān khutbakku pōyi,” that is, “I attended the Friday noon congrega-
tional service at the mosque.” The non-Muslim conversation partner,
however, might very well be totally mystified and walk away without
any idea as to what was said in view of the fact that the word khutba
is pure Arabic.
The final aspect of the Mappila regard for Arabic is the devel-
opment of the hybrid Arabic–Malayalam literary form. It parallels a
similar development in other indigenous Indian Muslim languages
such as Mussalmani Bengali, Musselmani Gujerati, and Musselmani
Tamil. Behind all of them lies the veneration of Arabic. In the case
of Malayalam, the letters of Arabic are attached to Malayalam alpha-
betic sounds, with additional orthography artificially made to cover
phonetics not found in Arabic. Its reader reads the Arabic script and
understands it because the sound coming from the reading is Malay-
alam! The self-deception is a tribute to both the power of Arabic
and the piety of the believer. For five centuries, from the 1300s to
the 1900s, Arabic–Malayalam became a vehicle for the production
of simple religious materials and Mappila stories and songs; it was
especially used by Mappila women who during those years were
educationally blocked. Arabic–Malayalam is now fast fading from use
in Mappila society. In our later chapter on Mappila literature we will
take up some of its chief literary productions.
The Pillar of the Qurʾān
Summary: The traditionalist approach to the Qurʾān is to emphasize

its recitation and memorization. Its position as God’s revealed Word
undergirds the concept of sacred script and sound. As to the study
and interpretation of the Qurʾān, the approach is to accept the teach-
ing of the past as mediated by the clergy.
The Qurʾān belongs to all Muslims, and all love it deeply. For Muslim
believers it is the God-given link between the divine and the human. It
is not the property of traditionalists or progressives, Sunnis or Shīʾas,
Indians or Arabs, young or old. It is God’s property. God is the Author,
and it is therefore holy. So treat it with respect! Let it guide you on
the straight path! Don’t carry it below your waist! Wrap it carefully!
The question for Mappilas has been how it should be unwrapped,
that is, used? How should its guidance be accessed? How is it to be
read, interpreted, understood, and taught? No questions are more
important for Muslims in general. In the case of the Mappilas they
have dominated community discussion for the past three generations,
and there is no doubt that the Mappila future depends heavily on
how they are answered. For the traditionalists there is no problem
with these questions. They should be answered in the same way that
they always have been over the past centuries. The essence of their
approach is reverence rather than comprehension, and the reverence
cannot be overstated. Is this not God’s Word? Its combination of
sacred sound and content and its standing as God’s ultimate gift to
humanity imply the greatest possible esteem.
Above we have discussed the importance of Arabic in the Map-
pila culture. The basic reason is certainly clear. It is the vehicle of the
Quranic miracle. The language, therefore, also has the quality of a
miracle. The two go together in traditionalist thinking. The Qurʾān
must, in the first place, be memorized and recited. Traditionalists are
not opposed to comprehension and the interpretation of the Qurʾān
(tafsīr) is an honored religious science. But they have three things to
say about comprehension:
• it holds second place to reverence;

• the literal meaning of the text must be respected; and
• the interpretations of the great teachers of the past are

authoritative.
With these affirmations we have come to the core of the traditionalist

attitude.
When Mappila traditionalist clergy uphold the miraculous qual-
ity (iʿjāz) of the Quranic language, they stand within the orthodox
theological heritage of Islam. The classical teachers did not actually
say that God speaks Arabic, but so high was their esteem that they
seemed to be saying it. The theologians taught that among His quali-
ties God has the attribute of Speech. Starting at that point, some took
the idea farther and identified the Arabic Qurʾān with God’s attribute
of Speech! What saved Islam from an apparent idolatry of language
was another theory that developed. According to it, God has spoken
all the messages He intended for humanity into a “heavenly book”
(Qurʾān 85:21f.) From time to time God’s angel of revelation would
deliver portions of this heavenly depository to various societies, each
in their own tongues. Then at last God gave the concluding revela-
tion through Prophet Muhammad in his native Arabic language. It is
God’s final message to humanity in a miraculous form.
Holding to these positions, orthodox teachers then reached the
conclusion that the Qurʾān is untranslatable. Since the language is
part of the miracle, when you take it away and substitute another
language you no longer have the real Qurʾān. In Kerala traditional-
ist Mappilas firmly adhered to this position and resisted all efforts to
translate the Qurʾān into Malayalam. It was not until the 1950s that
the intrepid Mappila reformer and scholar, C. N. Ahmed Maulavi,
completed and published the first Malayalam translation.7
Since few Mappilas were literate in Arabic, the insistence on
using the original language encouraged sound-centeredness rather
than meaning-focus. The sacred scripture was memorized and recited
rather than read and understood. Few were able to study it as a text
or to utilize it as a spiritual guide. As Mappila reformers contended,
the Qurʾān was effectively a closed book used to inculcate loyalty
and piety rather than to seek the divine intention for the present
day. There were two other results. First, the reverential memoriza-
tion degenerated into forms of near magic, a problem that we will
consider later. Second, the approach empowered traditionalist clergy,
enabling them to maintain a rigid hold on religious practice and cul-
tural behavior. While that power has been shaken in recent years, it
has not disappeared and that fact helps to account for the “some not
others” character of the community’s culture today.
That this “by heart” and ritual use of the Qurʾān represents the
soul of traditionalism is readily visible in the mosque service and the
elementary religious school curriculum, but it is also obvious in Map-
pila everyday life. The weekly markets and bookshops demonstrate
that reality. In Malayalam society there are two ways to go shopping.
One way is to go to a store; although there are general stores, a shop
is often dedicated to a specialty item like cloth, hardware, or books;
in the Muslim bookshops the Arabic Qurʾān has the prominent place.
The other way to shop is to visit the weekly market on a normal day.
The visitor can see an array of products for sale, including the sacred
scriptures, spread out on coconut mats. There are Qurʾān copies of all
styles and shapes, often with gold lettering and covers, and almost
always in Arabic. Every Mappila family will try to obtain a beautiful
copy and keep it in a prominent place in the home. Its physical pres-
ence symbolizes that the family wishes to have God’s Word at the cen-
ter of life. The feeling is reinforced by occasional home visits of lower
clergy called mullas for oral Qurʾān readings; the practice enables the
Holy Book to be read through within a certain period of time.
Traditionalist Religious Education
Summary: The traditionalist approach to religious education is to

concentrate on the madrasa training of young children utilizing rote
learning. Its philosophy leans to the ideas of indoctrination and pas-
sive acceptance. Some youth attend Arabic colleges. Adults utilize the
Ramadan period for special meetings.
“Rashid, you forgot your slate,” his mother calls out. Her little son
dashes back to pick it up and hurries to catch up with his friends. It
is already late and they must reach their religious school by 8:00 a.m.
Only after that will they go on to the regular public school. The cars
and buses pass them very carefully—no one wants an accident! When
they reach the madrasa that is located in the mosque compound the
teacher first asks them to recite al-Fātiha, the much-admired opening
chapter of the Qurʾān. On his command they launch out into the
recitation: “bismillāhi rahmāni rahīmi . . . al-hamdu lilāhi rabbul alamīn.”
The chorus of sacred sound echoes throughout the neighborhood.
Rashid and his companions are attending one of the thousands
of Mappila elementary religious schools in Kerala. Mappilas usually
call them madrasas, “place of meeting,” rather than the older term
maktabs, “place of the book.” Early in their history they also used the
Malayalam term ōthapalli, “place of recitation,” but it has gone out of
use. In other Muslim contexts the word madrasa usually designates
upper-level institutions for professional religious education, but Map-
pilas utilize the terms dars or Arabic college for such establishments.
Mappila religious education concentrates on the young. The sight of
little boys and girls passing up and down the streets with their slates
in hand is a familiar one the length and breadth of the state, and the
shrill sound of their chanting voices echoes across its space. It is an
extraordinary marvel of religious dedication.
There is nothing grand, however, in the appearance or func-
tioning of the institution itself. The madrasa is generally located in
a building near the mosque. It is a single one-room structure with a
tiled roof, often left partially open on the sides for ventilation, and
very simply equipped with a blackboard and benches. The school’s
affairs are managed by a committee of local citizens and is largely
financed by contributions. The syllabus is narrow and the pedagogy
rather primitive, concentrating on memorization and recitation. In
recent years, under pressure from reformers, the syllabus has been
modified to include beginning Arabic language instruction, the life of
the Prophet emphasizing his miraculous deeds, basic religious duties,
and a few stories of Muslim heroes; but in traditionalist madrasas the
primary focus remains virtually unchanged.
To establish the origin of this popular system we cannot look
to the educational insights of early Mappilas. They were commer-
cially and agriculturally engaged, and education was not likely to
have been a high priority. Nor can we look to the possible influence
of Mappila rulers who would endow educational institutions in the
manner of Indian Muslim emperors8; that did not happen in Maladar.
We must rather find the answer in the basic Mappila religious spirit.
From its beginning the “professed goal” of Islam was “to produce a
true believer,”9 and Mappilas shared that characteristic and goal. The
madrasa became the instrument of that purpose dictating its location
in or near the mosque; the content of instruction, the Arabic Qurʾan;
and the choice of a teacher, a religiously knowledgeable individual.
For the rote teaching style of the madrasa, the twin cultural
streams that had shaped the Mappilas provided two models. One was
the traditional Hindu pattern in which an eligible student somewhere
between the ages of eight and twelve joined a guru in a temple or
in a home to embark on the study of the Vedas. The other was the
classic Islamic pattern of a study center in a mosque or in the home

of a learned person who tutored students. Both traditions involved a
scriptural base, a long period of imitative study, a personal relation-
ship between teacher and student, and help with physical needs. As
we have seen, some of these characteristics are evident in the madrasa
ethos, so it is fairly safe to assume that Mappilas may have felt the
influence of both styles. Yet for the crystallizing of the rote style and
certainly for its persistence we must go to the tenor of the strong
traditionalism that formed in Mappila culture—it both fed on and
hardened the rote tendency. The same phenomenon is also reflected
in Muslim religious education elsewhere in India. Kaur states:10
Madrasas and maktabs have been one of the manifestations

of traditionalism in the Muslim community. It is a classic
example of how a community, passing through the traditional
phase from medievalism to modernism can continue to cling
to the traditional method of education without relating it to
the social and economic progress of the community.
Whatever its beginnings, traditionalist religious education became

increasingly fossilized in the European period when the madrasas
also became the Mappila community’s line of defense. The Europeans
could take over their trade and commerce, could isolate them from
Hindus and Christians, could coerce them in other ways, but they
could not take away the faith commitment expressed through their
mosque schools and the spirit they engendered; and behind that wall,
it was believed, faith could be preserved. Religious education became
a means for community survival. This also meant resisting every Brit-
ish effort to change the style of education.
When the British took control of the region, they believed that
they had the administrative duty to encourage modern education for
the Mappilas. Their motive was basically utilitarian. A British Collec-
tor once wrote:11 “It has long been recognized that in the long run the
best safeguard against the recurrence of Mappila outbreaks will be the
spread of education.” Mappilas did not take kindly to this educational
agenda. Resenting the British as foreign rulers and as agents of alien
philosophies, they regarded both their language and their education
as harām!, anathema! English was dubbed as the language of hell and
Western education as the passport to hell.12 In a side effect the defen-
siveness ran even to the Malayalam language itself. It was regarded
as the vehicle of the Hindu religion, and its study was discouraged.
We have earlier stated that traditionalism is both a set of habits and a

state of mind. The anti-Malayalam stance fully illustrates the state of
mind—in saying no to their own language traditionalists were saying
no to their own selfhood.
The British attempted to overcome traditionalist Mappila oppo-
sition to their educational plans by using a variety of stratagems
which they applied especially in the Malabar area. They had come
to the conclusion that by attaching secular education to the Mappila
religious education system in some way they might establish the right
credentials and achieve their goal. They had some success, but a very
limited one. Following were some of the attempts that were made:
• After 1871 British administrators tried to induce madrasa

teachers to add Malayalam and mathematics to their cur-
riculum, in exchange for financial reimbursements.
• They set up special elementary schools for Mappila chil-
dren utilizing among others mosque teachers, permit-
ting Qurʾān instruction, and allowing lower educational
standards.
• They tried making monetary payments to schools for
each Mappila child in attendance.
• They set up teacher training schools in Mappila areas in
1890; at the Malappuram training school they sought to
train mullas, the madrasa teachers, for combined secular
and religious education programs.
• After 1894 they recognized the Mappilas of interior Mala-
bar as a backward class, eligible for larger school grants
and free education for the children.
• After 1924 they attempted to introduce compulsory edu-
cation in selected areas, and from 1926 on they appointed
special educational officers to advance Mappila learning.
Statistics gathered by Professor Mohammed Ali show that these efforts

had some success, especially in the training of Mappila teachers.13 Yet
the number of pupils decreased the higher the grade level attained,
and the percentage of female students was very low. In general, the
Mappila community maintained what the British called “supreme
indifference” to their educational programs.
What was behind both the indifference and opposition was the
traditionalist mood that had virtually become the Mappila mood. Par-
ents not only failed to see any practical benefits in the new educa-
tion, but they were also content with their familiar madrasa that was
linked with spiritual well-being. K. Muhammad, a Mappila Educa-
tional Officer in Malabar, pinpointed two problems that would have
to be solved if there was to be any improvement. He said, “I would
say that real progress can be achieved only if the community realizes
the need for secular education with [within, ed.] the best traditions
of Islam.”14 His comment couples the awareness of need and Islamic
validity as the chief factors. Mappila traditionalist clergy, however,
were not interested in raising a sense of need for something they con-
sidered reprehensible, and they had declared modern education to be
un-Islamic. The madrasa held its ground as the chief instrument for
Mappila education in general, as well as religious education. It was not
until the new educational policies of the government of free India came
into effect in 1947, and until an educational revolution was introduced
by Mappila reformers in the 1960s, that this solid pillar was shaken.
The three pillars we have examined would not have sustained
the edifice of Mappila traditionalism without the critical fourth. That
is the Mappila clergy who hold the other elements together. A par-
able of that reality is demonstrated in the night meetings in the fast-
ing month of Ramadan. On those occasions a stage is erected in an
open space along with temporary lighting and a loudspeaker sys-
tem. Large crowds, including women, gather in front of the stage or
stand at the perimeter. They listen loyally and quietly for hours as a
respected cleric expounds on the meaning of the Qurʾān with a heavy
use of Arabic phrases, interpreting their significance for true Muslim
behavior. The speaker more often than not represents the traditional-
ist mood. The whole scene is an intriguing expression of Mappila
grassroots culture, but it also raises the question of who this learned
person is and what has produced his particular orientation. To find
out we turn to the fourth pillar.
Traditionalist Clergy and Their Training
Summary: The faithful Mappila traditionalist clergy did not invent

traditionalism. It was part of their larger history to which they added
their distinct contribution. Their training centers and syllabi educate
them to imitate the past and retain it to the present. By their control of
Arabic instruction, Quranic interpretation, and the religious education
of children, they shaped the community’s culture and gave it a rigid,
change-resistant form that altered its earlier adaptability.
The Types of Religious Workers
The general Islamic term for a learned person is ʿalīm (pl. ʾulamā).
Various Muslim cultures have their own terms, some general and
some related to mosque functions. In Mappila culture the category
of a religiously trained worker is covered by three terms. The first is
musaliar (“elder”). It refers to a person who has completed the older
style of traditionalist training. The second and more commonly used
term today is maulavi. It designates someone who has taken a stan-
dard training course for clergy, orthodox or progressive, and who is
frequently known for his learning. The third title, mulla, is at the low
end of the spectrum, and indicates someone who has received only
preliminary training and performs minor functions.
There are also several other terms related to specific mosque
functions, although some of the duties may be performed by one of
the above-mentioned personnel. An imām is the prayer leader at the
Friday congregational worship service, while the khatīb is the person
who delivers the sermon. The muezzīn, in Malayalam the mukri, gives
the call to prayer and performs other caretaker services. Juridical or
theological functions are carried out by a senior maulavi. A mufti is
a person who renders a learned opinion (fatwā); it may be on any
conceivable religious or cultural issue. The qādī is a judge for the pur-
pose of decisions related to the sharia, the Muslim law. Finally there
is a special Mappila category related to an inherited religious quality
that is said to be possessed by individuals called tangals, roughly
equivalent to sayyids.15 Of these dignitaries the musaliars and maula-
vis are most important in Mappila society serving as religious savants,
cultural arbiters, and community leaders. They provide the interpret-
ers and guardians of the traditionalist approach, but not all of them
represent that point of view.
The Source of the Traditionalist Clergy Style
The primary factors alluded to in relation to the first three pillars

also apply to the development of the Mappila clergy and their train-
ing. We may, however, never unravel the interplay of the factors that
produced a solid majority for the traditionalist approach. We can note
three of the most important influences. They are the narrow type of
service required in early Islam, the conservative heritage from the
South Arabian culture stream and, above all, the defensive stance
arising from the colonial experience.
The first influence goes back to the beginning of Islam when

Muslim believers memorized and repeated the Prophet’s message.
As this age group became reduced in numbers there was an urgent
need for the training of literate adults who could teach the Qurʾān in
the maktabs. Since Arabic was the local vernacular the Quranic study
was also the concurrent medium for teaching reading and writing.
As Islam spread and administrative needs increased the subject of
arithmetic was added to the syllabus, but little more. The origin of
the clergy and their type of training arose out of this fundamental
function.16 Eventually the basic curriculum and teaching style arrived
on Kerala’s coast where Mappila clergy-teachers utilized it, although
arithmetic appears to have dropped off.
A second influence was the conservative heritage of the South
Arabian culture area. We have already noted that Mappilas missed
out on the great intellectual developments in Islam that came about
after the Muslim engagement with Syrian and Greek culture. That
had been facilitated by the translation of Greek scientific and philo-
sophic works into Arabic and the Muslim acceptance of the principle
of rational inquiry. The excitement of learning stimulated a remark-
able intellectual flowering in the centers of Islam from Damascus to
Baghdad. It lasted from about 750 to 1258 CE when Bagdhad, the
capital of the Abbasid Dynasty, was destroyed by Mongols from the
East. During that period the intellectual movements generally failed
to reach far-off South Arabia and when they did they were resisted
by that conservative society. Moreover, after the Mongol debacle a
protective clergy-led conservationism became the overriding charac-
teristic of Muslim society in the Middle East (see Appendix C). Not
only did the Golden Age of the Muslim Enlightenment fail to reach
the Mappilas, what did reach them was a new spirit of defensive
traditionalism that was represented in Malabar by migrant scholars
like the Ponnani Makhdums.
The third and most important influence has already been noted.
When the colonial powers came in and were perceived as a threat to
the Islamic faith and the Mappila community’s values, protectiveness
became the basic unwritten duty of the Mappila clergy and hesitation
to change a characteristic of the society. The widely accepted function
of the clergy was to point out the dangers, to teach dīn, religion, in
unquestioning continuity with the past, and to hold the line against
new learning and social change. In technical Islamic terminology the
basic spirit of the traditionalist position is often summed up in the
term taqlīd. which signifies the principle of handing-on or imitating
the past. The training system for Mappila musaliars and maulavis
emerged from that orientation and has helped to perpetuate it. We
therefore turn next to that system and its more recent “college” muta-
tion which does not materially differ from the historical approach.
The Dars System of Clergy Training
The word dars means study center and refers to clergy training that
takes place in a mosque. Let us travel to one such institution which
is located in a busy town in Malappuram District.
Near the entrance of the roadside mosque stairs lead to the
building’s second floor that serves both as a school room and as a
lodge for about twenty students and one teacher. The students start at
an early age, after elementary education, and remain there for ten to
fifteen years under the tutelage of a single musaliar, the institution’s
teacher-warden. During his own training the musaliar has imbibed
the orthodox respect for taqlīd. In his view the learning of the early
scholars is to be cherished, repeated, and handed on to the students.
He therefore introduces them to their writings, supervises their read-
ings, and provides explanations where needed. The materials are in
Arabic but he may translate portions into Malayalam. With their great
powers of memory the students labor to retain the substance of the
writings. As the years of training unfold, a wider range of materi-
als is gradually introduced, but the pedagogical approach remains
unchanged. During their course of studies the students also learn
practical skills related to the duties of a musaliar.
The second-floor room of the mosque also serves as the student
living quarters. Acting as the warden, the musaliar supervises the
arrangements for their maintenance and care, which depend on chari-
table contributions. The main recreation of the students is walking.
When they go out into the streets in groups, they are easily recog-
nized by their white garments and turbans that are kept meticulously
clean. Their long intimate learning experience under stringent eco-
nomic restraints creates a kind of dars-ethos characterized by pious
obedience and unquestioning acceptance.
The great dars model was the Ponnani School on the coast of
South Malabar about 60 kilometers south of Calicut, which until mod-
ern times produced the bulk of the Mappila clergy. Credit for its
founding goes to the revered Sheikh Zein-ud-Dīn (1467–1521) who
is said to have constructed the large mosque in 1510,17 although its
beginning may have been earlier in the history of this ancient Mappila
town. The mosque itself will be described in Chapter 13. Shaikh Zein-
ud-Dīn and his scholarly grandson, Sheikh Ahmad Zein-ud-Dīn (d.

1581), who are respectively referred to as the Senior and Junior Makh-
dums, are certainly the ones who made it famous. They followed the
personal style of an authoritative teacher giving instruction to atten-
tive students for an indefinite number of years. The curriculum was
simple including Arabic grammar, Quranic interpretation, Hadīth,
law, some theology, ethics, and mysticism. Few textbooks were used,
among them some works prepared by the Makhdums themselves.
The best students were honored by being “called to the light,” that
is, to the central platform where the master sat, and they were then
eligible to help other students. The graduates of the program were
called “musaliars.”
There are many dars schools still in operation, although the sys-
tem has weakened. In 1991 the number was 1,074, with over 1,100
teachers and 31,000 students,18 but by that time the emphasis in tra-
ditionalist clergy training had shifted. There was growing dissatisfac-
tion with the simple dars style. Some aspiring students had begun
to go outside Kerala for their training. Their favorite venue was the
al-Baqiyyat-us-Salihat College in Vellore, Tamilnad, but a few also
attended the Dar-ul-Uloom at Deoband in Uttar Pradesh. In these
institutions they came into direct contact with the Dars-i-Nizamiyya
syllabus (see Appendix D). The outward flow of students compelled
Mappila traditionalist leaders to initiate similar clergy training centers
in Kerala.
The “College” System of Clergy Training
The new stage in traditionalist clergy training began in the 1940s with
the development of “Arabic Colleges.” We will examine the larger
scale of this development in Chapter 10, here restricting ourselves to
new clergy training institutions that were also called “colleges.” They
are essentially expansions of the dars model, upgraded in the number
of teachers and curricular offerings adapted from the Nizami syllabus.
Utilizing their own buildings they produced graduates called mau-
lavis rather than musaliars; they could sit privately for the publicly
recognized afzal al-ulama credential, which qualified them to serve
as Arabic lecturers in government educational institutions. The new
training centers have largely won the day. Even the famed old dars at
Ponnani made the transition in 1959, becoming the Maunat ul-lslam
Arabic College.
The institution that we have chosen as a typical example of this
genre is the Jāmiʿa Nuriyya College at Pattikad in South Malabar.
Launched in 1963 and serving about 300 students, it is now a premier

Sunni institution for the training of traditionalist clergy.19 The time
required for the completion of a student’s program depends on his
educational background. A typical training period covering all seg-
ments is fifteen years—five in an elementary school, five in a dars, and
five in the Arabic College. Several lecturers may be associated with
the College, their expenses together with student costs being covered
by voluntary subscriptions.
The curriculum used at Pattikad is a version of the Dars-i-Niza-
miyya utilized at the Vellore Baqiyyat, with some local alterations.
The syllabus includes Arabic, the Qurʾān, Hadīth (Bukharī, Muslim,
and Tirmidhī), tafsīr, law and theology, and some history. Shafīʿī law
is substituted for Hanafī law, and Urdu is partially replaced by an
Urdu–English combination, while some of the medieval sciences are
also omitted. The theological authorities include al-Ghazālī, especially
portions of his Ihyā; al-Baidāwī (d. 1286), a well-known compiler of
past learning; and the Egyptian fifteenth-century Qurʾān interpreta-
tion known as the Jalālaini.20 The sixteenth-century productions of the
Zein-ud-Dins, Malabari scholars whom we have met, are not neglect-
ed, including the Junior Makhdum’s Fathul Muīn, a study of Muslim
law. Sharp discipline is exercised over other reading materials that
are not included in the prescribed syllabus. As in the dars, studies
related to the functions of a maulavi are also incorporated into the
curriculum.
Both the pedagogical and learning styles at the Jāmiʿa Nuri-
yya and similar institutions are not markedly different from that of
the dars. They represent the spirit of piously transmitting, quietly
accepting, imitating, committing to memory, and reverently handing
on again. The pride and glory of the Mappila traditionalist clergy is
their loyalty to the faith received and to its perpetuation. The writer
has been with students in a Jāmi ʿa Nuriyya classroom as an observ-
er. The students sat in semi-darkness with no materials before them
for note-taking. They were listening intently to the teacher who was
shrouded in a shawl as befits a scholar, and who while seated was
reading from a classical text. As he did so, the students were striving
to commit some of the material to memory with the intent of handing
it on unchanged to their generation. Their thought world comprises
the fourth pillar of Mappila traditionalism.
The Results of the Traditionalist Clergy Training
The powerful stream of traditionalist clergy training in its various

forms produced both positive and negative effects.
On the positive side:
• The focused training over a long period of time creates a

range of skills that enable a graduate to carry out preach-
ing and teaching functions in the mosques and schools.
• The training produces sincerity, loyalty, piety and an
example of dedication.
• The training makes its graduates symbols of continuity
and preserves community traditions.
• The training helps maintain the centrality of the Qurʾān
in Mappila culture and promotes “the habits of the
heart.”
On the negative side:
• The training includes little general knowledge; this leaves

the clergy in ignorance, makes them defensive, and pre-
vents them from meeting the needs of educated laity.
• The training does not equip its graduates to explore new
Islamic applications relevant to the modern age and the
contemporary explosion of knowledge.
• The training tempts clergy to authoritarianism and exhi-
bitions of power on the grounds that they are best quali-
fied to understand what the Qurʾān intends, what the
sharia demands, and what is best for the community.
• The training tends to make details more important than
principles, and opens the door for frequent disagree-
ments among clergy, including public disputes.
• The training makes clergy insecure about secular educa-
tion, “suspicious of its purpose, critical of its result, and
negative towards its progress.”21
• Finally, the training encourages cultural stasis and inhib-
its the progress of the faithful community in the modern
world.
A Mappila religious scholar trained in the traditional style at Vellore,

C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, sees only the negative side of this picture. He
writes scathingly of the ignorant and rigid clerical attitudes, tabulat-
ing their objections to anything new and modern:22 “To study science
would shake one’s faith, English is the language of hell, drawing pic-
tures and taking photographs are taboo. . . . One cannot keep dogs,
girls should not be educated, and hair should not be long—so goes
the long list of should nots!” With equal firmness, although less viv-
idly, a modern Mappila educator, K. Muhammad, declares: “It is not
possible for inept teachers to carry out their responsibilities to lead
an ignorant people to freedom.”23
The latter comment brings us to a summation of the influence
of traditionalism. We may safely conclude that it belongs to both the
“Then” and the “Now” of Mappila culture. Its manifestations can still
be seen today even though they are no longer dominant. And tradi-
tionalist leaders continue to exercise a watchdog function over the
whole pattern of Mappila culture, ranging from personal lifestyles to
community affairs. It is not only they who harbor a dislike of change.
That feeling also belongs to the mood of many ordinary members of
the community who in good faith, and poignantly, want their culture
to be what it always was.
Yet Mappila traditionalism too is in the process of becoming
and its authority has been seriously weakened. Contemporary Map-
pila change-makers have successfully made the case that their com-
munity cannot ignore the need for improvement, the human capacity
for error, the legitimate desires to grow and keep pace with health
developments, and the fact that the Qurʾān itself (13:12) calls upon
Muslims to change their condition. By remaining stagnant for so long
in a changing world Mappila culture became a culture in crisis. It
made the community’s cultural movement, when it did finally come,
a painful and at times a tumultuous process.
We have named that movement “the Great Transition.” It took
Mappila culture from a static and blind allegiance to the past into a
dynamic engagement with the present and a hope for further trans-
formation in the future. We turn next to that final and explosive stage
in the Mappila cultural becoming.
5
The Great Transition in Mappila Culture
Four Change Factors
As the twentieth century progressed the question of the destiny of

Mappila culture could not be easily answered. What happened next
could not have been anticipated. The change came with suddenness,
so that it was in the form of an upheaval rather than a development.
The story of the Mappila cultural becoming ends with a kind of Big
Bang. The four critical change factors were: Theological Reform, Com-
munism, Modern Education, and Gulf Money. They combined in their
influence, and in combination could not be denied, producing what
we have named “the Great Transition.” It could not have happened,
however, without an element of readiness in the community.
The distance between Mappila traditionalist habit and the com-
munity’s modern development was not empty space. It was filled
with a mass of ordinary Muslims who were restive and uneasy in
spirit. They were what in other contexts might be called the silent
majority. They were in the mainstream of their cultural tradition,
many traditional rather than traditionalist, not party-affiliated but
attached to their heritage. Their lifestyle and habits were generally
established and monitored by traditionalist clergy, but they also main-
tained a personal independence that gave them perspective. And they
were worried. They knew that something was missing; something was
wrong with their society. They felt that and wanted improvement.
They wanted to be proud of themselves, their community and their
religion. But they were not analytic and tended to sublimate their
concerns rather than to articulate them.
What caused those concerns? Certainly winds of change were
blowing from every direction, and they had their effect. Mappilas
were somewhat isolated, but they were not in seclusion. They were
not immune to what they saw in the lifestyles of their non-Muslim
neighbors, what they read in the newspapers, what they heard from
their few educated members, and what they learned at the pilgrimage;
93
they knew about the changes in India. Yet all this was reinforced from
a deeper source. It came from the second of the two cultural streams
that flowed into the Mappila becoming and which was once again
making its influence felt in Mappila life—the Malayalam stream. The
Islamic cultural springs had been virtually cut off, and only a trickle
of water passed through the guarded canals. The mosques were seri-
ously unattended because there was little freshness present and the
community’s concerns were not well addressed. Not so for the Malay-
alam stream whose effervescent creative energy was gathering power
and surfacing in various ways in Malayalam society. It was also, as
it were, running below the Mappila cultural surface awaiting release.
Who knows what would have happened if some heavy influences had
not dropped on the seemingly calm surface that concealed the Map-
pila unease? The habitual traditionalist cover had to be penetrated.
Nevertheless, if the restlessness of the silent majority had not been a
reality and had not generated cultural receptivity, no outside influ-
ence could have caused the Mappila transition. The influences did
come—four of them, each in its own way critical—and they opened
ways for fresh waters to surface and flow through Mappila life. We
begin with the all-important theological reform.
Theological Reform
A quite crucial element in “the Great Transition” was the movement of

theological reform. It was a precise theological view that gave tradition-
alism its power, and further cultural developments depended on theo-
logical change. It did take place, but it was heavy going and entailed
controversy and pain. Mappilas commonly use the word “reform” to
describe what happened, but there are also other terms employed.
The Language of Reform
The Malayalam language is rich in terminology for change. The rich-

ness is a product of the society’s social diversity and its rapid change
in recent years. English adds to it another pool of words that describe
aspects of the Mappila cultural transformation: awakening and reviv-
ing, purifying and reconstructing, renewing and reforming, revitaliz-
ing and modernizing. It is not uncommon for current Mappila leaders
to refer to the movement as a renaissance, a word of French origin
that means rebirth, but since that term is utilized especially for intel-
lectual change we will somewhat arbitrarily reserve its use for our
section on educational modernization.
The Great Transition in Mappila Culture 95
The ideas of revival and reform have a solid basis in Islamic

tradition with reference to theological change. In wider Islam the
idea of renewal is expressed by the Arabic term tajdīd, while the
idea of reform is covered by islāh. Tajdīd, however, is utilized par-
ticularly in the Arab Middle East to describe a return to its noble
civilization of the past in contrast to adopting Western ways. Islāh is
a broader term that signifies improvement based on first principles.
Those first principles are the teachings of the Qurʾān and the custom
of the Prophet Muhammad as contrasted with undue regard for the
opinions of later Muslim scholars. Islāh scholars stand squarely in
opposition to taqlīd and in full support of ijtihād. Because these first
principles are regarded as those accepted by the early pious Muslim
forefathers (salaf al-sālih) the islāh reformers are also sometimes called
salafī or salafīyya. The Mappila theological reformers used all of these
terms rather lightly, preferring their own designation of mujāhid, “one
who strives.” Mujahids continues to be the popular term in Kerala
to describe the followers of theological reform in contrast to tradi-
tionalist Mappilas, who in common speech are usually called Sun-
nis. Other Mappilas who are interested in reform have preferred to
ignore all such designations and their divisive implications, content
to be simply Muslims working for the improvement of their society.
In what follows we will ordinarily use the English term “reform”
because it signifies to amend what is considered unsatisfactory and
to recover a religious direction that is said to more truly reflect the
original vision.
The twentieth-century Mappila attention to the community’s
theology reflected a broad pattern in the Muslim world, one that J.
Jansen describes as “a pattern of cyclical reform,” a repeated return
to “High Islam” and a “Higher Culture.”1 What was unique in the
experience for Malayali Muslims was that it represented the first theo-
logical reform in their history, and the connected reality that it came
about at the same time as the advent of a new and powerful modern
culture. The Mappila theological reform had four clear foci:
1. The elimination of customary practices that were regard-

ed as un-Islamic;
2. The recovery of the primacy of the Qurʾān and direct
access to its teaching;
3. The reform of religious education to make that possible;

and
4. The social uplift of the community.

The reform was in no sense a kind of “reconstruction of religious

thought in Islam,” to use Sir Muhammad Iqbal’s book title. It did
not call for a synthesis of Quranic teachings with contemporary phi-
losophy. Its scope was narrower. Its priority was the purifying of
Mappila cultural practices and a return to the Qurʾān. The practices
the reformers opposed included many that had given a distinct flavor
to Mappila folk culture.
The Founding Figures
The dynamic period of Mappila theological reform came after 1921,

but there were precursors from the late 1800s. The greater forces for
change came from the central and southern regions, outside the north-
ern bastion of traditionalism in Malabar.
The first founding figures were strong but isolated personalities
rather than leaders of a movement, trailblazers rather than representa-
tive persons. This was certainly true of the fire-eating Sayyid S. Makti
Tangal (d. 1912) from Ponnani, whose activity ranged across Kerala.
He issued strong denunciations of what he considered to be super-
stitious Muslim practices, and he was also unsparing toward non-
Muslims. Makti Tangal’s criticisms of the Muslim conditions helped
to establish the agenda of the Mappila theological reform. Chalilakattu
Kunyahamed Haji (d.ca. 1919) of Tirur was a pioneer in the edu-
cational realm and will be considered later in this chapter. He was
representative in the sense that he was a mixture of both progressive
and reform tendencies. Sheikh Muhammad Hamadani (d. 1922) from
Ernakulam District was a unique and ironic figure. We met him earlier
as a Mappila link with Aligarh. He followed the Sufi Order of Sayyid
Ali Hamadhani (d. 1385), a Central Asian mystic of the Kubrawiyya
tradition who settled in Kashmir. This is ironic because it was exactly
the “saint” practices that came under the attack of most theological
reformers. The thread that joined these quite different individuals was
their common concern for improved religious education.
The founding figure who stands out amongst all others and
whose place as the father of Mappila theological reform is secure
is Muhammad Abdul Khader Maulavi (1873–1932), He is commonly
known as Wakkom Maulavi after his birthplace near Varkkala in
Trivandrum District. As years go by he rises steadily in the Mappila
community’s memory as a fountainhead of reform and as one who
popularized its fundamental motifs. He did not produce a large body
of theological works but with daring and persistence gave leadership
to movements of change in politics, education, and Quranic interpre-
tation. He was essentially a journalist rather than a trained theologian,

but it was that vocation that enabled him to make contact with the
new thinking in the Egyptian reform movement.
From Cairo, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (1839–1897) had issued a
wake-up call to the Muslim world that made him widely known. But it
was from Al-Afghani’s younger colleague, Muhammad Abduh (1845–
1905), that Wakkom Maulavi drew his inspiration. By the time the lat-
ter had reached the first stage in his activist career Muhammad Abduh
had achieved eminence in the entire Muslim world as its outstanding
progressive-conservative theological reformer. He had attained that
stature because he advocated a moderate reform that reinterpreted
hallowed traditions in a way that the believing community could
understand and accept. In the course of Kerala developments it was
this approach rather than the more radical neo-Muʿtazilite intellectu-
alism of Aligarh that entered the Mappila consciousness.
Muhammad Abduh had studied at Al-Azhar in Cairo, the lead-
ing center for learning in Sunni Islam. At the time that Abduh attend-
ed, Al-Azhar was in the grip of post-medieval traditionalism that
emphasized learning by heart from manuals and commentaries. The
young Abduh was very dissatisfied with the approach and despaired
of learning it. He only recovered his determination to persevere in his
studies when a Sufi advisor, Shaikh Darwish, said to him: “The true
student will not fail to find what he is looking for no matter where
he is.”2 Later, as Grand Mufti of Egypt and a member of Al-Azhar’s
Council, Abduh became its guide and sought its reform. Abduh
understood the orthodox mind and could address it with empathy
and perception. But he was convinced that orthodoxy and traditional-
ism must break out of their chains, and the path to that freedom, in
his opinion, ran through the Qurʾān.
Abduh viewed the Qurʾān as a book of spiritual guidance that
interprets itself. It may be engaged directly by any believer, using
a rational approach, for reason is a person’s inner light, his or her
furqan3 or criterion “by which man discerns between truth and false-
hood.”4 Abduh sharply opposed superstition that he believed con-
flicted with God’s sovereignty and unity. He criticized the use of weak
Hadīth as proofs in theology and law, objected to dependence on past
religious teachers and called for new laws relevant to today’s world.
He encouraged education for all, including women, and appreciated
secular education. Here in a nutshell are agenda items of the Mappila
theological reform!
Muhammad Abduh traveled widely, including Europe, and
even addressed—and captivated—the House of Commons in London.
Among Muslims his reception was mixed, many clergy speaking in

opposition. “His real disciples were found among the laymen.”4 Had
it not been for the efforts of his disciple, Rashid Rida (1865–1935), a
Lebanese Syrian, Abduh’s viewpoints might never have touched the
Mappilas, nor many other Muslims. Although he lacked his hero’s
catholicity of spirit, Rida too was interested in reform, along with pan-
Islamism and pan-Arabism. In 1898 he established a journal Al-Manār
(“The Beacon”) in Cairo, which continued until 1940, and through it
he loyally disseminated Abduh’s principles. Especially effective was
his publication of Abduh’s reform Qurʾān commentary that went up
to 4:125, which he himself then continued to the end of chapter 12.
Al-Manār, with its news and commentary, became known throughout
the Muslim world as far as Indonesia, and through it Abduh’s reform
emphases spread widely.
Through Al-Manār the principles of the Egyptian reform also
reached Wakkom Maulavi,5 and he made it his personal cause to propa-
gate them through Malayalam, Arabic, and Arabic–Malayalam publica-
tions, almost entirely journals. Because of his heavy involvement in the
freedom struggle in Travancore he was limited in his time, but never-
theless launched four journals that affected the development of theo-
logical reform. He was indefatigable in forming Muslim associations
dedicated to his community’s educational improvement, and engaged
in a broad variety of other islāhi activities. But his basic concern was
to establish the independent authority of the Qurʾān in Mappila life,
apart from the opinion of past commentators, and along with that its
free rational interpretation in the light of modern needs. He said:6
With great intentionality Islam teaches that we should

both examine and consider this universe and its principles,
moreover it praises those who think in this way . . . “Do
they not consider all the realities that God has created in
the heavens and the earth?” (Sura 7:85).
To that end, Wakkom Maulavi called upon Muslims in Kerala

to recognize the validity of human reason and its pious reflections.
He declared:7
Islam is a religion that is compatible with reason; that is, it

has no principles that contradict reason. The detailed mat-
ters of a bygone era that are improbable and difficult to
interpret rationally will be judged by reason to be invalid.
The basic approach of the religion is this: If one perceives
in the Qurʾan and the Hadith some words with an appar-
ent meaning that appear unlikely, one must conclude that

another interpretation is intended, an interpretation that
does not contradict reason.
From its southern regional home Wakkom Maulavi’s influence

moved northward in Kerala, touching the different areas of his com-
posite reform: political, social, and theological. It was mediated by
other significant Mappila leaders who agreed with the validity of
his position, but also added their own insights. Through the notable
K. M. Seethi Sahib (1898–1960), who had held discussions with Wak-
kom Maulavi at the Trivandrum Law College, the latter’s reform
principles moved more deeply into the social and political realms.
Through well-known clergy like Khatib Muhammad (“K. M.”) Mau-
lavi of Tirurangadi (1886–1964) and E. K. Maulavi (1879–1974) his
views penetrated into theological orthodoxy in Malabar. It is doubt-
ful, however, if the nascent Mappila reform would have progressed
as it did if not for the activity of a remarkable society that emerged
from Kodungalur, that ancient venue of Kerala culture in the central
region. That society was called the Kerala Muslim Aikya Sankhum,
“The United Muslim Society.”
Formed in 1922 to overcome social disunity among Muslims, it
was headed by two local leaders, Seethi Muhammad and Manapat
Kunyu Muhammad; but Hamdani Tangal, who had settled there, and
Wakkom Maulavi both lent their support.8 As the Mappila Rebel-
lion came to a close, political conditions compelled other religious
scholars, including K. M. Maulavi and E. K. Maulavi to relocate to
Kodungalur. The goals of the Aikya Sankhum gradually broadened
to include the main aspects of the reform agenda. From Kodungalur
the “Islahi Movement” began to make its influence widely felt in
the Mappila community. By lectures and seminars, through literature,
and by large annual anniversary gatherings that featured noted Mus-
lims, the message went out. A group of maulavis formed the Kerala
Jamʿiyyatul ʿUlama organization of clergy to help sustain the effort.
The Aikya Sankhum itself disbanded in 1934, in 1950 delivering its
assets to the newly opened arts and science college at Feroke in Mala-
bar. In its short lifetime the Sankhum not only stimulated reforms, but
it laid a foundation for the emergence of the Mappila intelligentsia,
particularly in the educational and political fields.
The Advance of Theological Reform
A new association called the Mujahid movement inherited the mantle

of the Aikya Sankhum and carried forward religious reform efforts, par-
ticularly in the northern region. Organized in 1950 and officially named

the Kerala Nadvatul Mujahideen, it included both laity and clergy in
its members. The Mujahids made a special target of practices associ-
ated with saint veneration. On the constructive side, their efforts were
directed to making the Qurʾān and Quranic instruction available in
Malayalam and to improving the status of the community’s education.
Behind the effort was their basic philosophy that the Qurʾān is intended
to be understood and to be used by all believers as an open book.
The Mujahids did not disagree with the traditionalist belief that
the language of the Qurʾān is extraordinary and matchless. However,
they held that the principle of understanding must accompany the
admiration. The fact that before God sent down a final confirming
scripture in Arabic He had already given His revelations to various
people in their own languages underlines the point that God wants
to be understood. The Qurʾān itself, they said, again and again wit-
nesses to that principle. “We have sent it down as an Arabic Qurʾān,
in order that ye may learn wisdom” (12:2; Yusuf Ali). It is “in plain
Arabic speech” (26:195), “a confirming scripture in the Arabic lan-
guage” (46:12), in order “that you may be able to understand” (43:3).
The passages make it clear that the prime purpose of the Arabic rev-
elation was to enable Arabs, in the first place, to know God’s will,
not to make pleasing sounds; that intention, the reformers maintained,
holds true for everyone in the world. Therefore, wherever it goes
the Qurʾān must be translated into the language of the people. So
Mujahids applauded when C. N. Ahmed Moulavi (1905–1993) set out
to make the first Malayalam translation of the Qurʾān. He was a
turbulent and controversial figure, but when the first volume of his
six-volume translation appeared in 1951, it was an epic, groundbreak-
ing moment in Mappila theological development.9
“C. N.” was the last in the long train of founding Mappila
theological reformers that had commenced with Wakkom Maulavi.
It was a stirring group with outstanding abilities and a good deal
of personal courage. Inspired by those pioneers the Mujahids went
on with their combined theological-linguistic revolution. On the one
hand, they encouraged the use of Malayalam as the sermon medium
in the mosque. On the other hand, in their new Arabic colleges that
they tried to link with the university system, they introduced the
modern study of the Arabic language and literature. In addition, they
steadily lifted up the values of secular education and advocated wide
Mappila participation in it. Their controversial positions provoked
opposition, and in the end the Mujahids were compelled to establish
their own mosques and schools.
The Sunni Response to the Reform Challenge
Mappilas use the term Sunni in an unusual way. Sunni is derived

from sunna which means the custom and practice of the Prophet
Muhammad and his early followers. The majority of Muslims des-
ignate themselves as “the people of the sunna and the community,”
that is, as Sunnis. This is in contrast to the “party of the family of the
Prophet,” that is, the Shīʿas. Almost all Mappilas are therefore Sunnis
in that basic sense. However, a “disease of language” set in, to use
Max Müller’s phrase. As other names, such as Mujahids, began to be
applied to the members of theological reform movements, the term
Sunni took on a more restricted meaning in popular Mappila usage.
It now signifies those who stand for the traditionalist approach, the
guardians of the pre-modern Mappila religio-cultural heritage.
The Sunni Mappila leaders could not ignore the theological
reform movement. Ordinary Sunnis, without fully agreeing with the
reformers or joining their organizations, could see some cogency in
the reform criticisms of rote religion. The appeal that the Qurʾān is
primary in Islam and should be understood caught the popular imagi-
nation. Moreover, modernity in the practical affairs of life was under
way. Mappilas were discovering that not everything that is modern is
wrong. The call to update religious institutions therefore fell on newly
fertile soil. The traditionalist clergy sensed the danger and initially
reacted very emotionally. They were sincere in their belief that noth-
ing was wrong in their basic approach. They were not at all ready to
concede that the Mujahids were closer to understanding true Islam
than they themselves were. To them the theological and legal tradi-
tions of the past remained sacred, and they resisted the opinion that
laity enjoyed a right to the personal interpretation of Qurʾān, Hadīth
and sharia, a privilege that could only be earned by special learning.
Their measured response to the reform pressures were twofold—they
went on the attack against the reformers, and at the same time made
some superficial improvements. The Sunni religious leaders had orga-
nized themselves into the Samastha Kerala Jamiat-ul-Ulama organiza-
tion, and as early as 1930 had formally severed relationships with the
Mujahids.10 The Samastha declared them to be heretical, instructed
Sunnis not pray behind Mujahid imāms, and even forbade passing the
peace, salaam aleikum! The fierce theological acrimony among Mappi-
las sometimes degenerated into public disturbances. Youth organiza-
tions engaged in vehement controversies. Name-calling was common.
Because Mujahids criticized saint veneration, Sunnis dismissed them
as “Wahhabis,” not deserving the attention of orthodox believers.11
Nevertheless the waters of change began to seep over the dykes of

resistance.
Sunni change was sparked by a venerable traditionalist leader,
Syed Abdurrahiman Bafaki Tangal (d. 1973), a respected and power-
ful Calicut businessman and political leader. He signaled that the
time had come for Sunnis to look at the condition of their primary
religious education institutions. His lay status points to a key phe-
nomenon in the Mappila cultural becoming, and that is that the
initiatives for cultural change came largely from laity, while clergy
tended to favor unwavering continuity with the past. Wakkom Mau-
lavi himself, despite his title, was a home-taught layperson rather
than a professional ʿalīm. Before he began reading Al-Manār he had
already worked for a decade in the public arena as a press owner and
as a promoter of education. K. M. Seethi Sahib, a prominent lawyer
and the eloquent advocate of the Mappila community’s welfare and
progress, whom we mentioned above, combined the progressive and
traditional streams and became in the sociopolitical realm “the chief
architect of the Muslim revival.”12 These were not radical anarchists
seeking to upset the Muslim community, or seeking change for the
sake of change. These were Muslim loyalists who desired theo-cultural
progress, and they stood at the head of a long chain of illustrious lay
reformers who followed in their wake.
The traditionalist clergy could not remain deaf to these respect-
able lay voices. They had to make some accommodations to the times,
and they did. Although as late as 1965 they still heatedly debated the
merits and demerits of using loudspeakers in the mosque, gradually
their diatribes against “scientism” lessened and modern technologi-
cal improvements began to be accepted. The changes, however, were
restricted to non-fundamental areas. At heart Sunni religious leaders
were determined to remain in strict continuity with the past, and there
was nothing in their training to encourage them to do otherwise. E.
K. Abu Bekr Musaliar, the dean of orthodox religious leaders, argued
that the wisdom of their approach is proven by the variety of inter-
pretations found among the Mujahids. Tradition is safer than reason!
Writing in a Pattikad publication E. E. Abdul Qadir Musaliar stated
that one cannot sweep away the past like dry leaves. Nor can one
do away with the scholarly consensus forged by the noble al-Shafīʿī.
Ijtihād is not a principle meaning “only what they believe.” Its mean-
ing is restricted to the learned effort to gain knowledge about the
basic duties prescribed by Islamic law. With its words “ask those who
know,” the Qurʾān supports the principle of religious authority. Abdul
Qadir concludes: “Except for the mujtahids [legal scholars, ed.], the
people of the sunna believe that taqlid is necessary for everyone.”13
It is hard to imagine a more thorough-going resistance to theo-
logical and social reform, but that also occurred with the rise of a
new Sunni development in North Malabar. There another Abu Bekr,
this time A. P. Abu Bekr Musaliar, established a massive center at
Karanthur, which among its several institutions included a rival tra-
ditionalist training school, the Daʿwa College. The “A. P.” approach
varied from the “E. K.” position in its firm stance against any change
whatever, its emphasis on law, its rejection of Malayalam education
for Muslim girls, and its opposition to religiously based participa-
tion in democratic politics. With this approach the Karanthur group
staked its claim to Sunni loyalty, and in the 1980s and 1990s waged a
fierce struggle with the older Pattikad traditionalists.14 To most ordi-
nary Mappilas the discussion was bewildering in its intensity, and
many began to look to other leaders who upheld the core of the
community’s tradition but were at the same time forward-looking
and noncontroversial. The most outstanding of these centrist leaders,
whom we shall meet later, was Shihab Tangal of Pannakad in South
Malabar (d. 2009), who ranks as the most important Mappila leader
of the present era.
Theological reform was the cornerstone of the Great Transition
in Mappila culture. It could not have happened otherwise. The reli-
giously minded Mappilas required a religiously based demonstration
of the need for and the possibility of healthy change. Yet, even though
theological reform shook the traditionalist structure, of itself it would
not have produced a populist surge without the other change fac-
tors. So we turn to the most revolutionary of these, the unpredictable
impact of communism on Mappila culture.
The Impact of Communism
Communism in India as a whole presented a powerful message that

attracted a significant following in certain regions. One of the areas
where its influence was most deeply felt was Kerala. There com-
munism became a change agent that affected all the communities in
the state including Muslims. Its impact on the Mappilas can only be
described as extraordinary. The old adage that Islam is automatically
a bulwark against this kind of ideology had to be laid aside in the
light of the Mappila experience.
The roots of what happened are to be found in the Kerala politi-

cal development. After its foundation in Kerala in 1906, the Indian
National Congress continued as a unified body until the mid-1930s.
It was very active in the Mappila areas. Its members, however, fell
into two distinct groups—on one side were the moderates who abided
by the nonviolent theory and strategy of M. K. Gandhi; and on the
other were those on the left who regarded that approach as unreal-
istic. In 1934 the leftist group organized themselves as a unit of the
Socialist Party, but still within the Congress. One of its leaders was
E. M. S. Namboodiripad from South Malabar who later became the
leader of the State Communist Party. Also working within the ambit
of the Congress was a nationalist Muslim group led by Muhammad
Abdurrahiman. Thus, at an early stage socialist-minded Hindus and
Muslims were learning to walk together in a common cause, experi-
ence that bore later fruit in the Communist Party.
The coalition that this represented did not hold together in the
final stressful decade of the freedom movement’s activity leading up
to 1945. When World War II started both the National Congress and
the Muslim League refused to endorse the Indian participation to
which the British government had unilaterally committed the nation.
These two major national parties wanted a guarantee on the freedom
of India in return for their participation, but the British were loathe to
offer it. It was a standoff. The freedom struggle went on, even as two
million Indian soldiers joined the allied forces on a volunteer basis
and made major contributions on various fronts. In Kerala the leftist
members of the Kerala Congress mounted a violent “anti-imperial-
ist” agitation against the war that was quelled by British forces. The
Indian National Congress suspended the Kerala branch for this action,
whereupon the leftists broke away, and by 1940 they emerged as the
independent Communist Party of Kerala. After 1941 when the Soviet
Union entered the global conflict, the Communist Party set aside its
protest against the war, but not its opposition to British rule.
After the war ended, in the short period from 1949 to 1956, the
three separate political regions within the boundary of the ancient
society of Kerala, namely Travancore in the south, Cochin in the cen-
ter, and Malabar in the north, coalesced into the current state of Ker-
ala. The Communist Party strongly participated in that development.
It had been gaining speed since 1940, proclaiming itself not only as
the advocate of a united Kerala but also as the anti-corruption party
and as the voice of social justice. Its violent 1941 agitations against
the Government of Travancore and its British-appointed Resident, in
its stronghold of Alleppey District helped to bring about the integra-
tion of Travancore and Cochin into one political unit in 1949. Then it
joined with the Congress and other parties in a nonviolent agitation
for a united Kerala that finally was formed on November 1, 1956, as
a result of the Central Government’s decision to establish linguistic
states. All Malayalis rejoiced as they ushered in a new day.
The formation of Kerala liberated the burning political instincts
of its citizens, and political action became hot and heavy. The Com-
munists moved very quickly. In 1957 in the first state elections, the
results were so surprising that they attracted national and global
attention. In that ballot, winning 35.3 percent of the votes, the Com-
munists and their supporters captured 65 out of the 126 seats in the
Legislature and were able to form a government. As M. R. Masani
states: “This was the first instance of its kind all over the world when
Communists were able to secure power on the basis of free and fair
elections.”15 Among the Communist voters were many Mappila Mus-
lims. Communist influence had swept into Mappila society. It is not
possible to accurately number the Mappilas who voted Communist
then or in subsequent elections, but some estimates go as high as 25
percent of the eligible voters. Perhaps more significant is the visible
impact of communist ideology on the thinking of traditionalist Map-
pilas and their behavior. Such an astonishing development requires
explanation. We point to three decisive factors. In the first place com-
munism slipped into the Mappila consciousness through the political
loophole, not as an anti-religious philosophy or even as a compet-
ing religion. On Islamic grounds Mappilas know how to relate to
other religions. Christians are ahl-kitāb, “people of the book,” with
whom Muslims have a specially defined relationship. As for Hindus,
a practical understanding had emerged in India—they could tacitly
be included under the same Quranic provisions as Jews, Christians,
Zoroastrians, and Sabaeans, that is, as people with whom co-existence
is possible under normal conditions. Thus Islamic law provided guid-
ance for intercultural relationships. The same could not be said for
communists. Communism did not come as a religion, and it could
not be dismissed as a failed or false philosophy on that count. To
make it more difficult, in Kerala communism also softened its classi-
cal criticisms of religion as “the opiate of the people.” Rather, it came
as a social message that penetrated Mappila psychology, and Muslim
defenses were not adequate to resist the influence. This was true of
other religious communities as well as Muslims.
The second and crucial factor in the communist impact on the
Mappilas was the communist message of social justice. That spoke
volumes to the depressed and hurting sections of Mappila society. The
large majority of Mappilas in many areas were abysmally poor. The

communist message came to them as an announcement of hope in
this world. It would not be necessary to wait for the Paradise above
in order to share in a better life. That prospect was available now. All
that was needed was to give support to the Communist Party! The
loudspeakers said it all. We will do away with the inequities that are
causing your suffering. We will redistribute the land. We will raise
the salaries and living standards. We will make jobs available. We
will give women full equality. We will overcome the darkness—the
darkness of communalism, of religious feudalism, of corruption and
oppression. We will overcome them all on your behalf! The message
resonated with needy Mappilas. This was not abstruse theology for
the few. It was good news for the masses. The poor and the young, the
teachers and workers, and many women responded. Ayesha was one.
She led the Communist parades down the street, raising the red flag
and leading the cry: “Communist Party, Zindabad!” It was a politi-
cal slogan, but also a cry of hope. There was more than one Ayesha.
Religious traditionalists had few answers. Vainly religious lead-
ers of the Mappila community took up the cudgels and declared:
“Communism is a false religion!” and pronounced fatwās against it.
Many Christian leaders took a similar position against what they con-
sidered godlessness and materialism, but to no avail for the Commu-
nists simply changed their approach. When they saw that religious
adherents were upset about direct attacks on religion, instead of out-
rightly denouncing it and promoting atheism, they now declared faith
in God to be a private matter. It has no place in the public realm or
in politics. Thus they hoped to bypass the religious opposition by
compartmentalizing its sphere of influence and thereby taking it out
of the discussion. While the tactics did not really deceive most Ker-
alites, for the time being it satisfied the common citizens. They could
now vote Communist and still keep their religion without a sense of
conflict, whether Muslim, Hindu, or Christian. Many Mappilas did
not and still do not hesitate to give their votes to Communist parties,
quietly ignoring the worried proclamations of the mosque.
The third factor that furthered communist influence among
Mappilas was the willingness of other political parties to cooperate
with Communist parties, in particular the Muslim League. The role
of the Muslim League had ceased elsewhere in India after Partition,
but the party survived and gathered energy in Kerala. Although not
all Mappilas supported it, the majority stood up for the League. To
maintain that status and to contend with the social challenges put
forward by other parties, the League leaders had to deliver practical
results. How could the League do so as a permanently minority party

with a limited number of seats, never exceeding 15 percent in total? It
had no recourse but to engage in coalition politics, and that involved
the Communist parties. Choosing the practical approach and ignor-
ing basic differences, Muslim League leaders resolved on a policy of
working with Communists if that seemed in the best interests of the
Muslim community. It was a definitive cultural phenomenon when
politically Mappila Muslims cooperated with those whom they reli-
giously denounced.
What made the decision even more striking was the fact that the
Muslim League did not hesitate to collaborate with the most radical
Communist group—its Marxist wing. Political parties in Kerala have
always had difficulty holding together, and every major party has
experienced a split.16 In 1964 the Communist Party divided into the
Communist Party of India (Right) and the Communist Party of India
(Marxist). The former lined up with the Congress Party and was loyal
to the Soviet Union, but the Communist Party (Marxist) was by far
the most important in Kerala.17 Its leader, E. M. S. Namboodiripad,
minced no words in regard to its policies. Namboodiripad had been
a wealthy Malabari Brahmin from Perintelmana where he had given
away his family possessions in devotion to communist principles and
had burned his sacred thread. He took Marxist theory seriously. His
view of the democratic system was purely utilitarian. The Marxists
would make use of it for their purposes but not be beholden to it.
He declared:18
The CPI(M) has no illusions of peaceful transformation

through the parliamentary path. It adheres to the Marxist-
Leninist approach to the problems of social transforma-
tion . . . In mobilizing and preparing the masses for
revolutionary action, however, the party attaches great
importance to the struggle in the parliamentary arena.
As to working with religiously based parties, the same principle

applied. He would work with them, but at the root level he remained
completely committed to “uncompromising secularism” and was the
advocate of “a merciless struggle against all the manifestations of
obscurantism.”19 This was well-known, and in 1959 Namboodiripad
had been declared an enemy of the faith by Mappila religious leaders.
Nevertheless, the Muslim League chose to associate with the
CPI(M), joining in its first coalition government in 1967. The fortress
walls of Mappila traditionalism were thereby being breached. The
constant need to make political accommodations, to agree with what

was less than Islamically perfect, and to change from time to time, was
bringing a modifying element into Mappila culture. More important
was the impact on the rank and file of the community. Ordinary Map-
pilas could hardly be faulted for concluding that if one can cooperate
with a communist party, one could also heed its point of view and
vote for it at will.
Through such channels, then, the communist approach to life
affected Mappilas in a variety of ways and with unexpected strength.
It also brought a stirring challenge to the Muslim community—there
are things that need to be changed! The biting Marxist social critique
was now being raised within the Mappila family. Whether card-hold-
ing Communist Party members, voters, sympathizers or observers,
they made social change a conversation topic for Mappilas, and the
most radical ideas received a hearing. Values and priorities at grass-
roots levels were under examination. The Malayalam stream of cul-
tural influence was once again running strongly into the life of the
Muslim community, which was forced to consider new adaptations.
It would not be surprising if some traditionalist clergy thought that
the end of the world was near!
In the following points we will try to sum up the main prac-
tical effects of the communist movement on Mappila thinking and
behavior:
a. It opened the door wider for freedom of thought and

expression, including the right to be critical of existing
conditions;
b. It highlighted the need for Mappila leaders to be social-
ly concerned, and among clergy it stimulated thinking
about Islamic socialism;
c. It gave support to the struggle against religious
communalism;
d. It underscored the theological critiques of ignorant and
superstitious practice;
e. It radicalized sections of the Muslim youth, often pro-
voking turbulence and disrespect of traditional authority
in both society and family;
f. Through such governmental legislation as the Kerala
Reform Acts (1969, 1971) it alleviated some of the most
pressing Mappila disabilities;
g. It made labor unions, which included Mappilas, power-

ful instruments of change for the worker class;
h. It elevated the status of women, a development symbol-
ized by the appointment of a Mappila woman, Ayesha
Bai, as the Deputy Speaker of the state assembly in the
first Marxist government;
i. Through a linguistic policy of simple pungent Malay-
alam stripped of its Sanskrit ornamentations, it contrib-
uted to the development of realistic Mappila literature;
and
j. It produced some modification of traditionalist religion,
some diminuation of regular involvement in religious
affairs, and in a few cases acceptance of the materialist
critique of religion.
Time has not overtaken an observation that we first made a quarter

century ago; “There has been no greater impact on the Mappila com-
munity than the communist one, and no lesser impact would have
shocked the community into wakefulness.”20
While theological reform modified Mappila attitudes from the
religious point of view and communist critiques shook them from a
social perspective, it was modern education that provided a practical
channel for change. We turn next to this vital element in the Mappila
cultural transition.
Modern Secular Education
The arch over the gateway is impressive. Through it you can see the
broad drive that leads to a central multistoried building. Students,
male and female, are walking along the drive, engaged in energetic
discussion. Surely there is nothing special in this sight—after all, col-
leges have been visible in education-minded Kerala since the 1870s!
Yet look again. The great archway is built in Indo-Saracenic style
with turrets. It is a college under Mappila auspices. It could not have
been seen before the mid-twentieth century. Behind the sight lies a
remarkable tale of a sudden outburst of modern secular education in
the Mappila community, bringing significant culture changes in its
wake.
By modern secular education we mean the kind that is now
routine in Indian government schools. “Modern” means up-to-date
in the learning offered, from the humanities to the sciences, together

with a free and rational pursuit of knowledge. “Secular” implies hav-
ing to do with the temporal world; it excludes any specific religious
base or bias, but in the Indian usage it includes a concern for ideals,
commending respect for the rights of all religious traditions. “Mod-
ern” and “secular” were not easy ideas for Mappilas to absorb in the
light of the community’s rooted traditionalist training. Educational
pioneers had to face stiff opposition and needed to be both coura-
geous and creative in introducing the concept. The theological reform-
ers, by raising the right of independent thought, helped greatly. The
communist demand for free thinking, especially on social issues, was
an important stimulus. Nevertheless, this was not an easy road for
Mappilas to travel.
The national education policy in free India after 1947 created an
opening for Mappila educational change, but it took two decades and
some heroic effort to take advantage of it. The resistance to modern
secular education was deeply engrained in the traditionalist Map-
pila psychology. The national policy of universal education at lower
primary levels did require traditionalists to modify their opposition
and they adjusted the madrasa system to the timetable of govern-
ment schools, allowing children to attend; but they maintained their
opposition to higher levels of education, especially the college level.
The first and major problem of the educational reformers was to con-
vince their community that modern higher education was crucial for
its welfare and not contrary or dangerous to Muslim faith. It was
not at all guaranteed that they would be successful, but in the end
the bulk of the members of the community simply got tired of being
considered backward and swung the course of events.
The Mappila educational reformers had yet another question
to deal with, however, and that was the Muslim principle of unity
(tawhīd). They were not interested in or supportive of the negative
Marxist form of secularism that arbitrarily separated material and
spiritual concerns. They did not want their advocacy of modern secu-
lar education to be misconstrued as an abandonment of the spiritual
dimension in the educational process. This concern was a common
one in India, not confined to Muslims. It had produced many thought-
ful ideas that reflected the particular Indian understanding of the
term “secular” with its emphasis on tolerance, mutual respect, and
communal harmony.
India’s national leaders had agreed that in the pluralist state
of India there could not be any real alternative to secular education.
That was the principle embedded in the Constitution, and that was
certainly also the view of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, the first Min-
ister of Education in free India. A loyal Muslim and a great Quranic
scholar, he knew that there was tension in the situation for Muslims
who maintain a holistic view of life, but he believed that it was a cre-
ative one that could lead to positive solutions. In a public Convocation
Address at the Muslim University of Aligarh in 1949 he declared:21
I think you will agree that the educational set-up for a secular
and democratic State must be secular. It should provide for
all citizens of the State the same type of education without
any distinction. It should have its own intellectual flavour
and its own national character. It should have as its aim
the ideal of human progress and prosperity.
At the same time, the Maulana also held strong views about the
importance of religious education, and he believed that there is a
place for it within the secular system.
Azad affirmed that although we have no alternative to secular
education, “in India we cannot have an intellectual mould without
religion.”22 He recognized the difficulties in achieving this inclusive
educational goal, especially since he was disinclined to reduce reli-
gious education to moral education,23 but he was confident that a
solution would be found. He accepted that there would always be
scope for separate institutions with “a special type of learning,” but
he firmly believed that the task of religious education should not be
left in the hands of private parties consumed with “over-religiosity”
and “bigotry.” The West has the problem of “over-rationality” but
the Indian problem is the reverse. If we want to overcome the abuse
of religious education, “the salvation lies not in rejecting religious
instruction in elementary stages, but in imparting sound and healthy
religious education under our direct super-vision so that misguided
creedalism might not affect children in their plastic age.” Reflecting
this opinion, basic education in Kerala State for a time included select-
ed readings from various sacred scriptures. Although that practice has
largely passed by, the strong concern for spiritual education remains
a constant factor in Malayali society.
The views of some leading Mappila educational thinkers bore
some similarity to those of Abul Kalam Azad. For them, neither the
traditionalist desire to exclude secular learning nor the Marxist wish
to exclude the spiritual element reflected the Islamic ideal. Prof. V.
Muhammad of Feroke College enlarged on the desire for unitive
education:24
One more step forward is to be put on the path of the

educational progress of the Moplahs. They should have
a unified scheme of education. The present dichotomy of
education into “religious” and “secular” which is unreal
and unnatural should go. The religion of the Moplahs,
Islam, doesn’t divide education into worldly and other
worldly compartments. Education is an act of piety. It is
not a means of earning livelihood alone, nor is it meant
to make of man a mere bundle of information only. It is
intended to make him a full man, and to prepare him for
a successful life both in this world and the Hereafter. This
fact has been realized by educational thinkers and attempts
are afoot to put it into practice.
This general perspective is shared by sincere members of other reli-

gious communities in Malayalam society, but the secular principle
means that the idea of holism is limited in its possible applications.
In Kerala a system of management schools has been developed that
under certain conditions allows for the appointment of selected teach-
ers, certain curricular emphases, and the intentional development of
a spiritual atmosphere.
With this as our background, we now address the stirring events
of the Mappila educational transformation. A growing number of lay
leaders and some clergy simply wanted progress and did not fear it.
They were not alarmed by traditionalist cries of “Islam is in danger!”
They were aware that in the Islamic Golden Age all fields of knowl-
edge had been open to Muslims. Nor did they mind that the impetus
for modern secular education had originally come through European
influence because their priority was to do that which was practically
best for the welfare of their community. They saw the Christian and
Hindu communities moving forward by leaps and bounds in eco-
nomic and social affairs, and were convinced that education had a
lot to do with that success. They yearned for more respect for their
community’s cultural standards. The North Indian Muslim educator,
S. Abid Husain, did not speak for them, but his words expressed
their thinking:
It will be generally conceded that all Muslims, and especially

the Muslims of India, must adjust themselves to the various
trends of the modern age to the extent to which they are
not in conflict with their fundamental philosophies of life.25
He then went on to add:
Without higher education Indian Muslims cannot tackle

the difficult task on which depends not only their progress
but their very existence, namely that of an enlightened
interpretation and application of the old eternal values to
the new changing conditons.26
Throughout Mappila society sentiments similar to these were being

expressed in one way or another—Mappilas had reached a cultural
divide.
As far back as the pre-World War I period a “South India Moham-
edan Association” had been formed in Madras to promote Western
education for Muslims. Since Malabar was a district of the Madras
Presidency, it was natural for a few Mappila students to take advan-
tage of this program which included free hostel accommodation. It
was not in Malabar, however, that the lamp of Mappila learning was
lit. It was Muslims in southern and central Kerala, then called Tra-
vancore and Cochin, residing in close proximity to their progressive
neighbors, who took the initiative.
It was first expressed in the high school movement. In 1915
Alleppey Muslims aroused by Wakkom Maulavi founded the Lajnathul
Mohammediya Society that eventually established an English High
School for Muslims (1918). The high school had received permission
to teach Arabic; in the opinion of Wakkom Maulavi and others that
would attract otherwise reluctant Muslims to secular education. In
Cochin State in 1919, the Muslim Education Association was formed
and the Munnivirul Islam High School was set up in Ernakulam. The
Aikya Sankhum that followed in 1922 became a seminal force for
modern education. In the same year in Calicut the Himayathul Islam
Sabha founded a high school that combined secular education with
Arabic and Islamic studies. It was the first formal entry into modern
education by Malabar Muslims, but the real breakthrough would still
take more decades. The high schools were important, but it was the
college movement that was most significant in making modern educa-
tion a living reality and force for Mappilas.
From time to time some Mappilas had attended the available
post-secondary institutions in Malabar and had understood their
significance. They included the Zamorin College in Calicut, which
became an affiliated college of Madras University in 1879; the Vic-
toria College in Palghat, begun as a locally funded college in 1888,
was also assumed by the government in 1919; the Brennan College in

Tellicherry, which arose in 1890 from a school endowed by Edward
Brennan, a Master Attendant of the Tellicherry Port; and the Malabar
Christian College in Calicut, sponsored in 1907 by the Basel Evan-
gelical Mission. Mappilas appreciated these institutions but longed
for a similar one under Muslim management, hoping that thereby
more Mappilas would be challenged to seek higher education. The
situation did not become ripe for that development before the 1940s.
Then, a symbolically dramatic event took place through the formation
of Farook College at Feroke, near Calicut.
Ahmad Ali Abussabah (1906–1971), a graduate of Al-Azhar Uni-
versity, was the catalyst for the development that in a small way did
for the Mappilas what Sir Sayyid’s Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental Col-
lege did for North Indian Muslims, eight decades earlier. At Feroke a
Muslim philanthropist encouraged by Maulavi Abussabah donated 28
acres of land for an educational enterprise. There the Maulavi estab-
lished the Rowzathul Uloom Association that sponsored an Arabic
College, which still goes by that name. That was only the beginning,
however. In 1948 the Association established the first Muslim-spon-
sored arts and sciences college, encouraged by a provisional affiliation
granted by the University of Madras. Muslim leaders of note united
to provide the needed endowment. Syed Moideen Shah, the first prin-
cipal, grasped the helm and started the voyage of the new residential
college with 5 faculty and 32 students. His successor, K. A. Jaleel,27
for a span of 22 years led the institution forward to its present stand-
ing as the premier Mappila effort at modern secular education in an
Islamic context. The institution, now affiliated with the University of
Calicut, has thousands of students studying in numerous academic
streams, a significant percentage of them being women. From its halls
have passed out a stream of intellectually alerted students who have
perceived no conflict between true learning and true faith, who think
for themselves, and who have emerged as leaders of the Mappila
cultural becoming.28
The Mappila forward progress into modern education was now
irresistible. Had Feroke been only an isolated development, the conser-
vative reluctance might have offset its influence, but it was followed
by other similar efforts. In Kollam, led by A. Tangal Kunyu Musaliar
(1887–1966) a College of Engineering was established in 1958, later to
be followed by an arts and sciences college and an institute of man-
agement. In 1965, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi spearheaded the establish-
ment of a college similar to Feroke at Mampad in the heart of interior
South Malabar. At Tirurangadi Muslims led by M. K. Haji had opened
an orphanage, following the 1943 cholera epidemic. Subsequently, the

Orphanage Committee founded various other educational institutions
including, in 1968, an arts and sciences college named the Poker Sahib
Memorial Orphanage College. Various other educational associations
sprang up, but nothing exceeded the stimulus of the Muslim Educa-
tion Society whose contribution to the Mappila cultural development
well deserves the frequent accolade of “epoch-making.”
It was a charismatic professor of medicine at the Calicut Medi-
cal College, Dr. P.,K.,Abdul Ghafoor (1931–1964) who led the way to
the formation of that dynamic lay movement. Together with other
young Muslim professionals, many of them doctors, they formed the
Muslim Education Society (MES) in 1965. Its stated purpose was to
further the progress of the Muslim community in the intellectual,
social, and economic fields. The founders themselves had experienced
the benefits of scientific education and their personal horizons had
broadened. When they said that modern education is a good thing,
they spoke from personal experience and carried conviction. Loudly
and clearly they called for revolutionary change.
Everywhere in the state aroused Muslims rose to their support.
It was as though a lid had been removed and long-suppressed desires
were bursting forth. Unquestionably, a thrilling moment in Mappila
cultural history! By 1967 the MES leaders had laid the foundation
for a new arts and sciences college at Mannarghat—for which the
revered Sunni religious leader, Pukkoya Tangal, conducted the open-
ing prayers! Two years later they laid the foundation for their first
hospital. In the next two decades the creative burst of energy did
not wane until it had produced 6 colleges, 14 hospitals, and 98 other
social institutions. The latter included parallel colleges, student hos-
tels, lower schools, orphanages, industrial training centers, commer-
cial institutes, adult education centree, and the list goes on.29 The
upsurge of activity attracted all-India attention. As one result, in 1970
the All India Muslim Education Conference met for the first time in
Kerala at Feroke. The Great Transition was being noticed by other
Indian Muslims.
Traditionalist opposition to what has happening was greatly sub-
dued by the MES success. It became vocal again when MES leaders
suggested using zakāt contributions, that is, prescribed alms for the
poor, to help found job training centers. Cries of bidʿa (innovation)
arose, and the MES leaders were called kāfir (unbelievers)! Outwardly,
the reformers paid little attention to the concerted attacks. They knew
that they were not skilled in the technical religious sciences. Their
approach to Quranic directives was intuitive and selective rather than
learned; they did not, and could not develop an Islamic theology of
social concern. But they believed that what they were doing was in the
spirit of Islam, and in the main the general community was on their
side. Inwardly, however, the reformers were shocked by the “un-lslam-
ic!” charges hurled at them. In their distress they became more openly
critical of what they deemed to be clergy ignorance, backwardness,
and close-mindedness. Believing in the legitimacy of their approach
they persevered in their effort to finance institutions with the help
of zakāt donations. The MES leader, Dr. Ghafoor, put it simply: “The
MES is going forward to create a revolution of the mind.” And this
they and many others, by their combined efforts, succeeded in doing.
We will not follow the progress of modern education further at
this point, leaving to Chapter 11 the description of its contemporary
profile and the traditionalist response through a series of Arabic col-
leges. The educational renaissance did produce a major change among
Mappila youth. The existence of Mappila-managed colleges reassured
parents regarding the validity of secular education. Mappila parents
now saw hope for their children beyond early marriage and the relent-
less search for menial employment. Within a half century the Mappila
community moved from the position of having no post-secondary
institutions to operating 28 arts and sciences colleges and 12 profes-
sional colleges!29 Rapid progress was also being made in staffing the
new institutions with Muslim personnel. Everywhere Mappila young
people began going to college where they met the world of ideas, criti-
cal research, analytic problem-solving methodologies, and unfamiliar
technologies, all leading to opportunities for better jobs. It was new
terrain and clearly the journey was culturally affecting Mappila youth.
Yet the silent majority of traditional Mappilas could not help but be
proud. The achievements at the post-secondary level also stimulated
educational reform at lower levels. With a kind of tsunami effect the
educational explosion validated the culture of modernity, producing
waves of influence on Mappila behavior beyond the college campus.30
The following observations summarize some of the main conse-
quences of the educational development:
a. Higher secular education reinforced the rational element

in the Mappila approach that had been introduced by the
theological reformers.
b. The educated Mappila laity now assumed a stronger
role. A new wave of potential leaders arose from the col-
lege ranks.
c. The number of Mappila college graduates increased

greatly, and their job prospects improved. The education-
al system itself provided new employment opportunities.
d. Student attitudes toward certain community-habits
became both disdainful and critical. At the same time
modern customs became part of their behavior—even
female students attended rock concerts!
e. Women’s liberation received a boost. In some institutions
female students equaled or exceeded male students in
number.
f. Clergy leadership was still respected, but the respect
would now have to be earned rather than taken for
granted.
g. Mappilas stepped out of their isolation and became open
once again to fresh cultural engagements. The concept of
culture change based on the welfare of the community
was validated.
h. The expectation for the material benefits of modem cul-
ture increased.
The last point brings us to the final factor in the Great Transition,
the enabling influence of Gulf money. It is universal experience that
higher expectations which cannot be realized create frustration and
unrest. The Mappila community was partially saved from that sad fate
by the unexpected injection of new financial resources from outside
its boundaries that enabled progress in material culture. We now take
up that factor, with its positive and negative effects.
The Impact of Gulf Money and Gulf Custom
With self-assurance he descends from the taxi that has brought him
from the airport. His huge cardboard boxes and other luggage are per-
ilously perched on the roof and protrude from the rear of the vehicle.
He is dressed in an expensive shirt and trousers, and a costly watch
glitters on his wrist. His hair is carefully groomed. When he puts on
his dark glasses he becomes complete and steps forward confidently.
He is the Gulf Returned Man, a new Mappila. He is quite unaware
of his cultural symbolism. Only a high school graduate, he bears the
aura of new wealth. His family crowds around him, and he is very
glad to be home again.
What produced the Gulf Returned Man? What is “Gulf money?”
We will first look at their origin.
The Phenomenon of Gulf Wealth
Its Origin
Before and after the advent of Islam, Arabs came across the Arabian
Sea seeking the black gold or pepper, and the movement gave birth
to the Mappilas. Many centuries later Mappilas have made the same
trip but in reverse, this time seeking for “white gold,” that is, Ara-
bian silver in the form of salary checks for foreign labor. They do not
travel on dhows or even on modern ships, but by plane from Calicut,
Cochin, or Mumbai, joining a seemingly endless stream of foreign
workers to the Arabian Peninsula or Persian Gulf states. There they
earn the wealth that enables new lifestyles and gives their families the
opportunity to participate in the material benefits of modern culture.
What produced the development was the discovery of oil which
was first found in quantity in Iran in 1914, in Bahrein in 1932, in
Kuwait in 1938, and in Iraq in 1939. The discoveries in these areas had
little effect on the populace along India’s western coastal region. From
Bahrein, however, geologists looked across the water to the shores of
Arabia and were sure that the same conditions existed there. The Brit-
ish had received a concession for oil exploration in 1923 but had not
taken advantage of it. Abdul Aziz ibn Saʿud, master of Arabia, was
desperate for funds in the midst of the international depression. The
king declared to Colonel Biscoe, a British diplomat: “I swear by God
as a Muslim that I have no money for my children, for my family,
and I know not if they will have money for food and clothing.”31 He
invited Standard Oil of California to make a search for oil, for which
he received a welcome $35,000. Out of such humble beginnings came
a mega-economic boom.
After five years of effort the American engineers decided to
deepen Well #7, which they had earlier dug into the Damman Dome
near Dhahran. When they did so, on March 16, 1938, they tapped into
an enormous flow of oil.32 By May 1939, the first oil tanker left Ras
Tamra port for the world market. Well #7 was only the beginning of
a series of oil discoveries along the western side of the peninsula. A
number of small independent states lay along this coast, which had
earned the name “the Pirate Coast.” In the nineteenth century these
tiny sultanates fell under the influence of the British who brought an
end to the piratical activity. From 1873 to 1947 they were administered
from British India, and because of the treaties made then they became
known as “the Trucial Coast.” Seven independent sultanates joined
together to create the United Arab Emirates in 1971, covering an area
of about 77,700 sq. kms. along the southwestern side of the Persian
Gulf. Abu Dhabi holds 90 percent of the area, the other states being
Dubai, Ajman, Ash-Shariqah, Umm al-Qaywan, Ra’s al-Khaimah, and
al-Fujayrah. Oil was found in Abu Dhabi in 1939. Just north of the
Emirates lies Qatar, which is only one-quarter the size of the Emirates,
but it preferred to remain independent. Oil was discovered there in
1940. The Emirates and Qatar received many migrant Mappila work-
ers. To their south and east lies Oman, 940 kilometers north and south
and 350 kilometers east and west, having Muscat as its capital. Oil
was located there in 1964. All together these so-called “Gulf States”
hold an estimated 10 percent of the world’s known oil reserves, while
Saudi Arabia holds 25 percent. These oil discoveries, far from Kerala,
created a new economic situation for the Mappilas.
The Gulf Rush from India
The oil discoveries were followed by massive modernization and

industrialization throughout the region. The trained and educated
labor resources required to service the developments, however, were
not locally available. The oil technicians came mainly from the U.S.A.,
but who would meet the need for managers and electricians and other
personnel? Saudi Arabia did not at first look to Malayalis for help
but rather to the Middle Eastern countries, in particular to Yemenis,
Egyptians, Palestinians, and Iraqis. Not only did the needs exceed the
supply of skilled labor from those areas, but political considerations
also played a part in causing the Saudis to look elsewhere for work-
ers. In the end, they opened the door wide to other nationalities and
by the 1960s a flood of Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Indians, Sri Lankans,
Koreans, Filipinos, and others joined the stream of foreign workers.
By the 1970s a full 80 to 90 percent of the labor force were foreign-
ers. However, the Saudis and Gulf Arabs gradually became aware
of the difficulties involved in such overdependence on outside labor.
Moreover, their own educational programs were producing a larger
supply of trained personnel. As a result, by the 1990s the jobs and
visas were becoming harder to obtain, but by then a large number of
Indian citizens had taken abundant advantage of the great economic
opportunity. The number appears to have reached at least 4 million.33
Although the flow of workers was somewhat reduced, it did not end.
In 2003 a total of 143,804 Indians emigrated to the Gulf States with
121,431 of these going to Saudi Arabia, 36,816 to Oman, and 24,778
to Bahrein.34 As for the United Arab Emirates, after 2003 an immense
building boom developed in its member states, especially in Dubai,
bringing a fresh demand for construction workers. In 2007 the total
of such workers was 1.2 million. This increased the number of foreign
laborers in the Emirates to 4.5 million as compared with only 800,000
national citizens. The foreign population thus made up an astonishing
85 percent of the Emirate population, whereas in Saudi Arabia and
Oman the number held at 25 percent, while Kuwait had 50 percent.35
The majority of the new construction workers came from South
Asia. Their working conditions exemplify the trials of the manual
laborers in the Gulf States. They live in desert camps in two- or three-
storied concrete buildings with as many as twelve to a dormitory
room. Tied to their specific employers, they cannot change jobs with-
out permission. They work long hours and endure harsh working
conditions for the sake of the income. For ordinary workers that aver-
ages Rs.8000 per month. Since personal expenses are low, this amount
enables them to give significant help to their families at home. When
the Gulf worker returns home again, he casts off the mantle of inden-
tured labor, forgets its tribulations, and becomes a person of status.
Mappila Participation in Gulf Employment
It is estimated that about two-thirds of the Indian employees in Saudi

Arabia and the other Gulf States were Malayalis.36 That migration
began with the provision of health professionals by the Kerala Chris-
tian community. Mappilas had a natural advantage as Muslims and
they soon took advantage of it, entering the migration in staggering
numbers. Based on an estimate of 2 million Kerala workers in the
Gulf area and on the Mappila proportion of the state’s population,
we may assume that as many as 400,000 Mappilas may have joined
the Gulf trek.37 The figure represents a significant proportion of the
Mappila work force. It is said that it is the rare Mappila extended
family that does not have at least one of its members in the Gulf. This
widespread Mappila participation in the Gulf Rush produced great
economic benefits for the community, but it also brought about some
serious social problems.
Despite the fact that their historic relationship with the Gulf
gave the Mappilas advantages, they faced two immediate difficulties.
The reality is that they were largely unqualified for the better jobs.
They were backward in the technical and financial trades that were
needed; as a result they generally had to be content with the manual
occupations ranging from construction work to menial employment.
The Mappila poor swallowed their pride and took what was avail-
able. Compared to the low wages at home, what the Gulf offered
seemed like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They also had
to contend with a second disadvantage—their lack of initial financing
required for visa charges, broker fees, and air fares. On their arrival,
even though they were Muslims, they faced many of the problems
common to foreign employees in general. Arab citizenship was out
of reach for them, so they had to accept the situation. In 2007, 4,000
Dubai workers went on strike protesting their isolated barrack-style
housing, the sad fact that labor recruiters did not stick to their agree-
ments and withheld wages, and the prohibition of union activity.38 Yet
the level of remuneration made it all worthwhile.
In most cases the remittances that flowed back to Mappila fami-
lies in Kerala lifted them from the swamps of poverty. Three illustra-
tions from a decade ago show the tremendous effects of the funds
that were sent home.39 Bashir, who was a fisherman before going to
Dubai, received Rs.10,000 monthly. With that he was able to build
a house in his home place, sent his children to an English-medium
school, and provided Rs.10,000 for his sister’s dowry. Abdurrahiman
is a Mappila engineer in Qatar. He received 500 rials per month in
salary, lived on one-fifth of that amount, and either saved or sent
home about Rs.10,000 each month. Syed Alavi is a retired teacher in
Malabar who worked very hard to sustain his family with a salary
that never exceeded Rs.500 per month. His son is now a businessman
in Jidda in Saudi Arabia, but he is only one of fourteen extended
family members who are in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States. The
son earned 3000 rials per month, of which he required 500 rials for
his personal expenses. The rest he saved or sent home, but he never
failed to remit to his father at least Rs.5,000 per month. What a boon
for that poor family! It is no wonder that as the teacher talked about
his family’s new prosperity he looked rested and content. His happy
story could be repeated many times over.
We may summarize the positive effects of Gulf money on the
Mappila community in the following points;
a. The income level and quality of life of Mappilas improved

on the average. Consumer goods could be purchased and
a taste for them was created. While some even became
well-to-do, others were left out of the new prosperity.
b. The Mappila community as a whole grew in self-confi-

dence and was able to embark on various social uplift
activities. The new sense of hope was tangible.
c. Health conditions improved, especially in maternal and
child care. The family diet was better. Muslim medical
institutions sprang up on the back of investments of Gulf
money.
d. Salaries and working conditions of the poorly paid reli-
gious workers became greatly improved.
e. Mappila mosques, many in a deteriorated condi-
tion, could now be materially refurbished. Many new
mosques were built with gifts from Arab donors. As an
example, the new Uphill Mosque at Malappuram was
rumored to have received a one million rupee gift from a
Saudi shaikh.
f. New Arabic Colleges could be constructed. Also at
Malappuram a new Girls Arabic College was established
and received a Rs.200,000 monthly grant from the Qatar
External Affairs Department.
The negative aspects of the Gulf largesse may also be stated.

It must be remembered that the new money came into the hands of
many who were inexperienced in wealth management, and the image
of the Gulf Returned Man often became that of a careless spender.
Some of the adverse effects were considerably more serious, and we
note the following consequences for Mappila culture which greatly
disturb the minds of Mappila leaders. The phenomenon of ostenta-
tious consumption stands out. It arose as Mappila returnees from
the Gulf spent large sums to construct enormous homes, bringing
with them electronic and other material goods to furnish and equip
the mansions. The phenomenon was particularly evident in Malabar
villages. It was accompanied by a tilt to visible acquisitions, and the
growing materialism threatens the traditional simplicity and piety of
Mappila life. Less attention was paid to investments that would pro-
vide long-term income after the Gulf boom came to an end.
Family disruption became a serious problem. As we have noted
earlier that has been a constant factor in Indian social life since gov-
ernments move their employees about. In this case the problem is
felt more deeply. Husbands and fathers were separated from their
normal responsibilities, sometimes for years at a time. The full bur-
den of family management and decision making from day to day fell
upon Mappila women who were not accustomed to it and felt heavily
burdened. Physicians noted an increase in stress and other psycho-
logical problems among married women, not only when the husband
was gone, but also on his return. Moral problems developed at both
ends of the separation. Among some men there was an increase in
the consumption of liquor, and even the use of narcotics was noted.
The Mappila thrust to higher education was severely under-
mined. Mappilas without even high school completion certificates
received much higher pay in the Gulf than those who took graduate
degrees and remained in Kerala. Why bother with education became
the growing feeling of many Mappila youth . . . It is wiser to go the
Gulf as early as possible! The great effort of the Mappila community
to move ahead in higher and technical education thereby received a
frustrating setback. A 2006 study revealed that of the Muslim youth in
Kerala in the 18 to 25 age group only 8.1 percent were in college.40 This
compared poorly with the 18.1 percentage of the Hindu youth and the
20.5 percentage of Christians, and undoubtedly the Gulf movement
was an important factor in the contrast.
Religious leaders became involved in disputes over the procure-
ment and the management of funds coming from the Gulf. Some
individuals and groups were more successful than others in obtain-
ing the grants and utilizing them for their projects, and the disparity
produced envy and sometimes outright acrimony. Leaving aside that
very human factor, we will give fuller treatment to a much larger
question—the new influence of Gulf conservatism.
The New Influence of Gulf Conservatism
Gulf money helped make possible the Mappila transition to cultur-

al modernism. However, some of those who provided the salaries
in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf Emirates were not favorable to many
of the basic principles of modernism even though they accepted its
technological products. This set up a kind of contradiction to which
Mappilas had to relate in some way.
The Arabian employers of the Mappilas lived in the Wahhabi-
oriented world of Arab traditionalism. They were basically distant
from Mappila progressive developments, and rather encouraged a
conservative approach in theology, politics, architecture, dress, and
social behavior, and general attitudes. It is true that whether in Bah-
rain with its majority of Shiʾas, or in Qatar which introduced secular
courts alongside sharia courts, or in the Emirates with their trading
cultures, the Gulf States were less austere in their approach than Saudi
Arabia. Yet everywhere Mappilas went in their search for employ-
ment they met conservatism and were under some obligation to it.
To appreciate the strain that this involved for Mappilas we have to
briefly consider the approach of al-Wahhāb and his successor move-
ment in Saudi Arabia.
Muhammad ibn ʿAbd al-Wahhāb (1703–1792) was a seminal
Arabian reformer whose ideas traveled in contrasting directions. On
the one hand, they helped produce the most conservative Muslim
society in the contemporary world, in Arabia. On the other hand,
they also helped to produce a series of “back-to-the-Qurʾān” reform
movements loosely called Wahhabi in different parts of the Muslim
world. From his interior home in the Arabian Nejd, al-Wahhāb trav-
eled widely in the Middle East and became very disappointed by
the ignorance, corruption, and moral decadence he encountered. He
returned to inner Arabia and began a local reform movement. He had
been influenced by one of the legal fathers of Islam, the stern Ibn Han-
bal (d. 855). Abd al-Wahhāb’s father was a judge of the Hanbalī law
school, but his son was even more rigorous in his views. Al-Wahhāb
called for a return to strict tawhīd, the unity of God, that is, rejecting
the practice of saint veneration and intercessory prayer, and other
objectionable customs that he considered to be shirk, idolatry. He also
called for a return to the Qurʾān and Hadīth, to the simple pious faith
of early Muslims, setting aside the later constructs of the Islamic law
schools and scholastic theologians. In that spirit he denounced taqlīd,
imitation, and called for a renewal of ijtihād, private judgment. But
his understanding of ijtihād was far from the rational approach of
modern education and science. What he meant by it was the personal
freedom to receive the literal teaching of the Qurʾān and Hadīth, but
not to allow inferences (qiyas) and interpretation. Anything beyond
their literal teaching was unnecessary knowledge and, in fact, sinful
innovation. His approach was militant as well as puritanical, like the
Kharidjites of old, and he demanded that all error and misbehavior be
forcefully rooted out. If Muslims do not attend the mosque regularly
on their own, they should be compelled to do so! Thus, al-Wahhāb
presented a double-dimensional approach, accounting for the two
quite different directions that flowed from his influence—the first,
puritan conservatism, and the second, reason-based reform.
The first dimension is visible in Saudi Arabia. There al-Wahhāb
made an alliance with the Muhammad b. Suʿūd family of Darʿiyya
in 1747. It was a powerful union combining like-minded religion and
politics. After many trials the Saudis became the rulers of Arabia with
Wahhabism as their philosophy. What that meant became clear in 1805

when they conquered Medina. Immediately they destroyed the cupo-
las that had been built over the tombs of the Prophet Muhammad,
ʿAbu Bekr, ʿAlī, and Khadīja, on the grounds that they were signs of
idolatry. The modern Saudi kingdom that was established in 1902 by
King Ibn Saʿūd (d. 1953) continues today in a modified combination of
social conservatism, oil wealth, and family power.41 In the meantime,
the second dimension of al-Wahhāb’s influence is visible in various
reform movements in the Muslim world that stress Quranic authority
and purification of behavior, which Professor Fazlur Rahman refers
to as the generic “Wahhabi Idea.”42
Wahhābi influence did not touch the Mappilas either through
direct contact with al-Wahhāb himself nor through any of the Wah-
habist reform movements, but rather through contemporary Saudi
Wahhabism impacting on Mappila workers. While the Mappila theo-
logical reformers accepted the principles of a return to the Qurʾān,
the recovery of independent judgment, and the rejection of supersti-
tious practice, they received their stimulus from Abduh and Rida, not
from al-Wahhāb. Al-Wahhāb’s basic work, Kitāb al-Tawhīd (“The Book
of Unity”) was never circulated among Mappilas. The contemporary
form of Al-Wahhāb’s compulsory conservatism, however, became part
of the Mappila experience in Arabia and the Gulf States through the
employment process. That ideology does not match with the Malayali
independence of spirit and love of freedom, but the Mappila workers
had no choice but to live under the prevailing Wahhabi restrictions
and their rigorous enforcement. Some were influenced by the ideas
and took them home. A stronger ideological transfer came from the
financial donations made by interested Gulf donors to Mappila insti-
tutions. Money talks, and there is evidence of some Mappila accom-
modation to the conservative Wahhabi point of view. When a mosque
is constructed in a certain style, or when an Arabic college stresses the
importance of the full sharia, or when black replaces the traditional
whites and greens of the Mappila head scarves, one can feel the breeze
blowing from the ʿUyayna oasis in the Nejd.
Conclusion
In concluding our treatment of the Great Transition, we return to

the symbolic image of a cultural fortress representing the tradition-
alist-controlled Mappila society. The theological reformers breached
the wall. The communist radicals shook up the perceptions of those
ithin the walls. The educational leaders opened their minds to the
w
new world. As Mappilas emerged from their defensive posture, Gulf
funds enabled them to take advantage of material progress in a nor-
mal way. The Great Transition has been made from a controlling tra-
ditionalist approach to a combined modern and traditional profile,
marking a genuine cultural transformation.
Cultural transformation also involves character development. Outdat-

ed portrayals of a people’s character, however, have a habit of hanging
on. To wrap-up our discussion of the Mappila becoming, therefore,
we next consider the current contours of the Mappila character and
personality. This reflection will also serve as our transition to Part II,
The Being of Mappila Culture.
6
Mappila Character and

Personality Today
When we meet Abdulla and Amina we can describe them. As we get

to know them their character and personalities become ever clearer.
Can we say the same of Mappilas as a whole? What are they like?
Do they have a set of distinctive qualities common to most members
of the community? It is hazardous, and indeed to some extent pre-
sumptuous, to generalize about large groups since their individual
members differ. The very large Mappila community includes many
Abdulla and Aminas, each with their unique natures.
Nevertheless, two factors move us to examine the wider con-
tours of the Mappila character and personality. The first is that in
the past Mappila character was freely and publicly assessed, all too
often in simplistic and negative terms. Since such stereotypical opin-
ions have their own life, our first section deals with some tenacious
mythical elements in the community’s image. The second factor is
that character affects behavior. There is an old riddle that asks: what
comes first—the egg or the chicken? We may also ask: what comes
first—a people’s character or its culture? We are on safe ground when
we recognize that the two are interactive. This section of the chapter
therefore seeks to outline some overall distinguishing features of the
Mappila character that affect cultural behavior to some degree.
Any current description of the Mappila character and personal-
ity will differ from the traditional profile. Mappila character today is
affected by change and is more elusive than it appeared to be in the
past. We have seen how the Islamic and Malayalam culture streams
met and merged to form Mappila culture, but as time passed, due to
various circumstances that vital synthesis tended to become stagnant.
People could say, and did say, sometimes dismissively, “There are the
Mappilas. We know what they are like!” Into those still waters entered
a third culture stream: the rushing and assertive forces of modernity.
The outcome, as we have seen, is that the river of Mappila culture is
127
now “in spate,” surging out to new boundaries. A lively new Mappila
adab samskārum,1 a new pattern of conduct is being formed. Its vital-
ity is in the personal dimension—Mappilas are no longer predictable
but are looking at the world in new ways. The forces of change have
stimulated the potential in the Mappila personality, have brought
forth new elements, and have produced a people in motion, with
new visions and new responses. To that extent the general descrip-
tion of Mappila character has been made more difficult. The answer
to the question of what Mappilas are like must therefore be located
in the realm of subjective experience and relationships rather than in
the norms of impersonal description.
Despite the new cultural variety and the many differences of
opinion Mappilas hold together, and the third section of the chapter
therefore considers the community’s emotional sense of “being Map-
pila.” It is a strong feeling, and it constitutes the binding continuous
element that informs Mappila character and personality. We begin
by examining two differing points of view in regard to the name
“Mappila.”
Mythical Elements in the Mappila Image
The contemporary tones of the Mappila character are partly obscured

by the heritage of accumulated myths. In using the term “myth” we
do not intend to imply pure legend but rather “distorted reality.” A
kernel of truth is layered over with outdated or prejudicial opinion.
The myth develops from elevating partial truths into generalizations
and by taking time-bound elements from the past and raising them
to the level of permanent significance. The memories of past events
continue to inform opinion long after the time when circumstances
have changed, and the generalizations persist even though they lose
their basis and validity. The Mappila community has suffered from
this kind of myth-making that has resulted in a caricature of reality
rather than its true image.
Mythical elements are involved in the following three expressions:
“Mappilas are religious fanatics.”

“Mappilas are communalists.”
“Mappilas are ignorant and backward.”
In actuality such expressions are more common outside Kerala than

within it. Malayalis today know that the older descriptions of the
Mappila Character and Personality Today 129
Mappila condition and behavior, even then only partially true, are
now generally out-of-date. But in view of the fact that the reputation
of the past has a habit of living on, it is necessary to examine each
of these expressions in turn, in the context of the current realities.
The Myth of Generic Fanaticism
It is a fact that most Mappilas have a strong religious faith. It is also

a fact that some have engaged in violent actions in the past in the
name of religion. The attribute of generic fanaticism is not, however,
a fact. The myth came from the nineteenth-century outbreaks by some
Mappilas and from the culminating events of the Mappila Rebellion
in 1921. Central and southern region Muslims did not participate,
nor did most coastal area Muslims in the northern region. Neverthe-
less, the partial reality was raised to the level of general truth. In the
light of these events various Indian leaders spoke broadly of “Moplah
madness.” North Indian Muslim leaders were on the defensive in
that regard. Hakim Ajmal Khan (d. 1928), an admired Muslim leader
who was a member of both the League and the Congress, typically
chose the middle ground. On the one hand, he blamed the British for
the problems and sympathized with the Mappilas. In his 1921 presi-
dential address to the Congress Assembly at Ahmedabad he spoke
of “the prolonged agonies of our unfortunate Moplah brethren.” On
the other hand, he firmly condemned the forced conversion of some
Hindu landowners. “There will be no Muslim worthy of the name
who will not condemn the entire un-Islamic act in the strongest pos-
sible terms.”2
Mahatma Gandhi, with his usual care, spoke only of “the mad-
ness of some of our Moplah brethren.”3 Yet even he occasionally gave
way to the temptation to paint with a broad brush, suggesting: “The
Moplahs have sinned against God and have suffered grievously for
it.” He quickly added: “Let the Hindus also remember that they have
not allowed the opportunity for revenge to pass by.”4 The Mahatma
did not believe that the Mappila revolt would spoil Hindu–Muslim
cooperation. He preferred to deal with it as an isolated occurrence
involving a unique society.5 Other comments were more intemperate.
British writers had already laid the groundwork for the far-reach-
ing Mappila reputation for “excessive” religiosity and “intractable”
behavior. Their writings were filled with phrases like “incorrigible”
and “fanatic,” with reference to Mappilas. The same opinion became
commonplace among some Malayalis who could be heard to declare;
“The Mappilas are hopeless!” The phrase carried a touch of fear.
We may illustrate that opinion with a brief story. A Malayali

Christian, whom we shall leave un-named, migrated from the south-
ern region to a Malabar town in 1954. He had brought his wife with
him. On leaving his rented quarters he routinely locked the door with
his wife inside in order to protect her from imagined danger! The old
stories of the Mappilas had filled them with fear. He continued the
offensive behavior for some time but eventually light dawned, and
he was embarrassed by what he had done. He discovered that the
myth, which he had accepted and which had governed his action,
did not correspond with reality. In the course of time, emerging from
their former hesitations, he and his wife became very close friends
with their Mappila neighbors. Their learning is now routine. Malaya-
lis know that Mappilas take their faith seriously, but they no longer
equate that conviction with extremism. They realize that whatever
religious intolerance continues in the community is now confined to
a small number, and they are also aware that other religious com-
munities have similar problems.
The Myth of Communalism
An associated myth suggests that Mappilas are communally mind-

ed. It is a powerful contemporary myth based on Mappila political
behavior. While the myth of religious fanaticism has been largely dis-
pelled, the same is not true for communalism since Mappilas support
a religious political party. The terms communal, communalism, and
communalist are well understood in India, although less widely used
in other parts of the English-speaking world. They have a strongly
negative connotation signifying unhealthy groupism, putting the wel-
fare of oneself first in such a way that it is hurtful to others as well
as being undemocratic. “Religious communalism” is an extension of
the meaning to religious groups that seek their own advantage. It is
usually used critically. And, finally, we have the sad phrase “com-
munal incident” that sends shivers down the spine of Indian citizens.
It refers to actual fighting between religious groups.
In the political realm the phrase “communal party” refers to
organizations representing religious groups.6 In India’s twentieth cen-
tury that development started in 1906 when Indian Muslims formed
the Indian Union Muslim League. After 1947, following the formation
of Pakistan, the organization became dormant in India. When the
majority of Mappilas came to the conclusion that their post-Indepen-
dence hopes rested on democratic political action, they decided to
revitalize the Muslim League and eventually made it a strong political
force in Kerala. Mappilas were criticized for doing so, not only by
the secular and pluralist Congress Party but also by Marxists who
vigorously opposed the influence of religion in public affairs. More-
over, some Mappila leaders themselves opposed the development on
the grounds that it was keeping communalism alive. In May 1983,
the writer asked the noted Dr. Abdul Ghafoor, “What is the greatest
problem facing Mappilas?” Without hesitation he instantly answered:
“Communalism!” In the Indian social context charges of communal-
ism must be taken seriously, but with regard to Mappilas does the
criticism have mythical elements?
The answer is affirmative when the possibility of different types
of political communalism is considered. If voter support for a reli-
giously constituted political party equates negative communalism,
then the charge of Mappila communalism is factual. However, if sup-
porting a religious political party as a way of advancing the social
welfare of a minority depressed community without bias against oth-
ers, it may be considered by some as a permissible form of positive
communalism. This is how the respected K. M. Seethi Sahib viewed
it. He recognized that, strictly speaking, a political party which repre-
sents a minority group is communal, but it is not necessarily a nega-
tive phenomenon. He said: “It is not only not wrong for a community
organization to take part in politics, it is its duty.”7 Seethi Sahib’s
opinion was highly influential. As the writer noted earlier:8 “Mappilas
after him distinguished between the communalism that signifies the
organization of a religious community to further its legitimate inter-
ests, and the communalism that implies hating and working against
another religious community.”
In considering this partial myth we must take into account the
fact that Mappilas have no other overt marks of negative communal-
ism. They do not reside in ghettos, but live intermingled with Hindus
and Christians, engaging in normal human relationships. They regu-
larly work together with members of other castes and communities
at micro and macro levels in the interest of the common good. They
attend Hindu and Christian weddings and other celebrations. As we
shall see, some pay annual respects at a Sashta temple near the Mus-
lim Vavar shrine at Erumeli, the first station on the road to the Hindu
shrine at Sabarimala. At the political level, a large number of Mappilas
give their votes to Congress, Marxist, and other parties. In the 2006
state elections the Muslim League actually lost several of its “safe”
seats when Mappila voters exercised their franchise against League
candidates. Similarly, in a recent election for the national parliament
a Muslim Marxist candidate captured the Ponnani seat, an ancient
Mappila emotional center and a constituency with a long record of

returning League candidates. Clearly, the powerful Malayali spirit of
independence also flows through Mappila blood, providing an anti-
dote to negative communalism. In that light the criticism that Map-
pilas are communalist expresses a partial political truth rather than a
fundamental social reality.
The Myth of Backwardness
The final mythological characterization of Mappilas is that they are

ignorant and backward. This description certainly had a strong basis
in fact at one time, but it has now to a considerable degree been
rendered invalid as the result of the startling Mappila educational
and economic progress.
The two descriptions “ignorant” and “backward” were comple-
mentary, related to the lack of education and economic depression.
In both areas Mappila inertia was an accepted fact. While the igno-
rance and backwardness of the interior South Malabar Mappilas was
particularly storied, resistance to education and endemic poverty ran
through the entire Muslim community in the state. There were noble
exceptions that rose above the disabilities, but they were the few rath-
er than the many. This was not myth, but reality. The old description,
however, becomes mythic when it no longer captures the new realities
that result from the changed conditions in the Mappila community.
The problems of ignorance and poverty have not been fully solved,
but they have been partially redressed. Many Mappilas have been
able to climb from the depths of poverty, and a significant number
have become educated. Today when we inquire of Mappilas: “Is it
well with you?” the answer frequently is, “Yes, praise God, it is well.”
Yet the description “backward” hangs on tenaciously. To a cer-
tain extent it is sustained by the Central Government designation of
certain social groups as officially “backward.” That technical designa-
tion includes Mappilas and makes them eligible for special reserva-
tions in professional schools and government employment. Frequent
studies consistently reveal that the percentage of Muslim employees
in the government services does not come near to equating the actual
percentage of Muslim population.9 Muslims are naturally reluctant
to give up a designation that assists their developmental efforts, and
Mappilas have fought hard to retain the designation. Moreover, they
have argued that it applies to all Muslims in Kerala, not only to Mala-
bar Mappilas, as intended in the original legislation. The official sanc-
tion of backwardness, however, cannot hide the community’s steady
advance that gives hope to those who are still unfortunately living
in the grip of poverty, or lack educational attainments.
The Mappila Character and Personality
The twin terms character and personality are used almost interchange-
ably in ordinary speech. The word character has a tilt to moral val-
ues, while personality emphasizes relations. The nature of a people
involves both, and we will not distinguish sharply between them in
the following effort to describe the Mappila nature. It is important
to remember that any generalizations in this area have a tentative
quality.
When we take stereotypes out of the picture we find that Map-
pilas are ordinary people with attractive qualities. Their capacity for
hard work is legendary. They have an earned reputation of being
sincere and honest. Goods may be left in front of a home without
theft, and a spoken word is sufficient to seal an agreement. They
are cautious in initiating relationships, but their friendship, once ten-
dered, is whole-hearted and loyal to an extreme. Their homes, small
or large, are havens of hospitality to their friends. The fortitude of
Mappilas in the face of personal difficulty or disaster is noteworthy,
and their courage is hard to match. They are normally “laid back,”
but when deeply disturbed they can become tense and openly reac-
tive, especially when religious matters are involved. Their religiosity
is sincere. They strive to follow the daily and yearly routines of the
faith, but they are conciliatory toward those who do not. Mappila
women add particular elements to the profile with their spontaneous
cheerfulness, inquisitive natures, family concern, and the readiness to
attribute whatever happens to the will of God.
One cannot disentangle the influences that have gone into the
formation of the Mappila personality. From where, for example, does
the concern for personal honor and face-saving derive? Does it come
from the Malayali context in which it plays a great role, or from as
far back as pre-Islamic culture that passed it on to Arabian Muslims?
Or where does respect for the aged originate, given the fact that it can
be found in both the Malayali and Islamic traditions? Yet the Map-
pilas are Malayali Muslims, and it is only natural that the Malayali
traits described in Chapter 1 predominate, with the exception that
the current cultural excitement of the Mappilas tends to exceed that
of the general society. Inspired by their dynamic transition, they are
no longer governed by survival consciousness. There is a stir in the
air. The majority of Mappilas feel animated and look forward to the
future with hope.
For their ethical ideals and character formation Mappilas draw
upon the classical Islamic virtues that are commended in the Qurʾan
as piety (taqwa). These include goodness and mercy, kindness and gen-
erosity, and the hospitality and endurance that have been mentioned.
In medieval Islamic tradition that had also received the influence of
Greek ethics, high respect was given to four cardinal virtues—wis-
dom, justice, temperance, and valor—and it may not be entirely coin-
cidental that these values are held so high in Mappila thinking.”10
At ordinary levels the concern for acceptable moral behavior is still
the norm in Mappila life, although Mappilas are quick to recognize
that shortcomings exist; they also face the erosive effects of modern
materialism, and the community is now visibly struggling with these
challenges to the traditional Mappila character.
The Sense of Being Mappila
The sense of being Mappila has always been a powerful emotion,

and now it is linked with self-respect. The feeling is a matter of the
heart, personal and individual, but it is not illusive. Its elements and
effects can be described: the conviction that one has a large supportive
family, the sentiment of sharing a common heritage and a practical
culture that frames a safe passage through life, the feeling of an ulti-
mate destiny that is in God’s keeping, and a more recently developed
glow of pride in the community’s achievements. These are dominating
characteristics in the Mappila personality. The family feeling, how-
ever, brings up the debated question of the name “Mappila.”
Not all Muslims in southwest India are equally comfortable with
the term Mappila. The hesitation is partly the effect of the specific and
often negative usage of the word in the colonial period. In addition,
regional disparities exist in Muslim history in Kerala, and the name
Mappila tended to be used more regularly of Muslims in Malabar,
while those in the southern region had a more generalized relation
to the term. Moreover, in the central region the term was also used
in the Christian community, though sparingly. Hence, some Muslims
find the phrase “Kerala Muslims” more appealing, with its accepted
and embracive quality. The majority of Kerala Muslims do not appear
to take this view. Although they recognize the preeminence of the
term Muslim, they also like the name Mappila.
This majority view was reinforced in the period from 1980 to

2000 as an outcome of the Central Government Mandal Commission
report. Its task was to examine the reserved privileges (“reservations”)
maintained by the government on behalf of backward communities
including Mappilas. The Commission followed the previous colonial
administration’s position that only Muslims living in northern Kera-
la in the old district called Malabar were Mappilas. Kerala Muslims
objected vehemently, insisting that the term Mappila could not be
arbitrarily restricted in this way and that in its essence it applies to
all indigenous Muslims in the state. They had solid historical grounds
for maintaining this point of view and in the end it received wide
support in public opinion, in scholarly writing,11 and in the govern-
ment’s administrative policy and decisions. As a result “Mappila” is
now widely accepted as the appropriate term for the Malayali Muslim
community’s social identity.
“Being Mappila,” however, implies more than this—it is now
regarded as a satisfying designation as well as a classifying one; that
is, it gives pride as well as identity. Apart from kinship relations Map-
pilas share four primary relationship circles. One is their Malayalam
heritage and their associations with fellow Malayalis. Another is their
nationality, their sense of belonging to a great nation whose citizens
together sing “Jaya, jaya, hē.” A third circle is their connection with
global Muslim believers that they experience most powerfully at the
Meccan pilgrimage. The fourth is their special relation with fellow
Indian Muslims. However, Mappilas cannot be defined as the sum
of these relationships and influences; rather they have formed their
own distinct identity in a blended Muslim culture, with a normal
sense of self-esteem and dignity. In 1978, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and
his collaborator M. M. Abdul Karim produced a Malayalam study of
the Mappila literary tradition. In his introduction “C. N.” describes
the significance of the Mappilas, but then notes what he regards as a
crucial failure: “They don’t know who they are.”12 He was referring
to the low Mappila self-image, for which he blames British writers.
A generation has since passed. While all self-doubt has not vanished
from the scene, most members of the community now display a con-
fident and spirited “sense of being Mappila,” a people who are not
only on the straight path but also on an upward journey.
The new pride in their identity leads to a stronger feeling of
solidarity and common purpose. Mappilas are generally pleased with
their leaders and are ever ready to celebrate new accomplishments
by community members. They may disagree on certain issues, and
sometimes publicly and vehemently call each other down; but they do
so knowing that they have an underlying connection that continues
through the time of disagreement, and that can be returned to when
the storm of controversy is over. Outsiders who assume the same
right to make denunciations learn that Mappilas quickly rise to each
other’s defense. The solidarity feeling extends to practical assistance,
and when the chips are down many try to help each other. In sum,
Mappila personality is an interesting amalgam of community con-
sciousness and personal independence, which produces a combina-
tion of cultural steadiness and variety.
In the final stages of its remarkable development since 1947, Mappila

Muslim culture has become a surprising symbol of progressive change
and hope. It is the community’s customary behavior and habits, lead-
ership, and various accomplishments, however, that reveal in greater
detail how it has blended tradition and modernity. For that descrip-
tion we turn next to Part II: The Being of Mappila Culture.
Part II
The Being of Mappila Muslim Culture

A Profile of Changing Customs
and Notable Achievements
7
Key Life Moments
Birth, Marriage, Death
Khadija has come on a visit to the home of her mother-in-law, Amina.

The two are conversing in low tones in the bedroom. They are deeply
involved in the core events of the Mappila family—birth, marriage,
and death.
Khadija has not come casually, but with a definite purpose in
mind. She wants to discuss the delicate subject of birth control with
her mother-in-law. She and Ashraf, Amina’s son, already have two
children. She knows that small families have some advantages, and
she is also aware of the national policy that encourages them. She is
wondering what to do and asks Amina’s opinion.
While they are talking Khadija also asks whether any plans have
been made for the marriage of Ashraf’s young sister Fatima, who is
still in high school. Amina tells her daughter-in-law of the hopes that
she and Abdulla have for their daughter. They would like Fatima to
attend a college and become a doctor. Khadija, who likes weddings
and has a more traditional background, says, “But she can do that
as a married woman!” Amina replies, “Not so easily,” and Khadija
is silent.
Both women look up as grandfather Abu’s shadow passes across
the door. He is moving toward the veranda and laboriously makes his
way to his favorite chair. Khadija asks her mother-in-law, “Is he sick?”
Ayesha answers her gravely and with quiet resignation, “No, but he
is getting very old.” Both women remain silent as they contemplate
the meaning of those words.
Birth, marriage, death—the women have been discussing the key
moments in the Mappila lifestyle. The customs and rites associated
with them give structure to the Mappila cultural being, and hence
they are the first among the Mappila habits that we will consider in
our Part II. We start with pregnancy, birth, and early childhood, also
139
dealing with the Mappila attitude toward family planning. This is

followed by a description of marriage practices, including the age of
the couple and the way they are selected, the dowry practices, the
betrothal rite, and the wedding festivities. We add a footnote on the
Mappila attitude toward polygamy. We will complete the section on
marriage by describing divorce proceedings; among the many issues
in contemporary Mappila culture this has been a quite contentious
one. Death is the third key point in the Mappila life cycle. Along with
practices involved in that sad event, we also deal with the period of
old age that ordinarily precedes it, as well as the various ceremonies
that follow it. The customs attached to birth, marriage–divorce, and
death are all basically informed by Islamic law, but Malayalam culture
also plays a significant role in the wedding ceremonies.
Pregnancy, Birth, and Early Childhood
In Mappila society children are viewed as the gift of God, and God
is therefore praised for a woman’s pregnancy. Family joy and pride is
especially high at the time of the first conception. Prospective fathers
customarily hope for the possible birth of a son, but Mappila women,
who are frequently quite young, are shy and do not usually express
a strong preference. That feeling may come later if too many children
of one sex have been born. Behind the attitude of acceptance is the
belief that God’s will determines the matter . . . “Blessed be God, the
Lord of the Worlds!”
During her pregnancy a woman may carry on normal activities
including the prescribed prayers, and in an ordinary home she does
not have much choice about the daily work. However, there is a feel-
ing that she should restrict her movements, especially in the evening,
lest she become frightened or have some other experience that pro-
duces a negative reaction. Among strongly traditionalist Mappilas the
physical taking in of Quranic verses is a form of preparation for deliv-
ery. The Arabic verses will have been written on paper with special
pen and ink, ideally by a mulla, and then will be dissolved in pure
water, possibly even Zem Zem water from Mecca, and finally will
be swallowed. This procedure (oraku) may take place in the seventh
month of pregnancy, shortly before the delivery, or even periodically.
Where should the child be born? For the first delivery Malay-
alam custom takes a pregnant woman to her own family home, and
that custom is also observed among Mappilas. On her homeward
journey that takes place at least a month prior to the time of the
Key Life Moments 141
delivery the prospective mother will wear a new dress, preferably

white, which has been received from the husband’s family. The rep-
resentatives of the husband’s family will also visit her if possible and
present token sweets (wallakānal). In another practice, some amount of
money will have been given in advance to her husband’s family, and
near the time of delivery it will be returned doubly to help defray
the expenses. These special arrangements apply only to the first birth
and are not repeated for later pregnancies.
In the case of subsequent children, improving economic condi-
tions and increased education account for the fact that many Mappila
women now have their delivery in a hospital. If a family makes this
choice, a male and female relative routinely go with the woman to
keep her company and to attend to some of her needs. The traditional
place for a child’s birth, however, continues to be the home, and cer-
tainly in the case of poor people—they have no other choice. In the
past the delivery would usually be conducted by the local midwife
who was usually the barber’s wife and was called the osāthi (from
ossān, barber). The system was medically precarious and was one
of the factors in the infant mortality rate that, as late as the 1950s,
reached the high figure of 250 per thousand in interior Malabar. It
was also an old custom that the umbilical cord would be cut after ten
minutes, sometimes with a non-sterile instrument, and later would
be buried in an earthen pot. In recent years, however, learned medi-
cal personnel have become available for home deliveries and have
received acceptance, thereby greatly improving the rate of successful
deliveries.
After the delivery all attention is given to the new child. The first
word that the newborn should hear is the Name of God. Therefore,
after the child has been bathed a member of the family, or a mulla if
available, will whisper the call to prayer, the Arabic adhān, into the
child’s ear. Thereafter, a touch of date juice or honey may be placed
on the child’s tongue.
Although the naming of the child and the hair-cutting ceremony
(ʿaqīqa) take place on the seventh day in general Islamic practice, it
is the Mappila custom in the case of the first delivery to await the
mother’s return to her married home. This occurs not later than ninety
days after the birth, but often earlier. For later children the 14th, 21st,
or 28th days after delivery are also popular days for these events. The
child-naming does not constitute an official ceremony, but it neverthe-
less has a sacred quality. When the child is grown up, common to
Malayali custom, the given name will ordinarily be qualified by the
family name and the father’s name, using their first initials. But the
child’s own name must be given. It is chosen by the husband’s side

and is normally selected from the list of prophetic names, from the
rank of Muslim heroes, or from the ninety-nine Beautiful Names of
God. Thus there are numerous Muhammads, Ibrahims, Umars, and
Alis. Before an appellation given to God the word ʿabd or servant is
often added, and so there are also many Abdurrahmans and Abdul-
majids. In the case of women the range of choice is narrower and
hence Khadijas, Aminas, and Fatimas abound. In recent times there
has been some branching out into new names.
The hair-cutting ceremony takes place at the same time. It has a
religious significance since it recalls the occasion of the near sacrifice
of Ibrahim’s (Abraham’s) son. If the family is well off, an amount in
gold or silver equivalent to the weight of the shorn hair may be given
to charity. The meat for the special meal will ideally be divided into
three parts—one for the consumption of the family, the second for
visitors, and the third for the poor. The hair-cutting will be done by
the barber whose spouse served as the midwife, and they will then
receive payment for their services in cash, clothing, or rice.
The child will be breast fed for a period of about 1½ to 2½ years.
Suckling up to four years was known, which was a form of birth
control, but it is now accepted that the shorter period is healthier. The
process of weaning, however, may begin as early as four to six months.
During the period of early childhood parents attempt to instill in their
children a sense of that which is forbidden (harām) and that which is
permitted (halāl). It is after that distinction is understood by the child
that the period of total freedom ends, and the child will be punished
for doing wrong. It is believed that children cannot be regarded as
sinners until they have the awareness of right and wrong, and before
that God will not punish them. Parents, however, may chastise the
children in some way in order to teach them. Although both parents
have the right to give religious instruction to their children and do
so, Mappilas consider this to be the special province of the madrasa.
The passage from early childhood to puberty involves discovery
about oneself, and awareness of the male-female differentiation. It is
customary for boys and girls to play together as small children, but
at a fairly early stage there is a withdrawal from that practice. This
also applies to relations between brothers and sisters. They may have
slept together to the age of seven or eight, but after that another
arrangement is made in the home. In smaller houses that may be
very difficult, but certainly by the time of puberty there must be a
functioning separation.
For the male children, circumcision is considered essential. It

is referred to as “sunnat,” that which is recommended by religious
law even though the Qurʾān itself does not mention the practice.
Male circumcision is regarded as a necessary rite for participation in
mosque prayers. It is also viewed as having valuable health benefits.
The time of circumcision varies and may take place on the seventh
day after birth, prior to attending the madrasa, in the seventh year, but
certainly before the thirteenth year. It is now most commonly carried
out in very early childhood. Mappila tradition gave special sanctity
for the conduct of circumcision at “the little Mecca” of Ponnani, but
today the normal place is in the home or hospital. At one time this
function was also carried out by the barber, but the great preference
now is for the service of a physician. The bismilla, the recitation of
“in the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” takes place
during the ceremony, but otherwise there is no other religious func-
tion. On the day of circumcision relatives are invited to the home for
a special meal.
For girls the first menstruation marks the coming of age and
the beginning of deliberate separation from males. There will be no
ceremonies on that day, but the girl will receive special nourishment
and will be encouraged to take rest. Menstruation is regarded as a
natural element in God’s creative order, but it also has implications
for a girl’s religious practice—prayer, fasting, and Qurʾān reading are
not permitted at that time. There is no prohibition, however, relative
to food preparation. The first experience of menstruation gives the
young woman a sense of maturity and, in fact, it makes her eligible
for marriage discussions. On the occasion she proudly puts on adult
female clothing for the first time.
Family Planning
Qualifying the subject of birth is the contemporary issue of family

planning. In pre-modern India large families were the norm. Not only
a love for children but also strong social and economic reasons lay
behind that reality. Kerala did not differ in that regard, and within
the Mappila community the desirability of large families was taken
for granted. In the case of Muslim society, however, a particular cus-
tomary factor and a religious consideration came into play. The cus-
tomary factor was early marriage, which increased the time span of
a woman’s fertility. The religious consideration was the theological
view that whatever happened during that period of fertility was the
will of God. Thus it was common for Mappila women to have a
large number of pregnancies, starting at an early age. New patterns
began to develop in free India, however, that challenged the bias for
large families.
The issue of overpopulation was a concern in India from the
time of Independence. In the 1950s during the first two Five-Year
Plans there was an emphasis on the nation’s “wealth of manpower”
that must be better utilized. In the 1960s the awareness of the need
for population management emerged more clearly, and the movement
toward family planning programs got under way. From the 1970s
forward the nation’s burgeoning population became a burning topic
at the all-India level. India’s leaders realized that if the rapid rise
in population was not brought under control, the nation’s efforts to
improve the quality of life would be in vain. The Central Government
therefore launched an all-out effort at control through family plan-
ning. Leaders knew that poverty and illiteracy were deeply involved
in the problem, but without neglecting these underlying issues the
government focused on the effort to reduce the actual rate of popu-
lation growth through a variety of means.1 Sanjay Gandhi’s ill-fated
sterilization campaign in 1975 to 1977 drew attention to the method-
ological limits acceptable to the Indian public, as well as contributing
to Indira Gandhi’s election loss in 1977,2 but it did not fundamen-
tally blunt the widely held conviction that India’s future depended
on getting a hold on the population problem before it was too late.
Across the nation the pictorial representation of “Two is Enough!”
was painted on walls, the sides of buildings, and even on tree trunks.
Hardly any Indian family could remain unaware of this advice. This
was certainly true in Kerala where the response was positive and
the birth-rate was reduced to the lowest percentage in the nation, a
startling 9.4 percent in the decade between 1991 and 2001!
The message of family planning also reached the Mappilas and
gradually resulted in a change of attitude. They had been strongly
opposed to the practice, convinced that any interference with concep-
tion would conflict with God’s domain. The change did not come
easily or totally. The writer recalls frequent theological conversations
during that period with Mappila males who were attempting to
understand how the people of faith in other religious traditions were
dealing with the issues. While they did not yield in their faith that
God is the sole Author of Life, they found support for change in a set
of other Quranic ideals, including the ideas that God wants humans
to care for His creation, that He wants His creatures to experience
ease of life, and especially that He wants them to have good health.
Various Hadīth admonishing attention to the maintenance of health
were also cited. Thus a case was built for the admissibility of family
planning on the basis of scriptural authority and some Mappila males
accepted vasectomies.
Muslim women too were shifting in their thinking. They knew
that it was their health that was most directly at stake in the issue.
Their distress, especially in some poverty-stricken Malabar regions,
was palpable. Many were unable to maintain the dietary requirements
of a normal pregnancy, and pernicious anemia and eclampsia were
constant hazards. Their position was a near-tragic one, and for them
the possibility of accepting a tubectomy after the fifth or sixth preg-
nancy seemed to be a life or death matter rather than a mere option.
In that light, Dr. A. Mohammed, the Mappila Director of a govern-
ment family planning project in Malappuram District developed the
idea of putting this opinion into a modern form of the classic Mappila
songs that are so appealing to women. One such song was entitled
“The Message.”3 It first poses a question:
“Why did Ayesha stop her second birth?

Why did her husband agree?
. . . Were not Adam’s descendants to increase?
Was this not the original approach of the Lord of the
Worlds?”
Then the song states the difficulty of raising many children, and also
points out God’s concern for our health. It asks:
“Were not Adam’s descendants to be well?

Should we not obey the Lord of the Worlds?”
That theological imperative demanding obedience forces a conclusion,

and so the song ends:
“Then I too shall cease being pregnant!”
The movement toward the acceptance of family planning is a labora-

tory of the ongoing Mappila cultural adaptation. Involved in it are
the elements of necessity, common sense, leadership, scriptural inter-
pretation, and community consensus. Haltingly, but increasingly, the
Mappila community has become convinced that that practice can be
rationally and scripturally sustained, and is not contrary to the faith.
There are different levels of agreement, and some traditionalists con-

tinue to oppose the idea outrightly. The uneasy process by which a
new consensus is being built up is illustrated in the following state-
ment of a Mappila woman: “It is harām, but it is practical!” Although
general opinion now favors some form of family planning, it is note-
worthy that in practice Mappilas continue to have, on the average,
larger families than do other Malayali communities. This fact is borne
out by the relative increase of the Mappila population in the state.
In the half century from 1951 to 2001 the Muslim share of the Kerala
population grew by 7.2 percent; and from 1971, when the family plan-
ning drive began in force, the Muslim share of the state’s population
rose from 19.5 to 24.7 percent. The fertility rate in the Muslim-majority
Malappuram District was 2.4 against the state figure of 1.7. While the
state average household size in 2001 was 4.7, in Malappuram Dis-
trict the size was 6.0. Although Mappilas participated in the dramatic
reduction of Kerala’s birthrate, their involvement came later and at a
less intensive level than that of other communities.
In reversing their own tide of opinion Malayali Muslims have
anticipated developments in the wider Muslim community in the
nation. That is indicated by a recent exchange on the subject in Luck
now. In September 2004, Syed Kalbe Sadiq, the Vice-President of the
All India Muslim Personal Law Board, suggested that Muslims adopt
the goal of a small family and concentrate on educating their children.
President Maulana Rabe Hasan Nadvi, however, rejected the idea,
stating that it is “un-Islamic and cannot be accepted.” Mahmoodi
Madani, a leader of the Jamaʾat-ul-Ulama Hind, chimed in, asserting
that “there is no religious sanction for family planning.” Ms. Sughra
Manhidi of the All India Muslim Woman’s Forum came to Sadiq’s
defense arguing that as long as there is not a coercive element “there
is nothing un-Islamic about going in for a small family.”4 Her opinion
expresses what an ever-increasing number of Kerala Muslims today
hold to be true.
Marriage
Marriage is the second high point in the Mappila life cycle. It is high
in anticipation, in effort, and in pleasure. In Mappila culture it exem-
plifies the two streams that have given it shape: Islamic culture and
Malayalam culture. The marriage contract itself falls under the per-
sonal law of Islam. Malayalam culture plays a role in nonprescrip-
tive areas where the community’s marriage festivities developed in

unique patterns.
In all cultures marriage has a rich tapestry that has many shades
of color and design. That is also true of Mappila marriage customs.
Moreover, they bear the complicating characteristics of “here and
there” and “then and now.” For example, in interior Malabar, it was
the practice to have the main wedding festivities at night, includ-
ing exuberant processions with torches and drums. In North Malabar
matrilinealism affects its customs. In coastal Malabar among some
families the marriage extended three days—the first included the
practice of staining the bride’s hand with a design, the second was
reserved for the contract signing, while on the third day the bride
would go to the bridegroom’s house. In the southern region of the
state it was customary to use the tāli, a necklace placed on the bride by
the bridegroom, a common Malayalam tradition derived from Hindu
culture. While elements of these and other older customs remain, in
what follows we describe the common threads in today’s tapestry—
the marriage arrangement, the age of the couple, the combination of
mahr and dowry, the contract, and the wedding reception.
The Marriage Arrangement
Marriage is considered to be an alliance between families; the marriag-

es are therefore arranged by parents, and the children will ordinarily
accept their decision. Family elders make the arrangement, observ-
ing such criteria as the social standing of the family, the amount of
dowry, and the possible prohibitions. Except in some modern homes
the young man and young woman have a minor role. It is not even
necessary that they see each other prior to the betrothal, although
among educated families it is now common for them to have briefly
met before the marriage event. Certain blood restrictions must be
observed in the selection process. Cousins may marry, but they must
be children of the father’s brother with children of the mother’s broth-
er or sister. Children who have been wet-nursed are regarded as a
brother or sister of the family and may not be married into it. Map-
pilas of Arab blood descent may prefer to seek alliances within their
group, but there is no bar to their marrying full-blooded Malayalis.
Marriages arranged by the couple themselves, called “love mar-
riages,” are quite infrequent, young people fearing the disapproval of
their relatives and the community. When such a personally arranged
marriage between Muslims occurs, the parents will reluctantly make
the best of it. When the individual arrangement runs across religious
lines, however, it falls under the prescribed law. The Qurʾān and Mus-
lim personal law allow a Muslim male to marry a Christian or Jewish
female, although they discourage it, but the reverse is not permitted.
Behind the ruling is the cultural assumption that a wife will eventu-
ally follow the religious inclination of her husband. Even though this
legal permission exists within religious law, when a Muslim male does
marry a Christian female there is usually a great hullabaloo. Knowing
this, the young couple may elope, thus increasing the scandal. They
will have to raise their children without any help from home. The
situation becomes even more delicate in the case of Muslim–Hindu
love marriages for which there is no provision in the sharia. In sum-
mary, arranged marriages continue as the normal Mappila custom.
The Age of Marriage
Marriageable Mappila men are generally above the age of eighteen.

In the past it was routine for women to be married at an earlier
age, often between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and sometimes
immediately after puberty. The practice of early marriage for females
developed in part out of concern for the honor of the family and the
girl. The girl might receive adverse comment if she remained unmar-
ried too long, and the family itself might be criticized for its failure
to take the necessary steps. There was also the fear that she might be
“spoiled” by even harmless contact with young men, and the result
would be that no other family would be interested in an alliance. The
early age syndrome reached its extreme through a practice of omana
kaliyānum, literally “child marriage,” by which an arrangement could
be made for the future marriage of two small children, a practice now
declared illegal.
Countervailing forces have come into play as the result of the
community’s cultural transition—the marriage age for Mappila wom-
en is steadily rising, and men are accepting the new pattern. Among
those forces the trend toward modern educational development has
provided the main incentive for change. Mappilas have become com-
mitted to the principle of women’s education. They no longer wel-
come a practice that blocks out the high school and college years.
Traditionalists seek various compromises to overcome the perceived
dilemma—for example, sometimes marriages are arranged but not
consummated, thereby freeing up women for their studies. Modern
Mappilas simply insist that the dilemma is a false one. Let women
be educated, after which marriages may be arranged! Their voice has
been heard, and Muslim women everywhere are now involved in

professional education, postponing marriage until their mid-twenties.
Mahr and Dowry
Before the formal betrothal of a couple can take place the marriage
“committee” must discuss the issues of mahr and dowry. Mahr is an
Islamic practice and dowry is an all-India and Malayali custom. They
have come together in contemporary Mappila behavior.
Mahr
Mahr is a voluntary gift presented by the bridegroom to the bride at

the time of the marriage contract. The custom of a bride-gift, a practice
in Arab culture, was validated by the Qurʾān: “And give unto the
women (whom ye marry free gift of their marriage portions” (4:3).
The amount varies widely, depending on the economic and social
status of the bridegroom, but it is never large and does not constitute
a burden for the giver. Among Mappilas it is usually gold in the form
of a bangle, chain, or ring, but it may also be cash. It is a symbol of
the relationship, and also serves as a modest form of security for the
woman. She may keep it, sell it, or exchange it, and the husband may
not take it from her even if there is a divorce.
Dowry
Dowry in Indian culture is a payment made by the bride’s family to

the bridegroom or his family, either in cash or in kind. Differing from
the mahr it ordinarily involves large amounts of money, gold, and/
or property. It generally entails great hardship for the parents of girls
and is widely regarded as a societal curse. Strong efforts have been
made in the nation to eliminate dowry either by the means of public
criticism or through formal legislation, notably the Dowry Act of 1961
and its several amendments. Indu Prakash Singh’s conclusion that all
this “has signally failed to achieve its purpose” is undoubtedly cor-
rect.5 It has almost been the case of one step forward and two steps
back. Dowry remains firmly entrenched and is certainly pervasive in
Malayalam culture.
In Malayalam culture the asking and giving of dowry is rou-
tine in the Hindu and Christian communities. The amount is set in
negotiations, and while it is intended to reflect the economic sta-
tus of the family and the educational achievement of the bride, it
is
steadily increasing to exorbitant levels.6 Through the process of
cultural absorption dowry has now also become a common element
in the Muslim community, creating what one informant describes as
“a huge problem.” For example, to conclude a marriage arrangement
with a lower division clerk in an office, the bride’s family must pro-
duce Rs.25,000, plus an equal equivalent in gold, approximately the
clerk’s salary for a year or more. This is the low end of the scale.
The cries against dowry are loud but generally ineffective. A Map-
pila religious leader states that reformers are striving to get families
to reject dowry agreements “in the Name of God.”7
The Betrothal and the Wedding
Mappilas differentiate between the betrothal or nikah (Ar.) and the

wedding or kaliyānum (Mal.). The nikah is the legal contract between
the two parties and is formally equivalent to marriage in the Islamic
tradition. The kaliyānum is the festivity that follows the nikah, and it
is influenced by Malayalam customs.
Nikah
The nikah is conducted at a time convenient to the parties involved,

normally without reference to astrologers; some Mappilas, however,
prefer Thursdays and Sundays for this function. Its essential core is
the signing of the marriage contract. While Muslim law regards this
as a legal procedure rather than a sacred act, participants tend to look
upon it as a religious ceremony, given its overtones.
The betrothal takes place at the bride’s house. Minimally, the
assembled group includes the local qādī or religious judge, the bride-
groom and his father, the bride’s father or guardian (walī), and two
witnesses. Other family representatives and friends may attend the
nikah, but the bride herself is usually in a nearby room. After the
group assembles the officiating cleric recites the first chapter of the
Qurʾān (al-Fatiha), and other appropriate verses. This can suffice. He
may, however, choose to add a comment on the successful marriages
of the prophets who serve as models. A classical admonition is the
following:
O ye people, make your Lord your shelter, Who created

you out of one soul, and created out of it kind spouses, and
thus multiplied men and women; and fear Allah with Whose
name you beseech Him, and be mindful of the rights of the

relations of the womb. Verily God is watching over you.8
The guardian of the bride than goes to her and asks whether she
agrees to the marriage. In the rare cases where she is present at
the nikah, she is asked three times whether she agrees. The maulavi
then asks the bridegroom whether he will accept the woman as his
bride. The amounts of mahr and dowry that have been stipulated are
announced, and the contract is signed. Although two witnesses are
technically sufficient, as many as four from each side may affix their
names to the registry book that is kept in the mosque; in a traditional
wedding the bride is not expected to sign but may do so. The cer-
emony concludes when the mahr is handed over to the bride through
the father, and the dowry is similarly paid—fully or in part—if that
has been previously arranged.
Kaliyānum
When the prescribed nikah is completed the kaliyānum or wedding

festivities begin. Joy is a common factor, but otherwise there is a great
variation in the wedding customs related to regional differences; the
immediate proximity of the two families involved; the age of the bride
and bridegroom; the level of education; and above all the economic
means of the participants. Ibrahim Kunju sums it up: “Marriage cus-
toms among the Mappilas vary considerable from region to region
and section to section.”9 In the following description the customs are
drawn mainly from the practices of interior Mappilas in South Mala-
bar, which make up only one strand in the kaliyānum cord.
One important factor in the festivities is the need for a back-
and-forth movement between the homes of the bride and bridegroom,
impacting both the time frame and the cost. As to the time frame,
if the homes are near to each other it is possible to include one of
the unique night processions along the village streets with flicker-
ing lights, songs, women carrying umbrellas, and much commotion.
These are becoming rarer as vehicular travel takes over. As to the cost,
Mappila hospitality is both expansive and expensive. Even though the
general trend is toward the simplification of wedding celebrations and
the reduction of time to one day, the financial burden remains heavy.
This is especially true for the bridal parents who must assume the cost
of the wedding feast as well as the dowry. It is a time for generosity,
however, and lavish biriyāni meals are served to enthusiastic guests
beginning with the males who are seated on coconut mats in an open
space. While the expense creates anxiety, the families are determined
to do whatever is possible to create a happy occasion even though it
may entail taking out a loan.
In one typical function the wedding ceremonies begin at the
bride’s house. A small group from her home has gone to the bride-
groom’s house to invite his party. The latter arrives for the nikah,
which is followed by the wedding feast. While this is in progress, the
female members of the groom’s party are busy dressing the bride in
the new clothes that they have brought, either a traditional blouse
and skirt or a colorful sari. A Mappila physician tells of how her
sister cried when the bridegroom’s party “compelled” her to put on
an unaccustomed blouse with long sleeves! Then decorative henna is
applied to the bride’s hands and toes while female friends seated in a
circle sing a variety of wedding songs and clap their hands. The bride
often sheds some tears, depending on her age. At this point the prac-
tices may diverge. One tradition involves completing the ceremony
at the bride’s house, while the second and common one requires the
wedding parties to go to the bridegroom’s house. In the latter case
males precede and share in another meal, the women following after
they have had a chance to eat at the bride’s home.
In either case the core of the kaliyānum ceremony is reached
when the bride and bridegroom meet in a separate room that has
been decorated and prepared for the occasion, often in an upper story.
The groom and witnesses enter the room where the bride and her
attendants are waiting. In traditional culture the bride is to get her
first glimpse of her new husband in a hand mirror! Then a ceremony
takes place to cement the relation, including the sharing of small gifts.
Among the well-to-do the ceremony is more elaborate. Below is an
observer’s description of one such scene more than a half century
ago:10
The room was packed with women and children and the
air, heavy with the scent of jasmine flower festoons lopped
prettily around the room was stifling . . . The bride, com-
pletely hidden by her sari, was seated on the decorated
bridal bed. Just in front of us two chairs were placed fac-
ing each other. The bride was brought over and placed on
one of the chairs, and a garland of roses and jasmine was
put around her neck by the bridegroom, who was then
seated opposite her . . . A man brought a tali, in this case
a beautiful golden necklace with many gold pendants, and
the groom fastened it around the neck of his bride . . . Now

the right hands of the couple were joined and covered
with a silk cloth . . . Then two satin-covered pillows and
a silken bed covering were brought and put on the bed,
and the bride was taken back to the bed while the groom
joined the group of men.
The marriage may be consummated the first day; others however pre-
fer the second day in order “to have good communication and sharing
of ideas,” as one Mappila woman put it. If the ceremony has taken
place at the bride’s house, the groom remains there for a few days
before returning to his home. If it has been the bridegroom’s house,
he and his new bride remain there for up to four days, then return to
the bride’s house where another formal meal will have been arranged.
While the details of the kaliyānum are variable, the basic ele-
ments that are to inform the spirit of a Mappila marriage come from
the Qurʾān, and these are considered to be obligatory. The first is
the principle of procreation, for it is expected that a marriage will
result in children and a family life. Respect for God’s will is taken
for granted and it is hoped that this will lead to pious behavior as
the Qurʾān admonishes: “Reverence God through whom ye demand
mutual rights” (4:11; Yusuf Ali). The sharing of tasks and finances is
expected. Ideally also affection will develop, but as Mappila women
point out, the reverse pattern also occurs. At the marriage ceremony
itself no one wants to think of that possibility as the two families
happily intermingle. With satisfaction and relief the bride’s mother
declares, “Kettichu!,” that is, “The knot is tied!”
A Note on Polygamy
Polygamy is permitted under Muslim law to a maximum of four wives

at one time, the restriction being that a husband must be able to treat
all wives equally. But among Mappilas monogamy is the preferred
practice, and the percentage of polygamous marriages is relatively
low and getting lower. It was certainly never at the exaggerated level
of reports such as the following by E. Thurston in 1909: “Polygamy is
the rule, and it is estimated that in South Malabar 80 per cent of the
husbands have two wives or more, and 20 per cent three or four.”11
In general, the practice of polygamy among Indian Muslims tends to
be overstated. Current census reports reveal that the percentage hov-
ers at a little over 5 percent. Kareem suggests that among Mappilas
it is largely confined to the monied class and musaliars “who work
part-time in more than one district,”12 but he also declares that “now
the system is dying out amongst them also.”13 Where a polygamous
marriage does exist, there is a division of household duties, but that
is not always successful in preventing internal disagreements.
The practice of serial marriages has been much more common
among Mappilas than that of plural wives. The phrase “serial mar-
riage” is used to describe the practice of frequent divorce and re-mar-
riage. A Mappila woman, Nafeesa, has this to say about the frequency
of the two customs: “This [polygamy] is not practiced much. If a
man loses interest in his wife, he divorces her and gets married with
another lady.” It is the divorce rate that represents the chief Mappila
problem in marriage relations, and we turn to that issue next.
Divorce: The Practice and the Problem
The divorce patterns of the Mappilas are liberal in regard to male

freedom and restricted in terms of women’s rights. As to the actual
causes of divorce, Mappila women cite a variety of reasons why a
husband may divorce a woman, including the following:
• The dowry was insufficient

• There is suspicion of the wife’s character
• She is sterile
• She is disobedient
• The parents-in-law do not like her
• The husband does not like her
The final listed cause is really the important one. In fact, tradi-
tionalist culture gives a Mappila husband the broadest possible free-
dom to initiate a separation, and that permissiveness has been drawn
upon to the extreme.
Whatever the reason, the husband may indicate to his wife in a
number of ways that he is disinclined to continue the marriage. He
may give a private verbal signal. He may ask his wife to remain at
her home when she visits there, and not come to see her. He may let
his wife’s father or brother know, and return the dowry. He may even
inform the mosque authority in writing. In the actual legal execution
of the divorce Mappila husbands have commonly used a method
that is frowned upon in Islamic law. The legally preferred method

of divorce (talāq al-hasān) requires a statement, “I divorce you,” once
a month over a three-month period (ʿiddat) as recommended by the
Qurʾān. The irregular mode is to say “I divorce you” thrice running on
one occasion (talāq al-bidʿa).14 In Mappila custom the irregular became
the regular, and Mappila women were unceremoniously dismissed.
A Mappila woman can divorce her husband, although it is
understood that her husband should agree. If he does not and if she
wishes to pursue the matter, her alternative is to appeal to the courts
with justifiable reasons and good witnesses. The Quranically accept-
able reasons are cruelty and abandonment, the latter understood as
at least a seven-year period, while Muslim law also adds inadequate
support and impotence to the list. In fact, Mappila women rarely have
the confidence to advance their case in any way even though they
may have been mistreated.
Because some Mappila males have taken notorious advantage of
the community’s cultural permissiveness that allows them to quickly
and easily annual a marriage contract, the divorce rate among Map-
pilas is high indeed, particularly among the poor and uneducated.
Severe social problems face the divorced women and their children
whom they must take care of to the age of seven, and often for much
longer. A divorced woman may re-marry, but her prospects for all
practical purposes are restricted to marriage with a widower or as a
second wife, and even these options are not commonly available. In
theory she can and should return to her own home, or seek refuge
with relatives. If she is older, that may not be possible. Often she
will not have a place to go and must rent a small house for herself
and her children. Unskilled, as she is likely to be, she must find a
simple job or exist on the charity of others. There are few places in
Mappila society where some divorced women and children are not
living in penury, even though the rest of the community is economi-
cally advancing. The problem has had a cumulative impact and is the
chief blight in Mappila culture although the same conditions do not
prevail in all sections of the community
Progressive community leaders, including female leaders, are
increasingly distressed and aroused by the situation are seeking rem-
edies. They have taken up the cudgels against talāq al-bidʿa, not only
because it is destructive to family life, but also because it brings down
the reputation of the community and its faith. Representing that view,
C. N. Ahmed Moulavi declares; “Some ignorant people think that the
woman’s future hinges on the tongue of the man and that the whole
relationship rests on his will and pleasure. Such a belief is insulting
to Islam. The feeling has arisen because people do not bother to study
the religion.”15 Under pressure of the reformers the rate of divorce has
been somewhat reduced in the last quarter century.
Old Age and Death
The Elderly Period of Life
Mappila behavior reflects the general Indian value system regarding

older people which includes respect for elders and the commitment
to take care of them as long as necessary. These well-established prin-
ciples are under pressure for two reasons—the increasing length of
age and the mobility of society. The retirement age in various Indian
employment services is relatively young, ranging from 55 to 58. At
the same time, life expectancy has increased as the result of better
food and health care. The average “seniority” period has lengthened.
In addition, with the advent of intensified industrialization Indian
society has become increasingly mobile, making family conditions
unstable. But neither all-Indian nor Kerala culture has taken up the
“senior citizen home” practice that is found in many Western societ-
ies; the thought of giving the family’s aged members into the care of
strangers is, on the whole, a distasteful idea for Malayalis. Although
older people will try to remain active and on their own as long as
they can, as soon as necessary the children of parents must step in
and do what is needful. For Mappilas the Indian value system is
reinforced by the exhortation of the Qurʾān that declares: “Thy Lord
hath decreed . . . that ye be kind to parents, whether one or both of
them attain old age in thy life. Say not to them a word of contempt,
but address them in words of honour” (3:23; Yusuf Ali).
In Mappila custom the obligation to care for elders belongs first
to sons and daughters-in-law. If there is no son, the duty falls on the
shoulders of the son-in-law. Given ordinary living conditions, it is not
an easy responsibility to assume. Houses are small and finances gener-
ally meagre. As one informant stated: “Most sons and daughters-in-
law think of it as a burden and also an unavoidable responsibility.”
Because of the practical problems there may be tension in the situ-
ation, and even open disagreement. Due deference must be paid to
elders, but at the same time the children must make their own deci-
sions. Elders pass their time in different ways. Some are still involved
in societal affairs to some extent and move about in that connection.
The majority have little to do. Sitting on verandas has its limitation,
and they are loathe to stay in the small home more than necessary. It
is an ordinary sight in Mappila localities to see older persons walk-
ing slowly along the street or sitting with friends on a bench. If the
senior person has been a businessman he may continue to go to his
establishment for one or two hours, where he is paid due respect. If
he is a professional man of some distinction, he will receive invitations
to public events where he will be given a place of honor. An older
woman stays at home, content with inter-family visits and conversa-
tions with female neighbors, but on special occasions she will go out.
Her family is her main concern. To whatever extent possible she gives
assistance to her daughter or daughter-in-law in caring for children
or in the preparation of food.
Death and Its Ceremonies
The universal nature of death and its common painfulness draw

Malayalis together even though in ritual matters Hindus, Muslims,
and Christians deal with this reality quite differently. Death is visible
in Malayalam culture, and its sorrow is shared by the community.
The market goes silent as the body is carried down the street. For
Mappilas the attitudes toward death are formed by the Qurʾān and
their rituals reflect Islamic tradition.
The fifteenth chapter of the Qurʾān is named Al-Hajr, which has
been translated as “The Rocky Tract.” The title refers to the mountain-
ous region north of Medina in western Arabia, while the chapter itself
speaks of death. The title lends itself to metaphorical use for death
is “a rocky place” for all humanity. The chapter verses refer to the
One “Who gives death” (v.23), to “the Day of the Appointed Time”
(v.38), to “the most grievous Chastisement” (v.50), and to “the Hour
surely coming” (v.85). The final verse (99) summarizes the matter:
“And serve thy Lord until there comes unto thee the Hour that is
certain.” For corporate humanity the Hour is the Day of Judgment,
but for individuals it is also the moment of death. “Every soul shall
have a taste of death, and only on the Day of Judgment shall you be
paid your full recompense” (3:185).
Though death is unavoidable, Muslims believe that it too falls
under God’s will. The Qurʾān declares that it comes at a stated time
when God decides to take a soul to Himself (39:43). Some believe
that it is the angel Izraʿīl who takes the spirit of the dead person
to God. Therefore, when someone dies, a family’s sorrow should be
controlled. The death of a loved one is a sorrowful occasion, and there
is a natural human inclination to weeping. Nevertheless, Mappilas
are counselled to practice fortitude. When one hears of a death, one

should say: “We all belong to God, and we will all return to Him.”
Behind the saying is the sense of a better and more lasting life to come.
When someone’s expiry is anticipated the family and friends,
and a mulla if possible, will gather at the scene. The dying person
should recite the confession of faith (shahāda), but if he or she can-
not do so a family member may recite it instead. When the person
has passed away, the eyes should be closed, the head and chin tied
with a cloth, so also the two feet, the hands folded across the breast,
and the body covered. Some may recite a Quranic verse at that time,
whether al-Fatiha or another of the shorter suras, while others may
join in a prayer, women also participating. Following general Islamic
custom embalming is not done, and it is necessary to conduct the
burial within twenty-four hours of death. The family therefore hastens
to inform relatives and friends.
Shortly before the time of burial the body is washed with soap
and water, males performing the function for males, and females
for females. Camphor, a kind of aromatic compound, is sprinkled
seven times. After cotton is placed in the nose and ears, the body
is clothed. Both males and females are dressed in the same manner
as they would be for prayer. A man’s body is therefore laid on a
clean cloth, preferably three pieces, two of which are new, the body
is covered and the ends of the covering at the head and feet are tied.
Perfume or rose water may also be sprinkled on the body. This is the
time for further recitation of Quranic verses. Someone may recite por-
tions of the 36th chapter called Ya Sin: “Verily, We shall give life to
the dead” (v.12). . . .” “All, without exception will be brought before
Us (v.32). . . .” “The word from a Merciful Lord (for those who merit
Paradise) is Peace!” (v.57).
Then the body is placed on a bier and is first taken to the
mosque. The women say farewell at home and do not accompany
the procession. At the mosque a special form of the prayer takes place.
It begins with a takbir, declaring God great, followed by the recitation
of the al-Fatiha, then another takbir. After that comes a regular cycle
of prayer (salāt), another takbir, and a prayer for the expired person.
Following is an example of a typical prayer:16
O God, forgive our sins, the sins of those of us who are

living and those who are dead, those who are present as
well as those who are away, of the small among us as well
as the big; the males as well as the females. O God, when
you make one of us live, enable him to live as a Muslim,

and when you make him die, make him die as a believer.
O God, do not deny us the reward for praying for him.
After him, do not put us to trial.
From the mosque the bier is carried through the streets in single file.
Muslims stand as the procession passes by. Participants either solemn-
ly intone the word “Allah . . . Allah!” as Sunnis do, or walk silently
as non-Sunnis do. The grave will have been excavated in advance, in
the north-south direction, and five- to six-feet deep. It is dug wide at
the top and narrow at the bottom. While the body is being lowered
those in attendance may join in saying, “In the Name of God, and on
the way of the apostle of God” (bismillāhi, wa ʿala millati rasūl illāhi).
Once again Quranic passages may be read. Then the body is carefully
placed on its right side on the narrow bottom—no box is used—and
the head is carefully turned in the direction of the holy shrine in
Mecca. The lower section is covered with stones (preferably nine) to
prevent earth from falling on the body. The grave is then filled with
loose soil, the mourner casting in three handfuls. A marker may be
set up with the particulars of the dead person, but most are content
with a plain stone at the head, or the head and foot of the grave. In a
traditionalist ceremony the maulavi may stand at the northwest and/
or southwest corner of the grave and repeat questions that the angel
is expected to ask the expired person, at the same time providing
the appropriate answers: “Who is your God?” “Allah.” Who is your
Prophet?” “Muhammad.” What is your religion?” “Islam.” “Who is
your Imam?” The Qurʾān.” So the soul of the departed is sent forward
in hope. The ceremonies are now over, gifts may be given to the poor
around the grave, and the mourners disperse.
At the graveside one further optional practice remains that is
controversial and is observed less and less frequently. Those who
have financial ability to do so may engage a mulla to remain in the
vicinity of the grave for a period of time, even seven or thirteen
days, to read and recite Quranic passages. Ordinary believers may
also perform the function. The difference of opinion relates to prayers
of intercession on behalf of the expired person. Traditionalists hold
that this has Prophetic authority, through various Hadīth, and “our
sheet-anchor (safeguard) is to believe what the Prophet has said.”17
Reform Mappilas believe that the practice of intercessory prayer is
wrong. However, the idea of reading sacred verses, or visiting the
grave at a later time, is generally accepted. Women also participate
in this activity.
The immediate mourners have returned home. There will be no
cooking done in the home, but with the help of others a way will be
found to provide food for the family and friends. Some additional
matters will be attended to. The inheritance pattern is prescribed, and
will be treated in the next chapter, but the personal possessions of
the expired person must be disbursed according to that individual’s
previously declared wish. Jewelry may be given to the mosque, while
personal dress and vessels may go to the relatives or to the poor.
Before that happens, however, the dead person’s debts, if any remain,
should be cleared. After matters such as these have been taken care
of, the sense of personal loss inevitably takes hold. No personal for-
titude can prevent it. If a husband has died, a woman is to remain
relatively secluded and in mourning for forty days. The mourning
period is ended with a meal when the confession of faith is recited
101 times. Intervening ceremonies may have taken place, subject to
financial ability. On the third day after the funeral a mulla may con-
duct a memorial event with voluntary prayers. On this occasion the
lā ilāha illa lāh should ideally be repeated up to 70,000 times, but the
mulla has to decide how that tradition is to be practically fulfilled
considering the people present. Taking into account the need to pay
the cleric and the practice of providing food along with these ceremo-
nies, the trend is toward the simplification of the death rites in the
same way as the marriage function.
These are the critical moments, but most of life is spent on a
more ordinary plane. We turn now to the Mappila family and home.
8
Family Custom
Home Life, Interrelationships, Inheritance
Although the concept of “extended family” is still alive, the basic unit
in Mappila society is now the nuclear family, consisting of parents and
children. It is within their common life that ordinary Muslim culture
is both practiced and developed. In this chapter we will consider a
representative home—its rhythm of life, the personal relationships
within the family, and its inheritance patterns.
The Mappila Home and Its Rhythm of Life
Abdulla and Amina lead our representative family. Only Abdulla’s

father Abu is staying with them, since Amina’s aged parents live with
her older brother. The family is a progressive one. As a teacher, Amina
must move about in many ways her mother did not. Abdulla accepts
that. As a lawyer he understands that personal and community habits
should sometimes change like laws. Abdulla and Amina take pride
in their tradition but they are selective about old customs, keeping
those that seem appropriate to their faith and life but ignoring those
that do not. They are not controlled by the past.
The family life of the two parents has reached an exciting stage
because their children are maturing. Ashraf is already settled with
his own business and family but often visits his parents. Rashid is
full of energy and heavily involved in student affairs. He is still
undecided about his future career. Fatima is completing high school.
Amina knows that her own parents favor an early betrothal for their
granddaughter, but she is determined that Fatima will enjoy the same
educational opportunity as her sons. Abdulla fully agrees. Fatima, too,
wants to become a medical doctor, but the family knows that will take
years of study and cost a great deal. Abdulla and Amina have decided
161
to face the difficulties as they arise, trusting in God. There is another

matter, however, that preoccupies Abdulla. Rashid has become very
involved in student union politics. He is excited about the coming
elections and is already planning a campaign at his college. Abdulla
cautions him: “Do not forget your studies.” When he says that, Rashid
is silent, for his father has spoken.
In the meantime life must go on. Abdulla has a heavy court load.
He salutes his father and hurries to the office. Amina, a teacher, looks
around at all the work she has to do in her home. It is a holiday at
her school, but not a free day for her. What does her house look like?
The Mappila House and Home
Mappila house architecture varies according to local style and eco-

nomic ability. At one extreme are the small huts of the poor—still to
be seen, but less and less frequently. Their walls are made of packed
clay mixed with straw. The floors are of mud, pounded smooth. The
roof is made of coconut palm leaves laid over bamboo slats. There are
two rooms, an inner space and a kitchen. The house has no sanitary
facilities and is not electrified. At the other extreme are the houses
built with Gulf money. Two-story and bulky, with large rooms, they
are constructed with costly materials and in modern style. They rise
like giants from the paddy fields they occupy. Neither extreme rep-
resents the pattern of most Mappila habitations. In between them are
two intermediate types of housing used by the majority, a narrow
two-storied laterite construction or a reinforced concrete bungalow.
The first of these is the basic house of the lower middle class.
It is in the shape of a narrow rectangle of one story, or two narrow
rectangles one set on top of the other to create two stories. It is built
of red porous laterite rock, which is a leached feldspar. The walls
are sometimes covered with lime or cement plaster, but are often left
unplastered because of the cost. The roof, sharply pitched to drain
off the heavy monsoon rains, has roofing tiles laid over wooden slats
called reepers. The ceiling, if present, may be wood or asbestos sheets.
The floors are covered with clay tiles or polished cement. There are
three small rooms in the rectangle. The middle room is all-purpose,
used for dining and other needs. The two side rooms are usually bed-
rooms. If there is a second story the staircase will ascend from one of
the interior rooms or will be attached to an outside wall. The upper
story contains small bedrooms with tiny windows. The windows
everywhere have bars of some kind to prevent entry and shutters
that can be closed. Running along the front of the house is a narrow
Family Custom 163
veranda, sometimes partially enclosed, while a kitchen extends from

the rear. There is a well nearby. The simple sanitary facility (kakoose)
is set back as far as possible on the small lot.
Abdulla’s childhood was spent in a house of this type, and he
especially remembers two things about it—the cramped living style
and the difficulties in the rainy season. The close quarters did affect
him, but as a boy he spent most of his time outside the home. The
family had a small table and chair in the center room where he used
to study. There was almost no other furniture. The members of the
family slept on coconut mats that were unrolled at night. Privacy
was achieved with the greatest difficulty. The rainy season greatly
increased the problems. Getting the clothes to dry after washing them
took days, and they hung everywhere on ropes stretched across the
bedrooms or on the little veranda. On it were two benches where time
could be passed until a drenching outpour eased its force. Abdulla is
grateful for his improved situation today.
He and his family live in the second of the intermediate types of
houses now favored by the middle class, the type made of reinforced
concrete. This is a less costly construction than the traditional pitched-
roof house. The laterite rock used for those houses was cut from the
ground with heavy axes. If the laterite rock was especially hard, a
single laborer could cut only about twenty blocks a day. Workers
willing to engage in such back-breaking labor are now very scarce.
Similarly the wood needed for the rafters and ceilings, particularly the
hard woods needed to resist white ants, is now also very scarce and
hence much more costly. The reinforced concrete house with straight
lines and a flat roof is the Malayali answer to the contemporary house-
building need, but it lacks the heat and rain resistance of the older
model, and it does not readily absorb noise. Its great advantages are
cost and adaptability.
The ordinary reinforced concrete home is single-storied, but there
are also numerous two-story versions. In some cases the receiving
veranda is placed inside the house, and is entered from a small porch
where sandals and umbrellas may be left. Occupying the center of the
house is a family and dining room, and behind it is the kitchen. From
the narrow front room a staircase goes up to the second floor that
contains two or three bedrooms and a bathroom. This basic design has
many variations, and a wealthier home will have more space and a
carport attached. Some house owners prefer a hybrid style, putting a
pitched tile roof above the concrete roof to ward off leaks and reduce
heat. They may also decide to retain the open outside veranda in the
old manner. The house is customarily surrounded with a compound
wall to give privacy and to keep out the ever-present goats. Inside
the walls the yard is beautified with bougainvillea, hibiscus, cosmos,
and other flowers, as well as fruit trees.
In general, the Mappila habitations are steadily improving, a
reflection of the community’s advancing economic conditions.
Family Values
Mappila family values flow naturally from both of their forming cul-
ture streams. From the Malayalam stream they draw on the spirit
of mutual tolerance and pride in family achievement, and from the
Islamic stream the commitment to piety (taqwā) and right behavior
(birr). But they also reflect the Mappila historical experience with the
conditions of poverty. That has produced strong emphases that are
reflected in attitudes and behavior within the family.
In Abdulla’s mind the contrast of his current living condition
with his parental home is often in the foreground of his thoughts.
The memory causes him to adopt an attitude of hamd, praise to the
Almighty, and gives him the determination that his family will be
one that remembers its blessings. His father Abu owned a tiny shop
on the roadside of his village. He stocked a few items that were in
common demand—matches, soap, paper, and oranges when in sea-
son. The people walked past the shop with their long strides, but
occasionally someone would stop and make a small purchase. Abu
had to work late, otherwise there would be nothing to take home.
There were—and still are—hundreds of similar shops along the streets
of Mappila areas that compete with one another, but in a friendly
way. The poor are generally friendly, understanding the struggle for
existence, and sympathize with others who face the same problems.
Abdulla remembers sad days when his father made few sales. That
evening it would be very quiet in their little house, and his mother
could serve only the simplest food.
Abdulla’s mother, he remembers, usually arrived home before
his father. She worked in the rice fields at certain times of the year to
augment the family income. The owner had fertile land, so she could
be employed for two rice-plantings and two harvests annually. In the
planting season she would stand in the water and would carefully
plant the seedlings by hand in the wet ground, making sure that they
were the right distance from each other. It was back-breaking work.
At harvest time she would help in plucking and gathering the ripened
grain. Then she would go home, tend the children who had returned
from school, and prepare the food. Very frequently she cooked tapi-
Family Custom 165
oca instead of rice because of low funds. She and her husband were
often tired, sometimes irritated, and frequently in despair. Yet Abdulla
recalls how they kept a lamp with costly kerosene where he could
study, and encouraged him in his efforts. They wanted Abdulla to be
educated and to lift up the family. Their family meant everything to
them. It was their richness.
The powerful role of the family in Mappila culture, and some
of the Mappila family values, developed under such circumstances.
Abdulla and Amina are happy that their children do not have to
repeat their hard experiences, but they also strive to pass on to them
the values that they gained from it—most notably mutual consider-
ation, the readiness to sacrifice, the need for hard work, the recogni-
tion that life does not consist only of possessions, and a hanging on
to patient trust in God. Abu’s presence in their home is a reminder
to them that even though new developments have ameliorated the
conditions of the past, the values arising from that experience repre-
sent enduring ideals for the Mappila family.
Family Life: Daily Routines and High/Low Moments
Mappila family life is an oscillation between routine living and spe-

cial times of joy or sorrow. The average family has a rhythm that is
marked by four movements which, in one way or another, affect all
Mappilas—the common functions of everyday life; the rites of pas-
sage, from birth to death; ritual religious practices; and the calendar
of festivals—national, Malayali, and Islamic. In this section we will
deal with ordinary life functions that keep very busy a family with
growing children and both parents employed. Abdulla’s family pro-
vides an example of a typical daily schedule. Needless to say, there
are many variations, family to family, within the general behavioral
pattern.
For both Abdulla and Amina, indeed for all Mappila families, it
is prayer that starts the day. It comes at the break of dawn. After that
the family becomes quickly active. Abdulla begins with his morning
bath; ignoring the shower, he reverts to the old dip-and-pour style.
He emerges to a glass of morning coffee that Amina has already pre-
pared; he drinks it without milk, for the milk delivery comes later.
Abdulla has some technical matters to get ready before leaving for the
office, and he applies himself to them. Amina is hurrying about with
breakfast preparation and getting the children ready for school. It will
be a complicated day because her oldest son, Ashraf, and his family
are coming for an evening visit. Her second son, Rashid, takes care of
himself, and soon starts out for the college. Fatima needs a little more
help from her mother. By 8:30 the breakfast and other preparations
are complete, and Amina now has a little time to get ready for her
classes. The bus for her elementary school leaves at 9:30.
Each family member handles the noon lunch in his or her own
way. It is common to take it in a tiffin carrier, but Abdulla prefers to
go to a cafe near his office. By four or five in the evening all of the
family members have returned home except for Abdulla who has to
take care of some shopping. Rashid usually rushes out at this time
to enjoy a football game with college classmates. Fatima begins her
homework. Amina has plenty to do since Ashraf and his family have
arrived. Ashraf waits anxiously for his father. He wants his advice in
regard to a Gulf job offer he has received, one related to his computer
skills. It will be a great blow to the family solidarity if he goes. At the
same time, what a blessing the income will be to help with Fatima’s
expenses! It will be a very difficult decision. Wearily Abdulla returns
from work, salutes his father Abu, takes his bath, and dons more
comfortable clothing. He observes his wife’s fatigue and so before
meeting with Ashraf he has a question for Amina. Will she agree,
despite their financial restraints, to look for a household helper who
can bear part of her heavy load? The family has their evening meal
at nine, and then there is an hour for quiet togetherness. By ten, after
the late prayer, the house is silent.
This is the routine, but the routine gives way to the uncom-
mon and extraordinary moments of joy and sorrow that come upon
all families. They disrupt the normal schedules and call for a fam-
ily response. These high/low moments are not experienced alone for
nearby families “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those
who weep.” The joys may include a family marriage; promotion to a
higher position; the birth of a child, especially the first male child; a
son or daughter’s success in an examination; the settlement of chil-
dren in permanent jobs; the purchase of a house; recovery from an
illness; participation in the pilgrimage to Mecca; the celebration of
the breaking of the fast at the end of Ramadan; or the visit of an old
friend. Not only one-time events, but positive conditions may bring
satisfaction—continued good health, steady and permanent employ-
ment, or the possession of friends.
The sorrows that beset a family are, in some cases, the direct
opposite of the joys. They include having no children, or no male off-
spring; the high cost of a dowry; a child’s failure to pass high school
matriculation; a son’s inability to get a job; the incursion of a major
debt; the onslaught of disease; the suffering of fellow Muslims; and
Family Custom 167
above all, the occasion of a death, within the family or among friends.
Like joys, the sorrows too may be related to ongoing states such as
a low inadequate income, not having one’s own home, or someone’s
ongoing unforgiving hostility.
The fact that many of these joys and sorrows are common human
experiences underlines the point that Mappilas are, in the first place,
normal people who belong to the commonality of society and whose
culture reflects that reality.
Mutual Interrelations within the Family
We will consider the primary intra-familial relationships of husband

and wife, parents and children. Behind the former lies the commu-
nity’s behavioral tradition in regard to male and female relations.
Mappila Gender Relations and the Position of Women
Male-female relations reflect the twin Mappila cultural background

which we have already described. The Malayalam tradition regard-
ing the position of women and its commitment to women’s educa-
tion and employment led to generally free-flowing forms of converse
and communication. The Islamic legal forms that spelled out and cir-
cumscribed male-female relationships represented a more structured
and restrictive approach that became the pattern of Mappila society.
These two influences have interacted and contended with each other
in modern times. In the past the restrictive approach was visibly the
stronger one in Mappila custom, and the patriarchal Mappila tradi-
tionalism was negative toward change in women’s roles or in gender
relations. That approach has come under severe criticism of progres-
sive Mappilas in recent years, as well as being shaken by wider social
influences.
Nevertheless, the two approaches, libertarian and restrictive,
have a converging point in two common principles—respect and
discretion. All Malayalis of whatever persuasion regard these two
elements as crucial in gender relations. Males on their part must show
respect toward females and be discreet in their behavior; females on
their part must be respectful toward males and be careful in their
behavior. It is from this ideal base that various cultural communities
develop their contemporary interpretation of the fundamental male-
female relationship and in that light pass on to their children their
understanding of appropriate behavior.
In Mappila society the new developments in gender relations

have been sudden and striking rather than gradual, representing the
dramatic changes of the Great Transition. The causes are many, includ-
ing film and television, but special attention must be drawn to the
impact of education and employment. With alacrity Muslim women
have seized the new opportunity for higher education. As one recog-
nized educator said to the writer: “Fifty years ago Mappila women
were not allowed to write. Now more than half of the students at
Feroke College are women!”1 Equally strong is the linkage with female
employment. Although they may prefer some professions to others,
Mappila women are now much more visible in the job market, and
they are required to move about in that connection. While these two
influences are the strongest, we need to add the powerful effect of
the national social commitment to female equality and the rise of
many women to positions of leadership. To summarize the current
situation in Mappila society, on the one hand, there is the pressure of
modernization that urges greater freedom and wider roles for women;
on the other hand, there is also the pressure of religious neo-legalism
that calls for the maintenance of conservative positions. As Mappilas
consider the conflicting views, the trend is a growing recognition that
some changes are needed and right, and this advance in perception
is not likely to be rolled back.
Some Mappila women, however, believe that the actual changes
in their condition must come more rapidly and decisively so that
equality may join respect and discretion as the basis for gender rela-
tions. They are impatient to redress their problems. In November
2005, a group of prominent Mappila women made a representation to
the Central Government Commission inquiring into the conditions of
women. Included in the group were Khamarunisssa Anwar, Chairper-
son of the State Welfare Board, Noorbina Rasheed, a Calicut advocate,
T. K. Habiba Husain, S. A. Jifriya, and others. They reported such
difficulties as the demands for dowry, discrimination against divorced
women, inadequate representation in higher education, high drop-out
rates, and the need for the rehabilitation of Gulf returnees.2 A discern-
ing Muslim woman who is a college Professor of English speaks of
two broad segments among Muslim women who seek change. The
first group is made up of those who are educated or who are in the
process of attending a college. The second consists of those who go
to higher secondary levels but then stop attending school for practical
reasons or because they are discouraged by their husband or family.
They also want change but do not know how to bring it about. She
also notes in this regard that there are shades of difference in the sta-
Family Custom 169
tus of Muslim women in the southern, central, and northern regions

of the state. She is of the opinion that Muslim women in the south
are more ready to assume leadership positions than are women in the
north. She herself represents a growing number of progressive Map-
pila women who are destined to bring material improvement to the
status of women in their community, at the same time maintaining
due deference to the requirements of the faith.3
In regard to the specific area of husband-wife relations it is safe
to say that they still tend toward the traditional style. That tradition,
however, gave women more freedom and a stronger role within the
home than is generally recognized.4 We turn next to that subject.
Relations between Husband and Wife
The widely accepted view of the relationship between husband and

wife is that of a partnership within which there are recognized func-
tions. The husband has the primary responsibility for earning the fam-
ily living and for duties external to the home, while the wife has the
mothering and homemaking roles. The basic understanding within
the partnership is that the wife should respect the husband as the
family head and obey him. At the same time, the husband is to care
for his wife and children in both meanings of the word care, that is,
to love and to tend. Between them the spirit of mutual understanding
should prevail. There are countless examples where this indeed is the
case, even though the partners may have been strangers to each other
before the marriage. There are also many examples of the opposite,
and this constitutes a problem for the community. That happens when
the husband regards his wife as a disposable piece of property, or
when he provides inadequate support, or when he gives unreason-
able orders, or when he abuses her. In the past Mappila society has
had more than its share of such male oppressions, and it is seeking
to overcome the aberrant behavior.
Mappila women agree that in practice they do not have equality
with men in the family and in the outside world, but they are not
united on the implications of that fact. Some take the position that
their status is to be accepted while others hope for improvement. As
we have noted above, most regard education as an important factor in
their progress. A female doctor informant states that “she feels more
freedom than her mother because of education and improvement, step
by step, in the Muslim community as a whole.”
Mappila women have never been in purdah, but traditionally
there is some restriction to women’s movements in public society.
An unmarried woman is under the protection of her parents, and

normally does not go out without their permission, but school and
college activities are now taken for granted. A married woman, who
is under her husband’s protection, moves about with greater freedom,
but always enters public places with a clear purpose. The restrictions
for working women are tenuous. It is an irony that poor women are,
in fact, freer than the rich! Also, widows and divorced women who
must more or less manage on their own and who are maintaining
their children go about virtually as freely as males. The mobility of
Mappila women is particularly visible in urban areas where they walk
together for business or shopping. Those who are involved in higher
education move about freely, whether taking a bus or going to the
library. In rural and village areas it is still possible to observe the older
custom of Mappila women walking in groups along the road while
holding open umbrellas for modesty. For visiting each other, women
prefer the back lanes to the open road and its heavy traffic. In Map-
pila culture the overall principle that governs the public movement
of females is discretion rather than seclusion.
The social expectations that a husband has of a wife is illustrated
by what happens when a male friend or friends come to see him at
his home. The arrangements are such that the husband is seen to have
precedence, and the wife is viewed as protected. If the husband is
not home when the visitors come, the wife will not invite them in,
except for exceptional circumstances. When the husband is home, the
situation differs. Even then, in small homes, the ever-present veranda
serves the men as the place for tea and conversation. The wife will
not walk in front of the males unnecessarily, and the male visitors will
not go into the interior quarters unless invited for a reason, such as
a special meal. In a larger home where there is a separate receiving
room: it becomes the place for visiting, and the wife will be pres-
ent for only a few remarks when she brings refreshments. For her
it is most enjoyable when females accompany the guests. The wife
immediately whisks them off into an interior room where fellowship
and conversations go on with high energy. Modern homes give more
opportunity for mutual conversation.
Authority relations between the husband and the wife, though
formally laid out, are in fact somewhat deceptive. While the pub-
lic face establishes the husband as the C.E.O. in the partnership, in
private the wife is very much a co-manager. This is implicit in the
fact that she must make many practical decisions in regard to the
care of the home and the children. Also, in other important matters,
Family Custom 171
the husband will routinely share with his wife and take her counsel,
the prerogative of the final decision being the husband’s. In exercis-
ing practical managerial functions the wife must be very careful to
remain within the accepted parameters since the husband in Mappila
traditional custom has near-absolute powers of divorce.
In husband-wife relations the position in regard to financial mat-
ters is clear. The husband is obligated to provide support for his wife,
and if he cannot do so his family should come to the rescue. The wife
is not obligated to work outside the home, but if the family is finan-
cially embarrassed she may choose to do so. Both husband and wife
may keep the family funds, but it is customary for the husband to do
so. This applies also to the wife’s earnings. Spending follows the same
pattern. The husband routinely does the food shopping where much
of the income goes, but he does so according to lists provided by the
wife. There are quite a few exceptions to this generality, however, and
it is no longer unusual to see a Mappila woman shopping. This is
always the case when she needs clothing for herself, and she is under
no constraint to give account to her husband for that expenditure.
Mappila women may own their own property, particularly what is
received from their parents (ōhari). When a woman passes it on to
her children, she will give only half to her daughters of what she
gives to her son(s), since the daughters will receive a dowry (mahr)
and gifts at the marriage. A wife controls her own dowry and her
jewelry, but it is common to allow the husband to use the jewelry as
security for a loan.
Parent-ChiIdren Relations
In Mappila custom the authority of parents over children remains

firm. Behind its continuance, despite various strains of modern life,
lies the profound respect of children for those who have brought them
up and cared for them. Hence, Mappila children, in an emotional
sense, always remain dependent on their parents.
As children grow older they begin participating in practical deci-
sion making. Many school decisions must be taken by children, but a
youth’s opinion becomes strongest at the college level. The “genera-
tion gap” is becoming ever wider for college students, and in both
ideas and behavior they often occupy another world from that of their
parents. When it comes to marriage, however, it is the wish of the
parents that holds firm. Full independence in day-to-day life becomes
a right for children when they obtain jobs. If someone is married but
jobless and the couple are financially dependent on parents, they must
also abide by parental decisions. Once employed a son or daughter
has the right to spend his or her earnings as they please; even then,
however, they will feel constrained to consider the advice of the par-
ents and the needs of the family.
After her marriage a daughter is expected to obey her husband
rather than the wishes of her own parents, for example, in matters of
dress and food. In the previous chapter we have discussed the widely
accepted responsibility of caring for parents in old age.
Kinship Relations
Although the old ideal of the extended family is under pressure from
modern conditions, it remains an emotional reality. The concept is
illustrated by the Malayalam terms for brother and sister, sahōdaran
and sahōdari, which apply as well to cousins. Mappila culture still
shares the tradition that believes a family circle is wider than parents
and children, and in Mappila dialect pet names exist for relatives up
and down the kinship scale.
This inclusive view still finds expression in practical ways.
Uncles, especially those from the father’s side, and most particularly
the father’s elder brother, have great family influence. Mutual consul-
tation among brothers is common in business matters, and the elder
brother is routinely consulted in marriage arrangements. The practical
implications extend to financial assistance for kinfolk. In that regard
guiding principles come into play to prevent disastrous financial situ-
ations. Within a patrilineal family the emphasis is on helping relatives
of the husband. If need arises, a man must take care of his brothers
and sisters. This is true especially if a brother has no job or a sister
is unmarried and has no home. The brother may invite the sister to
come into his house. Cousins who are the children of the father’s
brothers and sisters must also be helped. If they are experiencing
insoluble problems, they may come and stay in the home for a period
of time, despite the difficulties this creates for space and food. They
may enter the interior rooms of the family home. As for the wife’s
relatives, with the agreement of the husband a wife can assist her
sister and her sister’s children, especially when there are no sons.
It is common for a family to foster the child of a relative, although
outright adoption is relatively unknown.
Conditions differ for families that follow the matrilineal tradi-
tion. Called the marumakkathāyam system, it is dealt with below.
Family Custom 173
The Role of the Mother-in-Law
The special position of the mother-in-law in Mappila culture must be

recognized. If a mother for some reason is living with her married
son, she assumes a significant role in the affairs of the house. Good
working relations are common, but if her daughter-in-law is newly
married the mother-in-law may not hesitate to wield authority over
her and even give her duties to carry out. The daughter-in-law must
routinely stand before her mother-in-law, and should inform her when
she goes out. Although the daughter-in-law may feel oppressed and
look to her husband for help, the son is obligated to obey his mother.
The situation may reach the stage of unbearable tension and force
some kind of separation.
The Mappila Inheritance Pattern
Most Mappila families adhere to the inheritance law of Sunni Islam. In

the Islamic past nothing captured the attention of Muslim legal schol-
ars more than inheritance issues. They appeared to be fascinated by
the topic and spelled out everything in the greatest detail. They con-
sidered not only normal situations, but also every possible exception.
As a result of this meticulous legal attention inheritance law became
very complex. Its basic principles, drawn from the Qurʾān, are appar-
ently simple, but their interpretation and application took the scholars
down different roads. Basic to the system is the patrilineal approach,
but Mappilas also have the Malayalam stream in their makeup which
has a strong matrilineal tradition. It led to the marumakkathāyam sys-
tem that passes property along through the female line of succession.
The patrilineal approach, however, is reflected in all the orthodox law
schools, including the Shāfi’ī school5 followed by Mappilas. According
to this approach, property is handed on through the male line. The
interaction of these two approaches is one of the unique aspects of
Mappila Muslim culture.6
The Sources of the Orthodox Inheritance Principles
The chief sources of orthodox Muslim inheritance law are twofold: Arab
tribal culture and Quranic revelation. Muslim legal scholars agree that
the instructions of the Qurʾān in regard to inheritance are a correction
of and an addition to pre-Islamic Arab inheritance practices.
The pre-Islamic approach was absolutely patriarchal, with inher-

itance based purely on male linkages. These linkages called “agnates”
are the male relatives of the father. Women are ignored. The Qurʾān
therefore engages in what might be called cultural adaptation—it
does not set aside the male right but it amends the tradition so that
women and married persons are not overlooked. N. J. Coulson puts
the matter this way:7
The obvious intention, then of the Qurʾānic rules is not

to sweep away the agnatic system entirely but merely to
modify it, with the particular objective of improving the
position of female relatives, by superimposing upon the
male agnates an additional class of new heirs. Once again
the legislation is by way of a supplement to, not a substitute
for, the existing customary law.
A. A. Fyzee, a distinguished Indian Muslim legal scholar, also

takes the view that Islam reformed but did not abandon Arab inheri-
tance practices. He says:8
The main reforms introduced by Islam may be stated briefly

as follows:
1. The husband or wife was made an heir.

2. Females and cognates were made competent to inherit.
3. Parents and ascendants were given the right to inherit
even when there were no male descendants.
4. As a general rule, a female was given one half the share
of a male.
Against this background we may consider the specific Quranic

instruction, utilizing Yusuf Ali’s translation. The key passage is 4:11–
12, which we will cite in full:
4:11 God (thus) directs you as regards your children’s

(inheritance):
To the male, a portion equal to that of two females;
If only daughters, two or more, their share is two-
thirds of the inheritance;
If only one, her share is a half.
Family Custom 175
For parents, a sixth share of the inheritance to each, if

the deceased left children;
If no children, and the parents are the (only) heirs, the
mother has a third;
If the deceased left brothers (or sisters) the mother has
a sixth.
(The distribution in all cases is) after the payment of
legacies and debts . . .
4:12 In what your wives leave, your share is a half if they

leave no child,
But if they leave a child, ye get a fourth, after
payment of legacies and debts.
In what you leave, their share is a fourth, if ye leave

no child;
But if ye leave a child, they get an eighth, after
payment of legacies and debts.
If a man or woman whose inheritance is in question has left neither

ascendants or descendants, but he has left a brother or a sister, each
one of the two gets a sixth; but if more than two, they share in a
third, after payment of legacies and debts, so that no loss is caused
(to any one).
Thus it is ordained by God . . .9
Applying the Principles of Distribution
Muslim jurists took the commands of the Qurʾān and the Arab tribal
culture heritage and welded them together into a full legal scheme
that can meet the needs of most situations. A Hadīth attributed to the
Prophet Muhammad says; “Learn the laws of inheritance and teach
them to the people, for they are one-half of useful knowledge.”10 They
took it seriously and did their job so well that any local Mappila
religious judge (qadī) might easily guide someone: “Start with the
Qurʾān and follow its instructions. First distribute the fixed portions
to the sharers it lists.” Those shares will cover only part of the whole
estate. There will be a remainder. Therefore the qadī will add: “Now
you must deal with the other heirs.” Those are the traditional heirs
that are taken for granted by the Qurʾān since they were known to
the people, that is, near male relatives on the father’s side. They will
receive the residue of the estate after the distribution of the reserved
shares. In practice, this may even be the largest portion, and Fyzee
makes that point:11
The son, the father (in certain cases), the brother, the pater-
nal uncle, the nephew are all in this important class, and
in a majority of the cases the residue forms the bulk of the
estate . . . [These] were the principal heirs before Islam;
they continue to remain in Sunnite law the principal heirs,
provided always that the claims of near relations mentioned
in the Koran, the Koranic Heirs, are satisfied.
The four major Sunni law schools have some differences of interpre-
tation among them in the application of inheritance principles. For
example, in considering who should receive a Quranically assigned
share Shāfiʾī and Hanafī law list four men and eight women, but
Mālikī law includes ten males and seven females. Al-Shāfiʾī includ-
ed the following heirs in his list, serving as the Mappila legal sum-
mary: father, grandfather, uterine [same mother] brother, husband,
wife, daughter, daughter of the son; sister by the same father and
mother; half-sister on the father’s side; uterine sister; mother, and
grandmother.12 To this list must be added the major figures covered
by traditional law: the son, the full brother, the paternal uncle, and
the nephew.
We have given a detailed summary of the Mappila inheritance
tradition and practice to make the point that in certain key person-
al areas the formal Islamic cultural stream dominates the Mappila
behavioral pattern.
The Question of Special Bequests and Wills
In view of the fact that heirs are clearly defined in Muslim law there
seems to be little room for special bequests and hence little need for
a will. However, Muslim scholars point out that the Qurʾān actually
allows for that possibility. The guiding passage is 2:180 which says: “It
is prescribed for you, when one of you approacheth death, if he leave
wealth, that he bequeath unto parents and near relatives in kindness.”
On the basis of this single citation C. N. Ahmed Moulavi endorses
the advantage of drawing up a will, particularly for those who have
financial means and wish to make special bequests.13 Jurists consid-
ered how this Quranic provision could be handled without doing
violence to the other arrangements set down for the distribution of
Family Custom 177
an inheritance. They concluded that the maximum an individual may

distribute through a bequest is one-third of his or her wealth, after
the payment of funeral expenses, mortgages, and debts.
The Marumakkathāyam or Matrilineal Tradition
The most common among the translations of the Malayalam term

marumakkathāyam are “female line,” “mother right,” or simply “matri-
lineal inheritance.” The term embraces a kinship relation, a prop-
erty inheritance pattern and a living arrangement. A Mappila scholar
describes it as his community’s “most significant adaptation of Hindu
social custom.”14 It is noteworthy that among major Muslim societ-
ies in the world only the Minangkabau Muslims of Sumatra and the
Tuareg Muslims of the inner Sahara region share the practice.
Among Mappilas themselves the practice has a “here and there”
quality being largely confined to the North Malabar and Calicut areas
with pockets elsewhere.15 It also reflects a “now and then” quality,
having been more prominent in the past than in the present. Both
orthodox disapproval and some modern legal developments have
made severe inroads on the custom. We begin our summary of the
practice with the joint family living arrangement. It is the practice
whereby the eldest female and certain descendants live together in
a large sprawling home called a tarawād. Although this provision is
not essential to the matrilineal idea, it was coupled with the system
in Malayalam society.
The Tarawād or Ancestral Home 16
The concept of a kinship unit whose property cannot be divided was

well-known in Hindu society in Kerala. In the case of the Nambutiri
Brahmins, a powerful social group, such a unit was called an illam.
It was sustained by the fact that only the eldest son could marry and
only he inherited the property. The eldest son and the male line lived
together in the illam and shared the undivided property. This was the
patrilineal or makkathāyam system.
The matrilineal approach based on the female line entered Map-
pila society by another route, the conversion of some members of
the Nayar (Nair) caste. The Nayars, an important group in Malay-
alam society, observed the matrilineal approach. Primarily known as
a warrior group, among them there were also many chiefs and sub-
chiefs who were large landowners; their kinship living unit was called
a tarawād, which originally signified a “foundation” or upper-class

home. A tarawad-type habitation held a joint family living together,
all of its members being the direct descendants of the eldest sister.
In addition to this sister-mother, the direct descendants living in the
tarawād included her own children, the children of her daughters,
her own brothers and sisters, her sister’s children, and her sister’s
grandchildren born of daughters. The husband lives elsewhere in his
own tarawād and goes to his wife’s to see her.
Matrilineal Property and Inheritance
The tarawād property is held jointly by all members of the house-

hold, each one receiving maintenance from it. However, the respective
members cannot take or sell their portions. The female members of
the tarawād pass on their permanent interest in the female line, from
daughter to daughter. This mode of inheritance, in its Malayali form,
appears to have been made necessary by the very informal marriage
arrangements that prevailed for centuries, making it difficult to iden-
tify exactly who was the male parent. The practice called sambandhum
(“joining”) allowed a Nayar woman to have several alliances at will.
A Nayar man, in turn, could relate to several women. A Brahmin
male also had the right to visit a Nayar female. This combination of
polyandry and polygamy made the matrilineal approach essential to
ensure the true bloodline.17
The position of males in the pure marumakkathāyam system is
not a favorable one. First of all, brothers living in the tarawād did
not have a permanent claim on its property but only a lifetime right.
Their children’s inheritance was through their mother’s tarawad. A
man retained the right to his earnings during his lifetime, but if he
did not dispose of them they accrued to the tarawad. One male who
did have a position of authority was called the karnavan or karnavar
(pl.), the oldest male member living in the house. It was his task to
oversee the administration of the complex property matters of the tar-
awad, possessing absolute managerial authority except for land sales.
This led to the possibility of corruption, which has now been checked
by legal reforms.18
Life in the Matrilineal Home
Imagine a huge multi-storied house with many small dark rooms

and labyrinthine passages occupied by a variety of relatives and
you have a picture of tarawād living. With as many as two hundred
Family Custom 179
residents, social pressures of various kinds are inevitable. To relieve

them the tradition allowed for a kind of partition—when the tarawād
became over-populated, it could sub divide into branches with the
senior resident woman becoming its head. Nevertheless, that has not
been sufficient to assuage widespread dissatisfaction among members
and modern criticism of the system. It focused on the position of
the karnavan, but also reflected the desire of members who wanted
their own share of the property in order to establish an independent
home and nuclear family life. The demands for change led to the Nair
Acts of 1912 and 1925 in Travancore, 1920 and 1938 in Cochin, and
1933 in Malabar; the Act allowed members of a tarawād to request
individual partition, made the wife and children legal heirs of the
husband-father, and outlawed polygamy. The reforms brought major
modifications into the Hindu marumakkathāyam system as it was clas-
sically known.
The Mappila Muslim Involvement with Marumakkathāyam
The involvement of some Mappilas in the matrilineal approach, as we

have noted above, probably originated in the conversion of scattered
members of the Nayar community, especially in North Malabar. This
conversion process took place frequently in the 1700s in the days of
Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan, but it began earlier. We have already
noted the prominent example of the ruling Arakkal House of Kannur
(cf. Appendix B).19 In 1955 D’Souza even suggested that “almost all
sections of Moplahs in North Malabar have the mother-right social
organization and especially among the richer sections the husband
resides in the wife’s tharavad.”20 Because the Nayar movement into
Islam was always a limited one, however, the percentage of Mappilas
observing the practice of marumakkathāyam may never have been as
high as this estimate, and many did not follow it in its pure form.
There were always modifying influences from the Islamic
tradition among those Mappilas who did observe the custom of
marumakkathāyam. The first of these resulted in the joining of the tra-
ditional partilineal inheritance principle with the practice of common
living based on the matrilineal ideal. This is known as the matrilocal
approach. The second influence was the inclination toward a closer
family style. This desire was partially satisfied by another alternative
that allowed a husband to live in his wife’s tarawād. The choice of
opting out of the system entirely to set up a separate home meant that
the wife would forfeit her tarawād equity. A third influence stemmed
from traditional Muslim marriage restrictions. The children of sisters
cannot marry, but the marriage of the children of two brothers or

a sister and brother across two tarawāds is permitted. It may also
be noted that there are distinctions of status in Mappila tarawāds. A
woman may not marry into a lower group, although a male may
do so. As to self-acquired property of an individual, that property
becomes subject to the patrilineal Islamic system of inheritance.21
The critique of the matrilineal system from within the Map-
pila community has gone on for over a century. It came as early as
Sayyid S. Makti Tangal (d. 1912) who wrote an Arabic–Malayalam
tract against the practice. He was later joined by Wakkom Maulavi,
writing in his journal, the Deepika, and others. Some of the criticisms
resembled those raised by the Nayars themselves, including objection
to the role of the karnavar. In the end, two Madras Presidency Acts
dealt with the unique Mappila situation. The Mappila Succession Act
of 1918 ensured that self-acquired wealth could be passed on accord-
ing to Islamic inheritance laws, as noted above, while the Mappila
Marumakkathayam Act of 1939 permitted the division of a joint family
estate.22 The criticisms had effect and a steady reduction in the practice
of Marumakkathāyam could be observed. Shortly thereafter, in 1950,
Adrian Mayer noted that only a handful of wealthy Mappila family
tarawads in Kottayam taluk (sub-district) in North Malabar, remained
undivided.23 In 1961 Kathleen Gough observed:24 “The general trend
among Mappilas as among Nayars and Tiyyars has been a general
disintegration of matrilinear groups, implied with the emergence of
the elementary family as a residential and economic unity.” That trend
has continued in the succeeding decades, but has not eliminated the
practice entirely, especially in its matrilocal forms.
A significant example of that form is to be found in the impor-
tant Mappila enclave of Kuttichira in Calicut. It features a series of
large tarawāds that combine matrilocal living with patrilineal inheri-
tance, the latter however excluding the home, which remains common
property. The husband in this case may reside in his wife’s tarawād
and contributes to the maintenance of his wife and children. Barbara
Riedel, a scholar of modern Muslim society, has noted the extremely
crowded conditions of the large sixty-member Kuttichira tarawād that
she examined. Many of the rooms were quite gloomy. It was filled
with women and children, males being conspicuous by their absence.
She notes that a husband and father will frequently try to remove
his family from this restricted environment as soon as finances per-
mit. Those who must remain do so with some discontent, but at the
same time they maintain pride in their tarawād tradition.25 It is that
Family Custom 181
sense of participatory pride that will likely ensure the continuation

of marumakkathāyam among at least some Mappilas in the foreseeable
future. Out of that experience have emerged values related to female-
oriented leadership within a traditionally patriarchal society and skill
in the art of cooperative living in close collectives. Both constitute
special contributions to Mappila culture.
9
Aspects of Personal Behavior
In a Muslim society both the community (umma) and the family hold
a central place. What is left for the individual? Do individual persons
and their rights disappear from view? This is not the case since there
is another pressure that plays on Muslims and that is the fact of their
individual moral responsibility. It is a fundamental belief in Islam
that each person is responsible before God for his or her actions. In
the final judgment everyone will appear before God and will have
“only that for which he taketh effort” (53:39). This reality establishes
the importance of personal behavior and its free exercise creates a
balance among individuals, family, and community.
In this light the Mappila community cannot be regarded as
a kind of hereditary caste with a tight set of rules governing per-
sonal behavior. Muslim culture does provide Mappilas with a cal-
endar-governed rhythm of ritual duties, which we will consider in
the next chapter, but Muslim law does not try to control the details
of a person’s life. They are considered to be neutral and indifferent
(mubah) or permissible (halāl). You can choose any kind of toothpaste
that you wish, and you can vote for any party that you prefer. Per-
sonal habits may differ and there are many behavioral styles among
Mappilas.
Nevertheless, in the overall Mappila way of life there are also
habitual elements that are more or less common to all. When taken
together they form a pattern of personal culture that is fairly consis-
tent despite the individual highlights and shadows. In this chapter
we will take up characteristic Mappila personal behavior in regard
to occupations, dress, food, cleanliness and sanitation, amusements,
and heroes. We will also take up common tabus related to stimu-
lants and sexual behavior outside of marriage. We begin with Mappila
occupations.
183
Mappila Occupations
Mappila occupations have been influenced by four factors that nar-

rowed the range of job opportunities. The most obvious one was the
lack of education that precluded professional training and employ-
ment. An occasional Mappila broke through that impasse, and the
achievement was duly celebrated, but it was not until the contempo-
rary educational revolution that Mappilas could move with strength
into the intellectual fields. The second and related factor was the gov-
ernmental tendency to appoint only a relatively low percentage of
Muslims to its educational force. This all-India phenomenon has often
been noted and statistically demonstrated.1 In Kerala also the problem
was present. Two decades ago the Muslim percentage of employees in
the state government services was only 5.25, in contrast to the 21.25
Muslim percentage in the total population.2 The same disparity could
be observed in municipal and panchayat appointments, as well as in
government-controlled industries and government-aided companies.
The fault may be partly laid at the door of the Mappila community
itself that failed to take up even the 12 percent of posts reserved for
them in government services.
The third restraining factor was the old land tenure system that
prevented Mappilas from becoming privileged landowners. The Mala-
bar land tenure system was undoubtedly one of the most complex in
the world with a stratification that effectively preserved land control
in the Hindu community.3 The ultimate owner, the traditional jenmi,
possessed the land by hereditary rights. The jenmis passed on the
actual agricultural operations to two intermediate levels of managers
(kanumdār and verumpattamdār), who in turn could employ tenants
and landless laborers to do the actual cultivation. Mappilas, with few
exceptions, only entered the picture at the last level. The final restrain-
ing factor on employment was that many fields of artisanship, ranging
from pottery-making to metalwork were controlled by Hindu craft
guilds or castes.
With these restraints affecting them, many Mappilas naturally
turned to their original calling, the life of business. Expertise in com-
merce belonged to their tradition, especially in the coastal areas, and
they utilized it in every way possible. The Portuguese and other
colonial powers may have displaced the Mappila trading monopoly
but not the Mappila trading instincts. They are fully visible today.
Large Mappila-conducted businesses, especially import-export firms,
are thriving, and many members of the Mappila community are in
their employ. Current Mappila Gulf involvement provides a further
Aspects of Personal Behavior 185
impetus and resource for commercial activities. From this higher level
of commerce the tilt to business vocations also moved downward to
the “petty trader” level of activity. By this we refer to the small shops
that line the streets and roads of the towns and villages, many of them
family-owned and operated.
While commercial activities provided some occupational options,
the mass of ordinary Mappilas were left with the vocations that called
for hard physical labor. In describing that fact, the Muslim Service
Society said: “A vast majority of Muslim men and women eke out
their livelihood by manual and physical labor, working for others.”4
Mappilas took on many of the demanding physical tasks that gen-
eral society required. They became famed for their ability to engage
in hard sustained work, despite garnering low wages, and despite a
poor diet and long hours. In their perseverance was born the legend
of “the muscular Mappila”—strong, tireless, and loyal to employers.
It is he who often handles the rough plow behind the water buffalo
in the muddy rice field; it may be his wife who plants the seedlings.
It is he who chops the laterite stones out of the solid rock with a
simple axe; it may be his wife who carries them on her head at the
work site. It is he who pours the hot asphalt on the roads in frenzied
effort; it may be his wife who breaks the rocks on the roadside with
a small hammer. It is he who pulls and pushes heavy-laden, two-
wheeled carts through the city streets. And it is he who levers the
heavy logs that float down the rivers to mills and ports. The strong,
hard-working Mappila is not a legend but a reality.5
Other manual jobs that Mappilas take require dexterity and
tenacity rather than great strength. The coir workers labor long hours
twisting coconut fibers into rope. The beedi workers who used to
gather on verandas in groups of eight or ten, rolling tobacco into
dry leaves, many of them coughing endlessly with the tuberculo-
sis that was their occupational hazard, are now a passing tradition.
Social progress has almost eliminated this sad vocation. The tailors
hunched over their manually operated machines toil away at produc-
ing garments for their customers. The auto rickshaw drivers receive
a pittance as they move about in search of fares, trying to maintain
their vehicles as well as their families. And in the “hotels” the myriad
restaurant workers pursue their calling. These ordinary jobs require
not only tenacity, but the willingness to work hard for low wages.
The fisherfolk combine the primary vocational characteristics of
strength, skill, and determination. They are the Mukkuvars, the sea-
farers, whose occupation goes back to the earliest times. While in the
south and central regions of the state many adopted Christianity, in
the northern region the bulk of fisherfolk became Muslim. It is likely

that they were among the first Mappilas. In dhows made by hand
in places like Beypore the trading sailors made their way across the
high seas to Arabia. The fisherfolk stayed closer home. In their long
boats made of local woods that carried a crew of five to eight they
ventured out fifteen kilometers or more in search of mackerel and
sole, seer and pomfret, sardines and shrimp, and many other kinds
of fish. They continue to do so today, now with the help of motors.
The large-scale motorized fishing fleets threaten their vocation, but
they have not yet replaced it.
Both the factors of physical strength and skill are apparent when
the fishermen launch their boats into the waves and bring them to
shore again on the swell of the tide. Once out to sea, the same quali-
ties are required in the handling of the large nylon nets. With patience
and determination they carry out their specialized and dangerous
task, adding their own version of two other important characteristics
to the profile of the Mappila worker. The first is their natural acu-
men. Speaking of the Tanur fisherfolk, P. R. G. Mathur observes that
though many are illiterate, who could claim to match their expertise
“in detecting fish shoals . . . knowledge of fish species, their food and
breeding seasons, and migration patterns?”6 The second is their spirit
of cooperation. This applies not only to the actual fishing but also to
the preparation for it. “. . . Particularly at times of crisis, whether it
be life or economy . . . [their] cooperative spirit is the striking charac-
teristic and feature of the Mappila fisherfolk . . . The implements that
constitute the capital are owned collectively as well as individually.”7
Cooperation is needed especially during the hard days of the heavy
monsoons when they have no income and must live on loans. Within
the fishing boat, the long hours of togetherness between tropical sun
and threatening wave have nurtured a Mappila subculture with its
own dialect and customs that we will refer to at length in our discus-
sion of saints and superstition.
We have said that the lack of education blocked Mappilas from
taking up professional callings. The main exception was the teaching
vocation. That role was in the Mappila blood through the instruc-
tional programs in mosque and madrasa. It is true that for centuries
this was not professionally qualified teaching. At an early stage in
their regime, however, the British tried to introduce such training, and
some Mappilas entered the teaching ranks. When the tide of mod-
ern elementary education swept over the Mappila community, many
young Mappilas enrolled in teacher training schools, obtained their
certification, and serviced the new government secular schools and
the Mappila management schools that sprang up everywhere.8 They
too worked for low pay, and became the natural target of communist
propaganda. At the same time, through their teachers’ unions, they
were a channel for the groundbreaking social changes that helped to
alter the wider course of Mappila culture.
Similarly, we cannot fail to mention the category of religious
workers that provides employment for many Mappila males. There
is no accurate count of the number of religious workers, but extrapo-
lating from the number of mosques and madrasas the figure reaches
many thousands. As many Irish Catholic families took pride in send-
ing one of their sons into the priesthood, so many Mappila families
are represented in the ranks of the religious workers.
All these vocations carry over to the present day. However, the
Great Transition in Mappila culture and the movement of the times
have opened up new occupational careers for Mappilas. In some areas
they are still playing catch-up, but the movement is well in progress
and is most visible in such professional fields as engineering and tech-
nology, management, and the medical sphere. The latter has attracted
much attention. In the Islamic cultural tradition medicine has always
been an important profession. More and more Mappila males were
successful in gaining admission to Kerala’s medical colleges, but the
reluctance of Muslim women to be medically treated by males also
provided an open door and a challenge to Mappila women. They
responded and, as a result, there is now a surprisingly high number
of Mappila female doctors, whose achievement has become a model
for Muslim women in general. In summary, Mappila occupations now
range across the spectrum of labor, skilled and unskilled, and the com-
munity is gradually moving toward a vocational equilibrium in Malay-
alam society. The industrialization of society has greatly broadened
vocational opportunities, and Mappilas are not backward in taking
advantage of them. Nevertheless, the Mappila unemployment rate is
still unacceptably high.
Mappila Dress and Ornamentation
Nothing more clearly illustrates the “now and then” nature of Map-
pila culture than the community’s dress and ornamentation habits.
A chronicler of Mappila culture, C. K. Kareem makes this general
comment in his Gazeteer report on Malappuram District:9
With the disappearance of the old social and economic

order, new patterns in the mode of dress, ornaments and
matrimonial alliances is taking place . . . Thus the district
is also under the influence of the new progressive waves

that sweep over Kerala.
We add the observation that the new and old go on side by side. The
old will eventually give way, since it is especially associated with the
senior age group. Clergy play a continuing role with conservative ele-
ments favoring the traditional dress code, while regional factors are
also present since interior areas are less subject to change.
Female Dress
The traditional Mappila female costume is very distinctive, the wom-

an wearing a combination of the mundu and kuppai. The mundu is
a rectangular piece of cloth about two meters long that is wrapped
around the waist and held up by a silver belt. The mundu may be of
any color but is usually white or black, and is bordered with a blend-
ing stripe—blue, green, black, or gold. The mundu falls to the ankles. A
blouse or kuppai is tight-fitting to the neck and fully sleeved. It is sewn
in a unique fashion from four squares of cloth, with some decorative
material at the neck. The long sleeves are considered a critical factor
in the old tradition. A Mappila informant reports that her insistence
on wearing short sleeves was instrumental in her failure to receive a
marriage proposal until the age of nineteen. The head covering is a
distinguishing mark. A white or green headscarf is thrown over the
head and then folded back on itself, covering the hair but not the face,
and falling loosely over the shoulder. Sandals are worn on the feet.
There are two current trends in favor of modern Malayali dress.
The first is the adoption of the sari-blouse combination, a movement
now very common among professional women. The adoption of short
sleeves for the blouse has also advanced. In this costume the sari is
used to cover the head. The second form of modern dress is called
the chowildar or “Panjabi” and is now very popular among younger
women and students. It is a combination of pants, a shirt that goes
from the neck to the knees, and a scarf that serves both for decora-
tion and as a head covering. Both saris and chowildars may be of
any color.
In recent times Gulf influence through migrant workers has had
some effect on female dress, including the use of a head covering that
completely cloaks the hair and shoulders leaving only the face visible.
Here, too, fashion is a controlling factor since the colors of the head
covering may change. Supplementing this development, some women
“now don a long black robe and scarf, which they call a ‘purdah’
gown, over their beautiful and colorful saris and chowildars when
they go out in public.”10 The practice is most common among women
who have made the pilgrimage to Mecca because they have identified
this form as religiously correct. “One such very progressive woman
told me that she insists on this semi-purdah over the objections of
her husband because it makes her feel closer to Allah.”11
Dress customs in the home vary from those followed in public.
For reasons of comfort some women prefer to wear a long loose gar-
ment in their home. A head covering is not required except when visi-
tors are present, but some older women occasionally retain it. There is
no special nightdress, a mundu-shirt ensemble or a sari meeting that
need. At least annually, in connection with a major festival such as
Bakr ʿĪd, they will obtain new clothing. On that occasion the markets
are a buzz of excitement as groups of women move from shop to
shop. The dress of young girls before puberty is simple, consisting of a
skirt and a buttoned shirt or blouse, with a small colored cloth thrown
over the head when the child goes to the madrasa or into the streets.
Male Dress
Mappila male dress is virtually indistinguishable from the general

Malayali costume. The common apparel of trousers and shirt is worn
by office staff and professional workers. Those engaged in physical
labor prefer the mundu. A meter longer than that worn by females, it
also hangs down to the ankles, but in the case of men it is hitched
up to knee height when walking or working. The mundu is usually
white; when made of plaid or checkered cloth it may be called a lungi,
originally a Persian term. Whether mundu or lungi, it is tied at the
waist on the left side thus distinguishing its wearer from non-Muslim
Malayalis who tie on the right. The stated reason is for sanitary ease.
A shirt covers the upper half of the body, hanging outside the mundu.
It is ordinarily white, but designs and colors are becoming more com-
mon. In the evening trousered men will often change to a mundu for
relaxation.
It is not the type of clothing but its quality that differentiates
the dress of the poor from that of the rich. The cloth of the poor is
cheap cotton or khadi (homespun) material, while those who are better
off may dress in polyester or fine cotton. While ready-made shirts are
available, it is still quite customary for men to buy the cloth and have
the shirt made up by a tailor. Those who perform physical labor often
wear a turban as a head covering. It is a single white cloth, folded
and tucked in, with the ends hanging down the neck. In earlier times
some Mappila males wore a small white embroidered skull cap made
of light canvas, the best ones sewn by Kannur women.12 These can still
be seen occasionally, but most Mappila males today do not use any
head covering and will resort to an umbrella if protection is needed.
Sandals called chappals are the common footwear. They are cheaper
than shoes and can be easily removed and left at the door. Shoes,
however, are not uncommon. Mappila boys wear simple clothing, a
combination of a shirt and short pants. As with female clothing, fami-
lies will try to provide at least one new outfit at an annual festival.
If the motif of Mappila women’s dress is distinctiveness, in the
case of males it is blending. The Mappila women’s distinctiveness is
visible also in their ornamentation.
Ornamentation and Hairstyle
Mappila women affirm that they wear ornaments for decorative rea-
sons, as a form of wealth reserve, and to show status.
The most visible traditional decorations of Mappila women are
the earrings. Formerly, at an early age, a woman might have six to
twelve holes bored in the helix and lobe of the ear. The celebration
that accompanies the event is called the kuthukuthukaliyānum (the
“piercing-piercing ceremony”), and visiting ladies sing and clap their
hands.13 Traditionally, a barber, but now more commonly a doctor,
does the ear-piercing. Later gold, silver, or gilt brass rings are placed
in the holes, all together making up a considerable weight. Modern
women, considering the disfigurement that results, prefer a single
gold earring. Women customarily possess a gold or silver necklace,
but it is not always actually worn. Together with gold and silver
bracelets the necklace serves as a way of preserving the woman’s
mahr, as well as constituting a monetary reserve for the family. Some
women also wear beads and anklets. The silver belt that holds the
mundu in place is another visible decoration. Its manufacture is cost-
ly, and its construction ornate and heavy, and for these reasons the
practice is now confined to older women. The wealthier the woman,
the heavier the belt. A round cylindrical amulet containing Quranic
material may also be attached to the silver belt.
Another form of ornamentation is palm staining with henna.
Henna is a shrub (Mal. mailanji)14 whose leaves produce a reddish-
orange dye. Imported from Mumbai or Bangalore, henna powder is
mixed with eucalyptus oil and sugar-free black tea and is then sold
to Mappila women for use on special occasions. The dye is applied
to the palm of the hand in any one of many possible designs, is
kept overnight and fixed by a morning wash. To remove it later, the
hand must be dipped in curds on successive days.15 The practice of

applying henna is considered sunnat or desirable for both marriages
and festivals. Henna stains may also be used for fingernails. The use
of fingernail polish is considered forbidden by some because it pre-
vents water from coming into contact with the nails when washing
up for prayer. Perfumes and cosmetics are commonly used. Hair orna-
ments—as one Mappila woman vividly put it—are “useless” because
the head is covered. As a result there are no specific female Mappila
hairstyles.
Hairstyle, however, is one form of ornamentation to which Map-
pila males can lay claim. Except for a finger ring Mappila men do
not wear decorations. The male manner of hair-dressing is significant.
Earlier we have cited it as an example of Mappila change. The shav-
ing of the head may never have been universal, but for centuries it
was the dominant visible mark of the Mappila male. As late as fifty
years ago it was still very commonplace. Now it is an unusual sight,
and is largely confined to elderly men. The change reflects modern
standards of Malayali social respectability and Mappilas welcome it.
It reminds Muslims, some say, that Muslim identification lies in the
quality of an individual’s piety rather than in external appearance.
The same considerations also apply to the occasional practice of
wearing a short beard. The vast majority of Mappila men prefer to be
clean-shaven. Some older members of the community and religious
workers follow the custom. The beard may be dyed red in the belief
that the Prophet Muhammad’s beard was that color. Some effort has
been made to promote the idea that being bearded is more genuinely
Islamic than being clean-shaven, but few have accepted the argument.
In 1985 the Kerala High Court denied a petition by a head constable
named T. A. Muhammad Fasi who pleaded for permission to grow a
beard, a practice forbidden by his occupation. He argued that shaving
is un-Quranic and un-Islamic. The petition was dismissed, the judge
declaring: “The practice of growing a beard and dyeing the hair could
only be treated as optional and not obligatory among Muslims.”16 The
judgment reflected the Mappila community’s general view. Neither
through dress or hairstyle is it possible to distinguish modern Map-
pila men from other Malayali males.
Mappila Food
Like Malayali food in general, Mappila food is rice-based and includes

the generous use of coconut products and the spices for which Kerala
is famous. At the same time, it also has a distinctiveness all its own,
and there are special dishes for high occasions like marriages and
festivals.
Food Consumption
Mappilas have their meals thrice daily. The time for their consump-
tion varies from family to family, according to convenience. No matter
when that may be, every Mappila housewife must begin her work
right after the early morning prayer. The breakfast is eaten somewhere
between 7:30 and 9:00, the lunch between 12:00 and 1:30, and the
evening meal from 8:00 to 9:30. Tea early in the morning and late
afternoon is appreciated, but is not always possible. At meals the
men and boys in the family will traditionally eat first, followed by
the women and the girls, but in progressive homes men and women
may eat together. The main meal is consumed at noon, the everyday
food being rice with some sort of curry. If his place of work is distant
from his home, the husband usually takes his meal at a restaurant
called a “hotel.” The children who go to all-day schools must take
their lunches with them. A typical Mappila food day would include
pathiri (see below) for breakfast, rice and fish curry or a paratha for
the noon meal, and any one of these or leftovers for supper.
Following the habit of Malayalis, Mappilas will eat with their
right hand, although some basic utensils are now available in most
homes. Inexpensive dishes are made from porcelain or aluminum, but
every Mappila woman prefers stainless steel if the family can afford
it. For festival meals traditional plantain leaves are used instead of
plates, and it is quite customary for guests to be seated on coconut
mats on the floor if there is insufficient table space. Glass tumblers
are commonly used for drinks. It is obvious that a family’s economic
condition determines the amount and quality of the food—the poor
cannot serve many dishes aside from the rice, and to compensate for
that fact there is a tendency to use more hot spices, especially chil-
ies. If an excessive amount of food has been cooked, the balance is
normally kept for re-use, but it may also be given to the needy. It
is considered bad manners to utilize any balance (bāqi) that may be
left on someone’s plate or leaf. The ever-present goat is happy and
willing to help out with such a problem!
Types of Food
Although rice is the staple food, in the last half century, after initial
objections, Malayalis in general have accepted imported wheat as
an alternative to it. The wheat appears as a white flour (maida), as

whole-wheat flour, and as a fine semolina flour. A third basic food
is called “tapioca” (marachini), but it is really the cassava tuber that
is often raised in plots next to banana groves.17 It is the cheapest
food, and in low-income homes it supplements rice and wheat as
the family staple.
Fruits and vegetables are readily available, but their dietary val-
ue is not always fully appreciated, and some appear more regularly
than others in the cuisine. Of the locally grown vegetables, beans and
lentils, drumsticks (okra), and gourd-like lady-fingers, are commonly
used in curries with plenty of onions. Other vegetables that can be
purchased in the weekly markets include gourds, pumpkins, brinjals,
and cucumbers. Potatoes, tomatoes, cabbages, and carrots have made
their way into the food chain. The main spices are pepper, chilies,
cardamom, cinnamon, and ginger, but many others like tamarind and
turmeric are in use. Garlic is an important savory.
Of the fruits, coconuts and bananas dominate the scene, with
mangos not far behind. Coconut oil, coconut milk, and the copra itself
are crucial ingredients in Mappila food preparation. Among the large
variety of bananas is the nendra, which is widely used in fried form
and in curries. There is a huge variety of mangos. Oranges and lemons
too are common, and they, with mangos, are used in chutney prepara-
tion. A papaya tree is routinely found next to a Mappila village home.
The great jackfruit tree produces fruit out of its trunk, weighing up
to ten kilograms; it is used for making halva, the primary Mappila
sweet. Dates and figs have been part of the Arab trade from early
times, and they continue to be imported and consumed.
The teeming fish markets are one of the distinctive sights in
coastal areas, and fish are a common component in the diet. Many
Mappilas prefer fish over meat, which is permitted18 for Muslims. The
cost factor is a deterrent to the regular consumption of both meat
and eggs. When Mappilas can afford meat, mutton or chicken is the
preferred dish. The combination of chicken and rice is often served
to honored guests in a home.
Water is the ordinary liquid that is consumed at meals, although
some homes are able to have milk for their children. Kanji water, the
water in which the rice porridge is cooked, is drunk; jeeraka water
is similar, but it has cumin seed and turmeric added. The highly
esteemed natural drink is the tender coconut that is filled with sweet
and refreshing juice, and is always safe. It is the common refreshment
of travelers who make their way up and down the state. Tea and coffee
are prepared in the home, as well as in the omnipresent “teashops.”
Tea is preferred by many, but coffee is also readily consumed; both

have a local source in the state’s tea and coffee plantations.
For Mappilas, pork and non-halāl meat are prohibited foods. The
term halāl or “permitted” refers to the practice of reciting the bismilla
at the same time as the animal is slaughtered, in the process observ-
ing the qibla, the direction towards Mecca.
Food Preparation
The art of Mappila cooking has been to combine a few staples such as
rice and coconut products in different ways to bring about different
results. Mrs. Ummi Abclulla in her admirable study, Malabar Muslim
Cookery,19 lists 143 recipes, many of which illustrate this point. Among
the unique Mappila preparations are included the following:
• Pathiri is the Mappila food par excellence. It is a very

thin pancake made from a combination of rice flour and
coconut milk. It is usually served for breakfast.
• Paratha is a thick baked pancake made from whole-wheat
flour and ghee (clarified butter). Sometimes an egg is
added. Paratha is common in the Deccan area but the
Mappila form has its own character. It may be eaten for
the noon meal instead of rice.
• Neichoru is a fried rice made from pulao rice with onions,
cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom, and is eaten with meat
curry. It is a special food served to guests.
• Biriyāni is the ultimate festival food and is often served
at weddings to big crowds. Its preparation is a very labo-
rious process. The basic ingredients are pulao rice with
onions, garlic, ginger, chilies, poppy seeds, coriander
leaves, mint leaves, lime, cashew nuts, and raisins, all
combined with mutton or chicken and cooked together
in several stages, finally in a heavy vessel over high
heat. The Mappila biriyāni is a variation of the North
Indian Mughul pilau, in which the ingrédients are cooked
separately.20
In addition to halva there are also other special Mappila sweets made
in the home, including mutta mala, sweetened egg-yolk strings or gar-
lands. Some older preparations like panchasārapattu, a sweet pancake,
are known only to grandmothers.
The cooking stove in most Mappila kitchens is built of brick or

clay and is intended for firewood. It has an open surface at a low
level, and the cook must contend with smoke. Even in wooded Kerala
there is an increasing scarcity of firewood, and in any event, in the
monsoon season it is very wet and difficult to handle. As a result
gas or kerosene stoves are coming into fashion. Aluminum vessels
are utilized for cooking and boiling, while earthen vessels are used
for preparing sauces. In the home the women will ordinarily do the
cooking; the mother is in charge, and a daughter, daughter-in-law,
and/or servant woman will help. If the mother is alone or falls sick,
the husband and neighbors will take on some or all of the load.
Cleanliness, Pollution, and Sanitation
Malayalam culture places great stress on personal cleanliness, link-

ing it with hygienic concerns and religious commands. Only in the
modern period has it given the same emphasis to sanitation and
environmental cleanliness. Mappilas are now striving to reach higher
standards in both areas of deficiency, and considerable progress has
been attained.
Personal Cleanliness and Ritual Washing
In regard to personal cleanliness, hand washing before taking food is

routine. Where there is no tap or washroom available, a pail of water
is kept beside the veranda steps together with a dipper for pouring,
and soap and a towel are provided. After the meal hands are washed
again and the mouth is thoroughly rinsed, usually with vocal effects!
Teeth are always brushed in the morning. The toothbrush and tooth-
paste are in common use, but old-fashioned people may prefer the
traditional charcoal powder and salt combination. The teeth may also
be brushed after the chewing of betel nut.
Bathing is essential to Malayali personal cleanliness. Given the
nature of the region’s hot and humid climate it is a necessity, but
its importance is also increased through religious influence. Hindu
culture is represented by the statement: “The bath as an act of puri-
fication is a necessary preliminary to every religious performance.”21
Christians commonly assert that “cleanliness is next to godliness.”
In the Muslim Hadīth the phrase “religion is built on cleanliness”
may be found more than once. Thus, not only physical necessity and
cultural habit but concepts of ritual cleanliness in all segments of
Malayali society bolster the emphasis on bathing. Mappila men do

so twice daily, in the early morning and evening. They bathe in the
bathroom of their home if there is one, otherwise near the well. If
there is a bathroom but without running water, it will usually have
a water reservoir that is filled manually. In the case of women, they
will use a private bathroom, or bathe beside their well, or go to a
river or pond. They may have the opportunity for only a single bath
daily. Both males and females may apply coconut oil as part of the
bath, usually weekly.
For Mappilas the requirements of ritual cleanliness have to do
with two factors: the preparation for prayer and the elimination of pol-
lution. The former is called wuduʾ and may be described as follows:22
Washing the hands to the wrist thrice, reciting one’s inten-

tion; rinsing the mouth thrice; washing the face; washing
the hands to the elbows thrice, the water running to the
elbow; passing damp hands over the whole head; rubbing
wet fingers in the ears, behind the ears and through the
beard; rubbing wet fingers of one hand between the fingers
of the other; washing the feet, wet fingers between the toes.
This purification must be repeated before the next prayer if pollution

occurs in the meantime. The polluting acts that call for its repetition
include: bodily evacuations and discharges, sleeping or fainting, and
touching the skin of husband or wife.
There is also a ritually required full bath (ghusl) that must be
carried out in the event of a more serious pollution. Actions that
fall into that polluting category include sexual intercourse, childbirth,
menstruation, the handling of dead bodies, and the touching of a
dog’s saliva. A postnatal woman is in the state of pollution for forty
days, and a menstruating woman from three to ten days. A full bath
is also required for special religious events including the weekly con-
gregational prayer and the two major festivals.
Sanitation
Social problems in the area of sanitation were rife among Mappilas.

The relationship between sanitary cleanliness and disease was not
well-understood by the uneducated. For centuries the poor, and even
the middle class, made little effort to meet sanitary needs. As interior
plumbing developed, its strange and costly nature made it exotic. The
sweeper system that existed in the cities was inadequate for their
needs. In the countryside there was little space in the small houses for
plumbing, even if the need was felt, the solution was understood, and
the finances were available. Nor was there much effort exerted to pro-
vide outside facilities. Residents relieved themselves in shady spots or
at nearby walls or beside canals or the seaside. It was a recognized
“danger” for people to walk too closely to walls, even the walls on
busy streets. Open drains contributed to the problems. Germ-bearing
flies and malarial mosquitos found natural breeding grounds. Clean
water supply in turn was threatened by run-offs. The situation was
catastrophic for health care, with diseases from hookworm to cholera
being a common result. A century ago C. A. Innes wrote: “Sanitation
in the true sense of the term may be said to be non-existent in Mala-
bar.”23 Conditions did not greatly improve in the next half-century.
It was after Independence that the need for improved public and
private sanitation began to receive more concentrated attention. As
education increased people began to understand the issues. A wider
basic recognition of the germ concept took hold. Government health
schemes included sanitation projects and more and more lavatories
made their appearances in homes. Public facilities in crowded areas
were sponsored by municipalities. Private agencies assisted in devel-
oping programs for the poor.24 There was also a general rise in social
consciousness with reference to untidiness and littering. Mappilas
returning from abroad brought back with them a new appreciation
for environmental cleanliness that had a modelling impact. From a
Mappila health song we quote this line:25
“Absent-mindedness spreads many diseases; if alive to

cleanliness, your ease increases!”
Mappilas are no longer absent-minded on the subject of sanitation.

It is now a major concern in the society, although it is still a work
in progress.
Tabus: Stimulants and Extramarital Behavior
Stimulants
A debated aspect of Mappila personal behavior and amusement

relates to the question of stimulants that may be used or consumed.
There is no argument about the use of betel in the practice of
chewing. It is a custom that is common throughout Asia. The packet,
which is placed in the mouth and chewed, includes the betel nut,
the betel leaf, a bit of tobacco, and a touch of shell lime (chunam).
The betel nut is the nut of the areca tree, which is also called the
betel palm tree. The betel leaf is from the betel pepper vine, which is
often grown on the areca tree itself. For chewing, the leaf is wrapped
around a piece of the betel nut and the other ingredients. The process
produces some stimulation as well as salivation, the saliva taking on
a brick-red color. Areca palm and betel pepper cultivation are major
Mappila agricultural pursuits.
There is mild argument, however, about the smoking of tobacco.
Some Mappilas regard it as a health hazard, while others of a puri-
tan bent consider it to be forbidden. Nevertheless, a large number of
Mappilas do smoke tobacco routinely. As we have seen, many have
been involved in the occupation of beedi-rolling.
Far more contentious is the consumption of alcoholic beverages.
Islamic law forbids the use of wine and spirits. The prohibition is
based on the Qurʾān, which makes it clear that the Prophet Muham-
mad faced the problem of drunkenness at prayers. The Qurʾān dealt
with the issue progressively. At first it recognized value “in the fruit
of the date palm and the vine” while putting together “wine and
healthy nutriment” (16:67). Then it pointed to the potential for both
great sin and some utility in strong drink and games of chance, but
said that “the sin is greater than their usefulness” (2:219). Thereafter, it
forbade prayer by those who were “drunken” (4:43). Finally it explic-
itly forbade these practices declaring “avoid them!” and associating
them with idolatry and other satanic customs (5:90). Muhammad
Qadri, a contemporary jurist, describes the process as “the gradual
prohibition against wine-drinking.”26 Muslim jurists agree that prohi-
bition represents the final verdict of the Qurʾān on the consumption
of alcohol—it is forbidden. Nevertheless, throughout Muslim history
wine-drinking has not been uncommon, and some poets have actu-
ally extolled it. This double tradition is also present in Malayalam
culture. For centuries the drinking of toddy, a fermented palm juice,
has been a common practice. Against this background we come to
the Mappila point of view.
There is no doubt that the majority of the Muslim community in
the state stands firm on the prohibition of alcohol. It is considered a
tabu. A few Mappilas are involved in the practice, some simply going
along with what they perceive to be modern custom, others reasoning
that the prohibition is against intoxication rather than usage. There are
also returned migrant workers who in some way became accustomed
to the practice while in the Gulf area, and brought the habit back with
them. While there are few public displays of intoxication, the entire
subject is one that has produced great anxiety among Mappilas.
By the process of analogy, the use of drugs is likewise forbidden
by Islamic law. Drugs are readily available, but few Mappila youth
have succumbed to their use, and the practice does not constitute a
major community problem. As for “games of chance” we have noted
that the Qurʾān couples them with wine-drinking. Thus, gambling is
also frowned upon, although it is not entirely absent from the scene.
Forbidden Sexual Behavior
For Mappilas sexual behavior takes place within the marriage cov-
enant. Sexual activity outside marriage is a tabu. As in all societies
where that tabu exists, it is sometimes broken. Legal Muslim writ-
ings therefore deal with various forms of extramarital sexual behavior
including concubinage, adultery, prostitution, and homosexuality.
Although concubinage was allowed in early Islam where it was
linked with slavery, it does not appear as a factor in Mappila cul-
ture. Slavery was present in both the forming streams of the culture.
In the case of Islam, slavery was a heritage of pre-Islamic society,
received attention in the Qurʾān, was regulated by the sharia and
practiced widely in medieval times, and continued in some Mus-
lim areas until modern days.27 Within that context, the Qurʾān and
the sharia permitted cohabitation with female slaves under narrow
conditions. Similarly, slavery was a fact of life in Malayalam culture
for centuries, where it was marked by forms of agrarian slavery as
well as slave-trading.28 We may therefore wonder whether the Indian
slaves seen in the Meccan market in the 1880s may have been from
Kerala.29 Yet there is no evidence of direct slave-trade between the
Kerala coast and South Arabia involving Mappilas, and as for agrar-
ian slavery Mappilas were not landowners who were associated with
that practice. In fact Malabar serfs became Muslims in large numbers,
particularly in the nineteenth century, to escape their fate. The fact
that Mappilas were not involved in slavery is presumptive evidence
that concubinage, even in its allowed form, was not a Mappila com-
munity practice. The abolition of slavery in India in 1843 also removed
any possible basis for its consideration.
Adultery is also a rarity in Mappila society. If defined as an
extramarital sexual relation of a husband or wife with another per-
son, the practice is outrightly condemned in the Mappila tradition.
The male partner in a marriage has adequate options in the institu-
tions of divorce and polygamy if he is dissatisfied with his spouse.
If a husband, nevertheless, chooses to engage in adulterous behavior,

the wife has little recourse except to bear it silently and to hope that
society’s disapproval will have some effect. As to the reverse possibil-
ity, it is virtually unknown that a married woman will take the risk
of conducting an illicit relationship because the minimal punishment
for such behavior is divorce and social ostracism.
The position on prostitution and homosexual practice is clear.
Prostitution, prohibited though it may be, has never been totally elim-
inated from any society. Nevertheless, among Mappilas it is quite
universally condemned. When it does occur, it tends to be associated
with the use of alcoholic beverages. Mappilas are generally alert to the
Quranic demand for purity and moral defense. The Qurʾān exhorts:
“Come not nigh to shameful deeds whether open or secret” (6:51;
Yusuf Ali). The same passage might apply to homosexuality, an ever-
present temptation in confined male quarters, but in that regard there
is also an explicit prohibition: “If two men among you are guilty of
lewdness, punish them” (4:16).30 The scriptural prohibitions are clear,
and Mappilas are well aware of them.
Mappilas are part of a modernizing Malayalam culture that
struggles and gravitates between two poles. One pole, supported by
many voices in the religious communities, tends towards puritanism
in relationships. The other pole is represented by the scarcely veiled
endorsement of freer mores that surfaces in the media. Within the
older Malayalam Hindu culture there was a stream of “left-handed”
Tantrism which involved the utilization of forbidden elements to
achieve the goal of spiritual enlightenment. This also produced the
devadasi or temple prostitute tradition. Modern Hindu society has laid
aside that tradition, as well as the earlier easy-going marriage prac-
tices, and has opted for greater purism in relationships. The Christian
community on its part has maintained a firm approach in male-female
relations that discourages both adultery and prostitution. In this cul-
tural context the Mappila stress on legal regularity in relationships
finds a natural place. The aberrations that do occur are the exception
rather than the rule, and they face the umma’s strong disapproval. At
the same time the strong movement in the direction of modern hab-
its has its own power, so that conventional behavior in the Mappila
community is under pressure.
In this regard it is instructive to reflect on Ibn Khaldūn’s criti-
cism of the corrupting tendencies that occur in mature and sedentary
cultures. This premier Muslim social historian (1332–1406) regarded
sexual irregularity to be the result of luxury, that is, the disposition
toward pleasures that takes hold of cultures and leads to their decline.
He specifically names “the desires of the belly for pleasurable food

and drink,” and “the pleasures of sex through various ways of sex-
ual intercourse such as adultery and homosexuality.” Ibn Khaldūn
believed that these marks were unfortunately present in the Muslim
society of his time and place. Is Mappila culture of today subject to
a similar critique? There is little evidence to support that. Despite
its fourteen centuries of history Mappila society has not reached the
age of “senility” that in Ibn Khaldūn’s opinion sooner or later marks
any culture and disposes it to corruption. Since the Mappila transi-
tional development to a new age has just begun after a long period
of cultural stasis, it may be suggested that in a way Mappila soci-
ety is chronologically old but culturally young. Using Ibn Khaldūn’s
language, it still reflects the “toughness” of a younger society where
behavioral regularity is appreciated.31 Mappila leaders, however, are
not unaware of the social dangers that lie ahead—like reefs in a pas-
sage they threaten the onward journey of Mappila culture.
We have examined some problems in personal behavior, but
what are the acceptable pleasures of Mappilas, and who are their
heroes and models? That comes next.
Pleasures and Role Models
The Pleasure of Relaxation with Friends
A Mappila’s greatest enjoyment is his or her friends. Organized rec-

reation and amusement are present in Mappila culture, but are not
greatly emphasized. More important is socializing with friends. For
that purpose the hours of five to seven in the evening are precious.
It is the streets that provide a common meetingplace for males, and
they are jammed with people at that time. Many of the men are
shopping, but others are simply standing in circles, engaged in low-
key conversation. What is its subject? It matters not. It may be the
weather. Why is the monsoon so late? It may be politics. How long
will this government last? It may be religion. Are you going to the
special meeting tonight? It may be about the price of rice and the
cost of living. How can we pull on if they keep climbing? The con-
versations are quiet, even desultory. It is not so much what is said
that is important. It is being alive and well and in the company of
a friend that counts.
The friendly exchange may take place in someone’s home, where
Mappila hospitality comes into the picture. If you are in someone’s
home, you are treated royally. Everything else is laid aside in the
eagerness to receive you and make you comfortable. Personal eti-
quette comes into play, dictating that you be given the best seat in
the house. The family youngsters may shyly come in to see you and
greet you. Your friend sits opposite you, and will not cross his legs.
He will inquire about your health first, and then your family. His
wife will ask whether she could bring a cup of tea. Time is not a
consideration. There is a feeling of relaxation, a sense of not having
to hurry, of tasting the pleasures that come from being together. The
topics of discussion tend to be more personal than they are out on
the street. The conversation is natural and honest. Problems can be
openly stated, and help is freely offered.
Mappila women make friends easily. They do not stand in the
streets and engage in casual conversation like men, but rather they
will walk together, often shielded by umbrellas. For real visiting they
will go to their neighbors’ homes, moving inconspicuously along
secluded paths whenever possible. They also appreciate attending
the Ramadan night meetings when they can listen to the lectures in
groups and experience their togetherness. Mappila women, however,
do not restrict their relationships to other Muslim women; they rather
easily surmount inter-communal barriers that tend to inhibit males
and often form warm friendships with members of other communi-
ties. Is it the cementing quality of the motherhood experience that
creates a simple bond, or is it their delight in sharing family news
that makes this possible?
Avenues for Amusement
Go to any coastal city or town in the evening and the sight is aston-
ishing. Thousands of people are on the shore, some watching the
sun go down, some enjoying the evening breeze after the heat of the
day, many happy for a chance to have an outing with their family.
The recreation that Mappilas enjoy most is informal, related to the
natural beauties of the area. It is not only the sea that attracts. If
there is a hill to climb for the view, some will engage in that activity.
Picnics are common. There are public events to which one can come
or go. Political meetings and even religious meetings become a form
of recreation. The religious festivals provide similar opportunities; this
applies especially to the nērchas, which will be considered later. But
the striking beauties of Kerala’s natural scenery hold first place, and
bus tours are now arranged to see their glory.
The film and TV media have become important avenues for

amusement. Mappilas traditionally shared some of the Middle Eastern
Arab-Muslim hesitation over the artistic depiction of forms, although
the Malayalam culture context softened the hesitation. In the case of
cinema and TV it has all but vanished. Kerala’s huge film industry
pours out a variety of productions in a steady pattern, attracting all
Malayalis. Crowds of Mappilas attend the cinema. There is a simi-
lar attraction to television. In one important town in interior Mala-
bar, when the first TV set arrived, it was the Mappila Chairman of
the municipality who unveiled the screen at the perimeter of a field
(maidan), surrounded by admirers. The admirers have long since
moved into the homes where watching TV has become a passion.
The moral level of the media is criticized, but despite the opposi-
tion of some religious clerics, they have become an accepted form of
relaxation and amusement. In turn, they are also making their own
cultural impact on the watchers.
Attendance at formal sporting events such as football games
attracts mainly Mappila males but unless they are conducted in the
daylight hours it is not easy even for them. There is a reluctance to
go out at night. The process of getting home in the evening is often
tedious. Many people need to take a bus to get near to their house,
and then may have to walk several furlongs through rice fields on
bunds (earthen dividers), an exercise best done in the daylight. Larger
cities can afford lighted stadiums, but even there buses and auto rick-
shaws are scarce after dusk. Daylight football games, however, are
always well attended. In terms of participatory sports, badminton
and volleyball are most practical since not much space is needed, and
the cost is minimal. Track and field, and to some extent field hockey,
hold interest for students. India’s exploits in cricket and tennis are
celebrated, but these are the avocations of the few.
The recreational elements of Mappila dance and music will be
considered in subsequent sections on the Mappila arts.
Role Models and Popular Idols
Who are the models for Mappila behavior? Who are the community’s
heroes? Whom do Mappilas revere and follow? In answering these
questions we must distinguish between enduring behavioral models
and popular figures who are here today and gone tomorrow.
The primary role models for the Mappilas, not surprisingly, are
the great figures from early Islam, particularly the Prophet Muhammad.
Their modeling becomes effective through the agency of madrasa and

mosque, although the piety of the home also plays a part. In the
mosque the examples of the first Muslims are regularly referred to
in the sermons. The life and pattern of the Prophet Muhammad are
exhaustively elaborated. He is the authentic human and the quintes-
sential role model for all times. Of the other prophets Ibrahīm is noted
for his faith and friendship with God and ʿĪsā is extolled for his ethical
model. After Muhammad, however, it is three of his companions who
are especially praised, namely ʿAbū Bekr, ʿUmar, and ʿAlī. Khadīja.
Ayēsha and Fātima are extolled as female heroines and models.
The role of the religious hero-model comes down to the pres-
ent day in the reverence bestowed upon some saintly figures who
are believed to possess the quality of nearness to God. However, for
Mappilas today a shift has taken place from that category to a greater
appreciation for the community hero, that is, a person who has been
instrumental in leading Mappilas out of the social wilderness to a
better life. The prime example is K. M. Seethi Sahib (1898–1960), who
is still revered for his tireless efforts for the uplift of his community.
A participant in the great events of the Freedom Movement, he was
an inspirational figure who influenced many of the developments
in Mappila culture from politics to education. He cannot be pigeon-
holed. Both traditional and progressive, he drew the unstinted admi-
ration of a wide range of Mappilas. Seethi Sahib’s example is not
likely to be forgotten, but his image is somewhat misted in time for
younger Mappilas. Falling into the same category but more clearly
remembered are the recent revivalists C. H. Muhammad Koya and
P. K. Abdul Ghafoor whose biographies will be taken up later. Com-
munist Muslims did not hesitate to go outside their own boundaries
for their hero-model, the formidable E. M. S. Namboodiripad.
As for living hero-models, there is another shift to popular idols
who temporarily capture the imagination and stir the emotions. They
are drawn from the cinematic, athletic, and artistic worlds, as well
as from politicians. They elicit the attention and allegiance of youth
especially, who freely bestow their lavish adulation and mimic their
behavior. The attraction of “headline” figures has been an element in
Mappila psychology for two generations. In the 1950s and 1960s when
General Nasser of Egypt became a global Muslim hero, many Map-
pila boys were given his name, and that phenomenon continues with
contemporary figures. However, the influence of charismatic figures,
especially those from the film and video sectors, burns out quickly
and for durability cannot compare with that of community leaders.
The community-wide accepted contemporary hero-models are

rare. There is tangible longing for such individuals who can arouse
enthusiasm and loyalty from all sides, but that longing is not often
fulfilled. Perhaps it is too much to expect for living hero-models to
appear in fast-moving modern society that forgets quickly, and at
a time when the media delight in exploring and exposing human
weakness. For that reason when a Syed Mohammedali Shihab Tan-
gal (1936–2009) of Panakkad in South Malabar does arise, combining
many facets of a hero-model, there is widespread appreciation. His
story will be told in Chapter 12.
We have entered the area of the Mappila community’s social
conduct and its variations. In the next chapter we take up class dis-
tinctions; the educational, political and social picture; and the society’s
decision-making method.
10
The Landscape of
Mappila Social Behavior
Group Distinctions, Educational Variety, Political

Alignments, Theological Factions, Decision Making
In this chapter we will highlight aspects of the Mappila life in com-

munity. As there is variation in personal behavior, so is there also in
the social realm. Where diversity is an expression of vitality, it gives
strength. This, in general, is true of the Mappilas. Some variations,
however, are divisive in their effect. Others do not materially affect the
common life. We will first discuss social distinctions related to racial
descent, caste-like groups and various class factors. We will then look
at the community’s double-track educational profile, including the
religious and modern institutions. Political activities are very much
a part of Mappila social life, with variety and dexterity their marks.
The configuration of the theological factions changes from time to
time, but the main features of the map are fixed. Much of Mappila
social behavior revolves around these four areas which—with their
mix and change—lend color to the tapestry of life. The variations
make necessary a community decision-making process of some kind,
and that matter will also be discussed.
The cultural glue that holds Mappilas together, despite the social
variation, is the idea that they are members of a unique and spe-
cial community. It is a community that is based on God’s guidance,
receives God’s mercy, fulfills God’s intention, and journeys to God’s
destiny. The concept of sacred community is common to religious
cultures. In the Mappila case it is expressed by the word umma, the
root meaning being “mother.” As a child depends on a mother and
continues to give her affection later in life, so the Mappila has a
confident feeling of dependence on the umma, and gives it allegiance
and affection. For a Muslim the idea of a blessed community goes
back to Quranic foundations. The Qurʾān testifies that there is a wider
207
family than the biological one, a family of faith based on truth and
justice (7:181), a people who invited humanity to goodness and right
conduct (3:104), a society that has a special status. The Qurʾān says:
“Ye are the best umma that hath been raised for mankind” (3:110),
and Mappilas accept that and regard one another in that light. Not
only is their membership in the umma to be considered a privilege,
but its members are enjoined to work together harmoniously: “And
hold fast all of you together to the cable of Allah, and do not sepa-
rate” (3:103). Mappilas feel the presence and power of this guiding
ideal in their social life. Nevertheless, some distinctions do exist in
Mappila society. They are related to blood descent, to the existence of
caste-like groups, and to class feelings. We examine that reality next.
Group Distinctions: Arab Descent,

Caste-Like Clans, Class Features
The Factor of Arab Descent
Observing a distinction on the basis of Arab blood is an old element

in the history of Islamic cultures. In early Islam a strong differen-
tiation was made between Arab and non-Arab Muslims. The latter
were called mawālī or “clients,” and they were compelled to assume
an artificial associate membership in an Arab tribe to be accepted as
real Muslims. That practice fell by the wayside when Persian culture
advanced during the time of the Abbasid Dynasty (750–1258). The
respect for Arab descent, however, continued in Muslim societies. In
diluted form it is also reflected in Mappila culture.
Among Mappilas the old phrase “Arabi Muslims” was attached
to Arab-descended people who maintained a relative purity of blood
through tight intermarriage practices. The term is currently not a pre-
ferred one because of its separatist tone. There is no hesitation about
the words sayyid or tangal which refer to those who trace their descent
to the family of the Prophet Muhammad. Purity of descent cannot
be maintained in families because the essence of Mappila origins is
intermarriage between Arab traders and Malayali women. Neverthe-
less, the trend was for the Arab-blooded to arrange marriages with
others of the same heritage, and in some cases an especially strong
effort was made to do so. An example is the Quilandy area, twenty-
five kilomoeters north of Calicut, where such families were regularly
referred to as Arabi Mappilas.
Near to the port of Quilandy is Pantalayini, also called Panta-
lyini Kollam; it was known by different names in ancient times, as
The Landscape of Mappila Social Behavior 209
far back as Pliny before the Christian era.1 Quilandy and Pantalyini
were important to Muslims long before the Zamorin made Calicut
the major coastal emporium. Pilgrims traveled from these towns to
Mecca, and in turn they were gateways for continued Arab trade
and settlement. It is natural that intermarriage practices designed to
maintain the Arab heritage would become a prominent feature of
their society. The same applies to other ancient coastal centers such
as Ponnani, Kodungalur, and Kollam. It is in these centers particularly
that Muslim families tried hard to maintain their early Arab lineage,
but its maintenance has progressively weakened.
In brief, apart from the few Arab immigrants of the past two
centuries, the “Arabi” Mappilas make up a relatively small group of
families who take pride in their heritage of Arab blood; but the dis-
tinction has nothing to do with pollution theory, and does not involve
living or dining restraints. It becomes evident primarily in marriage
practices and to a mild extent also in social relations and friendship
circles. The large majority of Malayali Muslims who do not claim to
be Arab-blooded treat the factor of Arab descent with respect, par-
ticularly in the case of the tangal/sayyid families, but do not give it
undue weight. Arabi Muslims likewise do not flaunt the distinction,
such as it is, and males are free to marry other Muslim women.
Caste-Like Groups
The Hindu caste system is the dominant background for the discus-
sion of the many Muslim social groups in India, and Malayalam
society today is still noted for its strong caste alignments. It would
be unreasonable to expect that Mappila culture would remain unaf-
fected by this environment, and it is remarkable that the influence was
generally so benign. Mappilas tended to resist groupism—one of the
main factors in the conversion to Islam in interior Malabar was the
reputation of Muslim social equality. Nevertheless, caste-like groups
are also present among Mappilas. They are not castes in that they do
not carry the same social implications that Hindu castes do, but they
are caste-like in that they constitute distinct associations and some
may even observe endogamous marriage practices.
Some of the groups are related to functions and continue the
craft guild heritage that lies behind some Hindu castes. These include
fishermen, rock cutters, cigarette rollers, masons, heavy load bearers,
barbers, and others. Some, like the barbers who are called Ossans,
have special names. Other groups differ in background. At the lower
end of the social scale are the Pusalans or “Puyislams,” a term derived
from putiya-islām, that is, “new Islam,” referring to new converts from
outcast communities such as the Cherumars, Parayars, and others.
At the high end of the scale we find the Koyas who are business
people in such centers as Calicut; at an earlier stage they maintained
separate mosques and cemeteries. A related set are the Keyis, the
spice merchants of Tellicherry. Their name and origin may be traced
to early eighteenth-century traders who cooperated with the British,
and who through personal enterprise became wealthy landowners.
The Keyis are matrilineal and endogamous, and also once maintained
separate mosques.
Nainar Muslims represent converts from the upper Nayanar
caste, whose name they kept.2 The existence of such groups encourag-
es Ibrahim Kunju to make this comment: “Mappila society is divided
into clearly distinguishable sections as in the caste system among the
Hindus. Though the division is not as rigid and complete as in the
Hindu caste system which prevents social intercourse, the division
is apparent.”3 However the instinct of Mappila Muslims today is to
downplay the importance of such tendencies inherited from the past
in favor of a level set of relationships in the community.
Although they are not a part of Mappila culture, we may note
the existence of other Muslim groups who have immigrated into Ker-
ala from other areas of India. They include Deccani Muslims known
as Pathanis, the descendants of military personnel; Labbais, who are
traders and shopkeepers from the Tamil coast; Rowthars (Ravatturs),
originally from the Tamil martial class; and Navayats, Kanarese coast-
al Muslims. None of these groups are present in sufficient numbers
to materially influence Mappila culture.
Class Distinctions
In this section we restrict ourselves to class distinctions based on

urban-rural-coastal differences and on variations in wealth.
Urban-Rural-Coastal Differences
In Mappila society the urban-rural contrast is basic, but for complete-

ness the coastal differentiation must also be included. In their early
immigrant stages Mappilas tended toward becoming city folk, which
has been a common factor in the Islamic expansion into new societies.
They were merchants and traders in port towns. In the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries, however, a large number of landless Hindu agri-
cultural laborers in Malabar became Muslims. The society’s complex
land tenure system kept them in that role of low-income agricultural
and plantation workers, thereby introducing an urban-rural social

distinction and altering the Mappila cultural profile.
The urban-rural distinction is partially mitigated by the fact that
most Malayalis, Mappilas included, are instinctively agriculturally
minded. Even in heavily populated towns they live or try to live as
though they are in the countryside, their compounds filled with fruit
trees and flowers. Town and country blend and merge. No matter
where they are, people harbor a kind of rural attitude based on a com-
mon love for the soil. Yet some urban-rural differentiations do exist
which are reflected in everyday interests, conversation topics, income
levels, and marriage arrangements. City dwellers generally consider
themselves to be more modern and advanced than their rural compa-
triots. There are continuing disparities in the comparative standards
of living that the progressive social movements in the state have not
been able to overcome.
The coastal fishermen and sailors constitute a third group along
with the city dwellers and rural folk. Although they comprise a much
smaller social unit, their distinctive conditions create a separate class.
Sustained by courage they frequently live on the very cusp of survival,
often in appalling slum conditions on the beaches. Except for sharing
some essential services their social relations with urban dwellers are
very limited, and they have little contact with interior Mappilas. Their
lifestyle and customs, including the superstitious elements, are very
much their own. While there is widespread admiration for the bravery
of the fishermen, aspects of the subculture that they have developed
are viewed with some reservation by other Mappilas. The levelling
influences of modernity, however, are also affecting this unique soci-
ety, and the motorized fishing boats now patrolling the coastlines are
the harbingers of social change.
The Rich and Poor Divergence
The class difference between rich and poor is fortunately not as sharp
as it once was, but it represents a perennial reality. Mappila cultural
history cannot be fully appreciated without an awareness of the har-
rowing economic conditions that prevailed until recent times. While
the Gulf connection and the improvement in the national economy
have alleviated some of the survival problems and have contributed
to the development of a middle class,4 and while the Mappila sighs
of relief are almost audible, a rich-poor divergence continues.
The economic gap is softened by three factors. The first is the
basic Mappila egalitarianism that creates fellow feeling and sympathy.
The second is the vigorous Quranic condemnation of the h eartless
and arrogant rich, its praise of generosity, and its encouragement

of alms-giving. The third factor is all-important, namely, the belief
that upward mobility is always a possibility. To explain, in Mappila
society poverty is not embedded in any fixed tradition, although
there are some social groups like divorced women that have chronic
problems. A phrase that Marshall Hodgson used to describe Muslim
society in Abbasid times is relevant: “A man of spirit or special gifts
could rise on the social scale.”5 Similarly, there has often been a way
out of want for Mappilas who are enterprising—the community has
many examples of poor families who have become well-to-do as the
result of their wit and energy. Not all have been that fortunate. What
has kept some Mappilas down has been the lack of education, cash
resources, imagination, and perseverance. Undoubtedly, there are also
some wealthy Mappilas who have lacked concern for the downtrod-
den, have felt quite comfortable with their good fortune, and have
even taken advantage of the situation. This self-centered and grasping
attitude, where it exists, has drawn sharp criticism from communist
parties and from social reformers within the Mappila family.
Current Educational Profile
A great deal of Mappila social behavior revolves around the issue of

education. In Chapter 4 we introduced the heritage of rote religious
education while in Chapter 5 we discussed the rise of modern secular
education. This development left contemporary Mappilas with two
major educational forms. The purpose of this section is to provide a
current profile of each. The two educational tracks occasionally merge
but in the main they lead travelers by alternate routes to different
destinations, thereby producing a division in the Mappila way of
thinking and creating frequent tensions. Mappila leaders are striv-
ing to discover switching mechanisms that will keep the community
going forward in a common journey. We begin with the contemporary
status of traditionalist education.
Traditionalist Education
The Persistent Madrasa Tradition
That the madrasa system continues at all under the buffeting it has
received is something of a wonder. That it continues with consid-
erable strength makes the wonder even greater. In commenting on
Muslim education in wider India, Professor Aziz Ahmed declared
that it has “been flowing in two streams. There is a conservative

stream that has conserved the medieval system. It has been fighting
a losing battle with the other stream, that of modern, westernizing
education.”6 Conservative Mappila leaders might well argue that the
comment does not apply to the Mappila situation, and the statistics
would lend some support to their argument. In 1991 when a careful
count was made, there were 6,666 madrasas in the state of Kerala,
involving almost one million students with 24,339 teachers.7 The num-
ber of Sunni-sponsored elementary madrasas alone may now have
reached 7,000.8 In addition Mujahid and Jamaat-Islam Mappilas have
developed their own systems. This is hardly the mark of a declining
institution. The enduring vitality of the madrasas is borne out by the
sight of young Muslim children in huge numbers still wending their
way along Kerala’s roads on the way to the madrasa. At the same
time, as elsewhere in Muslim society, even the madrasa system no
longer continues in quiet comfort.
Many of the institutional aspects of the hallowed madrasa tradi-
tion are receiving Muslim criticism from all over the Islamic world.
Even its supporters levy criticism. The most outspoken opponents
regard it as pedagogically outmoded and as the promoter of unen-
lightened religion. Of late it has also been accused of encouraging
sectarianism and militancy. Many orthodox leaders, however, do not
see it that way. They reject the idea of wholesale change. They still see
the madrasa as essential for their community’s religious education. In
the light of the fact that so many Muslims are now involved in secular
education, the madrasas are needed more now than ever to ensure
the community’s faith and loyalty. That is the feeling of many. Yet
even the most conservative leaders recognize that the system needs
improvement. The opposing trends of thought, common in the wider
Muslim world, are also present in the Mappila community.
In the case of the Mappila madrasa system a lot of things have
happened to enable it to survive to its present stage. History pro-
vided leadership through such figures as Chalikattu Kunyahamed
Haji (1867–1919), who pioneered the use of textbooks and educational
equipment; Hamdani Shaikh (d. 1919), who dreamt of madrasas that
in their standards rivalled government elementary schools; Wakkom
Maulavi (d. 1932) who underscored that the Qurʾān is meant to be
understood; and K. M. Maulavi (d. 1964) who introduced the new
thinking to Malabar Mappilas. Other events took place that facilitated
a climate of improvement. The traumatic effects of the Mappila Rebel-
lion could not be overcome without change. The Communist-led cries
for social improvement had to be addressed. With the introduction of
a national education scheme in 1947 an irresistible new force entered

the scene. The formation of the Muslim Education Society (1964), in
the same year that K. M. Maulavi died, accelerated the drive toward
Mappila secular education. The madrasa system could not remain
aloof from these influences that we have described earlier. They pro-
duced a reflex action among Mappila traditionalist clerics who had
to blunt the criticisms of lay Muslims.
There were also serious financial factors to consider. Charitable
giving was going in the direction of support for the exciting new
educational efforts, and the number of those interested in assisting the
old-type madrasas sharply decreased. If improvements were not made
soon, Mappila families would drift away. The Samastha Kerala Educa-
tion Board, a council of orthodox Sunni clerics, therefore stepped in
and initiated some modest refinements. They included the creation of
a common syllabus, the introduction of new texts, and the provision
of teaching aids. Their stated intention was to bring in some of the
technical elements of modern pedagogy and wed them to the madrasa
core tradition. Improved teaching equipment and techniques, as well
as the modest use of Malayalam, were deemed admissible; but funda-
mental change was avoided and may have been impossible to achieve.
There was no basic reorientation to Quranic study, no alteration in
the traditional authorities utilized, and no tilt toward a free analytic
approach. Rather, the cosmetic changes left intact the main madrasa
tradition and so, in the same manner, it carries on today.
New madrasas are conforming to this approach that may be
described as “low-tech ideological training in the orthodox tradition”
rather than as a new form of religious education. An example is the
massive Islamic (Sunni) Cultural Complex at Karanthur in Kozhikode
District, founded in 1978 by Kanthapuram A. P. Abu Bekr Musaliar
with major help from Gulf donors. It embraces fourteen institutions
serving about 3,000 students. Its Prospectus states its point of view:9
It is the realization of a long cherished wish of Muslims

of Kerala who had been helplessly . . . witnessing the cul-
tural decline and educational backwardness of the Muslim
community . . . The distinguishing feature of this complex
are its predominantly residential character and facilities to
impart modern education along with Islamic education.
“Modern” education and “Islamic” education are regarded as

distinct, and it is assumed that the former can simply be added to
the latter. Very proudly the Prospectus proclaims that the institution
is “the Brain of the Brights” and “the mastermind of all intelligent

activities of Muslim Kerala.” The Complex contains a high school
that necessarily conforms to state regulations, conducting religious
studies classes after school hours, but the madrasa itself offers a
traditional ten years of Islamic studies at primary, secondary, and
higher levels, with special emphasis on the study of religious law.
In conversation “A. P.” has stated that respect for the classical sharia
is the key to Karanthur’s approach.10 Another of its institutions, the
Islamic Daʾwa College, gives training leading to the maulavi degree
(fazil sakhafi) by adding ten years of study to the secondary Islamic
education requirement.
But this brings us to the phenomenon known as the “Arabic
College.”
The Arabic Colleges
The word “college” has an almost magical power of attraction in

education-conscious Kerala. Mappilas have chosen to use this term to
describe their latest version of higher madrasa training for prospec-
tive religious workers and Arabic teachers. The use of the term can
lead to misunderstanding since the Arabic “colleges” are not at all
educational institutions in the sense of university-level arts and sci-
ence colleges. They are rather the community’s mid-range theological
schools. They focus on the study of language, with Arabic being the
medium of instruction in later years, and the study of religious themes
using Arabic texts. There are at least 128 Arabic colleges: 6,400 pupils
and 265 teachers.11 These are of two types—the traditionalist and the
reformed—the former being in the majority.
The contemporary Arabic colleges evolved from the desire of
theological reformers for improved religious and linguistic training.
They were looking for an intermediate bridge between the traditional
madrasa/dars system and the modern post-secondary institutions. The
idea was that they could eventually receive recognition as centers of
Arabic studies in affiliation with universities. The movement received
impetus in 1948 when the Rousathul Uloom Arabic College that had
been established at Manjeri, South Malabar (1942), moved to Feroke
and developed there, alongside Farook College.
Malappuram District became a primary center for the Arabic col-
lege development because of the interest in the language in its heavily
Muslim population.12 The Mujahid reform movement took the lead,
beginning with the establishment of the Madeenathul Islam Uloom at
Pullikal in 1947. Calling itself a university, despite its small size, and
modelling itself on the Islamic University at Medina, the institution

calls its graduates “Madanis.” Other colleges with a similar reform
spirit include the Sallamussalam Arabic College at Azhikode (1954),
the Ansar Arabic College at Valavanoor (1964), where one-third of
the students are women, and the Anwar Islam Arabic College (1970)
at Mongam, which is a small women’s college. Outside Malappuram
the Nur ul-Huda College at Kochi was established in 1952. The main
features of the Mujahid Arabic Colleges are a somewhat modernized
curriculum and affiliation with a university, thereby giving their grad-
uates first call for Arabic teaching positions in the state’s educational
system. Although relatively small in number, the reform colleges had
the effect of challenging Sunni Mappilas to a similar enterprise.13
About two decades after the reform Arabic colleges began to
appear, traditionalist Mappilas woke up to their potential for the com-
munity, and very soon a large group of superficially similar Sunni
“colleges” began to appear on the scene. We introduced the clergy
training centers in chapter 4. To add to the confusion, they too made
use of the term “college.” Other institutions developed to provide
higher madrasa training for laity, including potential religious work-
ers. They proliferated but varied somewhat in appearance, funding,
and style. Some are modestly improved, classically orthodox insti-
tutions like the Al-Huda Complex (2004) near Tirurangadi; housed
in a large well-appointed three-story building it includes a women’s
college. Others are purely traditionalist in their in their approach.
They are unrecognized and have no interest in university affiliation,
preferring to plow their own furrow. Nor would their approach make
them eligible for such affiliation. Their style is firmly based on the
heritage of the dars system, with doctrinaire teaching and rote learn-
ing continuing to dominate.
The contrast with modem education could not be greater. The
dean of reform-minded maulavi-educators, Karuvalli Muhammad,
straightforwardly says: “In the existing dars, madrasa and Arabic col-
lege institutions, education is not conducted in the modern manner.”14
He also notes the financial difficulties of these institutions, and offers
the opinion that “the existing madrasa style will not last another cen-
tury.”15 The opinion of this respected Mappila leader must be given
full weight. Nevertheless, the tenacity of the persistent madrasa tradi-
tion also cannot be underestimated. It is so strong that its continua-
tion, perhaps in a revised format and with reduced strength, is very
likely. Certainly the vitality of the system is evident today, and many
Mappilas are still under its influence.
Modern Education
We have come to the second educational track. Modern education

has contributed very powerfully to the great Mappila cultural trans-
formation, and it is steadily reshaping the educational profile of the
Mappila cultural being. The two major aspects of the contribution are
an attitudinal change and an institutional achievement.
The attitudinal aspect refers to the new Mappila bias in favor of
an up-to-date philosophy of education. The introduction of modem
secular education is not yet fully complete, but its advance has result-
ed in a new educational habitude. It is now virtually taken for granted
that Mappila parents will send their children to a modern elemen-
tary school, be it a government or managed school, and high school
attendance is not far behind. The college undergraduate and graduate
worlds are now coeducational, and the age of marriage has progres-
sively risen to accommodate the large number of female students in
post-secondary institutions.
The change in attitude toward modern education affects also
the numerous illiterate Mappilas who have not previously had the
opportunity or inclination for such education. It not only encourages
them to send their children to public school but even to seek their own
self-improvement. A simple illustration underlines the latter point.
Under the heading of “A Brighter Tomorrow” a newspaper (Indian
Express, 2004) features the photo of a thirty-year-old Muslim woman
from the fishing village of Vellayil. Umaidu has successfully appeared
for the Kerala Literacy Mission’s examination. This is far from an
isolated example of the search for a better tomorrow, but we cite it
to show that the attitudinal change is felt at all levels of the Mappila
community and is emotionally powerful. The fact that the educational
style is secular is no longer considered a deterrent.
The favor being shown modern education also embraces a fresh
attitude toward language learning. As we have seen, the traditionalist
stream preserves its regard for the primacy of Arabic, but rank-and-file
Mappilas no longer consider the study of Malayalam and English as
either demonic or forbidden. In public elementary schools Malayalam
is the first language, involving seven weekly periods of instruction,
and its study is routinely accepted. By engaging with their mother
tongue at the earliest stage in their educational careers the once-adap-
tive Mappila cultural spirit is experiencing a basic renewal at its roots.
The option for Arabic as a subsidiary subject does not conflict with
the renewal for it too is now taught as a literary language, using
the same methods applied to other languages. The modern approach

is carried through the ensuing years of education to the university
level which most dramatically demonstrates the modern approach. At
the graduate level in the MA-degree Arabic Language and Literature
Course the papers required include classical prose, grammar, rhetoric,
prosody and modern poetry, the history of Arabic literature, Islamic
history and culture, and journalistic Arabic.16
The three-language formula of education (Malayalam, Hindi,
and English) is fundamentally broadening for Mappila children, but
they are also involved in the burgeoning phenomenon of English-
medium schools. Some of these are conducted by the Central Institute
and others are under local management, but either way Muslim chil-
dren are free to attend, and do so in large numbers.17 After centuries
of struggle the study of Malayalam, Arabic, and English in Mappila
society has attained a harmony. A fresh habitus has been born.
The second aspect of the modern educational profile is the
institutional one. The growth of Mappila-sponsored post-secondary
institutions has inevitably slowed down. The cumulative achieve-
ment, however, is impressive. Today the Muslim Education Society
(MES) alone supports the following educational establishments: 20
colleges, 41 lower schools, 8 student hostels, and 6 technical insti-
tutes. Its crowning achievement is the founding of a Medical College
at Perintelmana in South Malabar. In terms of their population ratio
Muslims have moved closer to quantitative parity in post-secondary
education, remembering that many students attend non-Muslim insti-
tutions. The same does not yet apply at the qualitative level, however.
In 2004 the National Assessment and Accreditational Council listed 15
of 77 Kerala state-accredited colleges in the “A-Grade” or “Five-Star”
standing, but among them Feroke was the only Muslim institution so
recognized.18 Nevertheless, the achievement is substantial. Mappila
community leaders also engaged in aggressive fund-raising required
by the new institutions. For its 20 colleges, the M.E.S. was able to pro-
vide grants toward the total budget amounting to the amazing sum
of 6.9 crors of rupees in a typical year (2004).19 However, the energy
of the trailblazing society—partly consumed by a split in 1980—has
inevitably diminished, and it now makes its contribution at a lesser
pace.
The potential peak of the Mappila educational engagement with
modernity is the new Social Advancement Foundation of India (SAFI)
that serves as the basis for a possible Muslim university. The idea
for such an “Aligarh of the South” was first broached at Kochi in
2001, but its inaugural function took place at East Vazhayoor in South
Malabar on August 25, 2005. There an impressive first-stage domed

building dominates a 600-acre site on a high plateau in interior “Map-
pila land” north of Feroke.
The Quranic motto adopted by SAFI’s founders is the classic
one of almost all Islamic intellectual reformers: “Verily never will
Allah change the condition of a people until they change themselves”
(13:11). With this exhortation in mind SAFI was set up “to trans-
form the backward people into a society competent in every respect
in the contemporary world, upholding ethical and religious values,
and achieving excellence in educational, economic and social spheres
through their intellectual acumen.”20 The far-reaching vision and pro-
posal was greatly enabled by a foundational grant of a benefactor, Dr.
P. Mohamed Ali, by the expert leadership of the Board Chair, Profes-
sor K. A. Jaleel, and by its scientist directors. Its academic program
envisages Centers for Advanced Studies and Research in Informa-
tion Technology, Medical Sciences and Biotechnology, Social Sciences,
and Islamic Theology and Culture, all conforming to international
standards. At its present stage of development it offers biotechnol-
ogy, mass communications and journalism, management studies, and
Islamic studies. In addition, another SAFI goal is to assist in develop-
ing quality improvements in other existing Muslim post-secondary
institutions through a variety of interventions. Initially SAFI has
begun an affiliated status with the University of Calicut.
The terms vision, competence, holistic approach, and humane-
ness, all used in its Prospectus,21 sum up SAFI’s ambitious academic
goals. How the enterprise will eventually unfold is unknown, but
perhaps its basic importance lies in the venturing itself. While the
institution’s leaders have faced practical problems translating their
dynamic concept into reality, in principle they and their students are
travellng to new horizons.
Not all Mappilas share that kind of intellectual vision, and many
still prefer a more traditional approach. Professor Jaleel himself notes
that it is a very big effort for a traditionally resistant and fearful soci-
ety to step into modern education. He states that a major reason for
the difficulty facing students is parental lack of understanding and
support for the goal of obtaining scientific knowledge, but in fact there
are also unsolved educational questions. The problem of integrating
empirical studies with foundational values has not really been solved.
Nor have all aspects of job-oriented education been fully addressed.
Finally, he observes that some of the original energy for the intel-
lectual development of the Mappila community has been dissipated.
He places much of the blame for that loss on Gulf employment, the
fact being that well-paid jobs are available even for the poorly edu-
cated. Jaleel declares: “We cannot allow the practice of going abroad to
lessen the importance of education.”22 This educator’s sober appraisal
is a caution to the leaders of the Mappila intellectual awakening that
their task is not yet over. If outright opposition to modern secular
education is now more subdued, there is still inherited inertia to be
overcome. Hence, some community members are saying that the rea-
son for their remaining backwardness in education is no longer the
lack of opportunity but a lack of will.
Conclusion: An Educational Dichotomy
The contemporary landscape of Mappila education has a divided

profile. It reflects a “both-and” reality. The past and the present are
marching along together. Can a culture survive educational “two-
trackism”? Such a journey will not be easy. At practical levels the
potential for controversy is reduced by the community’s spirit of
toleration—parents send their children to both madrasas and secular
institutions without visible anxiety. The lack of a synthesizing process
is partially made up by a kind of compartmentalizing as Mappilas
carry both experiences into their lives without making much effort to
examine their relationship. The ultimate danger of a failure to more
formally integrate “empirical studies with foundational values” is
secularism, as some Mappilas may retain certain customs for historic
or communal reasons while mentally abandoning their theological
base. For the time being, however, they will go on together with a
certain level of cultural tension.
Mappila Political Alignments
Mappila political life is marked by vibrant activity and fluctuating

alliances. It is deeply affected by two factors—the Malayali democratic
culture and the community’s focus on its social needs.
Politics in Malayalam culture are complex because they reflect
the region’s sociological and religious mix. Politics are transparent
because the educated populace and aggressive free press leave little
hidden. Politics are emotional, and sometimes in extreme cases the
vehemence takes violent forms. And politics are ever-changing as dif-
ferent groups align or realign themselves to protect and to advance
their interests. As Malayalis, Mappilas also reflect these cultural
trends.
The second factor in Mappila politics is their focus on community

needs. While this is true of all groups in the region, the principle holds
special significance for the Mappilas who deeply feel their minority
status. Especially after 1956, when the linguistic state of Kerala was
formed, Muslims became convinced that democratic politics must not
only be accepted but also must be harnessed in some way to support
their community’s welfare.23
These factors played together to make Mappilas full participants
in the region’s political process. There was some activity after 1921 and
before 1956. Led by the revered Muhammad Abdurrahiman, Mappilas
began their political action with a tilt toward Nationalist Muslims and
the Congress Party. In the mid-1930s the Muslim League started its
activity in Malabar and about the same time the Communist Party
made its appearance. The Mappilas now had new political options.
The political pace, however, increased after 1956. The post-1956 ques-
tion was, whose politics and whose platform would they prefer?
The Muslim League presented itself to the Muslim community
as its political savior. Some Mappilas resisted that notion and chose
to align themselves with the Congress Party or its offshoots. Others,
a larger number, and in particular the jobless, landless, and poverty-
stricken, heeded the siren call of the Communist parties who offered
them the much-desired social improvement (see Chapter 5). They
made that choice despite the strident theological critiques of mosque
preachers who refused to accept the propaganda of Kerala Marxists
that their movement had abandoned its atheist philosophy. Although
Mappila opinion ran freely in any one of these three directions, the
Muslim League certainly had the advantage with Muslims and main-
tained the widest support. This held true despite a major division
within the League from 1975 to 1985 that resulted from personality
conflicts and disputes regarding alliances.
The Muslim League adopted the tactical approach of seeking
coalitions with others no matter how basically different was the
worldview of their proposed allies. The utilitarian tactic was justified
on the basis of promoting the Muslim welfare. In the 35-year period
from 1956 to 1991 the League participated in six coalition govern-
ments, in the process joining with fourteen other political parties,
including communists. Despite its own limited number of seats, it
proved adept in manipulating situations to its advantage. Again and
again it was able to obtain the important Ministry of Education as its
portfolio, and this in turn aided the improvement of Muslim educa-
tion in the state. In contrast to the general condition of other Indian
Muslims, they also achieved almost proportionate representation and
influence in their state legislature. In the 2008 Assembly, out of the 141
elected members 26 were Muslims. This is an 18 percent representa-
tion and compares with the Muslim population ratio of 24 percent;
at the same time, in the National Parliament 5 of the 20 Malayali
representatives were Muslims. Muslims were becoming prominently
present in the civil service and among educational administrators. In
the light of this history the League political alignments may be criti-
cized on the grounds of rank utilitarianism, but not on the grounds
of lack of success.
Nevertheless, the combination of democratic politics and alli-
ances at will had opened the door to Mappila voter independence.
The old Mappila solidarity in political action is virtually a thing of
the past, replaced by political diversity. Mappilas have become typi-
cal Malayali voters—they do not hesitate to show their displeasure
against any party. They now demonstrate less interest in traditional
positions and more concern for practical possibilities. They also con-
sider it within their freedom to support leftist candidates. In the 2006
Kerala elections, at a time when the Muslim League had apparently
become complacent and was charged with various ills, the Mappila
voters turned against it in large numbers. The League was success-
ful in only seven constituencies, half of the previous total, and the
coalition of which it was a part (UDF) went down in a resounding
defeat to the Communist-led alliance (LDF). Several Muslim League
luminaries lost their seats, and 75 percent of the Muslim members of
the legislature now represented other parties. Mappilas had become
political modernists. They were operating democratically across the
political spectrum, displaying an independence of mind that com-
pared favorably with other voters.
The new ebb-and-flow in Mappila political opinion undoubtedly
produced some ill-feeling and sometimes actual rifts in Mappila soci-
ety. The political rhetoric among contending groups is often extreme,
as fatwās are shot out and cries of kāfir (infidel!) fill the air. The rifts
tend to be self-healing. The sense of “being Mappila” (see Chapter 6)
overcomes permanent division. The possible exception is the commu-
nist issue, but even in that test case the community has found ways of
lowering the dispute to a non-fundamental level. It is the case that all
segments of the Mappila community are bound together in one com-
mon concern—the welfare of their society. The disagreements tend
to focus on the question of who can best deliver that result. Mappila
political action has become a form of social strategy.
In summary, the Mappila community’s political activities,
together with the accommodations they involved, have produced
the following effects, which have radically shaped the community’s

cultural profile:
• They strengthened the pragmatic principle underlying

Mappila culture;
• They alerted Mappilas to the fact that democratic poli-
tics are beneficial for their well-being, and fostered their
cooperative relations;
• They made individual Mappilas aware of their rights and
power, and elevated the role of personal opinion;
• They reduced the authority of traditionalist religious
leaders;
• They engaged youth in social justice issues relevant to
the uplift of the community;
• They produced free discussion and tolerance on the one
hand, and on the other hand some tensions and division;
• They gave to the psyche of the Mappila people a sense
of importance that offset minority feelings.
Connected with the Mappila community’s political and educational

behavior is the uneven influence of the Mappila theological parties,
and we next outline that element of Mappila behavior.
The Mappila Theological Factions
Abdulla and a visiting friend are touring the area. There is a lot of
new construction going on. Abdulla’s friend points to a nearly com-
pleted worship building and asks, “Will that be a Sunni, Mujahid, or
Jamaat mosque?” Abdulla answers politely, but he is not very happy
to discuss the matter further and changes the subject.
Theological divisions are a given in Mappila culture. The severe
struggles leading up to the Great Transition left the community with
a heterogeneous set of factions. The party members are fundamentally
united as Muslim believers, but they nevertheless strongly maintain
their own points of view. The parties do not control Mappila social
behavior, but they have the strength to influence it. We have already
met the two major parties, Sunni and Mujahid, who represent the
traditional orthodox heritage and the reform movement, respectively.
The Jamaat-Islam, Tabligh, and Ahmadiyya parties are Indian Muslim

groups who have migrated to Kerala, while the more recent Islamist
emphasis is represented by micro-religio-political organizations like
the New Democratic Front.
Although these theological parties are formally divided, they
are not fully discrete entities. There is flux and movement in their
membership. Moreover, many members of the community prefer to be
called Muslims or Mappilas; they do not think of themselves as hold-
ing membership in any of these parties even though they may have
sympathies in a certain direction. Yet the parties do exist, and must
be reckoned with in describing the Mappila religio-cultural profile.
Among those Malayali Muslims who do relate to a theological
party, the vast majority identify with the Sunnis, the largest group,
and with the Mujahids. The division between them is deeply felt. It
is a difference between those who cherish their heritage and want to
keep it more or less intact, and those who want to reinterpret it in
modern terms. It is a conflict between faithful handing on (taqlīd) and
freely reasoning out (ijtihād). It is the veneration of tradition versus a
general respect for tradition, the fear of innovation against a regard
for innovation. It is the desire for a culture unchangingly maintained
as contrasted with a culture revitalized and enterprising. As we have
seen in Chapter 5, the two worlds of thinking divided Mappilas for
more than five decades, sometimes bursting out into strident pub-
lic quarrels. The division continues but with less acrimony as the
rank-and-file of gradually modernizing Mappilas provide a basis and
impetus for convergence.
Among Mappilas the term Sunni has taken on a double connota-
tion that differs from the Islamic norm and causes some confusion. In
Islamic usage it ordinarily refers to the generality of Muslim believers
who follow the pattern (sunna) of the Prophet and who choose their
leaders on the basis of piety. In the latter aspect they contrast with the
minority, Shiʾas, who hold to a differing view on community leader-
ship. Mappilas understand and share this broad usage that includes
a wide range of believers, including both traditionalist and moderate
Muslims. However, as noted earlier, Mappilas have also developed
a second usage of the term, applying it to a traditionalist theological
movement that stands in contrast with Mujahid reformers. In the light
of this double connotation the exact intention of a statement can only
be understood from the context.
In regard to the broad meaning, Sunnis have a live-and-let-live
outlook that allows for a diversity of opinion and behavior within a
classically orthodox frame of reference. In this sense some Mappila
Sunnis may tend toward their traditional heritage while others would
like to see moderate improvements. In general terms they represent a
kind of silent majority who look to conservative leaders for guidance
and inspiration. Such a leader in the recent past has been the revered
Shihab Tangal of Panakkad (see the next chapter).
The narrower use of the term Sunni to describe a specific theo-
logical party stems from the strictly traditionalist sector of the Map-
pilas. They are Sunnis who revere their customary heritage to the
point of clinging to it and resisting any change; they have crystallized
as a clear faction through their contrast with the Mujahids, but like
the latter they have not formed a distinct political organization. They
are forthright in their expressions and active in their fund-raising.
Their official coordinating body is a clerical council, the Samastha
Kerala Jamiat-ul-Ulama, but their many internal conflicts have blunt-
ed their influence and have resulted in two major splits in the past
four decades.
The full name of the Mujahids is the Nadvat-ul-Mujahidin, but
they are also termed the Islahi movement. Though not exclusively
so, they generally represent the theological reformers. The Nadvat
was founded in 1952, its purpose being “to enlighten the Muslim
masses” by a return to the Qurʾan and the authentic Hadith, and
through an emphasis on tawhīd, the oneness of God. As in the case
of the Sunnis, so also among Mujahids there are different points of
view—conservative, centrist and moderate, resulting in shifting sub-
groups and sometimes bitter contention.24 At their best the Mujahids
have been powerful agents for community change in various areas
of social progress.
The Mujahids have been consistent in their core concerns—the
primacy of scripture combined with its rational interpretation, the
elimination of what is regarded as “superstitious” behavior, and the
socioeconomic progress of their community. But given the nature of
reform, differences of opinion are inevitable. So also among Muja-
hids questions like these arose: What are the limits of reason? And,
what Hadith are acceptable? In 2004 the writer attended a meeting
of conservative Mujahids that took place on the Calicut beach. A vast
number attended—male and female, seniors and youth, their buses
lining the streets. The burning issue that controlled the discussion
was the literal acceptance of what the scriptures state. Throughout the
long night meeting loudspeakers resounded with vehement affirma-
tions of undeviating obedience to the written texts. On this point it
would be hard to discern a line of distinction between conservative
Mujahids and moderate Sunnis, a caution against facile distinctions.
Lights played on the intent and anxious faces. Nothing could express
more poignantly the earnest Mappila desire to be faithfully Muslim.
Two smaller theological parties that introduced ethical issues,
but play a lesser role in Mappila affairs, are the Jamaat-Islam and
the Tabligh Jamaat. Both have special characteristics and separatist
tendencies.
The Jamaat-Islam party has had a checkered career in South Asia.
It was founded by Abu Aʿla Mawdudi of Hyderabad (1902–1979) who
espoused an ideal of religious puritanism combined with Islamic stat-
ism. After the Partition of India the Jamaat-Islam organization divided
into Pakistani and Indian sections, Mawdudi himself taking up resi-
dence in Pakistan. In India the movement he founded went on at a
reduced level. Mawdudi had maintained a rigorous vision of Utopian
Islam. He had argued that religion should control every aspect of life,
including the government, according to his interpretation of what that
meant. Party members should engage in an organized struggle to
bring the vision into political reality. The Jamaat-Islam leaders in India
interpreted the term “struggle” (jihād) to mean their working within
the constitution, but the Party has been twice banned by the Central
Government. The Jamaat-Islam maintains a tight structure with an
Amir at the head and tightly organized cadres of dedicated followers.
The Kerala branch of the Jamaat Party was established in 1948
under the leadership of Muhammad Ali “Haji Sahib” (d. 1959). It
chose to focus on two main issues—the commitment to the unity of
God and the requirement to lead a pious life. Both were interpreted in
terms of Mawdudi’s approach. As to the divine authority, all human
leadership is subject to the danger of idolatry and must be clearly
positioned under the Qurʾān and sharia. The democratic process is
therefore suspect, and the Party vacillated for a time over the ques-
tion of whether to participate in state elections. As to morality, the
Party made its point through the efforts of youth organizations and
the publication and the distribution of literature. Its youth groups
conducted “anti-immorality,” anti-dowry, and anti-liquor campaigns.25
Its literature bitterly condemned impiety and any behavior that the
Party regarded as Western immorality and modernist temptations.
Although the Jamaat-Islam espoused women’s education, it criti-
cized preoccupation with fashion and ornamentation. It opposed the
practice of taking bank interest and called for an Islamic economic
system. In 1972 it sponsored the publication of Mawdudi’s multivol-
ume Qurʾān commentary. The movement has 225 mosques of its own.
Important Jamaat-Islam educational institutions include the Arabic
colleges at Kasaragode and Shantapuram in Malabar.
The Mappilas have largely rejected the Jamaat’s fundamentalism

and it holds only the status of a minor movement. With its model of
sincere behavior, however, it has succeeded in changing some of the
public Muslim discourse from theology to ethics.
The Tabligh-Jamaat is similar to the Jamaat-Islam in its stress on
ethical development, but is quite dissimilar in its non-political empha-
sis. Its founder, Maulana Muhammad Ilyas (1885–1944) came from
Rajasthan where he attempted to nurture orthodox piety among the
partially Islamicized Meos, who had retained many Hindu cultural
practices. His movement has since become a worldwide organiza-
tion dedicated to the deepening of Muslim faith and piety [tablīgh
means “propagation of the faith”]. The Tabligh was originally a nur-
turing movement rather than a missionary one, but it has extended
its work to non-Muslims. Theologically it is “a reformed Hanafi Sunn-
ism which eschews the cult of saints but accepts a purified form of
Sufism. It enjoins an austere practice of Islam with female seclusion
and prohibition of music and cinema attendance.”26 It strongly urges
non-involvement in theological controversies. Like the Jamaat-Islam
it is a hierarchical and secretive organization.
Within Kerala state the Tabligh holds three major assemblies
annually, and from them mission groups fan out into other commu-
nities. A Mappila scholar suggests that “the Tabligh Movement is a
regular scene in almost all localities . . . It has stretched out from
grassroots levels to the topmost rank of Musiim society.”27 Tabligh
members are especially concerned about the lack of adequate Islam-
ic knowledge among Mappilas. Their method for overcoming the
implied defect is the utilization of small committed “reaching-teach-
ing” teams (jamāfats), using the local mosque as their base. They strive
to inculcate six principles: One must understand the implications of
the confession (shahāda) and abstain from worldliness; one must duti-
fully pray five times daily; one must learn to know the Qurʾān and
Hadīth, and recite sacred phrases such as “God, forgive me!”; one
must be respectful of the rights of other Muslims; one must observe
genuine intention (niya) in carrying out ritual practices; and, finally,
one should be involved in sharing and deepening the faith of other
Muslims. The Tabligh-Jamaat, in a peaceful way, has reminded Map-
pilas of the importance of developing an ethical culture as well as
one that is intellectually and economically progressive.
The Ahmadiyyas or Ahmadiyya Movement is worldwide in its
activity, but it has been regarded as heretical by orthodox Muslims.
The major point of contention is the claim of the Indian Muslim found-
er, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad (1839–1908), to have prophetic qualities, to
be both the messiah and the mahdi, and to possess continued revela-
tions from God. This conflicts with the orthodox Muslim position
that Muhammad is the last prophet—the very seal of prophecy—and
the recipient of God’s final revelation, the Qurʾān. The Ahmadiyya
Movement also emphasizes puritan morality, dedicated sacrifice, and
the global missionary dissemination of its claims. That task is to be
undertaken nonviolently since, in Ahmadiyya interpretation, jihād
means peaceful struggle.
The Ahmadis are present in Mappila society but have made little
headway numerically. The movement began work in Kannur before
1914, and it now conducts about 35 mosques, including a major center
in Calicut. Its cultural impact is its very existence rather than its spe-
cific influence. In some Islamic areas, especially in Pakistan where the
majority Qadiani portion of the movement has its center at Rabwah,
Ahmadis have been persecuted, but among Kerala Muslims they exist
quietly if not comfortably, a testimony to the Mappila community’s
basic acceptance of diversity.
That principle is also demonstrated in another way by Mappila
treatment of the small Islamist groups in their midst. On the global
level the term “Islamist” has come into general use to describe an
extremist Muslim, one who accepts the use of violence as a legitimate
technique in a wide range of activities allegedly carried on in the
name of and for the service of true religion. One of the most remark-
able of all Mappila behavioral phenomena is the community’s stern
resistance to this development. That is particularly notable in the light
of the Mappila connection with the home of the Wahhabi tradition.28
We have pointed out that the original Wahhabi spirit involved militant
action against those who disagreed with its approach in Saudi Arabia.
Mappilas did not allow themselves to become Wahhabis in that sense.
Nevertheless, in the present age no Muslim community can remain
totally immune to the influences of contemporary Islamism.
The radical approach is represented among Mappilas in two
small religio-political organizations—the Peoples Democratic Party
(PDP) and the National Democratic Front (NDF). The PDP claims
to represent all communities, but it is led by Abdul Nazar Madhani,
former head of a banned organization named the Islamic Sevak Sangh
(ISS), who has been charged with making provocative speeches.29 The
NDF, centered in South Malabar, was established in opposition to the
Rashtriya Sevak Sangh (RSS), and like the latter it accepts the method-
ology of violence if other alternatives become impossible. The relative
lack of influence of these groups is a tribute both to the maturation
of the Mappila community and to the strength of its leadership.
The Community’s Decision-Making Process
The nature of the community’s decision-making process becomes

critical when there is a diversity of views which, as we have seen, is
commonplace among Mappilas. Who decides what they should do
or should not do?
Mappila decision making has one significant advantage and dis-
advantage. The advantage is the basic unity of the society that keeps it
from imploding when there is social acrimony and division. It is this
mutuality rather than an authoritarian principle that enables judicious
decision making. In Malayalam terminology the Mappila community
is a samudāyum, a society, and not merely a samūhum, a collectivity.
British administrators tried to capture this idea when they considered
designating Mappilas as a caste, but fortunately wiser counsel pre-
vailed; the Mappila community has neither the assumptions nor the
regulations of a Hindu caste, although similar feelings of oneness and
mutual support are common to both. English captures the samudāyum
ethos with the combination “community-family-solidarity.” Mappilas
find it in the term umma which we considered earlier. It conveys both
the ideas of basic unity and decision making built on that concept.
Outsiders may tend to see Mappila divisions, but insiders feel the
unity.
Yet Mappilas do face a major decision-making problem, and that
is the fact that there is no designated authority to say: “OK, this is
what we will do!” The Malayali culture stream brings its individual-
ism, and the Islamic stream its equality. How are matters resolved?
It is true that the institution of the sharia provides a partial
behavioral structure as we have noted in Chapter 2. It gives direction
in ritual matters and in defined areas of family law. No major decision
making is needed in those areas. A body of religio-legal scholars and
judges also exists among the Mappilas to interpret and administrate
the regulations. It is beyond the boundaries of these areas that com-
munity decision making is required. The vast and complicated issues
of modern culture, most of which the sharia does not touch, lie out-
side the scope of the legal scholars and overwhelm their capacities.
It is the community as a whole that must make the decisions by its
goodwill, practicality, and general agreement. Thus an element that
was formative in the sharia has become the effective tool in Map-
pila decision making, and that is the principle of consensus (ijmāʿ)
which we have already introduced. When the Qurʾān and Hadīth
were silent, and analogies failed, scholars turned to consensus. They
asked, how does the community as a whole regard this matter?
rusting that under divine guidance God’s people would not agree
T
on an error, they took the position that this would settle the matter.
This was the implicit approach of Mappilas as they worked through
centuries of adaptation with Malayalam culture, and it continues to
be the methodology for their adaptation with modern culture. As an
example, we may apply the principle of the use of television. Neither
the Qurʾān nor the traditions have anything to say about TV. In some
parts of the Muslim world analogies were adduced on the basis of the
disapproval of figural representation which created doubts in regard
to the appropriateness of the new medium, but in the case of Map-
pilas the consensus of the community swept away the doubts and
TV sets are everywhere.
Whether intuitively or consciously, for all practical purposes
Mappilas have now adopted consensus as their primary methodol-
ogy for making community-wide decisions. The process of reaching
consensus is subtle and undefined. Mappilas trust that common sense,
concern for the welfare of the community, and their inherent solidarity
will carry them past the often heated discussions to working agree-
ments. Their consensus is not the ijmāʿ of the past, but a modified
one that includes the following elements:
• A rational approach is now considered acceptable in

determining what is good for the Mappila community
and Islamically possible.
• In practice the opinion of respected lay leaders is given
as much weight as that of religious leaders in the discus-
sion and formulation of appropriate social behavior.
• Traditionalist clergy try to influence or control the con-
sensus-building by issuing fatwās, but the opinions are
often ignored.
• The general approval of the community, even though not
unanimous, is enough to validate a position or devel-
opment. The consensus is recognized informally and
is understood by the public. The opinion of leaders is
heard, but there is no “official” process.
• There is a growing feeling near to impatience, that when
consensus has been informally reached as to what is
good, some community change or action should take
place.
This process has served Mappilas reasonably well, although its

basically democratic nature means that sometimes there is painful
disagreement. The reality of these variations in Mappila opinion
underline the need for sensitive leadership and mutual concern, but
that takes us to our next chapter and three further dimensions of the
community’s social behavior.
Fishermen on the south Kerala coast. In the Prophet Muhammad’s time,
Arab traders brought Islam to southwest India.
Street scene in Calicut, Malabar’s historic port. Mappilas in Kerala state

now number near nine million.
Contrasts are everywhere: A scene on Beach Road, Calicut.
Mappila women greet an old friend, Mary Helen Miller.

Female dress styles, once standard, are now varied.
Mapilla culture adopted Malayalam architecture.

These are typical buildings, used for homes and rented shops.
A fashionable “Gulf” home.
Traditional ornaments and garb.

The hereditary Bibi of Kannur, an Ali Raja queen (2004).
The widely appreciated Syed Mohammed Ali Shihab Tangal

community leader, model, and saint.
Young Mappila women in a traditional wedding dance.
Mappila male dancers in the kolkali “stick-dance.”

A traditional mosque near Quilandy.
A new mosque, with Indo-Saracenic style.

A hybrid mosque in the main intersection of Malappuram.
The famed Mambram shrine in Tirurangadi.
The Sheikhinde shrine in Calicut.

Ayesha teaches a friend basic literacy.
A new graduate school rises near Feroke.

Looking out from the Social Advancement Foundation of India,
a Mappila institution that seeks intellectual progress. Professor Jaleel,
a leader in the Mappila transformation, is on the left.
The future of Mappila Muslim culture is now

in the hands of young Mappilas.
11
Social Behavior (cont’d)
Leadership and Some Selected Leaders,

Community Service, Communal Relations
This chapter explores three additional aspects of Mappila social behav-

ior, namely the community’s leadership, its social service activity, and
its relationships with non-Mulslims.
In the closing section of our last chapter the Mappila approach
to decision making was examined. Its focus on consensus means that
the strength of its leadership becomes an all-important matter in the
development of Mappila culture. The first section of this chapter
therefore looks at the nature and extent of the community’s leadership
resources, and also provides a brief biographical description of some
selected leaders who have taken Mappilas forward in the building of
their contemporary culture. The second section of the chapter then
shows how strong Mappila leadership has led to growth in the area
of social service, while the third section formally takes up a subject
touched upon throughout our study, namely, the community’s behav-
ior in relation to non-Muslims.
Mappila Leadership Resources and Representative Leaders
A Rich Store of Leadership
In a list of nine major Indian Muslim problems once drawn up by

a North Indian Muslim editor and politician, Syed Shihabuddin, he
placed the issue of community leadership first.1 His comment reflects
the common opinion that Muslims in India are lacking in this qual-
ity. The problem is sometimes traced to the Partition era when many
Muslim leaders left for Pakistan,2 but it also reflects a shared problem
233
in general society. What about the Mappilas? In their case we see

a notable contrast between past and present. Although the histori-
cal scroll of Malayali leadership is not inscribed with the names of
many Muslims, in the present times Mappila culture is producing
quite a rich harvest of public leaders. This striking fact reflects the
Mappila developmental time warp. The post-1947 period represents
a time of revival for Mappilas rather than the decline experienced by
some other Indian Muslims. Their “Great Transition” in culture has
provided a fertile seedbed for the growth of new leaders oriented to
change. Members of the community in turn appreciate such dynamic
leadership that contributes to the luster of their society. No longer
is holding a traditional religious position an automatic qualification
for leadership. It is now a function of social achievement, whatever
the field.
Once tendered, the appreciation for community leaders reaches
great heights. There is a near mystical sense of respect for what is
deemed to be authentic worthiness. This is evident in the proud refer-
ences to the first wave of twentieth-century Mappila celebrities whose
familiar names are invoked with awe—Wakkom, K. M. Seethi, M.
Abdurrahiman, Poker Sahib, Pukkoya, and others. It is equally visible
in their esteem for present-day leaders. Mappilas may be democratic
in principle and in spirit, but they do not take a backseat in their
regard for their leaders, and they generally heed what they say. Who
are some of the esteemed leaders in Mappila culture today?
Selected Mappila Leaders
It is not our intention to provide a kind of “directory” of outstanding

Mappila leaders but rather to consider some representative figures
in major categories. The latter include business, politics, education,
religion, theological reform, and social reform. In connection with the
latter some prominent female leaders will be noted. The categories
are only starting points, for the individuals whom we have chosen
transcend sharp limitations. The first figure, a businessman, illustrates
their breadth of field.
P. P. Hassan Koya (1913–1988)
P. P. Hassan Koya of Kuttichira, Calicut, is a quintessential example

of a modern Mappila leader. He received his education in Chris-
tian schools in Calicut and at the Madras Christian College and the
Madras Law College. Remaining only briefly in the legal profession,
Social Behavior (cont’d) 235
he chose instead to go into business activities. With a magic touch

he started or helped to start a remarkable series of flourishing busi-
ness and industrial firms. Committed to modern higher education, he
served on the managing committees of several Muslim institutions,
including Feroke College, and he was a member of both the Madras
University and Kerala University Senates. In the social field his service
as a Rotary Club International Governor was widely appreciated. He
also spent time and energy in the political world as a member of both
the Muslim League and the Congress parties, serving a term in the
Madras Legislative Assembly, but the vast range of his other activities
left little time for such pursuits.
Hassan Koya represents that group of cosmopolitan Mappila
leaders—limited in size to be sure—that lent to Mappila life the
features of high culture. Widely read, he brought his considerable
intelligence to bear on almost any worthy subject, offering low-key
but perceptive assessments. He exercised his leadership through his
quiet but extensive personal relations and influence. His capacity
for friendship was great, and his non-threatening style provided a
notable leadership pattern. Despite his wide connections, his affection
for his own community was foremost in his mind, and he person-
ally remained located in and bonded to the time-honored Kuttichira
society in Calicut.
C. H. Muhammad Koya (1927–1983)
After Indian independence Mappilas took to the political arena with

vigor, and among the many figures of note C. H. Muhammad Koya
stands out. His political interests began at a very early age in his home
district of Calicut. While studying in the Intermediate Standard in the
Calicut Zamorin College, he started the Muslim Students Federation,
and in 1945 he helped to receive Liaquat Ali Khan, the future prime
minister of Pakistan. He joined the Chandrika newspaper staff in l946,
and in 1949 at the young age of 22 he became its editor. An able
writer, he later authored fifteen works of his own. His interests led
him to service in the Muslim League, and in 1955 when Mr. Nehru
publicly criticized that organization, “C. H.” gave a spirited reply, and
he himself became a longtime secretary of the Indian Union Muslim
League. His thinking was influenced by the Mujahid emphasis on
progress, and he worked hard for the uplift of his community. “C. H.”
viewed political action as a helpful instrument for such development.
From 1957 forward C. H. was a member of the Kerala Assembly;
in the course of time he held several cabinet posts, and in 1979 he was
briefly the premier of the state. On two occasions (1963, 1973) he was
also elected to the National Parliament. As the state Minister of Educa-
tion he furthered the progress of the Mappilas in secular education,
but also encouraged higher standards in the Arabic colleges. During
his tenure the first Malabar university, the University of Calicut, was
born. A fiery and eloquent orator, C. H. Muhammad Koya became
a grassroots star of the Mappila community and the ranking hero of
Muslim youth. He was also a bridge-builder among various social and
religious groups, and his early demise was widely mourned.
C. N. Ahmed Moulavi (1905–1993)
A pioneer of theological reformers, C. N. Ahmed Moulavi was a reli-

gious leader of great courage who represented the idea of reform
rather than an organized movement of reform. His career was too
turbulent, and his approach too personal and forthright to be organi-
zational. He was rather a trailblazer who helped make it possible for
others to advance moderate reform. There were few Mappilas who
did not know or did not have some opinion about “C. N.”
C. N. Ahmed Moulavi was brought up by his poor parents in
the South Malabar inland villages of Cherur and Karuvarakundu. He
took the elementary mosque-based dars training, and later recalled
never using pen or ink. At his father’s death he became a farm laborer
and by that means supported himself to the age of sixteen. Recog-
nizing his talent, local leaders sent him to the Al-Baqiyyat-us-Salihat
higher madrasa in Vellore. For him it was a heady atmosphere, and
his thinking changed and began to enter a new stream. Ironically, he
was inspired in that direction by Al-Shāfiʾī, the law school found-
er followed by Mappilas; C. N. claimed that the Imam “argued for
freedom of thought.”3 In politics he was influenced by the Mappila
Congress leader and freedom fighter, Muhmmad Abdurrahiman, who
visited the Vellore College. C. N. remained in the Congress Party all
his life. He completed his afzal degree in 1931 and obtained positions
as a religious instructor at the Malappuram Training School and High
School, but to augment his income and to have more time for writing
he later began a retail clothing business in Calicut.
When Marxist influence entered Kerala, C. N. contested its
claims but was also influenced by its social critique. He came to the
conclusion that a broader view of alms-giving (zakāt) would make
it an instrument of economic development and would provide an
Islamic response to economic needs. When he published his views,
the severe criticism began that dogged him all his life and bordered
on persecution. It reached new heights when he pressed his view that

the key to Mappila progress was a return to the Qurʾān and its fresh
interpretation. For the rest of his life he dedicated himself to that goal.
He had to face the fact that the Qurʾān had never been translated
into Malayalam and the very thought was harām! He accepted the
challenge to make the translation. He tells of his trepidation as he
commenced: “Hands shook, breast heaved, what fear!” Although he
wrote many other theological and biographical works in his scholarly
career, the Qurʾān translation was his magnum opus. His first (1951)
and major volume of 800 pages included an extensive introduction as
well as his translation and commentary. The latter revealed his ratio-
nal approach and drew fresh ire from his critics.4 The huge publishing
effort took a decade, appearing in six volumes, and it sapped both his
finances and physical strength. It provided direct access to the Qurʾān,
a basis for new theological development and a cultural milestone.
With that task complete C. N. turned to the promotion of mod-
ern education, his second major interest. He had vowed to establish
a college in his home area before he died. This he did at Mampad
in 1969, later turning it over to the Muslim Education Society. A self-
made scholar, vehement in defense of his position, absolutely deter-
mined to forge ahead despite economic and health problems, warm
in his relations with non-Muslims,and a pleasant and stimulating
companion among friends, by the time of his passing his approaches
that had once seemed so radical had become commonplace among
Mappilas.
K. A. Jaleel (1922–2012)
For the category of educational leader we turn to Professor K. A. Jaleel

who, for more than a half century, wisely led the Mappila communi-
ty’s intellectual development with Enlightenment interests and vision.
In his own person he was an unrivalled symbol of a healthy Mus-
lim engagement with modernity. Born in Parur in the central region
of the state and an heir of the cultivated Kodungalur tradition, he
studied at Alwaye Christian College and at Kerala University where
he specialized in English literature. He began his teaching career at
Islamiya College in Vaniyambadi, Arcot District. When the Feroke
College was born, he joined its faculty and became Principal in 1955.
For 24 years he led that institution’s remarkable forward progress,
insisting on genuine scholarly standards. From 1979–1983 he served as
Vice-Chancellor of the University of Calicut. His resignation from that
position gave him opportunities for ever-wider contributions. In 1987
he served as Chairman of the All-India Muslim Education Conference

in Madras. In 1992–93 he chaired a task force for a new university
in North Malabar, which came to fruition at Kannur. In 2001 an idea
was born for another kind of graduate institution named the Social
Advancement Foundation of India which was inaugurated in 2005,
Professor Jaleel leading its development. For five years he also served
as Chairman of the Kerala State Waqf Board.
Professor Jaleel was himself a careful scholar in the fields of
English and linguistic history, but he also made notable contributions
by encouraging the research and writing of other scholars, especially
in the emerging field of Mappila Studies. He wrote warm introduc-
tions to many works. Sensitive to others and gentle in manner, he
nevertheless was firm and determined in pushing forward the wheels
of progressive community change. He was also a steady bridge-build-
er in relationships with other religious communities. His balanced,
thoughtful, and Sir Sayyid-like leadership added many grace notes
to the saga of modern Muslim culture in Kerala.
P. Abdul Ghafoor (1930–1984)
Social reformers have received a great deal of Mappila attention in

contemporary times, and undoubtedly Dr. Abdul Ghafoor is the most
prominent among them. He was born in Kodungalur where his father
participated in the Aikya Sankhum development, He took his post-
secondary education at Maharajah’s College in Cochin, at Aligarh
University where he learned to appreciate Urdu, at the Trivandrum
Medical College from which he graduated in 1957, and later at the
University of Edinburgh where he took a post-graduate specialization
in neurology. His final degrees of MRSP and FRSP, the latter coming
after further studies in the U.S.A., reveal his thirst for higher educa-
tion. He was the first Mappila Muslim to become a member of the
Aligarh University Senate.
It was Dr. Ghafoor’s incomparable work in founding the Muslim
Education Society in 1964 and leading it on its wide-ranging for-
ward path that gave him his greatest fame. He not only stimulated a
desire for community improvement, but through the MES he was also
able to establish a vast network of social uplift institutions. No one
who heard him could ever forget his stirring cries for “revolutionary
changes.” He overcame the inevitable opposition, gathering around
himself a group of like-minded leaders. In a thoroughly remarkable
development that we have sketched in the foregoing pages, he was
an instrumental factor in the Mappila social progress of the recent
decades. Once again, a relatively early demise silenced his powerful

voice, but did not end his influence.
Female Leadership
The role of Mappila women in leadership roles is limited and when

lists of community leaders are drawn up, women are conspicuous
by their absence. This does not represent the full reality. Muslim
women have taken leadership roles in a number of ways. As Mrs.
Fatima Ghafoor, spouse of Dr. Abdul Ghafoor, has done, they have
ably led women’s branches of social organizations. They have been
recognized for selfless service in medicine, education, and law. Many
have become known for their charitable gifts and have served on man-
aging committees of service institutions. Yet this has been, in general,
a subdued role. In the light of the fact that Mappila female leadership
abilities are undeniable and are exercised in myriad ways in home life,
the conclusion is that women have not yet been fully encouraged to
exercise their talents, nor have they been provided with the needed
opportunities for public service. That prospect lies ahead, and it may
be only a matter of time before the Ayesha Bais, Fatima Beevis, and
Ayesha Jaleels are multiplied.
Ayesha Bai and Fatima Beevi were two Muslim women who
successfully entered leadership realms usually occupied by men. Miss
Ayesha Bai (b. 1919) of Kayamkulam took a law degree and joined the
Communist Party in 1953. That movement had challenged Malayalam
society with its positive stance on gender equality. Winning a state
election in 1957 under the communist aegis, Ayesha Bai became Dep-
uty Speaker of the Kerala Assembly. She was also a pioneer organizer
of women’s societies (mahila samājums). M. Fatima Beevi (b. 1927) of
Quilon entered the legal field. She took a law degree in Trivandrum
in 1950, the first woman to do so in Travancore. In turn she became,
a munsif (1958), district judge (1974), and a Kerala High Court judge
(1983). Then, the following year, she rose to the status of Supreme
Court Justice in Delhi, the first woman to achieve that distinction. It
is significant that these trailblazing Muslim women came from Tra-
vancore where women’s education has a long tradition.
Kodungalur, farther north, produced our third example of
women’s leadership. Ayesha Jaleel was a person who demonstrated
the talent to be both a homemaker and a public figure at the same
time. From the moment she chose to cycle to school when that was
regarded as wrong for a Muslim girl, Mrs. Ayesha Jaleel (1931–1991)
was a female pioneer of modern Mappila culture. The niece of K.
M. Seethi Sahib and the wife of K. A. Jaleel, she thrived in the new
Mappila cultural world and communicated its values to other women
in her community. Working through the Rotary Inner Wheel clubs
she encouraged the goals of friendship, service, and social improve-
ment. Through the MES women’s wings she fought what she called
“the ignorance, prejudice and obscurantism” that stood in the way
of women’s advancement. She regarded it as a woman’s duty to find
the full expression of her personality. “She is as much a handiwork
of God as men, and her faculty and powers are to be fully utilized.”
One of the first Mappila women to hold a college degree, she saw
the lack of education as women’s chief problem and successfully
fought for its improvement. She called for volunteer organizations to
rise up and struggle against social evils. “Our watchwords shall be
education, culture, employment and emancipation. Let us pray and
work for these noble ideals.”5 Combining her inspirational qualities
with a positive outlook and a cheerful smile, Ayesha Jaleel not only
influenced both females and males but also pointed to a rich lode of
unmined leadership resources that the Mappila community possesses
in its growing number of educated women.
Syed Mohammadali Shihab Tangal (1936–2009)
We conclude our examination of Mappila leadership with an indi-

vidual whom we have already described as the single-most influen-
tial contemporary Mappila leader. It is fitting that we close with a
religious leader, not in the sense of a musaliar but rather as a hakim,
a wise person and guide. In its philosophic outlook Islam is compre-
hensive in scope, with all of life regarded as having a sacred quality
bearing some relation to the will of God. Hence, religious leaders are
not confined to the realms of doctrine and ritual. They may render
opinions and participate in a broad range of social and political issues.
The leading example of such an “involved” religious leader was Syed
Mohammedali Shihab Tangal of Panakkad. The eldest descendant of
the revered Pukkoya family, he was viewed by fellow Mappilas as a
living saint. At the same time, for over thirty years the President of
the State Muslim League, he was also regarded as the community’s
political steersman. Saint and steersman, Shihab Tangal stood at the
pinnacle of contemporary Mappila leadership.
After attending elementary school at Pannakad, Shihab Tangal
matriculated from a Calicut high school in 1953. From 1953 to 1958
he was a student at a traditional dars school near Tirur. His ven-
erated father, P. M. S. A. Pukoyya Tangal (d. 1975) sent his son to
Egypt for schooling. There he studied in the joint program at Al-Azhar

(1958–1961) and at the University of Cairo (1961–1966). At the latter
he studied a broad range of Arab literary figures, including poets and
graduated with an MA in Arabic literature. On his return to Malabar
he married Sharifa Fatima Beevi, daughter of Sayyid Bafaki Tangal,
and the union was blessed with five children. On November 1, 1975,
he succeeded his father as leader of the Kerala Muslim League.
Unassuming and dignified, Shihab Tangal exercised both reli-
gious and political leadership with the same congenial spirit. On Tues-
days and Fridays throngs gathered at his Panakkad home seeking a
moment to share their problems and to obtain a blessing from one
deemed to possess miraculous powers. His welcoming attitude to
one and all, high and low, was legendary. His presence was sought
for political advice with the same eagerness, and he maintained a
daunting pace in response to countless public invitations. Wisely and
sensitively, he led Muslims through the landmines of state politics
for over three decades. He also led the way into cordial relation-
ships with members of other religious communities. In an ʿĪd al-Fitr
address Shihab Tangal advised Mappilas: “Let every individual come
forward to promote mutual affection and brotherhood in society, that
humanitarianism will prevail.” Clarifying what he intended to say he
added these words: “Overcome the hatred of enemies with the mind
of love.”6 Against this background G. M. Banatwalla, President of the
Indian Union Muslim League, described him as “the true voice of
the Muslims in Kerala.”7 And an Indian Express editor, N. Madhavan-
kutty, gave him the accolade, “the Affable Peacemaker of Panakkad,”
and offered this perceptive insight: “Shihab Tangal both connects and
separates Kerala’s Muslim milieu and the world, as delicately as he
blends in himself the best of Islamic, Indian and Malayali identities.”8
A 2007 newspaper photograph of Shihab Tangal and friends
made the same point in a pictorial manner.9 Because of a serious ill-
ness he is seated for the inauguration of the Haj Centre at the Karip-
pur airport. Standing and shaking his hand is Mr. Achutanandan, the
Chief Minister of Kerala, an avowed Marxist. Leaning forward behind
him in a similarly congratulatory pose is Kanthapuram A. P. Abu
Bekr Musaliar, an acknowledged leader of the Mappila traditionalists.
Shihab is the bridge.
With his widely mourned death on August 1, 2009, that impor-
tant bridging function will now have to be taken up by others,
including important members of his own family, but Shihab Tangal’s
distinctive contributions will not be forgotten.
Social service activities occupied many of the modern Mappila
leaders, and that is our next topic.
Mappila Social Service and Trusts
We have drawn attention to the problem of economic distress among

the Mappilas. It was critical before the relief provided to many fami-
lies by Gulf employment, but it still exists to some degree and new
needs are arising. The spectrum of Mappila social behavior includes
helping the poor and the disadvantaged in the community. Zeinuddin
and Fathuma symbolize the suffering Mappila.
Zeinuddin stems from Kolathur in the interior of Malabar. He
was a day laborer in the fields with little income, and he and his
family were forced to live in desperate poverty in a little hut. The
conditions facilitated the onslaught of disease. One day he came to a
medical center where the writer met him.10 Zeinuddin was diagnosed
with diabetes. After a time he returned with more complaints. On this
occasion he was also found to have tuberculosis. In the course of that
treatment it was further discovered that Zeinuddin had contracted
leprosy! How was it possible that he could continue to give me his
quiet smile?
Fathuma belonged to the poorest of the poor. She had been
divorced and abandoned, and could barely feed her children. Intel-
ligent but without any education, she earned a few rupees by daily
labor in the market and by begging for help. Somehow Fathuma
pulled on, but she was more vocal than Zeinuddin in expressing her
feelings about her sorrowful condition.
The hearts of Mappilas are generally warm toward community
members such as these who are hard-pressed in their lives, although
often the feeling is accompanied by a sense of helplessness. Their
compassion is exercised at three levels: personal efforts, social service
organizations, and charitable trusts. We will examine each of these.
Personal Charity
The motivation for Mappila personal charity is not merely the deep
memory of the community’s past suffering and its visible and continu-
ing marks in the present, but it also rests in the principle of generosity
that is enshrined in the Qurʾān. The scripture sets that out as one of
the chief virtues by which humanity ascends to a higher level:
Ah, what will convey unto thee what the Ascent is!—
(It is) to free a slave,

And to feed in the day of hunger an orphan near of kin,
Or some poor wretch in misery.” (90:12–16)
When the Qurʾān says “Take heed!” (80:4), it is a warning to see the
suffering and to show compassion.
In response to that exhortation, Mappilas express their person-
al charity in three ways—through daily acts of neighborly kindness,
through ritual alms-giving (zakāt), and by local low-scale efforts to
help specific needs. Daily acts of generosity cannot be measured, but
they warm social relationships. The principle of alms-giving requires
that a percentage of resources above one’s basic needs be shared with
the poor. An illustration of a local low-scale effort by one individual
to overcome suffering comes from a Calicut suburb. There a young,
educated Muslim woman, depending entirely on voluntary contribu-
tions, has initiated a successful developmental school for mentally
disadvantaged children. At another level Mappila women have col-
laborated with Hindu and Christian women to form women’s societ-
ies (mahila samājums) that creatively address basic village needs. These
are signs of the “Ascent.”
Large-Scale Social Service Organizations
Mappila social reformers recognized the fundamental importance of

personal charity and local uplift efforts, but they also felt some despair
over the inadequacy of these means to deal with the macro-problems
of Mappila society. Influenced by the many social movements around
them and dedicated to lifting up the backward classes in the nation
and state, they came to the conviction that the Mappila community
itself must organize new and imaginative programs to produce real
and rapid forward progress. They believed that large-scale attempts
were needed to root out the causes of poverty, and to provide techni-
cal training and job opportunities that would enable the Mappila com-
munity to lift itself out of its economic duress by its own action. Out
of such feelings organizations like the Muslim Education Society and
the Muslim Service Society developed. They could look for inspira-
tion to an early precedent provided by a famous Mappila orphanage.
Care for orphans is an old tradition in Islam that also reflects a
Quranic emphasis. That service engaged the Mappila community in
a special way after the 1921 Rebellion that left many children full or
part orphans. Abdul Kader Kasuri, Mohiuddin Ahned Kasuri, and
Mohamed Ali, three maulavis, led the remedial efforts, establishing

the J. D. T. Orphanage near Calicut in 1922. It never closed its doors
after the immediate need was met, rather, it both continued its found-
ing activity and also impressively enlarged its field of service. The
number of boys and girls in the orphanage hovers between 1,100
and 1,300. They are served by an elementary school and high school
that include students from the general public. An industrial training
center, technical institute, and production center provide broad oppor-
tunities for learning trades and crafts. Under the energetic leadership
of K. P. Hassan Abdullah it also moved toward becoming a center
for the Indira Gandhi Open University in selected practical diploma
fields, and it established the full-fledged modern Iqra Hospital.
A similar institution, the Yathim Khana, began in Tirurangadi
in 1943 after a cholera epidemic took many lives. Its founders, K.
M. Maulavi, E. K. Maulavi, and M. K. Haji were reform leaders. The
institution also serves over a thousand orphans and conducts a large
Oriental High School that feeds its graduates into the nearby B. Poker
Memorial College.
In addition to its 70 educational institutions (2004), the afore-
mentioned Muslim Education Society has sponsored three orphan-
ages, four hospitals, six technical institutes, and a mental institute. The
Muslim Service Society took another direction. It began as a break-off
from the MES in 1980 when a dissatisfied group of MES members ini-
tiated a new Calicut-based organization. The Muslim Service Society
is less concerned about an institutional format and more interested
in the older tradition of direct assistance to the Muslim poor. For
that purpose the MMS gathers and utilizes zakāt contributions as well
as other donations. Its range of services includes feeding the poor,
assistance with burial arrangements, house construction, educational
scholarships, and facilitating employment opportunities. As set out by
one of its well-known supporters, Abdul Samad Samadani, it endorses
the principle of helping people to stand on their own feet. The failure
to do so perpetuates backwardness, and that must be overcome.11
Here in a nutshell is the raison d’etre of this hard-working group.
Charitable Trusts or Wakf
Wakfs in Islamic practice are a legal form of sharing property. The

term wakf may be loosely translated as endowment or charitable trust.
It refers both to the act of creating the trust and to the trust itself. A
wakf comes about when someone has the pious intention of helping
a beneficiary. In an official document he or she declares a portion of
property to be inalienable, that is, it cannot be disposed of by sale,

donation, or inheritance. He or she also designates a beneficiary. All
of the income after expenses must be used for that beneficiary. K. A.
Jaleel who chaired the Kerala State Wakf Board (1998–2003) endorses
the definition of the India Wakf Act, 1913 (Sec. 2.1) which declares
that wakf is “a permanent dedication by a person professing Islam, of
any moveable or immoveable property for any purpose recognized
by Muslim law as a pious or charitable service.”12
Wakf is almost as old as historic Islam itself. Although it is not
mentioned in the Qurʾān, it is based on early Hadīth. It soon became
a vast system with many variations from country to country, and even
law school to law school.13 It also became a normal part of Muslim life
in India. As the Mughul legal administration merged with the British
legal tradition, however, more critical attention was paid in India to
wakf administration and the possibilities of abuse.
Two elements of wakf in particular lend themselves to that pos-
sibility. The first is related to the fact that the founder of the trust
also appoints a manager (mutavalli), whose duty it is to adminis-
ter the property and to distribute its proceeds. He is permitted to
cover expenses and to receive remuneration. Unguarded, the provi-
sion opens up the potential for abuse. The second element is that
Muslim law envisions the possibility of relatives being beneficiaries.
Other trust beneficiaries may be the poor, mosques, institutions such
as schools and hospitals, and other charities, but relatives are also
included in the list. This option relates in part to the poor economic
condition of early Muslims among whom the practice of assigning a
wakf to a family member was common. In modern times, the provision
gives opportunity for evading inheritance laws or using the system
for other personal ends. A. A. Qadri, a Muslim legal scholar, affirms
that if the idea of wakf is properly understood there is protection
against such abuse—the idea is that the property is really given to
God and when the relatives have no further need its income should
revert to the poor.14
In the light of the problems, real or potential, the British Gov-
ernment passed the Musselman Wakf Act of 1923. It made provision
“for the better management of wakf property and for ensuring the
keeping and publication of proper accounts.”15 Various Indian states
also passed similar acts. After Independence the Government of India
introduced the Wakf Act of 1954, later (1995) further amended. The
legislation defined the membership of state administrative boards
and set up tribunals to deal with disputes. The 1954 Wakf Act was
modified and made applicable to Kerala in 1958, and in 1960 the first
Kerala Wakf Board was appointed.

In the light of this history it is not surprising that a large number
of Mappilas utilize wakf to express their social concerns. For example,
when Farook College was founded the Aikya Sankhum transferred
their balances for that purpose under the Wakf Act. There are now
approximately 7,000 registered wakf trusts in the state, and there are
others which are non-registered. The distribution of the trusts in
Malappuram District illustrates the variety of purposes that they serve.
In 1986 there were 2,212 registered wakfs, with an average value of ten
thousand rupees. The distribution was as follows: juma mosques 65,
prayer mosques 422, Arabic schools 10, orphanages 8, welfare services
such as aiding students, feeding travellers and Qurʾān recitals 704,
and others 1003.16 The statistics indicate that wakfs are used for a broad
range of religious purposes as well as for other family-related affairs.
There is a feeling that the potential of the system as a resource for
major social uplift activities has not been fully realized. K. A. Jaleel
offers the opinion that “there should be provisions in the Wakf Act
for the better use of wakf funds for educational and social purposes.”17
Mappila Relations with Non-Muslims
For Mappilas, life in community involves their relations with non-

Muslims. It is an issue as crucial as it is inevitable. In crowded Kerala
no social community can live by itself or for itself. Mappilas are in
day-to-day contact with Hindus, Christians, and others who are their
fellow citizens. Their own cultural being is affected by this proximity
and interaction. Two facts make the interaction very unusual. The first
is the religious mix of the state. Perhaps no other area of the world can
match the religious balance that we identified in Chapter 1, with each
of the major world religions having a high population percentage.
The second fact tightens the relational wire. These religious believers
must live together at the rate of 819 per square kilometer (2,096 per
square mile), one of the world’s highest population densities. The
interreligious dynamics are constant, pressured, and intense. What
do Mappilas bring to this table?
They bring a behavioral approach defined by a long learning
experience and directed by deliberate policy. As we have demon-
strated, relations with non-Muslims have been a reality of Mappila
existence from the community’s inception. Their culture was initiated
by intermarriage with non-Muslims. Then came the long Mappila
double experience. The first eight-century period passes on a positive
memory of a time when people of different religions lived together in

relative peace and harmony. The world may never again see anything
akin to the Malayalam Pax that marked social life on the southwest
edge of the subcontinent from 632 to 1498.18 The second experience
yields a negative memory of people in confrontation, often involved
in enmity and violence. The colonial incursions upset the interreli-
gious harmony, and Mappilas themselves developed antithetical rela-
tions with their neighbors. The great cultural question was, which
behavioral experience would become the informing one for Mappilas
of the present era? In the decades after 1921, Mappilas made clear
their choice; it is a choice for positive relationships. While they and
their Hindu and Christian colleagues are still in the process of recov-
ering the harmony of the early period, they have had considerable
success in that effort, and Kerala is now frequently cited as a kind of
national model for communal relations.
The Mappila effort to take the high road in interreligious rela-
tions is a monumental one with wide ramifications. It is heavily con-
nected with practical considerations but not entirely so. Four practical
factors that we have taken up contributed to the positive develop-
ment. Perhaps the most important one is the community’s leadership.
From 1921, leaders dedicated themselves to rebuilding the commu-
nity’s life, and that meant constructing new relations. From 1947, they
led Mappilas to a new future in cooperative living within free secular
India. The second contributing factor in the Mappila constructive task
was the post-1956 involvement in Malayali political life, an activity
that built self-esteem and that required collaboration with others of
different views. The third element in the new relation-building was
the educational one that opened the Mappila mind and created a new
set of intellectual connections. The fourth factor is the economic one.
With the removal of the worst of their disabilities, the Mappila age
of discontent had passed and was replaced by an era of possibility
and hope that eased Mappila feelings of minority and inferiority, and
opened doors to mutual cooperation.
A fifth factor bridges the practical considerations with the atti-
tudinal element, and may be described as a psychological one. Map-
pilas have simply determined to bury their old reputation of being
communal fanatics who cannot live peacefully with other religious
communities. They have buried it deeply, making it easier for Hindus,
Christians, and others to behave normally toward Mappilas in the
two-way street of interreligious relations. This cultural reshaping is
unusual and encouraging because of its deliberate nature. To observe
how a large society can intentionally turn itself about, sturdily resist-
ing the still remaining negative influences and remaining steadily on

its chosen path of peaceful relations, is to contemplate a vision of
wider hope. Of course, the development would not have been pos-
sible if Hindus and Christians had not been like-minded. The cultural
interplay and mutual sympathy has been reciprocal. Mappilas recog-
nize that fact and are grateful. That is why a noted Mappila leader
could say to the writer: “Kerala Muslims have no problems because
of the communal harmony.”
The positive Mappila attitude of the present day is a recovery
of the community’s old tradition, and it is not merely a psychological
adjustment or a practical determination. It has a stronger grounding.
It represents the community’s sturdy conviction that having good
relations conforms with true Islam. The feeling is intuitive. While
there is solid ground for interreligious amity in the broad Islamic
tradition that counsels respect for other God-fearers, there are few
formal Mappila writings on that theme. Rather, the contemporary
attitude is a pious instinct that harmonious relations are a correct and
proper response to the Quranic command “to enjoin the good and
prohibit the evil” (3:104), and the Qurʾān’s exhortation “to control
wrath” and to “be forgiving toward mankind” (3:134). Good human
relations belong to the realm of piety, taqwā; beyond their social, com-
mercial, or political advantage.
From this perspective the idea of caring has a wider embrace
than helping distressed members of one’s own community. It over-
flows in undefined ways to take in non-Muslims. Mappilas have
demonstrated this attitude in many individual situations, if not in
theoretical expression. The caring friendships that exist between Mus-
lims, Hindus, and Christians in Kerala are beyond numbering. They
are the stuff of Malayalam culture. It is these personal relationships
that provide the foundation for the praised interreligious amity of the
state. Mappilas have not been behind in extending a neighborly hand.
A homely example of such neighborliness took place in the town
of Malappuram in November 2006. A Mappila woman named Itty
Kutty and a foreign Christian woman19 had forged a friendship going
back forty years, but they had not seen each other for a long period.
The up-to-date Itty Kutty had finally sent an e-mail to her Christian
friend requesting a meeting. Things went well, and a meeting became
possible. When it took place, the wider community rose to attention.
Mappila women gathered and beamed their appreciation. Newspaper
reporters were ready. Cameras were raised. They recorded the warm
embrace. A newspaper headline caught the essence of the occasion:
“Despite Great Distance in Time and Space, Still Good Neighbors!”

Despite the grassroots neighborliness of Malayali society and
despite the fact that the region has been acclaimed as a good example
of harmony, the reality is that its communal relations are like a tender
coconut that requires minding and nourishment. Communal relations
in the area are certainly not perfect, and there is still work to be done.
Neither are they impervious to the communalism that sporadically
surfaces in wider Indian society. From Bagalpur to Ayodhya the Indi-
an cultural landscape is dotted with communal incidents that have
been aptly described as a form of “competitive religiosity.”20 It affects
Mappilas in two ways. Sympathizing with the difficulties of fellow
Muslims, when they occur, they themselves become restive. Second,
the external incidents encourage communal organizations within
Kerala, including, on the one hand, new Islamist groups and, on the
other hand, older Hindu communal organizations like the Rashtriya
Sevak Sangh that has been active in Kerala since 1942. Through recent
years to mid-2014, a period that included testing national elections,
Mappilas have done their best to avoid being provoked by communal
influences, whether from within or without, and they have remained
firm in their commitment to harmonious relations. That position has
required of them a steady reinforcing of the principle of deliberate
restraint.
The depth of the problems involved is revealed in an incident
that does not affect Mappilas directly, namely a violent attack on
nuns at Calicut on September 25, 2004, allegedly by RSS miscreants.
The nuns belonged to Mother Theresa’s Order and were engaged in
charitable work in a Dalit colony. A newspaper editorial [The Hin-
du] subsequently commented on the precarious nature of communal
peace and the need for alert discipline to maintain it, even within the
relatively stable Malayalam society. It declared:21
The attack on nuns . . . is unusual, even if not unprec-

edented, for a State that has been relatively immune to
communal violence.Without any apparent provocation but
with meticulous planning, an unindentified mob crimi-
nally assaulted nuns from the Missionaries twice in one
day . . . Most of the earlier incidents of communal violence
in Kerala had their roots in disputes over ownership of
land or access to resources . . . Quite naturally, there is
now apprehension that Kerala . . . might go the way of
other states . . . where minorities have come under threat
from activists of the Sangh Parivar. The United Democratic

Front Government must show greater alertness and sincer-
ity in reining in communal outfits of all hues . . . Else the
country’s most politically conscious State, which has so far
remained isolated from major communal violence, might
end up as another fertile ground for those who thrive on
hate, intimidation, and anti-people violence.
It is not a secret that unrestrained political enthusiasm is now

probably the element most dangerous to peaceful human relations
in Kerala. It may take aggressive forms that overlap into communal
expressions, and therefore represents a challenge to wise and deter-
mined leadership. When the Muslim League Office in Trivandrum
was attacked (2005) the League President, Shihab Tangal, declared:
“The attack on the party office is undemocratic and unethical. The
people of the state will not accept the politics of violence.”22 The
Mappila leader was not only issuing a call for democratic, ethical,
and nonviolent political activity, but he was also underlining the basic
component in contemporary Mappila relations with non-Muslims, the
desire for harmony.
Mappila leaders understand the competitive factor in politics
but they have joined other Malayalis in also recognizing that Malay-
alam society cannot afford communalism. They have thrown their
weight on the side of harmony creation and harmony maintenance.
Their methodology is a quiet one. The modus operandi is to step
in whenever communal incidents do occur in order to preemptively
contain them, the stepping-in takes place behind the scenes, a soft
message of restraint goes out which is heard and accepted by the com-
munity, and the incidents are thereby kept isolated. In this manner
enlightened leadership pressure has produced a remarkable Mappila
behavioral transformation that contrasts visibly with the past. The
inevitable intrusion of negative influences means that Mappila lead-
ers are compelled to be steadily on guard in their preemptive service,
but they are also able to take satisfaction from many symbols of their
community’s positive relationship with non-Muslims. None is more
moving than the tale of the Mappila flower growers.
In 2002, a front-page newspaper headline read “Hindu-Muslim
Amity in full bloom in Malappuram.” The story is about six Muslim
farmers at Edakulam near Tirunavaya who raise lotus flowers meant
for puja ceremonies at Hindu temples. One of the Muslim farmers
named Abdurrahiman even delivered flowers daily to the Guruvay-
oor Srikrishna Temple during Ramadan. He is quoted as saying: “We
know the importance of poojas in the Hindu religious customs and

take care to deliver the flowers without fail around the year.”23 The
heartwarming report firmly expresses the lovely aspect of the Kerala
interreligious harmony and the Mappila participation in it.
12
Religious Rituals and Festivals
Saints and Superstition
In this chapter we will describe Mappila religious behavior as

expressed in the formally prescribed rituals and festivals, and in the
informal practices related to saint veneration and credulous beliefs.
Mappila religious life is diverse and lively. It is in a sense like a
boiling pot—new bubbles are constantly appearing on the surface.
This animated scene embraces practices that are common to Muslims
everywhere and many others that are local in origin and affection.
Whether formal or informal, the various expressions of Mappila reli-
gious behavior testify to the community’s inner conviction that reli-
gion is all-important and the very core of a healthy culture.
The Prescribed Rituals
Islam prescribes certain rituals but is not defined or limited by them.

Important as each one is, religious behavior is a broader concept
defined as “surrendering to God.” That implies a holistic view of life
and the recognition that true piety is comprehensive in its scope. As
the first verse of the Qurʾān declares: “God is the Lord of the worlds.”
An individual does not become a Muslim by performing some cer-
emonies but rather by confessing that all we do in our various worlds
should be done as the obedient servants of God Almighty.
This approach determines the specific role and function of reli-
gious rituals. They are the commanded acts that one performs as
sacred symbols of God’s universal lordship and the regular reminders
that we should be devoted to God in all our cultural expressions. If
they are not understood in their symbolic meaning, the rituals may
easily degenerate into rote religion. Mappilas well understand this
point because they have witnessed that kind of formalism in their
253
history and recognize its dangers. That having been said, it must be
added that Mappilas fully honor the five formally prescribed religious
practices.1 They give a pious rhythm to their existence and an habitual
behavioral frame for the fully surrendered life.
The Confession of Faith
Where there is believed to be revelation or truth, there is also confes-

sion. “This is what happened.” “This is what I believe.” Confession is
the first and basic ritual act in Islam, the first act of what Mappilas
call dīn or religion.
Mappilas do not go around shouting the confessing words.
But little children hear them. Worshippers use them. Dying people
hear them. They are familiar words: “There is no god but God, and
Muhammad is the messenger of God.” The confession is spoken in
Arabic: la ilāha illa Allāh, wa Muhammadu rasūl lāhi. Sacred meaning
is embraced by sacred sound. In this practice Mappilas follow the
custom of Muslims around the world, and so declare their oneness
with them.
Muslim scholars list the confession of faith as a practice because
it refers to an action. It is faith issuing from the believer’s inner being
into the act of witness. Yet it is really in a category all its own. Mus-
lims, including Mappilas, call it the shahāda, the witnessing. Others
may use the term kalima, the declaration. Sincerely uttered, the confes-
sion makes one a Muslim. There is no other required creed in Islam.
Creeds (ʿaqīda) exist, but none has official status. It is the simple words
of the shahāda that declare and summarize an individual’s commit-
ment. They are repeated five times daily as part of the prayers, and
at the hour of death they should pass the believer’s lips. The pithy
and powerful testimony is the first of the five prescribed rituals for
Muslim pious behavior.
The other four rituals are called arkān, the pillars of Islam, and
chief among them is prayer which Mappilas call niskārum, a Malay-
alam noun derived from a verbal root meaning “to prostrate oneself
in humble adoration and worship.”
Mappila Prayer
Mappilas follow the classical Muslim division into two segments—the

stipulated fivefold prayer (salāt) and the occasional voluntary prayer
(duʿa). The stipulated prayer is all-important. In its conduct Mappilas
follow the common Muslim tradition in regard to the call to prayer,
Religious Rituals and Festivals 255
the times of prayer, the pre-prayer ablutions, and the actual perfor-
mance. The repeated process with its complex movements and sacred
phrases brings home to the worshipper the centrality of submissive
adoration. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi therefore calls it “the most important
of Islamic observances.”2
Mappila prayer life is sincere, but there is also tolerance for vari-
ations in the rate of observance. Modern life intrudes on the fivefold
prayer requirement and that fact is realistically accepted. The tradition
of Islam that under certain circumstances allows two or more prayers
to be telescoped into one allows for accommodation to both work
schedules and spiritual needs. In particular, the noon and afternoon
prayers (zuhr and ʿasr) are frequently united at a convenient time.
Since the prescribed prayer has a private quality (except for Fridays)
and goes unmonitored, it is not possible to confidently estimate how
many Mappilas pray five times daily, how many pray a lesser num-
ber but make up for missed occasions, how many are satisfied with
a lesser number, and how many pray seldom or not at all. Mappilas
themselves have suggested that perhaps half of the community mem-
bers perform niskārum five times daily. As for voluntary petitions,
they may be offered at will, but nighttime has practical advantages.
Mappila attendance at the weekly congregational prayer at the
mosque (the khutba) can be more accurately gauged. It takes place on
Fridays at the time of the noon prayer. In some periods of the Mappila
past, such as the third quarter of the twentieth century the khutba was
attended in a very perfunctory way, mostly by the elderly. That has
now changed to a considerable degree. Attendance is more enthusias-
tic, sparked by the appearance of young males. Females may attend
in some Mujahid and Jamaat-Islam mosques, praying in reserved and
separate sections, but they are not at all to be seen in Sunni mosques.
In the khutba ritual the congregation is first arranged in lines
behind the prayer leader who guides the worshippers through the
prescribed cycles of prayer, after which the congregation is seated
for the message. The speaker mounts a platform or pulpit (mimbar)
to give a sermon that includes praises of God, prayers for blessing
on the Prophet Muhammad, an exposition of a Qurʾān passage, and
a homily on a general topic. In progressive Mappila mosques the
sermon will be presented in Malayalam, but in traditionalist mosques
hallowed old Arabic versions are usually read.
Mappila women pray in the homes except when they are
menstruating or when they are in the forty-day purification period
following a delivery. They may use any tidy location. After the nor-
mal ablutions (ulu, dial.) they don a long white garment called a
iskāra-kuppai. A sari with a full-sleeved blouse may also be used.

n
The combining of prayers is not unusual. Children are not required
to pray before puberty, but many do so at an earlier age.
The formal prayers constitute the breath of Mappila spirituality.
As five times daily they hear the muezzin’s call to “Come to prayer!”
and the promise “Come to salvation!” They are reminded that God
is to be remembered and that He prospers those who do remember
him. They are also reminded of the Quranic admonition: “And be
thou not of the neglectful” (7:205).
Mappila Fasting
None of the Islamic rituals is more demanding than the fasting that
takes place during the ninth Muslim month of Ramadan. It requires
that the individual abstain from food and drink during the daylight
hours. Moreover, the practice requires of the believers a determined
effort to deepen his or her personal piety. Where do the Mappilas
stand on this rigorous requirement which they refer to as nōnpu (Ar.
sawm)?
An increasing number of Mappilas proudly adhere to this rigor-
ous exercise in self-control, although some in the community do not
participate. On a formal visible level, especially where Mappilas are
in the majority, the community does everything it can to encourage its
members to take part. All Mappila establishments in the food industry
are closed. Religious leaders conduct special teaching programs, usu-
ally at night. The main occasion occurs on the 27th day of the month
when the angel of revelation is believed to have delivered the first
portion of the Qurʾān. Women greatly appreciate the night meetings
on that occasion, but youth participate only to a lesser extent.
There is a kind of generational gap in the compliance with fast-
ing. It may be illustrated by a personal experience. On one occasion
I was invited to a Mappila home for refreshments during Ramadan.
The invitation was given by two sons who had been influenced by
communist philosophy. They did not fast. The young men sat down
with me to join in the refreshments. The mother of the house bustled
about, bringing tea and boiled bananas. The father was observing the
fast, but he stood beside the table and led the conversation without
any hint of embarrassment. By compromise this family had resolved
their difference of opinion in regard to the ritual observance. Other
families like them have done likewise. Familial tolerance at the grass-
roots level is a growing and moderating influence in Mappila culture.
In more orthodox homes, however, the fast is a time of both

spiritual intensity and agitated activity. From the moment when the
new moon is first sighted to the time when it once again appears,
the family life is turned upside down. Since the secular world of
which they are a part does not change its habits, the Mappilas must
still conform to the requirements of their work and schooling. Nor
does nature alter its ways, and a fast month that follows the lunar
calendar may at times fall in the hottest or rainiest season, causing
special problems for the very young and very old. Yet the family
copes. The mother has prepared food during the day. In the evening,
at sunset, the fast is broken, often by first eating a fig or date with
some water, followed by the evening prayer (maghrib). Then comes the
eagerly awaited meal. The streets are active and noisy as men dash
for “hotels” or restaurants. Following the late prayer (ʿishāʾ) from
about 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. to 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. the family takes rest, after
which there is a second full meal. The time for the morning prayer
(fajr) arrives very early, and the fasting must begin again. Both the
times for rest and for night meals are not exact and vary from family
to family. Women who are in a state of prohibition are not expected to
fast, nor are children before the age of puberty. Many children strain
at the leash to be allowed to join the fasting.
Mappila Alms-Giving
Mappilas refer to the ritual act of alms-giving by the Arabic term zakāt;
this charitable rite has been introduced in the last chapter. The require-
ment is that a portion of the individual’s income above the basic
amount for food, clothing, and shelter, that is, about 2½ percent, is to
be shared with the needy. Undergirding the ritual requirement are the
many Quranic passages commending generosity and condemning the
heartless and greedy. What seems like a straightforward obligation,
however, is plagued by the question of what is the best way to help
the poor. It should be noted that zakāt gifts are also utilized to help
with mosque expenses and for support of mosque personnel as well
as for other charitable purposes. Zakāt giving is to be differentiated
from voluntary gifts which are called sadaqa. The zakāt rite is to be
viewed as a spiritual act and not as a tax requirement, and in the
Qurʾān it is linked with prayer 82 times.
The Mappila difference of opinion over the use of zakāt income
may be illustrated by the practice of giving to beggars. Even today at
the entrance to mosques there are still lines of beggars, among them
handicapped people, seeking help with outstretched hands, and few

worshippers pass by without leaving a coin in some hand. While this
custom has the merit of providing immediate assistance, it has the
demerit of failing to deal with the cause of the destitution and may
even encourage the practice of begging. Hence, Mappila reformers,
as we have noted, declared: “Let us gather zakāt and build schools
and training centers where people can learn to break out of the cycle
of poverty.” “No,” replied traditionalists, “We must remain with the
traditional understanding that zakāt should be handed directly to the
poor.” The issue remains a lively one.
Mappilas and the Pilgrimage to Mecca
The pilgrimage to Mecca (hajj) is the ritual Mount Everest for Map-
pilas. Not all make the climb, but all desire to do so. Fulfilling the
dream is somewhat easier for Mappilas than for some other Muslims
since southwest India is relatively near to Arabia, and many Malaya-
lis are already located in the Gulf region for employment purposes.
Nevertheless, the number of Mappilas who make the pilgrimage is
restricted by financial ability and by the limitation on the total permits
issued by the Government of India.
In the interests of preserving foreign exchange the government
of India has limited the number of exit visas it issues for the hajj but
with the improvement of the nation’s hard currency holdings in recent
years it has been able to gradually increase the number of permits
granted; by 2005 the figure had grown to over 97, 000.3 In relation to
the total Muslim population of India Mappilas were able to benefit
from a disproportionate number of the permits, so that in 2005, 11,256
of 13,002 Kerala applicants received permission.4 The size of the group
leaving from Calicut alone required 29 Air India flights and 19 charter
flights. Proceeding from the new Haj Camp at the Karippur airport
and having donned their special garments for the state of purification,
the male and female pilgrims pass through the emigration clearance
in long orderly lines. Their predominantly middle age is notable, but
most striking is the intense and nervous expectation that marks the
faces. It is a very high moment for the future hājis.
Admittedly, a few opportunist Mappilas who attend the hajj fre-
quently do so for commercial reasons unrelated to spiritual growth.
They may have import-export or other business interests. The practice
is justified by C. N. Ahmed Moulavi claiming Quranic support. He
states that “those who go to Mecca for commercial purposes should
not be harassed” and argues that “such intentions do not clash with
the purity of the Haj.”5 In any event this motivation belongs only
to a small minority. For most Mappilas it is the supreme experience
of one’s life, born from deep personal conviction and made possible
by financial struggle. An elderly umma, a Mappila mother, came to
the writer’s home to announce her “breaking news”: “I am going
on the hajj,” she announced. The look on her face as she spoke was
indescribable with its mix of devotion, awe, and happiness. She truly
represented the basic Mappila emotion.
After the loaded planes descend on Jidda or Medina it does not
take long for the expectations to be fulfilled. The pilgrims make their
way to Mecca where they cry “I am ready. Lord!” and participate
in a variety of ceremonies designed to remind them of the birth of
historic Islam and its meaning. They share their experience with up
to two million fellow Muslims, fortifying their sense of identity and
unity. As they circumambulate the Kaʾba shrine they firm up their
commitment to keep God at the center of their lives. The hajj is not
only a surpassing emotional experience, but for the returning hāji it
also bears a social value as he or she receives the community’s respect.
From the prescribed rituals we move to the statutory festivals.
Major and Minor Festivals
Contrasting with the routine “solemn rituals,” the two major Mappila
festivals, provide the spice for community life. They are relaxed and
give pleasure. They are the festival of the sacrifice and the festival of
the breaking of the fast.
The “Walia Perunāl” or Baqr-ʿĪd
These are the preferred Mappila names for ʿĪd al-Adha, “the festival
of the sacrifice.” Walia perunāl means “the great festival,” while Baqr-
ʿĪd literally means “the festival of the bovine.” It takes place on the
tenth day of the twelfth Muslim month, the month of pilgrimage (Dhu
al-Hijja). Coinciding with the pilgrimage ceremonies, it is a high day
everywhere in the Muslim world. On this day in the Valley of Mina
near Mecca, Muslim pilgrims recall Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his
son by offering an animal sacrifice of their own. Many other Muslims
not on the pilgrimage follow their example, but some prefer to omit
the actual sacrifice and are content with the spiritual interpretation of
the event. It signifies that we should surrender to God’s will with the
same sacrificial spirit. To symbolize that spirit the festival becomes a
time for giving food and gifts to the poor. While these meanings float
in the atmosphere and are underlined in the mosque, for Mappilas the
great festival is very much a relaxed and pleasant time for families.
The festival extends over three days. The first day is concen-
trated on worship. Sermons expound on the significance of Ibrahim
Nabi’s action and the importance of generosity. The second day is spe-
cifically a family time when new clothing is presented to the members
of the family and feasts are enjoyed. The third day is an opportunity
for visiting the wife’s home or the homes of friends, or receiving
friends into one’s own house. Occasionally, special events and perfor-
mances will occur featuring groups singing Mappila ballads. Because
of the rush of life today, what was traditionally done in this leisurely
three-day pattern is now frequently compressed into a single day.
Nevertheless, it is still a time of good feeling set within family joys.
A khutba preacher may sum it up with the words: “. . . To rejoice on
the feast-day is the sign and mark of the pure and good.” But then he
will also add: “This is the day on which to utter the praise of God.”6
The “Cheria Perunal” or ʿĪd al-Fitr
Even though it bears the name “the small festival” and even though
in theory it ranks behind Bakr-ʿĪd, the ʿĪd al-Fitr holds a strong place
in Mappila emotion. The phrase means “breaking of the fast” and
the festival is celebrated on the first day of Shawal, the tenth lunar
month, at the end of the fasting month of Ramadan. For a month
Mappilas have set aside normal appetites in favor of physical self-
denial and spiritual reflection. ʿĪd al-Fitr comes as a welcome release.
In the evening of the last day of the fast the streets are full of people
awaiting the signal that the new moon has been sighted and the
festival can begin!
The morning of the feast-day is dedicated to worship, usually
in the mosque, but it may also take place in an outdoor area if the
weather is favorable. Even before the prayer, the worshipper may
give gifts to the poor. In one ʿĪd al-Fitr sermon the speaker says:
“Your fasting will not be rewarded and your prayers will be stayed
in their flight until you have given the sadaqa.”7 The worship has two
prayer cycles, a message, and special praises to God. After it is over
those present greet each other with “salaam” or occasionally with “ʿĪd
mubarak!,” “a blessed festival to you.” Thereafter comes the family
feast and the visiting of friends. A few Mappilas also use the occasion
to visit the cemetery and the graves of the departed loved ones. ʿĪd
al-Fitr is a kind of pleasant sigh of relief and a signal that ordinary
life can resume once again.
Minor Festivals
Three minor festivals receive fairly cursory Mappila attention.
Milād al-Nabi
Celebrated on the 12th day of the third month of the Muslim year,
Rabi al-Awal, it marks the occasion of the Prophet Muhammad’s
birthday. A mulla may read a birth story either in the mosque or in
the home. There is often a lecture on the subject in the madrasa. It
is considered a propitious day for enrolling children in the madrasa
program. In the home a special dessert called payasum, a Malayalam
tradition, may be prepared and served. It is also another day for
remembering the needs of the poor for food and clothing.
Lailat al-Qadr
The “Night of Power” is remembered on the 27th day of Ramadan

when many Muslim scholars believe the first revelation (Sura 96)
descended. Traditional Muslims hold that angels are very active this
night even as Jibraʿīl, the angel of revelation, was on that night long
ago. It is believed that prayers at this time are greatly rewarded. They
may have already begun on the 21st day of the month and continue
on odd days thereafter. For some Mappilas it is a concentrated time
of meditation. Ritual gifts to the deserving may also be given at this
time.
Lailat al-Miʿrāj
The “Night of the Ascent” of the Prophet Muhammad is recognized

on the 27th day of Rajab, the seventh month. In Islamic tradition
the festival originated from the idea that the Prophet Muhammad in
some way mystically ascended either to heaven or to Jerusalem. The
belief is based on 17:1 of the Qurʾān and various Hadīth, and it is
greatly elaborated in Islamic legend. For Sufis the miʿraj is a favorite
symbol of the soul’s ascent from the material to the spiritual. Map-
pilas pay scant attention to the tradition, but fasting is recommended
at this time.
Other Holidays
Mappilas also enjoy the general holidays in Malayalam society. With

its relative religious equilibrium the state of Kerala blossoms with
festivals like tropical flora. Hindus and Christians have their own
festivals, and these receive Mappila respect if not participation. Rec-
ognized in the public calendar, they are a part of the Mappila exis-
tential context. The main Christian festivals are Christmas and Easter.
Christmas has some interest for Mappilas who accept ʿĪsa Nabi or
ʿĪsa Masīh (Jesus) as one of the legitimate prophets of Islam. As
for the many Hindu festivals, two have trans-cultural importance:
Vishu, the New Year’s Day that takes place in the Malayalam month
of Medan (March/April), and Onam, the harvest festival that occurs
in the Malayalam month of Chingam (August/September). It marks
the legendary golden age of King Mahabali when there was peace,
crops were good, and everyone was happy. Onam is now the closest
to becoming a kind of common state-wide Malayalam festival. The
general national holidays, namely Independence Day on August 15th
and Republic Day on January 26th, serve as uniting occasions for all
Indian citizens, Malayalis and Mappilas included.
The Mappila Respect for Saints
Measured and serious in their requirements, the prescribed rituals of

Islam give regularity to Mappila religious expression. The confession
sets the stage for uncomplicated obedience, the prayers give daily life
a frame and an upward orientation, the fasting trains commitment,
the alms-giving reminds one of the needs of others, the pilgrimage
sets a solemn goal, while the festivals provide a welcome and happy
break in this religious formality. Is it enough? The development of
the Mappila religious behavior indicates that there was a pressure
from some unmet need, possibly the pressure of the heart and emo-
tions, which found an outlet in the veneration of saints. Many Map-
pilas consider this an aberration from the great tradition of Islam, a
combination of errors that need reform, but an equally large number
regard it as a form of divine guidance in providing sterling human
examples and spiritual possibilities. In any event the practice of saint
veneration resoundingly entered Mappila culture and with it came
other unapproved magic and superstition. Mappila religious conduct
became far more complex than could have been predicted from its
basic early pattern.
Even in the present day the respect for saints among many Map-
pilas is very strong. Consider the following incident:
Outside a South Malabar town a huge pandal or temporary

shelter has been constructed in a field. It is nighttime. Forty
or fifty thousand Mappila males are seated on coconut

mats. Lights and loudspeakers have been hung from the
bamboo uprights. At one end of the pandal is a temporary
stage that is occupied by various leaders. One of the most
well-known stands at the microphone and delivers an
impassioned speech. It is about the attempts of some fel-
low Muslims to eliminate saint veneration. “Will we allow
them to take our saints from us?” he cries. Across the field
the sound of NO! rolls like thunder in reply. Will we let
them take from us Nūh and Ibrahīm and Mūsa and Ismaʿīl
and ʿĪsa? Again and again the response rises, No! No! It
is an incredible scene, but equally startling is the sight of
some bold young men standing opposite the entrance and
handing out tracts opposing the adulation of the saints. The
event testifies that saints are not only venerated but loved.
In this section we will first take up the question of the source

of this profound respect for saints, then describe who the saints are
in their various categories, and finally sketch their celebrations called
nērchas. We will also examine the generally deplored phenomena of
superstition and magic.
The Source of Mappila Saint Veneration
In terms of the two cultural streams that join in the Mappila devel-
opment—the Islamic and the Malayalam—it may be argued which
one brought in the esteem for saints. It is a temptation to regard the
phenomenon as a by-product of the Hindu tradition within Malay-
alam culture. From this perspective Mappila converts from Huin-
duism simply transmuted their worship of gods and goddesses into
the veneration of Muslim saints. For example, C. K. Kareem declares:
“The paraphernalia and appearance of all these Jaram [tomb] festivals
reminds us of the utsavams of renowned temples. In fact, these are
bequeathed to the converted from their old faith, which is followed
in a different name.”8 Elsewhere he says of saint veneration: “It is an
evident manifestation of the influence of Hinduism on Islamic prac-
tices.”9 S. M. Mohamed Koya agrees with this point of view. Referring
to saint festivals he says: “These can be taken as examples of the influ-
ence of Hinduism and the legacy brought by Hindu converts. . . .10
The theory points to one element in the process, but it does not
take us to the basic factor. We have to take into account the reality
that at quite an early period saint veneration was already common
in the Islamic culture that gave birth to the Mappilas, and this was
the case in the very heartlands of Islam far removed from the Hindu
environment and direct Indian influence. If we ask how this could
have happened, we must reckon with such universal factors as respect
for notably pious individuals, the need for intercession with God, and
the longing for miraculous assistance with life’s difficulties. But to
these we must add the more specific influences from the early Islam-
ic context. The first is the great esteem that early Muslim believers
maintained toward the Prophet and his Companions. These, after all,
were the great founders of the faith and their exploits were rehearsed
again and again. The heroic dimension encouraged the development
of reverence. A related factor was membership in the Prophet’s fam-
ily, a status governed by the word sayyid. The idea gradually gained
support that such an individual was a blessed person who deserved
the greatest honor. The thought was taken up in a special way in Shīʿa
Islam on the basis of the life and death of Husain, the grandson of
the Prophet, who gave the concept of saintliness a great boost. Finally,
there was the view that ordinary believers too could develop a special
characteristic of nearness to God. Such a person was called a walī
or friend of God, and stories about the “friends of God” abound in
the first century of Islam.11 People believed that they possessed near
superhuman powers and with God’s help could do wonderful deeds.
In this picture we see the roots of saint veneration in Mappi-
la culture. The idea was in the air in Arabia already when the first
Muslims landed at Kerala’s ports. Many Muslims fought against the
trend, and possibly the practice of saint veneration would have been
contained if the mystical movement in Islam had not taken it up in
the second Islamic century. For the Sufis the idea was a perfect fit.
Sufism focused on the charismatic qualities of certain spiritual lead-
ers who were elevated to the position of “master” in the mystical
order. With the development of Sufism saint veneration spread like
wildfire. It was the leading characteristic of the late Sufism that made
its way into North India after 1200.12 Thus Middle Eastern Islamic
culture, especially in the Persian forms that evolved under the Abba-
sids, provided the seeds and stimulus for North Indian Muslim saint
veneration, but it is also true that Indian culture in turn offered fertile
soil for its growth.
The interplay of these two elements, seed and soil, is well sum-
marized by Murray Titus in this balanced analysis:13
The belief in saints and the worship of their shrines and

tombs by the Muslims of India and Pakistan is not, however,
peculiar to this area. In fact, all this came largely ready-
made to India through those who introduced the religious

orders into the country from Afghanistan, Persia and Iraq.
Further, owing to the ancient gurūchelā practice existing
among the Hindus, and the universal belief in the worship
of local gods and goddesses, which was the heritage of the
majority of the Muslims of India through their Hindu origin,
it became all the more easy for saint worship to become a
fixed part of Muslim religious life.
In historical perspective, then, we may think of two main paths by

which the tradition of saint veneration entered Mappila culture. One
was via Arabia, its first home. Some of the early immigrants them-
selves may have been “friends of God,” or sayyids or sufis,14 while
others may have been individuals of recognizable piety. The second
path was from Persia via North India. This was the less-traveled road
since North Indian Muslims were not in regular contact with Kera-
la. The occasional saint-mystic entering the region from the north is
typified by Muhammad Shah Tangal of Kondotti. In the seventeenth
century he came from Bombay to South Malabar announcing: “Islam
is my religion, Muhammad is my Prophet, and the Qurʾān is my
guide. Karim Ali was my respected teacher. I have joined the tarikh
of Shaikh Muin-ud-Din Ajmeri and Shaikh Muhidin.”15 When they
reached southwest India saintly visitors found a society that was rich
in appreciation of great personalities.
The Hindu veneration of holy figures needs no introduction. It
lies at the very base of Malayalam religious culture. Its most vibrant
current expression is the surging cult of Lord Ayyappan, a hero-deity,
believed to have a relationship with Siva-Vishnu.16 By the many thou-
sands black-robed pilgrims annually make their way to the shrine of
Sabarimala located on a mountain spine at Erumeli in Kottayam Dis-
trict. The hills ring with the cry “Sharanam Ayyappa!,” that is, “Help
me, Lord Ayyappa!” Tradition holds that Ayyappan was a historical
figure who lived in the eleventh or twelfth century and who worked
for the protection of the populace from Marava evildoers. In the course
of that activity he made a compact with an Arab sailor named Vavar,
then a leader of pirates. Vavar became his trusted lieutenant in the
struggle against evil. The historical Ayyappan became Lord Ayyappan
and Vavar became a Muslim saint. In honor of Vavar a mosque and
shrine are maintained at Erumeli, sixty kilometers from Kottayam
and the first station on the forest route to Sabarimala. It is regularly
visited by Hindus some of whom break coconuts in his name, while
the mosque Imam in turn offers sacred ash to the devotees.17 Some
Muslims pay their respects to Vavar at a neighboring temple as well

as at the mosque. While this phenomenon is unique, it may be sug-
gested that the very air of Malayalam culture is one of hospitality to
the saintly development.
We will probably never know the full story of that evolution,
especially its early beginnings. It seems to have started in full force in
the 1700s with the influx of saintly figures from South Arabia, includ-
ing both sayyids and sufis. A typical example is a Hadrami clan, the
al-Bāʿalawī family. It traces its descent to ʿAlī, the cousin and son-in-
law of the Prophet. The Bāʿalawī family’s great progenitor was Sayyid
Alavi ibn Muhajir (d.956), a Husainid who had emigrated from Basra
to Yemen, and then lived at Tarim.18 Some of the Bāʿalawī sayyids
became adepts of sufism, and one of them, Muhammad ibn ʿAlī (d.
1255), who was called “the Great Master,” even founded an ʿAlawī
order. The family had several branches including the ʿAydarūs, Ba
Falih, Bal-Fakih, al-Jifri, al-Habshi, al-Sakhaf, and al–Shilli; some of
the names appear in Mappila geneologies.19 Some ʿAdurūsi, who were
noted for their literary activity, emigrated from Tarim to Surat and to
the Deccan area in the 1550s and 1600s, later coming to North Kerala.20
While the Bāʿalawīs were important in bringing saintly influence from
southern Arabia to Kerala, they were by no means alone. Their cumu-
lative influence was a significant factor in the development of saint
veneration in the Mappila religious culture.
The Mappila name for saints became the hybrid term awliyakul.
The word is formed by the Malayalam plural suffix kul becoming
attached to awliyāʾ, which in turn is the Arabic plural of walī or saint.
The combined form provides a linguistic parable of the evolvement
of saint veneration among Mappilas.
The Various Categories of Mappila Saints
The awliaykul may be divided into four categories: Muhammad and

other prophets and heroes; descendants of Muhammad; pious figures
known in the wider Muslim world; and local saints. The criteria for
saintliness are common to all four but they differ in stature. The cri-
teria are piety, nearness to God, the capacity to perform wonders, and
an unusual aura of sanctity.
The Prophet Muhammad and Other Heroes
The position of Muhammad among all Muslim saints is unique and

unassailable. His special qualities are taken for granted. Dr. K. K.
Usman, a Muslim physician-writer from the central region of Kerala,

expresses his appreciation
. . . for this wondrous man who combines in his person

the wants of the man in the street, the brilliance in arms of
Alexander, the eloquence of Cicero, the kindliness of Jesus,
and the authority of Caesar. A man who, in peace, is a gentle
teacher in the ways of God, an enlightened administrator,
a fair judge and a compassionate ruler . . . A man, whose
preaching is in consonance with his life; whose religion is for
actually living men, not for angels . . . A man whose life is
an open book to his followers . . . When he wants them to
follow a course of conduct, he himself sets the example . . . he
is at once the excellent exemplar and the choice model.21
In the list of 99 names that some Muslims have given to Muhammad

is the name Kamīl; that is, Muhammad is not only Walī, the Friend
of God, but he is also the Perfect One. He is the nearest to God of
any human, the pattern of true Muslim life, and the prime advocate
with God on behalf of believers. There are few Mappilas who would
not agree with this line from a Deccan poem of praise: “The saints
are the dust specks around you, the sun.”22
Traditionalist Mappilas also regard all the Quranic prophets who
lived before Muhammad as saints as well as seers. They too were near
to God, and they too were marked by holiness of life (taqwā), even
to the point of sinlessness.23 The prophetic saints also possessed the
qualities of baraqa and karāmat. Baraqa may be defined as a “beneficent
force”24 that shines through, that commands attention, and that makes
the person’s presence and blessing very desirable. Closely associated
with baraqa is the grace of karāmat, that is, the unusual God-given
capacity to perform wonders. That grace is attested to by the Qurʾān.
The messengers of the past, that is, the prophets who were sent by
God prior to Muhammad’s time “came with miracles and with the
Scripture, giving light” (3:184).
In the Mappila traditionalist view early Muslim heroes should
also be included in the primary category of saints—the first four
caliphs of Islam, Abu Bekr, ʿUmar, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī; and members
of the Prophet’s personal family, namely his wife Khadīja and daugh-
ter Fātima, and his grandsons Hasan and Husain. The factor of family
connection to the Prophet gradually rose to prominence and greatly
broadened the eligibility for sainthood. The development produced
the second category of Mappila saints.
The Descendants of the Prophet: Sayyids and Tangals
This group of saints includes those who not only possess the basic
criteria but also have a lineal connection with the Prophet’s family.
For Mappilas that means the tangal families of Malabar.
In Islamic culture the term sayyid is universally used to signify
the members of this respected group, although the designation sharif
is also utilized. Mappila culture, however, employs a Malayalam hon-
orific for this purpose. It is the word tangal (“Yourself”), the plural of
tan, a personal pronoun that is a high form for you or thou. It is used
for speaking to noble or exalted people, and represents the highest
form of address in the language. Its application to those who have a
blood connection with the Prophet’s family illustrates the great esteem
for this kinship.
The tangals are numerous in Mappila society and have many
gradations of status. They are in all walks of life and receive rec-
ognition, but only a few are regarded as saints. The generality of
tangals includes prominent business families who exercise their influ-
ence through commerce and politics. An example is the Bafaki Tangal
family of Calicut whose most, notable representative was Syed Bafaki
Tangal (d. 1973), an active leader of the Muslim League. The family
are long-time international rice dealers. At the very opposite end of
the economic scale is a group of poverty-stricken and unlearned men-
dicant tangals who live by charitable gifts. Much to the community’s
relief these symbols of backwardness are decreasing in number. Not
only is there considerable variety among those whose descent makes
them eligible to bear the name tangal, but the word Tangal was also
occasionally given to individuals simply as a gesture of deep respect.
We must therefore leave aside the generality of tangals and give our
attention to the very visible group of Tangal Saints.
In popular Mappila religion the Tangal Saints are well repre-
sented by the Taramal family and their shrine in Mambram, South
Malabar. Its founder was Sayyid Jifri Tangal whose origin was in
Hadramaut, South Arabia. He had become a religious scholar in
Mecca but then migrated to north Kerala in the mid-1700s to propa-
gate Islam. The Calicut Zamorin received him in a kindly way and
granted him a tax-free plot of land. He died in 1805, but his line
was continued by his brother Hassan Jifri who had followed him to
Malabar. He conducted preaching missions from Tirurangadi. Before
his death (1764) Hassan Jifri had made arrangements to marry his
daughter to a sister’s son who was coming from South Arabia, Syed
Alavi ibn Muhammad (1749–1843). He became the greatest of Mappila
saints. Although only 17 when he arrived, Syed Alavi quickly entered

the revivalist path of his illustrious uncles, and a special aura soon
gathered around him. Widely recognized for his piety and learning,
he was faithful in Qurʾān-reading, in fasting and prayer. Establishing
mosques in Ernad and Walluvanad taluks, he called on Mappilas “to
repent with a pure heart, to return to Allah and to worship Him”25
It was his acclaimed miracles that projected him high in the imagina-
tion of the people as a true saint. They were said to include healing,
producing rain, locating lost property, and finding thieves. His admir-
ers asserted that he attributed all these and other dramatic wonders
to the power of Allah. He was also a leader in opposing the British
regime. Syed Alavi’s burial place at Mambram became and remains
the chief saint shrine of the Mappilas.
Although none attained the stature of the founder, some of Syed
Alavi’s descendants were also held in esteem. His son, Syed Fazl, was
exiled by the British in 1852 for allegedly inciting Mappila outbreaks
against the government. It was said of him that his followers “regard
him as imbued with a portion of divinity . . . Earth on which he had
spat or walked is treasured up.”26
The Pukkoya family of Panakkad in South Malabar is a second
saintly family of high importance. It illustrates how saintliness is a
powerful living reality for many Mappilas. The family’s two most
prominent members were P. M. S. A. Pukkoya Tangal (d. 1975) and
his son Shihab Tangal (d. 2009; see Chapter 11).
They were descended from Sayyid Ali who emigrated from the
Hadramaut to North Malabar in the eighteenth century. There were
several notable figures in the family including Sayyid Husain ibn
Muhlar (1812–1882), a great-grandson of the first immigrant; but no
descendant holds a higher place in Mappila memory than Shihab
Tangal’s father, P. S. M. A. Pukkoya Tangal. He was widely believed
to very strongly possess the grace of karāmat. In describing this grace,
Louis Gardet speaks of God as al-Karim, the Generous One, Who is
super-abundant in his favors and in the marvels that He helps His
friends on earth to perform. These blessed individuals are to work
their wonders quietly, with humility, always distinguishing them
from the miracles of the prophets.27 Traditionalist Mappilas would
agree with this description, and would take the view that P. S. M. A.
Pukkoya Tangal met the criteria completely. His son, Shihab Tangal,
carried on the tradition. The two were said to be shaikhs of the al-
Aydarusiyya wa-Alawiyya.28
A third major saintly tangal family is that of Muhammad Shah
Tangal of Kondotti, which lies between Malappuram and Calicut. We
have quoted his own summary of his spiritual journey. He was a sufi
of Bombay who performed the hajj and then traveled to Palestine.
There he experienced a vision of the Prophet Muhammad instructing
him to go to Kerala. Arriving in Malabar he took to a hermit’s life in
the Azhikode forest, but later moved to Kondotti where some mem-
bers of Hyder ʿAli’s army had settled. There his reputation for saint-
liness grew and spread. In 1738 Tipū Sultan received him at Feroke
and gave him a land grant at Kondotti and a tax collection privilege.
His journey, however, was not on the popular road of his contem-
porary, Syed Alavi. There was a persistent imputation that he was a
Shīʿa Muslim, which his followers deny, but the rumor created sus-
picion among the strongly Sunni Mappilas. Syed Alavi himself issued
a fatwā against him because of his alleged “new culture.”29 Nayars also
attacked him because of his friendship with the hated Tipū. Muham-
mad Shah continued on his path undeterred and established a center
(khanqah) at Kondotti where he gave religious instruction and from
where he sent out his disciples on preaching missions. His miracles,
believed to include the healing of a blind woman, discerning a hidden
enemy, and causing plants to flourish, solidified his standing.
Muhammad Shah’s disciples—no doubt greatly to the conster-
nation of other Muslims—even began to prostate themselves before
him. His tomb, which he himself had constructed in 1773 in Bijapur
style, is now a revered shrine for his followers. His successors gained
notoriety for their own miraculous healing powers, especially bone
and throat problems, but they never attained to the founder’s stature.
They chose loyalty to the British and in return were given an annual
grant of Rs.2734.30 It is certain that this arrangement also added to
their negative standing with the mass of Mappilas.31 Today Muham-
mad Shah Tangal’s followers peacefully maintain their establishment;
his successor’s home and an instructional centere stand next to the
founder’s tomb.
Globally Revered Muslims Who Are Mappila Saints
The third category of Mappila saints is made up of a small number

of globally revered Muslims who are founders of Sufi Orders, though
not necessarily sayyids. The two major saints whose deeds are extolled
in Mappila songs are al-Rifāʿi of Egypt and al-Jilanī of Baghdad. It is
uncertain how their fame reached Kerala. In the case of al-Rifaʾī (d.
1178) the channel of influence may have been Arab traders, for his
memory is especially cherished by Mappila sailors and fishermen.
Al-Jilanīʾs Qadiriyya Order seems to have come to Northwest India in
the fifteenth century. Thomas Arnold affirms that a native of Aleppo

Sayyid Muhammad, known as Bandagi Muhammad Gawth settled
in Ucch in 1482 and introduced the Order.32 The fame of al-Jilanī
may have entered the Mappila consciousness from that direction.
When it did arrive, it had a powerful effect. His distinguished name,
Muhyi-ud-Dīn, “the Reviver of Religion,” is shortened by Mappilas
to Muhidīn.
The Mappila devotion paid to al-Jilanī will be illustrated in the
following chapter that deals with Mappila songs, while that given
to al-Rifaʿī will be considered in our section on superstition. As for
al-Jilanī the adulation is strong and fervent. The great saint himself
who began his career as a Hanbalī jurist might have been surprised
and even repelled by the intensity of the reverence. He once said:33
And the people who are nearest to God, the Mighty, the
Glorious, are those who are most large-hearted in their
behaviour. And the best of deeds is to guard one’s self from
being inclined to what is besides God, the Great . . . You
should also cultivate modesty in respect of God, the Mighty,
the Glorious, and keep company with God. . . .
Nevertheless, the Mappila heart that seeks mediation with God is very
expressive: “The time when Azrail [the angel of death] takes me under
the protection of the strong Muhiy-ad-Din, oh Allah! . . . With him
by his intercession enter me in heaven, oh Lord of the Universe.”34
Local Mappila Saints
The fourth and final category of Mappila saints is what might be

called the village variety. This is far removed from the grand sweep
of saint veneration in the wider Muslim world. Here we meet the
homely levels of indigenous expression. It is here that the Malayali
culture context becomes a visible factor in Mappila saint veneration,
and it is here that Mappila converts from Hindu background may
have left their mark.
The religious emotion at the local level may be sparked by any
one of several things ranging from miraculously answered prayer to
heroic action. Something that someone does captures the admiration
of a neighborhood, or someone displays an extraordinary quality of
character. These suggest an unusual nearness to the divine, creating a
sense of wonderment and esteem. Later, when the individual passes
on, the admiration may lead to the development of a shrine and a
festival. For Mappilas the concept of shahīd or martyr looms large

in this context. They have a special regard for those who give their
lives for the faith, and may consider them to possess a brave qual-
ity of saintliness. In their case, courageous sacrifice is added to the
compelling criteria of a saint.
The veneration of local saints becomes vivid in the celebration
of saint-days. By festivals called nērchas, by shrine visitation, and
by songs of praise called mawlūds and mālas Mappilas express their
regard for the saints.
The Celebration of the Saints
The Nērcha Festivals
The Mappila term for a saint-related festival is the Malayalam term

nērcha. It is derived from a root that signifies “vow,” but also includes
the ideas of offering, prayer, and celebration. Originally it had a per-
sonal significance: “For such and such a reason I will make a vow
to the saint, take an offering to the shrine and make a prayer.” The
purpose of the vow was to fulfil a personal need, perhaps a health
problem or the desire of a child, or any other deeply felt need. This
accounts for the colloquial phrase: “Ithu nērcha karyiam,” that is, “This
is a serious matter.”35 This personal significance is still carried forward
in shrine visitations, but the nērcha as it developed in Mappila culture
became much more than a private act. Public celebration was added
to the meaning, and the nērcha turned into a series of great festi-
vals that until recently rivalled the major observances in the Muslim
calendar.36
We may note two other customary terms sometimes used by
Muslims in Kerala to designate ceremonies associated with saints. The
first is the Arabic ʿurs (pl. ʿurus), which originally meant nuptials, a
wedding festival. Its use in this context stems from the idea of a saint’s
union with God. The second word is the Malayalam chandanakudam;
chandana means sandalwood, and chandanakudam literally signifies a
sandalwood urn. It refers to the practice of preparing sandalwood
paste prior to a festival, reciting the al-Fatiha over it, and then taking
it to a shrine for distribution among devotees. The practice is found
elsewhere in India where it is simply called sandal.37
The nērchas are noted for extreme emotional expressions and
extraordinary behavior, especially when martyr-saints are being
remembered. Superstitious phenomena quite distant from the great
tradition of Islam are present. In the cultural now, such practices have
attracted vigorous criticism. The critique of the reformers, together
with the march of education and undisguised ridicule by leftists, has
resulted in the decline of the nērchas, a decline so general that it is
near death. During their heyday, however, the nērchas constituted one
of the most colorful aspects of Mappila culture.
The Malappuram Nērcha
For an example, let us visit the Malappuram nērcha as it was. The

time is April. The locale is Waliyangadi, a long narrow street in Old
Malappuram. At the end of the street is an ancient mosque that is
built on land originally granted by the Hindu ruler of the area. In
its cemetery 44 Muslim martyrs and one Hindu colleague are buried.
Their story goes back almost two centuries. The Zamorin’s governor
at Malappuram was Para Nambisan, the head of the leading Hindu
family in the region. In one version of the story, a Mappila named
Ali Marikkar, a soldier in his service, took the side of a low-caste serf
who had failed to remit his taxes. The ruler’s Nayar soldiers slew the
serf for his temerity, starting a conflagration. In a second version of
the event, Nayar soldiers sold off a female house servant to another
Raja, a fact revealed by a Muslim named Poker. Poker was punished
for this action, and other Mappilas sought revenge. Whatever the true
story, there is agreement that in the ensuing battle 44 Mappilas and
one Hindu goldsmith took refuge in the mosque where they were
killed and the mosque itself burned down. Later Para Nambisan or
his immediate successor contracted a serious disease. Tracing its cause
to these events, he rebuilt the mosque at his own expense.38
It is these martyrs who are remembered annually in the Malap-
puram nērcha. We walk into the street well in advance of the festivi-
ties. The adhikāri, the village headman, has invited us to observe the
parade from his upstairs veranda, where it will be relatively safe. He
himself has chosen to strap on a pistol for protection. The basis for
his concern is the extreme narrowness of the street, far too constricted
for the massive throngs. The custom is for offerings to be brought in
baskets from seven surrounding villages. The devotees carry the gifts,
money, and kind on their heads, following the flag-bearers. Shouts
ascend and horns blast as the paraders converge on the narrow street.
As they arrive before the adhikāri’s residence the jostling is at a fever
pitch and revelers are thrown into the air in an emotional frenzy. They
are met by representatives of four martyr families and escorted to the
mosque where they are to present their gifts and mount their flags.
At that point bedlam occurs as each village group recklessly charges

foward in a determined effort to lead in raising their emblem on the
flagpoles at the sacred precinct. At the end of it all the first question
is always, “Did anyone lose their life?”
These passionate sentiments that accompanied the Malappuram
nērcha were not atypical. They are expressed in one of the old Mala-
bar ballads, “The Song of the Mappila Shahids.” It is an emotion-
al remembering of the Malappuram martyrs, and it illustrates the
feelings that were involved in such nērchas. The song is also named
Kulliyat al–Shifa, “A Remedy for All.” When their families sought to
dissuade the famed 44 from going on their martyr path, these “brav-
est of the brave” were depicted as saying: “If men permit sacrilege
to their mosque, all pains of hell await them. It is only by dying to
the glory of God that they can obtain heavenly bliss, and then they
can bless and aid their families.” Listeners to the song are advised
to recall that sacrificial action. Moreover, doing something “for the
sake of the Malappuram shahids” pleases God and brings rewards.
The ballad rings out: “Ho, ye brethren, those who sing their praises
obtain salvation from God. Those who slight them will suffer untold
misery . . . Nothing is more pleasing to God than sacrificing one’s
body and soul in defense of God, and none are more honored than
these shahids.”39
But this inflamed enthusiasm has now virtually ended, and in
two ways the Malappuram nērcha typifies its close. First, it could not
continue as it was and second, it did continue as a kind of district
fair. It could not continue as it was because Mappila culture was mov-
ing beyond the spirit of unrestrained martyr adulation. Even among
traditionalist Sunni Muslim leaders there was a growing feeling that
some elements were outdated. Among modernized Mappilas there
was disenchantment with the phenomena, the youth were disinter-
ested, and government administrators were concerned about law and
order. From 1947 the Madras Presidency forbade the conduct of the
Malappuram nērcha. After 1957 the Communist government allowed
it again as a favor to voters, but it was banned again in 1960, con-
ducted occasionally thereafter under the supervision of special police,
and finally ended in 1986 in its traditional form. What continues today
is a fair that preserves some of the pleasant features of the old cel-
ebration—crowds of people in conversation, sampling goods available
at the temporary stalls, looking at the colorful flags, and in general
enjoying a happy time. From violent nērcha to gentle carnival!—the
passage illustrates the Mappila cultural transition from the Then to
the Now.
Other Nērchas, Shrines, and Shrine Visitation
There is a trail of nērchas and shrines from south to north in Kera-

la. Sreedhara Menon holds that the most important southern one is
the Trivandrum shrine dedicated to a female Muslim saint, Beema
Beevi. A pious woman, she settled near the Trivandrum beach with
her son, Mahin Abu Bekr. Near the tomb that contains their bod-
ies is the Beema Palli (mosque). There the annual Chandanakudam
festival attracts large crowds from all backgrounds. “The married,
the crippled, and the mentally deranged belonging to all castes and
communities, visit the shrine in large numbers seeking favours.”40 At
the Kalamala Mosque at Enathu in Kollam District there is another
Chandanakudam festival, with other nērchas taking place at Changa-
nasseri and Erumeli.
Proceeding to Cochin in the central region, the tomb of Shaikh
Farid is located at Kanjiramuttam, northeast of Ernakulam. The
Manathala Mosque at Chavakkad in Trichur District remembers Moo-
par Haidras Kutty. Said to have been a lieutenant of Hyder Ali, he
became disgusted with the oppression of the people, revolted, and
died in battle. He is revered by fisherfolk, and a replica of his tomb
(jaram) is taken out in procession during the festival. In Palghat Dis-
trict nērchas are not uncommon. At the Theruvathu Mosque in Alathur
there is a two-day celebration in honor of Sayyid Muhammad Aulia,
with a panoply of elephants and music; Ottapalum conducts a similar
ceremony.
In the Malappuram District, in addition to the Malappuram
nērcha that we have already described there are nērchas at Ponnani
in honor of Zein-ud-Din Makhdum and in Kondotti, remembering
Muhammad Shah Tangal. The latter includes visits both to the tomb
and to the home of the current leader, where his Sufi chain (silsila) is
recited. Nērchas take place in the Tirur area at Vettat Puthiangadi in
the Talakkad amsom and at Kottayi in the Mangalam amsom, while
Veliancode has the shrine of the poet-saint Umar Qadi. We will deal
below with the great Mambram shrine at Tirurangadi and the Shek-
hinde shrine in Calicut. In North Malabar there is a nērcha at ancient
Pantalayini Kollam, while at Kannur the Jamaat Mosque remembers
the exploits of Sayyid Muhammad Maulana. At Kasaragode a shrine
commemorates Malik ibn Muhammad, a companion of Malik ibn
Dinar, believed to be the founding Muslim missionary of early years.
The Sheikhinde shrine in Calicut provides a ready example of
shrine structure and visitation. It memorializes Shaikh Muhammad
Koya (d. 1579) who is said to have fought against the Portuguese.
Different legends gather about this figure. One tale reports that some
Mappilas dreamt that heavy seas were washing away his body on
the Calicut shore. Hurrying to the grave they found the body in per-
fect condition, almost as though he were still alive. They re-interred
the saint in a safe location where the present Sheikhinde Mosque is
located. During its annual nērcha devotees bring offerings of bread
and rice cakes that are later given to the poor, so the festival is also
called the Appani nērcha. Prayers for the dead are routinely offered
during the ceremonies.
The mosque-shrine has a welcoming motif that encourages visi-
tation. It faces the street and is open to it. Its flat three-storied front
is constructed in such a way as to draw the eye to the center of the
ground floor where a decorated screen surrounds the entrance to the
shrine room. Within the room, and open to the public view, is the
gold-embossed coffin of the saint, covered with a white cloth. To the
left and at the rear is the saint’s flag. Entering from the rear, the votary
devoutly bows his head in prayer.
Mambram is not only the most famous of Mappila holy places,
but it also best illustrates the practice of visiting saint tombs at other
times than nērchas. A steady flow of Mappilas make their way to
the sacred complex that includes the house of the Taramal family of
Tangals. Mambram lies on the north bank of the Kadalundi River
opposite Tirurangadi. Its shrine is the tomb of Syed Alavi, but nine
other members of his family are also buried there. The three-storied
Malabar-style structure is topped by a conical roof and flanked by
two wings that are a mixture of architectural styles. Family members
administer the shrine and receive its offerings, some of which are
utilized for their income.
The hopeful devotees visit the Mambram shrine to speak a
prayer, utter a vow, make an offering, or all of these. The prayer is
made in the name of the saint, asking him to intercede with God on
behalf of the petitioner. Such is the aura of sanctity that the saint’s
presence is also a place to seal agreements or contracts. On such an
occasion the following phrase is used: “I swear by the foot [or the toe]
of the Mambram tangal,” and no one would dare to break such an
oath. From time to time architectural changes have been made to the
shrine, and other changes have occurred in the attitudes of Mappilas,
but the eagerness and expectancy of present-day pilgrims is age old.41
Except for the pilgrimage to Mecca, Mappilas do not travel
extensively to visit shrines outside Kerala, that is, with one excep-
tion. The exception is the shrine at Nagore on the southeastern coast
of Tamilnad that attracts many Mappila visitors. Nagore is a village

twenty kilometers north of Nagapattanum, itself a shrine city about
350 kilometers south of Chennai. Nagore is the site of the shrine of
Shah al-Hamīd ʿAbdul al-Qadir (1532–1600), a Sufi saint. He is also
known by the names Qadir Wali, Nagore Baba, and Miran Sahib.
His impressive shrine, which includes one very high minaret with
a clock face, was built in 1757 by Pratap Singh, the Raja of Tanjore,
and was thereafter patronized by palace princesses. Shah al-Hamīd is
famed for healing powers, and as far as two centuries back Mappilas
were visiting Nagore to seek his help.42 In ever smaller numbers some
continue to make the journey to Nagore.
A few Mappilas support the Nuri Shah Sufi center at Hyder-
abad and make visits there. Nuri Shah claimed to be a descendant of
al-Jilanī. He visited Kerala in the 1960s and 1970s, but the supreme
Sunni council, the Samastha Kerala Jamiyyat-ul-Ulema, ruled against
his work and reduced its significance. His disciples publish a journal,
al-Irfan.
Mawlūds
When Mappilas praise their saints they do so in songs—which will be

taken up in our section on literature—and by means of special recitals
called mawlūds. The word mawlūd or maulid has three connected mean-
ings: a birth, a celebration, and a written prose-poem. The latter is a
unique literary expression using the Arabic language. The mawlūds are
recited in honor of a revered individual, especially on the occasion
of his or her birthday. Undoubtedly, the most important mawlūds are
in honor of the Prophet Muhammad; they tell of his birth, extol his
life and virtues, and pray for blessing upon him, but there are also
many other mawlūds that praise popular prophets and saints. They are
panegyrics rather than histories, and may include legendary material.
Opening with praise for the Almighty they then make mention of the
hero, followed by alternate verses in prose and poetry that recite his
miraculous deeds and plead for his intercession. When it is read by
a mulla, the mawlūd calls for antiphonal responses by the audience.
The mawlūd tradition is not an early development in Islam, and
when it did make its appearance it was met with criticism. Adam Mez
dates its rise to the fourth Islamic century in Egypt, but it is likely
to have originated earlier.43 It is fundamental Islam to avoid paying
too high a respect to human beings lest it produce idolatry (shirk),
but orthodox scholars such as al-Suyūti (d. 1505) chose to accept the
mawlūd as “a good innovation” as long as abuses were avoided.44

Mappilas did not initiate the mawlūds, but they did make it a regular
part of their religious behavior.
The mawlūd readings are primarily an expression of family piety
rather than public celebration. They are customarily recited in the
home among family members and friends, with hospitality and meals
associated. Behind the reading rests the idea of benefit. The prophet or
saint is worthy of the celebration, no doubt, and the mawlūd requires
no other reason than that, but the celebrants also believe that their
praise will being personal blessings. They are convinced that the
saint—by his merits and appeals—can bridge the gap to move God’s
help in their direction. The mawlūd is not only praise and prayer, but
also offering and hope.
It is the Prophet Muhammad who can exercise that intercessory
role better than anyone else, and therefore no praise can be too high
in his mawlūd. He is
The man in whose presence the trees did obeisance

The man at whose light the flowers opened
The man at whose blessing the fruits matured
The man at whose promise the trees moved
themselves from all directions
The man at whose light all other lights burst forth
The man to the skirts of whose robes wild creatures
clung when he was travelling the most desert lands.45
The Manqus Mawlud of Zeinuddin ibn Shaikh Ali (d. 1521) of Ponnani
is dedicated to the Prophet and declares: “You will deliver us tomor-
row with your sincere intercession. Who is there to help us like you,
Oh my Leader, the best of the Prophets?”46 Mawlūds to Muhammad
remain the most popular for Mappilas.
The conduct of mawlūds by Mappila fisherfolk shows how they
broadened out to include many other Muslim heroes and saints
whose mediation might be helpful for their practical needs. P. R. G.
Mathur has made a careful study of the practice which he regards
as the core ritual of the fisherfolk. “It is the key to open the world
of the Mappila fishermen and their more complex ceremonies. The
mawlūd symbolizes the mystic within the Mappila society and the
unity of the fishermen.”47 With him we go into a home at Tanur on
the South Malabar coast. There a simple form of mawlūd calls for an
invitation to family and friends, the serving of a meal, and the burn-
ing of incense. The cleric involved sits on a mat facing the direction
of Mecca. The host begins by informing the group of the purpose

of the mawlūd. The cleric then recites the first chapter of the Qurʾān
and conducts an appropriate prayer. After rubbing the palms of his
hands over his face he begins reading of the birth, life, and miracles
of the saint. This may go on for up to two hours. He closes with
another prayer and the invocation “Oh, Creator and Lord!” to which
all reply, “Amen!”48
An example of a more elaborate communal mawlūd is the bait or
recognition of al-Jilanī. The mawlūd is chanted at night in the mosque,
beginning at 11:00 p.m. There the assembled guests remain for about
three hours. Four clerics chant the praises 150 to 200 times. Then,
with lights extinguished, they recite the appeal “Ya Mohiuddin Abdul
Qadir Jilani!” one thousand times. They are convinced that during
this intense act of remembrance the saint is spiritually present and
becomes aware of their needs.”49
The fisherfolk conduct mawlūds to mark the launching of a new
boat or net, to celebrate a bumper catch of fish, for insurance against
the hazards of the sea, for the curing of diseases and the warding off
of evil spirits, and for the begetting of children. In addition to the
Prophet they may offer praises and/or seek help from any of the four
Companions, Abū Bekr, ʿUmar, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī; Muhammad’s
wife Khadīja and daughter Fātima; his uncle Hamsa; his grandsons
Hasan and Husain; other prophets like Sulaiman Nabi, Ilyas Nabi,
Yunus Nabi, and ʿĪsa Nabi; Shaikh Rifāʿī and Shaikh Abdul Qadir
Jilanī; Khwaja Muinuddīn of Ajmer; the Mambram Tangal, and the
Nagore Shah al-Hamīd. The names are like a catalogue of Muslim
saints. The fisherfolk maintain a special affinity for the prophet Yunus
(Jonah) whom, as the Qurʾān reports, “the fish swallowed when he
was blameworthy” (37:139–48). He was believed to have been pun-
ished either on the second or tenth day of the month of Safar, and
hence the first ten days of Safar are a time for repentance. No boats
or nets may be made in this period. When it is over, with penitent
hearts, like Jonah turning back to God’s glory, they may enter their
boats and as the Qurʾān says “sail with them with a fair breeze, and
they are glad therein” (10:23).
In its broadening out the mawlūd recitation became associated
with Mappila martyrs, as we have already noted. By the nineteenth
century those going into battle against perceived oppressors would
frequently recite a mawlūd first. Then those who gave their lives in
the struggle would themselves become the subject of a new set of
mawlūds. Thereby, mawlūds, shahīds, and nērchas became intertwined
phenomena.
Superstition and Magic
In this section we examine the presence of superstition and magic

in Mappila practice. The issue of superstition is at the center of the
Mappila religious debates in the modern era. Magical practices, while
undeniably present, are widely condemned by the community.
The Issue of Superstition: Defenders and Critics
The development of exaggerated saint veneration was a major factor

in opening the door to superstitious practices of all kinds. This was
the conviction of the Mappila reformers. They took up cudgels against
what they regarded as erroneous beliefs and practices, especially those
related to saints. Their conviction is that it is incorrect to try to get
the help of the dead to ease the situation of the living. Traditionalist
Mappilas, on the other hand, considered much of what was being
criticized as appropriate or allowable behavior. It is said that true
religion is in the eye of the beholder, and Mappilas were proving the
point. For a long time the majority opinion favored traditionalists, but
the tide is now moving in the other direction. Although the picture
is still confused, many members of the community are now turning
against the mentality called “superstitious.”
The root meaning of the term superstition is “to stand beyond,”
that is, to act in a way that seems outside the core themes of a com-
munity’s great tradition, and to allow credulity to replace a reasoned
faith. The Malayalam term for superstition, andhawishwāsum, is very
strong because it literally means blind belief. The term properly intro-
duces the factor of ignorance. Because of their generally backward
condition and beset by hopelessness many Mappilas were particularly
subject to the development of superstition and, in fact, they became
notorious for that approach to life. They never considered it to be
contrary to the faith. It arose from their sense of need, the need for
help in dealing with life’s practical problems. Why is my sickness not
going away? Why is it that other women have given birth but I have
not? Why is it that we are too poor to educate our children or own
a little house? Why is it that I can’t get a job? As people of faith the
Mappila underclass believed that there is, in fact, a power that can
overcome these inscrutable difficulties. The Almighty God can do all
things! What is needed is some kind of special effort or a technique to
reach up, make contact, and somehow appropriate the help of the All-
Merciful. It may take an appeal to some intermediary such as a saint
or a pilgrimage to a shrine—whatever is required to get in contact

with God’s beneficent power must be done. Superstitious activities are
efforts to access the divine goodness, not neglecting any possibility.
The latter point is the nub of the criticism of superstition that
is alive in Mappila society today. The approach and method, it is
argued, actually distracts from God. It weakens tawhīd. Moreover,
through these activities the Mappila community has lost its focus on
the central theological and moral themes of the Qurʾān, has ignored
the need to maintain a balance between faith and reason, and has
accepted degenerate practices that are really forms of idolatry (shirk).
Superstition, they said, is unfounded, that is, it is without any scrip-
tural basis, prophetic pattern, or support in early Muslim teaching. It
is gullible, that is, it appeals to the ignorant and uneducated, and can
easily be exploited. It is misdirected, for the approach stands beyond
trust in the Merciful will of God, and is unnecessary and wrong. And
finally it is disastrous in result, because it draws attention away from
what godly people should really be doing.
The problem for the reformers centers on excessive saint venera-
tion and so, as Professor Abdul Samad has carefully detailed, they
challenge especially the following customs:50
• Praying for the help of a saint and appealing for his

intercession with God, especially using such ejaculation
as “Ya . . . [name] . . . save us!” (istigatha).
• Nērcha festivals that glorify humans, processions in their
honor, and the elevation of flags at mosques (kōtikattu).
• Songs extolling the saint’s history (māla pāttu); and recita-
tions of a saint’s merits (mawlūd).
• Ecstatic dances in honor of saints (rātib).
• The practice of chandanakudam, a Hindu-derived practice
related to the use of sandalwood paste (see “The Celebra-
tion of the Saints” above).
• Approving Muharram celebrations that commemorate
the death of Husain, a Shīʿa tradition.
• The conduct of funeral ceremonies that give the impres-
sion that a person’s fate after death can be positively
influenced from below.
• The use of amulets and charms.
Another area of criticism that we have already reviewed relates to

the alleged misuse of the Qurʾān, especially its rote memorization,
and the use of Quranic texts for purposes that border on the magical.
What gave superstitious practice such strength in Mappila cul-
ture was its linkage to a strong traditionalist clergy. Sunni clergy made
their case that many of the activities listed above are acceptable forms
of religious reverence. They can be properly understood, and where
there are excesses they can be tolerated and gradually dealt with.
These clergy absolutely disagree that saint veneration equates with
false worship. Thus, the starting points for “standing beyond” are set
at different places by different Mappilas.
Nevertheless, other factors have now come into play that reduce
this traditional strength. While the sense of need that produces super-
stition has not entirely gone away, the conditions producing it have
been greatly relieved by economic progress and medical advance. The
improvement of education has dispelled much of the ignorance that
fed superstition. The desire for a modern respectable culture has made
superstitious practice seem outdated and even shameful to members
of the community. Finally, the combined critiques of various reform-
ers, the intelligentsia, and secularists have struck a series of heavy
blows against the conservative tradition. The future of activities that
are labelled as superstitious really depends on the future of the tra-
ditionalist clergy and the extent to which they can maintain their
influence in a rapidly changing culture.
The culture remains a single entity, an umma, a steady collective
despite the ruptures over the issue of superstition. The community of
faith includes distinct points of view that produce heat and tension,
but not fission. The dispute is not over the ultimate goal of glorifying
God and serving His will, but rather it is a dispute over method and
approach. Reformers take the view that the superstitious believers
need correction, not exclusion. They are Muslims, though erring in
some respects. On the other side of the coin traditionalist leaders also
agree that the reformers and modernists can be tolerated, even though
they are wrong. The charge of kāfir, unbeliever, may be thrown about
on occasion, but with a kind of tongue-in-cheek. It is this bottomline
mutual recognition existing among Mappilas that makes it possible
for the community to go forward as a family despite the major dis-
agreement over superstitious practice.
Magical Practice among Mappilas
Before citing examples of magic in Mappila society we need to con-

sider the relation of magic to religion and to superstition. Do religion
and magic stand apart? Scholars in general believe that they do—they
represent separate phenomena. Bronislaw Malinowski affirms that the
distinction rests on the difference between manipulation and faith.
He says, “The belief in magic . . . is always the affirmation of man’s
power to cause certain definite effects by a definite spell or rite. In
religion we have a whole supernatural world of faith.”51 Magic is a
human effort to manage the powers, especially the dangerous ones
that are believed to surround us, and it depends on human ignorance
and compliance rather than on surrender to God and trust in Him. It
also depends on the occult knowledge of a practitioner who “knows”
the secret steps that must be followed and can take them accurately.
The basic faith/control distinction also applies to the question
whether superstition is a form of magic, since despite its borderline
aspects superstitious religion is Godward in its intention. In this case
the separation is a finer one because the two words, magic and super-
stition, are used interchangeably in ordinary speech and because there
are overlapping activities. Nevertheless, the fundamental distinction
between the surrendering and the manipulating attitude must decide
the issue. The direction of one is vertical, the other horizontal. John
Noss sums it up in this way:52
Magic may be loosely defined as an endeavor through

utterance of set words, or the performance of set acts, or
both, to control or bend the powers of the world to man’s
will. It cannot be wholly divorced from religion . . . (and)
is discernibly present when emphasis is placed on forcing
things to happen rather than asking that they do.
Magic has been and is a visible presence in Malayalam culture

and it has certainly affected Mappilas. In the Malayalam language it
is called mantrawādum, which signifies the use of sacred and magical
phrases, originally Vedic in origin, which will control the spirits and
produce desired results. The magician is called a mantrawādi, who
is a recognized figure in society, but is also somewhat feared. As
the purveyor of incantations he may cleverly use religious language.
However, he is not interested in God’s help or the improvement of
character, which are the concerns of religion. He is confident in his
own powers to affect events, and his income depends on making
others believe it. Nor will he hesitate to play on the ignorance and
fears of others to do it.
We must also look at the Islamic culture stream. Magic (sihr)
is not defined in the Qurʾān, but it is often mentioned and always
negatively. The Qurʾān asks: “Will ye then succumb to magic when
you see it?” (21:3). The later Muslim scholars did not clearly define
magic, rather, they drew up compilations of the different kinds of
magic, one long list including fourteen varied types.53 A difference
of opinion arose regarding the admissibility of harmless “natural”
magic that is personally helpful, especially in connection with health
and medicine. Some Hadīth were cited in its support. One quoted the
Prophet as saying, “There is no harm in spells as long as they involve
no polytheism.” Another said:54
Jabir told that God’s messenger prohibited spells, and the

family of ʿAmr b. Hazm came and said, “Messenger of
God, we had a spell proved efficacious which we applied
for scorpion bite, but you have prohibited spells.” They
submitted it to him and he said, “I see no harm in it. If
any of you is able to benefit his brother, let him do so.”
On the other hand, some Hadīth also show Muhammad to be unequiv-

ocal in his condemnation of astrologers and diviners. “The astrologer
is a kahīn [diviner], the kahīn is a magician, and the magician is an infi-
del.”55 Ibn Khaldūn states what became the majority opinion:56 “The
religious law puts sorcery, talismans, and prestidigitation [sleight of
hand] into one and the same class, because they may cause harm. It
brands them as forbidden and illegal.” We will deal with the presence
of magic among Mappilas in terms of three large divisions common
in Muslim discussion: simple benign magic, similar to superstition;
magic related to spirits and exorcism; and black magic or sorcery.
Simple Magic
Amulets and charms are the simplest forms of magic, and are par-
ticularly used by Mappila women to ward off sickness. For example,
a homely charm is the tying of a black cord around the wrist to ward
off misfortune; mothers will also place it on the wrists of children. But
most forms of everyday magic are related to the use of the sacred text
of the Qurʾān. For example, a written Quranic word, possibly blessed
by a local saint, is placed in an amulet and tied around the upper
arm. Or certain phrases may be written in rice flour and then swal-
lowed to produce a cure. Some visible charms are related to the old
belief in the potential danger of an evil eye. Thus, differing from the
cosmetic use of eye shadow, a Mappila mother may heavily outline
infant eyes with a dark powder (kohl) for protection. In construction,
an effigy is routinely placed in front of the work to attract the interest
of the eye, thereby distracting an observer from making too close an

examination of the new building and thereby threatening its future.
Saint veneration is a fertile field for the growth of magical prac-
tices. A tomb may be opened and a handful of sand from its interior
distributed to devotees. Later it will be given to the sick or disabled.
“It is believed that this wonderful sand can cure their diseases.”57 Far
more complicated is the custom of Ratib.
The term rātib literally means a non-obligatory litany. It has
become a form of sympathetic magic utilizing dance-drama to over-
come calamities such as epidemics. In its basic presentation a party
circles around a white-covered pillow on which the written form of
the rātib is lying. Beside it is a vessel of water. Portions of the rātib are
recited with the accompaniment of drums, and there may be dance
movements. A typical rātib is the Haddad Ratib composed by Ibn
Alavi al-Haddad (d. 1726), but the major example of the genre is
associated with the saint al-Rifāʿī. Its use is designed to protect the
participants and their families from injury.58
Al-Rifāʿī (1106–1182) came from near Basra in Iraq. He was noted
for his cultivation of abstinence, for poverty and nonviolence, and
was believed to possess miraculous powers. The Rifāʿīn Order that
developed after his death spread especially to Syria and Egypt, but
gathered an eccentric reputation. It was noted for such excesses as
fire-walking and the handling of snakes. The Persian poet Jāmi (d.
1492) tried to exonerate the shaikh saying, “But this is something the
shaikh did not know, nor did his pious companions—we seek refuge
from Satan with God!”59 In the nineteenth century the Grand Mufti of
Egypt condemned the members of the Order for these practices. By an
uncertain route, perhaps through sailors, some of the extravagances
reached Kerala. This may be a factor in its special popularity among
Mappila fisherfolk.
The fisherfolk not only sing the Rifāʿīn litany but also take to
the extreme accompanying activities including ecstatic dance and the
use of daggers to induce bleeding. Their performance usually occurs
in a shelter in front of a house on a Thursday night. It commences
with drumming and prayers. The chief mulla present says: “O Rifāʿī!
We are performing the Ratib with the help of lethal weapons in your
honor.” He adds: “O Rifāʿī, we come and attend the ceremony, save
us from death and injuries.” He may then stab another in the stom-
ach, and rub the wound with water, praying “Ya Rifāʿī, Ya Rifāʿī,”
whereupon the wound is supposed to be instantly healed. This may
be repeated in the course of the six-hour-long celebration that takes
place.60
Magical Practice Related to Belief in Spirits
The classical forms of primitive magic are related to the idea of an

impersonal natural force like mana, but this does not reflect Mappila
thinking. With all Muslims Mappilas believe that nature is directly
under God, its Creator and Ruler. However, some forms of magic are
related to belief in the existence of unseen spirits who have powers
to exercise good or evil influence. They are called jinn and are the
lesser spirits frequently mentioned in the Qurʾān. Behind the jinn is
the great disaffected spirit Satan (shaitān), the Accursed, the Highly
Dangerous One, the Beguiler.
The concept of jinn was inherited from pre-Islamic Arabian
culture and was confirmed by the Qurʾān. Jinn may be favorable
to people, or antagonistic. They themselves admit, “Among us there
are righteous folk, and among us there are far from that” (72:11).
While their activity is worrisome, much more serious is Satan, also
called Iblīs. When Mary was born, her mother prayed: “Lo! I crave
thy protection for her and for her offspring from Satan the outcast”
(3:36). The Qurʾān also advises everyone: “Follow not the footsteps
of the devil. Lo! He is an open enemy for you.” (2:158). Thus Map-
pilas have a sense of living spirits abroad with negative power who
cause danger and difficulty, and it is their existence that gives magi-
cians opportunity. Orthodox Muslims from every side say that the
answer to the powers is not in magic but in taking refuge with God.
The classic phrase to use in resisting Satan comes from the Qurʾān
(114:1–5; Arberry):
Say: I take refuge with the Lord of men,

the King of men
the God of men
from the evil of the slinking whisperer
who whispers in the breasts of men,
of jinn and men.
Magicians on the other hand say, “We also can help you by taking
care of the problem of spirit possession.
The fear of spirit possession opens the door for magic. It is
believed by some that spirit possession calls for professional diagno-
sis, the use of mystical formulae, and actual exorcism. The first step
for a family that suspects there is spirit possession is to find a capable
mulla-mantravādi who is known to have the answer. The mulla-mantra-
vadi engages the spirit in dialogue to discover the reasons for what
has occurred. At the first level of “treatment” he may place sacred

phrases in an amulet attached to a knotted cord to be worn about
the neck of females or the waist of males. If that is not successful, he
may prescribe some combination of readings, prayers, incantations,
and the beating of drums to drive out the evil spirit. If the spirit is
still recalcitrant, it may be necessary to beat the victim herself or him-
self. The magician may specify the number of days the process will
take—7, 14, 21, 41—and if it is unsuccessful, the ritual may have to be
repeated. The writer recalls the case of Nafeesa,61 daughter of Alavi,
who had a mental breakdown that was considered to be spirit posses-
sion. The family went through all the magical procedures described
above, at considerable cost and with much suffering for the patient,
but the efforts failed. The family then sought medical help and Amina
was taken to the famed Christian Medical College Hospital in Vel-
lore where her condition was successfully treated. Their first choice
for magic illustrates the mindset of a family that had clear options.
There is a whole field of magic dedicated to the task of thwart-
ing Satan and his cohorts or dealing with possession by an evil spirit.
As to the latter, there is no ritual more complex than that known as
hōmam or offering, a procedure especially familiar in the fishing and
sailing community.62 The intricacy of this magic gives added power
to the magician who alone knows its details and can execute them
correctly. To start out, a three-foot pit is dug on the southern side
of the house, and in it a fire is started. The seated “patient,” who
is deemed to be spirit-possessed, faces it on the western side. The
mantravādi inscribes a mantrum (magical phrase) on 21 leaves reading,
“Surely there is an enemy in you!” The leaves are carried around the
patient three times while verses from Yā Sīn, sura 36, are recited. The
leaves are then shaken over the head of the distressed person. After
each Yā Sīn seven leaves are tossed into the pit. Theoretically, this
should continue for 21 days during which Yā Sīn and mystic phrases
are repeatedly recited. In addition, a few ounces of water are put in
an earthen pot while incantations are recited 21 times; the water is
poured over the victim’s head each evening of the 21 days. On the
21st day, 21 wicks dipped in oil are lit and carried around the patient
with the recitation of the words: “Surely there is an enemy in you!”
Every time the word enemy is used a wick is thrown into the pit.
The elaborations continue without slowing down. Three eggs are
taken next and are inscribed with the mantrum: “You must tell which
Jinna [jinn] you are. For the sake of Allah’s Holy Quran, you must
leave the patient. You must take care of yourself!” The eggs are then
waved around the patient’s head three times. Charms are blown into
the person’s eyes, after which the al-Fatiha is recited 21 times. Three
coconut eyes have been pierced and each one is now taken seven
times around the patient’s head. They are then rolled back and forth
in the direction of Mecca. The rite is almost over now. Everything left
over is tossed into the pit except the coconuts, which the mantravādi
takes home! When the fire is cold, the ashes are thrown into the
sea. Following this rigorous experience the individual who has been
treated takes a full bath (ghusl), and the ritual is complete.
Black Magic or Sorcery
It is but a short step to the third category, one both “irreligious and
fearful,” and that is magic dealing with enemies. It is customarily
referred to as black magic or sorcery. To confound an enemy that
person’s nail parings, locks of hair, or even broken glasses may be
presented to a spirit with the request to deposit them in the antago-
nist’s stomach. Another method is the pounding of nails into a plank,
accompanied by certain formulae. Not uncommon is the use of buried
plates. The mantravādi draws written spells (mantrums) and mysteri-
ous figures (chakrums) on thin plates (takitha), usually made of copper
although silver and gold may also be used. These are then buried in
an enemy’s yard or compound, preferably in front of the doorstep.
The magician promises that this will cause the enemy severe distress.
If that person happens to discover the hidden plates—much to his
great consternation!—he must take immediate steps through counter-
magic to thwart the evil design.
It is not necessary for our purposes to pursue further details of
black magic that concerns only the very few and that stands at the
community’s cultural fringe.
Most Mappilas unhesitatingly agree that magical practice is a
behavioral area that believers in God should avoid. Not only should
they leave it alone, but they should oppose it. Their duty is to pay
heed to the works of God, (ʿibādat), to cultivate piety (taqwā) and
righteousness (birr), to prohibit the evil and commend the good, and
to trust in God alone. God is greater (akbar) than the powers around
us. We may spit at Satan, but we should not be preoccupied with
him, for he is under divine control. Nor can the jinn harm those
who take refuge in God. As to sorcery it is harām!! forbidden!! While
the common opposition of community leaders and the advance of
modernity in contemporary Mappila culture have failed to eliminate
the practice of magic entirely, it has been sharply reduced and forced
underground.
Mappila religious behavior covers a wide spectrum. While the basic

rituals and festivals of the community are grounded in the great tra-
dition of Islam, as the tree of religious practice grew over thirteen
centuries of Mappila history various behavioral offshoots developed.
There has been a luxuriant growth of additional religious practices,
especially those related to saint reverence. In the contemporary Map-
pila cultural development with its new modes of conduct, we have
witnessed a pruning of this old growth, and a simpler though less
colorful profile has emerged. This is also evident in the community’s
artistic expression, and we turn to that topic next.
13
Mappila Artistic Expression
Mosque Architecture, Embellished Houses,

the Material Arts, Song, and Dance
This chapter deals with the main Mappila arts. It begins with the
dramatic story of the community’s mosque architecture, which more
than any feature illustrates the displacement of the cultural past with
the present. Following that we briefly consider the implications of
the new ostentatious homes that are more and more frequently being
built. Then we take up the limited development of the material arts,
examining the reasons for their rather modest scope. And finally, we
consider what many observers regard as the most notable of the com-
munity’s artistic expressions, namely, the famous Mappila songs.
Mosque Architecture
The story of Mappila mosque architecture is an absorbing tale of cul-

tural development and change. After more than thirteen centuries of
identification with the indigenous Malayalam architectural style and
the production of a mosque tradition unique in the Muslim world,
Mappilas have recently turned to Indo-Persian and Arabian motifs.
The change is sudden and unexpected. At its heart is the newly
strengthened Mappila desire to identify with other Muslims. What
facilitates it is the availability of foreign assistance for new construc-
tion. Old mosques are being torn down and replaced as soon as pos-
sible, and hybrid forms are popping up everywhere as the result of
partial rebuilding or adding on to existing buildings. In the following
discussion we will consider, in turn, the traditional mosque, the new
architectural wave, hybrid forms, and data regarding the different
types and numbers of mosques.
291
The Traditional Mosque
The traditional Mappila mosque was a simple building of one or two

stories, constructed of laterite rocks, normally on a square foundation.
The structure usually had a front veranda, and there were large open
windows to provide ventilation. The interior and exterior walls were
ordinarily plastered and whitewashed, and the pitched roof was tiled.
Its decorative gables were neutral in style, but were reminiscent of
indigenous temple architecture. Except in a very few cases there were
no minarets and domes. These basic functional worship and educa-
tional centers dotted the Kerala landscape by the hundreds and they
blended naturally with the general environment.
There were practical reasons for the adoption of this style of
mosque architecture, including the rain forest climate that necessitated
a peaked roof, the nature of the local building materials, and the
skills of the available masons and carpenters. Early Mappilas may also
have accepted the pattern of the local sacred architecture. When they
arrived on Kerala’s shores, Jainism was powerful in the region. Hindu
structural temples only began around the year 800.1 Since Buddhism
was also influential at that time, it was a period of architectural as well
as religious flux, and even cave temples were not uncommon. The
temples made great use of wood, including carved wooden pillars.
Mappilas drew on that art, as well as on the Jain use of decorative
gables. Staying true to their principles, they did not adopt the mural
painting that was also a characteristic of worship places.
There is no evidence that they felt any conflict over the approach
that they adopted. They freely utilized the existing architectural pat-
terns. There are even traditions that indicate that a few of the oldest
Mappila mosques may have originally been Jain temples. The Mappila
practice of adaptation was harmonious with the principle of free-
dom in mosque styling that existed in the Muslim world. As Richard
Ettinghausen has pointed out:2
There is, however, no universally-used structure, no

“Islamic mosque” as such—only various regional types.
At first the plan of the Arab-type mosque gained almost
general acceptance, but eventually mosque architecture
came to reflect the traditional architecture of each ethnic or
regional entity . . . In each case these forms were enriched
by concepts derived from local pre-Islamic architecture and
elaborated by specific technical considerations . . . No tower
as such is in fact obligatory.
Mappila Artistic Expression 293
The final result of the Mappila cultural independence was the devel-
opment of a distinct form of mosque architecture that represents the
community’s novel contribution to the wider Muslim world.
The age of the oldest existing mosques is a disputed question.
Worship structures must have been built very early in Mappila his-
tory, but they were later rebuilt or renovated. We have reported the
legend of Malik ibn Dinar who reputedly traveled along the coast of
Kerala from the present-day Kochi to Mangalore in the late seventh or
eighth century, establishing several mosques. There is no suggestion
that any current building goes back that far in age, but on that basis
the mosque at Kodungalur near Kochi claims precedence. It has been
suggested that this structure may originally have been an unused Jain
temple that was assigned to immigrant Muslims by a sympathetic
ruler, or it may have been constructed on the foundations of such
a temple, thus accounting for the fact that it is not aligned toward
Mecca. Even the most optimistic estimates, however, do not date the
current building before the twelfth century.
Another of the mosques purported to have been founded by
Malik ibn Dinar is located at Madayi near Kannur in North Malabar. It
illustrates the sad story of old historic Mappila buildings. The Madayi
mosque bore a stone marker listing the year 1124 as the date of its
construction. In the interests of modernizing, however, this landmark
structure was razed in 2006, and a refurbished mosque has been built
on its foundations. The stone marker is preserved and incorporated
into the floor of the new building, but the original date is no lon-
ger legible. At the rear of the mosque an old wall has been retained
incorporating the original mark of the qibla, while beside it stands the
first pulpit (mimbar), a simple visibly ancient raised stone platform.
The second mimbar, also old, has been retained in the new mosque.
It has four carved wooden posts holding up a flat canopy that is
covered with painted flowers on its interior. The tombs of two saints
said to have been companions of Malik have been consigned to a rear
room, and they now require some effort to reach. The dismantling and
rebuilding of this historic edifice points to a challenge now facing the
Mappila community—the preservation of its architectural heritage.
One of the most noted of the remaining traditional mosques
is the “Makhdum Mosque” in Ponnani. This ancient South Mālabar
port town ranks highly in Mappila story and affection. Lying on a
protected backwater, it was one of Kerala’s best-known links with the
outside world. Poets also hymn its praises as “the Mappila Mecca,”
“the light of learning,” and “the radiance of Islamic gold.”3 The town’s
long Arabian connection probably meant that Islamic culture began
soon after the Hijra (622 A.D.), and it grew into a prominent trading
center. Yet its real fame came after 1500 when the scholarly Shaikh
Makhdums made it their teaching center and began training the Map-
pila musaliars. The mosque structure that served as the center of their
activities is attributed to the senior Shaikh Zeinuddin and is dated
at 1519.4 Set in a very crowded area of the old town it is faithfully
preserved in its ancient form and remains a prime example of tradi-
tional Mappila mosque architecture.
The ground floor of the building, which is of modest size, is a
worship area created by four arches. On entering the front archway
the worshipper passes the pool used for washing. Looking across the
room he sees a tall indentation (mihrab) in the opposite wall, outlined
by decorated plaster, which marks the direction of Mecca. Beside it
stands a moveable pulpit with six ornamented steps. Its canopy is
supported by four curlicued hardwood posts, with lights hanging
below. With its exquisite carpentry and decorated carving it is a fine
example of the mimbar art form. Along another wall there are three old
doors bearing Arabic calligraphy on their lintels, with other handwrit-
ten Quranic inscriptions on the wall itself. On one side of the central
door hangs the mosque clock, while a traditional Kerala brass floor-
lamp stands on the other side. Various lamps hang from the ceiling,
but suspended from the center of the ceiling is “the lord of the lights,”
the ancient oil lamp that is the mosque’s most famous icon. Two feet
below it stands the pot containing the oil and the dipper used to
continually refresh the lamp. It was to this light that the Makhdums
would invite their favored students, and to this day the dars students
continue to sit in a circle around the lamp, which symbolizes their
search for knowledge.
The architectural glory of the mosque is its impressive facade
that rises like an A-frame from the first story to the peak of a sharply
pitched roof. The facade utilizes a mix of three narrow horizontal
awning-like tiled roofs, three porticos jutting out in receding size,
and lines of decorative Mughul-style windows, together constituting
a unified whole. The attractive use of blue and red colors help to
both separate and to draw together the features of the facade. At the
corner of the peak is a decoration and a light, while on the ridge of
the roof are turrets of a type commonly found also on temples. Pon-
nani has other traditional mosques, but none that can compare with
this remarkable structure with its storied contributions to the life and
culture of the Mappila community.
Our final example of the old-style mosque is the large Mishkal
Palli in Kuttichira, Calicut, which Mammu Koya describes as “the
finest and most famous mosque in Kerala history.”5 The mosque was
endowed by an Arab shipowner whose name it bears. It is elaborately

constructed with four major stories and three smaller ones, rising
in ziggurat style to a great height. Each story has a veranda with
a sloping tiled roof. Upper level verandas are protected by lattice
enclosures. The final pitched roof is surmounted by three decorative
turrets. The ground floor has a walled-in veranda that serves as a
passageway. The finest timber was used for the building’s 24 pillars
and 47 doors, while the inner courtyard was floored with Italian tiles.
The mosque was damaged in 1510 by Portuguese attacks but was later
rebuilt using materials from the abandoned Chaliyam fort. In 1678 it
suffered a fire but was once again reconstructed and maintains that
form, holding 1,300 people for prayer.
Whatever their origins and whatever Mappilas today may think
of these great traditional masjids, they not only became a distinctive
architectural form but they also provided effective religious services
for centuries. However, now we must consider the recent rather star-
tling change.
The New Architectural Wave
The rapid change in mosque architecture that has taken place in the
past thirty years is a surprising one and requires explanation. For
centuries Mappilas had been content with their traditional mosques.
They liked them, and saw no serious problem. In recent times, how-
ever, dissatisfaction set in, the rising feeling being that the Arabian
and Indo-Persian mosque styles were somehow more Islamically
appropriate. The feeling developed along with the growing Mappila
awareness of the wider Muslim world. It also reflected the efforts of
Mappila reformers to “purify” Sunni religious practices from what
were viewed as un-Islamic phenomena. The thought was: Why should
our mosques resemble the worship places of other religious com-
munities? C. N. Ahmed Moulavi once gave the writer this critical
explanation of the appearance of the Feroke juma mosque—its facade
reflected Syrian–Christian influence because the local committee had
used Christian masons and carpenters. Moreover, there was no doubt
that many of the old mosques needed major repairs and up-dating to
make them more convenient. If funds are available, why not change
our approach to reflect the wider Muslim pattern? Why not rebuild?
The dissatisfaction expressed itself in a flurry of new mosque con-
struction in what was deemed to be the classical Islamic style, using
domes and minarets. It has been architecturally facilitated by the use
of reinforced concrete construction technology, and it has been finan-
cially enabled by munificent gifts from Saudi Arabia and the Gulf
States. The Mappila Architectural Now has almost eliminated the

Architectural Then, giving the entire environment a new appearance.
The basic style of mosque architecture may have changed, but
varieties continue. The mosques are democratically run by local com-
mittees who have their own opinions. Moreover, they are constrained
by the size of existing sites and by financial limitations. We may go
to Kannur District for a demonstration of that variety. The large new
juma mosque in the city of Tellicherry is virtually indistinguishable
from Middle Eastern counterparts. But travel outside Kannur to
Muttam and there is a different appearance. The new Rahmaniyya
Complex that rises from an open plateau, in addition to the new
mosque, includes a secondary Madrasa, an upper primary school,
a high school, and an English-medium lower school. The mosque
expresses functional simplicity—it is a long two-story rectangular
structure made of cinder blocks, with a flat roof and a facade that
supports two minarets, and it is fronted by a semicircular enclosure
that extends outward and has white and green” filigree decoration.
Thus, with varieties of design ranging from the grand to the
basic, costly new mosques are appearing everywhere, and there is
more than a hint of community competition. Some Muslim voices
are being raised in protest. “There are too many mosques . . . It is a
waste.”6 The end of the process, however, is not in sight.
The Hybrid Development
Where there are insufficient funds to build new mosques or where

there is loyalty to an old structure, various hybrid buildings have
emerged. Elements of the new architectural approach are combined
with existing mosques. The attempt to blend two quite different
styles often produces odd results! The Vadakemanna Mosque in
Mālappuram District is an example of an attractive composite struc-
ture that was made possible by both charitable gifts and the expertise
of a builder. The mosque is a rectangular building set in a grove of
trees, its size being 60 by 22 meters. The foundation and walls of the
traditional structure now support a new flat, reinforced-concrete roof
on which a small dome and minarets have been placed. A veranda
surrounds the building on three sides. Important improvements have
been made in lighting, water supply, and sanitation.
The mosque has two stories: the first for prayer, the second for
education. The entry to the ground floor passes by an attached room
that holds two tanks with running water for the required ablutions.
Visitors enter from the side veranda that gives access to the prayer
hall itself. That is a traditional open space, the ceiling being supported
by six pillars; the space is of sufficient size for 24 lines of worshippers,
with 13 in a line. The simple pulpit is mounted by three steps. In the
right and left corners of the wall facing Mecca there are doors to two
small rooms, one serving as an office and the other as a rest room for
the imam. The interior floor is cement covered by carpets, while the
veranda floors are marble. The cream-colored walls combine with the
green trim of the dome and the four short minarets to give a pleas-
ing appearance. The second story houses the dars activities. Near the
mosque stands a traditional auxiliary building used for the elemen-
tary madrasa. The expenses for the operation and maintenance of the
whole establishment are covered by the income of a local trust, by
member contributions, and by zakāt gifts. Supporting members form
committees to manage the program and needed building repairs.7
The number of hybrid mosques exceeds that of new structures,
and the development has turned the once unified image of Mappila
mosque architecture into a motley mosaic.
Mosque Types and Numbers
Mappila mosques differ in function as well as in style and age. There

are three major types. The first and most important category is the
juma palli or jamaat mosque, that is, “the mosque of assembly.” It is
the regional center for the Friday congregational service (khutba), and
it usually also maintains a higher madrasa or dars school. The second
type is a smaller building that meets local needs by providing prayer
facilities, a site for funerals, a venue for other occasional assemblies,
and usually an elementary Qurʾān school. The third mosque form is a
diminutive roadside building called niskāra palli, or “place of prayer”;
it is only a convenience for the performance of the salāt prayer. There
are also a few special shrine mosques dedicated to saints. These tend
to be large, old structures that house the tomb of the saint, and some-
times those of his family, and make provision for devotional activi-
ties. Finally, it should be noted that certain theological parties may
maintain their own distinct and exclusive worship facilities.
The varieties of mosques and the shifting district boundaries
make it difficult to discover the exact number of Mappila mosques. In
1988 P. K. Muhammad Kunju listed by name a total of 2,400 mosques,
almost all of them appearing to be juma mosques, implying about
2,772 Muslims per juma mosque. He does not claim to have located
all of the lesser mosques and prayer rooms.8 About the same time C.
K. Kareem conducted a meticulous count of mosques in Mālappuram
District alone, reporting that there were 546 juma mosques and 1,027
ordinary mosques.9 These figures yield a ratio of one juma mosque
for every 2,573 Muslims and a mosque of some kind for every 893
Muslims. In the light of the current Muslim population10 and con-
sidering the upsurge in mosque construction, we may estimate the
number of Muslim worship facilities of all types to be no fewer than
8,600, while the number of juma mosques may have risen to 3000.
Whatever the exact count, their great abundance underlines the ele-
ment of “Godwardness” at the core of Mappila culture.
We conclude the discussion of mosque architecture with a note
on the cultural implication of the stylistic change. Does it signify a
retreat from the community’s adaptive approach to Malayalam culture
in favor of a tilt toward Middle Eastern culture? Or, more seriously,
does the acceptance of funds with implied conditions mean yielding
to a form of cultural imposition? Most Mappila leaders would not
view the matter this way, but would prefer to describe the artistic
change as a cultural rebalancing combined with a functional improve-
ment of facilities that new funding made possible. At the same time,
however, community leaders have heard the wakeup call. Cultural
change does not necessarily mean the obliteration of a society’s trea-
sured heritage, and efforts are now underway to preserve the most
important remaining architectural symbols of the past.
Embellished Homes
Abdulla and Amina are riding a bus from their town to the near-
by city. They are going to attend a family wedding. The bus races
along the narrow roads barely missing other vehicles and pedestrians.
Abdulla and Amina are impervious to that drama. They are used to
it. Instead they are looking at the large mansions they are passing.
Abdulla has seen them before, but Amina has not and she is agog.
They are houses built by Gulf returnees, and they rise enormously
from the paddy fields. Amina cannot help but compare them with her
own traditional house which she likes very much. In any event, for
them there is no choice—they have no family members in the Gulf
and must be content with what they have.
We have described the typical Mappila habitations which reflect
Malayalam house architecture. Mappila culture today follows the same
path, but a notable architectural development came after the 1960s
when newly enriched Mappilas returned from the Gulf. They were
inspired by a new dream of how homes should really be built if a

family has the needed economic capacity. It was a vision of a splendid
new modernity, and they began to spend their hard-earned gains on the
showy construction of large two- or three-story square homes with spa-
cious rooms and high ceilings, using expensive woods and marble chip
materials. Despite their unabashed ostentation many of the new houses
are architecturally interesting, often attempting to blend “Travancore”
styling with a modern appearance. The baroque houses have become
a community art form as unusual as unexpected. Since their owners
are heavily dependent on foreign funds for the house maintenance as
well as construction costs, the future prospect for this style is dubi-
ous. Moreover, the use of scarce funds for palatial buildings contrasts
with the tradition of Mappila frugality and has drawn sharp criticism
from some community leaders who argue that the funds could be more
wisely spent to ensure the family’s future economic prosperity. Nev-
ertheless, the very existence of these stately homes raises community
expectations, and larger homes are now also being built by wealthier
members of the community who never traveled abroad.
The contents of the new homes reflect the modernization dream.
In regard to home furnishings Mappilas have shared the Malayali
preference for simplicity, but the new homes display the rising interest
in consumer goods. The living room will have a low table surrounded
by three or four settees, befitting its function as the place for entertain-
ing guests. Walls may bear a calligraphic inscription, a depiction of
the Kaʿba, photos of family members, diplomas, and calendars. The
dining room may contain a veneer table with several chairs, while
the kitchen is full of modern cooking utensils and electrical devices.
Small refrigerators and washers are common, and the bathrooms are
thoroughly modernized. In interior rooms there will be television sets
and/or electronic apparatus. The new wealth that makes this pos-
sible has not resulted in the advancement of the fine arts, except in
jewelry. Home decoration is limited, and there is little evidence of
any movement into the realms of painting and sculpture—or even
ceramics—with fine wood-working, especially on staircases, provid-
ing the main artistic product of the new prosperity.
Some days have passed and Abdulla and Amina are returning
home on the same bus route. This time Amina does not show much
interest in the big houses. For her it is another world. That is true
also for Abdulla, but he knows that world is drawing nearer. As they
pass by he wonders whether he could somehow provide a new table
and chairs for his family.
The Material Arts
Mappila culture is not distinguished by its productivity in the field

of the material arts. The lack of high achievement is striking and is
matched by the relatively low level of community interest.
The cause for this deficiency cannot be laid at the door of either
the Islamic or the Malayalam forming culture stream since each has
a strong artistic heritage. The traditional Islamic material arts include
ceramics, calligraphy and illustrated manuscripts, painting, metal
work including scientific instruments, carpets and decorated textiles,
lamps, and carvings. In addition to writing and geometric patterns,
the decorative elements used in these arts include floral and vegetal
themes and even—in some regions—bird, animal, and human figures.
The Malayalam artistic tradition in turn produced many art
forms in addition to sculpture and painting. Traditional crafts and
metal work including brass and bell metal; gem, ivory and bone
carving; bamboo, rattan, cane, reed, grass, and straw work; palm-leaf
and shell artistry; pottery and lacquer work; textile printing; lace and
embroidery; silver and gold ware; and wood carving, ranging from
small objects to ornate carved doors and lintels. As one authority sug-
gests, the Malayalam motifs and designs take their main inspiration
and raw materials from nature:11
The ivory of the elephants, the wood from the bountiful

forests, the horn of the wild life, the coconut shell and fibre
from the world’s most wonderful tree, metals from its good
earth, bamboo and screw-pine, rattan and cane from the
flora of the woods and coast, and the conch-shell from the
ocean supply the materials for some of its unique crafts.
The blending of two such flourishing artistic traditions would ordinar-

ily result in a rich growth of the material arts, but this did not take
place in Mappila culture. The reasons are theological, practical, and
psychological. There are two interrelated theological factors—the fear
of figural representation, and the orientation to the Word. To early
Arab Muslims there were two serious difficulties with figural art like
painting and sculpture. First, it seemed as though the artist might be
trying to compete with God the Creator, Who alone shapes things out
of nothing (Qurʾān 59:24). Second, the activity seemed too close to
the pre-Islamic practice of making idols. Islamic culture generally took
a different road when it became rooted in Persian soil. The painting
of figures became quite common in Persian Muslim art. As we have
seen, it was this culture that was transplanted to Northern India and
the Mughul miniature painting that developed there is justly famous.

The same artistic transition did not take place in southwest India.
Painting, both Hindu and Christian, maintained a deeply religious
quality centering on sacred images, while sculpture generated sacred
forms. Mappilas were naturally hesitant and did not find the art forms
congenial.
The second and related theological factor is the Muslim emphasis
on the recited and written Word. The first declaration of the Qurʾān
declares: “Thy Lord is the Most Generous, who taught by the Pen”
(96:4; Arberry). From the beginning of Muslim history the Word and
Pen reigned, and hence calligraphy became the primary and cherished
Islamic art form. Calligraphers raised that art to high levels of achieve-
ment and held positions of great eminence. In that context, painters
had little room to move.
We may also point to two practical factors that hindered the
development of the material arts in Mappila culture. The first is the
economic factor, that is, the absence of community-based funding
and sponsorship for the material arts. In many places elsewhere in
the Muslim world where the Islamic arts flourished there were rul-
ers or wealthy patrons who encouraged and endowed artistic efforts,
sometimes out of personal interest and sometimes to enhance their
fame. This situation never existed among the Mappilas. There was no
wealthy patronage or court-sponsored cultivation of the arts. Except
for the isolated case of the Ali Raja of Kannur, Mappilas did not
have their own native rulers. As for the well-to-do businessmen, they
were few and far between, and these were known for their liberality
toward mosque construction and furnishings rather than for artistic
patronage. When deemed necessary they imported art materials and
did not attempt to develop native talent.
A second practical element inhibiting Mappila artistic develop-
ment is the fact that the traditional Malayalam crafts were generally
outside the purview of Muslim artisans. The craft guilds in Malayalam
culture tended to take the form of hereditary Hindu castes. Within that
status, parents pass on their skills to their children. Pottery, for example,
is the full-time occupation of the Kushuwar caste. Hence, the ceramic
arts so notable in wider Muslim culture could not easily develop among
the Mappilas. The metallic arts provide another example. The main
focus of the metal artisans was the production of lamps for temple
and household worship. From basket weaving to carving the material
arts were associated with traditional caste functions. When members
of such castes became part of the Mappila community through conver-
sion, they naturally brought their skills with them, but that impact is
not very visible except in masonry and carpentry.
Finally, two psychological factors affected Mappila involvement

in the material arts. The first is their pragmatism. Mappila history
made the community practical rather than philosophic or artistic. Map-
pilas became doers and kept busy at life’s tasks. If time was left over,
conversation was the preferred form of relaxation. That is still the case.
A visit to the beach of the port city of Calicut on any weekday evening
will serve to confirm the point. The promenade is jammed. People of
all ages, male and female, young and old, many with families, stroll
contentedly and observe the splendid sunset. Few photograph it, and
painters cannot be seen. The precious hour of relaxation is not given
over to artistic creation. The pragmatic reality helps to account for the
fact that there are no Mappila museums of note.
The second psychological factor is simple disinterest. The Map-
pila community has not been and currently is not very attentive
to the material arts. The aloofness is underlined by the absence of
indigenous Mappila calligraphy despite the fact that the latter is the
supreme Muslim art form. In the sphere of Arabic calligraphy, Mappi-
las faced no craft guild competition, and it is a relatively inexpensive
art. Therefore, it is both remarkable and revealing that Mappilas did
not produce calligraphy in contrast to using it. The calligraphy in use
is imported or reproduced by local presses, and only recently have
Mappilas attempted to start schools of calligraphy.
The existing material arts among Mappilas tend to be functional
ones.12 They include products of the coir industry. Coir is coconut fiber
from which a variety of mats are made in addition to rope. Various
leather goods, including decorated women’s shoes, are designed and
produced. In North Malabar embroidered male hats are still made.
Heavily engraved silver belts and intricate gold jewelry for women
are fashioned. In the mosques brass hanging lamps, floor lamps,
inscribed brass plates, and old decorative boxes may be seen, but it is
arguable to what extent they were locally crafted. There is a great deal
of interest in marble chip flooring with beautiful shades and patterns,
so much so that it has come to be a contemporary Mappila art form.
Developments are taking place in Mappila culture that portend
a possible change in the Mappila approach to the material arts. The
influence of commerce and the visual media is producing the change.
Commercial activity depends on figural representation in advertis-
ing, with the roadside billboard serving as its grassroots medium.
All along the main roads Mappila male and female figures are now
seen in advertisements promoting everything from jewelry to bath-
room hardware. Although a billboard is occasionally vandalized, that
response is becoming rarer. As to the visual media, the advance of
cinema and television represents a powerful influence. The Malay-

alam film industry involves many Muslims, including prominent
actors, such as Mamooty, and several prominent directors. Mappi-
las routinely watch TV, and through that medium they are normally
exposed to many different forms of figural art. Old fears are being
allayed, and it may be only a matter of time before the community’s
interest embraces a wider range of material arts; but in the end that
may depend on a further movement of the spirit that matches its
applauded revolution of the mind.
Mappila Music: Songs, Instruments, and Dance
The double founding streams in Mappila culture afforded Mappilas a

rich source of musical expression. In contrast with their early archi-
tectural approach, however, in the area of music they tilted to the
Islamic stream. Malayalis love to listen to music and watch trained
dancers. Their classical culture is rich in both music and dance. In
the southern region of Kerala a musical peak was reached during the
rule (1829–1847) of Swati Tirumal, who not only produced many com-
positions of his own but also generously patronized other musicians.
He even attracted Muslim prodigies like Imam Fakir of Lahore and
Pir Muhammad of Trichinopoly to his Trivandrum court.13 Similarly
dance-drama in its various styles14 became a developed art in Kerala.
While many Mappilas can and do appreciate the technical quality of
these classical arts, they did not adopt them because of their religious
associations. Folk dancing such as kaikottukali—women circling with
handclapping and chanting—and folk ballads, on the other hand, were
more ecumenical and Mappilas were friendly to their style. Especially
the ballads that memorialized local heroes became part of the Map-
pila tradition,15 but the Mappila preference for the Islamic tradition is
visible in both their song themes and their musical instruments. We
begin with the songs that constitute the Mappila’s most democratic
and most emotive artistic expression.
The Mappila Songs
The Mappila community is extremely proud of their song heritage.

Covering a range of subject material from the tragic to the roman-
tic, their singing produces a deep emotional response in listeners.
The songs are regarded as the distinctive Mappila contribution to
Kerala’s music and literature. Their place in Malayalam literature will
be c onsidered in the next chapter, while here we take up the various

types of songs and themes.
The traditional Mappila songs are in both Arabic–Malayalam
and Malayalam, but the former are in the majority. This restricts the
number of actual singers. In practice they are the musical expression
of Mappila women, although males too have a tradition of non-instru-
mental singing (bayt). With powerful memories Mappila women learn
the songs at home and pass them on to their daughters. They usually
sing the songs in groups in a rhythmic chant, at public performances
such as marriage festivals, mawlūds, and other occasions. The songs
may be roughly divided into three categories:
1. Songs of praise and prayer; that is, garlands for the

saints.
2. Song-stories, that is, biographical and narrative ballads.
3. Miscellaneous songs, that is, wedding airs, teaching
refrains, and modern lyrics.
The common Malayalam term for a song or ballad is pāttu, but the
several categories also have their own specific designations. The term
māla (garland) pāttu is applied to poems dedicated to great saints. A
second term, khissa, applies to a song-story. Qissa is the modern Arabic
term for novel but in earlier times it was used for historical narratives,
particularly religious epics. The term was adopted by Mappilas and is
used especially for a religious narrative, a romantic tale, or a martial
saga. While the mālas are relatively short, the khissa pāttukul may be
quite lengthy. The subcategory of war songs is sometimes referred
to as pata pāttu, while the songs in the miscellaneous category go by
a variety of names. The wedding songs, for example, are called the
kalyāna pāttu. More important than the names is the content of the
songs, and we begin that examination with the mālas.
Garlands for Saints and Prayers for Their Help
One māla stands out among the many, not only because it is the old-
est composition but also because it is a pattern for other saint-songs.
It is named the Moideen Māla and will be used as our illustration for
the first category of Mappila songs.
The Moideen Māla memorializes ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jīlanī (1077–
1166) who has been called “probably the most popular saint in the
Islamic world.”16 We have briefly introduced him earlier. He came
from the Caspian Sea region to Bhagdad where he became a well-

known preacher. Given the titles Gauth, “Helper,” and Muhyī al-Dīn,
“The Reviver of Religion,” he was noted for both his sober piety and
for his mystical nearness to God. The following passage by al-Jīlanī
reveals both aspects of his spirituality:17
Be with God, the Mighty, the Glorious, as if no creation

exists. And be with creation as if there is no self in you.
And when you are with God, the Mighty, the Glorious,
without the creation, you will get Him and vanish from
every other thing; and when you are with the creation
without yourself, you will do justice and help the path of
virtue and remain safe from the hardships of life.
The Moideen Māla, however, goes far beyond this orthodox mysticism.
It has acquired a special sanctity among Mappilas. In the past know-
ing it was even cited as a desirable qualification for a bride!
The song begins with preliminary information about the compo-
sition of the poem itself, following which come a series of praises for
God. After this preface the main portion of the work then deals with
the life of the saint, starting with his early years but rapidly moving
to his later exploits. This is the central theme. After the theme, the
song-story adds an appeal for forgiveness on the basis of the merits
and intercession of the saint, and then it concludes with a general
prayer. The pleas in the māla illuminate the vehemence with which
theological reformers have criticized the genre. There is extreme adu-
lation, even allowing for poetic exaggeration. V. Kunyali’s welcome
rendition of the Moideen Māla brings to light the approach:18
After dating his work the anonymous author says:
“. . . I prepared this mala in 155 lines,

Like pearls and rubies strung together
I tied this garland, Oh people.”
Then the writer romantically announces that the saint has the sea of
the shariʿa, legal knowledge, on his right, and on his left the sea of
haqīqa, esoteric truth. His authority is bounded by the sky above and
the earth below. The sheikh then speaks for himself. In words that the
poet puts in his mouth the saint claims supreme standing:
I am the sea without bounds . . .
I am the Shaykh above them all . . .
All the Auliyas and Qutubs are children of my house.
He clearly declares his function of mediating with God on behalf of

believers:
I am the intercessor to those who are from any land.

I shall reply before he closes his mouth . . .
The poet takes him at his word and calls for his help in words that
poignantly express Muslim fear and trembling before the Day of Judg-
ment. He asks God to place him under the safe-keeping of the saint:
The days when I live on this earth

Place me under the protection of leader
Muhiyi ad-Din, Oh Allah!
The time when Azrail [angel of death] takes my soul
Place me under the protection of the strong
Muhiyi ad-Din, Oh Allah!
The day when I go to the Qabar [grave] frightened
Place me under the protection of renowned
Muhyi ad-Din, O Allah!
The day when seven hells rage
Place me under the protection of noble
Muhyi al-Din, O Allah!
The day when weighed and accounts are verified
Place me under the protection of leader
Muhiyiadin, Oh Allah! . . .
The day when the ten feet long Sirat [narrow bridge to
heaven]
is to be crossed
Place me under the protection of your slave
Muhiyiadin, Oh Allah! . . .
The “garland” closes with praise for Muhammad, an appeal for his
intercession, another plea for personal forgiveness, and a prayer for
blessings upon the Prophet.
Romantic and Heroic Songs
The heroic Mappila songs extol the lives of the prophets including
Abraham (Ibrahīm), Lot (Lūt), Joseph (Yusuf), and others. They also
sing of the virtues of the early companions of the Prophet Muham-
mad such as ʿAbu Bekr, ʿUmar, and ʿAlī. The songs also include other
figures important in Mappila history such as Malik ibn Dinar. It is
a small jump from these song-narratives to the exploits of Mappila

heroes in the community’s later history.
The heroic songs quite naturally gravitate into war songs. So the
early battles of Badr and Uhud are celebrated in songs bearing those
titles, reminding Mappilas of God’s vindication of His people in early
Islamic history. Even Hunayn and Khaybar are so remembered.19 That
emotion is then carried forward into the song-celebration of the Map-
pila struggles against their oppressors in later history. Such ballads of
warrior saints bravely opposing the enemy bridged the category of
khissa pāttukul and mālas. Extolling the sacrifice of the martyrs, these
song-stories became saint-malas in their own right, making present
the characteristics of valiant faith and a martyr spirit, elements of
special relevance in Mappila life between 1498 and 1921.
The songs are filled with both hyperbole and pathos as they
acclaim gallant struggles against impossible odds. The Cherur ballad
is an example. It arose from an incident that occurred October 19,
1843, in South Malabar. Seven Mappilas accused of slaying the admin-
istrative officer (adhikari) of Tirurangadi were besieged in a Nayar
house by a British detachment. After stalwart resistance they were
killed. The Cherur song extols their stand and ends with these words:
The seven died as martyrs, and houris of Paradise com-

forted them, and their bodies remained where they fell in
a place pleasant for them. . . . May God give courage to
all Musulman to remove disgrace from their religion, and
let all persons pray that in similar cases the martyrs may
be admitted to Paradise.20
The romantic songs represent a change in mood. They are

essentially fairy-tales in song with a happy ending. A very popular
example is the Badrul Munir–Husnul Jamal by Moyinkutty Vaidyar
(1851–1891), whom we shall meet again in the next chapter. It appears
to be an adaptation of a Persian folk tale and bears an “Arabian
Nights” flavor.21
The story line of the song is set in Ajmer. Mas Amir, minister of
king Mahasil, has a son, Badr ul-Munir, while the king has a daughter,
Husan ul-Jamal. They grew up together and fell in love. When people
began to whisper, they were forbidden to see each other. They met
secretly and planned to elope, using funds from the sale of her orna-
ments. A fisherman overheard them and warned the minister, who
detained his son. The fisherman then disguised himself and met the
girl at midnight. She discovered the deception later and wept bitterly,
but the fisherman persuaded her that it had all been an accident. She
allowed him use some of Badr ul-Munir’s clothes when they reached
a distant kingdom.
There the deceiver adopted another tactic. He persuaded the
local people to believe that he was Abu Sayyid, a famous dealer in
precious stones, and the local king gave them a house. Throughout
the ordeal Husan ul-Jamal remained faithful to Badru ul-Munir and
was continuously disconsolate. The local king was so pleased with
Abu Sayyid that he also offered to give his own daughter to him in
marriage. He accepted, parting from Husnul Jamal. When the king
heard of the latter’s beauty he desired her. He first sent an old woman,
then soldiers, to bring her to him, but she refused. “She prayed to
God, resolving to die rather than to fall into the hands of the king.”
Then the ruler of the jinn, Shihah, saw her distress and his son, the
giant Mustaq, carried her off.
The song now turns to Badr ul-Munir. He fled home and roamed
for six months, finally meeting up with a Fairy Queen, Kamarba. She
took him to her crystal palace where she shut him up for more than
two years. One day she took him on a flight and, becoming tired,
rested under a tree. At the same time Sufayirath, daugher of the ruler
of the jinn, was also on a flight. She saw Badr ul-Munir sleeping and
“in the twinkling of an eye” put him in a palace. There she informed
him that because she feared her brother Mustaq she would only visit
him at night. This she did for seven years, at which time he finally
rebelled at his confinement and was allowed to take chariot rides. On
one of his rides another princess saw him but later, unable to find
him, she went to Mustaq for help. Mustaq asked his maid-servants if
they had any information about Badr ul-Munir and was informed that
his own sister had him in her custody. Sufayirath was compelled to
produce him. Mustaq asked Badr ul-Munir to tell his story. When he
told it, Mustaq remembered Husnul Jamal who was still in his care,
and suspected the truth.
The jinn costumed Badrul Munir and Husnul Jamal as for a
wedding, and gave them cots in a dark room where they slept. They
woke up in the morning and, recognizing each other, embraced and
wept. Ten years had passed. The jinn then took them home on his
Air Chariot on a night flight. They created a golden palace in front of
King Mahasil’s residence, and there installed the loving pair. When he
woke up to the sight, the king was very glad, arranged their wedding,
and abdicated in their favor. The song ends with the report that they
lived happily ever after. The ending must have given consolation to
Mappilas as they walked down the blind alleys of their dreary exis-
tence in the nineteenth century.
A Medley of Songs: Wedding, Instructional, Modern
Like a delta spreading out, the Mappila songs broadened to include

a diverse range of subjects. All-important in Mappila affection are
the wedding songs.
The Wedding Songs. Wedding songs routinely accompany Mappila

wedding ceremonies.
A mailanchipāttu is sung the night before the wedding at the house
party, while the oppana is chanted during the wedding with the bride
centered within a circle of younger women. A typical song starts out
with the marriage proposal and, in as many as twenty sections, it takes
the listeners through every stage of the marriage process, finally clos-
ing with the warning of the grave that lies at the end of the road, an
incentive for the married couple “to live and die in holy Islam.”22
Amina has returned from her visit to a nearby city where she
participated in a marriage function. Some of her friends are now vis-
iting her in her home. With much pleasure Amina is telling them of
the songs they sang. One of the oppana songs was “Aminabeevi.” It
began with the wedding arrangement:
Aminabeevi, daughter of the renowned Ali Muhammad,

experienced blessing and grew up in prosperous comfort.
She became a beautiful, eligible young woman, adorned
in fine garments and jewelry. Young men greatly desired
marriage with her. She had beautiful hair and a gleaming
smile. Bangles jingled on her decorated hands. Everyone
loved Aminabeevi.
Abdul Kareem was the handsome son of the celebrated
Pokutty Moopen. He had no deficiencies. Arrangements were
made to give Aminabeevi in marriage to Abdul Kareem.
Amina’s visitors are spellbound. They know the story, but to them it
is always new. They listen closely now as the song goes on to tell of
the auspicious wedding day:
The wedding of Aminabeevi with Abdulkareem was fixed.

The auspicious day arrives. Friends had come, bringing
their congratulations. Relatives, neighbors and children had
arrived. All ate a lovely meal.
The bridegroom has seen a dream, and is walking.
The bride blushes and stands. The women clap their hands
and sing.
At this point Amina’s guests begin clapping their hands. They know
what comes next, the kaikotti chant, followed by the concluding
verse:
The full moon falls upon and blesses Aminabeevi. It is a

moment of waiting for the desirous couple. The scent of rose
essence spreads. Amina and Kareem are beauties indeed.
May God give them health and a long life!
Amina’s guests return to their homes. Their day has been brightened,
and their steps are lighter.
When God blesses the marriage union with a child the Nafeesa
Māla comes into play. It is sung by pregnant women and their friends
when their time is full in the interest of assuring an early and safe
delivery. Nafeesa is believed to be descended from Fatima, the Proph-
et’s daughter, and the song celebrates her miraculous powers and
wonderful deeds. As one of her miracles, through powerful prayer,
she delivered a suffering person from a miserable fate in an Aden
prison.23 The popular māla is also sung at nērchas. Nafeesa’s own name
is included in the closing prayer that invokes the blessing of God on
the Prophet Muhammad and his family.
Instructional Songs. Songs are an ordinary medium for teaching

doctrine and morals. The method may not have begun with Kunyain
Musaliar (b. ca. 1700), but his are the first-known songs of this type.
He wrote his Nūr Māla in 1738, a “devotional piece” that conveys
admiration for the Prophet. Reflecting his time period, the author used
a mixture of Tamil and Mālayalam.24 It is his later work, Kappal-Pāttu
or Kappa-Pāttu, that is his singular contribution. “The Boat Song” com-
pares a human body to a ship, each of the major parts of the body
corresponding to some section of the ship. It then goes on to com-
pare the progress of life to a ship’s journey. As a ship faces dangers
from rocks and shoals, so a human body faces problems and Satanic
temptations on one’s spiritual journey, and he or she must be alert
to reach the shore safely.
In the contemporary period lyrics for instructional purposes are
a lively addition to the body of Mappila songs. An example is the Hajj
Yātra, “Journey to the Hajj,” by Weerankutty Maulavi. It features an
antiphonal conversation between two maulavis who have gone on the
pilgrimage and they now spell out its blessings. Another theological
ballad sings about the unity of God that reformers believe has been
compromised in popular Mappila religion. In “The Bell of Tawhīd”
Hasan Nediyadu voices this sentiment:25
Allah, The only One who pardons sins

Allah, the only One where truth begins
. . . The universal Lord to be adored
Yet many are there whom we have implored
The good and evil You made clear
A pious pattern to revere
And new theories to fear
Yet errors we hold dear.
On the same theme, a marching song by an anonymous singer

exhorts:26
Struggle, brothers and mujahids so brave,

It is true religion we go forth to save.
La ilāha illa lahu, la ilāha illallā . . .
Come, companions, to the path of truth proceed
We are going to a radical struggle for tawhīd.
Earlier we reported how a Mappila physician used teaching songs to

promote family planning in South Mālabar. A health song declares:
It is gold to prevent disease,

a path that science will show;
A gold that gives a life to please,
a vision that nature will bestow.
The songwriter, Kallayi Abu Bekr, gives his view: “Thus, by spread-
ing the seeds of health, our land will become a vale of goodness and
beauty . . . Let it become such a crowded heavenly place!”27
Modern Songs. With the teaching songs we have already entered

the new world of contemporary Mappila music and song. Mappila
music is adapting rapidly to modern forms even as the community
holds on to and cherishes the songs of the past. Mappilas are just
as engrossed with cinematic music as are other Malayalis, and the
culture “is slowly transforming itself to the tunes of the next genera-
tion.”28 The development is especially evident in the increase of the
new commercial albums directed especially to Gulf listeners tuned
to Malayalam-language stations. The music is a synthetic product,
combining the old genre with new tunes connected with films. Many
lovers of the old Mappila pāṭukkuḷ are less than excited about what
is happening. As a singer, Ramesh Ponoor, puts it: “The developed
style sounds like light music.”29
It is unquestionably lighter, yet the new songs appeal to Map-

pilas. Gone are the stirring battle themes of the past, the paeans to
saints, the long epics. Replacing them are romantic songs—“Where is
My Beloved?”—and songs that express the social problems of contem-
porary life. One of them is the problem of family separation, which
has resulted from Gulf employment, and “The Dubai Pāttu” and “The
Tears of Kuwait” sing of that difficulty. The issue of poverty is never
ending. In “There Is No Sweetness in Your Tea” the singer laments
that dear Ayesha’s tea is not sweet enough. Ayesha pertly replies that
there is no tea powder, sugar, or milk available.30 And so the songs go
on, in new forms, both Malayalam and Arabic–Malayalam. With the
number of Mappilas able to utilize Arabic-Malayalam fast decreasing
it is the modern Malayalam songs that will be the future outlet for
musical expression. Yet some Mappila women have now begun to
sing their old songs on the Internet.
Musical Instruments
A broad array of Malayalam instruments are available to Mappila

music, but it is the Arab stream of influence that is most visible. The
tambourine or duff31 is basic to most Mappila musical and dance per-
formances. The instrument is made of skin that is usually stretched
over a round frame with jingling attachments. In the duff-kali (tam-
bourine dance) the participants face each other singing songs while
their hands strike the instrument and bodies sway in a slow restrained
dance form. The tabula (Ar. tabla) is a small cylindrical drum that has
skin stretched over both ends, and is played like the duff with strong
rhythms. The most widespread Islamic instruments, the various lutes
and pipes, did not make their way into Mappila music, either from
Arabia or from North India. However, kettle drums appeared, and a
very large drum is often used in nērcha parades.
Mappila Dance
Mappila dance does not reflect the Hindu tradition of single danc-
ers communicating a story, usually a religious narrative. Rather it
involves a group of people combining in dance-drama performances
that are sometimes very athletic. The prime example is kōlkali, a stick
dance, which represents a unique Mappila development. Male danc-
ers, ten or twelve, carry one-foot-long round wooden sticks. In the
course of the dance they weave amongst each other, simultaneously
singing, precisely striking the sticks both on the forehand and back-
hand, and circling in intricate patterns all within a small space. The
action takes place with ever-increasing speed. The singing is antipho-
nal, one leading, the others repeating the refrain. When the dance has
achieved almost impossible speed it abruptly comes to a halt, the sud-
den silence yielding a profound effect. The kōlkali dancers receive their
training over a period of years from an experienced teacher (kurikkal).
What kōlkali is to male artists, the oppana is to women. We have
reported the content of an oppana song, and the dance accompanies it.
The women may sit in a group around a bride, with swaying bodies
and hand-clapping (kaikotti) as they sing. Or they will rise and dance
around the bride in a complex pattern while singing, often using the
tambourine. Oppana songs and dances may also take place on other
ceremonial occasions in a woman’s life. In a simple variation called
kolāttum, young girls do the singing while seated in a circle; if a similar
performance is done around a lamp it is called vattakali.
Amjad Ali Khan32 makes this perceptive observation about the
role of artistic expression in popular culture:
It is 60 years since India’s Independence, and we have

achieved economically and technologically. However, it is
also true that along with such developments, Indians are
beginning to lose their inherent tenderness. This tenderness,
in the earlier years, was encouraged by an emphasis on
culture, music, dance, art and education. In the absence of
such an emphasis, I believe that our traditions, identities
and values are gradually eroding.
This warning needs to be heard by all cultures today that are attracted
to material advance. In the case of the Mappilas, it is not too strong
to say that it is their songs that have carried the banner of the com-
munity’s artistic expression, and while the type of music is changing,
to the extent that it is encouraged, it is the songs that will continue
to bring sweetness to the Mappila tea.
We turn next to another cultural lamp that has been lit in Map-
pila society, the writings of Mappila novelists in Malayalam.
14
Mappila Literature
Mappila literature illustrates both the becoming and the being of Map-
pila culture. The becoming was in process at the same time as the
Malayalam literary tradition was being shaped, but we see little inter-
action between the two developments. The being of Mappila literature
as we see it today, reveals a lively commonality as well as providing
a vivid picture of Mappila life.
In the first section of this chapter we examine the separate paths
that Malayalam and Mappila literature traveled until
315
modern times. The second section looks at the unfulfilled Map-

pila flirtation with literature utilizing the Arabic language, while
in the third section we take up the hybrid substitute called Arabic-
Malayalam. The development of this limited genre ensured that Map-
pila literature followed a channel separate from the wider Malayalam
form. For generations the two rivers ran side by side, barely touching.
The being of Mappila literature today, however, reveals a star-
tling change. As the Arabic-Malayalam stream dried up Mappilas
joined the Malayalam literary world, drawing on its liveliness and
contributing to its diversity. The profile of Mappila literature today
is much different from what it was two generations ago. It is now a
vibrant Malayalam language-based literary movement led by novel-
ists and dramatists who are exploring the inner dimension of Mappila
culture and are bringing its realities to view. Our final sections take
up that movement.
Malayalam Literature Is Born: Mappilas Remain Aloof
The Mappila attitude toward Malayalam culture until the European

era was a general openness reflected in social adaptations such as
their spoken language, customary practice, and architecture. Even
though Mappila conversational Malayalam became a dialect of its
own with a heavily Arabicized vocabulary, nevertheless the language
was accepted as the community’s spoken medium. Yet the openness
did not extend to the development of a common literary heritage.
As Krishna Chaitanya puts it: “The traditional Muslim literary effort
has remained almost completely isolated until modern times.”1 Why?
What were the factors that were involved in this anomaly?
We may point to three compelling reasons why Mappilas did
not interface with the developing Malayalam literary tradition. The
first is that the latter was sustained by Sanskrit with which the Map-
pilas were unfamiliar. The second is that its content was largely the
Hindu religious epics that did not interest Muslims. And the third is
the late development of Malayalam literature, which came at a time
when the Mappila community was becoming culturally closed as it
contended with the European incursions. Lesser factors that played
a part were the problems associated with the Malayalam script and
the use of palm leaves in writing.
Sanskrit became the early literary language of Kerala, and later
it interacted with Tamil and Malayalam in the development of the
Malayalam literature. Sanskrit came into prominence with the Brah-
Mappila Literature 317
min immigration from the north into southwest India that began
before the advent of Islam. The Brahmins entered a Tamil-dominat-
ed culture that resulted from successive invasions from the east by
Tamil powers. The Pallava, Pandyan, and Chola dynasties in turn
conducted intermittent wars with the Chera kings in central Kerala.
Thereby, Tamil became the court and administrative language of the
area for centuries, overlaying the indigenous Dravidian proto-Malay-
alam speech. When the Cholas finally left in 1120, Sanskrit formally
replaced Tamil in the Malayalam language story, although long before
that Brahmins had begun to assert their linguistic as well as their
religious preeminence. Their control also assured that the basic con-
tent of the literary tradition would be primarily the Hindu Vedas and
Shastras, although some biographical and historical materials were
also produced. The philosopher Sankaracarya (788–820) used Sanskrit
as the medium to put forward his Vedantic thought. Various Kerala
chiefs took pleasure in sponsoring Sanskrit poets. The fact that only
the eldest son in a Brahmin family married meant that other sons
could dedicate their lives to Sanskrit teaching and writing. Thus San-
skrit became the basic literary medium of Malayalam culture, as well
as serving as the mother tongue of Malayali Brahmins.
That conclusion, however, did not include Mappilas! For them
Sanskrit literature was essentially an unknown or hidden tradition.
From 1309 the Zamorin followed the custom of sponsoring an annual
one-week-long festival of learning which drew together scholarly rep-
resentatives from all of the state’s eighteen regions (nāds) to share their
learning and literary achievements.2 It was conducted in Sanskrit, and
only Brahmins were invited. Despite the fact that Calicut was the
center of Mappila influence and the Zamorin was their friend and
supporter, Mappilas were not present at the festival. Sanskrit was
not a language of commerce, which was the primary Mappila inter-
est during this period; and we do not know of the existence of any
Mappila Sanskrit scholar.
When Malayalam itself emerged in full force as a distinct lan-
guage and when it became the vehicle of an independent literature
are two different questions. In regard to spoken Malayalam, time esti-
mates vary greatly, and the true facts may never be known. There is
no doubt, however, that the literary development came surprisingly
late because it first had to pass through some composite forms as
Sanskrit writers sought to hang on to their dominant role—that pro-
cess going on from the twelfth to the seventeenth century. There is
general agreement that the first known literary works having a strong
Malayalam content were the Bhasha Kautilyam, a Shastra commentary
of the twelfth century and Chiraman’s Ramacharitrum, a thirteenth-

century poetic version of the Ramayana.3 There may have been others
whose palm-leaf manuscripts did not survive. But these works were
not the harbingers of a strong Malayalam literary movement since the
region’s literature had to initially experience a hybrid Sanskrit–Malay-
alam stage. Mappilas must have been as remote from that genre as
they had been from the pure Sanskrit writing that preceded it. Its chief
hybrid form was an artificial construct called Misrabhasha (“a mixed
language”) or Mani-Pravalam (“ruby and coral fused”). This was an
awkward blending which kept Sanskrit as the ruling partner. Not only
did the Sanskrit vocables retain their own grammatical structure, but
the same syntax was also required of the Tamil and Malayalam words
that were taken in. As Tamil gradually dropped off, Mani-Pravalam
became the artificial combination of Sanskrit and Malayalam. Its con-
tent was limited to romantic literature, often involving sensual rela-
tionships with temple dancers. There is no doubt that Muslims must
have been remote from this literature. The artificial genre could not
last, and did not. Its life span did not exceed three centuries; it had
to give way to the natural emergence of pure Malayalam literature
as an independent tradition.
The first signs of that emergence came in the 1400s when the
Niranam family in central Kerala initiated the task of translating Hin-
du religious epics into Malayalam, but it gained its chief stimulus
from two great symbols of the Malayalam coming of age—the poets
Cherusseri Sankaran Nambutiri who wrote in the second half of the
1400s and the famed Ezhuthachan who probably lived in the early
1500s. These were dramatic times in Kerala Hinduism as bhakti move-
ments flowed in from the north, bringing religious seriousness that
overcame the moral frivolity of the romantic age. They were also
traumatic years in politico-economic affairs brought on by the Portu-
guese entry. Cherusseri was a seminal figure in the development of
Malayalam literature that took place in this context. In his Krishna-
Gatha he used the vernacular to narrate the Bhagavad Gita’s story in
47 cantos. He still utilized many Sanskrit terms, but now the shoe was
on the other foot, for this time they were blended into Malayalam
grammatical usage. Ezhutachan also continued the use of Sanskrit
terminology but his linguistic base is Malayalam. Said to be of Nayar
extraction he broke the lock that Brahmins had on the literary field.
He is credited with giving Malayalam poetry its classic metrical form
and raising its content level to higher ideals. He solidified his reputa-
tion as the father of Malayalam literature by rendering the Ramayana
and Mahabharata into Malayalam versions that held the field for the
next three centuries.
The Malayalam literary tradition had begun. There were still

problems related to script and writing materials, but they were grad-
ually overcome. The Malayalam script did not arrive on the scene
as a ready-made product. Two old scripts, Vattezhuthu and a court
version called Kozhezhuthu, were in existence, both derived from a
widespread Indian script called Brahmi. At the same time Tamil also
had an old script called Granthi that stemmed from the same Brahmi
source. Not only did the native Malayalam script further develop to
incorporate the full range of the rich Malayalam phonetic structure,
but it also borrowed Granthi symbols to provide for Sanskrit sounds.4
As to the writing material, paper had long been known in China, but
despite the China trade neither paper nor parchment seemed to have
been in general use in Kerala in the pre-European era. The local sub-
stitute was palm leaves (ōlas), which had the disadvantage of being
fragile. For safety they were hung from ceilings, mainly in temples
and royal dwellings but also in wealthy private homes. They were
not intended for wide distribution.5 By the time the Europeans came,
however, the Malayalam script had completed its formative journey,
and with their arrival paper came into common use. The stage was
set, and in the 1600s the Malayalam literary tradition (sāhityum) took
off in various directions.
Where were the Mappilas while this was going on? Were they
involved in any way? In daily life they could see the Brahmin pan-
dits walking the streets, and they knew of their leadership in educa-
tion and scholarship. Some Mappilas must have personally known
Ezhuthachan who was born in Trikandiyur in Ponnani Taluk. More-
over, with the evolution of Malayalam, the Sanskrit linguistic block
must have been reduced. All this moves P. P. Nambutiri to affirm: “It
is improbable that this community made no contribution to Malay-
alam literature.”6 While such a possibility exists, we can see no visible
evidence of Mappila involvement in the fast developing Malayalam
literature. Its content was still very much based on Hindu religious
themes for which Mappilas felt no affinity. More important was the
fact of the Portuguese wars in the 1500s and the foreign intrigues
designed to separate Hindus from Muslims. As their difficulties
increased Mappilas became ever more protective and isolated, resist-
ing outside influences. Their once dynamic relationship with their
social environment was a casualty of the era. The birth of Malayalam
as a literary genre came at just the wrong time to have a creative
impact on the Mappila community. Mappila literary interest, such as
it was, went in another direction.
Arabic Literature and the Mappilas: An Unfulfilled Vision
Even if the conditions that precluded Mappila participation in the

region’s literary development did not exist, they might nevertheless
have remained somewhat aloof because of their preference for Ara-
bic. It was their sacred heritage, and it was the language of the early
Muslim settlers. The development of a significant body of Mappila
literary works in Arabic could therefore be expected, but surprisingly
that did not occur. There are three reasons for this noticeable absence.
The first reason is that Arabic was not the natural language of
Mappilas except at a very early stage. While Arabic had a specific
role as the religious language of the community, that was practically
confined to the mosque and madrasa. There was no everyday Arabian
life-context out of which writers and readers would emerge. The sec-
ond reason is the absence of a strong Arabic literary influence from
the outside that in any way paralleled the Arab commercial impact.
Finally, as it turned out, the development of the Arabic-Malayalam
hybrid “language” pre-empted Mappila attention. The die was cast,
and it was not until current times that Arabic as a literary language
began to receive Mappila recognition and regard, mainly in universi-
ties and colleges.
The lack of a strong Arab literary influence on the Mappilas
becomes more understandable if we step into the Arabian context.
What may be called a “high” literature was not known in pre-Islamic
Arabia where the ballad style prevailed. Nor did it develop quickly
after the advent of Islam. When the Qurʾān appeared, it became the
energizing and defining force in Arabic language and literature; in
Arabian Muslim centers various literary materials began to appear
in its wake, but these early works concentrated on the religious sci-
ences and in particular studies of the Hadīth. Native Arabian poetry
went into decline, and other types of prose were slow in develop-
ing. It was only after the Arab outward movement into other Middle
Eastern societies and the absorption of their peoples and cultures
into Islam—especially in Syria and Persia—that literature of a general
nature began to flourish.7 Very soon thereafter, as Islam moved into
its “Golden Age,” Arabic literature became a monumental achieve-
ment, covering the whole range of human knowledge. This literary
productivity was certainly boosted by the arrival of paper in Bhagdad
by the year 800 CE, but—and this is the significant point for Map-
pila culture—it was not from these areas that Arab immigration came
into Kerala. “Golden Age” literary influences never reached Malabar,
although they touched North Indian Muslim life and culture.

We have introduced the culture of South Arabia from which
Arab immigration came into southwest India. The immigrants came
from a region that had from pre-Islamic times developed strong
indigenous cultures with an Arabic dialect of their own.8 Their
civilization—variously called South Arabian, Sabaean, Himyarite or
Hadrami—reached “a high level of sophistication,”9 and a later South
Arab scholar-poet, Abū Muhammad al-Hamdanī of Sanʿāʾ (d. 945),
who was called “the tongue of South Arabia,” looks back to the
early South Arabian legends with pride and nostalgia.10 After the
Islamicized cultures of central Arabia entered into the South Arabian
cultural sphere, they modified its language and moved its literary
direction into the religious mode. Thereafter, any Arab influence that
would come into the land of the Cheras was destined to be of the
commercial or religious type. At first the commercial environment
must have dominated. The new immigrants into Kerala were not
at all litterateurs but rather traders and business people. Their first
writing interest must have been the equivalent of cargo manifests and
bills of lading! Religious writing came next, and the Arabic literary
materials that did make their appearance among the Mappilas were
theological in nature.11 The earliest reported Arabic work is Qayd al-
Jami (1342) by Faqih Husain of Dharmapattanum in North Malabar, a
discussion of legal regulations pertaining to marriage.12 But the most
widely known Arabic language materials came more than a century
later and were produced by the Zeinuddīn family, the Makhdums of
Ponnani, to meet religious needs.
The Zeinuddīnn Makhdum family whom we have noted earlier
migrated, possibly from Yemen,13 to the southeastern coastal region
of India known to Arab geographers as Maʿbar, and from there they
made their way to Ponnani in South Malabar. Sheikh Zein-ud-Dīn ibn
Shaikh ʿAlī (1467–1521), called the Senior Makhdum, not only raised
the reputation of the Ponnani dars to a high level, but he also wrote
many religious treatises in Arabic, including a work on the practice
of the Prophet Muhammad, Tuhfut-ul-Ahibba; the Irshad-ul-Qasidim,
a summary of al-Ghazālī’s Minaj; and a work on sufism entitled
Murshid-ul-Tullab.14 His grandson was Shaikh Ahmad Zein-ud-Dīn
ibn Shaikh Muhammad al-Ghazālī (d.ca. 1581) who was called “the
Junior Makhdum” and was arguably the most famous member of
this distinguished family. He authored Fathul Muīn, a textbook on the
sharia that is still in use, as well as several other theological works.15
Even better known is his revivalist treatise, Tuhfat al-Mujāhidīn, “An
Offering to Jihad Warriors,” written to encourage Mappilas in their

opposition to the Portuguese.16
The inspiration to produce Arabic literary works, even theologi-
cal ones, could not be maintained in later centuries. Neither writers
nor readers were in strong supply. Conversational Arabic was rein-
forced to a limited degree by commercial contacts and by attendance
at the pilgrimage, but the same could not be said for an Arabic liter-
ary enterprise. Finally, in the twentieth century pressures came from
reformers to deal with Arabic as a living literary language to be stud-
ied with modern methods.
The great Wakkom Maulavi led the struggle in the southern
region, and Arabic began to be offered in Travancore schools in 1916
and in Cochin in 1918. In Malabar the impetus was delayed until the
formation of the unified state of Kerala. Thereafter, leaders like Mau-
lavi Karuvalli Muhammad (b. 1919), Inspector for Muslim Education,
Professor V. Muhammad (d. 2007), and others made their influence
felt. Muslim colleges began to introduce programs leading to degrees
in Arabic Language and Literature. Through these developments a
new foundation has been laid for an Arabic literary stream, but the
results lie in the future. Looking back over the history of the Mappila
Arabic language literature, Karuvalli Muhammad deplores the lack of
progress. He says, “Despite the fact that for hundreds of years Arabic
received encouragement in both the religious and linguistic spheres, I
do not know of any books produced by Kerala scholars.”17 He reflects
the anguish of an unfulfilled vision.
Arabic-Malayalam Literature: A Synthetic Medium
Arabic-Malayalam, sometimes called Arabi-Malayalam, is a synthetic

literary language that uses Arabic script and Malayalam vocables. Its
readers thereby have a lofty sense of reading Arabic, a sound made
sacred by religious associations, and at the same time they understand
what they are reading because the words are actually those of their
mother tongue. It is an artificial construct, but as such it is not unique.
The same process has gone on in other linguistic areas in India, pro-
ducing what are sometimes called “Musalmani” languages such as
Musalmani Bengali, Kannada, Punjabi, Sindhi and Tamil.
The Development of Arabic-Malayalam Literature

The historic beginning of Arabic-Malayalam is unknown. We can be

certain that it is not less than 400 years old for the earliest known
work in the medium, the Moideen Māla by Qadi Muhammad of Cali-
cut, is self-dated at 782 in the Malayalam era or about 1607 CE. An
earlier genesis is probable, alongside the development of Malayalam,
but any dating is speculative. The emotional source rests in the notion
that Malayalam itself is not a worthy vehicle to carry Islamic ideas
because of its association with Hindu religious expression.19 This
notion stimulated the development of an artificial language that sat-
isfied the desires for both literacy and sacredness. The main function
of Arabic-Malayalam literature was to provide a tool for religious
education within the Muslim community and it rarely broadened out
into an active medium for the production of general works.
Contemporary Arabic-Malayalam uses fifty symbols, an increase
from the earlier figure of thirty-five to accommodate the full range of
Malayalam sound. Led by linguistic reformers like Chalilakathu Kun-
yahmed (d. 1919), Chakkiri Moideenkutty (d. 1926), O. Abu (d. 1980)
and others, there has been a continuous effort to improve and sim-
plify the script. The grammar and syntax of the hybrid medium are
Malayalam-based, but the vocabulary is broader and varies according
to the literary form; thus, for example, the song-poems make free use
of Persian, Urdu, and Tamil, as well as Malayalam and Arabic words.
Arabic-Malayalam literary production grew with the advance in litho-
graphic printing. Black-and-while lithography began in the West after
1825, while color and offset lithographic printing started after 1860
and 1870, respectively. The development in India followed soon after.
Today Arabic-Malayalam publications for religious education are pro-
duced in large, cheap editions in several Malabar centres, the main
one being in Tirurangadi, but the publishers face a decreasing market.
Thirty years ago it was estimated that there were at least 1600
Arabic-Malayalam titles in print, distributed through more than 3,000
book stalls, but now the medium is in sharp decline and the number
of major works in circulation is much fewer.20 It may be premature
to predict the total demise of the genre, but its continuation now
rests primarily on tradition and emotion rather than on functional
needs. Arabic-Malayalam has fallen into the gap between the rise of
Malayalam as the Mappila educational tool and the new attention to
Arabic as a literary medium. Both children and women, once the big
consumers of Arabic-Malayalam, have taken to Malayalam. What sus-
tains the genre today, then, apart from some continued usage in upper
madrasas, is the song literature. S. M. Koya asserts: “The bulk of the
Mappila literature in Arabic-Malayalam is . . . in the form of ‘Map-

pila Pattu.’ ”20 This may not be a cheerful sign for Arabic-Malayalam
enthusiasts since the song literature is virtually inaccessible to the
average reader.
The Arabic-Malayalam Songwriters
In our previous chapter we illustrated the Mappila songs in the con-

text of Mappila music. At this point we take up their literary nature
and the writers. As to their literary nature, the essence of the Arabic-
Malayalam medium is that the reader must hear the sound which
comes through as Malayalam. However, poetic sound is transmitted
less easily through another script than prose, and the songs were
meant to be sung rather than read. If they are read as literary works
in the ordinary way, the reader faces a slew of other difficulties for the
song literature is idiosyncratic: it makes use of an expanded script, the
frequent use of foreign words, compact phrases, and obscure histori-
cal references. The songs can only be approached by knowledgeable
singers who can interpolate explanations for listeners. To facilitate
actual reading of the texts some ballads have been transliterated into
Malayalam script with a few annotations. They represent only 10 per-
cent of the total,21 however, and in any event they carry forward the
inherent difficulties and do not succeed in making the material very
comprehensible for the ordinary reader. What are needed are more
actual free translations of the song content into Malayalam, and some
efforts are now being made to carry out this daunting task.
The known Arabic-Malayalam songwriters were literary special-
ists and few in number. The most admired author of the song-stories
is Moyinkutty Vaidyar.22 On a roadside in the town of Kondotti in
South Malabar stands an attractive library building dedicated to the
memory of this poet laureate. He was poor and uneducated but he
drew on the resource of his religious training for his poetry, and
he had also learned some Persian literature from another Kondotti
Muslim. In his short lifetime he wrote song-stories across the khissa
spectrum. They included religious narratives such as Hijra; military
epics including Badr ul-Kubra and Uhud; martyr tales, especially his
famed Malappuram; and romantic works such as Badr ul-Munir–Husna
ul-Jamal, which we have summarized and which he wrote at the age
of twenty. Virtually on a par with Moyinkutty Vaidyar was Chettu-
vayi Parikutty (1847–1886), a singer as well as a poet, who favored a
simpler Malayalam base for the song-stories. He wrote Futhu Huslam,
extolling ʿAbu Bekr and ʿUmar; Adimun Ahadana, a tragedy; and Min-
hat ul-Bari, a collection of short stories.

Although none of the later songwriters attained the same com-
munity stature as Moideenkutty Vaidyar and Chettuvayi Parikutty,
later writers were more aware that the song-stories would need great-
er accessibility to survive. So, for example, Chakkiri Moideenkutty (d.
1926) wrote his Badr ul-Kubra Padapāttu in the simplest possible style,
while S. Moidu Musaliar (d. 1968) even included prose sections in his
Safala Māla to make it more understandable.23 Other contemporary
songwriters who contributed to the traditional song literature are M.
K. Kunyumuhammad, Tanur Machikolath, Moideen Mulla, Ahmad-
kutty Musaliar, K. Kunyirayankutty, Pullikottil Haidar, T. Ubaid and
O. Abu. Particularly the last three figures have attempted to keep the
writing of Mappila song-stories alive in the modern period. Pullikottil
Haidar (1879–1980) of Ernad in the heart of traditional Mappila popu-
lation wrote songs on everyday life, one being the Kalaputtu Māla cen-
tered on the traditional custom of oxen-racing. He wrote other poems
against what he considered to be a backward orthodoxy, including a
eulogy of the reformer K. M. Seethi Sahib and poems with political
themes. The respected T. Ubaid (1906–1972) of Kasaragode bridged
Malayalam and Kanarese literature by translating his own works. But
it is O. Abu (1916–1980) who requires special mention.
O. Abu was a Tellicherry journalist who devoted his mature life
to the cause of Arabic-Malayalam literature, becoming its recognized
historian. He engaged in script reform to encourage more accurate
pronunciation. He made translations of Islamic works into Arabic-
Malayalam, and composed his own original mālas. His māla, “The
Death of Fatima Beevi,” reveals his determination to maintain the old
style. It reports that when his death drew near the Prophet Muham-
mad’s wives assembled, and also his daughter Fatima. The Prophet
warned his grieving daughter that we must all die, and she herself
will do so within six months, so worship God alone. When Muham-
mad died the city of Medina mourned. Six months later Fatima saw
her father in a dream. He kissed her and informed her that her death
was near, in fact, the very next day. Her face saddened. Her husband
ʿAlī saw it, drew near, and learned of the situation. Fatima spoke
saying, “We had much joy in our life and raised children, and now I
must go.” ʿAlī said, “If you die I will be a flowerless plant and will
not be able to bear it. If I have hurt you in any way, please forgive me
and pray to Allah for me. Now tell me your wishes.” Fatima replied,
“Please raise the children well, cover me with your own clothes, and
pray for me.” She saw her children once more, and then died—the
angel of death took her without suffering as she prayed. Although
everyone was sorrowful, no one wept, and all displayed their firm
resolution.24
Arabic-Malayalam Prose Literature
If the song literature is meant to be sung, heard, and emotionally

received, the Arabic-Malayalam prose literature is intended to be read,
remembered, and heeded. Comprised of both educational and theo-
logical material, its theme and purpose are basic instruction. In the
past it was heavily relied upon for madrasa education and for the
learning of women in the home. In those areas it served as an effec-
tive instrument of Mappila traditionalism.
Before me as I write is a set of Arabic-Malayalam booklets
intended for use in classes one to five of the elementary religious
education schools. They do not exceed forty pages in length and are
inexpensive. Their main subjects are language, Qurʾān study, and reli-
gious ritual and practice. Their unattractive print quality and severe,
non-illustrated character give them an archaic appearance. There
may be financial reasons behind the failure to reflect the advances
in lithography, but the appearance also demonstrates a lack of inter-
est in developing modern pedagogy. Theological works fare better
in their presentation but keep the same unadorned character. They
are now largely Qurʾān translations and short expository treatises,
as Arabic-Malayalam fights a seemingly losing battle for its reading
audience.
While Arabic-Malayalam prose was always predominantly reli-
gious in its themes, it was not exclusively so. Beginning in 1900 the
Arabian Nights were transliterated in eight volumes in Tellicherry.25
Even earlier, the Chavar Darwish, a tale that had a Persian source, was
published (1883), and it may have been the first Arabic-Malayalam
novel.26 Considering the writers and publications, it is possible to argue
that the closing twenty years of the nineteenth century and the early
years of the twentieth century were the high period for Arabic-Malay-
alam literature, whether songs, poetry, or prose. Materials continued to
be produced with some regularity even beyond that period in the first
half of the twentieth century, helped by various dictionaries that made
their appearance including Chakkiri Moideenkutty’s Bhāshabushānum,
an Arabic-Malayalam dictionary of synonyms. A number of works
were written in the fields of medicine and astrology, and Shiyai Moidu
Musaliar (d. 1968) produced two world histories, Faizal Fayyas and Fath
ul-Fattah. Nevertheless, theological materials, especially works on reli-
gious law, continued to lead the way. Not only were multivolume sets
produced, but so were an abundance of short introductions on various

topics for the average family. By the second half of the twentieth cen-
tury, however, Arabic-Malayalam was passing off the popular stage.
The declining usage is illustrated by the approach of commu-
nity reformers. Early theological reformers felt the necessity of uti-
lizing Arabic-Malayalam because of its hallowed status. To advance
reform Said Alikutty (d. 1919), a Tirur teacher, introduced two Arabic-
Malayalam journals, Salahul Ikhwan (1899) and Rafiqul Islam (1906).
The esteemed Wakkom Maulavi (1873–1932) decided to begin his
reform with Malayalam productions including a monthly journal,
but when he found that the material failed to reach those for whom
it was primarily intended he established the short-lived but highly
influential Arabic-Malayalam al-Islam periodical (1919). His great
interest in deepening morality also led him to publish an Arabic-
Malayalam abridgement of al-Ghazālī’s Kīmīya al-Saʾada, a section of
the Ihyā al-ʿUlūm al-Dīn (“The Revival of the Religious Sciences”) that
al-Ghazālī himself had prepared in Persian for popular use; thereby
traditional Mappilas could directly read the great scholar’s words:
“Many claim to love God, but each should examine himself as to the
genuineness of the love which he professes.”27 But Wakkom Maulavi
stayed with Arabic-Malayalam only as long as necessary, and when he
began his publication of the periodical Deepika (1931) he chose Malay-
alam as its language. This typifies the general experience. The various
reform-minded leaders and movements in the Mappila community
were taking its members down another language road, linguistically
identifying with Malayalam culture.28
We may sum up the Arabic-Malayalam literary development by
first pointing to several benefits that it brought to Mappilas. It provid-
ed an acceptable literary medium that gave service to the community
for centuries, especially in the sphere of religious publication. Mappila
women were helped by the medium. The great majority were unedu-
cated and illiterate in Malayalam, but they had learned the Arabic
alphabet in the madrasa and Arabic-Malayalam provided a reading
outlet. The Arabic-Malayalam song-stories produced hope and resolu-
tion in depressing times. Finally, despite its limitations, the existence
of the medium kept the literary muse alive during the period when
Malayalam was considered inappropriate. These are benefits, but the
downside is also plain and undeniable. What was essentially a private
language kept Mappilas from participation in the literary mainstream.
Karuvalli Muhammad therefore forthrightly declares that “it caused
the development of both Arabic and Malayalam to stand still.”29 With
conservationism as its guiding spirit the Arabic-Malayalam literary
enterprise was holding back rather than advancing Mappilas on the

road to modern education, which was destined to be the community’s
road to progress.
We have seen how the obstacles impeding that progress col-
lapsed (Ch. 5). When they did so, Arabic-Malayalam literature lost its
relevance, and Malayalam literature replaced it in Mappila culture. A
new “Literary Now” has arrived, and we turn next to that remark-
able story.
Mappila Literature in Malayalam Enters the Cultural Scene
The birth of Mappila Malayalam literature is like an unfolding drama.

It involved a major turnabout. Like a great river changing its course
because of some alterations in the terrain, so Mappila literature moved
in a new direction as the result of intellectual influences and social
decisions within the Muslim community. The directional change came
four centuries after Malayalam literature appeared on the scene, but
when it did so it moved buoyantly and rapidly. Mappila Malayalam
literature is now enriching its own culture as well as the common
heritage of the whole society.
What implemented the awakening is a sturdy group of novel-
ists and dramatists who have wholeheartedly committed themselves
to the production of Malayalam literary works. The traditionalist
condemnation of Malayalam and English is only a memory. Arabic-
Malayalam remains, but as a curiosity. Modern education and social
advances have opened the minds of Mappilas, and writers are taking
advantage of the new awakening. They have begun their work just in
time—while there is still interest in the print media. Although they
have entered the Malayalam literary scene belatedly, they have done
so explosively and in the process have produced a respectable body
of literary materials.
In his Survey of Kerala History (1967) A. Sreedhara Menon includes
only one Mappila writer (Bashir) in over thirty pages of material on
Malayalam literature, with a passing reference to a second (P. A. Seyd
Muhammad). Writing today would require correcting that imbalance.
The first Mappila Malayalam press and publisher began in Tellicherry
in the 1930s, and now there are fifteen publishers in Calicut alone.
We look first at the beginnings.
Mappila Malayalam Literature Begins

The development required a bridge. The bridge was built, as it had to

be, by religious figures. The first was Sayyid Sanaullah Makti Tangal
(1847–1912) of Veliyankode, South Malabar. A controversial revivalist
who was called “the Shield-Bearer of the Mappila community,”30 he
was committed to improved education and the use of Malayalam and
English. Not only did he write the first Malayalam Muslim biography
of the Prophet Muhammad, Nabinayanum, but before he finished he
had authored forty booklets and books in “the mother tongue.”31 In
1899, with the help of a Cochin businessman, he also established the
first Muslim journal in Malayalam, the weekly Satya Prakashum (“The
True Light”). It only lasted nine months, but then he quickly started
another in Calicut, named Parokapari (“The Humanitarian”), which
continued until 1902.
The second bridge-builder was Abdul Qadir Wakkom Maulavi,
whom the reader has met often in these pages. He established the
journal Swadeshabhimani “(The Patriot”), in 1905 in Travancore. It was
a journal dedicated to the elimination of governmental corruption,
the promotion of freedom and popular rights, and social progress
in general. By appointing the provocative young Nayar journalist,
Ramakrishna Pillai, as editor, he invited and received political opposi-
tion, and in 1910 the publication was banned. The intrepid Maulavi,
however, had not put all of his eggs in one basket. In 1906 he founded
Muslim, a monthly for Muslims which continued to 1917. Its pages
reflected his groundbreaking agenda for the intellectual and behav-
ioral reform of the Muslim community in Kerala. Of Muslim, C. H.
Muhammad Koya declared: “Almost all the later Islamic literature of
Kerala had grown through the columns of Muslim.”32
Other groundbreaking figures crossed the language bridge, espe-
cially theological writers, but also educational and political figures.
A special place must be given, however, to the contribution of the
journalists.
Mappila Journals and Newspapers
The Mappila journals and newspapers provided access for budding

writers in Malayalam, and gave widespread prominence and cred-
ibility to the rising medium.
The Mappila Journals
The journals of the Muslim community have three important features:

they tend to be agenda-laden, effective, but short-lived. By agenda-
laden we refer to the fact that they often reflect the views of a popular
founder or are associated with a theological movement. Their unusual
effectiveness is related to their low cost, the presence of a captive
group of readers, and the natural curiosity of the populace. Yet they
frequently have a fleeting life span; for example, of the 78 journalistic
publications that appeared in Calicut between 1902 and 1944, well
over half did not last a decade, and many folded within two years.33
Nevertheless, their impact was often astonishing. We have noted
Wakkom Maulavi’s Arabic-Malayalam al-Islam. It survived only five
months, and yet E. K. Maulavi says: “There is no doubt that Wakkom
Maulavi’s five issues of al-Islam sowed the seed of Islamic reform in
Kerala. They created a storm from one end of Kerala to another.”34
The periodical al-Bayan illustrates the up-and-down nature of the
Mappila journals. Begun in 1929 as an Arabic-Malayalam monthly, it
soon ceased publication; it started again in 1950 with a new editor,
but this time in Malayalam. “This was the first Malayalam publication
of the Samastha!”35 (the main Sunni clerical council). Again, however,
it ceased publication, but other journals rose to take its place. Among
the currently leading Mappila Malayalam journals that have some
continuity are Prabodhanum, a publication of the Jamaat-Islam Party
that began in 1949. Al-Manar, a Mujahid journal, was born in 1952.
The Sunni Times, also known as the Sunni Voice, started in 1964, repre-
senting the Samastha. Shabab, a reform publication, began as a youth
magazine in 1975. Muslim, another Samastha periodical, commenced
in 1987 with both Malayalam and Arabic-Malayalam editions. There
are none of the above that did not experience difficulty in maintaining
a steady publication rate.
From the content of the journals an observer might judge that
Mappilas are theology-obsessed. With the exception of the quite rare
sports or cinema magazines the journals are clear and unapologetic
about their primary purpose—to focus on religion, and religion as seen
through the eyes of Sunnis, Mujahids, or Jamaatis, as the case may be.
Their concern is with issues of faith and practice, imān and dīn, and
they deal with social and behavioral implications in that light. Journals
concentrating on general cultural description are very few.36 The publi-
cations of the Muslim Service Society and the Muslim Education Society
provide some relief from the theological concentration by their advocacy
of social improvement. In a recent edition the M.S.S. Journal called for
progressive Muslims to engage in a “competition in good things.”37
The Malayalam language journal of the Muslim Education Soci-
ety,38 namely the MES Journal, provides the best example of a Mappila
journal that regards itself as an agent of social change. It flourished
from 1969 to 1986 and played a vital role in informing readers of
the explosive M.E.S. social developments. Its pages also reveal how
some social reformers approached their chosen path. Their goal was
to develop a culture of progress and to create a new Muslim society,
and their method was learning and self-help, knowledge of the world
and its sciences, and rational religion. In a survey of a three-year
publication period of the MES Journal (1980–82), the following ratio
appeared in 135 articles, not including regular columns:
• 21 percent of the articles were news oriented (12% local,

8% world);
• 21 percent were religious articles on Islamic thought and
practice, in a reform perspective;
• 17 percent were on cultural, social, and educational
themes;
• 23 percent related to affairs in the wider Muslim world;
• 13 percent related to matters in Indian Islam; and
• 7 percent were miscellaneous reflective essays.
Thus the MES Journal was not only a reporter but also an educator,
reflecting the social advance and cultural balance that the Muslim
Education Society sought introduce into Mappila life.
Although this section deals with Malayalam language journals,
an English language Muslim journal represents the same broad con-
cerns for the intellectual and cultural development of the Muslim
community as did the MES Journal, and therefore it is included at this
point. It is al-Harmony whose subtitle is “A Journal on Islamic Thought
and Ethics.” The publication is a quarterly production from Cochin-
Emakulam, whose chief editor is K. M. Abdul Mather and editor is
Dr. K. K. Usman. Whereas the MES Journal was Mappila community
oriented, al-Harmony tends to be more world-of-Islam oriented. It may
be the first Kerala Muslim publication that successfully reaches other
Indian Muslims and an international audience, and in that respect it is
a landmark publication. Whereas the MES Journal was concerned with
social improvements in a backward society, al-Harmony concentrates
on the promotion of a thoughtful Islam and the process of intellectual
enlightenment. Its articles are all written on some aspect of Islam,
although in the main its writers are not professional theologians. The
editorial policy is to allow freedom of expression and takes as part of
its mandate the task of dealing with controversial issues in an ami-
cable way. The writers include distinguished Kerala Muslims, notably
educators, but the editors also provide reprinted materials from the
pen of international Muslims.

Some examples of article titles reveal the scope of al-Harmony’s
concerns:
• “Islam and the Pursuit of Knowledge” by K. K. Usman,

physician-theologian;
• “Interface Between Cultural Pluralism and Human Rights;
by V. A. Muhammad Ashraf, researcher and author;
• “An Ethical Approach to Globalization” by C. H. Abdul
Raheem, a businessman;
• “Professor Amartya Sen’s New Version of Econom-
ics and the Quranic Injunctions” by T. Abdulla, former
Dean of Commerce and Management Studies at Calicut
University;
• “Social Growth and Communal Tension” by Professor
Bahauddin, a distinguished Kerala Muslim educator and
former Pro-Vice Chancellor, Aligarh Muslim University.
The journal editors did not hesitate to publish Riffat Hassan’s forth-
right “Gender Equality and Justice in Islam,” nor to reprint the candid
K. N. Pannikar’s “Communalism, An Analysis.” The wide breadth of
articles illustrates the journal’s interest in harmony, expressed in the
words: “We should seek for commonalities of varying cultures.”39 It
likewise points to the firm editorial view that “Islam is a progressive
faith and a force for modernization.”40
Mappila Newspapers
Mappila newspapers are small in number but play a major role in

providing a Muslim perspective on public events and in informing
Mappilas of their community affairs. An equally important contri-
bution has been their cultivation of the Mappila reading habit. The
cultural impact of Malayalam newspapers in general, however, can-
not be ignored. It goes beyond that made by the specific Mappila
newspapers, for many Mappilas, like most Malayalis, read several
different newspapers.
There is a natural basis for newspaper reading in the high lit-
eracy rate of Malayalis, but there is more to it than that. Journalists
in Kerala are generally tireless and intrepid in their search for facts,
especially in the political sphere, thereby catering to the consuming
Malayali curiosity and the tilt to independent decision making. In

sharing those societal characteristics Mappilas also come under the
influence of newspapers which they read as a kind of “bible of real-
ity.” The broadening and unifying influence of common information
impacts them and reinforces their sense of being part of a larger cul-
tural family. Finally, the newspaper influence on the Malayalam lan-
guage itself directly affects the Mappila linguistic tradition.
The first continuing Malayalam newspaper, the Manorama, was
founded by Kandathil Verghese Mappila, a Christian, in 1890, and
from that time on newspapers have contributed fundamentally to the
vocabulary, diction, and script of the Malayalam language. The Com-
munist movement in the state made language reform a policy, oppos-
ing the use of flowery and obscure expressions, and contending for
a clear, simpler, and hard-hitting manner of expression. Newspapers
responded positively to the challenge and led the way in promoting
the new Malayalam, including a reformed script that eased printing.
Mappila newspapers followed that approach. As a result they had
to modify some of the quirks of Mappila Malayalam, leaving it to
the novelists and dramatists to preserve its dialectical idiosyncrasies.
There are two leading Mappila newspapers in Malayalam. The
Chandrika, which is most widely read, began as a monthly in Telli-
cherry in 1932 but became a daily in 1939. Its development was led
by community stalwarts like A. K. Kunyumayin Haji, Sattar Sait,
and Seethi Sahib. It has also enjoyed a series of well-known editors
including C. H. Muhammad Koya. In 1946 the Chandrika moved its
headquarters to Calicut, in 1990 it began offset printing, and in 1992
it started a Cochin edition. The newspaper is the organ of the State
Muslim League. Madhyamum, the second major daily, began in 1987
in Calicut and started a Cochin edition in 1993. As its name suggests,
it seeks “the middle way.”
It is the new surge of Mappila novelists writing in Malayalam,
however, that represents the foremost literary development in Map-
pila culture.
Mappila Novelists in Malayalam: A Cultural Wave
In the remaining portion of our chapter we deal with the Mappila

novelists, dramatists, and poets writing in Malayalam who provide
both honest and revealing insights into everyday Mappila life and
culture. In the first rank of Mappila novelists Basheer stands alone. As
is the case with Basheer, the major novelists could not have achieved
what they did without the support of sympathetic and progressive

Mappila publishers. In Basheer’s case, the far-sighted V. Abdulla (d.
2007), well represents that important cultural contribution.
A Literary Icon: Vaikom Muhammad Basheer (1908–1994)
Basheer’s life is as eventful as one of his novels. The fact that he

was largely self-taught makes his career even more notable. He was
the son of a large and financially strapped family in Vaikkom in the
central region. He left school at the fifth form level in order to become
active in the freedom movement and associated himself with the Tem-
ple Entry agitation at Vaikkom that culminated in 1925 with Gandhi’s
personal participation. In the course of those activities he somehow
managed to touch the Mahatma’s arm, and he later regarded that
event as his life’s most thrilling moment. Joining the Salt March that
took place at Calicut in 1930 under the leadership of Muhammad
Abdurrahiman and E. K. Moidu Maulavi, he was severely beaten
and then imprisoned for his involvement. He proudly declared: “I
received blows and was persecuted because of Gandhi.”
When he was released Basheer wandered over India for years,
and also worked as a sailor along the Arabian and African coasts.
On his return, history repeated itself and he was sentenced to rigor-
ous imprisonment for his anti-government activities. Emerging from
prison, at Ernakulam he turned to writing in 1937. He received a
meagre income from short journalistic pieces, which still left him in
extreme poverty. Another jail term faced him in 1942, but in 1943 he
managed to publish his first longer story. It received acclaim and his
circumstances improved. In 1958 he transferred his residence to Bey-
pore, the ancient port near Calicut, where he enjoyed family life and
where—in between bouts of ill health—he could focus on his writ-
ing. His slightly more than one hundred short stories and novelettes
made him famous in Kerala society and beyond. He was honored by
fellowships from literary societies, and received the nation’s Padma
Shri award as well as other distinctions.
Basheer’s personality was as complex as his writing, but through
his works runs a freedom of spirit and human concern. V. Abdulla,
his friend, translator and occasional publisher, therefore calls him “the
essential humanist.”41 Basheer was personally warm-hearted. People
enjoyed him and he responded with brilliant conversation, but he
shunned public appearances. His own periods of suffering made him
alert to the human capacity for cruelty, whether subtle or brutal, and
perhaps that is why he both cried and laughed so hard. While his
adventurous life provided the material for much of his writing, it

was his settled period at Beypore with a late marriage, the duties of
a loving father, and the joys of a dedicated gardener, that encouraged
more mature reflection. He was a Muslim, but with “a catholicity
of spirit.” A vignette is revealing. When C. N. Ahmed Maulavi said
to him, “I am a Muslim,” Basheer replied, “I am a Malayali.”42 His
literary productions bear witness to his sense of identity with the
entire Malayalam culture. Accordingly, G. Kumara Pillai makes this
comment: “He was the first major writer to emerge from the large
Muslim community of Kerala, and thus he made a signal contribution
to the evolution of Malayalam writing into the literature of the entire
Malayalam-speaking people.”43 Basheer belongs not only to Mappilas
but to all Malayalis.
Basheer adopts the conversational style so common to the
Malayali storywriters. Befitting that, his language is very simple, but
at times very colloquial and dense. There is a more than ordinary
abruptness in his writing. He makes unexpected leaps, compelling
readers to fill in the gaps. The fact that he is very imaginative himself
may produce a desire that his readers be the same; but there is more
to it than that, for much of what he writes has an autobiographical
element which he may not wish to spell out. V. Abdulla describes
Basheer’s writing as “an amalgam of autobiography and imagina-
tion, difficult to unravel into separate strands.”44 He offsets the dark
absurdities that he often brings into his writing with irony and humor,
but he also takes perplexing flights into fantasy and the supernatural.
Some stories have a deftness of plot, while others appear simply as
pieces broken off of the spectrum of life.
Basheer’s works are marked by a variety of themes from poverty
to survival, family life to romance, roughness to kindness, sadness to
humour, personal conflict to politics. To a degree the theme of escape
or rescue provides a common thread in the writing—rescue needed or
longed for, thwarted or effected. The possibility of deliverance is pres-
ent in both the communal and the personal realms, and despite his
fierce realism this is also Basheer’s offering to fellow travelers along
life’s way. It is clearly his belief that rescue—in the form of salutary
change—is needed by his own Mappila community. While he does
not press his Islamicity, as we have noted, he nevertheless writes from
that context. His first story, Balyasakhi, “A Childhood Friend” (1944), is
based on that theme. Kumara Pillai calls it “the first important liter-
ary work in Malayalam to portray Muslim customs and manners.”45
With knowing detail Basheer opens a door into lower-middle-class
Mappila life, in particular its tragic aspects. It tells of the thwarted
love between Suhra and Majid, which is complicated by the con-

trol of the parents over marriage arrangements and the difficulties
involved in the social inequality between the two families. Chaitanya
regards it as “unrelieved by a single ray of hope.”46 But Basheer is
also an idealist. He believes that the rescue needed is a transition from
tradition to progress, with all the pain and struggle that involves.
This form of deliverance and its possibility is developed in his most
famous work, Nduppuppakkoraanentarnnu, “My Grandfather Had An
Elephant” (1951).47
The title of this short novel is itself a virtual introduction to
Mappila dialectical Malayalam; in ordinary speech it would read:
Ente Appuppinu Oru Āna Untāyirunnu. The oft-reprinted work takes
the reader deeply into the Mappila culture and into its troublesome
conflict between traditionalism and change. Its framework is the reac-
tion between two neighbors, a conservative family and a progressive
one. Kunyupathumma and Nissar Ahmad belong to the two families,
have fallen in love, and would like to be married. Tachamma, who
is Kunyupathumma’s mother and the dominant figure in the fam-
ily, vigorously opposes the idea. She is the epitome of traditional
values. The family was once well-to-do, typified by the fact that her
father owned an elephant. But that status is gone. The family had not
worked diligently, had resisted education, had simply rested on its
laurels, and has now become poor. Nevertheless, Tachamma continues
to glory in the past and in the fact that they once owned an elephant.
She asks her daughter not to mix with Nissar’s family, their neighbors.
Nissar’s grandfather was only a bullock-driver. “Your grandfather
had an elephant,” she says. Never mind that Nissar’s own father
had chosen to become educated, and thereby became wealthy. It is
tradition that counts! The tradition almost destroys them, however,
because Tachamma’s family has no money. Salvation comes when
Nissar’s kindly father, who had become a professor, makes an offer
to receive Kunyupathumma as the betrothed, without a dowry. It is a
breakthrough. A great burden is lifted. Nissar and Kunyupathumma
are married and live happily on. Throughout its development the
story reveals the inner realities of Mappila life. Basheer’s purpose,
however, is not simply to present a cultural tale with insight and sym-
pathy, but rather to communicate the message that modernization is
needed and is good. That is the path of deliverance for the community.
Despite that concern it is the personal dimension that is primary
for Basheer, and it is at that level that his descriptions of human
distress are most vivid. In Maranattinde Niralil, “In the Shadow of
Death,” (1951), he expresses a deeply felt despair:48
I am caught between two emotions. Not between life and

death.
Between laughter and pain . . . Listen to a joke. Have
you ever considered that this world has reached the
shadow of death? . . .
Listen, either laugh or weep.
In Shabdangl, “Voices” (1947), a demobbed soldier reflects on

loneliness:49
I felt very tired—here was not a living being either to love

me or to hate me . . . If someone dies, what of it? What
of it, if someone survives? . . . I am an isolated creature.
Just that. In this vast machinery that is mankind, I am not
even a tiny cog-wheel . . . A frightening sense of solitude.
It went through my veins and reached the innermost core
of my heart. Then I remembered! God is the last refuge of
the lonely!
Not only the thought of God brings Basheer hope in dark days,
but also family and love are its symbols. In his life at Beypore he
personally experienced family as an instrument of rescue. The most
touching expression of that fact come through the portrayal of his
mother. In a tale by that name, Amma (1946), he intertwines his expe-
rience as a freedom-fighter with a sensitive memory of mothers who
watched their sons go off to prison. He thinks of himself: “All over
India there are mothers who have given birth to children like me.
What did they do when their children were locked up in the cause
of the freedom of the motherland?” At the end of his imprisonment
and after a long arduous journey, the long-absent son arrives home
at past midnight. He and his mother have not seen each other for
years. His mother steps out of the room, brings water for washing
and puts a plate of prepared rice before him, asking nothing. The son
is amazed. “How did you know, amma, that I was coming today?”
She replies, “Oh . . . I cook rice and wait every night.” The writer
reflects: “Even today mother awaits son.”50
Basheer returns frequently to the theme of love. It is his answer
to the question of what finally triumphs in personal and social dif-
ficulties.51 For him it is a delivering power and the uniting force both
within communities and in the common life of a multi-cultural society.
Three Other Premier Writers
From a notable array of writers we have selected three other eminent

figures who, along with Basheer, well represent the rapidly expanding
fields of the novel and drama. Each one is prolific and widely read.
N. P. Muhammad
N. P. Muhammad (b. 1928) of Calicut has produced a large number of

short stories and novels as well as children’s books, periodical articles,
a screen play, a travelogue, a story of the birth of the Prophet, and a
work on literary criticism. His novels include such works as “Arabian
Gold” (co-authored), “Cave,” and “Driftwood.” Included among his
story collections are “The President’s First Death” and “Toppi and
Scarf.” In his various works N. P. is centered on life in the Mappila
community, especially as it relates to everyday situations—the prob-
lems of poor families, wedding arrangements, the provision of funds
for new festival clothing, and so on. While he generally uses simple
plots expressing real situations, he occasionally engages in flights of
romantic fantasy. His language is filled with Mappila idioms, espe-
cially those of women, and his works are a source book of Mappila
customs in Malabar.
One of his major works, Marum, “Driftwood,”52 which was lat-
er filmed, illustrates these comments. The short novel is set in the
logging community of Mappila labourers situated on the shore of

the Kallai River near Calicut. This large river was the artery for great
logs that floated down from the Nilambur forests, although in recent
years truck traffic has reduced the volume. Along its edges are many
sawmills where poor workers engage in their back-breaking employ-
ment. This is the context for a loving marriage between Ibrahim and
Amina. But an unscrupulous businessman, Khader, has intervened.
Ibrahim has gone to war, and not having returned is considered dead.
Although a full four years have elapsed, Muslim law requires six
before the wife is free to re-marry. Nevertheless Khader, who has
fallen in love with the poverty-stricken Amina, arranges to marry her.
Alassan Mollakka, a sly but untutored mulla, and Amutty, a tricky
servant, arrange to help Khader.
When Ibrahim miraculously returns, all the arrangements are
forestalled. Now Alassan Mollakka and Amutty conspire to reverse
the situation. A Muslim judge (qādī) has decreed that the bride belongs
to Ibrahim. Moreover, behind the decree is a hint that he may deny
the conspirators the use of the Muslim cemetery when they die. They
engage in various stratagems to overcome the difficulties. Although

she is a helpless victim of circumstances, Amina on her part does not
hesitate to declare her own preference for Ibrahim. She is dismissed
by Mollakka as “but a woman, woman’s mind is perverted!” In the
end the situation is remedied for her and Ibrahim, and only Khader
is the loser. Behind that success rests the thought that the powerless
poor can outwit and overcome the oppressors.
In Manushyakum (“Humanity”) N. P. Muhammad speaks of the
“divine” quality of the “glorious novel,”53 but his efforts to accredit
Malayalam literature in his community go well beyond the novel to
include also other literary forms.
K. T. Muhammad
K. T. Muhammad (b. 1929) of Manjeri, South Malabar, was born and

brought up in the ordinary home of a police constable, and his school-
ing was limited to eight standards. Until 1969 he served in the postal
department. His writing career began at the age of twenty with the
publication of a drama, but it started in earnest two years later when
his Kannukul, “Eyes,” won an all-India competition for short stories.
Although having collections of short stories and novels to his credit,
it is as a dramatist that he has excelled, and he has published more
than forty dramas. He is a founder and patron of drama groups,
and many of his works were written for their productions. He has
also chaired a variety of literary, song, and film academies. K. T.’s
subjects range across the life experiences, problems, and dreams of
common people. His appeal is in his realism, and that is enhanced by
his mastery of colloquial idioms. His flair is for dramatic description
rather than philosophical discourse, but he also introduces ultimate
questions along the way.
In his 1955 drama Ithu Bhumianu, “This is the Earth,” K. T. took
up a basic question troubling many Mappila families in Kerala’s fast-
moving society, namely the culture conflict between young and old.
Only twenty-six at the time, he may have personally experienced the
clash between the independent spirit of the new generation and the
older view of traditional authority and family solidarity. In the play,
a young man in a Muslim family has adopted a rebellious attitude.
His father takes him to task:
“Stop a minute. I want to ask you something. Who are you?”

“Son.”
“Right you are my son. If you take to bad ways, who will
have to face the consequences?”
“Myself.”
“Who?”
“I myself, Father.”
“Who will have to answer to Allah?”
“I will have to, Father.”
(The old man, losing his temper, shouts) “That is not what
I am asking. Won’t I have to plead and lament before Allah
on your behalf?”54
The equally important topic of human relations in his complex

society also presses on K. T. Muhammad, and he takes it up in his
2003 drama, Weḷḷapokum “The Flood.” In the Malayalam union of reli-
gious cultures the differences of caste, creed, color, place, and dialect
all produce tensions and disputes, and at times they seem crucial; but
when nature is aroused, the rain pours down, and the floodwaters
rise, a sense of proportion returns. “A flood has no caste or religion.
It doesn’t look [at] whether a house is Hindu or Muslim. All humans
and animals share its miseries.”55 Yet inherited attitudes persist even
under such dire circumstances, causing anxieties and heartaches. The
question the writer raises is this—the waves do not observe distinc-
tions, why do we? As K. T.’s story-line develops he echoes the theme
of tragedy that dominates Mappila novels and dramas:
The main plot deals with the interaction between the members
of a Hindu family and a Muslim family in their inundated village,
which is the victim of a more than normal deluge. A series of subplots
are linked with the overall theme:
• One alludes to the contention between the administrators

of the mosque and temple, both of which are located on
the same tract of land. It has prevented them from build-
ing the bund that would save both from flood damage.
• Another is a series of difficult theological questions that
the writer puts into the mouth of a young Hindu boy:
“Why does God . . . ?”
• Still another is the sympathetic portrayal of Biyath, a

Mappila mother who identifies with the suffering Hindu

mother and compels her husband to show concern.
• Finally there is the practical issue of pollution related to
floating bodies.
In the end, however, all these sub-issues yield to a critical central

question: How does a true Muslim act in this situation? The mosque
mukri (muezzīn) says: “Save the Muslims first!” The young Muslim
teacher, Usman, declares: “That is impossible. A true Muslim cannot
think like that!”56
As the drama goes forward in its sad detail the Hindu mother,
Janaki, has ordered her adopted daughter Sunitha, who has gone to a
neighbor for a visit, to get home before the waters rise too high. Alas!
Sunitha drowns as she tries to do so. Janaki is maddened by guilt. At
about the same time her son, Gopi, and his friend, Usman, manage
to rescue another girl from the flood waters. This girl is Subeida, the
daughter of a Mappila beedi (cigarette) roller who has perished in
the waters. Subeida is given Sunitha’s clothing to wear. Janaki sees
her, fantasizes that it is really her daughter Sunitha, and feels better.
However, Usman’s father, Kunyali, an important Muslim figure, takes
Subeida to his home on behalf of the family. The Hindu family in turn
pleads that Subeida be allowed to make visits to Janaki. Moved by
his wife Bujath’s plea on their behalf, Kunyali reluctantly agrees to
take her there. In her dazed condition Janaki still thinks that Sunitha
has returned, and in ecstasy she offers her hand in marriage to Gopi.
Kunyali declares, “Let him become a Muslim and we will agree.” The
Hindu family’s senior advisor is Parameswaran, who knows what has
happened. A very orthodox man, he says, “Let her become a Hindu
and we will agree.” His opinion is that despite the flood “a Hindu
is a Hindu, and a Muslim is a Muslim,” and that unchangeable real-
ity determines the matter. Kunyali entirely agrees. Usman tries to
make sense out of the impossible situation. He suggests, “Let them
be married but each remain as they are.” Kunyali and Parameswaran,
equally offended, walk out. A huge thunder clap drives them back
inside! All cower as the catastrophic storm increases in intensity. The
unanswered underlying question is: “Is nature angry? Or is the Lord
of nature angry?”
Moidu Padiyath
Moidu Padiyath (b. 1931), from South Malabar, may not attain the
psychological depths of our previous writers, but he leads the way in

being the most prolific Mappila novelist.57 He utilizes simple, direct
language to describe stark contrasts in human behavior, offering few
nuances. In “The Cuckoo That Yearned to Sing” (1952) he describes
the deep emotion of a young Muslim woman, Sabira, who was once
the playmate of a Muslim boy she later wished to marry, but instead
she became the second wife of the boy’s father, winding up as her
old friend’s mother-in-law. Padiyath’s stories are replete with intimate
customs prevailing in Mappila homes. He is well aware that Mappila
culture is a religious culture, and his writing conveys a conviction that
there is a negative aspect to traditionalism. No Mappila writing makes
the point more poignantly than his novel Umma, “Mother” (1968).
In Umma, Padiyath deals with the emotion of a Mappila woman
who has just given birth to a daughter. For whatever reason her hard-
hearted husband Ammuhaji no longer favors her, and he has paid no
attention to her birth-pains or even to the new child. Custom requires
him to say the call to prayer in the baby’s right ear, but he has no
interest in that or in naming her. On the 28th day after the birth
he abruptly tells Kochalu, his wife, “You can go back to your home
now.” Kochalu is shaken to the core. As the author puts it, “This is
the one word no woman wishes to hear,” for it customarily signifies
the end of the marriage.58
It had never been a good marriage. Attracted to Kochalu,
Ammuhaji had asked for her as his fifth wife, arguing that since the
Prophet had more than four, an extra one might be allowable for him!
His piety was a surface one. He had the reputation of being “an 80
percent Muslim” because he did his best to get out of paying the
full amount of zakāt. None of the people were interested in giving
him another of their daughters, but Kochalu’s father, Ibrahim, was
dead poor, without dowry money, and he was forced to agree. Now
it was over. The cruel Ammuhaji had sent her home. There Kochalu
raises her little daughter Zainaba with tireless effort and great love.
She has dreams of a great wedding that she will someday arrange,
inviting the best-known singers. In the meantime she supports her
poor family by sewing mats.
Time has passed. Ammuhaji’s mother has persuaded him that
he must take his daughter Zainaba into his house and arrange for
her marriage, since she is now seventeen years old. However, he has
paid nothing for her maintenance up to that time despite the require-
ments of Muslim law. Under the circumstances Kochalu refuses to
send Zainaba to him. Instead Kochalu’s sick and aged father arrang-
es Zainaba’s marriage with a local laborer. The culture requires the
presence of the bride’s father at the nikah. Kochalu has pleaded with
Ammuhaji who has finally agreed to come. Oh! how Kochalu runs
here and there to get everything ready! The bridegroom’s party is
in the mosque, waiting. But then!! Ammuhaji changes his mind and
refuses to come! Kochalu pleads in vain. Ammuhaji’s mother says
“Give her back to us and we will arrange a marriage with a good
Mappila.” The wedding is off. Kochalu is frenzied, but Ibrahim calls
her to his sickbed and informs her that she has no alternative and
must agree. The only right she has is to care for Zainaba as a child.
Now she has to return her to her father, and this time let him arrange
a marriage. Kochalu is compelled to yield, and Zainaba goes to her
father Ammuhaji’s home.
Ammuhaji refuses Zainaba permission to visit her mother Koch-
alu and her grandfather Ibrahim. The latter dies, and Kochalu is alone,
helpless, and practically out of her mind. There is only one person
willing to help her and that is Zainaba’s young Christian friend Anna-
kutty. Annakutty proposes a plan. Let Kochalu go to a friend’s home
near to Ammuhaji’s house, and Zainaba can pay a visit there on a
pretext. The plan works, and a glorious reunion takes place. Alas!
Ammuhaji discovers it, drives Kochalu away, and arranges Zainab’s
marriage. Kochalu’s health has totally declined. Annakutty and her
mother help, and when Kochalu says, “How much trouble you take,”
Annakutty answers, “You should love your neighbor as yourself.”
Despite her burning fever, when everyone has left her Kochalu rises
and starts off for Ammuhaji’s house, arriving in time for the wedding
but in a state of collapse. Ammuhaji orders Zainaba into the house,
commands his servants to eject Kochalu from the property, and the
nikah proceeds. Aayo! Kochalu expires on the way home and lies in
the dust, the jewelry she had intended to give her daughter lying
beside her. Kindly neighbors perform the funeral rites. Annakutty
grieves and takes the jewelry to Zainaba.
Ammuhaji heartlessly refuses his mother’s plea to postpone the
marriage, and it proceeds. The sad sounds of the funeral are heard
in the distance and merge with the wedding songs. When the bride-
groom enters the marriage chamber, he finds a weeping bride. Discov-
ering the problem he kindly agrees to Zainaba’s request to take her
to the cemetery. Ammuhaji tries to prevent them from going, but the
new bridegroom rebuffs him, declaring, “You have no more power
over her.” Zainaba throws herself on the grave of her mother, and the
tragic story closes with her moving cry . . . “O Umma!”
Throughout the story the author leaves hints that there is a bet-
ter way of doing things than Ammuhaji’s, and that is the way of
compassion.
Other Fiction Writers and a Concluding Thought
The number of worthy novelists and dramatists is increasing, and it

is not possible to give them all the attention they deserve. There are
many examples. P. A. Muhammad Koya (b. 1922) of Calicut, in his
“Painted Eyes,” tells the story of the temporary marriages contracted
by Arabs with Muslim women in his city. U. A. Khader (b. 1935 in
Burma), also a prolific writer, in Changala, “Chain” (1956), relates sto-
ries of tarawād life and its struggle in contemporary times. T. Muham-
mad Yusuf (d. 1956) of Cochin, takes up the subject of true religion
in “Patched-Up Coat” (1956). He tells the story of an old man who
has been saving up all his life to go on the pilgrimage, but instead he
gives all the money to poor Kunjibi for a dowry so that she can marry
Umar, the son of a proud rich man who has several times gone on the
hajj. There is no issue that is too “sacred” for the novelists to address.
Our concluding thought relates to that point. In terms of content
the Mappila novelists and dramatists cover a wide range, but there
is evident fascination with two subjects—male-female relationships
and contradictions in ethical behavior. Both are delicate areas. The
novelists, however, are not hesitant to deal with them. They do so as
a part of life, honestly and with realism, wry humour, and an empa-
thetic insight into customary life. What we have suggested earlier59
is still applicable:
The paradoxes of the Mappila writer represent honestly

the paradoxes of Mappila living. It may be suggested that
these writings are the one place where Mappilas are really
honest with themselves in public. It is certainly the one
place where they publicly smile at themselves and their
traditions. This humanising combination of honesty and
self-deprecation is the chief contribution of the writers to
their community . . .
Windows are needed to look into the overlapping and interpenetrat-

ing of the Now and the Then in Mappila behavior. The novelists and
dramatists open the shutters to Mappila culture as it is.
Mappila Nonfiction Writers
Aspects of Mappila culture are increasingly under study by pro-

fessional historians writing in both Malayalam and English. The

acknowledged trailblazer was P. M. Seyd Muhammad (d. 1975) of
Kodungalur. His prize-winning History of Kerala (1952) was followed
by the Kerala Muslim Directory (1960) that he edited, and then by his
well-known Kerala Muslim History (1961). Succeeding him was C. K.
Kareem (d. 2004) who gathered a mass of information for his three-
volume Kerala Muslims (1991), which included statistical, historical,
and biographical materials. Armed with an Aligarh University doc-
torate, the Gazetteer model, and a relentless zeal to find publishing
funds, Kareem took great pains to base his writings on accurate facts.
English is still the preferred medium for such scholarly works, and the
studies of K. M. Bahauddin, A. P. Ibrahim Kunju, S. M. Koya, and V.
Kunhali on the Mappila community’s history; Abdul Samad on theo-
logical movements; and K. T. Mohammed Ali and U. Mohammed on
educational development, may be mentioned at this point. Similarly,
Mappila scholars in other academic disciplines are also adding their
contributions in English to the body of Mappila literature.
A second group of Mappila researchers writing in Malayalam
are the “cultural compilers.” By that term we refer to non-profession-
al individuals who have been indefatigable in their efforts to make
known elements of their community’s history and culture. Special
mention must be made of K. K. Muhammad Abdul Kareem (1932–
2005) of Kondotti. A self-educated writer he produced many short
books on Mappila history, including the Khilafat Movement, Seethi
Sahib, Noble Mambram, and Sayyid Alavi Tangal, and he co-authored The
Glorious Mappila Literary Tradition with C. N. Ahmed Moulavi in 1978.
Ignoring documentation, the latter work includes brief summaries of
over 500 writers whom the authors consider to have made a contri-
bution to Mappila literature. With untiring research P. P. Mammed
Koya Parappil of Calicut has produced an encyclopaedic study on The
History of Kozhikode Muslims (1994) and a cultural work, The Sultan’s
Palace (2006). These writers combine their interest in both history and
biography. Other Mappila writers in Malayalam have produced biog-
raphies of such diverse sociopolitical heroes as Muhammad Abdur-
rahiman (d. 1945) and K. M. Seethi Sahib (d. 1960). Professor K. K.
K. Abdul Sathar has contributed helpful studies on South Malabar
history and culture.
The body of Mappila prose literature in Malayalam also includes
contributions from a third group that we will describe as “the occa-
sional writers.” These authors produce works on various subjects at
the same time as they carry on busy vocational lives. Their partici-
pation in the enterprise indicates the extent to which Mappilas are
now involved in Malayalam writing. The occasional writers do not
pretend that they are trained scholars, but they have special inter-
ests and feel free to write and publish nonfiction. Many are notable
figures in the community’s history. T. P. Kuttiyamu of Tellicherry (d.
1988) is a telling example. As the first graduate engineer in the Map-
pila community, who for fourteen years was Chief Engineer of the
State, Kuttiyamu is also a cultural hero. Alongside his professional
work he served as the Chandrika managing editor and wrote such
religious works as Islam and Interest, Thoughts on the Hajj, and A Jour-
ney into the Study of the Quran. C. H. Muhammad Koya (d. 1983),
whose leadership role is assessed in an earlier chapter, follows that
stirring example. Even though the political field consumed his time
and talents, his writing became a model and inspiration for Muslim
youth. He honed those writing talents in preparing materials for the
Mujahid movement and in serving as the Chandrika editor, but he also
authored other works including articles on the progress of Mappila
literature and travelogues. P. P. Umar Koya of Calicut (b. 1922) who
wrote a biography of Muhammad Abdurrahiman, and U. A. Beeran
(b. ca. 1925) who wrote such short stories as “Tutor,” combined writ-
ing with political careers as Kerala state ministers.
Mappila Poetry
Poetry has been called “the most lively branch of modern Malayalam
literature,”60 and there are many Malayali mahākavis or “great poets”
from Vallathol to Sankara Kurup, almost all from Hindu background.
At the same time, Muslim culture is rich in poetry, from the old Arab
poets to Rūmī in Turkey to Ghalib and Iqbal in North India. The two
streams met in Mappila culture, yet poetry remains to be fully devel-
oped by the Mappilas. The concentration on the Mappila songs with
their narrow frame of reference may have constrained the genre, or its
slim development may simply be another result of the community’s
lack of interest that also affected some areas of artistic expression.
Hence, the body of contemporary Mappila poetry does not come close
to the great outpouring of the Mappila novels and drama. An Arab
poet, al-Muttanabbī (d. 965), wrote the line: “Whoso desires the ocean
makes light of the streams.”61 As Mappilas have dedicated themselves
to the pragmatic and heroic task of bringing their community and its
culture into the ocean of the modern age, the stream of poetry has
not been their first concern. Its development, then, will be a future
aspect of an ever-broadening culture.
Nevertheless, to some extent the poets are heard from, and they
are a respected presence. A journal issue or a memorial volume will
often include a poetical piece, and the modern Mappila songs provide
a vehicle for poetical expression. We will illustrate the range of poets
with two figures—T. Ubaid, a late twentieth-century male poet who
composed his poetry in both Malayalam and Arabic-Malayalam, and
Kamala Suraiya, a contemporary female poet writing in English.
T. Ubaid (1908–1972) stemmed from Kasaragode District in
the northern region where Malayalam and Kanarese cultures meet
and overlap. He was a schoolteacher turned writer and poet. Ubaid
became a bridge figure who spanned prose and poetry, languages and
cultures. A stirring public address in 1948 in Calicut on the subject of
“Mappila Songs” projected him into public view. He contributed to
different literary genres including biography (Malik ibn Dinar) and
the novel, Return to the Earth), but his main achievement was his
poetry, some of which was in Arabic-Malayalam. He composed mālas
and ordinary poems, his main collections being Navaratnamala, Bash-
padhara, Chandrakkala, and Ganawichi.62 “We Also Are Coming,” his
poem of praise for the theological reformer, K. M. Maulavi, bridges
the reverential māla and the heroic song-story. Eloquently praising
this “brave son” and “lion” of Kerala, extolling his years of service,
his gifts of knowledge, his progressiveness, and his sweet personal-
ity, he asks: “Has one equal risen in our land of heights?” With a
double meaning, referring to both K. M.’s death and his leadership
in a renewal movement, Ubaid declares: “On that road, we too fol-
low after.”63
Ubaid also bridged the two cultures that he cherished, Malay-
alam and Kanarese. He not only translated his own poems into
Kanarese, but also those of Vallathol Narayana Menon (1875–1958),
a Malayali poet laureate, and in turn he translated Kanarese materials
into Malayalam. For his ability to transcend differing cultural ele-
ments, two Mappila prose scholars declare Ubaid to be both “note-
worthy and enlightened.”64
Dr. Kamala Suraiyya of Kochi represents the classical intro-
spective poetess patterned by the female saint Rabīʿa al-ʿAdawiyya
(d. 801). Into the male-dominated world of Mappila literature she
poignantly introduces the feminine mood. Composing in English in
“Tempest” she states her complaint against forms of denigration:65
Religious leaders
declare me a menace,
She does not adjust
to the Islamic decree.
She adorns herself with
ornaments of gold,
encrusted with gems,

She declares herself
vulnerable to human love.
Against it, she finds her solace in God and dares to picture that rela-
tionship in human terms:66
Ya Allah,
forgive me
my wayward ways,
If only you had arms
to fashion a protective hug,
I would remain yours and unsullied . . .
If only you had
a human voice
to whisper words of comfort
in my ear,
I would not ever
like a leaf in a storm
be tossed about
this way, that way . . .
Suraiyya wonders about the unanswerable questions of finitude

and infinity, about the relation of the human and divine wills, and
about the loss of mystical yearnings amidst the common pressures
of everyday life. She feels so deeply about them that she declares:
“My mind is now a terrain transgressed.” Therefore with tangible
relief, in the poem “To Thy Will, Ya Allah,” she simply declares her
submission to God:
Ya Allah!
how rapidly you wrought in me
this change,
I cannot but surrender
my will to yours!
Utilizing their multiple linguistic legacies Mappila writers are now full
participants in their society’s literary world. Particularly in the field of
Malayalam literature, the adaptive spirit of the Mappila community
is becoming re-energized, drawing on common cultural waters and
contributing to their flow.
Conclusion
The Significance of Mappila Culture
We suggest that there are three principal areas where Mappila culture
is particularly significant:
• It provides a store of unique materials and is therefore

a rich resource for cultural learning and appreciation,
including the interesting adaptation that affected many
customs.
• Its renaissance from a long-depressed social condition is
a source of hope for static societies.
• Its determined change in human relations makes it a
positive symbol in the multicultural global village.
A Resource for Wider Cultural Understanding
As we move from our immediate consideration of Abdulla and Amina

their memory is strong. There is much for us to view and appreciate
in their lives. As the knowledge becomes more intimate, the apprecia-
tion grows stronger. We have examined their thinking and acting in
several areas, and even though we have not been able to deal with
every aspect of their lives it is evident that in both its current customs
and in its social history their community represents a rich resource for
cultural contemplation. In providing a wealth of behavioral material
they both interest us and instruct us. In part, this is so strongly true
because the Mappila cultural story has so many pages. It moved to
its present stage through a long process of evolution, and not only
the experience in each stage but also the transitions become a basis
for cultural learning. And the Mappilas are still on the move. Abdulla
349
and Amina represent both a history of culture and a living culture.

We learn from their Becoming and from their Being.
In their cultural becoming Mappilas bonded two cultural tradi-
tions, passed through two distinct phases, and now have entered a
third. The long first phase covered eight centuries marked by quiet
customary adaptation and remarkably harmonious intercultural rela-
tions. In the next four centuries the community retreated into a shell.
Traditionalism was born and ruled, and there was cultural stasis. In
the twentieth century, stimulated by theological reform and other
movements, the Mappila community began its dynamic engagement
with modernity, in the context of free India. This left its cultural being
with a coat of many colors. Regionally there are differences as some
Mappilas espouse a certain form of behavior, others favoring another
view. At the same time certain customs of the past have disappeared
entirely. Yet more commonly modern and traditionalist cultural views
are simultaneously present, the Cultural Then and the Cultural Now
advancing side by side into the future. The dominant trend in the
present is a recovery of the spirit of the first eight centuries, with
adaptation to modern practice and peaceful interreligious relations
once again characterizing the behavior of Mappilas.
The Mappilas are in every sense of the word a storied people—
theirs is a soul-stirring narrative of a journey across the centuries,
and an absorbing tale of contemporary cultural encounter. It is hardly
surprising that such a long experience yields a mass of fascinating
cultural phenomena. It is perhaps more surprising that the cultural
adaptation could be carried on for so long within a sustained identity.
How was that possible? While the first phase of the Mappila cultural
adaptation is hidden in the shrouds of history, its components are
visible in the continuing heritage. It is evident that the Mappilas main-
tained their identity over such a long period primarily because social
patterns were steadily infused by the spirit of religious faith. Other
factors in the adaptive process varied from time to time, but they
included openness to their environment, the guidance of able leaders,
and the readiness to change, in all of which their minority status was
a constant element in behavioral choices. We see no evidence of the
development of a conscious Islamic theory of cultural adaptation. The
process was rather a form of pragmatism sustained by faith.
The net effect is that Mappila culture represents a striking labo-
ratory for examining the adaptive process. It is unusual in its thirteen
centuries of social experience within a multicultural and multireli-
gious milieu. The Mappilas are not unique among Muslim societ-
ies in being formed from two streams, the incoming Arabian culture
Conclusion 351
and a host culture. Every non-Arab Muslim society in the world is

minimally two-streamed. What distinguished Mappila culture is its
long period of development, its context, and its continuing engage-
ment with the originating Arabian Muslim culture that still streams
in its influence alongside Malayalam culture and modern culture. The
Mappila adaptation took place within those parameters. It was both
natural and original, but at the same time it was measured by a reli-
gious approach that assured the continuity of the Mappila identity.
The same adaptive spirit is at work now as Mappilas deal with
modernity. Young Mappilas are developing new behavioral motifs
and codes, many of which are cross-cultural in nature. The older Map-
pila customs will continue to challenge descriptive scholars to mine
their rich trove, but Mappila studies must face the fact that many
practices are fading from view and some will disappear entirely with
the passing of this generation. Mappila life inevitably revolves around
the need to adapt to the new age, within the desire to maintain reli-
gious faith. The nature of that adaptation will make the community’s
experience a continuing resource for cultural understanding.
The Implication That a Cultural Renaissance Is Possible
The Mappilas symbolize the possibility of a cultural rebirth with-

out the loss of either identity or heart. The comments of a Russian
social historian have some relevance to the Mappila situation. Nicolas
Berdyaev (1874–1948) made the point that human culture, which he
defined as a time of creativity, inevitably declines and becomes a
civilization, a time of organization. In the process the will to culture
is lost. “Every culture in the process of flowering and becoming more
complex, exhausts its creative forces and spirit.”1 When this stage
is reached, what preoccupies people is how they will construct and
organize life in a practical way to master it and enjoy it. As the cul-
ture becomes more and more preoccupied with the goal of material
realization, the people’s energy leads “away from culture,” and the
process brings about “the death of the spirit of culture.”2
Mappila culture has not followed that line of development. It
breaks such patterns, for following centuries of progress and then
deterioration it is now a culture re-born. Though chronologically
old, it is marked by the character of youth. It has spontaneity and
dynamism. It is evident that Mappilas are entering their creative age
and with it the promise of a new cultural flowering. Some cultural
areas neglected in the past are being developed. It remains to be
seen whether the fresh spirit and energy will bring what Berdyaev
calls an “efflorescence”3 of the arts and sciences—a productivity in
philosophic and scientific works, an outpouring of poetry and prose,
advance in the material arts, and other marks of a high culture that
have been only partially developed in the past. The prospects are
favorable for the near future since Mappilas clearly display the will to
culture.
The long future, however, cannot be so easily predicted. There
are new and disturbing social forces already sweeping over the Map-
pilas including a self-indulgent materialism, a not very subtle secular-
ism, and post-modernist forms of disintegration, all of which have
severely affected unified cultures in other parts of the world. These
forces may make the future a time of cultural anxiety for Mappilas,
casting shadows over their new buoyancy of spirit and hindering its
potential creativity.
The Importance of Determined Behavioral Change
Mappilas have demonstrated that a Muslim society can progressively

change by an act of will. It is a noble contribution to other cultures
in the present era.
In the wake of modernization all human societies, including
Muslim societies, have experienced or engaged in some form of cul-
ture change, either by a quiet process of acculturation or by arbitrary
governmental decision making.4 But when a Muslim society that has
earned the reputation of religious emotionalism and violence, and
has long endured the reputation of being “hopeless,” and then such a
society deliberately moves to change its character, to modify its behav-
ior, and to alter its image, and finally carries through that decision
despite considerable internal opposition and tension, it has special
significance as a culture of promise.
That is what the Mappilas have done. They did so with resolve,
drawing on spiritual and intellectual energies, and guided by the com-
mon sense of strong and courageous leaders. Together with Hindus
and Christians they succeeded in restoring the harmony of the past,
and despite occasional strains they have diligently maintained their
part in that remarkable achievement. The conscious reorientation of
their ideas and values involved struggle and some trembling, but the
will power exercised was so intense that the cultural changes came
with unexpected speed. We can sense the wonder in Suraiyya’s haunt-
ing line: “Ya Allah! How rapidly you wrought in me this change!”
Conclusion 353
To use Sir Muhammad Iqbal’s helpful phrase, the Mappilas have suc-
ceeded in “rechiselling their ancient frame.”
Unusual experience in social adaptation, a stirring societal
renaissance, and determined character change—the Mappila story is
full of meaning. In that perspective it may be suggested that the
Mappila Muslims of Kerala represent more than a repository of living
and fascinating behavioral phenomena. They are also trailblazers for
similar communities facing change, and a sign of hope for a world
that seeks new symbols of human possibility.
Appendix A
Islamic and Malayalam Terms

for Culture
There is no single term in the Arabic intellectual tradition that exactly

corresponds to the English word “culture.” There is rather a shifting
terminology and a group of words that reflect the search for clarity
within the Islamic perspective. It is an area that has many ambigui-
ties. For example, in English there is a distinction between the mean-
ing of the term “culture” and the word “cultured.” Whereas culture
is the accumulation of learned behavior within a society, cultured
refers to the urbane behavior of a sophisticated, usually a learned
individual. One common Arabic term, adab, reflects that progression,
but in reverse. It started out with the meaning of good manners. F.
Gabrieli commends the following definition: “high quality of soul,
good upbringing, urbanity and courtesy.”1 As time passed the mean-
ing of the term broadened, and it became the one closest to signifying
universal human culture. Al-Māwardī (d. 1058) even wrote a book
entitled Adab al-Dunyā wa Adab al-Dīn, which could be roughly trans-
lated “The Culture of the World and the Culture of Religion.”2 Now,
however, in modern use the term adab has narrowed again to refer to
someone who has literary knowledge, a lettered person.
The terminological difficulty is also related to a distinction that
is often made between religious culture and secular culture. In theory,
Islamic theology refuses to recognize the validity of that distinction
for all of life is under God, “The Lord of the Worlds.” It rather looks
for inclusive theological terms that can express that idea. They include
such words as dīn, religious practice; ʿibādat, the service of God; sunna,
the custom of the Prophet and the early believers; and even ʿilm, reli-
gious knowledge. The effort to put the whole realm of human actions
into a legal frame of reference was called sharia. Those actions that
were classified as unregulated, which includes the bulk of cultural
355
356 Appendix A
behavior, were called mubah, but the word is not widely used. Since
it was believed that also unregulated actions should be subject to the
general Quranic moral principles, a group of words came into use
for moral behavior including ʿamal, approved practice; akhlāq, ethics;
and taqwā, piety. Of the three terms ʿamal came closest to approved
cultural practice. In the text we have outlined how two other terms,
ʿādat and ʿurf, became the legal designations of acceptable pre-Islamic
cultural practices. In the Indian context, however, the very pointed
sharia language does not meet Mappila needs since Indian Muslims
have accepted a limitation of its legal scope to specifically cultic and
personal affairs. Utilizing Islamic terms, however, culture may be
viewed as ʿādat or acceptable indigenous tradition plus adab mean-
ing refined practice, both informed by dīn, religion.
Mappilas, however, do not experience a problem with the pro-
liferation of Arabic terms since they freely and commonly make use
of an available Malayalam word, samskārum. It combines the ideas of
human practice and noble achievement, and therefore conveys a sense
of high culture. Two other Malayalam terms do not give the same
satisfaction: sambrudāyum originally has tribal connotations and refers
to the practices of specific groups; pārambaryum, places the emphasis
on genetic history and hereditary succession. Samskārum, however,
is a virtual equivalent of the concept conveyed by the English term
“culture.” Applied to Mappilas it signifies what they have learned
to do, have particularly cultivated and especially admired. It pro-
vides a natural and spacious term that can aptly and comprehensively
embrace the Mappila cultural symbiosis in its particular form.3
Appendix B
The Ali Raja Kingdom in Kannur
The Ali Rajas of Kannur in North Malabar had the distinction of being
the only rulers in Mappila history. They constituted only a tiny prin-
cipality. Yet through navigational and diplomatic skills they asserted
maritime power and achieved influence that far exceeded the small
size of their kingdom. Stratgically situated on the shore of the Arabian
Sea, they played an important role in their region for four centuries,
but ceased to do so after 1908. The family archives list 24 rulers dat-
ing from 1545 when historical certainty begins, of whom nine were
female (“Bibi”s). Their cultural influence came mainly through their
free association with non-Muslims and their matrilineal approach that
they drew from their Hindu context. That undoubtedly gave impetus
to the tradition of women rulers.
The Arakkal family, as it was called, remains in Kannur today.
The old palace located across the bay from Fort St. Angelo no longer
exists, and the Sultan Ameena Bibi Tangal Adi Rajah lived in a rented
house surrounded by artifacts from a noble past.1 The extended fam-
ily occupies a large though run-down compound near the sea, which
includes many homes and mosques.
The origin of the Arakkal House is shrouded in legend.2 There
are strong reasons, however, to trace it back to the conversion and
intermarriage of a Nayar chieftain. This took place most probably at
some point in the eleventh or twelfth century, although no precise
historical dating is possible. The tradition of a Nayar conversion is
given substance by the family’s matrilineal practice. The Nayar in
question was in the service of the Hindu Kolattiri rajas headquartered
at Chirakkal and Eli in the Kolattanad area just north of Kannur. The
Kolattiris were notable rulers heavily involved in the pepper trade,
and they also had sovereignty over the Laccadive Islands that lie 300
kilometers off the coast of Kerala.3
The history of this new Muslim family is murky until the Por-
tuguese period. They attained naval power, ranging the seas as far
357
358 Appendix B
as the Maldive Islands, and they assumed the name of Adi Raja (the
first king), or Ali Raja (the noble king), or sometimes Ali Adi Raja.
For their services, whether at the beginning of their line or after the
Portuguese entry, the Kolattiri Raja gave the family a bequest of
land at the Kannur port and transferred to the Ali Raja his assumed
sovereignty over the Laccadives and their valuable trade. Gradually
the Ali Raja and his supporters became virtually independent of the
Kolattiris. Since their kingdom fell short of being a fully sovereign
entity, the Mappila rulers never wore a crown, but they had effec-
tive authority symbolized by a throne, a seal, an emblem, and their
own coinage. The extent of their jurisdiction on the mainland varied
according to political circumstances, but it was always a limited one.
It started small, increased to a sixteen kilometer range along the coast,
extended under Hyder Ali to an administrative role over the Kolattiri
territoriies, under the British was reduced to 2,364 acres by 1887, and
it ended with 1,419 acres in 1908 which was the date of a final treaty
with the English rulers. What kept the family going financially was
its income from the coconut coir and copra trade of the Laccadives.
The Ali Raja’s tactical skills developed in the heated atmosphere
of the European effort to take over the pepper trade. Portuguese,
Dutch, English, and French traders were in competition along with
the Hindu rajas and the Muslim rulers of Mysore. The Portuguese
had established their factory (a trading post) at Kannur in 1502 and
had built Fort St. Angelo in 1505. The Ali Rajas struggled against their
power until the Dutch seized the fort in 1663 and the English set up
their factory at nearby Baliapatam. These changes enabled the Ali Raja
to extend his power over Kannur town and the nearby Dharmapatta-
num Island at the head of the Tellicherry harbor, sixteen kilometers to
the south. Political complications grew, however, as Hindu Kanarese
kings invaded from the north, the French established their Malabar
base (1725), Hyder Ali entered the area (1766), and the English cap-
tured the Kannur Fort (1783).
Through it all the Ali Rajas played the diplomatic game to the
hilt. They were not without their own occasional duplicity, and were
faced by major powers yet managed to survive and maintain some
authority. The Ali Raja provided troops to Hyder Ali, a fellow Muslim,
became his admiral, and even invaded the Maldives on his behalf.
But in the 1790s the Ali Rajas saw the handwriting on the wall and
became allies of the English. Thus they were able to continue, but
the nineteenth century witnessed the diminution of their influence,
effected through various treaties. In 1875 the English sequestered the
Laccadives for non-payment of revenue. In 1908 the transition of the
Appendix B 359
Ali Raja from a ruler to a small landowner became complete—he sur-

rendered all political authority to the English and in return received
an annual income (malikhana) of 23,000 rupees, the rights to his Kan-
nur property and its income, and permission to retain the title of
Sultan. These arrangements continue to the present.
The Ali Rajas were sincere in their Muslim faith even though
they did not always match it in their behavior. A few were noted for
their high living and spendthrift ways, at the same time levying exact-
ing revenue demands on their fellow Laccadive Muslims who even-
tually rebelled. In 1780 the reigning Bibi began correspondence with
the Ottoman Emperor who chose to recognize her regional authority.
He referred to her as “one who had covered herself with the sheet
of modesty, who is adorned with the ornaments of truth and jus-
tice, venerated in pedigree, viz. Bebee Sultan, the Queen of Malabar.
May God preserve her in her country to develop the pillars of faith
and Islamism.”4 The family sponsored the construction of mosques,
many of which are still extant, served as their managing trustees, and
appointed khatībs and qādīs. They followed Muslim law in judicial
proceedings, but controlled the decision makers. The Arakkal House
also kept collections of calligraphic theological works, and some of
the Rajas studied Persian and Urdu.
The traditions of the House continue, but the members of the
family have gone on to various careers in the secular world. The glory
days of the Arakkal Kingdom are but a memory.
Appendix C
The Origins of Traditionalism in the

Islamic Heartlands and Its Structure
Traditionalism is one form of response to the Muslim encounter with

the modern forces of world culture. The strength of its resistance to
modernity rests in its habitual nature, in its structural rigidity, and in
the sense of safety it gives. It grew out of an epic struggle in medi-
eval Islam that also produced its main features. Any understanding
of the contemporary Mappila Muslim cultural engagement requires
an understanding of the origins of traditionalism.
As the Muslim Enlightenment surged forward in various intel-
lectual fields in the ninth and tenth centuries of the Abbasid Empire,
the rational approach to knowledge also passed over into religious
thought when sincere Muslim believers began to ask questions about
the interpretation of certain religious teachings. Such questioning had
previously been discouraged, but the Muslim mind was aroused. The
questions included: Does a person have free will? Are humans respon-
sible for their actions, or is God? Do great sins make a believer a non-
Muslim? Is the Qurʾān created or uncreated? Will our vision of God
in heaven be a physical one or a spiritual one? A theological school of
thought arose called the Muʿtazilite, which argued that such inquiries
must be answered on the basis of what is reasonable. Beginning with
the affirmation that God is both absolutely one and absolutely just,
they used a logical style of argumentation called kalām to answer
questions and to prove their points, and their approach dominated
the scene for many decades. They brought the art of disputation into
Islamic theological discussion so that it later became the style of theo-
logians, and orthodox theology even began to be called kalām.
The Muʿtazilite development cannot be taken as a true triumph
of reason. They were rationalists, but they were not democrats, and
in their days of power they insisted that everyone agree with them
or be punished! In this regard they differed from the approach of
most Muslim scientists and philosophers who believed that freedom
361
362 Appendix C
of thought was as important as the use of reason. They had taken

these ideas from the works of Greek thinkers, especially Aristotle,
which were now being translated to Arabic, and their combination of
faith, reason, and freedom produced the Islamic Golden Age.
Orthodox Muslim thinkers, worried about their tradition, even-
tually rebelled against the rational emphasis. Their point of view was
first expressed by scholars involved in jurisprudence, the earliest of
the Islamic religious sciences. The legal scholars held that Muslim law
must be based on scripture, the sunna and precedent, rather than on
the free use of reason. Leading the way was Muhammad al-Shafīʿī (d.
820) of Egypt, who spent eight years in Yemen. The Shafīʿī school of
law became the accepted approach in South Arabia, and it is the law
school of the Mappilas. It emphasizes the traditions of the Prophet
(Hadīth) and the use of precedent rather than individual judgment.
Another law school founder, Ibn Hanbal (d. 855) of Baghdad, vehe-
mently opposed the use of reason in scriptural interpretation. He held
that all the verses of the Qurʾān must be taken absolutely literally. If
the scripture says that God sits on a throne, we must accept it without
asking how; there can be no speculation in regard to the implication.
For matters of behavior our guide is the practice of the Prophet and
his early Companions. Cultural importation of any kind that leads to
innovation (bidʿa) is invalid. Despite his great piety and popularity,
Ibn Hanbal’s stern opposition to the Muʿtazilite point of view placed
him in jeopardy, and he spent two years in prison. His approach was
channeled by the Wahhābi Movement into the modern state of Saudi
Arabia where Mappila Gulf employees were introduced to it.
Law led the way toward the crystallization of thought, but there
was still a wide flux of Muslim opinion in the medieval period, and it
took another religious scholar to establish the traditionalist approach.
He was Abuʾl-Hasan al-Ashʿarī (873–935) of Basra and Baghdad, who
is considered by many to be the founder of orthodox theology. Once
a rationalist, he later denounced these views and adopted a conserva-
tive position. He called Ibn Hanbal “a perfect teacher,” but he did not
agree with his view that there is no place for reason in Islamic think-
ing; there is a place, but it is a very restricted one. Reason, al-Ashʿarī
and others argued, cannot establish truth for that comes only from
revelation and is received by faith. Nor can one use reason to inter-
pret revelation, except to clearly set forth its teachings. A a believer
can use reason in the form of logic to prove what is believed and to
defend it, for the Qurʾān itself does so when it points to the wonders
of creation as the signs of God. In short, what al-Ashʿarī and his
school of thought did was to abandon the ideas of Aristotle and other
Appendix C 363
Greek philosophers but keep the method of logical deduction that

they used. Their version of the kalām approach became the method
of traditionalist thought, and it is noteworthy that to this day logic
remains a valued subject in the training of conservative clergy.
The Asharite theologians had great admiration and respect for
the Qurʾān, but their approach was pedantic and dry, as well as argu-
mentative, and it threatened Islam with religious formalism. Fortu-
nately, another figure arose who would give more religious depth to
orthodox theology. He was the renowned Abū Hamīd Muhammad
al-Ghazālī (1058–1111) who is called “The Teacher of Islam.” He put
forth a view that attracted many faithful believers. He maintained
that Muslims should use reason—not to multiply legal regulations as
some legists do, not to bring in human ideas as some philosophers do,
not to engage in endless debate as some theologians do—but rather
to find the spiritual and ethical implications of divine revelation. He
wanted to discover the heart-meaning of Islam. That burning desire
was undoubtedly a product of his personal religious experience. He
had undergone a crisis of faith, and finally it was only through a
Sufi mystical experience that it was restored. Al-Ghazālī came to the
conclusion that true religion must concern itself with the need for
nearness to God and with the spiritual dimensions of ritual and law,
and he henceforth dedicated himself to the task of synthesizing mysti-
cism with law and theology.
Al-Ghazālī was not uninterested in logic and philosophical meth-
odology, and wrote on those topics; but he was very critical of many
philosophical ideas, especially those of the noted Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037),
against whom he wrote The Incoherence of the Philosophers. While he
recognized the need for latitude in approach and berated the tendency
of clergy to label everyone who disagreed with them as kāfir or unbe-
lievers, yet he also wanted respect for Islamic fundamentals. Taking
Asharite theology as his base, he gave it moral depth and set the main
lines for Muslim orthodoxy.1 Many of the theologians that followed
him, however, preferred to center their attention on his rejection of
philosophy rather than on his ethical emphasis, and they interpreted
it as a signal to withdraw from secular learning. They effectively cut
off the intellectual disciplines in which Muslim culture had taken the
leading position in the world. This action, together with their style
of argumentation, provided two of the three basic elements in the
development of traditionalism. The third and final element was the
closure of freedom of thought in favor of the emulation of the past.
Already in the tenth century in the realm of law there had been
a movement afoot to eliminate the general freedom of judgment and
364 Appendix C
private opinion (ijtihād and raʾy) that prevailed among Muslims and
restrict it to religious scholars. That tendency also moved into the
theological area. The trend was sealed after the Mongol invasions
when the centers of the Muslim heartlands collapsed, except for
Egypt. The desire to preserve and protect the faith became domi-
nant.2 The defense-minded religious scholars adopted a very dam-
aging position. By their own consensus (ijmāʿ) they concluded that
all major religious issues had now been settled and that the door to
private rational judgment was closed, except for some narrow room
for legal experts. What was left for the rank-and-file of believers?
What remained was the uncritical acceptance of the authority of past
believers and scholars, the determination to faithfully hand on their
teachings, and the commitment to imitate them in the present. The
term for this approach, taqlīd, became the watchword of traditional-
ists, and it remains so today. The impact on Islam was calamitous as
the informing and sustaining spirit of the Muslim Enlightenment was
stifled.3 The Muslim mind was effectively tranquillized,4 and tradi-
tionalism claimed the mantle of orthodoxy.
The main features of traditionalism in Mappila culture reflect
the results of this development. It is the measure of the power of
the contemporary Mappila cultural revolution that it has succeeded
despite this deeply embedded structure.
Appendix D
The Nizamiyya Syllabus
In one form or another the Dars-i-Nizamiyya became the dominant

curriculum in most orthodox Indian Muslim religious schools. It con-
stituted a North Indian Muslim contribution to Mappila culture. In
their use of the syllabus the Mappila Muslims modified an already
adapted version, but nevertheless the core approach of the Dars-i-
Nizamiyya became the guide for the training of their community’s
traditionalist clergy.
The syllabus featured Arabic grammar and syntax; Quranic
exegesis and the Traditions; logic, mathematics, and a smattering
of other medieval sciences; jurisprudence; scholastic theology; and
sufism. Curricular variations appeared from time to time in various
institutions. Persian, Urdu, the history of Islam, medicine, and even
some philosophy and English moved in and out of the list. Not all
institutions were enamoured with the inclusion of sufism.
We go to Deoband to illustrate the operation of the curriculum.
It lies in Saharanpur District about 100 kilometers north of Delhi.
There the Dar-ul-Uloom was founded in 1867. It has become the pre-
mier theological training center for orthodox Indian Muslims and is
attracting students from many nations. The institution is the recog-
nized vehicle of the Jamiat-Ulama-i-Hind, the All-India organization
of orthodox religious scholars. Originally the school was set up to
represent the tradition of Shah Wali Ullah (d. 1763), who tried to
bring Indian Muslims together on a common theological platform and
to revive their flagging spirits, but now it simply holds to a broadly
Sunni approach. Before India’s Independence it had maintained a
strong stance against the influence of English culture.
The institution tries to operate in a modern way with courses,
examinations, and degrees. The certificates offered include maulavi,
alim, fazil, munshi, and kamil, each depending on the length of study
that varies between six and eleven years. The Dars-i-Nizamiyya con-
tinues at the heart of Deoband’s program with a few variations. Its
version of the syllabus includes the history of Islam and Persian.
365
366 Appendix D
Law and theology receive extra attention. Students must complete the
study of 106 texts, most of them acknowledged conservative authori-
ties.1 A sprinkling of modern subjects has been introduced, but they
have more of a decorative than a substantive quality.
The Deoband approach illustrates the common practice of higher
Indian madrasas using the Nizami syllabus. It is said that in com-
piling his syllabus Muhammad Nizām al-Dīn of Lucknow (d. 1748)
maintained a rational approach and used the most difficult texts in
each subject area in order to make his students think.2 However,
madrasa pedagogy went into the imitational mode. That has been
criticized both from within the Muslim community and from outside.
So, for example, M. Mujeeb regards the Dars-i-Nizamiyya as an aspect
of the orthodox attempt to control education and to resist “subversive
ideas.” While it is the most comprehensive form of orthodox educa-
tion, it has simply enabled its supporters “to isolate themselves from
life around them.”3 Kuldip Kaur, who has made an extensive study
of the system of madrasas crticizes them for producing “religious
dogmatism” and for failing to meet “the challenge of the times.”4
Mappila traditionalist authorities who happily continue their use of
the Nizami syllabus would reject the criticisms and would respond
that the very strength of the approach is its harmony with the revered
learning of the past. It is an unanswered question whether or not a
new Nizām al-Dīn will rise to create a generally acceptable modern
syllabus for clergy training.
Appendix E
Mappila Culture on the

Laccadive Islands (Lakshwadeep)
The residents of the Laccadive Islands are technically Mappilas except

for those in Minicoy, which has connections with the Maldive Islands,
but their island culture distinguishes them from mainland Mappilas.
Depending on the numbering of atolls, banks, and reefs, there are
27 to 36 small low-lying islands with a total land area of 32 sq.km.
They lie 225 to 400 km. off the Kerala shore in the Indian Ocean. Only
ten of them are inhabited, having a total population of 64,473 (2011),
indicating their high density.
The date of the settlement of the islands is uncertain, but prob-
ably it resulted from Buddhist and Hindu migration from the Kerala
mainland. Since the islands lie on the Aden to Colombo trading route,
we may assume that their Islamicization followed similar patterns
as other Mappilas. There are various traditions about Muslim saints
who introduced Islam. One speaks of Ubaidullah arriving in 661 (41
A.H. [Anno Hegirae]), and his tomb on Agatti is held in great respect.
Although sources are scanty, the islands appear to have been under
the titular rule of the Chera kings in the Kulasekhara period, but
after 1102 CE the Kolattiri rajas of North Malabar replaced them. The
remnants of the matrilineal system among islanders point to Hindu or
North Malabar Muslim influence at that time. Practical control over
the islands was given into the hands of the Ali Rajas of Kannur, as
we have seen. The Portuguese briefly entered the scene 1498–1545,
followed in turn by the English and the Mysore rulers, Hyder Ali and
Tipu Sultan. After 1792 the English took possession of Malabar, but
they exercised their sovereignty over the Laccadives through the Ali
Rajas until 1908, when they began their direct administration. Follow-
ing Independence in 1947 India took over the rule, consolidating the
islands into a Union Territory in 1956. Its affairs are conducted by a
Central Government Administrator with legal matters falling under
the Kerala High Court.
367
368 Appendix E
The islands have some strategic importance and therefore benefit

from a protective approach. Their inhabitants are listed as “Scheduled
Tribes” and receive liberal treatment. This includes free health care
with hospitals built on Kavaratti, the island administrative center,
and Minicoy; free education including high schools and two junior
colleges affiliated with the University of Calicut; electrification and
water supply projects; and agricultural development. Before these
improvements the native inhabitants of the Laccadives were back-
ward economically and educationally. Fishing, coconuts, coir, and
copra provided the main income, with rice importation, gardens, and
the sea providing the food; coconuts are still the main revenue source.
There are local elected bodies (panchayats), and the islands have a
representative in the Lok Sabha.
Culturally there are some internal differences among the islands,
from Minicoy in the south where an old Sinhalese-based dialect called
Mahl is spoken, to the central islands and the northern Aminidivis
where dialects of Mappila Malayalam are used. However, 95 per-
cent of the people are Muslim, providing a common base, and there
are many mosques. Like the mainland Mappilas, the vast majority
of people are Sunnis and follow Shafīʿī law. There is a tangal soci-
ety on Androth, and Kalpeni has Ahmadiyyas. Saint veneration and
superstitions common to fisherfolk, including the use of amulets, are
customary. Class distinctions are unique: there are the koyas or aris-
tocratic landowners, like jemnis; the malumis or pilots; the melacharis
or laborers in the coconut gardens; and the fisherfolk. Two islands
follow matrilocal living patterns. Women are relatively free in their
movements, and wear many bangles and ear ornaments. Monogamy
is the practice, but so is easy and frequent divorce. Ordinary houses
are made of coral rock slabs or compressed coral grit. The construc-
tion of their imposing boats (odams) is the major material art. While
traditionalism has ruled, the increased learning and literacy have
brought the problem of the educated unemployed, and youth show
some distaste for traditional occupations. Such problems and issues
will increase as the once isolated Laccadives open to the wider world
through their increased interaction with mainland society, facilitated
by better transport, and through the influence of the media. Tourism
is also now permitted in the uninhabited island of Bangaram. In the
past Minicoy sailors roamed to the far shores of the Bay of Bengal,
and islanders will inevitably be involved in the same cultural journeys
that mainland Mappilas have experienced.1
Notes
Preface
1. Roland E. Miller, The Mappila Muslims of Kerala—A Study in Islamic

Trends (Madras: Orient Longman, 1992; rev. ed.).
2. Professor Arkoun used this phrase in a public speech at an Ontario
conference on “Canada and the Islamic World,” June 26, 2008.
3. G. O.Lang, “Culture,” in New Catholic Encyclopedia (New York:
Thomson-Gale, 2003), p. 246.
Chapter 1
1. In earlier English writings Mappila was usually spelled either

Moplah or Mappilla. For a full discussion of the name cf. Roland E. Miller,
The Mappila Muslims of Kerala, A Study in Islamic Trends (Madras: Orient Long-
man, 1992), rev. ed., pp. 30–33.
2. The term Malabar is commonly used to signify the northern region
of the state of Kerala. The word is formed by combining the Malayalam for
hill (māla) with the Persian for place (bār).
3. William Logan, Malabar Manual, 3 vols. (Madras: Superintendent,
Government Press, 1887), I, p. ciii.
4. For a full bibliography of Mappila materials in English up to 1989,
cf. the writers “Mappilas,” Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed., VI (London: E. J.
Brill, 1989), pp. 458–66. There is no extensive up-to-date study of contem-
porary Mappila culture, although aspects of it are touched upon in various
works. Miller, Mappila Muslims, op. cit., examines the history and theology of
the Mappilas. Further information on theological movements and a useful
bibliography is found in M. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, Groups and Move-
ments in the 20th Century (Kollam: Laurel Publications, 1998). A. P. Ibrahim
Kunju, Mappila Muslims of Kerala, Their History and Culture (Trivandrum: Sand-
hya Publications, 1989) gives helpful information. K. T. Mohammed Ali, The
Development of Education Among the Mappilas of Malabar, 1800–1965 (New Delhi:
Nunes Publishers, 1990) and U. Muhammad, Educational Empowerment of Ker-
ala Muslims: A Socio-Historical Perspective (Calicut: Other Books, 2007) provide
background on that subject. The Publications Division of the U niversity of
369
370 Notes to Chapter 1
Calicut has produced works on such subjects as the Sufis and the Ali Rajas,
while K. K. Mohammed Abdul Sattar has explored the composite culture of
Mappila shrines and festivals in several articles. The Malayalam language
resources have been enriched by the detailed descriptions of local customs by
C. K. Kareem that have replaced the older works of P. A. Syed Muhammad.
5. The 2001 India Census reported a Muslim population of 7,863,342 in
Kerala. The current figure is obtained by applying that decade’s growth rate
of 9.42 percent to the 2001–2014 period. The estimate is low since the Map-
pila natural growth rate is exceeding that of other communities. The Kerala
figure for Muslims also includes a few non-Mappilas.
6. In English the term Malayalam may be either a noun or an adjec-
tive. As an adjective it overlaps with Malayali. While Malayalam is the more
inclusive term, Malayali points to the human element. In practice it is possible
to say either Malayalam culture or Malayali culture.
7. Some of the statistical information in this section is drawn from the
Manorama Yearbook, an annual published by the Manorama newspaper.
8. It took from 1960 to 69 to enact the legislation, which was finally
enshrined in the Ninth Schedule of the Indian Constitution by an Act of
Parliament, May 29, 1972.
9. For a treatment of this phenomenon see Roland E. Miller, “The
Dynamics of Religious Co-Existence in Kerala: Muslims, Christians and Hin-
dus,” in Y. Y. Haddad and W. Z. Haddad, eds., Christian-Muslim Encounters
(Gainesville: The University Press of Florida, 1995), pp. 263–84.
10. Cf. population tables in Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 351. The growth
rate of Hindus and Christians in India in the decade 1991–2001 was 20.3
percent and 22.6 percent, respectively, against a recalculated Muslim growth
rate of 29.3 percent. The Muslim population of India, including Kashmir, in
2001 was 138 million, or 13.4 percent of the total. Cf. New Indian Express,
September 7, 2004, p. 7 and The Hindu, September 13, 2004, p. 10.
11. I have taken Islamic culture to mean the general behavior of people
whose lives are informed by Muslim faith. “The Islamic cultural tradition”
and “Islamic civilization” are somewhat similar terms, but each has its own
shade of meaning. Cf. Gustav Grunebaum, Islam: Essays in the Nature and
Growth of a Cultural Tradition (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd., 1961).
For the shades of meaning in the word “Islam,” see W. C. Smith, The Meaning
and End of Religion (San Francisco, Harper & Row 1978), especially Ch. IV,
“The Special Case of Islam.” If the word “Islam” has basic, ideal, and collec-
tive meanings, as Smith contends, the same may be said for “Islamic culture.”
12. The relation between religion and culture is so intimate that some
ambiguity is inevitable, for as Christopher Dawson points out a culture
involves common beliefs. He therefore speaks of “the interpenetration” of
religion and culture,” a phrase I have borrowed from him. In the case of Islam
the issue becomes even more complicated because the religion is holistic in
principle; therefore Dawson calls Islam “a living culture as well as a world
religion.” Cf. Christopher Dawson, Religion and Culture (New York: Meridien
Books, Inc., 1959), pp. 46f, 53. Paul Tillich sees the relationship more tightly.
Notes to Chapter 2 371
He says: “As religion is the substance of culture, so culture is the form of

religion” See Tillich’s On the Boundary (New York: Ch. Scribner’s Sons, 1966),
pp. 69f.
13. Roland E. Miller, Muslim Friends. Their Faith and Feeling (St. Louis,
MO: Concordia Publishing House, 1995), p. 58.
14. Von Grunebaum, Islam, especially Ch. III, “Arab Culture,” pp. 51–59.
15. P. Crone, “Mawla,” EI 2, VI, pp. 874–82.
16. Robert Lacy, The Kingdom (London: Harcourt, 1981), pp. 243f.
17. D. Libson, “ ‘Urf,” EI 2, X, pp. 887ff.
18. Asaf A. A. Fyzee, Outlines of Muhammadan Law (Delhi: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 4th ed., 1964), p. 22.
19. Murmi Djamal, “Foreword,” Kultur. The Indonesian Journal of Muslim
Culture Vol. 1, No. 1, 2000, n.p.
20. What is presented here is the Sunni position on religious authority.
The Shiʾa point of view differs. Its leadership and authority principles are
related to descent from the family of the Prophet Muhammad. In addition, an
authoritative leader represents in a special way the twelfth imām or succes-
sor of the Prophet who disappeared and is in occultation. Since all Mappilas
are Sunnis, it is not necessary to deal with this point at greater length in the
context of this study.
21. Muhammad Iqbal, Javid Nama, in The Reconstruction of Religious
Thought in Islam (Lahore: Sh. Muhammad Ashraf, 1962; repr.), p. 199.
Chapter 2
1. For the details of Mappila history, cf. works listed in the Encyclopedia
of Islam, VI; in Miller, Mappila Muslims, and in the bibliography of this volume.
2. The decision on whether there may have been some Arab settlements
in Kerala prior to the advent of Islam must be laid aside for lack of informa-
tion. Nothing precludes such a possibility; if there were settlers their pre-
Islamic religious outlook would have made local assimilation an easy matter.
3. The Zamorin maintained a close entente with Muslim traders for
centuries; his favors included port and travel facilities, security arrangements,
land grants, and others. The customs duties he received in turn were a major
source of his income. It was said that he encouraged conversion to the sailor
group.
4. The Perumāl’s presumed conversion has been variously dated at
717, 701, 822, and 1122 CE, but there is no scholarly consensus. The earli-
est date is unlikely since the establishment of mosques by Mālik ibn Dīnār
presupposes a settled Muslim community. Malik’s own identity is doubtful;
he cannot be the Qurʾān scholar and moralist of Basra (d.ca.748 A.D.), the
major figure bearing that name.
5. Cf. infra, Ch. 3.
6. L. W. Brown, The Indian Christians of St. Thomas (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1956), pp. 70f.
7. K. V. Krishna Ayyar, A Short History of Kerala (Ernakulam: Pai &

Co., 1966), p. 3.
8. Shaikh Zein-ud-Din, Tuhfat-ul-Mujahideen, trans. by M. M. Rowland-
son (London: John Murray, 1833), p. 59.
9. K. M. Kurup, and K. M. Mathew, Native Resistance Against the Portu-
guese: The Saga of Kunjali Marakkars. (Calicut: Calicut University Press, 2000),
p. 125.
10. The padroado was a remarkable action that is hard to imagine today. It
was based on the idea that the Pope had direct dominion over all the kingdoms
of the earth. Pope Alexander VI in 1493 had drawn a line from pole to pole
down the Atlantic Ocean dividing the Portuguese and Spanish spheres of influ-
ence. The Portuguese regarded the line as unfair to their interests, and by the
Treaty of Tordesillas it was reset at 48 degrees longitude, that is, 694 kilometers
west of the Cape Verde Islands and 506 kilometers farther west than the origi-
nal decision. The new line clipped off a good bit of Eastern Brazil, and when
one of Pedro Cabral’s Portuguese ships drifted there on the way to Kerala in
1500, he was able to “legitimately” claim Brazil for his country. The padroado
also gave the Spanish and Portuguese monarchs control over the churches
in the lands they colonized. Commerce, conquest, religious propagation and
church control were all equal strands in this unique theory. See Eugene Tisser-
ant, Eastern Christianity in India (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1957, pp.
413–53; and F. C. Danvers, The Portuguese in India (London: W.H. Allen & Co.,
1894), vol. l, pp. xxxvl, 21, 3 9f.; and EB, I, pp. 241f.; XI, p. 851.
11. The Mysorean religious policy is a controversial issue. See Miller,
Mappila Muslims, pp. 88–94, for a summary of opinion. C. K. Kareem, Kerala
Under Haidar Ali and Tipu. Sultan (Ernakulam: Paico Publishing House, 1973),
pp. 182–209, entirely dismisses the criticisms. A moderate view is that the
religious policy served the rulers’ political aims, but at the same time they
did not hesitate to advance the cause of Islam.
12. Letter of November 25, 1552, quoted in K. P. P. Menon, A. History of
Kerala, written In the form of notes on Visscher’s Letters from Malabar (Ernakulam:
Government Press, 1924), I, p. 188.
13. Cf. “Malabar Land Tenure System,” in Mi11er, Mappila Muslims,
App. C, pp. 355–56.
14. For a full and careful study of the causes of the Mappila outbreaks
and their Rebellion see Stephen F. Dale, Islamic Society on the South Asian
Frontier: The Mappilas of Malabar, 1498–1922 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980).
15. For Ali Musaliar see Charles A. Innes, Malabar. Madras District Gaz-
etteers (Madras: Superintendent, Government Press, 1951; rev. ed.), pp. 87ff.;
and C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Mohamed Abdul Kareem, Mahattāya Māppiḷa
Sāhitya Pārambaryum. (“The Glorious Mappila Literary Tradition”), Calicut:
The Authors, 1978; Malayalam, pp. 516–18.
16. For a balanced view of the social disruption and suffering during
the Rebellion see the eyewitness account of the distinguished Hindu editor,
K. P. Kesava Menon in his Kazhinya Kālum (“The Past”), Calicut: Mathrubhumi
Printing and Publishing Co. Ltd., 1969; Malayalam), pp. 93–126.
17. Mappila and British estimates of the number of dead differed

greatly. See Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. l48f.; there were also thousands of
refugees.
18. Khan Bahadur K. Muhammad, Mappilamar Engottu (“Whither the
Mappilas”), (Trichur: Mangalodayam (Pvt.) Ltd., 1956), p. 180. K. Muhammad
was the first special officer for Mappila education.
19. V. Bava in conversation at Malappuram, South Malabar, October,
2004.
20. The Kollam Era is used for calendar dating in Kerala; it is also called
the Malayalam Era (M.E.). It begins with the year 825 CE. There are various
theories about this beginning date; cf. A. Sreedhara Menon, A Survey of Kerala
History (Kottayam: National Book Stall, 1967), pp. 114–22.
21. Muslims were witnesses to the Tarisapally grant to Christians and
others in 849 CE, as recorded on copper plates. See Brown, Indian Christians,
pp. 74–77.
22. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 67.
23. Al-Harmony is published by the Forum of Faith & Fraternity,
Ernakulam; significant editors have included K. M. Abdun Rahman Mather
and K. K. Usman.
24. Philip J. Kreyenbrock, “Religion and Religions in Kurdistan,” in
Kurdish Culture and Identity (London: Zed Book, 1996), p. 85.
Chapter 3
1. Muhammad Mujeeb, The Indian Muslims (London: George Allen &

Unwin, 1967), p. 201.
2. Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History of Islam in India (Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press, 1969), p. 91.
3. Daud Rahbar, “Gandhi and the Hindu-Urdu Question,” in Harold
Coward, ed., Indian Critiques of Gandhi (Albany: SUNY Press, 2003), pp. 217ff.
Cf. also C. Shackle, “Urdu.” EI 2, X, pp. 873–81.
4. D. J. Boilot, “Al-Bīrūnī,” EI 2, I, pp. 1236–38.
5. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, p. 81.
6. The word maʿbar means the crossing; it was the common ancient
term for southern Tamilnad, and it also became the name for one of the five
India regions ruled by Muslims.
7. R. C. Majumdar, An Advanced History of India (London: Macmillan,
1950), p. 306.
8. S. K. Ayyangar, South India and Her Muhammadan Invaders (New
Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1991), pp. 157, 170.
9. K. M. Panikkar, A Survey of Indian History (Bombay: Asia Publishing
House, 1964), pp. 134f.
10. Shaikh Ikram, History of Muslim Civilization in India and Pakistan
(Lahore: Star Book Depot, 1961), p. 315.
11. J. B. P. More, The Political Evolution of Muslims in Tamilnad and Madras,

1930–1947 (Madras: Orient Longman, 1997), p. 18. See also Mattison Mines,
“Labbai,” EI 2, V, pp. 582f.
12. Qureshi, Muslim Community, p. 12.
13. Ikram, Muslim Civilization, p. 501.
14. Murray Titus, Islam in India (Madras: Christian Literature Society,
1959), pp. 152–179.
15. Caste and Social Stratification Among Muslims in India (1973); Family,
Kinship and Marriage Among Muslims in India (1976); Ritual and Religion Among
Muslims in India (1981); and Modernization and Social Change Among Muslims
in India (1983). See also Humayun Kabir’s brilliant analysis of Indian Muslim
“fusion and synthesis” in H. Bhattacarya, ed., The Cultural Heritage of India,
Vol. IV, The Religions (Calcutta: Ramkrishna Institute, 1956), pp. 579–92.
16. S. A. A. Rizvi, “Muslim India,” in Bernard Lewis, ed., Islam and the
Arab World (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1976), p. 301.
17. K. A. Nizami, “Tarika,” EI 2, X, section 7, pp. 255ff.
18. Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill: Uni-
versity of North Carolina Press, 1982), p. 345.
19. V.Kunhali, Sufism in Kerala (Calicut: University of Calicut, 2004),
p. 70.
20. Aziz Ahmad, Islam in India, p. 114.
21. The French established factories at Surat (1668), Masulipatam in
Andhra (1669), Pondicherry (1673), Chandergore near Calcutta (1674), and
at Mahe in Malabar (1725).
22. Majumdar, Advanced History, p. 643.
23. Kareem, Haidar Ali, p. 26.
24. Majumdar, Advanced History, pp. 638f.
25. Qureshi, Muslim Community, p. 266.
26. Quoted by Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, p. 392.
27. Ibid., p. 397.
28. Aziz Ahmad, Islam in India, p. 60.
29. Majumdar, Advanced History, p. 820.
30. A more conservative reform movement was under way at the same
time; it was led by the bridge-building Shibli Nuʾmani (1857–1914) with aid
from other theologians, the Urdu novelist Nazir Ahmad (1833–1972), and the
revivalist poet Hali (1837–1914). This group of reformers were restrained in
their regard for reason and were apologists for the cultural values of Islam.
Hali’s celebrated poem, the Mussadas (1879), that celebrated the past achieve-
ments of Islam, was however composed at Sir Sayyid’s suggestion, and he in
turn wrote a study of Sir Sayyid’s life and work (1901).
31. Sir Sayyid also wrote, “Islam is truth; it is the religion of truth and
morality par excellence, and as such justly claims a paramount superiority.”
See his essays on the Life of Muhammad (Lahore: Premier Book House, 1968;
repr.), p. 240. What he was contending for was an interpretation of truth and
morality that reflected modern learning.
32. S. Abid Husain, The Destiny of Indian Muslims (Bombay: Asia Pub-
lishing House, 1965), pp. 17–22.
33. Rizvi, “Muslim India,” op. cit., p. 311.

34. Peter Hardy, The Muslims of British India (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1972), p. 169.
35. K. T. Mohammad Ali, The Development of Education among the Map-
pilas of Malabar, 1800–1965 (Delhi: Nunes Publishers, 1990), pp. 141f.
36. Wakkom Abdul Khadr, Jr. (1912–76) translated Iqbal’s Asrar-i-Kudi
into Malayalam, and another of the reformer’s sons, M. Abdul Salam (1905–
35), translated part of Shibli’s Al-Faruq. See Jose Abraham’s McGill University
doctoral thesis: “Modernity, Islamic Reform, and the Mappilas of Kerala: The
Contributions of Vakkom Maulavi” (2008). This fine study published in late
2014; cf. Bibl. O. Abu translated Syed Ameer Ali’s Spirit of Islam as Islāminde
Chaitānyum (1967). Sir Sayyid’s major works were not translated; nevertheless,
Prof. Abdul Samad, Islam, p. 38, regards his influence as the most prominent
one.
37. Hardy, Muslims, p. 240. Jinnah’s speech helped to change the course
of South Asian history.
38. Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 162–66.
39. That need for attention seemed to be finally assuaged when the
Government of Kerala created Malappuram District on June 16, 1969, with a
Muslim majority. At that time many of those who opposed the formation of
the district once again raised the bogy of “Moplastan.”
Chapter 4
1. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 1970, p. 1360.

2. Jaroslav Pelikan, The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100–600)
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971), p. 9. The analogous term ortho-
dox is closely associated with traditional, rather than traditionalist. Tradition-
alism is hardened, unyielding orthodoxy.
3. Constance Padwick, Muslim Devotions (London: S.P.C.K., 1961), p. 132.
4. The founder of the noted Taramal family (Mambram Tangal), Sayyid
Shaikh Jifri Tangal, came from Hadramaut to Calicut as late as 1755.
5. Freya Stark, The Southern Gates of Arabia (London: John Murray,
1936), pp. 209f. Stark counts sixty mosques in use and states that it is still
the city of religion par excellence.
6. Ibid., p. 203.
7. C. N. Ahmed Maulavi, Parisuddha Khurān-Paribāshyum Wyākhyānawum
(“The Holy Qurʾān, Translation and Commentary”) (Perumbavoor; Abdul
Majeed Marikar, Vols. I and II; and Calicut; by the Author, Vols. III to Vl,
1951–1961.
8. A notable example. Emperor Firuz Tughluq, may have constructed
or endowed as many as thirty schools in the Delhi region in the years 1351
to 1388. Cf. Ahmed, An Intellectual History, pp. 52–57, for other patrons.
9. J. M. Landau, “Kuttāb,” El2, V, p. 367.
10. Kuldip Kaur, Madrasa Education in India (Chandigarh: Centre for
Research in Rural and Industrial Development, 1990), p. v.
11. Innes, Malabar, p. 300.

12. V. Mohamed, “Moplah Education,” Farook College Annual: Silver Jubi-
lee Number (Feroke: Feroke College, 1973), p. 117.
13. K. T. Mohammed Ali, Education Among the Mappilas, p. 118.
14. Ibid., p. 120; quoted from the “Report on Public Instruction in the
Madras Presidency for the year 1936–1937.”
15. See Chapter 12, “Religious Rituals and Festivals: Saints and
Superstition.”
16. For this summary I am indebted to A. T. T. Tibawi, Islamic Education
(London; Luzac, 1972), pp. 23–27.
17. K. T. Mohammed Ali, Education Among the Mappilas, p. 58.
18. Kareem, Directory, pp. 779ff.
19. Clergy training schools reflect personality differences among mau-
lavis, even though educationally they belong to the same general group. The
schools may also represent reform movements or sectarian groups.
20. The name Jalālain is a dual form; it refers to the two Egyptian
“Jalāls” who share the authorship of this standard orthodox Qurʾān com-
mentary. They are al-Mahallī (d. 1459) and al-Suyūtī (d. 1505).
21. Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 261.
22. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Religion of Islam, p. 334.
23. K. Muhammad, Mappilamār Engoṭṭu (“Whither the Mappilas”), p.
184.
Chapter 5
1. J. G. J. Jansen, “Tajdīd,” EI 2, X, pp. 61f. For a full treatment of theo-

logical reform movements see Aziz Ahmad, “Islāh,” EI 2, IV, pp. 144–71; and
W. Ende, “Salafiyya,” EI 2, VIII, pp. 900–09; for Mappila movements cf. Abdul
Samad, Islam in Kerala, and Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 255–307.
2. Osman Amin, Muhammad Abduh, trans. by Charles Wendell (Wash-
ington: American Council of Learned Societies, 1953), p. 12.
3. Furqān is a Quranic term applied to God’s signs, especially the
Qurʾān. Pickthall and Yusuf Ali translate it as “Criterion,” Palmer as “Dis-
crimination,” Rowley as “Illumination,” and Arberry as “Salvation.”
4. H. A. R. Gibb, Modern Trends in Islam (New York: Octagon Books,
1978), p. 42. See also Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age,
1798–1839 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970), pp. 130–60. Fazlur Rah-
man argues that Abduh’s contribution was not in “new ideas” but in a new
approach, namely, that faith and reason “must cooperate,” Islam, p. 268.
5. In his article “Al-Manār,” EI 2, VI, pp. 360ff., J. Jomier credits its
contribution to the Muslim awakening; however, he also notes that the later
Rida veered from ʿAbduh’s progressive approach, especially in his Hanbalism
and “schematic views of an apologetic nature.”
6. Cf. Charles Kurzman, ed. Modernist Islam, 1840–1940 (New York:
Oxford, 2002), p. 314; quoted from Wakkom Maulaviyute Tiyanyeṭṭuka Krtikul
(Wakkom: Maulavi Publications, 1979), p. 315, trans. by Roland Milier.
7. Ibid., p. 314.
8. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, pp. 75–80.
9. See Chapter 11 for the biography of “C. N.”
10. Abdul Samad, Islam in Kerala, p. 133.
11. The Ahl-i-Hadith in North India who bore a striking philosophic
resemblance to the Mappila theological reformers were also dismissed as
“Wahhabis.” Cf. Murray Titus, Indian Islam, pp. 195f.
12. Miller Mappila Muslims, pp. 160f; in 1933 Seethi Sahib withdrew
from his legal practice at Tellicherry to work full time for Muslim revival.
13. Cf. E. E. Abdul Qadir Musaliyar, Al-Munir Annual (Pattikad: Noorul
Islam Students Association, 1972), pp. 83–93; the quotation is on p. 90, trans.
by Roland Miller.
14. It is widely recognized that the accessing and use of Gulf monetary
donations lay behind much of the acrimony. See also “The Impact of Gulf
Money and Gulf Custom” in this chaper.
15. M. R. Masani, The Communist Party in India (Bombay: Bharatiya
Vidya Bhavan, 1967, p. 248.
16. Kerala politics are famous for their shifting alignments both with-
in parties and in coalitions; it is noteworthy that even the Muslim League
divided into two groups from 1975 to 1985.
17. The Communist (ML) or Naxalite group, an anarchic movement,
broke off from the Marxist group. It is Maoist in doctrine and violent in
behavior; while the group faded from the scene in Kerala, it still continues
elsewhere.
18. E. M. S. Namboodiripad, Conflicts and Crises (Bombay: Orient Long-
man, 1974), p. 92.
19. Ibid., p. 70.
21. Ravinder Kumar, ed., The Selected Works of Maulana Kalam Azad (New
Delhi: Atlantic Publishers, 1992), IV, pp. 45f.
22. Speech at the 14th Session of the Central Advisory Board of Educa-
tion, New Delhi, Ibid., III, (1991), pp. 111–13. Later quotes are also from this
1948 address.
23. Parliamentary speech on the Benares Hindu University Bill; Ibid.
(1991), VI, p. 86.
24. V. Muhammad, “Moplah Education,” Farook College Annual, 1973,
p. 118.
25. Abid Husain, Destiny, p. 227.
26. Ibid., p. 231.
27. See Chapter 11 for the biography of Professor Jaleel.
28. The educational complex also includes a primary school, high school,
training school, as well as an Arabic college and extensive hostel facilities.
Both the spellings Feroke and Farook are used for the college.
29. The full listing is found in Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 334f.
30. Professor Akbar S. Ahmed, a Cambridge anthropologist, makes the
astute observation that Islamic culture is still engaged with various aspects of
modernity, and therefore differs from Western culture which has entered the
stage of post-modernity. “There exists . . . an intellectual time-warp between

Muslims and the West.” Cf. his Postmodernism and Islam (London: Routledge,
1992), pp. 28f. The Mappila educational history substantiates his contention.
31. Robert Lacy, The Kingdom. Arabia and the House of Saʿud (New York:
Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich Publishers, 1981), p. 239.
32. Ibid., pp. 254ff.
33. About 1.5 million were resident at any one time. For sources cf.
Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 321–26.
34. Cf. Arjan Roy Chaudhuri, “Emigration from India grows 27% in
‘03,” in The New Economic Times, October 20, 2004.
35. “Restive Foreign Workers Have Fearful Dubai Eyeing Reform,” New
York Times, August 6, 2007, pp. Al, A8. The Emirate statistics are quoted from
United Nations U.A.E. officials.
36. N. Vijay Mohan, “Gulf Dream: for Indians the Golden Beaches Still
Gleam,” Malayala Manorama, 1990 (Kottayam: Malayala Manorama, 1990), pp.
414, 417.
37. Cf. Indian Express, November 5, 2007, p. 1.
38. See Times of India, November 5, 2007, p. 14, and Indian Express,
November 6, 2007, p. 1; the development compelled the U.A.E. government
to announce a. decision to look into the conditions.
39. These statistics were drawn from personal interviews in South Mala-
bar in 2004, and are subject to variations in currency exchange rates; in 2007
there were eleven Indian rupees to the Saudi rial. The subject of the Gulf
effect on Keralites is being investigated by Caroline and Filippo Osella. See,
for example, “Migration, Money and Masculinity in Kerala,” in The Journal of
the Royal Anthropological Institute, Vol. 6, No. 1, 2000, pp. 117–33, and “Once
Upon the Time in the West: Stories of Migration and Modernity from Kerala,
South India,” Ibid., Vol. 12, No. 3, 2006, pp. 569–88.
40. A study by the Kerala Sastra Sahitya Parishad (KSSP), quoted in
Frontline, Vol. 23, No. 24, December 2–15, 2006, p. 32.
41. The Saudi Government has progressively modified aspects of its
regulations, but the basic structure remains intact. For information regarding
the Wahhabi movement up to 2002 see W.Peskes and W.Ende, “Wahhabiyya,”
EI 2, XI, pp. 39–47. Ende (p. 47) states that in contemporary Saudi Arabia
“ultra-orthodox Wahhabi principles and practices are upheld to a consider-
able extent.” That this remains true was illustrated in August, 2008, when
the nation’s chief religious authority chose to ban the practice of birthday
parties! On the other hand, in 2012 the first Saudi woman was permitted to
participate in the London Olympics.
42. Fazlur Rahman, Islam, pp. 243, 245.
Chapter 6
1. See Appendix A, “Islamic Terms for Culture.”

2. Quoted in M. Zaid, ed., Congress Presidential Addresses (New Delhi:
Indian Institute of Applied Political Research, 1989), IV, pp. 295, 306.
3. The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (Delhi: The Director, Publica-

tions Division, 1965), Vol. 21, p. 135.
4. Ibid., Vol. 23, p. 514.
5. Ibid., p. 3.
6. In the colonial context various organizations arose to represent
Hindu interests. The earliest was the Arya Samaj, founded by Dayananda
Saraswati in 1875. Since then many other revivalist Hindu associations have
arisen, some with political connections.
7. Speech at Ernakulam on August 15, 1958, quoted in Aboosidiqqi,
Seethi Sahib (Calicut: Green House, 1966; Malayalam), pp. 209ff.
8. Miller, Mappila Muslims, p. 177. Kerala political parties tend to rep-
resent the interests of specific social and religious groups, although often
indirectly.
9. The India Government’s Rajinder Sacher Committee made this obser-
vation of Indian Muslims in general (2006). With reference to the Mappilas it
quoted a Kerala Government study (2000) reporting that Mappilas received only
10.54 percent of eligible state positions in contrast to their 24.70 percent of the
population. Frontline, op. cit., p. 32. For an example of the strong Muslim feeling
about their low representation in government services see K. M. Bahauddin,
Kerala Muslim History: A Revisit (Calicut: Other Books, 2014), pp. 237f.
10. R. Walzer, “Akhlāk,” EI 2, I, p. 327.
11. For example, Prof. A. P. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 1, offers
this comment on his inclusive use of the term Mappila: “. . . The term is
applied to all Muslims in Kerala in general for the reason that all of them
follow practically the-same-beliefs, social customs and practices.” As far as
is known, no statistical poll of Mappila opinion on the issue has ever been
taken. For the Mandal Commission cf. Miller, Mappila Muslims, pp. 342–46.
12. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, and M. H. Abdul Kareem, Mahattāya Māppiḷa
Sāhityāpārambaryam “The Glorious Mappila Literary Tradition”), p. l.
Chapter 7
1. Aruna Asaf Ali, Resurgence of Indian Women (New Delhi: Radiant

Publishers, 1991), pp. 218f.
2. Cf. Stanley Wolpert, India (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1991), p. 226.
3. Arogya Gitang! (“Health Songs”) (Malappuram: Indian Population
Project, n.d.), pp. 11f.
4. Javeed M. Ansari, “AIMPLB Differs on small family norm,” The
Hindu, September 15, 2004, p. 11.
5. Indu Prakash Singh, Women, Law and Social Change (New Delhi:
Radiant Publishers, 1989), p. 66.
6. The practice of dowry often produces very sad spin-off events. A
notably disastrous one was the suicide of four Hindu sisters at Alappali,
Palghat District, Kerala, on November 4, 1988, to relieve their parents “from
the burden of dowry.” Ibid., p. 67.
7. My Mappila informant was Maulavi Karuvalli Muhammad, at

Malappuram, November, 2005.
8. Rashid A. Chaudry, Muslim Festivals and Ceremonies (London: Inter-
national Publications Ltd., 1988), p. 39.
10. Mary Helen Miller, “A Mohammedan Wedding,” The Minaret, Vol.
10, No. 1, September 1954, p. 11.
11. Thurston, Tribes, IV, p. 493.
12. Kareem, Kerala District Gazetteers: Palghat, p. 203.
13. Gazetteers: Malappuram, p. 273.
14. Hammudah Abd al-Ati defines talāq al-bidʾa as “the triple divorce
formula in the same sitting or the same breath;” see The Family Structure of
Islam (Indianapolis: American Trust Publications, 1977), p. 241. There are also
more obscure divorce methods that have some recognition; cf. Qadri, Juris-
prudence, pp. 395ff; and Fyzee, Muhammadan Law, pp. l66ff.
16. Ibid., p. 226.
17. N. Abdul, Mayyittu Parapālanum (“Funeral Service”) (Tirurangadi:
C. H. Muhammad, 1982), p. 47.
Chapter 8
1. Professor K. A. Jaleel, in conversation at Feroke, November, 2005.

2. “Priority for Muslim Women,” New Indian Express, November, 2005.
3. Conversation in Malabar, November 22, 2006. Aysha Maqbool grew
up in Saudi Arabia, was educated in Ernakulam, and now teaches English at
Feroke. She is pursuing a higher degree at the University of Medina.
4. The next stage of Mappila Studies hopefully will be enhanced by
close up investigations of family life that will also lead to a phenomenology
of gender relations.
5. Ironically, Mappila cultural adaptation stands in sharp contrast
to Al-Shāfiʾī’s strictly logical, systematic and traditions-emphasizing legal
approach.
6. Imtiaz Ahmed, Family, p. xxix, suggests: “Perhaps we need a large
number of individual studies of particular Muslim communities before we
can hope to arrive anywhere close to a truly definite picture of family, kinship
and marriage in India.” The Mappila marumakkathāyam system symbolizes
that variety.
7. N. J. Coulson, A History of Islamic Law (Edinburgh: University Press,
1964), p. 17.
8. Fyzee, Muhammadan Law, p. 340.
9. This section of the verse refers to brothers and sisters of the same
mother. A later verse, 4:176, takes up the case of brothers and sisters of any
mother.

11. Ibid., p. 399.
12. Qadri, Jurisprudence, p. 428.
13. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi, Islam, pp, 309–11.
15. There are pockets in Paravar, Edava, and Odettel taluks in former
Travancore. Cf. K. M. Seethi Sahib, “Kerala Muslimkālum Marumakkathāya
Sambradāyum,” in P. A. Syed Muhammad, ed., Kerala Muslim Directory, pp.
409ff.
16. I owe the translation of tarawād as “ancestral home” to Mr. V.
Abdulla.
17. Cf. Innes, Malabar, pp. 96f.
18. It should be noted that not all Nayars followed marumakkathāyam.
Moreover, a few other caste groups also observed it, sometime partially, some-
times only in certain regions. North Kerala Tiyyas appear to have been among
them (Menon, Survey, p. 265), but South Malabar and other Tiyyas observed
makkathāyam (Innes, Malabar, p. 125).
19. The Arakkal family followed a modified system, the senior-most
person, female (Arakkal Bibi) or male (Ali Raja) becoming the ruler.
20. Victor S. D’Souza, “Kinship Organization and Marriage Customs
Among the Moplahs on the Southwest Coast of India,” in Imtiaz Ahmed,
Family, p. 150.
21. D’Souza, Ibid., pp. l42f, reports on further hybrid phenomena.
22. K. M. Seethi, “The Muslims of Kerala and the Customary Act,”
Kerala Muslim Directory, op. cit., p. 412f.
23. Adrian C. Mayer, Land and Society in Malabar (London: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1952), p. 101.
24. David M. Schneider and Kathleen Gough, Matrilinear Kinship (Berke-
ley: University of California Press, 1961), p. 432.
25. Barbara Riedel, Letter from Calicut, February 25, 2005; Ms. Riedel
has studied culture change among Mappila college students. See her Orient
und Okzident in Calicut (Heidelberg: Draupadi Verlag, 2014), Ch. 5, for first-
hand information about the attitudes of Muslim youth in the tarawāds.
Chapter 9
1. See Asghar Ali Engineer, Indian Muslims (New Delhi: Ajanta Pub-
lications, 1985), p. 330; N. C. Saxena, “Public Employment and Educational
Backwardness among the Muslims in India,” in Moin Shakir, ed., Religion State
and Politics in India (Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1989), p. 180; and Bhaskar
Roy, “Mind of Indian Muslims,” Indian Express Sunday Magazine, September
22, 1991, quoted in Muslim India, December, 1991, p. 569. Roy says, “Muslims
have never been so badly off.” See also National Sample Survey, 4th Round,
1990, quoted in MI, IX, No. 108, December 1991, p. 60. Yet another Central
Government commission in November 2006, found that the problem still

continues.
2. This figure is for March 31, 1983, taken from the Writ Petition, No.
930, 1990, op. cit.
3. See “Malabar Land Tenure System,” in Miller, Mappila Muslims, App.
C, pp. 355f.
4. Writ Petition, op. cit., p. 4, 5
5. The author first met this reality in the town of Manjeri, South Mala-
bar, in September 1953, when a single Mappila porter carried a trunk on his
head for a city block; it had earlier taken four Westerners to lift the same
trunk!
6. P. R. G. Mathur, The Mappila Fisherfolk of Kerala (Trivandrum: Kerala
Historical Society, 1977), p. 23.
7. Ibid., pp. 206, 221.
8. K. T. Mohammed Ali, Education, p. 189.
9. C. K. Kareem, compiled, Kerala District Gazetteers: Malappuram (Triv-
anchrum: Government Press, 1986, pp. 268f.
10. Mrs. Mary Helen Miller, the writer’s wife, has provided helpful
research information on women’s dress, ornaments, and general behavior.
11. Ibid.
12. Thurston, Castes and Tribes, IV, p. 484.
13. Kareem, Malappuram, p. 213.
14. Originating in northeast Africa, the henna stain was used as far
back as ancient Egypt for decorating hands, feet, and nails, and as a hair
colorant; henna is derived from the Ar. al-hinna. The henna plant is a low
tree or shrub.
15. For further details of a cottage industry involving henna preparation
and marketing by Mappila women in Calicut see “Henna way to fame and
riches,” New Indian Express, Kozhikode, November 26, 2005, p. 2.
16. MI, III, No. 2, 7, March 1985, p. 111.
17. Cassava or manioc (manihot esculanta) is often confused with sweet
potato or yam (dioscoreaceae), which is also found in South Asia. Cassava is
native to the South American tropics and may have been brought to Kerala
from Brazil by the Portuguese. What is called “tapioca” in the West, a pud-
ding material, is made from cassava starch. Without explanation Gundert,
Dictionary, p. 368, followed by other Malayalam dictionaries, suggests that
chini is a sweet potato of the convolvalus batatas species.
18. While the cow is sacred for orthodox Hindus, the mixed population
of the state and general sensitivity have ensured that there is little agitation
over the issue.
19. Ummi Abdulla, Malabar Muslim Cookery (Madras: Orient Longman,
1981), passim.
20. The origin of the word biriyani is obscure. C. Madhavan Pilla,
Malayalam-English Dictionary, lists it as an Arabic term, but without etymol-
ogy; Arabic dictionaries are silent. Pilau is derived from Persian. Its Turkish
variant is pilav, hence the occasional English spelling pilaf.
21. Sivaprasad Bhattacarya, “Religious Practices of the Hindus,” in Ken-

neth W. Morgan, ed. The Religion of the Hindus (New York: The Ronald Press
Company, 1953), p. 164.
22. Miller, Muslim Friends, p. 218.
23. Innes, ed. Malabar, p. 291.
24. For example, in 1954 the author and Veeran Maestry, a Mappila
contractor, built the first septic tank at Malappuram, which then became a
model for others. In the backward Melmuri area in the same district Dr.
Victoria Mathews and Mr. Tharyan Mathews constructed a large number of
protective well covers and latrines under the auspices of Canadian Lutheran
World Relief.
25. I am unable to trace the origin of this health song, but regard it
as one of the Aroqya Gitang, op. cit., produced under the direction of Dr. A.
Mohammed.
26. Qadri, Jurisprudence, p. 187.
27. Cf. Reuben Levy, The Social Structure of Islam (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2962), pp. 73–90; for slavery in Islamic history see
pp. 117f, and for concubinage p. 234. Cf. also Joseph Schacht, An Introduction
to Islamic Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), pp. 127–30. B. Lewis in What
Went Wrong? (New York: Oxford, 2002), p. 89, records that slavery was only
abolished in Yemen and Saudi Arabia in 1962.
28. There were two types of slave activity in southwest India—slave
trading and agricultural slavery. Slave trading was a severe problem in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when children were kidnapped by robber
bands and were dispatched from Cochin and Mahe to foreign markets. In 1792
the Joint Commissioners in Malabar outlawed this practice as one of the first
acts of English rule. Agricultural slavery was related to the land ownership
system. People were attached to the land as serfs, and were bought and sold
along with the land. This easily reverted to the outright buying and selling of
people. As late as August 10, 1844, a ten-month-old child was sold in court
auction for Rs.1.65. In some taluks women brought higher prices than men
with a view to their ability to breed more slaves. This agrarian slavery was
formally abolished in Travancore in 1812, in Malabar in 1843, and in Cochin
in 1854, and the passage of the India Penal Code in 1862 delivered a final
legal blow to the practice. It continued sporadically thereafter. In Malabar the
bulk of the agricultural slaves belonged to the Cherumar outcastes, and in
the nineteenth century many became Muslims to escape their condition. In
1857, however, they still numbered 187,812. Cf. Logan, Manual, I, pp. l50ff,
and Menon, Survey of Kerala History, passim.
29. Levy, Social Structure, p. 84, quoting Snouck Hurgronje, Mecca, II,
p. 15.
30. Yusuf Ali, Commentary, pp. l83f, interprets the passage 4:13–16 to
refer to lesbianism and homosexuality, the punishment for both to be an
indefinite form of confinement.
31. Ibn Khaldun, The Muqqadimah, trans. by Franz Rosenthal, abridged
by N. J. Dawood (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), pp. 288f.
Chapter 10
1. Pliny called it Patate; the Portuguese Pandarani; Ibn Batutah Fanda-

raina; and Sheikh Zein-ud-Din Fundreah; cf. Innes, Malabar, p. 464.
2. “Muslim Sub-Divisions,” Kerala Muslim Directory, pp. 478ff.
3. Cf. Victor D’Souza, “Social Organization,” Anthropos, LIV (1939), p.
504, who deals with separate mosques. D’Souza, followed by Ibrahim Kunju
and others, uses the term “Malabari” to describe the general run of Mappilas;
this narrow term does not represent common Mappila usage.
4. In late 2007 a McKinsey Global Institute report predicted that India’s
middle class would increase from the current 50 million to 583 million by
2025 and consumer spending would quadruple from the current Rs.17 trillion
to Rs.70 trillion by 2022. Mumbai Mirror, November 5, 2007, p. 26.
5. M. G. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, I, The Classical Age (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, p. 303.
6. Ahmad, Intellectual History, p. 57.
7. Kareem, ed., History, Statistics and Directory, pp. 779ff.
8. Conversation with Shihab Tangal at Panakkad, South Malabar,
December 2005.
9. Prospectus of the Islamic (Sunni) Cultural Complex, Karanthoor, n.d.,
p. 1.
10. Quoted from an interview with “A. P.” and faculty members at
Karanthoor, November 10, 1990.
11. Kareem, Directory, pp. 799f. This 1991 figure awaits up-dating.
12. Kareem, Malappuram District Gazetteer, p. 721. Of the 131,165 elemen-
tary students opting for Arabic in Kerala (1985) 35 percent were located in
Malappuram District.
13. Kareem, Directory, pp. 799f.
14. Karuvalli Muhammad, “Arabic Education in Kerala,” op. cit., p. 249.
15. Ibid.
16. The list is taken from the University of Calicut’s School of Distance
Education Handbook, 2004–2005, p. 120.
17. As an example, cf. the interior South Malabar town of Wandoor
where two English medium schools have been established with classes from
kindergarten to “plus two.” In one of them, the Otten School, 63 percent of
the students are Mappila children (2011).
18. “Education Plus, Aiming for the Starts,” The Hindu, September 4,
2004, p. 5.
19. See the Muslim Education Society’s 2003–2004 Warshatte, 39th War-
shika Report (“The Year 2003–2004, 39th Annual Report”) (Calicut: M.E.S. Office,
2004), p. 43. In dollars the comparative figure would be about $1,522,500!
20. Brochure of S.A.F.I. (Cochin: The Board of Trustees, SAFI, n.d.).
21. S.A.F.I. Inauguration Brochure.
22. K. A. Jaleel, Kēralattile Muslim Sānnidhyum (“Muslim Presence in
Kerala”) (Trivandrum: Muslim Cultural Trust, n.d.), pp. 15–18.
23. In an earlier work, in introducing the critical early years of the Map-
pila entry into politics the writer used the phrase “salvation by politics” to
describe the basic Mappila motivation. The phrase still applies, though with
less force, as some Mappilas now look either to education or to economic
improvement as the community’s hope. Cf. Miller, Mappilas, pp. 167–72.
24. In an example of a Mujahid split, one faction led by Maulavi A.
P. Abdul Khader was adamant that the immediate implementation of the
tawhīd principle is needed and there can be no compromise with superstitious
practices bordering on shirk, while another faction led by Maulavi Hussain
Madavoor advised a slower pace of change. The argument led to violence.
Both groups claimed control over a mosque at Kodunthirapully in Palghat
District, and in the ensuing struggle in October 2005, the mosque was demol-
ished. Cf. the New Indian Express, October 5, 2005, p. 3.
26. M. Gaborieau, “Tablīghī Djamāʿat,” EI 2, X, pp. 38f.
28. Cf. supra, Chapter V, Section 4.
29. See the New Indian Express, November 6, 2007, p. 6.
Chapter 11
1. Syed Shihabuddin, Muslim India, VIII, No. 86, p. 51.
2. Among the many holding this view is A. A. Engineer, Indian Muslims
(Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1985), p. 309, who says, “After partition even the
educated classes who were in the professions of military and government
service had migrated to Pakistan.”
3. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and K. K. Abdul Kareem, The Glorious Tradi-
tion, p. 616.
4. For a description of that rational approach see Miller, Mappila Mus-
lims, pp. 278–80. “C. N.” exercised considerable exegetical freedom in his
commentary.
5. The quotations are from Ayesha Jaleel, “Muslim Women and Their
Problems,” in K. A. Jaleel, ed., Ayisha Jaleel Smaraka Grantham (“Memorial
Volume for Ayisha Jaleel”) (Calicut: K. A. Jaleel, 1988), pp. 88f.
6. Quoted in Rahim Mechary, ed., Karmawithiyil Kalanuttandu (“Essays
and Memoirs”) Calicut, 2001), pp. 113f.
7. G. M. Banathwalla, “Message,” Ibid., p. 11.
8. N. Madhavankutty, “Essays and Memoirs,” Ibid., pp. 101f.
9. The Indian Express, November 6, 2007, p. 5.
10. The locale was the still flourishing Christian Welfare Centre, Malap-
puram, South Malabar, which was established in 1956.
11. Abdul Samad Samadani, Khurān Manushya Vijāyattilēke (“The Quran
Leads to Human Victory”), Muslim Service Society Journal, October 2004, p. 52.
12. K. A. Jaleel, “On Wakf and Wakf Laws,” al-Harmony, Vol. 3, No. 3,
Jan.–Mar., 2002, p. 18. For the Wakf Act itself, consult A. A. Fyzee, Outlines of
Muhammadan Law, 4th ed., pp. 280ff. The spelling “wakf” conforms to Indian
Muslim practice.
13. See, R. Peters, et al., “Wakf,” EI 2, XI, pp. 59ff.
14. A. A. Qadri, Muslim Jurisprudence, 2nd rev. ed., pp. 455–57.
16. Kareem, Malappuram, pp. 797f.
17. Jaleel, “Wakf,” al-Harmony, p. 21.
18. Cf. the author’s following book chapters: “The Dynamics of Reli-
gious Co-Existence in Kerala: Muslims, Christians and Hindus,” Christian-
Muslim Encounters, ed. by Y. Y. and W. Z. Haddad (Gainesville: University
Press of Florida, 1995), pp. 263–84; “Religious Interaction in Kerala,” Conver-
sion and Continuity: Indigenous Christian Communities in Medieval Islamic Lands,
ed. by M. Gergers and R. J. Bikhazi (Toronto: The Pontifican Institute of Medi-
eval Studies, 1990), pp. 437–48; and “Trialogue in Kerala,” Hindu-Christian
Dialogue, ed. by Harold Coward (New York: Orbis, 1989), pp. 47–63.
19. The expatriate woman was Mrs. Mary Helen Miller.
20. The phrase “competitive religiosity” was used by P. Chidambaram,
Minister of State for Home Affairs, in a Lok Sabha speech at New Delhi,
October 12, 1989, as reported in Muslim India, VII, No. 83, November 1989,
pp. 504ff.
21. The Hindu, September 29, 2004, p. 10.
22. Quoted in the New Indian Express, October 10, 2005, p. 15.
23. Ibid., December 6, 2002, p. 1.
Chapter 12
1. For a full discussion of the details of the five basic Islamic rituals
see Miller, Muslim Friends, pp. 210–40.
3. Malayala Manorama, November 20, 2005, p. 1.
4. The Hindu, December 3, 2005, p. 6.
6. Sell, Faith of Islam, p. 436.
7. Ibid., p. 432.
8. Kareem, Kerala District Gazetteer: Palghat, p. 239.
9. Kareem, Kerala District Gazetteer: Malappuram, p. 215.
10. S. M. Koya, Mappilas of Malabar. Studies in Social and Cultural History
(Calicut: Sandhya Publications, 1983), p. 102. Similar statements have been
made with reference to other Indian Muslims. Sell, Faith of Islam, p. 429,
states: “Among other practices borrowed from the Hindus must be placed the
pilgrimage made by Indian Musulmans to the shrine of saints.” For examples
of genuine syncretic groups in Indian Islam cf. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, pp.
10–19.
11. B. Radthke, “Walī,” EI 2, xi, p. 109.
12. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, p. 345, is of the opinion that this

impact “began to be felt in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries after
the consolidation of the main Sufi orders in the central provinces of India.” Sir
Thomas Arnold notes: “Each of these [major] religious orders originated outside
India.” Cf. his “Saints and Martyrs (Muhammadan in India)” ERE, II, p. 68.
13. Titus, Islam in India, p. 37; see his entire chapter on “Saint-Worship,”
pp. 137–52. This description is borne out by the myriad saint shrines that
dot the landscapes of North and Central India. Cf. Christian Troll, ed., Mus-
lim Shrines in India (Delhi: Oxford, 1993); Zahra Khatoon, Muslim Saints and
Shrines (Jammu: Jay Kay Book House, 1990); and S. A. Rizvi, A History of
Sufism in India, 2 vols. (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1978–83).
14. V. Kunhali, “The Felicitous Heritage of the Sufi Tradition,” in
Mechary, Essays, p. 139, wisely maintains the distinction between sayyids and
sufis, even though some individuals fall into both categories.
15. Quoted in Mitankutty, Hazrat Muhammad Shah Tangal (Kondotti:
Makkoli Ahmadkutty, 1961; Mal.), p. 17. “Shaikh” means a leader, important
teacher, or head of a Sufi Order.
16. See Krishna Chaitanya, A History of Malayalam Literature (New Delhi:
Orient Longman Ltd., 1971), pp. 31–34, for a full account.
17. G. Ragunath, “Vavar, Ayyappa’s Muslim Disciple,” New Indian
Express, December 1, 2002, p. 13. An Erumeli resident states: “To us both the
mosque and the temple are equally sacrosanct.”
18. O. Lofgren, “Ahmad b. Muhammad b. ʿAli b. al-ʾArid b. Djaʾfar
al-Sadik,” EI 2, I, pp. 277f.
19. Ibid., “Ba ʿAlawi,” pp. 828f.
20. Ibid., “Aydarus,” p. 781.
21. K. Usman, “His Life and Mission,” al-Harmony, Vol. 4, No. 4, April–
June, 2003, p. 41.
22. Molla Ghawasi, quoted in Annemarie Schimmel, And Muhammad Is
His Messenger, (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985), p. 122.
23. At an early stage Islamic scholars developed a theory of the sinless-
ness of the prophets. But since to err is human and since God chided even
prophets in the Qurʾān, the theory has now been modified to say that the
prophets and other saints do not commit any major sins.
24. G. S. Colin, “Baraka,” EI 2, I, p. 1032.
25. Muhammad Abdul Kareem, Sayyid Alavi Tangal (Tirurangadi: C. H.
Muhammad and Sons, 1970; Mal.), p. 28.
26. Innes, Gazetteer, p. 79.
27. Louis Gardet, “Karama,” EI 2, IV, p. 610.
28. Kunhali, Sufism, p. 93.
29. Mitankutty, Muhammad Shah, p. 20.
30. Innes, Gazetteer, p. 443.
31. In striking contrast is the experience of Shaikh Hamdani Tangal in
the central region of Kerala; when he promoted his sufi Hamdani Order, it
was tolerated.
32. T. W. Arnold “Saints and Martyrs,” ERE, II, p. 69.

33. Futuh Al-Ghaib (“The Revelations of the Unseen”), trans. by Aftab-
ud-Din Ahmad (Lahore: Sh.Muhammad Ashraf, 1958), pp. 201f.
34. Kunhali, Sufism, pp. 28f.
35. H. Gundert, A Malayalam and English Dictionary (Mangalore: Basel
Mission Book and Trust Depository, 1872), p. 583.
36. For Mappila nērchas see Said M. Shah, “Muslim Celebrations in
Kerala,” Kerala Muslim Directory, pp. 414–28; various Gazetteers, especially C.
K. Kareem’s Malappuram District and A. Sreedhara Menon’s Kozhikode District;
E. Thurston, Castes and Tribes, IV, esp. pp. 464–89, provides older materials.
For the Malappuram nērcha cf. K. K. Abdul Kareem, introd. to Moyinkutty
Vaidyar, Malappuram Khissa Pāttukul (Alwaye: P. B. Arifa Beevi, n.d.; Mal.), pp.
lff; and Manorama, April 7, 1972, p. 8. For the Islamic mawlūd tradition see
H. Fuchs, “Maulid,” EI 2 VI, pp. 895f, while V. P. M. Villiapally, Maulid Entu
Entalla (“What a Maulid Is and Is Not”) (Pattikad: Noorul Ulama Students
Association, 1971) makes a defense of the traditional Mappila practice.
37. Arnold, “Saints and Martyrs,” op. cit., p. 71; Sell, Faith of Islam, p.
416, refers to it as bara wafat.
38. K. K. Abdul Kareem, Moyinkutty Vaidyar, pp. lff.
39. F. Fawcett, “War Songs of the Mappillas of Malabar,” Indian Anti-
quary, XXVIII, March 1899, pp. 50f.
40. Sreedhara Menon, Cultural Heritage of Kerala, an Introduction (Cochin:
East-West Publications Private Ltd., 1978), p. 59.
41. For a contemporary Mappila evaluation of the Mambram shrine’s
significance cf. K. K. Mohammed Abdul Sathar, “Mambram Thangals and
Communal Harmony: A Critique to Colonial Perception,” in Proceedings, South
Indian History Congress (Calicut, 2004), pp. 406–408.
42. Imperial Gazetteer of India, Vol. XIX (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908),
p. 3. Jaʾfar Sharif describes the festivals of Qadirwali Sahib and the Mappila
participation in Islam in India, trans. by G. A. Herklots and ed. by W. Crooke
(London: Oxford, 1921; first published 1832), pp. 197–200.
43. Adam Mez, The Renaissance of Islam (London: Luzac & Co., 1937),
p. 427.
44. H. Fuchs, “Maulid,” Shorter Encyclopedia of Islam, p. 367.
45. Padwick, Muslim Devotions, p. 147.
46. Kunhali, Sufism, p. 24.
47. Mathur, Mappila Fisherfolk, p. 308.
48. Ibid., pp. 306ff.
49. Ibid., p. 313, and pp. 305–08.
50. Samad, Islam, p. 103, passim.
51. Bronislaw Malinowski, “Man, Science and Religion,” in J. D. Bet-
tis, ed., Phenomenology of Religion (New York: Harper & Row, 1969), p. 196.
The Committee of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Notes and Queries on
Anthropology (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd., 1951), states: “There
is no agreement among anthropologists on the use of the terms ‘magic’ and
‘religion’ . . . ” (p. 174).
52. John Noss, Man’s Religions (New York: Macmillan Co., 1963), p. 20.
53. T. Fahd, “Sihr,” EI 2, IX, pp. 567–71; and Fahd, “Rukya,” EI 2, VIII,
p. 600.
54. Muslim in James Robson, ed., Mishkat al-Masabih (Lahore:
Sh.Muhammad Ashraf, 1964), III, p. 947.
55. Ibid., p. 961.
56. Ibn Khaldun, Muqqadimah, p. 395.
57. Kareem, Palghat Gazetteer, p. 241.
58. Kunhali, Sufism, p. 41; see also p. 23.
59. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, pp. 248f.
60. Mathur, Fisherfolk, pp. 314–317.
61. The name is a pseudonym: the incident took place in 1962. Nafeesa’s
hands and feet were still shackled when the family delivered her into profes-
sional care.
62. While the Malayalam term homam literally means sacrifice, referring
in particular to the Hindu tradition of fire sacrifice, in this context it may be
translated as “offering.”
Chapter 13
1. Menon, Survey, p. 31.

2. Richard Ettinghausen, “The Man-Made Setting,” in Bernard Lewis,
ed., Islam and the Arab (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1976), pp. 63f.
3. “Islam Ponnaniyil,” in Husain Randathani, ed., Makhdoomum Pon-
naniyum (“Makhdum and Ponnani,”) (Ponnani:Masjid Committee, 1988), p. 35.
4. Ibid., p. 38.
5. Mammu Koya, History of Calicut Muslims, p. 215. Of. the detailed
description in P. K. M. Koya, “Mishkal Palli—A Brief History,” Journal of the
Royal Asiatic Society, Vol. L, Part One, April 1991, pp. 75–93.
6. Conversation with Karuvalli Muhammad Maulavi at Malappuram,
November 2005.
7. Varikoden Baba of Kodur, Malappuram Dt., who also assisted the
development of this study in various ways.
8. P. K. Muhammadkunyu, Keralattile Muslim Pallikul (“Muslim
Mosques in Kerala”) (Calicut: Al-Huda Book Stall, 1988), passim.
9. Kareem, Malappuram, p. 296; Sreedhara Menon, Gazetteer, 1962, p.
218, reported 2,462 mosques in undivided Kozhikode Dt., a higher percentage.
10. I am using the approximate figure of 8,900,000 for the Mappila
population in 2014; see Ch. 1.
11. Enakshi Bhavani, Decorative Designs and Craftsmanship of India (Bom-
bay: D. V. Tarapovela & Son Ltd., 1969), p. 88.
12. These artistic contributions are not well recognized. In Stella Kam-
risch, The Arts and Crafts of Kerala (Cochin: Paico Publishing House, 1970),
first published as “The Arts and Crafts of Travancore,” no mention of Muslim
artistic contributions is made.

14. The classical dance styles include Kudipattam, Chakiyarkuthu,
Mohini-Ottam, Kathakali, and Ottam-Tullal.
15. Hindu heroic ballads were called Teyyams. For example, in the Bad-
agara area of North Malabar a Teyyam commemorates the exploits of Tacholi
Ottenam a kind of “Robin Hood” figure. Mappilas adapted the medium in
such epics as the Madayi Teyyam that recalls the conversion of Cheraman
Perumal and the mosque building program of Malik ibn Dinar. See Logan,
Manual, I, p. 196.
16. Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions, p. 247.
17. Al-Jīlanī, Futuh Al-Ghalib, op. cit., pp. 201f.
18. Kunyali, Sufism in Kerala, pp. 27–30.
19. Badr was the first battle waged by nascent Muslims in 624, end-
ing in an important victory. Uhud in 625 was a stalemate as the Meccans
withdrew from a siege. In 628 Muhammad’s forces subdued the Jewish fort
at the oasis of Khaybar north of Medina. In 629 at Hunayn near Mecca,
Muslims overcame resistant Arab tribes. For an introduction to over thirty
song-poems and song-stories see C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem,
Glorious Tradition, pp. 228–269.
20. Logan, Manual, I, pp. 557 and 103f.
21. F. Fawcett, “A Popular Mopla Song,” trans. by T. Kannan, Indian
Antiquary, XXVIII, March 1899, p. 65. Fawcett regards the story as an adapta-
tion of the Persian romance Nasr-i-Be-Nazir (“story of a prince”), which was
rendered into English by C. W. Bowdler Bell, 1871, as “An Eastern Fairy-Tale,”
However, the Mappila version claims it is an adaptation of an Urdu transla-
tion of the same work by Mir Hasan of Delhi, 1802.
22. K. M. Pandavoor, Kaikottipāṭṭukul (“Songs for Hand Clapping”)
(Parappanangadi: Bayaniyya Book Stall, n.d.), pp. 5–20. “Aminabeevi” is one
of the songs.
23. Nafeesatmala (“Nafeesa’s Song”) (Tirurangadi: C. H. Muhammad &
Sons, n.d.).
24. Cf. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and K. K. M. Abdul Kareem, Glorious
Tradition, pp. 162–67, for available information about this unusual figure, who
is said to have been associated with the Zamorin’s court.
25. Hasan Nediyadu, Tawhīd Gānangl (“Songs of Tawhid”) (Calicut:
Rajana Kalasahiti, n.d.), p. l.
26. Pōruvin sahōdara, dhīra mujāhidakul (“Strive, o brothers and brave
mujahids”) (Calicut: Mujahid Centre, 1988), p. l.
27. The selections are from “A Lullaby” and “Angel of Mercy” in Arōgya
Gītanql, op. cit., p. 19.
28. Shailash Menon, “For Generations Next . . . Mappila patta takes
trendy plunge in album era,” New Indian Express, October 5, 2004, p. 3.
29. Ibid.
30. Ninglē Chāyil Madrumilla (“There is No Sweetness in Your Tea”)
(Tirurangadi: Nurul Islam Press, n.d.), pp. 4–10.
31. The Arabs had a great variety of musical instruments; cf. the listing
in H. H. Farmer, “Music,” The Legacy of Islam (London: Oxford University
Press, 1931, 1st ed.), pp. 360–62. O. Wright, “Music,” in the 2nd ed., 1974, p.
501, makes the important point that it was the Arab instruments rather than
the Arab music itself that was “disseminated among the trade routes,” but
the movement to southwest India was a limited one.
32. Amjad Ali Khan, “Music is life,” in The Week, Vol. 25, No. 52,
November 25, 2007, p. 98.
Chapter 14
1. Krishna Chaitanya, Malayalam Literature, p. 196.

2. Menon, Survey, pp. 184f.
3. Cf. Krishna Ayyar, Short History, p. 166, and Menon, Survey, pp.
395–98. For further background see also articles on “Malayalam” by K. R.
Srinivasa Iyengar and S. K. Nayar in R. C. Majumdar, ed., The History and
Culture of the Indian People (Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan), Vol. 6 (1960)
and Vol. 7 (1977).
5. Various groups, including the Trichur Sahitya Akademi, have made
efforts to preserve the palm-leaf collections, but not many manuscripts have
been reproduced. The Trichur collection includes 170 writings on Hindu epics,
grammatical works, and especially Ayurveda.
6. P. P. Nambutiri,”Musliminglum Malayāla Sāhityavum,” (“Muslims
and Malayalam Literature”) in the Farook College Annual, Silver Jubilee Souvenir
(Feroke: Farook College, 1973) p. 67. In contrast, P. P. Mammed Kova, Kozhikode
Muslims, p. 248, states: “If you would [have] ask[ed], a hundred years ago, were
there Muslim publications in the mother tongue, the answer would be no.”
7. Gibb, Arabic Literature, p. 38.
8. K. A. Jaleel, Lipikālum Manavasamskāravum (“Scripts and Civiliza-
tion”) (Trivandrum: Institute of Languages-Nalanda, 1989), p. 143; Jaleel with
other scholars distinguishes between “the Arabic language” and “the South
Arabic language.”
9. Donner, Early Islamic Conquests, p. 12. See Nicholson, Literary History,
pp. 5–11, for an introduction to South Arab Culture; cf.also the works of R.
B. Y. Serjeant, including The Sayyids of Hadramaut (London: School of Oriental
and African Studies, 1957).
10. O. Löfgren, “Al-Hamdānī,” EI 2, III, pp. 124f; cf. Ilse Lichtenstadter,
“Neswān b. Saʾid, EI 2, VII, pp. 976f. Neshwān took up from al-Hamdānī the
task of “rescuing from oblivion the legends of the South Arabian kingdoms.”
11. This was not only true in Kerala. Prof. Syed Mohideen Shah notes
that “most literary-works produced in Arabic in India pertain to theology and
jurisprudence;” cf. his “India Arab Relations,” Silver Jubilee Number, Farook
College Annual, p. 82.
12. The date is noted by Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 208.

13. Kareem, Kerala Muslims, III, p. 227.
14. S. M. Koya, Mappilas of Malabar. Studies in Social and Cultural History
(Calicut: Sandhya Publications, 1983), p. 98.
15. K. V. Abdul Rahiman, “A Mappila Savant of the 16th Century,” in
Farook College, Fortieth Anniversary Souvenir, 1988, pp. 201f.
16. Two English translations are available; preferred is S. Muhammad
Husayn Nainar’s trans., Tohfut-ul-Mujahideen (Madras: University of Madras),
1942. See the new edition, released by Other Books in 2006, which includes a
helpful biography of Shaikh Zeinuddin Jr., by A. I. Vilayathullah.
17. Karuvalli Muhammad, “Muslim Arabic Education,” in Farook Col-
lege, Fortieth Anniversary Souvenir, p. 248. Aziz Ahmad reminds us that this
is the general situation among Indian Muslims. He says, “Arabic was used
sparingly, and mainly for religious scholarship,” Islam in India, p. 66.
18. Cf. P. A. Seyd Muhammad, “Mappila Sāhityum” (“Mappila Litera-
ture”) in Farook College Annual, Silver Jubilee Number, 1973, p. 56.
19. Ibid.
20. Koya, Mappilas, p. 96.
21. Seyd Muhammad, “Mappila Sāhityum,” op. cit., p. 22.
22. A well-rounded summary of Vaidyar’s work and influence is
K. M. Ahmed, ed. Mahākavi Moyinkutty Vaidyar Paṭhanangḷ (“Essays on the
Great Poet, Moyinkutty Vaidyar”) (Kondotti: Moyinkutty Vaidyar Memorial
Committee, 2006). This Malayalam collection by 26 writers testifies to the
poet’s place in Mappila affection.
23. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 204; see his entire chapter, pp.
198–212, on “The Mappila Literary Heritage.”
24. O. Abu, Fātima Bīvīyute Wafāt (“The Death of Fatima Beevi”) (Cha-
vakat: Laila Book Stall, 1979), pp. 135f. For the history of Arabic-Malayalam
literature see his Arabi-Malayāla Sāhitya Charitrum (“The Arabic-Malayalam
Literary Tradition”) (Kottayam: Sahitya Publications, 1970).
25. Ibrahim Kunju, Mappila Muslims, p. 208. This scholar considers a
transliteration of the Jalālaini by Mayinkutty Elaya in six volumes (1872–77)
to be the first prose work in this genre.
26. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and K. Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, pp.
51f, hold this view on the basis of a lithographic imprint; the date would
slightly precede the first Malayalam novels, but Chavar Darwish is not an
original work.
27. For the quotation cf. Claud Field’s tr. of the Urdu version of the
Kīmīya, namely The Alchemy of Happiness (London: Octagon Press, 1980), p.
119.
28. Even the Aikya Sankhum published an Arabic-Malayalam monthly,
Al-Irshad, although only for two years (1923–24). K. M. Maulavi is an example
of a reformer who continued publishing in Arabic–Malayalam until his death
(1964).
29. Karuvalli Muhammad, Arabi Islamika Widyābhyāsum Kēraḷaṭṭil (“Mus-
lim Arabic Education in Kerala”), Farook College, Fortieth Anniversary Souvenir,
1988, p. 247.
30. C. N. Ahmed Moulavi and Abdul Kareem, Glorious Tradition, p. 426.

31. Abdul Samad, Islam, p. 47.
32. Ibid., p. 66; quoted from Koya, Kerala Muslīmkālum Patra Pravarta-
num (“Journalism and Kerala Muslims”), in Kerala Muslim Directory, p. 362.
33. Mammen Koya, Kozhikode Muslims, pp. 249–60.
34. E. K. Maulavi, “Another New Monthly,” Mishkatul Huda, Vol. l,
October 1958, p. 15. A prominent reformer, E. K. (1879–1974) of Tellicherry
was a colleague of Wakkom Maulavi.
35. Abdul Samad, Islam, p. 136.
36. The Malabar Review, 1941–44, was the first Mappila cultural maga-
zine introducing color plates; see Mammen Koya, Kozhikode Muslims, p. 251.
37. M.S.S. Journal, October 2004, p. 7.
38. The M.E.S. also published an English language journal, The Voice
of Islam, from 1975.
39. Editorial, al-Harmony, Vol. 4, No. l, July–September, 2002, p. 5.
40. Editorial, al-Harmony, Vol. 5, No. 3, January–March, 2004, p. 5.
41. V. Abdulla, “Translator’s Introduction,” Vaikom Muhammad
Basheer, Voices/The Walls (Bombay: Sangam Books, 1976), p. 5.
42. Ibid.
43. G. Kumara Pillai, “Introduction,” Vaikom Mohammed Basheer, The
Love Letter and Other Stories, trans. by V. Abdulla (Madras: Sangam Books,
1983), p. 4.
44. Abdulla, Voices, p. 3.
45. “Introduction,” The Love Letter, p. 5.
47. Basheer, Nduppuppakkorānentarnnu (Kottayam: Indian Press, 1961);
the novel has received large printings for use in schools.
48. Basheer, Maranaṭṭinde Niṛalil (“In the Shadow of Death”) (Kottayam:
Sahitya Pravartaka Society Ltds., 1965), p. 5.
49. Basheer, Voices, pp. 53, 56.
50. Basheer, Amma (“Mother”), in The Love Letter, op. cit., pp. 50–64.
51. In Prema Lekhanum (“The Love Letter”) Basheer uses the story of
a love affair between a Hindu man, Kesvan Nayar, and a Christian woman,
Saramma, to illustrate the common Malayali social problem of intermarriage,
and its implications for children.
52. N. P. Muhammad, Driftwood/The Bull, trans. by P. Bhaskaran and V.
Abdulla (Bombay: Sangam Book, 1976), passim.
53. N. P. Muhammad, Mānushyakum (“Humanity”) (Calicut: Poorna
Publications, 1981), p. 26.
55. K. T. Muhammad, Weḷḷapokkum (“The Flood”) (Calicut: Medha Pub-
lications, 2003), pp. 7–9.
56. Ibid., p. 46.
58. Moidu Padiyath, Umma (“Mother”) (Champakulam: M. M. Press,
1968), p. 5.
394 Notes to Appendix C

61. Gibb, Arabic Literature, p. 91.
63. T. Ubaid, “Nyanglum Warunnuwallō” (“We Also Are Coming”) in
K. M. Maulavi Smarakagranthum (“K. M. Maulavi Memorial Volume”) (Tiru-
rangadi: Smaraka Committee, 1965), p. 85.
65. Kamala Suraiyya, “Tempest,” New Harmony, Vol. 3, No. 4, April–
June, 2002, p. 23.
66. “Suraiyya’s Complaint,” New Harmony, Vol. 2, Is. 2, October–Decem-
ber, 2002, p. 18.
Conclusion
1. Nicolas Berdyaev, The Meaning of History (New York: Ch. Scribner’s

Sons, 1936), p. 209.
2. Ibid., pp. 211, 209.
3. Ibid., p. 209.
4. Muhammad Iqbal, The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam
(Lahore: Sh. Muhammad Ashraf, 1961), p. 199, quoting his own Jawid Nama.
Appendix A
1. F. Gabrieli, “Adab,” EI 2, I, pp. 175f.

2. Richard Walzer, “Akhlak,” EI 2, I, p. 328.
3. For the phrase “cultural symbiosis” I am indebted to M. G. S. Nara-
yan, Cultural Symbiosis in Kerala (Trivandrum: Kerala Historical Society, 1972).
Appendix B
1. We interviewed the Bibi in October, 2004, at Kannur. A gracious

woman with a warm smile, at the age of 83 she was confined to her bed.
Her previous heirlooms included gifts from colonial authorities.
2. Cf. K. K. N. Kurup, The Ali Rajas of Cannanore (Calicut: The Univer-
sity of Calicut, 2002), pp. 15f.
3. See Appendix E for a brief note on the history of the Laccadive
Islands and the culture of its Mappila inhabitants.
4. Kurup, Ali Rajas, p. 108.
Appendix C
1. Ignaz Goldziher, Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law, trans. by

A. and R. Hamor and ed. by B. Lewis (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
Notes to Appendix E 395
1981), p. 245; Goldziher notes: “For orthodox Islam, since the twelfth century,
Ghazalī has been the main authority.”
2. J. Schacht, “Idjtihad,” EI 2, III, p. 1026.
3. W. M. Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology (Edinburgh: University
Press, 1962), p. 147. Watt calls the development “the period of darkness” and
dates its beginning about 1250 CE.
4. The last great philosopher of the Islamic Golden Age was Ibn Rushd
(1126–1198), also known as Averroes; through him Aristotle was introduced
to the West.
Appendix D
1. Aziz Ahmed, An Intellectual History, p. 57.

2. F. Robinson, “Mulla Muhammad Nizam al-Din,” EI 2, VIII, pp. 68f.
3. M. Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, pp. 403, 407.
4. Kaur, Madrasa Education, pp. 294ff.
Appendix E
1. Modern Lakshwadeep culture has not benefited from detailed

research, but see George Abraham, Lakshwadeep—Economy and Society (New
Delhi: Inter-India Publications, 1987), pp. 57–94. For traditions of the century
past the best source is Innes, Malabar, pp. 508–31.
Glossary
[Restricted to terms used in this volume]
Arabic Terms
adab. Manners, universal culture, literary knowledge.

ʿādat. Customary behavior, cultural heritage, especially in Indonesia.
adhān. Call to public prayer; the Mappila colloquial term is bankku
(Pers.).
afzal al-ulama. Arabic degree for a maulavi.
ahl al-kitāb. Lit. “the people of the book.” People who have received a
genuine revelation from God, including Jews and Christians.
akhlāq. Ethics.
ʿalīm, pl. ʿulamāʾ. Learned doctor(s). A general term for Muslim clergy.
Allāhu akbar! God is greater.
ʿamal. Approved practice, works.
ʿaqida. Creedal formulations, without official standing.
baraqa. Sanctity, spiritual power.

bidʿa. Innovation, a negative term for change.
birr. Doing what the Qurʾān commends, righteousness.
bismillā. “In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate.”
dār al-harb. Lit. “house of war.” Opposite of dār al-Islām, an area under
Muslim rule.
dars. Traditional training center, located in a mosque.
dīn. The religion of Islam, especially its practical duties.
duff. Tambourine.
fajr. The first prayer, between dawn and sunrise. Two cycles.
al-Fātiha. Lit. “the opening.” The first and most sacred chapter of the
Qurʾān.
397
398 Glossary
fatwā. A learned opinion on a matter with religious implications.

firman. A sovereign administrative order, permit.
furqān. Discrimination between right and wrong. A term for the
Qurʾān.
ghusl. A full ritual bath following pollution.
Hadīth. A story or tradition, particularly of the Prophet Muhammad.

hāji. One who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca.
hajj. The pilgrimage to Mecca. Encouraged for all Muslim believers.
halāl. That which is permitted, particularly food.
harām. Behavior which is forbidden.
ʿibādat. Combines the ideas of worship of God and service to God.

ʿiddat. Three-month period legally prescribed for a divorce.
ʿishāʾ. The late prayer before retiring. Four cycles.
iʿjaz. The miraculous and inimitability of the Qurʾān, leading to the
idea that it should not be translated.
ijmāʿ. The consensus of the Muslim community.

ijtihād. The right of private and personal interpretation.
islāh. Reform, involving especially the return to the Qurʾān, its rea-
soned interpretation, overcoming superstition, and concern for the
well-being of the community.
islām. Surrender to God. The religion of surrendering.
imān. Faith, the five basic beliefs.
in shāʾAllāh. If God wills.
istigatha. Appealing for a saint’s help.
jamāʿat. Assembly, council, team.

jaram. A tomb.
jizya. Poll-tax, required of non-Muslim subjects, in return for govern-
ment protection and exemption from military service.
kāfir. Ungrateful one, unbeliever.

kāhin. Seer, magician.
kalām. Word or speech; the Speech of God; classical theology.
kalima. The confession of faith.
karāmāt. Ability to do wonders.
khatīb. Preacher for the weekly congregational service.
khutba. The weekly congregational service.
Glossary 399
lā ilāha illa Allāh wa Muhammadu rasūl Allāh. “There is no deity but

God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God.”
madrasa. In Mappila usage, an elementary religious education school.

maghrib. The fourth prayer, after sunset. Three cycles.
mahr. A bridegroom’s gift to his bride. Voluntary amount.
maktab. Elementary religious school. Madrasa has replaced its use
among Mappilas.
masjid. Lit. “a place of prostration.” A mosque.
maulavi. Lit. “my tutor;” a cleric, a learned scholar with a recognized
degree.
mawālī. “Clients”; early non-Muslim converts who had to associate
with an Arab tribe.
mawlūd. A recital that is read or sung at a saint’s birthday.
muezzīn. One who gives the call to prayer.
muftī. A learned scholar who issues religious opinions.
mujāhid. One who strives; among Mappilas one who strives for
reform.
mulla. A religious worker, of lesser stature than alim or maulavi.
mutavalli. A trust (wakf) manager.
nikah. The marriage contract.
qādī. A judge for sharia purposes.

qanūn. Administrative law recognized by the sharia.
qibla. Direction; the direction of prayer toward Mecca.
raʾy. Personal opinion in law.
sadaqa. Voluntary alms.

salaam aleikum. Peace be with you.
salafī. Lit. “pious forefathers.” A neo-orthodox reform movement to
regenerate Islam by returning to the faith of early Muslims.
salāt. The fivefold Muslim prayer.
sayyid. A descendant of the Prophet’s family. A saintly person.
shahāda. The basic testimony that confesses faith.
shahīd. A martyr for the faith.
Shaitān. Satan, a devil; also commonly called Iblīs.
sharīʿa. The traditional law of Islam.
shirk. Idolatry.
silsila. Spiritual lineage of a sufi saint leading back to the Prophet.
400 Glossary
subhāna ʾllāhi. Glory be to God!

sunna. Custom. Pattern of the Prophet.
tabla. A small drum.

tablīgh. Propagation of the faith.
tajdīd. Renewal, revival.
takbīr. Declaring the greatness of God.
talāq al-bidʾa. Declaring “I divorce you,” thrice running on one
occasion.
talāq al-hasān. Declaring “I divorce you,” three times over three
months, as the classical law requires.
taqlīd. Handing down tradition and imitating the past; a simple accep-
tance of traditionalist religious authority.
taqwā. Piety. The fundamental behavioral attitude.
tawhīd. Unity; the oneness of God and the oneness of life surrendered
to God.
umma. Lit. “mother.” The community of believers.

ʿurf. Local culture and custom; a secondary source of law.
wādī. Valley
wakf. A charitable trust.
walī. Nearness; friend of God; guardian; saint.
wuduʾ. The lesser washing before prayer.
zakāt. The prescribed alms-giving.
Malayalam Terms
adhikāri. A village headman; administrator.

andhawishwāsum. Superstition.
bāqi. Left-over food.

biriyāni. A festival and wedding food in South India; rice-based.
chakrum. Certain figures drawn for their magical implication.

chandanakudam. Annual saint’s festival, involving use of sandalwood
paste.
chowildar. Women’s dress combining shirt, pants, and scarf; from
North India.
chunam. Lime paste used in chewing betel nut.
Glossary 401
devadāsi. A temple prostitute in early times.

devatttinnu stōthrum. God be praised!
gherāo. Forced confinement by protesters.
hōmam. A magical ritual among fisher-folk.
jātha. Street procession, march.

jeeraka. Water in which rice was cooked, with cumin and turmeric.
jenmi. Hereditary landowner.
kaikōṭṭakaḷi. Hand-clapping by women while they circle and sing.
kakoose. A sanitary convenience.
kaliyānum. Wedding.
kaḷiyānapāṭṭu. Wedding song.
kanji. Rice porridge.
kanumdār. A property lessee; an intermediate manager.
kamavān. The manager of a matrilineal establishment.
khādi. Homespun cloth.
khissapāṭṭu. A historical song story.
kōlaṭum. A song of girls who have formed a circle.
kōlkaḷi. Stick dance.
kuppai. A tight-fitting blouse.
kurrikal. Dance teacher.
lungi. A male garment, waist to foot, similar to a mundu.
mahākavi. A great poet.

māhiḷa samājum. A women’s society, usually dedicated to community
uplift.
maida. White flour.
maidān. An open space in the centre of a town; a playing field.
mailanji. Henna.
mantravādi. A magician.
māla. Song.
mantrum. Sacred spoken formulas with special power; magical spell.
maruchini. Tapioca; a poor family’s diet.
marumakkathāyam. The matrilineal system; practised by Nayar Hindus
and some Mappilas.
maryāda. Civility; the quality of harmonious living.
mukri. One who gives calls to prayer and other mosque services.
mundu. Cloth garment, waist to foot, male and female.
muṭṭa māla. An egg-yolk string, making up a sweet preparation.
402 Glossary
nād. A traditional region in old Kerala.

neichoru. Fried rice.
nērcha. A saint festival; also a general fair.
niskārum. The prescribed prayers; equals salāt.
niskāra-kuppai. A long prayer garment used by women.
niskāra paḷḷi. A small road-side prayer hall.
nōnpu. Fasting, fast month.
ōla. Palm leaves; used for writing materials before paper.

ōppana. Women’s song and dance.
osathi. A rural midwife; traditionally the barber’s wife.
ōthupaḷḷi. A place for the recitation of the Qurʾān, in early times.
pada pāṭṭu. War song.

panchasārapatha. Sweet pancake.
pārambaryum. Hereditary tradition.
paratha. Thick pancake.
pathiri. Thin pancake.
pāṭṭu. Song.
pilau. North Indian festival food, similar to biriyāni.
sāhityum. Malayalam literature.

sahōdaran, sahōdari. Brother, sister; the term can include cousins.
samāj. An association.
sambandhum. Male-female alliances among Nayars.
samūhum. Collectivity, assembly.
Sanskrit. Mal. samskrita. Most important religious and literary lan-
guage in India after 1200 BCE; brought to southwest India by Brah-
mins about 400 CE. Dominant literary language in Kerala until
1400s; merged with Malayalam.
sāri. Traditional Malayali womens’ garment. A long cloth.
sāstras, or shāstras. Hindu sacred books.
takitha. Thin plates, usually copper, used in magical practice.

tarawād. Ancestral home in the matrilineal system.
vattakaḷi. Girls singing while circled around a lamp.

verumpattambār. A cultivating tenant.
wallakanal. Sweets.
Zamorin. Lit. “sea-lord.” The Calicut Hindu ruler who befriended

Mappilas.
Glossary 403
Composite Arabic-Malayalam and Other Terms
awliyākul. (Ar.Mal.), Saints.

duff-kaḷi. (Ar.Mal.) Tambourine dance.
juma-paḷḷi. (Ar.Mal.) Central mosque for the weekly congregational
prayer.
malikhana. (Urdu) British pension allowance given to former rulers.
musaliar. (Ar.Mal.) Traditionalist cleric trained in a mosque dars.
Musalmani. (Urdu) An adjective, applied to hybrid Muslim languages
in India.
padroado. (Port.) Papal charter, dividing global areas between Portu-
guese and Spanish.
sunnat. (Ar.Mal.) Recommended behavior.
sulh-i-kull. (Pers,) Universal toleration; a theory of Akbar the Great.
urus. (Pers.Mal.) Celebration of saint days.
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on “Mappila Literature.”]
al-Harmony
Anthropos
Indian Cultures Quarterly
Indian Antiquary
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Journal of Kerala Studies
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MES Journal. Malayalam
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Index
Abbasid caliphate, 20, 51, 361 Aligarh University (M.A.O. College)

ʿAbduh, Muhammad, 97–98 its establishment, 66
Abdul Kareem, K. K. Muhammad, later Mappila contact, 218
344 Mappila knowledge of, 67–68
Abdul Qadir Maulavi, Muhammad. Ali Musaliar of Tirurangadi, 38
See Wakkom Maulavi Ali Rajas of Kannur, 24, 44, 301,
Abdul Qadir Musaliar, E. E., 102 357–59
Abdul Rahman Mather, K. K., 331 Alleppey, 42, 113
Abdulla Ummi, 194 Amjad Ali Khan, 313
Abdulla, V., 333–34 amulets and charms. See magic
Abdurrahiman, Muhammad, 38, 69, amusements and pleasures, 201–203
333 Andaman Islands, 39
Abid Husain, S., 66, 112–13 Anjengo, 35
Abu, O., 324–25 Arab traders
Abu Bekr Musaliar, A. P. (Karanthur), active from pre-Muslim times,
103 25–26, 43
Abu Bekr Musaliar, E. K., 102 culture of the immigrants, 319–20
Abussabah, Ahmed Ali, 114 Mappila descent from settlers, 209
adab (manners), 355–56 Arabian cultural model, Medina, 19
adaptation, cultural. See Mappila Arabic colleges. See college, Arabic
adaptive culture Arabic language
ʿādat (customary behavior), 22, influence on Malayalam, 78
355–56 as a literary medium, 319–21
Ahmadiyyas (Ahmadis), 228 Mappila respect for, ritual use,
Ahmed, Imtiaz, 58–59 75–77
Ahmed Moulavi, C. N., 60, 91, 100, source from South Arabia, 77–78
114, 135, 155, 258, 324 Arabic literature
Aikya Sankhum Society, Kerala development of Arabic-Malayalam
Muslim, 43, 99, 246 substitute, 322–23
Akbar the Great, 55 little development among
ʿAla-ud-Dīn, Emperor, 53 Mappilas, 319
Alavi ibn al-Muhajir, 266 modern university study, 321
Albuquerque, Afonso de, 30 nonliterary culture of Arab
ʿAlī ibn Abū Tālib, 266, 325 immigrants, 320–21
419
420 Index
Arabic-Malayalam literature relation of individual, family,

current publication decline, 323 community role models,
the language and its synthetic 203–205
form, 78, 322 Beeran, U. A., 345
lithographic tool for religious Bentick, William, 64
education, 323 Berdyaev, Nicolas, 351–52
Mappila benefits and problems, Bibis of Kannur. See Ali Rajas
327 bidʿa (invalid innovation), 361–63
prose literature, journals, 325– Bijaypur. See Bahmani sultanate
26 birth control
songwriters and songs, 323–25 family planning songs, 145
Arakkal House. See Ali Rajas of Indian Muslim attitudes, 146
Kannur Mappila attitudes, practice, 144–46
architecture. See habitations and national policy, 144
mosques al-Bīrūnī, 52
Arcot Kingdom, 57 Brahmanism, entered Kerala, 28
Arkoun, Muhammad, xi Brahmi script, 318
arts. See Mappila material arts Brennan College, Tellicherry, 114
al-Ashʿarī, Abuʾl-Hassan, 362 Buddhism, decline in Kerala, 28
Asrof, V. A. Mohamad, 331
Aurangzeb, 55–57, 61 Calicut, 26, 30–31, 36, passim
awliyākul. See saints Chaitanya, Krishna, 316, 335
ʿAydarūs Order, 266 Chakkiri Moideenkutty, 322, 324, 326
Ayyappa, Lord, 265 Chandrika newspaper, 332–33
Azad, Abul Kalam, 69, 111 change, Mappila, 41–48, 92–95, 102,
Ayesha Bai, 239 116–17, 121–22, 125–26, 136,
al-Azhar (Cairo madrasa), 97 347–48, 352–53
Aziz Ahmed, 64 Chera rulers, 27, 43, 316
Cheraman Perumal, 27
al-Baʿalawī family, 266 Cherur ballad, 307
Babur, Muhammad, 54 Cherusseri Sankaran Nambutiri, 318
Badr-ul-Kubra, Uhud (songs), Child, John, 61
390n19 Chinese traders, 42–43
Badrul Munir-Husnal Jamal (ballad), children, customs related to, 171–72
307–308 Chiragh Ali, 65
Bafaki Tangal, Abdurrahiman, 102, Chishtī, Muʿīnuddīn, 59
268 Chola dynasty (Tamil), 42–43, 316
Bahauddin, K. M., 331, 344 circumcision, 143
Bahadur Shah, Emperor, 63 class features, Mappila, 208–12
Bahmani sultanate, 54, 270 cleanliness
al-Baidāwī, ʿAbd, 90 the Mappila Hindu tradition, 195
al-Baqiyyat-us-Salihat College, Mappila sanitation, 196–97
Vellore Bashir, Vaikom clergy
Muhammad, 335–37 development of the Muslim
behavior, cultural vocation, 23–24
a definition, xi effect of training, 91
Index 421
Mappila, source of style, 86–88 death and funeral ceremonies,

pre-modern Indo-Muslim, 64 157–60
traditionalist training, dars and Deccan region, 54
college, 88–90 Delhi College, 64
Clive, Robert, 61 Delhi sultanate, 52–53
“C. N.” See Ahmed Moulavi, C. N. Deoband, 365–66
Cochin (Kochi), 26, 33, passim dīn (religious practice), 16
college, Arabic divorce. See marriage and divorce
Mujahid and Sunni types, 215–16 Dowry Act, 149
as traditionalist clergy center, Dupleix, Joseph, 60
89–90 Dutch cultural contribution, 33, 60
communal relations. See
interreligious relations, Mappila East India Company, English, 61–63
communist influence on Mappilas education, Mappila
change of effects on Mappilas, British policy on secular
108–109 education, 83–85
Communist Party alliance with divided community heritage, 220
Muslim League, 107–108, modern, after 1947, 217–20
221–22 traditionalist stream, 81–82,
development as Kerala party, 212–16
104–105 E. K. Maulavi, 99
impact of social message, 106 English cultural impact
opposition of traditional clergy, creates link with Indo-Muslims, 71
222 English replaces Persian, 64
Congress Party in Kerala, 104, 221 far-reaching, 35–37, 63–65
Coulson, N. J., 174 Enlightenment, the Muslim. See
culture Golden Age, Islamic
colonial contributions, 32–37 European entry into South India
definition, academic approach, xi– fall into defensive posture, 40–41,
xii 92
Islamic and Malayalam terms, Mappilas lose out in colonial
355–56 politics, suffer trauma, 30–31
Islamic culture, definition, 370n11 resist new cultural influences,
and religion, 370–71n12 32–36
three important aspects of revive after 1947, 351–52
Mappila culture, 349–52 Ezhuthachan, 318
culture, Indo-Muslim adaptation,
57–59 family interrelationships
culture, Islamic. See Islamic culture husbands-wives, parents-children,
culture, Malayalam. See Malayalam wider kinship, 167–72
culture patrilineal emphasis, 172
role of mother-in-law, 173
dance, Mappila, 312–13 family planning. See birth control
Dara Shukoh, 55 family values and life
dars, training center and ethos, appreciation of friendship,
88–90, 216 201–202
422 Index
family values and life (continued) Hadramaut, Hadramis, 17, 266,

basic principles, daily routines, 320–21
164–66 hairstyles and beards, 190–91
special joys and common sorrows, Haji Sahib, Muhammad Ali, 226
166 hajj (pilgrimage, Mappila
Faqih Husain, 320 participation, 258–59
Farook (Feroke) College, 114, 218 Hakim Amal Khan, 129
Fathul Muin, 90, 321 Hamadani Tangal, Shaikh
Fatima Beevi, M., 239 Muhammad, 67, 96, 213
Firuz Shah, 53 Al-Harmony (journal), 44, 331–32
fisher-folk Hassan Abdulla, K. P., 244
a distinct subculture, 211 Hassan Koya, P. P., 234–35
practice spirit control, 285–87 henna ornamentation, 190–91,
use mawlūds, 278–79 382n14
food and its consumption, 191–95 Himayathul Islam Sabha, Calicut, 13
Freedom Movement, Mappila Hindu society in Kerala
linage, 68–70 hospitality, intermarriage, and
French cultural contributions, 33–34 tolerance, 29, 44, 47
furnishing of homes, 163, 299 influence on mosque architecture,
292
Gandhi, Mahatma, 38, 129, 333 land tenure system, 184
Gandhi, Sanjay, 144 majority population, 7–8
gender relations. See women, outcaste conversion in Malabar, 45
Mappila relation with Mappila saints, 263
Genghis Khan, 52 religious phenomena, 28
Ghafoor, P. K. Abdul, 115–16, 131, home life, Mappila, 161–66
204, 238 Hyder Ali, 31–32, 62, 358
Ghafoor, Mrs. Fatima, 239 Hyderabad, 51
al-Ghazālī, Abū Hamīd Muhammad,
90, 363 ʿibādat (worship, service), 16
Ghaznavid dynasty, 52 Ibn Battūta, 70
Ghurid dynasty, 52 Ibn Hanbal, 362
Golden Age, Islamic, 51–52, 361–64 Ibn Khaldūn, 200–201, 284
Granthi script, 318 Ibn Saud, King, 21
Gulf money Ibrahim, A. P. Kunju, 344
impact of Wahhabism, 123–25 ijmāʿ (consensus), 21, 223, 364
impact on architecture, 291, ijtihād (private judgment), 21, 223,
295–96 364
Malayali rush to Gulf, 117–20 Ikram, S. M., 5
Mappila benefits, drawbacks, Iltumish, Emperor, 52
120–23 Ilyas, Maulana Muhammad, 227
Imam Fakir, 303
habitations imān (faith), 16
Gulf-funded homes, 298–99 Indian Muslims, North
traditional construction, 162–64 adaptation to Indian culture,
Hadīth, 19, 90, 225, 284, passim 57–59
Index 423
British period after 1857, 61–63 Jamʿiyyathul ʿUlama, 99

early period to Babur, 51–54 J.D.T. Islam Orphanage, 244
few influences on Mappilas, Jews in Kerala, 28
67–68, 70–71 Jifri Tangal family, 268–69
and Indian National Congress, jihād (struggle), 227–28
68–69 al-Jilāni, ʿAbd al-Qādir, 270–71, 279
Mughluk contact with South Jinnah, Muhammad Ali, 69
India, 54–57
response to Western influence, kaikoṭṭi (hand clapping). See dance
63–70 Kannur (Cannanore), 31, 44, 357–59
inheritance patterns, Mappila Karanthur Islamic Complex, 214
twofold source of principles, Kareem, C. K., 153–54, 187, 344
and orthodox applications, Karuvalli Muhammad, 216, 321, 327
173–76 Kasaragode, 226
matrilinear system, 44, 177–81 Kaur, Kuldip, 83, 366
Innes, Charles, 197 Kerala features
interreligious relations, Mappila ancient seaward relations, 25–26
disturbed in European period, meaning of term Malayalam, 6
31–32, 37–39 modern linguistic state, 104–105
Mappila renewal of harmony, natural characteristics, 5–7
246–50 population and religions, 41
positive symbols, 255–56, 353 religious harmony, 27–29
share traditional Kerala harmony, societal characteristics, 9–13
8, 28–29, 221–23, 247 Kesava Menon, K. P., 38
intermarriage, 47, 148 Khader, U. A., 343
Iqbal, Muhammad, 16, 96 Khilafat Movement in Kerala, 38–39
Islahi movement. See Mujahid Khilji dynasty, 52
islām (surrender), 16 khissa pāttukul (songs). See Mappila
Islamic culture music
Akbar Ahmed on modernity, khutba (congregational prayer), 255
377 K. M. Maulavi, 99, 213
four guiding principles, 25–38 Kodungalur mosque, 293
Ibn Khaldūn on corruption, Kollam (Kawlum, Quilon), 26, 42,
200–201 114
linguistic terms, 24 Kollam Era (Malayalam calendar),
relation of faith and behavior, 373n20
24–25 Kolattiri Rajas, 357–58
relation of Indo-Muslims with kōlkali (stick dance), 313
indigenous cultures, 58 Koya, C. H. Muhammad. See
Muhammad, C. H.
Jainism, 28 Koya, S. M., 344
Jalālaini (text), 90, 376n20 Kozhezhuthu script, 318
Jaleel, Mrs. Ayesha, 239–40 Kumara Pillai, 335
Jaleel, K. A., 114, 219–20, 237–38 Kunhali, V., 59, 305
Jamaat-Islam Party, 226–27 Kunyain Musaliar, 440
Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghāni, 97 Kunyali, Marakkars, 52
424 Index
Kunyumayin Haji, 332 Malayalam culture, external

Kunyu Musaliar Tangal, A., 114 influences
Kuttichira, Calicut, 180–81, 294–95 Arab Muslim influence, 39–40
Christian influence, Jews, 48, 55, 287
Laccadive Islands, 367–68 European and modern impact, 97,
Lang, G. O., xi 287, 290–91
Lajnatul Muhammediya Society, Jain and Buddhist marks, 48, 416
Alleppey, 113 Tamil connections, 69, 449
language, Arabic. See Arabic Vaisnavism, Saivism, Brahmanism,
language, Malayalam. See 28
Malayalam Malayali, characteristics of, 8–10
language in Mappila culture, 49–50, Malik ibn Dinar, 27, 293, 307
218 Malik Kafur, 53
Lodi dynasty, 53 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 283
Mambram shrine, 276
Maʿbar (southeast India), 53, 321 Mammed Koya, P. P., 345
Macaulay, T. B., 64 Mampad College, 114
Madayi mosque, 293 al-Manār, Egyptian journal, 98
Madeenath Islam Uloom, Pullikal, Manipravalam literary genre, 317
215 Mappilas
Madhyanum newspaper, 233 double, contrasting cultural
madrasa, Mappila heritage, 46–48
number, strength, critique, 212–15 earliest Muslim community in
traditionalist development, 81–84 South Asia, 4, 26
magic and Mappila culture, 283–88 their forming attitude, 15–18
Mahe, 31 identity and name, 3–5, 82,
Mahmud of Ghazna, 51–52 134–36, 379n11
Mahratta Kingdom, 56 rise, decline, revival, 25–41
maktab schools. See madrasa share Islamic culture, 13–24
Makti Tangal, Sayyid S., 96, 328 share Malayalam culture, 13–24
Malabar, 5, 35, 39, 321, 369n2, sources for study, 369–70n4
passim outdated myths, character, sense
Malabar Christian College, 114 of being Mappila, 128–36
Malappuram Mappila adaptive culture
district Arabic colleges, 315 compared to Indo-Muslim culture,
district mosques, 297–98 59–60
forming majority Muslim District, inner differences, 41–48
375n39 natural and Islamic flexibility, 5,
the town, 1–2 21–22, 47, 292
the town nērcha, 273–74 a practical necessity, 20, 24, 27, 34
Malayalam culture significance of adopting
artistic tradition, 300 Malayalam, 27–28
early plastic period and social three cultural implications, 349–54
tolerance, 29 Mappila arts, material
linguistic terms for, 356 background of the forming
main elements, 5–12 streams, 300
Index 425
commercial and media maryāda (civility), 29

transforming impact, 302 Masani, M. R., 105
notable absence of calligraphy, 302 matrilinear system
reasons for limitation to basic elements, ancestral homes,
functional arts, 301–302 177–79
Mappila language and literature especially in North Malabar, 44
development of Arabic- Mappila involvement, critics,
Malayalam, 322–26 179–91
emergence of Mappila literature Mappila Succession Act and the
in Malayalam, and types of, Marumakkathāyam Act, 180
327–48 maulavi, 86
Mappilas and Malayalam, 6, mawlūds (saint recitals), 277–79
27–28 mawālī (cultural affiliates), 19
resistance to Sanskrit and Hindu- Mawdudi, Abu Aʿla, 226
based literary movements, Mecca and Medina, 215, 258–59
315–17 Minangkabau Muslims, 177
special role of novelists, 343–44 Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, 227
Mappila music, song and dance Mishkal Mosque, Calicut, 295
Arabic-Malayalam songwriters, models, behavioral, 203–205
223–25 Mohammad, A., 145
dance, 312–13 Mohammad Ali, K. T., 84, 344
modern songs, 311–12 Moideen Māla (praise for al-Jilāni),
musical instruments, 312 305–306
traditional ballads, 303–308 Moidu Maulavi, E., 38
wedding and instructional songs, Moidu Padiyath, 341–43
309–11 mosques, Mappila
Mappila Rebellion (1921), 37–39 hybrid structures, 296–97
Mappila self-help efforts new Mideast styles, 295–96
charitable trusts, 245–46 traditional, 292–95
poverty, personal charity, 242–43 types and number, 297–98
social service organizations, Moyinkutty Vaidyar, 307–308, 324
243–44 Mughuls and South India, 54–63
Mappila traditionalism. See Muhammad, the Prophet
traditionalism birthday, first revelation, heavenly
Marco Polo, 42 ascent, celebrations of, 264
marriage and divorce paragon and primary pattern,
age, arrangement and betrothal 266–67
(nikah), dowry, 147–51 Muhammad Abdurrahiman. See
divorce Abdurrahiman
frequency, method, effects, Muhammad, Khan Bahadur, 85, 92
154–55 Muhammad Koya, C. H., 204,
polygamy, 153–54 235–36, 329, 333, 345
wedding (kaliyānum) practices, Muhammad, K. T., 338–40
151–53 Muhammad, N. P., 337–38
marumakkathāyum. See matrilinear Muhammad, U., 344
system Muhammad, V., 112, 321
426 Index
Muhammadan Educational oil in Gulf area, discovery, 118

Conference, 66 old age, care of elderly, 155–56
Muharram, 281 ōppana. See dance
Mujahid reform movement ornamentation, personal, 190–91
divisions, 385n24 ōthapalli (site for Qurʾān recitation),
founding and principles, 225–26 82
reform activities, 99–100
Mujeeb, M., 49, 64 padroada (papal decree), 30
mulla. See clergy Pallava Tamil dynasty, 316
Munnivirul Islam High School, Pandyan Tamil dynasty, 53, 316
Ernakulam, 113 Parikutty, Chettuvayi, 224
musaliar, 86, 89 Partition of India, Mappila stance,
music. See Mappila music 69–70
Muslim Education Society (MES) Pattikad, Jamiʿa Nuriyya College,
achievements, 218, 244 89–90
formation of, 238 Felikan, Jaroslav, 74
MES Journal, 330 Peoples Democratic Party, 228
Muslim League, the Indian Union pilgrimage to Mecca. See hajj
founding, 66 Pir Muhammad, 303
rebirth in Malabar, 221 Poker Sahib, B., 377
supports idea of Pakistan, 69–70 Pondicherry, 60
Muslim Service Society, 244 politics, Mappila
Muʿtazilites, 361–62 a means for social advance, 70
mutiny, Indian, 63 strategy and results, 221–23
Muziris (Kodungalur), 26, 43 pollution
forbidden behavior, 285–87
Nadir Shah, 62 forbidden foods, 279
Nadvat-ul-Mujahdin. See Mujahid ritual purification, 281–82
Nambutiri, P. P., 319 Ponnani, town and mosque
Nambutiri Brahmin property description, importance, 35, 293–94
system, 177 Maunat-ul-Islam conversion
Nambutiripad, E. M. S., 104, 107, 204 center, 45
National Democratic Front, 228 theological school, 88–89
Nayars, in North Malabar population
and the Ali Rajas, 357–60 Kerala State, 7
and conversion to Islam, 44 Mappila, 8, 146, 370n5
their matrilineal system, 177–79 Portuguese cultural impact, 30–33
nērcha festivals, 46, 272–77 prayer (niskārum), 254–56
Niranam family, 317 Pukkoya family, Panakkad
Nizam al-Din, Mulla Muhammad, 56 and P. M. S. A. Pukkoya Tangal,
Nizamiyya Syllabus, 365–66 269
Nizam-ul-Mulk, 57 Syed Mohammedali Shihab
Nuri Shah Centre, Hyderabad, 279 Tangal, 240–41
Pulikottil Haidar, 324
occupations, factors and types,
184–86 Qadariyya Order, 270–71
Index 427
Qadi, Shaikh Abdulla ibn Hassan local festivals (nērchas), and major
(Saudi Arabia), 21 shrines, 272–77
Qadi Muhammad of Calicut, 322 mawlūd celebrations, 277–79
ganūn (administrative law), 22 tangals, 268–70
Qatar, 199 Samad, Abdul, 281
Qurʾān Samadani, Abdul Samad, 244
the issue of translatability, 80, 237 Samastha Kerala Jamiya-ul-Ulama,
in relation to culture, 21, 27 225
right of personal interpretation, samskārum (culture), 356
37, 122, 363–64 samudāyum (solidarity), 229
traditionalist approach, 79–81 Sankaracarya, 28
Qureshi, Ishtiaq, 58, 63 Satter Sait, Abdul, 332
Saudi Arabia
Ramadan fasting, 256–57 influence on Mappila female
Ramakrishna Pillai, 328 dress, 188–89
ratīb (magical litany), 285 on Mappila mosque architecture,
religious education, Mappila 295–96
reform approach, 99–100 its strict theory of culture, 14
Sunni response, 101–103 Wahhabism, 123–26
traditionalist rote emphasis, 81–85 sayyids, 264–68. See also saints
religious practices, prescribed, Sayyid Ahmed Khan
253–58 call for change, 40
Rida, Rashid, 98 distant influence on Mappilas,
al-Rifāʿī, Rifāʿīn Order, 270, 285 67–68, 375n36
Rizvi, S. A. A., 58–59 reform movement, 65–66
Romans, trade with Kerala, 43 Sayyid Amir Ali, 65
Sayyid dynasty, 53
Sabarimala shrine (Ayyappan, Seethi Sahib, K. M., 99, 131, 204
Vavar), 265–66 sexual behavior and tabus, 199–201
Social Advancement Foundation of Seyd Muhammad, P. M., 344
India (S. A. F. I.), 218–20 al-Shafīʿī, Muhammad, 362
Said Alikutty, 326 Shafīʿī law, 90, 176
saints, source and criteria Shah Abdul Aziz, 64
common in Islamic tradition, 264 Shah-ul-Hamid, Abdul al-Qadir
criteria for sainthood, 266–67 (Nagore), 277
the impact of Hindu veneration Shah Jahan, Emperor, 55
for sacred figures, 265 Shah Tangal, Muhammad, 265, 270
prophets, globally revered heroes, shahāda (confession), 158, 227, 254
266–71 shahīd (martyr), 272–74, 307
roots in a sense of need, 262–63 Shantapuram, 226
saints, local Mappila sharia (Islamic law), 20, 22, 215, 229,
the community’s issue with passim
superstition and magical Shawkat Ali, 38
practices, 283–89 Shīʿa, 264, 267, 270
influx of sayyids from South Shihab Tangal, Syed Mohammedali,
Arabia, and other sufis, 266 102, 205, 240–42
428 Index
slavery, 199, 383n28 Taureg Muslims, 177

Smith, Wilfred Cantwell, 370n11 Tughluk dynasty, 53
solidarity, Mappila, 12, 134–36, Tuhfat al-Mujahidīn, 321
229–30, 282 Turkey, culture theory, 14
songs (mālas). See Mappila music, Tyabji, Badr a-Din, 65
song, and dance
d’Souza, Victor S., 179 Ubaid, T., 324, 346–47
spirits, belief in, 286–87 ʿulamā. See clergy
Sufis, 264–65, 304–306, 387n14 Umarabad Madrasa, 57
Sufi Orders, India and Kerala, 59 Umar Koya, P. P., 345
Ummayad caliphate, 20
Tabligh-Jamaat, 227–28 United Arab Emirates, 118–19
tabus, 197–200 Urdu, role among Mappilas, 49–
Tamilnad, Mughul influence, 57 51
tangals. See saints ʿurf (customary law), 22
tapioca, 193 Usman, K. K., 267
taglīd (handing on), 88, 102–103,
361–63 Vadakemanna Mosque,
Taramal family. See Jifri tangal Malappuram, 296–97
Tarim, Hadramaut, 77, 266 Vasco da Gama, 20
Tellicherry, 31 Vattezhuthu script, 318
teyyam (Hindu ballad), 390n15 Vavar, tradition and shrine, 265–66
theological parties, Mappila, 223–28 Victoria College, 113
theological reform Vijayanagar Empire, 54
the classical language of Islamic
reform, 94–95 al-Wāhhāb, Muhammad ibn ʿAbd,
founding Mappila reformers, 187–88
96–97 waqfs, Mappila, 244–46
scope of Mappila reform, 95–96 Wakkom, the town, 42
Timur (Tamerlane), 53 Wakkom Maulavi, Abdul Khader
Tipu Sultan, 31–32, 34, 62 and the Egyptian reform, 97–98
Titus, Murray, 58, 264–65 founding Mappila theological
tradition, Mappila respect for, 224 reformer, 96–97
traditionalism in Islamic history, reason-based interpretation of the
361–64 Qurʾān, 98–99
traditionalism, Mappila seminal publications, 463, 466
British effort to overcome, 83–85 women, Mappila
definition, cultural spirit, 48, coming of age, menstruation,
73–74 142–43
four pillars of, 75–92 gender relations and social
initial response of traditionalists restrictions, 167–71
to Mappila reformers, 101–103 share in modern education, 114,
modern dislodging of, 148–79 217
Travancore, 104 some prominent leaders, 239–40
Trivandrum, 36, 42, 303 Wood, Charles, 64
Index 429
Yathim Khana, Tirurangadi, 244 hospitality of Arab traders, 26–27,

Yazīd ibn Maqsam, Hadramaut, 77 29
Yemen, 321 and the Portuguese, 30
Yunus Nabi (Jonah), 279 Zein-ud-Din Makhdums of Ponnani,
Yusuf, T. Muhammad, 343 294
Zein-ud-Din, Shaikh (the “Senior”),
zakat (alms-giving), 242–43, 257–58 88, 278, 294, 321
Zamorin of Calicut Zein-ud-Din, Shaikh Ahmad (the
festival of Sanskrit learning, “Junior”), 89–90, 275, 321
113 Zulfigar Ali Khan, Nawab, 57

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Mappila Muslim Culture

SUNY series in Religious Studies

How a Historic Muslim Community in India

© 2015 State University of New York

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY

Production, Eileen Nizer

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A Note on Foreign Terms and Style xiii

1 The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting 3

2 The Emergence of the Mappila People and Their Culture 25

3 The Issue of a Possible Indo-Muslim Influence on

4 The Four Pillars of Mappila Traditionalism 73

5 The Great Transition in Mappila Culture:

6 Mappila Character and Personality Today 127

7 Key Life Moments: Birth, Marriage, Death 139

8 Family Custom: Home Life, Interrelationships, Inheritance 161

9 Aspects of Personal Behavior 183

10The Landscape of Mappila Social Behavior:

Current Educational Profile 212

photo gallery follows page 232

11Social Behavior (cont’d): Leadership and Some Selected

12 Religious Rituals and Festivals: Saints and Superstition 253

13Mappila Artistic Expression: Mosque Architecture,

14 Mappila Literature 315

Conclusion: The Significance of Mappila Culture 349

Appendix A: Islamic and Malayalam Terms for Culture 355

Appendix B: The Ali Raja Kingdom in Kannur 357

Appendix C: The Origins of Traditionalism in the

Appendix D: The Nizamiyya Syllabus 365

Appendix E: Mappila Culture on the Laccadive Islands

Older views in the study of culture change tended to focus

and adjustments of individual personalities to their chang-

A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope

The Mappilas and Their Composite

people and activity. On both sides pedestrians walk briskly, dodging

a behavioral synthesis. The saga has cultural significance, heaped up

The Malayalam Culture Setting

The task of making Mappila culture better known takes us to a lively

an ever-present humanity. So you build a compound wall, or even

of the Malayali initiative, creative energy, and venturesome disposi-

is attested to by the upsurge of English medium schools. While the

The employment market, the educational system, and political

The Islamic Cultural Setting

In examining that important issue we must first consider what

1. Religious conviction: Islam inculcates a Godward direc-

ioral practice. Mappilas honor tradition and respect

In one way or another Mappilas have drawn on these principles

Religious Conviction: Life Has a Godward Direction

The Forming Attitude

Muslim life and culture are informed by the religious conviction

This fundamental attitudinal approach sets the relation of reli-

The Mappila Attitude: A Special Case

Mappila religious conviction also informs Mappila life and culture,

in their performance of these constitutive religious duties? That would

of those expressions defies description. Public meetings focusing on

The Practical Muslim Approach to Culture

The second element in Islamic cultural theory is pragmatism. Muslims

enslavement.15 The unequal status ended in 750 CE with the fall of

A Legal Basis for Cultural Flexibility

quantum leap to the conclusion that, in principle, all actions should be

f eelings that the answer to their problems lay in militancy. Moreover,

traditional Sunni law and theology, and publicly interested in Islami-