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Forgotten
dreams of forgotten men
A newspaper
reported last week that there was no reference to Delhi in primary
school textbooks. One is not surprised. I wondered if there was
any reference to some of Delhi’s historic figures. Hence the
urge to write this.
Two
individuals in public life, who need to be rescued from the mists
of history, were not men wrapped in the folds of the banner of religion,
tradition and traditional morality. They were neither guardians
of the Islamic way of life nor did they claim to lead their lives
in accordance with Islamic teachings. They maintained that religion
played a part in shaping man’s conduct and ideas, and yet they
desired the political ideal to conform to the spirit and not to
the letter of Islam. They neither sought to revive their heritage
as a base for their own self-identity nor did they try to eliminate
the Hindu influences interwoven into their lives. They were Hakim
Ajmal Khan and Dr Mukhtar Ahmad Ansari.
Both
created an organic synthesis between traditional religious values
and the humanist values that were not specific to Islam. They were
exponents of a liberal-humanitarian ideology without restricting
its application for the benefit of any single community. At the
heart of their conception was the idea of virtuous citizens, respectful,
and trustful towards one another, even if they differed on political
and religious issues. The Indian community they had in mind was
not likely to be blandly conflict free, but tolerant of their opponents.
By invoking such valid precepts of political and social morality,
Ajmal and Ansari created a model of a public figure that was worth
emulating.
Ajmal
Khan personified gentlemanly manners, both as a noted practitioner
of unani medicine and as a public figure. He was a link between
the old order and the new, and yet he was much more than that. Living
through the decaying Mughal culture and nurtured in Pax Britannia,
he satisfied the standards of two radically different cultures,
the aristocratic and the democratic. He was not a synthesiser of
ideas, but of diverse movements he experienced during his lifetime.
Without offering any grande illusions, he championed a number of
causes, preferring the austere appeal to the style of the rhetoricians.
He recognised — which so few contemporary Muslims did —
the need to enhance the status of women in society. He established
a women’s section in his Yunani and Ayurvedic College in 1909.
Towards the end of his life he drew attention to the physical deterioration
of Muslim women owing to the purdah system.
With
his aristocratic background and his professional interests tied
to the British and the nawabs, he nonetheless noticed the ferment
around him — the Home Rule movement, the Rowlatt Satyagraha,
and the Jallianwala Bagh massacre — and responded to the aspirations
of his people. He could have stayed away from stormy meetings and
noisy demonstrations and yet retain the goodwill of the people around
him. But he chose to be drawn, without any personal motive, into
the political arena. Without wielding political power, his moral
authority was unassailable. He enunciated no great principles, but
he lay bare, through his personal, professional and family life,
the outlines of a future multicultural society.
Working
against heavy odds, Ansari did his best to preserve and promote
Ajmal Khan’s legacy. The medical doctor was, indeed, a worthy
successor to the Hakim, for he fits into any of the multiple meanings
one attaches to the concept of adab, or right personal or political
conduct. Like Ajmal, he had multiple identities that shaped his
personality and informed his worldview. And like his senior comrade,
his diverse concerns found expression in the variety of roles he
played — from playing Macbeth at the University of Edinburgh
to presiding over the destiny of Jamia Millia Islamia in Delhi.
What
endeared Ansari to his contemporaries was his sense of duty. He
acted as the bridge between the old school of medicine and Western
science and, as an arbitrator between the contes- ting claims of
Hindu and Muslim ideologues. He brought something new and something
different in the prevailing political milieu. For one, he saw clearly
the incompatibility of nationalism or narrow religion with the sort
of democracy he dreamed for his country. Writing to a friend just
before his death, he stated: ‘‘I consider the brotherhood
of man as the only real tie, and partitions based on race or religion
are, to my mind, artificial and arbitrary, leading to divisions
and factious fights.”
Secondly,
he firmly opposed the movement to organise a politically separate
Muslim community. Hence his resignation from the Khilafat Committee
in 1925, and his estrangement from the Ali brothers who had joined
hands with the conservative establishment. He often repeated, what
had long been Maulana Azad’s political axiom as well, that
future India must be a field of co-operation between men of different
faiths. They could live according to the tenets of their faith,
but introducing theological subtleties into modern political forms
could be dangerous. Indian Muslims, according to him, have erred
in identifying their manners and customs with the prescription of
their faith. Religion and social life were inseparable, but it was
necessary for them to distinguish between conservatism and stagnation.
Ansari
was often criticised for his consistency, consistency in his loyalty
to political comrades, consistency in helping the poor, consistency
in upholding political morality, and consistency in championing
the cause of communal harmony and national unity. Yet, consistency
is not a feature attributed to a successful politician. But, then,
his mission in life was not that of a successful politician, it
was that of a pioneer.
This
tour de force provides a perspective for understanding an era when
some of our public figures sublimated their more immediate political
interests to the public good. It is true that some persons traded
convictions for wealth or power, weakened the foundation of our
monumental national edifice, and disrupted a national consensus
by raising strident sectarian demands. Yet, there were those who
resolved the disparity between beliefs and deeds, made sacrifices
as a sort of sublimation or compensation for high ideals, and nursed
the vision of a harmonious society. Indeed, they were not the gold
diggers of modern India, but young and old idealists whose conception
of society rested on equality and co-operation among Indians.
With
Ajmal Khan’s death in 1927, wrote C.F. Andrews, ‘passed
away ... one of the last links of this Old Delhi’. ‘‘We
are not likely to see the like of Dr Ansari again,’’ concluded
Mahadev Desai in his tribute.
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