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India. This is the first thorough study of his contribution. It is done with
such scholarship and depth that no one considering Sufism in the eighteenth-
century, or in the reform movements of the period in general, should ignore
it.”
Francis Robinson, Royal Holloway, University of London, UK
“This is the first major academic work on the Nāla-yi ‘Andalīb, a fascinating
yet understudied Sufi text from eighteenth-century India. Through her impres-
sive research in the manuscripts and acute analysis of the text, Dr Saghaee
has made an important contribution to the study of Persianate Sufism and
modern Islamic intellectual history more generally.”
Fitzroy Morrissey, University of Oxford, UK
Sufism in Eighteenth-Century India
Neda Saghaee received her PhD degree from the University of Erfurt. She
specializes in cultural studies, comparative studies of religions, Sufism, Persian
literature, and old manuscripts. Her research aims to recognize the impact
of mystical and theological discourses, in classical and modern contexts, on
personal life, society, culture, and politics by employing multidisciplinary
methods.
Routledge Sufi Series
General Editor: Ian Richard Netton
Professor of Islamic Studies, University of Exeter
Titles include:
Neda Saghaee
First published 2023
by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2023 Neda Saghaee
The right of Neda Saghaee to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in
accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is based on a dissertation that was accepted at the Faculty of Philosophy
of the University of Erfurt in 2018.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised
in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks,
and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
ISBN: 978-1-032-13368-3 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-032-13371-3 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-22889-9 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003228899
Typeset in Times New Roman
by Newgen Publishing UK
To the bright star of my life: Liam
Contents
List of Figures x
List of Tables xi
Acknowledgments xii
Notes on Transliteration and Abbreviations xiii
Abbreviations xiv
Introduction 1
Epilogue 231
Appendices 242
Index 252
Figures
http:// ref e ren c ewo rks.bril l onl i ne.com/ e ntr i es/ e ncycl o pae d ia- i slam i ca/ * -
transliteration. The dates are based on the lunar (hijrī qamarī) calendar or
the solar Iranian calendar (hijrī shamsī) (Sh.) alongside Gregorian solar
years. English renderings of Qurʾānic verses rely on the translations of the
Tanzil project, available at www.tanzil.net. Furthermore, other translations
of Qurʾān at www.islamawakened.com/index.php/qur-an are considered.
Qurʾānic citations appear in the following format: sūra number: āya number.
For instance, āya number thirteen of sūrat al-Hujurāt, the forty-ninth chapter
of the Qurʾān, appears as 49:13.
Consonants
Abbreviations
the wujūdī would deny the existence of the stars while looking at the
sun, because he is overwhelmed by the spectacle and cannot see anything
except the sun itself. His view is patently wrong. The shuhūdī, on the
other hand, knows that the stars do exist, though he also sees only the
sun. His consciousness is in the stage of ʿayn al-yaqīn, while that of
the wujūdī remains at the lower stage of ʿilm al-yaqīn. The highest stage
of conscious, that of ḥaqq al-yaqīn, can be reached when the sight of the
onlooker is sharpened to such an extent that can see the stars and the sun
simultaneously.21
Ḥaqq al-yaqīn is attainable at the end of the path, and this is achieved through
perceiving the unity of God. As far as tanzīhī and tashbīhī standpoints are
concerned, highlighting the tashbīhī aspect of Ibn al-ʿArabī’s teaching ignores
all aspects of his worldview. From a theosophical perspective, Chittick argues
that Ibn al-ʿArabī’s waḥdat al-wujūd considers God as the Necessary Being
(Wājib al-Wujūd), the absolute possessor of being and “everything other than
God” (mā siwā Allāh) receives its being from God. Attributing being only
4 Introduction
to God affirms monotheism and a tanzīhī perspective. However, the tashbīhī
side of his worldview is to consider that the act of being can be attributed
to things or entities (aʿyān) as unveiling and self-disclosure (tajallī) and the
self-manifestation (ẓuhūr) of being. In this way, Ibn al-ʿArabī’s notion can
be cited: “ “He/not He” (howa lā howa), which is to say that they are both
God and other than God, both wojūd and other than wojūd.”22 The contro-
versial topic was shaped around the relation of human beings to the creator
regarding the issue of annihilation and union with God.23
Sirhindī’s adherents, known as Shuhūdīs, as representatives of sharīʿa-
based Sufism, accused the followers of Ibn al-ʿArabī, known as Wujūdīs, of
misunderstanding Ibn al-ʿArabī’s message. The Wujūdī standpoint thrived
in the Indian religious environment, with its pantheistic beliefs and monism,
which denied the separation between God and creatures. What was under-
stood as waḥdat al-wujūd, according to Chittick, was the technical elaboration
of Ibn al-ʿArabī’s thought based on the commentaries mainly derived from
Ibn al-Fāriḍ’s (d. 632/1234) Tāʾiyya and its interpretation by Saʿīd al-Dīn al-
Farqānī (d. 695/1296). In addition, in attributing waḥdat al-wujūd as the main
characteristics of Ibn al-ʿArabī’s teachings, the role of Ibn al-Taymiyya as
an opponent is significant. His criticism targets the notion of the Reality of
Muḥammad. Dividing Sufis into Shuhūdī and Wujūdī groups must not ignore
Sirhindī’s respect for Ibn al-ʿArabī and should also take into account his
attempts to deeply perceive the reality of unity. The shaping of the contradic-
tion between waḥdat al-wujūd and waḥdat al-shuhūd, or an intoxicated Sufism
against a sober Sufism or a tanzīhī point of view against tashbīhī, was the
product of the writings of modern thinkers as well as a growing tendency to
construct an Indian identity of Islam by emphasizing Sirhindī’s thought.24
The variety of reactions within any given order, like the Chishtiyya, Qādiriyya
and Naqshbandiyya, to the strong popularity of waḥdat al-wujūd is consid-
erable. For instance, while Bandi Nawāz Gīsū-Darāz (d. 825/1422), a famous
Chishtī shaykh, was against Ibn al-ʿArabī and rejected his way of thought
and said “this Muḥyī al-Dīn (“the reviver of religion”) who in the meaning is
Mumīt al-Dīn (“the destroyer of religion”), of course, attempted to eradicate
the faith.”25 However, Shaykh Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī Chishtī wrote a work
entitled al-Tawsiyya and was an adherent of Ibn ʿArabī and an interpreter of
his Sufism.26
In the above- mentioned debates, it is not surprising that among the
Naqshbandīs who rejected Ibn al-ʿArabī’s thought, ʿAndalīb and some of
his contemporaries respected him and accepted his terms and concepts in
spite of adopting Sirhindī’s critical stance at the same time. It can be argued
that their familiarity with two different mystical worldviews opened the door
for discussions to criticize any deviations and misunderstandings of Ibn
al-ʿArabī’s teachings in the polytheistic-based context of India. Therefore,
ʿAndalīb along with his son are two figures that argue against the pantheistic
aspects of popular Wujūdī Sufism, which was under the influence of indi-
genous religious beliefs, while their works are replete with Ibn al-ʿArabian
ontology and concepts such as al-insān al-kāmil and wilāya.27
Introduction 5
The role of ʿAndalīb’s thought must be compared to the teachings of
other contemporary religious intellectuals who were also pioneers in Islamic
revivalism. In doing so, ʿAndalīb’s name must be mentioned alongside the
best-known Naqshbandī Mujaddidī figures in Delhi of that time, Shāh Walī
Allāh (d. 1176/1762) and Mīrzā Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān (d. ca. 1195/1781). Unlike
ʿAndalīb, both masters were well- known and were surrounded by many
devotees. They held seminars in mosques and khānaqāhs which were filled
with disciples. All three men perceived serious threats to Muslim society that
threatened the purity of their faith. They were, each in their own way, motivated
to strengthen the Muslim community and improve the lives of adherents by
championing political, social, and ethical empowerment. Thus, they sought
to strengthen beliefs by calling for a renewal of Islam, meaning a reorienta-
tion of Sufi tradition and the return to a pristine form of Islam according
to the Qurʾān and the sunna.28 The regeneration of sharīʿa led to the strict
observance of divine laws and the imitation of Prophetic morality and values.
In spite of having such common concerns and while sharing a Naqshbandī
background, they each presented different approaches. It can be argued that
after Sirhindī’s death, his reformist thought was spread by his followers across
South Asia and beyond, making the Mujaddidiyya a highly influential branch
of the Naqshbandiyya during the eighteenth century and up to the present.29
However, it might be better seen as an ensemble of spiritual traditions, as
his teachings were interpreted in different ways by subsequent generations of
Mujaddidī masters. Based on their various understandings, many sub-orders
have branched out from the Mujaddidiyya, such as the Khālidiyya, Sayfiyya,
Ṭāhiriyya, Qāsimiyya, and Ḥaqqāniyya, thus making it neither a uniform nor
a centrally organized sub-order of the Naqshbandiyya.30
Shāh Walī Allāh, who has come to be the most famous pioneer of Islamic
revivalism in the eighteenth century, wanted to bridge the gap between
Muslims of different groups. His aim was to examine and assess theology
and Sufism according to the Qurʾān and sunna.31 He wrote Ḥujjat Allāh
al-bāligha32 and translated the Qurʾān from Arabic into Persian in a work
entitled Fatḥ al-raḥmān. With this significant Persian translation, he opened a
new stage of ijtihād and the interpretation of Islamic law based on temporal
and local circumstances.33 He called himself the “preserver of time,” qāʾim
al-zamān, and as Rizvi states, Walī Allāh believed that “the Divine grace, as
well as his own intuitive knowledge and mystical clairvoyance, enabled him
to perform the impossible task of smoothing over differences and harmon-
izing (taṭbīq) the traditional mystical and rational sciences of Islam and all
the conflicting views and beliefs associated with them.”34 The center of his
activity and the place where his pupils gathered was a mosque and his house,
both of which were located in the heart of Shāhjahānābād near the Jāmiʿa
Masjid.35 Regarding Ibn ʿArabī’s teachings, Shāh Walī Allāh, in his works like
Fayṣala-yi waḥdat al-wujūd wa al-shuhūd, advanced synthesis of the Wujūdī
and Shuhūdī approaches as two different perspectives which are essentially
similar. His peaceful tendency in this regard caused Mujaddidīs after him to
become more moderate in Wujūdī/Shuhūdī polemics. However, his teachings
6 Introduction
evoke the intellectual environment investigated in this study and its pro-
lific aspect was for the interactions of Sufis to participate in this debate. An
example of criticizing, rejecting, defending, and responding could be found in
the work of Mawlawī Ghulām Yaḥyā, Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān’s disciple, against
Shāh Walī Allāh’s attitude and the continuity of debates by followers of Shāh
Walī Allāh to support his approach, such his son Shāh Rafīʿ al-Dīn’s Damgh
al-bāṭil.36
Mīrzā Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān, a prominent Naqshbandī Sufi poet of Delhi,
contributed to the development and revival through his teachings. Maẓhar
was concerned that Islam had been damaged by struggles between the Shiʿa
and Sunni. He envisioned a remedy to purify beliefs by following the sunna.
He was known as the “Shaper of Sunnis” (Sunni tarāsh) for his insistence on
firm adherence to the sunna, and for encouraging the conversion of Shiʿas to
Sunni Islam.37 His ideas were considered as a Sunni attempt to decrease the
political power of Shiʿa members of the Mughal court.38 He was surrounded
by numerous disciples and his Naqshbandī sub-order came to be known
as the Maẓhariyya Shamsiyya.39 The close association of his disciples with
possessors of power like Najīb al-Dawla (d. 1184/1770) and the backing of
the Rohilla Afghans was a reason that his circle of followers extended to
North India.40 It could be argued that his acknowledgment that the Vedas are
among the divinely revealed scriptures was a part of a tendency to encourage
interfaith dialogue.41 It links his attempt for understanding Hindu wisdom to
a tendency that began with the comparative work of Abū Rayḥān al-Bīrūnī (d.
ca. 444/1052), Taḥqīq mā lil-Hind, along with contributions by Dārā Shukūh
(d. 1069/1659) in translating the Upanishads. However, Jān-i Jānān’s approach
from a Sunni perspective does not agree with Hindu rituals and the religiosity
of common Hindus in spite of respecting the knowledge of Hindu elites.42 In
literary circles, he was considered one of the “four pillars of Urdu poetry”
in Delhi and an influential figure in the emergence of Urdu as a literary lan-
guage. His thought and teachings convey his perspectives on local problems,
and in them he gives instructions for how to follow his path. These thoughts
can be accessed in his Dīwān, a collection of poetry written in both Persian
and Urdu, as well as two treatises entitled Risāla-yi sulūk-i ṭarīqa and Risāla-
yi tanbīhāt-i khamsa, writings against certain Shiʿa beliefs; and a collection of
letters entitled Kalimāt-i ṭayyabāt. Qadri, in Muslim-Mystic Trends in India,
believes that one feature of his works that makes them distinguishable is that
they utilized a clear and understandable vocabulary which attracted common
people rather than employing complicated and erudite words.43
The term orthodoxy here is applied to show the sharp distinctions between
Islamic groups. It pertains to a group which claims to practice according
to sharīʿa, the Qurʾān and the sunna and casts their opponents as unlawful
heretics. Labeling orthodoxy changes considerably in different times and
places. It has been criticized when employed with reference to Islam, with
alternatives like orthopraxy and Islamic normativity being proffered in
its place, but orthodoxy is used here out of convenience and familiarity to
most readers.74 Using the term orthodoxy in relation to Islam derives from a
10 Introduction
Christian western perspective that refers to traditionalists, who believe in the
sole authority of scriptures. In Muslim terminology, this dichotomy could be
referred to the people of ḥadīth (ahl-i ḥadīth) against rationalists (ahl-i ʿaql)
according to Shahristānī, or people of transmitted reports (ʿulamāʾ al-rusūm)
against people of truth (ahl-i ḥaqq) and the people of inward meaning (ahl-i
bāṭin) against the people of outward meaning (ahl-i ẓāhir) in the words of Ibn
ʿArabī.75
What has been called an orthodox trend in Sufism traces back to the
teachings of early Islamic thinkers, such as Junayd al-Baghdādī (d. 297/910)76
and Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 504/1111),77 and it was later promoted in the
interpretations of Ibn al-Taymiyya. In India, orthodox approach can be seen
in the teachings of Sirhindī, ʿAbd al-Ḥaqq Dihlawī and later the views of
Shāh Walī Allāh,78 who reacted against the pantheistic creeds of the followers
of waḥdat al-wujūd and many other features of popular Sufism for spreading
un-Islamic and polytheistic practices like the worship and veneration of saints
along with the visitation of their tombs.79 In sum, their attempt to Islamize
the surrounding society with an emphasis on Islamic identity gave an exclu-
sivist color to their attempts.80
So-called orthodox Muslims follow the Prophetic sunna as a model.
A perceived pristine form of Islam in the Prophet’s time became idealized,
since Islam after the conquests faced interactions with a variety of soci-
eties, regional cultures and the pre-Islamic beliefs that caused it to adopt
some innovations in faith and practice. Therefore, the study of ḥadīth litera-
ture became important as the demand for reform was increasing. Malik has
noted that emulating the sunna in faith and practice was a means to guide
Muslims by connecting them to prophetic authority in the earliest period of
Islam.81 The reformists’ concern was to purify ““alien” features and “super-
stition,” thereby its former greatness,” as Alexander Knysh pointed out.82
Reconstructing the life of the Prophet and the early community of Muslims
was held as an ideal and a source to perceive the “pristine” form of Islam,
before it encountered a variety of societies, regional cultures and non-Islamic
beliefs. In doing so, many contemporary Sufi masters who cited false ḥadīths
or ecstatic utterances of the great Sufis in their sermons were criticized for
misleading their disciples.83 In India, the most prominent scholars in the study
of ḥadīths were above-mentioned ʿAbd al-Ḥaqq Dehlawī, who wrote Madārij
al-nubuwwa.84 Studying ḥadīths became important as a basis for Islamic know-
ledge in Shāh Walī Allāh’s teachings. For him, ḥadīths functioned as “a neu-
tral mediator” between a variety of Islamic tendencies and was also a means
for unification.85
Although the Prophet was considered the exemplar par excellence, he
also became more accessible and earthly. Reaching union with his spirit
became another characteristic of Sufism. Malik states that “some reformist
movements even humanized the Prophet while others stuck to his inviolability,
all adhering to some aims: mobilising against unjust rulers, offering alterna-
tive remedies in the line with prophetic ethics.”86 From Radtke and O’Fahey’s
Introduction 11
perspective, the belief in uniting with the spirit of the Prophet meant that imi-
tating the Prophet was a means to achieve this, but it was not a substitute for
union with God.87 Emphasis on such propheto-centrism among several Sufi
paths across the Muslim world during that period led them to use the name
“Muḥammadan Path,” or Ṭarīqa-yi Muḥammadiyya.
In the eyes of the reformists, the blind imitation of earlier Muslims, or
taqlīd, was rejected. Taqlīd was seen as restricting a believer’s understanding
by relying on old and out-dated interpretations, while ijtihād entailed a con-
stantly shifting process of interpreting holy texts which takes context and
particularities of time and place into account. In other words, the aim of
ijtihād was to recover the spirit of the Prophetic age. As Malik states, ijtihād
demonstrated a tendency toward distinction from the age of the Prophet. It
sought to bring about a political and social ideal, making this into a reality
through personal effort.88
Activist engagement in social affairs is one characteristic in the above-
mentioned list that increased the influence of Sufis on society and helped
them in trying to build an ideal community.89 Voll uses the idea of “socio-
moral reconstructionism,” or a quest for a fundamental transformation to
counteract the socio-moral decline, as distinguishing the eighteenth century
and the reversal of more traditional Islamic beliefs.90 O’Fahey and Radtke
call this reform “an outward-looking reformist orientation.”91 Citing Buehler,
Werbner asserts that neo-Sufism did away with intoxication and promoting
the passing through stages on the path, returning to the world and living
apparently like “any ordinary pious person” so as to “become extraordin-
arily ordinary.”92 Neo-Sufism venerated the Prophet’s socio-political life and
sought to emulate it, thus opposing earlier quietism within Sufism.93
Furthermore, among the Muslim scholars of Delhi, the issue of the role
of the Prophet’s companions and the definition of orthodox Islam raised the
question again about the Prophet’s succession. Strong sectarian hostilities
that had surfaced necessitated reconciliation in the community regarding reli-
gious authority and the ways to attain the Prophetic knowledge. Again, the
debate was under the influence of Ibn al-Taymiyya. Sufi masters of Delhi had
different approaches in dealing with sectarianism, many with the same goal
of identifying Islam with Sunnism. Some of them like ʿAndalīb had more
mystical attitudes, and some like Shāh Walī Allāh mixed a political manner of
thought with a mystical perspective.94 Shāh Walī Allāh’s works Izālat al-khafā
ʿan khilāfat al-khulafā and Qurrat al-ʿaynayn fī tafdīl al-shaykhayn impressed
the Sufi circles by rejecting Shīʿism and the status of the four caliphs became
a topic of debate again.95 Qasim Zaman discusses how Shāh Walī Allāh was
concerned about “how the prophetical mission of Muhammad was completed
not by the time of his death but rather at the hands of his successors. The
prophet-like qualities the Rashidun had possessed had allowed them to give
form and substance to the religion. They were able as well to understand what
God wanted them to do on their own rather than on anyone’s instruction
(az sirr-i tahqiq na az sirr-i taqlid).”96 Shāh Walī Allāh paid attention to the
12 Introduction
anti-Shīʿa attitudes of Sirhindī and translated his Radd al-rawāfiz before 1731
into Arabic, with addition of some comments and discussions.97 After him,
the Shīʿa/Sunni polemics were continually discussed by his successors and
ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz wrote Tuḥfa-yi ithnā ʿash‘ariyya in 1789–90.98
The last point to cover, after having considered ʿAndalīb and his
Naqshbandī contemporaries in the Islamic movements of the eighteenth cen-
tury, is their activities and thoughts vis-à-vis other active (non-Naqshbandī)
Sufi orders of Delhi. One recent study is Moin Ahmad Nizami’s Reform
and Renewal in South Asian Islam,99 which studies reform and the Chishtī
Ṣābriyya. This work demonstrates the interactions among Sufi orders during
the gradual deterioration of the Mughal Empire. To understand Sufi networks
in pre-colonial India, during colonialism and afterwards,100 the influence of
Mujaddidī revivalist masters—in his words “Walīullāhī scholars”—must be
considered along with the activities of the Chishtiyya in Awadh, who were
known for coexistence and peaceful attitudes. Similarly, the critical view
of the Chishtiyya leads to a severe criticism of Hindu Bhakti influences on
Indian Sufism. Their emphasis on sharīʿa constructed a basis for the funda-
mentalist Deobandī School in the nineteenth century that highlighted the role
of the ʿālim-Sufi. With such a background, they used khānaqāh and madrasa
institutions and merged ḥadīth and fiqh into their mystical views.
It is important to note that, although the nature of Islamic reform was not
restricted in Sufism, as Dallal states, Sufi affinities are key factors to separate
the intellectuals of the time from each other. These are in addition to their
regional concerns that differentiate but also align reformists of India to others
like those in North Africa. Thus, the reformist teachings of ʿAndalīb and
those of his Indian contemporaries are somehow different from the reformist
attitudes of al-Tījānī (d. 1230/1815), al-Shawkanī (d. 1250/1834), Ibn al-Idrīs
(d. 1253/1837), al-Sānūsī (d. 1276/1859) and in other parts of the Islamic
world.101 What united them all are that they are critics and union seekers
while the Waḥḥābīs, who were the prevailing non-Sufi figures at that time,
were intolerant and had minimal social and political concerns.102
Figure 0.3 The last folio of manuscript of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, no. ACC1441, by kind
permission of the Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library of Patna.
Introduction 17
Figure 0.4 The first folio of manuscript of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, no. HL 3721, by kind
permission of the Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library of Patna.
18 Introduction
Figure 0.5 The last folio of manuscript of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, no. HL 3721A, by kind
permission of the Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library of Patna.
newgenrtpdf
Introduction 19
Figure 0.6 The first folio of the manuscript of Khulāṣa-yi Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, no. PC II 48, 1106, by kind per-
mission of the Punjab University Library of Lahore.
20 Introduction
Another available manuscript in the Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library is
in two volumes (no. ACC1440 and no. ACC1441). They have been transcribed
in black and red ink in Indian nastaʿlīq. The folios have been repaired several
times, but due to the extensive damage, many of them are incomplete. At the
beginning of volume one, there is information written by Mīr Alam (d. ca.
1222/1807), ʿAndalīb’s grandson, regarding a visit to Shāhjahānābād by Miyān
ʿUmr Dirāz, who performed pilgrimage to Sufi shrines and joined Mīr Alam
in 18.11.1217/12.03.1803. Five seals on the first sheet refer to the owners of the
manuscript. Volume one begins with “Huwa al-Nāṣir” on the top of the table
of contents that consists of numbers of folios. The margins have been used for
the correction of mistakes. The verses are separated from prose by the titles
in red ink.108 It can be argued that this copy is one of the copies of the work
that was transcribed closer in time to ʿAndalīb, 44 years after his death and
the contents are more reliable under the supervision of Mīr Alam. The third
manuscript (no. HL 744A and no. HL 744 B) has 808 folios in two volumes
with 25 lines per folio. It begins with “Huwa al-Nāṣir” on the top of the table
of contents that was written in Indian nastaʿlīq script and in black and red ink.
The folios have been restored but many of them are partly or entirely damaged.
There is also a manuscript that includes a summary of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb
(no. PC II 48, 1106) written by ʿAbd al-Ḥaqq Shahīd Fātiḥpūrī under the
title, Khulāṣa-yi Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb.109 This manuscript is available at the Punjab
University Library in Lahore. It has 132 folios, 17 lines per folio, and is also
written in Indian nastaʿlīq script in black and red ink. Catchwords are included
at the bottom of each folio and aid in the arrangement of the folios and help
the reader follow the contents. This work has been mistakenly considered as
the actual text of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb in some tadhkiras and works on the history
of Urdu literature.110
Notes
1 Muḥammad Ghawth (d. 922/ 1517) established the Qādiriyya order in India.
J. Spencer Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971),
p. 44. Many members of the ruling family were pupils of Qādirī masters such as
Prince Dārā Shukūh (d. 1069/1659), who was a devotee of Miyān Mīr (d. 1045/
1635). Juan Eduardo Campo, Encyclopedia of World Religions, Encyclopedia of
Islam, s.v. “Qadiri Sufi Order” (New York: Infobase Publishing, 2009). Regarding
the founder of the Qādiriyya, ʿAbd al-Qādir Jīlānī, it should be noted that he did
not actually establish the order as it was his followers that attributed the Qādirī
order to him. He was a Ḥanbalī orator whose family line traced back to al-Ḥasan
b. ʿAlī (d. 50/670). He lived in Baghdad and was originally from Jīlān, an area in
the north of Iran. After becoming a famous Sufi master, he was called the reviver
of religion (muḥyī al-dīn), the greatest sustenance (ghawth-i aʿẓam) and the helping
master (pīr-i dastgīr). The activity of the Qādirī order during the time of Mughal
disintegration in the subcontinent was considerable. Indian scholars turn special
attention to ʿAbd al-Qādir Jīlānī’s thought and works and a translation of Bahīat
al-asrār, a work on the Manāqib-i ghawth-i aʿẓam by Badr al-Dīn Sirhindī, Ḥabīb
Allāh Akbarābādī (d. 1159/1747), and ʿAbd al-Ḥaqq Dihlawī (d. 1052/1642) can be
mentioned to show his popularity. “ʿAbd-Al-Qader Jilani,” EIr.
24 Introduction
2 Muzaffar Alam, The Language of Political Islam: India, 1200–1800 (London: Hurst
& Company, 2004), p. 166; see Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History of Islam in
India (Edinburgh: Islamic Surveys, 1969), p. 6.
3 Jamal Malik, Islam in South Asia: A Short History (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill,
2008), p. 38.
4 Alam, The Language of Political Islam, p. 83.
5 Waḥdat al-wujūd can be translated into English as unity of being; ontological
oneness of all things. See Sayyid Maḥmūd Mūsawī (ed.), Farhang-i iṣṭilāḥāt-i ʿirfān-
i Islāmī (Tehran: Daftar-i Pazhūhish wa Nashr-i Suhrawardī, 1382 Sh./2003).
6 William C. Chittick, “Wahdat al-Wujud in India,” Ishraq: Islamic Philosophy
Yearbook 3 (2012): p.32.
7 See Gregory A Lipton, “Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī’s Taswiya Contextualized,” in
Muslim Cultures in the Indo-Iranian World during the Early-Modern and Modern
Periods, ed. Denis Hermann and Fabrizio Speziale (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag,
2010), pp. 475–497.
8 “Čis̲h̲tiyya,” EI2.
9 See Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill, NC: The
University of North Carolina Press, 1975), pp. 357–358.
10 Rooted in early Sufi tradition, Ibn al-ʿArabī’s development of the notion the Light
of Muḥammad can be summarized as follow according to Khalil Andan. The Light
of Muḥammad: “emerged out of the Everlasting Lights (al-anwār al-ṣamadīya)
and the Unity Presence (al-ḥaḍra al-aḥadīya)”; the Muḥammadan Reality “arises
in the [Divine] Unity (al-qāʾima bi-l-aḥadīya)”; the Muḥammadan Reality is “the
Veil of [God’s] Self-Manifestation (ḥijāb tajallī-hi) and the ashioning of His Self-
Adornment (ṣiyāghat taḥallī-hi).” The Muḥammadan Reality is the presence of
God’s Names and Attributes, as God said to him: “You are My Attributes and
My Names among them.” Finally, in a most explicit manner, Ibn al-ʿArabī says
that “Muḥammad, (May God bless and keep Him!) is a Copy of a Real One/
Reality (nuskhatu Ḥaqq).” Khalil Andani, “Metaphysics of Muhammad: The Nur
Muhammad from Imam Ja‘far al-Sadiq (d. 148/765) to Nasir al-Din al-Tusi (d.
672/1274),” Journal of Sufi Studies 8 (2019): p. 153.
11 Ibid., p.155.
12 “Čishtiyya,” EI2.
13 Waḥdat al-shuhūd can be translated into English as unity of witnessing; experien-
tial unity with God. See Mūsawī, Farhang-i iṣṭilāḥāt.
14 Although Sirhindī did not claim to be the mujaddid, his disciples called him
mujaddid-i alf-i thānī. The theory of tajdīd involves an idea about the advent of
the mujaddid (“renewer”) at the beginning of the new millennium of Islam, who
spiritually revitalized the Muslim community as a perfect man who has qual-
ities of the Prophet. “Aḥmad Serhendi (2),” EIr. For a debate about the role of
the mujaddid, see Yohanan Friedmann, Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī: An Outline of
His Thought and a Study of his Image in the Eyes of Posterity (Montreal and
London: McGill-Queens University Press, 1971), pp. 13–21; Johann G. J. ter
Haar, Follower and Heir of the Prophet: Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī (1564-1624) as
Mystic (Leiden: Oosters Instituut, 1992), pp. 145–153, cited in “Aḥmad Serhendi
(2),” EIr.
15 My usage of the term sharīʿa-minded in this text is adopted from Hodgson’s
terminology. See Edmund Burke, “Islamic History as World History: Marshall
Introduction 25
Hodgson, ‘The Venture of Islam,’ ” International Journal of Middle East Studies
10, no. 2 (1979): p. 254.
16 As revivalist intellectuals, the names of ʿAlāʾ al-Dawla al-Simnānī (d. 736/1336),
Muḥammad Gīsū-Dirāz (d. 825/1422) and Shaykh ʿAbd al-Ḥaqq Muḥaddith
Dehlawī (d. 1052/1642) can be mentioned. Athar Abbas Rizvi, Muslim Revivalist
Movements in Northern India (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publisher Pvt.
Ltd., 1995), pp. 255, 146.
17 Kenneth Lizzio, “The Naqshbandi/Saifiyya Battle for Islamic tradition,” The
Muslim World, no. 96 (1) (2006): p. 40. Pnina Werbner, “Reform Sufism in South
Asia,” in Islamic Reform in South Asia, ed. Filippo Osella (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2013), p. 56. Arthur Buehler, the author of Sufi Heirs of the
Prophet, explains that Sirhindī’s concept of sharīʿa is a multivalent and inclusive
term encompassing outward acts of worship, faith, and the Sufi path. Quoted in
Fazlur Rahman, Revival and Reform in Islam: A Study of Islamic Fundamentalism
(Oxford: OneWorld, 2000), p. 170. From Friedmann’s point of view, “Sirhindi was
primarily a Sufi interested first and foremost in questions of mysticism,” since the
Sufi ḥaqīqa cannot be anything but the ḥaqiqa of the sharīʿa. Friedmann, intro-
duction to Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī, p. xiv.
18 Athar Abbas Rizvi, History of Sufism in India (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal
Publishers, 1983), vol. 2, p. 209. The Kubrawiyya was a main Sufi order that
emerged in central Asia after Najm al-Dīn Kubrā (d. 618/1221) in the thirteenth
century. See Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam, pp. 55–57. On the Kubrawiyya,
see also the long, two-part entry by Hamid Algar, “Kubrawiyya,” EIr, and Devin
DeWeese, “The Eclipse of the Kubravīyah in Central Asia,” Iranian Studies 21,
no. 1/2 (1988): pp. 45–83. On Simnānī’s way of thought, see Jamal J. Elias, Throne
Carrier of God: The Life and Thought of ‘Ala’ ad-dawla as-Simnani (Albany,
NY: SUNY Press, 1995).
19 Regarding the concept of tanzīh, Trimingham writes: “The doctrine of ‘exemp-
tion’ (a), according to which God is, by virtue of His essence, in no way at all like
the creatures He has created […]; (b) in Sufi usage corresponds to a via remotionis,
a purging of one’s being of all images and preconceived ideas of God, especially
associated with the negative lā ilāha of the taḥlīl formula.” Trimingham, The Sufi
Orders in Islam, p. 312.
20 For a discussion about the concept of tawḥīd in Sirhindī’s point of view, see
Burhan Ahmad Faruqi, The Mujaddid’s Conception of Tawhid (Delhi: Gyan
Books Pvt. Ltd., 1940). Although Ibn al-ʿArabī and his followers were considered
to be adherents of tashbīh, their waḥdat al-wujūdī perspective wanted to represent
a harmony between tanzīh and tashbīh, according to Ibn al-ʿArabī in his chapter
on Noah in the Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam. In his eyes, some prophets’ prophecies are tanzīhī
and some others are tashbīhī, although all benefit from both points of view, but in
different degrees. To them, only the Prophet Muḥammad represents a comprehen-
sive faith that joined tanzīh and tashbīh together successfully. Thus, he chose Noah
for this discussion as a prophet whose prophecy tended toward tanzīh, while the
previous prophet was Seth whose prophecy was tashbīhī. See Hamed Naji, “Some
Contemplation on Noah Interpretations from the View of Ibn ʿArabi,” Guwhar
Gūyā, no.26 (1393/2014): pp. 129–144.
21 Friedmann, Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī, p. 60.
22 “Ebn al-ʿArabī, Moḥyī al-Dīn Abū ʿAbd-Allāh Moḥammad Ṭāʾī Ḥātemī,” EIr.
26 Introduction
23 See John Renard, The A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Being,” (Lanham, Toronto, Plymouth,
UK: The Scarecrow Press, 2009).
24 Chittick, “Waḥdat al-Wujūd in India,” p. 39.
25 Sayyid Muḥammad Ḥusaynī Gīsū-Darāz, Sharḥ- ḥaqāyiq (Sharḥ-i
i zubdat al-
tamhīdāt), ed. Sayyid ʿAṭā Ḥusayn Ṣāḥib (Hydrabad: 1364/1944).
26 Gregory A Lipton, “Muḥibb Allāh Ilāhābādī: South Asian Heir to Ibn ʿArabī,”
Journal of the Muhyiddin Ibn ʿArabi Society (2009): p. 95.
27 F.A. Qadri, “Indian Response to the Pantheistic Doctrine of Ibn Al-ʿArabi,”
Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, vol. 65 (2004): pp. 335–344.
28 Strict observation of sharīʿa led to criticism toward popular Sufis and viewing
their beliefs and practices as innovations. Werbner, “Reform Sufism in South
Asia,” p. 55. This critical approach was considered and adopted equally by
fundamentalists. See Itzchak Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya: Orthodoxy and
Activism in a Worldwide Sufi Tradition (London and New York: Routledge,
2007), p. 8.
29 Arthur Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the Prophet: The Indian Naqshbandiyya and the Rise
of the Mediating Sufi Shaykh (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press,
1998), pp. 71–72.
30 Thomas Dahnhardt, Change and Continuity in Indian Sufism: A Naqshbandi-
Mujaddidi Branch in the Hindu Environment (New Delhi: D.K. Print World, 2002).
For a survey of the range of Naqshbandī branches presently active on the global
stage, see Michael E. Asbury, “Seeing with the Heart: The Mysticism of an Islamic
Sufi Lineage from India in the West” (PhD diss., University of Erfurt, 2020),
pp. 233–308.
31 Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History, p. 9.
32 On Shāh Walī Allāh’s Hujjat Allāh al-bāligha, see Walī Allāh b. ʿAbd al-Raḥīm
al-Dihlawī, The Conclusive Argument from God: Shāh Walī Allāh of Delhi’s Ḥujjat
Allāh Al-Bāligha, trans. Hermansen, Marcia K. (Leiden: Brill, 1995).
33 Fozail Ahmad Qadri, “Muslim- Mystic Trends in India during the Eighteenth
Century” (PhD diss., Aligarh Muslim University, 1987), p. 9.
34 Shāh Walī Allāh’s father initiated him into the Naqshbandī order. He taught at
the Madrasa Raḥīmiyya before his travel for pilgrimage (ḥajj). In the Hijaz, as he
narrated in his Arabic work entitled Fuyūḍ al-Ḥaramayn, he had a vision in which
the Prophet appointed him as the “preserver of time” (qāʾim al-zamān). In India,
he began his task of leading the Muslim community through a revival of sharīʿa
and morality carried out through writings and training. Rizvi says the preserver
of time was “a spokesman for the pious on the Day of Judgement.” Rizvi, History
of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 253.
35 His house was gifted to him by Muḥammad Shāh who sought to have his spir-
itual support. Athar Abbas Rizvi, Shāh Walī-Allāh and His Times: A Study of
Eighteenth Century Islam, Politics and Society in India (Canberra: Maʿrifat
Publishing House, 1980), p. 220.
36 Qadri, “Indian Response to the Pantheistic Doctrine of Ibn Al-ʿArabi,” p. 340.
37 Annemarie Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger: The Veneration of the
Prophet in Islamic Piety (Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina
Press, 1985), p. 218.
38 Many scholars such as Rizvi believe that he was murdered after criticizing the
commemoration of the Battle of Karbala by the Shiʿa. Rizvi, History of Sufism,
Introduction 27
vol. 2, p. 247, see Raḥmān ʿAlī Muḥammad ʿAbd al-Shakūr, Tadhkira-yi ʿulamaʾ-i
Hind (Lucknow: Newal Kishore, 1914), vol. 1, p. 227.
39 Maẓhar’s khānaqāh was an active place among religious institutions of the time.
His disciples are said to have numbered more than five hundred and traveled from
such distant lands as Syria, Iraq, Egypt, China and Ethiopia. Qadri, “Muslim-
Mystic Trends,” p. 40.
40 Sher Ali Tareen, “Translating the ‘Other’: Early-Modern Muslim Understandings
of Hinduism,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 27, 3 (2017): 440.
41 Regarding Mīrzā Maẓhar Jān-i Jānān’s perspective about the Vedas and Hinduism,
see Malik, Islam in South Asia, p. 202.
42 Tareen, “Translating the ‘Other,’ ” pp. 444–445, and see p. 454.
43 Qadri, Muslim-Mystic Trends, pp. 22–23. Concerning Maẓhar’s life and teachings,
see Maqāmāt-i maẓharī, a narrative account that gives information about his life
and his influences on the atmosphere that surrounded him.
44 See Seema Alavi, introduction to The Eighteenth Century in India, ed. Seema
Alavi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 2–4. The Aligarh historians,
for instance among them Irfan Habib bitterly viewed the eighteenth century as “a
period of reckless repines, anarchy and foreign conquest.” M. Athar Ali, “Recent
Theories of Eighteenth- Century India,” in The Eighteenth Century in Indian
History Evolution or Revolution, ed. P.J. Marshall (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2003), p. 90.
45 John Obert Voll, Islam: Continuity and Change in the Modern World
(New York: Syracuse University Press, 1994), p. 24.
46 Malik, introduction to Islam in South Asia, p. 4.
47 Andrea Hintze, The Mughal Empire and Its Decline: An Interpretation of the
Sources of Social Power (Aldershot, Brookfield, Singapore, Sydney: Ashgate
Publishing Company, 1997), p. 17.
48 Jamal Malik, “Muslim Culture and Reform in the 18th Century South Asia,”
Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 13 (2003): p. 229.
49 Burton Stein, “Eighteenth- Century India: Another View,” in The Eighteenth
Century in Indian History Evolution or Revolution, ed. P. J. Marshall
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), p. 66; P. J. Marshall, “Economic and
Political Expansion: The Case of Awadh,” in The Eighteenth Century in India,
ed. Seema Alavi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 131. See Alavi, intro-
duction to The Eighteenth Century in India, pp. 1, 38. Revisionists believe that
although the growing power of the British East India Company affected political
and economic spheres, the eighteenth century was a flourishing time indeed. These
scholars include the likes of C.A. Bayly, Rajat Dutta, Frank Perlin, and Burton
Stein. Christopher Bayly was one of the Cambridge historians who believed that
the eighteenth century was a period of continuity, the rise of cooperation and
local prosperity in spite of political and agricultural decline. M. Athar Ali, as
another scholar who upholds the “continuity period,” believes that the growing
power of Britain might have initially caused damage to some local economies but
later benefited with many of them. M. Athar Ali, “Recent Theories,” p. 91.
50 Ahmad S. Dallal, Islam without Europe Traditions of Reform in Eighteenth-
Century Islamic Thought (Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina
Press, 2018), p. 21.
51 Hintze, introduction to The Mughal Empire and Its Decline, p. 1.
28 Introduction
52 Athar Ali, Mughal India: Studies in Polity, Ideas, Society, and Culture
(Oxford: Oxford University Press 2006), pp. 94, 338. Seema Alavi, introduction to
The Eighteenth Century, p. 3.
53 Athar Ali, Mughal India, p. 350.
54 Schimmel believes that the eighteenth century was a significant time of develop-
ment in Sufism and poetry. Annemarie Schimmel, foreword to Pain and Grace: A
Study of Two Mystical Writers of Eighteenth-Century Muslim India (Leiden: Brill,
1976), p. xi.
55 Athar Ali, Mughal India, p. 342.
56 Voll, Islam, p. 27; Nehemiah Levtzion and John O. Voll (ed.), Eighteenth Century
Renewal and Reform in Islam (New York: Syracuse University Press, 1987), p. 13.
For an excellent debate on applying the words in Arabic and English, see Asʿad
Abu Khalil and Mahmoud Haddad’s definition of “Revival and Renewal.”
“The Arabic terms revival (iḥyāʾ) and renewal (tajdīd) are often used concur-
rently, but renewal is more akin to reform (iṣlāḥ) than revival, which is more
concerned with re-awakening of certain Islamic practices or ideas. Both terms
are also used in the context of modern Islamic movements, but they also have
important pre modern roots. Pre-modern renewal was usually associated with
a specifically designated purifier who, according to the ḥadīths, “Prophetic
traditions,” would come at the “head of each century” to renew the faith and
practice of Muslims. Many puritanical reformers were, as a result, identified by
their followers as the designated renewer (Mujaddid) of the era. Revival had a
stronger sense of a strengthening of the spiritual dimensions of faith and practice,
as seen in the writings of Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 1111).” Asʿad Abu Khalil and
Mahmoud Haddad, The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Islamic World, s.v. “Revival
and Renewal,” Oxford Islamic Studies Online, www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/arti
cle/opr/t236/e0682 (accessed July 11, 2014).
57 Levtzion and Voll assert that the significance of studying the eighteenth century is
two-fold, first because it came before the nineteenth century and was “a prelude to
the reformism and turmoil of the modern era” and second, because it came after
“the era of Islamic medieval glory and thus served as its epilogue.” Levtzion and
Voll, Eighteenth Century Renewal, pp. 16, 20. A variety of research supports this
idea. See Schimmel, foreword to Pain and Grace, p. xi; John L. Esposito, Islam: the
Straight Path (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 115.
58 Albrecht Hofheinz, “Illumination and Enlightenment Revisited, or: Pietism and
the Root of Islamic Modernity,” p. 3, http://folk.uio.no/albrech/Hofheinz_Ill
umEnlightenment.pdf (accessed 9 November, 2014).
59 Rudolf Peters, “Reinhard Schulze’s Quest for an Islamic Enlightenment,” Die
Welt Islam, no. 1/4 (1990): p. 161.
60 R.S. O’Fahey and Bernard Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” Der Islam, 70,
no.1 (1993): pp. 54–55.
61 Bernd Radtke, “Ijtihad and Neo-Sufism,” Asiatische Studien, 48 (1994): p. 913.
O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” pp. 54–55.
62 Levtzion and Voll, introduction to Eighteenth Century Renewal, p. 4.
63 The Khalwatiyya followed Aḥmad b. Idrīs and it was an active Sufi brotherhood
in Africa.
64 Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya, p. 8.
65 John Obert Voll, “Neo-Sufism: Reconsidered Again,” Canadian Journal of African
Studies/Revue Canadienne des Études Africaines 42, no. 2/3 (2008): pp. 328–329. By
speaking in vernacular languages, reformists made a close connection with people
Introduction 29
and they had a great chance to criticize different aspects of society such as the
royal family and religious men.
66 O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 87.
67 Ibid., p. 61.
68 Dallal, Islam without Europe, p. 135.
69 Ibid., p. 140
70 Ibid., pp. 96–97.
71 Khaled El- Rouayheb, introduction on Islamic Intellectual History in the
Seventeenth Century Scholarly Currents in the Ottoman Empire and the Maghreb
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), p. 2.
72 El-Rouayheb, p. 8. He answers to the claims that the modern Islam was under
influence of the western modernity. In doing so, Leezenberg in his book review
highlights that El-Rouayheb believes that the concentration must turn toward
rational sciences, logic and dialectics among Muslim scholars. His analysis gives
importance to textual studies and he pays attention to the importance of written
knowledge rather than “the personalized, oral-aural relation between teacher
and pupil” in that age. See Michiel Leezenberg, “Islamic Intellectual History in
the Seventeenth Century: Scholarly Currents in the Ottoman Empire and the
Maghreb, by Khaled El-Rouayheb. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2015. Pp. 399. US$99.99 (cloth)” History of Humanities 1, no.1 (2016): p.191.
One of the valuable discussions regarding “neo-Sufism” can be found in Valerie
Hoffmann, “Annihilation in the Messenger of God: The Development of a Sufi
Practice,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 31, no. 3 (1999): 351–369.
73 O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 57.
74 See Wilfred Cantwell Smith, Modern Islam in India: A Social Analysis
(London: Victor Gollancz Ltd., 1946), 305; SherAli Tareen, “Normativity, Heresy,
and the Politics of Authenticity in South Asian Islam,” The Muslim World, 99
(2009): 521–552; Filippo Osella and Coroline Osella (ed.), introduction to Islamic
Reform in South Asia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. xii.
75 See the debate in Shahab Ahmed, What Is Islam? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 2015), pp. 48–62. Such binary roots in Muslims attempts to
distinguish unbeliever (zindīq and kāfir) from Muslims. As Waardenburg asserts,
“In eighth-century Arabic the word zindiq also had the double meaning of
an unbeliever in a general sense and of a Manichean, with a negative conno-
tation. As soon as zindiq becomes a derogatory term, its application becomes
more pervasive and extends to anyone suspected of heretical ideas.” See Jacques
Waardenburg, “The Medival Period 650–1500,” in Muslim perceptions of other
religions: a historical survey, ed. Jacques Waardenburg (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999), p. 38. Regarding the issue in India, the term is used to
create a strict distinction between Hindus and the Muslims and to classify the
moderate Islamic attitudes that coexisted with non-Islamic tendencies as het-
erodox. Ashgar Ali Engineer states that in India, “There are theocratic traditions
on the one hand, and Sufi and Bhakti traditions on the other. Besides religious
tensions, there are also conflicts of interests which are occasionally seen as one
of the reasons for sharpening religious conflicts. In that respect, religion is often
used to provide legitimation to this kind of conflict, so that what appears to be a
religious conflict may, in fact, be a cover up for a conflict of interests.” See Ashgar
Ali Engineer, “Muslim Views of Hindus since 1950,” in Muslim perceptions of
other religions: a historical survey, ed. Jacques Waardenburg (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999), p. 263.
30 Introduction
76 Junayd al-Baghdādī was a key figure in the history of Sufism and many orders trace
back their spiritual connection to the Prophet through him. He was a strict advo-
cate of sobriety on the path, an idea which places him in contrast to Ḥallāj (d. 309/
922), who is often said to have been executed as a heretic for his ecstatic utterances.
John Renard, The A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Junayd, Abūʾl-Qāsim Muḥammad.”
77 Alam, The Language of Political Islam, p. 152. The Sufi theologian, Abū Ḥāmid
Muḥammad al-Ghazālī (d. 504/1111), was a prolific author in the history of
Islamic mysticism. He wrote several influential works: Iḥyā al- ʿulūm al-dīn,
Kimiyā-yi saʿādat, al-Munqidh min al-ḍalāl, and Mishkāt al-anwār.
78 Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History, p. 7.
79 Hardy Peters, The Muslims of British India (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1972), pp. 26–30. See the topic in Hintze, introduction to The Mughal Empire
and Its Decline, p. xiii; Esposito, Islam, p. 115. Voll, “Neo-Sufism,” p. 326. O’Fahey
and Radtke explain that the reformists’ point of view was not an absolutely nega-
tive view of Ibn al-ʿArabī but they were very cautious about using this way of
thinking. O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 71. Levtzion and
Voll refer to the influence of Ibn al-ʿArabī’s thought on some revivalist thinkers
such as Ibrahim al-Kuranī, ʿAbd al-Raʿūf al-Sinkilī, ʿAbd al-Ghanī al-Nābulsī,
Muṣṭafā al-Bakrī, and even Aḥmad Sirhindī. However, they mention that these
figures combined this way of thought with al-Ghazālī’s ideas to the extent that
they gave priority to the latter. See Levtzion and Voll, introduction to Eighteenth
Century Renewal, pp. 9–10. With regard to the debate on the rejection of popular
Sufism, see Asʿad Abu Khalil and Mahmoud Haddad, “Revival and Renewal.”
80 Asʿad Abu Khalil and Mahmoud Haddad, “Revival and Renewal.” See Levtzion
and Voll, introduction to Eighteenth Century Renewal, p. 11.
81 Malik, introduction to Islam in South Asia, p. 20.
82 Alexander Knysh, Islam in Historical Perspective (New York and
London: Routledge, 2017), p. 391.
83 Levtzion and Voll, introduction to Eighteenth Century Renewal, p. 13.
84 Homayra Ziad, “Quest of the Nightingale: The Religious Thought of Khawaja Mir
Dard” (PhD diss., Yale University, 2008), p. 16; Voll, Islam, p. 61.
85 Dallal, Islam without Europe, pp. 270–271.
86 Malik, introduction to Islam in South Asia, pp. 18–20.
87 Voll, “Neo-Sufism,” p. 322. See O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo- Sufism
Reconsidered,” p. 70.
88 Malik, Islam in South Asia, pp. 200–201. Also see Asʿad Abu Khalil and Mahmoud
Haddad, “Revival and Renewal.”
89 Levtzion and Voll, introduction to Eighteenth Century Renewal, p. 18. Active Sufi
orders in political and social spheres were Tījāniyya, Khātamiyya, Sānūsiyya and
Naqshbandiyya.
90 Voll, Islam, p. 56.
91 O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 55.
92 Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the Prophet, pp. 92–93, quoted in Werbner, “Reform Sufism
in South Asia,” p. 56.
93 See O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 73.
94 See Muhammad Qasim Zaman, “Political Power, Religious Authority, and the
Caliphate in Eighteenth-Century Indian Islamic Thought,” Journal of the Royal
Asiatic Society 30, no. 2 (2020): p. 314.
Introduction 31
95 Muhammad U. Faruque, “Sufism Contra Shariah? Shāh Walī Allāh’s Metaphysics
of Waḥdat Al-Wujūd,” Journal of Sufi Studies 5, no. 1 (2016): p. 35.
96 Zaman, “Political Power, Religious Authority, and the Caliphate,” p. 319.
97 Rizvi, Shah Waliullah and His Times, p.221. See the discussion in Syed Ali
Nadeem Rezavi, “The State, Shiʿas and Shiʿism in Medieval India,” Studies in
People’s History 4, no. 1 (2017): p.43.
98 Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi, “The State, Shiʿas and Shiʿism in Medieval India,” p. 44.
99 Moin Ahmad Nizami, Reform and Renewal in South Asian Islam: The Chishti-
Sabris in 18th–19th Century North India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).
100 Brannon D. Ingram, “Book Review: Moin Ahmad Nizami, Reform and Renewal
in South Asian Islam: The Chishti-Sabris in 18th–19th Century North India,”
The Indian Economic and Social History Review, vol. 56, no.1 (2019): p. 110.
101 Dallal, Islam without Europe, pp. 21–55. See, p. 117, and p. 133.
102 Ibid., p.35.
103 Madrāsī, the epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi
ʿAndalīb (Bhopal: Maṭbaʿa-yi Shāhjahānī, 1308/1890–1310/1892), vol. 2, pp. 906,
908. The name of Nawwāb Shāh Jahān Begum has been mentioned in other
pages. See Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 1, 6.
104 Michael H. Fisher, The Oxford Encyclopedia of Women in World History, s.v.
“Begams of Bhopal” (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).
105 Nāṣir Nadhīr Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard (Delhi: s.n., 1925), p. 89.
106 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, ʿAbd al-Salām collection, Library of Mawlānā Āzād,
Aligarh Muslim University, Aligarh, no. 966/61, 967/62.
107 Ibid., Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library, Patna, no. 3721
and no. 3721A.
108 Ibid., no. ACC 1440 and no. ACC 1441.
109 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb, Khulāṣa-yi Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, summarized by ʿAbd
al-Ḥaqq Shahīd Fātiḥ-pūrī, Library of Punjab University, Lahore, no. PC II
48, 1106.
110 Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, p. 45, fn. 140.
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1 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life
and Works
DOI: 10.4324/9781003228899-2
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 37
[of Sufism]”), thus pointing to their familial connection to Central Asia by
alluding to the Khwājagān current of Sufism that preceded Bahāʾ al-Dīn, who
was also called a sayyid and Khwāja.3 ʿAndalīb’s forefathers had immigrated
to India during the reign of Aurangzeb (r. 1068/ 1658–1118/1707).4 One
of ʿAndalīb’s ancestors was Khwāja Muḥammad Ṭāhir (d. unk), a great
Naqshbandī shaykh as well as a prominent sayyid, who refused all invitations
from Emperor Aurangzeb for meeting at court as well as rejecting all high and
influential posts that the emperor suggested to him. However, the emperor’s
insistence on having his support and attention to social and political affairs
caused him to allow his son Muḥammad Ṣāliḥ and his brothers and nephews to
enter into imperial service. After they were appointed to important positions
in the administration, the family, like other Naqshbandīs, became known as
Turani (from Turan or Transoxiana) in the court of the Mughals.5
The background of Emperor Aurangzeb’s favor toward ʿAndalīb’s family
was related to his affinity to Naqshbandī Mujaddidī teachings. He was
initiated into this lineage by Aḥmad Sirhindī’s third son, Khwāja Muḥammad
Maʿṣūm (d. 1079/ 1668). On ascending the throne, a Mujaddidī master,
Muḥammad Sayf al-Dīn (d. 1096/1685), supported him. It can be argued that
the Mujaddidīs’ relationship with Aurangzeb was an attempt to penetrate the
royal court in order to control the politicians based on their belief that the
Mughal rulers should act as key figures in spreading piety among the Muslim
community. Mujaddidīs thus felt it was their responsibility to supervise
the rulers as the protectors of sharīʿa and Prophetic morality. Naqshbandī
Mujaddidīs approved of Aurangzeb’s goal of constructing a strictly pure
Islamic land and rebuilding the ‘true’ Islamic governance of al-khulafāʾ al-
rāshidūn (“the rightly-guided caliphs”).6 ʿAndalīb’s respect for Aurangzeb,
whom he calls the provident king (shāh-i ʿāqibat andīsh), provided legitimacy
for his reign so that he could be known as an accepted Muslim ruler.7 The
close relationship was strengthened through intermarriages with the Mughal
family, since two of Khwāja Muḥammad Ṭāhir’s sons married daughters of
Aurangzeb’s younger brother, Prince Murād Bakhsh,8 and the family became
involved in the struggles among courtiers and the bloody conflicts between
princes after the death of Aurangzeb and as the Mughal Empire underwent
its decline.9
As explained above, holding offices in the imperial court and enjoying high
position was not popular among all of ʿAndalīb’s Naqshbandī ancestors,
as some of them avoided power and wealth. Unlike his brothers, ʿAndalīb’s
grandfather, the third son of Khwāja Fatḥ Allāh Khān (d. 1118/1707), was not
interested in connections to the royal family and did not accept any of the high
positions offered to him.10 Mīr Athar, ʿAndalīb’s son, explains in his Mathnawī
that his ancestors’ avoidance of intermarriage with the royal family was
intended to protect the purity of the bloodline of the Prophet’s descendants.11
Some historically negative perspectives are helpful for establishing that such
Naqshbandī Mujaddidī Sufis bitterly resented the royal family’s manner of
governing, lack of religiosity and failure to observe Islamic moral principles.
38 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
Emperor Bahādur Shāh (r. 1118/1707–1123/1712), Aurangzeb’s successor, was
seen as a heedless king (shāh-i bī khabar) because of his ignorance of state
affairs, poor statesmanship and inaction.12 Jahāndār Shāh (r. 1124/1712–1125/
1713), who was placed on the throne of Delhi at age fifty-one, was considered
a mere puppet in the hands of the famous kingmaker, Dhū’l-Fiqār Khān. His
policy concerning bribery and corruption in his administration was criticized
for weakening the Muslim Empire.13 The position of Naqshbandī Mujaddidīs
as Sunni Turanian courtiers was threatened by the Sayyid brothers of the Bārha
family14 during the reign of Emperor Farrukh Siyar (r. 1124/1713–1131/1719).
Factionalism was exacerbated by the Sayyid brothers, since they promoted
an alliance between themselves, indigenous Indians and Hindustani Muslims
against the ruling foreigners, that is the Mughals along with the Turanian
and Iranian noblemen.15 After Farrukh Siyar, those princes who were raised
to the throne by the Sayyid brothers, known as powerful kingmakers, such as
Rafīʿ al-Darajāt, Shāh Jahān II, Nīkū Siyar and Ibrāhīm had not received the
Naqshbandī Mujaddidī family’s full support.
Whether accepting or rejecting rulers, Naqshbandī Mujaddidīs have often
exhibited a strong connection between religion and politics, as can be seen
in the life of ʿAndalīb’s father, Nawwāb Ẓafar Allāh Khān, see Table 1.1, a
great officer in the Mughal army,16 who at the same time strengthened his
close connections with major active Sufi orders, namely the Naqshbandiyya
Mujaddidiyya as well as the Chishtiyya and Qādiriyya. Although a Naqshbandī
Sufi himself, Nawwāb Ẓafar Allāh Khān took the oath of allegiance to Mīrān
Shāh Beg, a shaykh in the Chishtiyya Ṣābiriyya.17 For this reason, he married
ʿAndalīb’s mother, who was a Ḥusaynī sayyid and descended from the children
of Fāṭima (Banī Faṭima). Among her ancestors was ʿAbd al-Qādir Jīlānī
(d. 561/1166), a Sufi shaykh and the eponym of the Qādiriyya.18 Mīr Dard
interprets these connections as having made ʿAndalīb a true heir of the know-
ledge of ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, Bahāʾ al-Dīn Naqshband and ʿAbd al-Qādir Jīlānī
and his essence manifests the perfections of the imamate.19
A Devotee of Sufism
ʿAndalīb joined two prominent masters in the Naqshbandiyya Mujaddidiyya
who linked him to two different movements. He writes about them in Risāla-
yi hūsh afzā: “I often met your great Sufi master, Pīr Muḥammad Zubayr, I sat
among his circle of meditation, and I also had close contact with your master,
Saʿd Allāh Gulshan.”44 ʿAndalīb’s first master was the above- mentioned
renowned Sufi Saʿd Allāh Gulshan Dihlawī, whose role in mystical Persian
poetry in India and skill at music is comparable with that of Amīr Khusraw
Dihlawī (d. 725/1325), such that he even came to be known as the “second
Khusraw.”45 He was a spiritual devotee of ʿAbd al-Aḥad Sirhindī (d. ca. 1141/
1729), also known as Waḥdat.46 Under ʿAbd al-Aḥad’s influence, Gulshan
gave ʿAndalīb his sobriquet: ʿAndalīb (“Nightingale”), which was related to
his own moniker and also to that of ʿAbd al-Aḥad, whose pen name was Gul,
since gul (“rose”), gulshan (“rose garden”) and ʿandalīb (“nightingale”) are
related words in Persian, see Table 1.2.47
Gulshan linked ʿAndalīb to the rising ascendancy of Urdu over Persian
in the literary world of Delhi. ʿAndalīb and his son Mīr Dard became
prominent members of a group that encouraged the development of Urdu
42 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
Table 1.2 Tree of pen names
Source: I have completed it based on what Firāq presented in his work. See Firāq, Maykhāna-yi
Dard, p. 54.
Note: This lineage or tree of pen names is from an introduction written by Muḥammad Ḥabīb
al-Raḥmān Khān Shirwānī in Mīr Dard, Dīwān-i Dard Urdu (Lahore: Nizami Press Badaun,
1922), p. 2.
After Dard, Muḥammad Mīr (d. 1209/1794) became the next successor and
leader of the new ṭarīqa. He was one of ʿAndalīb’s two youngest sons, the other
being Sayyid Mīr Muḥammadī (d. 1163/1750).75 He became famous under the
sobriquet of Athar (“result”) and developed strong bonds of friendship and
companionship with Dard.76 Hidāyat, ʿAndalīb’s disciple who was sincerely
devoted to his successors as well, holds that Mīr Dard and Athar were like
the sun and the moon, and that they both guided followers toward the ideal
of the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya.77 ʿAndalīb’s important descendants
are, through Mīr Dard, three surviving children.78 His son, Mīr Alam, became
the leader of the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya and lived for a long time
in Bengal with his many disciples. Hidāyat held him in high esteem, stating
that the superficial world held no interest for such a pious man.79 One can
also mention here Muḥammad Nāṣir Ranj (d. 1260/1845), yet another great
poet from the later generations of ʿAndalīb’s family.80 Also significant is Nāṣir
Nadhīr, who was a poet and author of many books in Urdu under the pen
name of Firāq.81 He was the author of the Maykhāna-yi dard, which was
written in Urdu and is the only comprehensive description of this family.
Another disciple of ʿAndalīb was Shāh Muḥammadī, also known as Bīdār-
Dil (d. unk.),82 whose name is mentioned in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb as one of the
persons who transcribed ʿAndalīb’s words. He was himself a poet, and some
of his poems are quoted in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb as a chronogram for the date
of the compilation of the work.83 Hidāyat, the author of Chirāq-i hidāyat
(composed in 1214/1799), was another follower of ʿAndalīb, who states that
he was a student of ʿAndalīb and under his patronage since his childhood.
He praises ʿAndalīb in his Chirāgh-i hidāyat in the following passage: “O
your Excellency Khwāja! Help me. O Khwāja! Help me. O Khwāja Muḥammad
Nāṣir! You are a person whose inner and outer have been confirmed; help!”84
ʿAndalīb’s networking in Delhi and relationships with his contempor-
aries, such as the circle of Sufis and poets of Zīnat al-Masājid, are not easily
discerned due to the lack of direct information in his own works and other
primary literature. It has already been mentioned that many poets attended
the meetings held by Gulshan near Zīnat al-Masājid, though there are no
reliably accurate or detailed accounts of what specifically transpired at those
meetings. Zīnat al-Masājid (literally meaning, “Jewel of Mosques”), known
also as “Ghata Masjid,” was constructed in 1118/1707 by Zīnat al-Nisā Begum
46 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
(d. 1133/1721).85 In order to avoid worldly life, several ascetics and Sufis took
up residence in the courtyard of this mosque, thus many people could come to
visit them there and listen to their preaching. The circle of poets and mystics
that formed around this mosque was significant in the cultural circumstances
of Delhi, which had long been a center of Persian literature, though during
the time of Gulshan and ʿAndalīb, it became a center of Urdu literature. After
Gulshan, ʿAndalīb conducted mushāʿiras and led the circle at the mosque.
If the connection of ʿAndalīb with this circle at Zīnat al-Masājid allowed
him to extend his contacts with other significant contemporaries, it raises
the question for us: did his relationships represent the same kind of spiritual
power and influence as his famous Mujaddidī counterparts?86 After ʿAndalīb,
Mīr Dard organized similar meetings of poets at least once per month.87 Sirāj
al-Dīn ʿAlī Khān Ārzū, also known as the “Aristotle of Urdu literature,” refers
to his more than 30-year friendship with ʿAndalīb and humbly considers him-
self as like his disciple.88 ʿAndalīb must certainly have had contact with other
attendees, among them should be mentioned the famed Urdu poet Mīr Taqī
Mīr (d. 1225/1810). While not a disciple of ʿAndalīb, as a person who also
participated in the mushāʿiras, they probably met often. ʿAndalīb predicted
Mīr Taqī Mīr’s future greatness and that he would become the master of the
assembly (mīr-i majlis), a prediction which later became true.89
Mīr Dard also includes this poem in Risāla-yi dard-i dil and declares that a
word that he repeats many times is “Yā Nāṣir!” Since all his words and states
conform to Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, he calls himself the speaking book (kitāb-i nāṭiq)
of the Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya. He emphasizes, “my systematized knowledge
(maʿārif-i dastgāhī) is not reading the ʿAwārif and my knowledge of the real-
ities is not for Fuṣūṣ and Futūḥāt [… .].”160 For him, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb is the
source for understanding the secrets and principles of his fathers’ ṭarīqa.161
Therefore, he deeply explores his father’s masterpiece, and wrote ʿIlm al-kitāb
as a detailed account and interpretation thereof.162
To be sure, Mīr Dard was not the only person among ʿAndalīb’s family
who was familiar with and inspired by Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb. According to Firāq,
one of ʿAndalīb’s descendants, up to many years after ʿAndalīb’s death his
family read Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb to their children until they reached adulthood
and could understand the hidden meanings themselves.163 Among ʿAndalīb’s
disciples, Hidāyat states: “His Excellency [ʿAndalīb], the nightingale (ʿandalīb)
of the rose garden (gulshan) of truths and knowledge is a person whose lam-
entation (nāla) shows pain (dard) and results (athar). Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb is a
fluent text from which the waves of truths are disclosed.”164
The high value of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, as well as its influence, was also
acknowledged by Madrāsī, the author of its epilogue. He elaborates on the
spiritual changes one undergoes by reading the work and asserts that its sheer
volume demonstrates its comprehensiveness. He also declares that it is spir-
itually beneficial for both the people of intuition and the people of argument.
The spiritual changes he describes the reader as undergoing are waking up
from neglectful sleep, giving up all that is not the divine, slaying the inner
devil’s soul and, finally, obtaining spiritual intoxication.165 He considers com-
paring Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb with the narrative of One Thousand and One Nights
(Hizār wa yik shab) as erroneous, since the narratives found in the latter are
worldly stories, while Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb is not an entertaining storybook but a
work that evokes spiritual inspiration and thought and contains subtle mys-
tical insights.166
60 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
Modern scholarship has paid some attention to Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb in studies
of eighteenth-century India due to the importance of ʿAndalīb’s son, Mīr
Dard, in the context of Islamic reform during that century. As mentioned
above, one of the first twentieth-century scholars to be attracted to ʿAndalīb
was Annemarie Schimmel, who believes that “the modern reader will find, in its
sweet style tinged with melancholia, a strange reflection of the vicissitudes of
time under which Delhi and its unlucky inhabitants smarted in those years.”167
Itzchak Weismann, who studies modern Islam and notes the interrelations
between Sufism and fundamentalist and radical movements, considers Nāla-
yi ʿAndalīb to be a “founding document of the Muhammadan movement.” He
observes that the collected lectures replied to questions posed by people from
different groups, such as the ʿulamāʾ, Sufis, philosophers, Hindus and Yogis,
with the aim of reviving the pure state of Islam as it had existed in the time
of the Prophet.168 Muzaffar Alam, a scholar on Mughal political history and
the history of Indo-Islamic culture, states that the stories (dāstāns) in Nāla-yi
ʿAndalīb “revolve around the exploits of a prince and read like an imagined
construction of the process of the making of Mughal political culture.” He
draws attention to the reason that ʿAndalīb expounded this narrative on the
occasion of mourning the death of his master, that is to represent his point
of view concerning the political circumstances and the cultural conditions.
Muzaffar Alam also poses the question of why ʿAndalīb established “a new
Sufi order distinct from the Naqshbandī Mujaddidīs.”169
Figure 1.4 The colophon of Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, which gives the date of completion of
this transcription by Mīr Nāṣir Ṣāḥib in 1210/1795, no. Ph III 96, by kind
permission of the Punjab University Library of Lahore.
From the above passage, he distinguishes between the intended audience for
Risāla-yi hūsh afzā and that for Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, since the Risāla was under-
standable by all people in the different stages of life and its audience consisted
of playful pupils (yārān-i bāzīgūsh) lacking any attention to profound religious
issues, the divine knowledge and mystical principles. Extending the circle of
his audience demonstrates how the author’s attention expanded to include the
majority of the Muslim community, who were common people. Its themes
capture the audience’s interest with simpler topics and the text prepares
audiences for reading the higher meaning in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb. Consequently,
ʿAndalīb avoided explaining the contents of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb in this treatise
and he directs those who yearn for insightful knowledge, to refer to Nāla-yi
ʿAndalīb.175 However, he underscores the connection of his work’s contents
with their origin in Islamic teachings and thought, such as by mentioning 99
names for his treatise, a reference to the 99 divine names. Such references per-
meate the contents of his work, along with descriptions of what it is intended
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 63
to achieve, such as sublimation of the mind (hūsh afzā), stealing one’s intellect
(ʿaql rubā) and wiping off one’s gloom (gham zudā).176
Also of note, there was a gap in time between ʿAndalīb’s inventing the
game hūsh afzā and his composing a treatise to explain it. This is attested to
by places in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb where he refers to his own new game and turns
attention toward alternative games invented by Sufis and wise men. Prior to
Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, ʿAndalīb already applies several technical terms from
chess in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb,177 the contents of which also reveal the roots of
his negative attitude towards chess and his bitter critical point of view about
his contemporaries. For him, chess was a distraction from religious practices
and he believed that those who play it are stupid men, children, and neglectful
women. Thus, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā enhances a popular form of entertainment
by transforming it into a means for acquiring knowledge through analogies
from chess imagery used to explain personal life in various circumstances,
such as in war and peace. The instructional text focuses on the player/reader’s
various concerns regarding achieving goals or failing to do so, performing
good acts as well as evil ones and other issues like oppression and justice.
Furthermore, as far as religious subjects are concerned, the work provides
answers to religious doubts and offers insight into theological questions, such
as fatalism versus free will. More can also be found about the Wujūdī and
Shuhūdī dichotomy among Sufis in addition to ethical matters. The intended
purpose is that from reading the book, the reader will not only obtain mastery
of the game, but it will also open the eyes of intelligence and the player will
become impressively knowledgeable.178 But to close the present section, two
verses from Risāla-yi hūsh afzā must be cited in which ʿAndalīb explains the
essence of his work, its target audience, purpose and value.
Notes
1 See Mawlawī Muḥammad Muẓaffar Ḥusayn Ṣabā, Tadhkira-yi rūz-i rawshan
(Tehran: Rāzī, 1343 Sh./1964), p. 586.
2 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb (Delhi: Maṭbaʿa-yi Anṣārī, 1308/1890), p. 84.
3 Ibid., p. 84. Khwājazādagān is the plural for Khwājazāda. The Naqshbandī studies
historian, Hamid Algar, refers to many sub orders were derived from the Khwājagān
like the Naqshbandiyya, the Yasawiyya. See Hamid Algar, “The Naqshbandī
Order: A Preliminary Survey of Its History and Significance,” Studia Islamica,
no. 44 (1976): p. 131. The first of the khwājagān were Abū Yaʿqūb Yūsuf Hamadānī
(d. 535/1140) and ʿAbd al-Khāliq al-Ghujduwānī (d. 574/1179). See Trimingham,
The Sufi Orders in Islam, p. 14. For other studies on the role of the Khwājagān
in the history of Sufism, see Devin A. DeWeese, “Khojagani Origins and the
Critique of Sufism: The Rhetoric of Communal Uniqueness in the Manaqib of
Khoja ʿAli ʿAzizan Ramitani,” in Islamic Mysticism Contested: Thirteen Centuries
of Controversies and Polemics, ed. F. de Jong & B. Radtke (Leiden: Brill, 1999),
pp. 492–519; ibid., “The Mashaikh i-Turk and the Khojagan: Rethinking the
Link between the Yasavi and the Naqshbandi Sufi Tradition,” Journal of Islamic
Studies 7, no. 2 (1996): pp. 180–207.
4 Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār-i Khwāja Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb,” Qand-i
pārsī, no. 22 (1382 Sh. /2003), p. 173.
5 Malik refers to the Naqshbandīs as an “aristocratic religious lineage,” since they
enjoyed benefits from Mughal emperors’ policies in politics and religion. See
Malik, Islam in South Asia, p. 159.
6 John F. Richards, The Mughal Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1993), p. 153; Burton Stein, A History of India (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), p. 179;
Malik, Islam in South Asia, p. 208; M. Athar Ali, The Mughal Nobility Under
Aurangzeb (Aligarh: Asia Publishing House, 1966), pp. 96–97.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 65
7 Muḥammad
Nāṣir ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, Library of Punjab University,
Lahore, no. Ph III 96, 1786, fls. 96a–96b.
8 They were Khwāja Muḥammad Ṣāliḥ and Khwāja Muḥammad Yaʿqūb. See
Mustaʿid Khān, Maʾāthir-i ʿĀlamgīrī, trans. Sir Jadu Nath Satkar (Lahore: Suhail
Academy, 1981), p. 73. Prince Murād Bakhsh was Aurangzeb’s younger brother.
He was governor of Gujarat and Malwa. When Aurangzeb became the emperor,
Murād Bakhsh was imprisoned. Murād Bakhsh’s supporters could not rescue him
and he was executed in 1661. See Richards, The Mughal Empire, p. 162.
9 Regarding wars as well as assassinations among opponents in the Mughal court,
see J.F. Mehta, Advanced Study in the History of Modern India 1707–1818 (New
Delhi: New Down Press Group, 2005), p. 7.
1 0 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 96a.
11 Mīr Athar, Mathnawī, quoted in Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,” p. 173.
12 Percival Spear (ed.), The Oxford History of India (Oxford: The Clarendon Press,
1958), p. 433. Sidney J. Owen, The Fall of the Mogul Empire (London: Murray,
1912), p. 129. With Bahādur Shāh’s death in 1123/1712, kingmakers established a
new period of leadership. See Mehta, Advanced Study in the History of Modern
India, p. 9; Rizvi, Shāh Walī-Allāh, p. 120.
13 Richards, The Mughal Empire, pp. 262–263.
14 Here, Sayyid brothers refers to Ḥusayn ʿAlī Khān Bārha (d. 1132/1720) and Ḥasan
ʿAlī Khān Bārha (d. 1135/1722). They were from a prominent family known as
Sādāt-i Bārha, who lived in Muẓaffar nagar, a district in what is now Pakistan. See
“Bārha Sayyids,” EI2.
15 At that time, Shiʿa and Hindustani Muslims gained increased authority in pol-
itics and Delhi was occupied with their advocates. See Owen, The Fall of the
Mogul Empire, p. 115. For more on their role during the reign of Farrukh Siar, see
pp. 135–153.
16 Nawwāb Ẓafar Allāh Khān was known as Rawshan al-Dawla. See Muḥammad
Nāṣir ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 906.
17 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 33. The Chishtiyya in India has two famous
branches: the Niẓāmiyya, followers of Niẓām al-Dīn Awliyāʾ, and the Ṣābiriyya,
followers of Shaykh ʿAlī Ṣābir. One of the prominent figures among Ṣābiriyy is
ʿAbd al-Quddūs Gunguhī. The variety of relationships between Ṣābirī shaykhs
and the Mughal court are remarkable from friendship with Akbar and his respect
for Shaykh Jalāl al-Dīn Fārūqī to the hostility of Jahāngīr towards Shaykh Niẓām
al-Dīn Fārūqī. See “Čis̲h̲tiyya,” EI2.
1 8 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 96b; ibid., Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 906; Khwāja
Sayyid Muḥammad Mīr Athar, Dīwān-i Mīr Athar (Delhi: Martaba-yi Faḍl Ḥaqq,
1978), pp. 276–278 quoted in Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,” p. 181.
19 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 137.
20 Owen, The Fall of the Mogul Empire, p. 180. Ḥusayn ʿAlī Khān was murdered in
1132/1720, and Ḥasan ʿAlī Khān was killed in 1135/1722. See Shaharyar M. Khan,
The Begums of Bhopal: A History of the Princely State of Bhopal (New York: I.B.
Tauris, 2000), p. 18.
21 The long conflict bothered Niẓām al-Mulk and he left the court in 1724. See
one of the early writings on India entitled Invasion of India from Central Asia
(London: Richard Bentley and son, 1879), p. 161. For more information see
“Niẓām al-Mulk,” EI2.
66 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
22 “Nāder Shah,” EIr.
23 William Irvine, Later Mughals (Calcutta: M.C. Sarkar and Sons, 1922), vol. 2,
p. 367. Irvine notes when the rumor spread that Nādir Shāh had been assassinated,
Delhi’s inhabitants attacked his troops, according to ʿAlī Ḥazīn (d. 1179/1766), the
Persian scholar and poet. Nādir Shāh ordered that vengeance be taken. Astarābādī
reports that houses were looted and men were killed while women were dragged
into slavery. The invading forces set fire to many houses and several Hindus and
Muslims alike were burned together. See Astarābādī’s work as a primary source.
Mīrzā Mahdī Khān Astarābādī, Tārīkh-i jahāngushā-yi Nādirī, ed. ʿAbd Allāh,
Anwār (Tehran: Anjuman-i Āthār-i Millī, 1341/1962), pp. 327–358.
24 Irvine, Later Mughals, vol. 2, pp. 368–370. Muhammad Shāh was restored to
his position, but he remained under Nādir Shāh’s distant control. S.M. Ikram
believes that Muḥammad Shāh was unsuccessful in gaining recognition for his
government. According to contemporary accounts, “the emperor and nobles
turned to the management of state affairs and gave up all sorts of uncanonical
practices,” but this phase was short-lived. The successor to Muḥammad Shāh was
Aḥmad Shāh (r. 1161/1748–1167/1754), and after him, ʿĀlamgīr II (r.1167/1754–
1173/1759) became the emperor. During his reign, Aḥmad Shāh Abdālī invaded
and captured Delhi in 1169/1756. Shāh Jahān III (r. 1173/1759–1174/1760) is
known to have fought against the British East India Company during the Battle
of Buxar. Disgraced by the Marathas, insulted by Afghans and blinded by the
Rohillas, he passed his last days at the mercy of the East India Company. See
S.M. Ikram, Muslim Civilization in India (New York: Columbia University Press,
1964), www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00islamlinks/ikram/ (accessed 7
November, 2014).
25 Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,” p. 178.
26 Schimmel says ʿAndalīb turned down the offer for shelter from Mihr Parwar
Begum, Aurangzeb’s daughter- in-
law, but later his family accepted it. See
Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 43; Ishrat Haque believes that his family accepted
the offer as a “madad-i mash grant.” See Ishrat Haque, Glimpse of Mughal Society
and Culture (New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company, 1992), pp. 43. Regarding
the aid from a member of the royal family, Hussain Ahmad Khan writes that
“the Mughals patronized Sufis in a number of ways, which involved milk or awqaf
(land grants), inams or madad-i-mash (grant of revenue of particular villages) and
wazifah or stipend in the form of cash from the treasury.” See Hussain Ahmad
Khan, Artisans, Sufis, Shrines: Colonial Architecture in Nineteenth-Century Punjab
(London: I.B. Tauris, 2015), p. 29. They lived in the suburb of Shāhjahānābād,
Old Delhi, consisting of far less urban environs. The suburbs of the city were
very popular places for many noble families and religious men to reside. Narayani
Gupta, Delhi between Two Empires 1803–1931: Society, Government and Urban
Growth (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 2; see Schimmel, Pain and
Grace, p. 37.
27 Mīr Dard, Chahār risāla (Bhopal: Maṭbaʿa-yi Shāhjahānī, 1310/1893), p. 181.
28 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 906. See Ghulām Muṣḥafī Hamadānī,
Tadhkira-yi Hindi (Delhi: Anjuman-i Taraqi Urdu-yi Hind, 1933), p. 92.
29 In the terminology of Sufism, ʿuwaysī Sufis took their name from ʿUways al-
Qaranī (d. 37/657), one of the earliest martyrs and a model of piety in Islam. It is
believed that ʿUways gained divine knowledge directly from the Prophet, whom he
never actually met. There are still debates about his mysterious personality. Faruqi
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 67
mentions that Mālik b. Anas (d. 179/795) was the first person who “heard of
Uways and posed the question about his existence.” See Burhan Ahmad Faruqi,
The Mujaddid’s Conception of Tawhid (Aligarh: Lulu.com, 2010), p. 25. Later,
ʿuwaysī status was attributed to those who follow a shaykh without meeting him or
are initiated by the powerful spirit of a dead shaykh. In this point of view, a phys-
ical disciple-master relationship is not necessary. The Naqshbandī lineage includes
ʿuwaysī connections, viz., between Bāyazīd Bisṭāmī (d. 261/874) and Abū al-Ḥasan
Kharaqānī (d. 425/ 1033) and ʿAbd al-Khāliq Ghijduwānī (d. 617/ 1179) and
Bahāʾ al-Dīn Naqshband. In this regard, John Renard writes that Bahāʾ al-Dīn
Naqshband was “an Uwaysī by virtue of a ‘spirit initiation’ that he experienced
in a vision.” See Renard, The A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Bahā’ al-Dīn Naqshband.”
The initiation of ʿuwaysī Sufis may be through a vision of the Prophet, how-
ever, among Shiʿi Sufis the Sufi could meet imams in the vision. Based on this
belief, in Iranian Sufism in the eighteenth century, some Sufis are called imam
Ḥusayn ʿuwaysīs. “Uwaysiyya,” CGIE. For more information concerning ʿuwaysī
Sufis, see A. S. Husaini, “Uwais al-Qarani and Uwaisi Sufis,” Muslim World 57,
no. 2 (1967): pp. 103–113; Julian Baldick, Imaginary Muslims: The Uwaysi Sufis of
Central Asia (London: I.B. Tauris, 1993).
30 Nāṣir Nadhīr Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard (Delhi: n.p., 1925), p. 26.
31 “Uwaysiyya,” CGIE.
32 There are still debates about mysterious personality of ʿUways al-Qaranī. Faruqi
mentions that Mālik b. Anas (d. 179/795) was the first person who “heard of
Uways and posed the question about his existence.” See Faruqi, The Mujaddid’s
Conception of Tawhid, p. 25.
33 In this regard, John Renard writes that Bahāʾ al-Dīn Naqshband was “an Uwaysī
by virtue of a ‘spirit initiation’ that he experienced in a vision.” See Renard, The
A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Bahā’ al-Dīn Naqshband.”
34 ʿIlm al-ladunnī stands opposite to acquired science (ʿilm al-kasbī), or formal theor-
etical knowledge. See Ibid., Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 2a. See fl. 94b.
35 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 85.
36 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, p. 23.
37 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 905.
38 Bindrāban Dās Khushgū, Safīna-yi Hindī, ed. Shāh Muḥammad ʿAṭā Raḥmān
(Patna: Institute of Post Graduate Studies and Research in Arabic and Persian,
1959), p. 168.
39 Chander Shekhar, Shama Mitra Chenoy, introduction to Dargah Quli Khan,
Muraqqaʿ-e Dehli: The Mughal Capital in Muhammad Shah’s Time, trans. Chander
Shekhar, Shama Mitra Chenoy (Delhi: Deputy Publication, 1989), p. xxxii.
40 Annemarie Schimmel, The Empire of the Great Mughals: History, Art and
Culture, trans. Corine Attwood (London: Reaktion Books Ltd., 2004), p. 207.
41 Khushgū, Safīna-yi Hindī, vol.2, p. 598.
42 To compare ʿAndalīb with his contemporaries’ various approaches to the issue of
samāʿ and music, while Shāh Walī Allāh rejected music in samāʿ, Mīrzā Maẓhar
Jān-i Jānān was cautious in his response to the question of samāʿ and says that it is
disapproved for those for whom it creates impiety and discord, while it is lawful for
another group who finds it helpful for ecstasy. See Qadri, Muslim-Mystic Trends in
India during the Eighteenth Century, p. 185.
43 Shāyasta Khānum, “Taṣḥīḥ, tadwīn, taḥshiyya-yi chirāgh-i hidāyat-i Hidāyat Alllāh
Khān” (Master diss., Punjab University, 1999–2001), p. 58.
68 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
44 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 96b. Also ʿAndalīb mentions the name of his
masters in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 2.
45 Amīr Khusraw Dihlawī was known in Persian poetry as the parrot of India. He
was a disciple of Niẓām al-Dīn Awliyāʾ, a great Chishtī master. He was a Sufi
musician that dedicated a part of his work entitled Iʿjāz-i khuwsrawī in Persian.
In Persian literature, he was a follower of Niẓāmī Ganjawī and composed his
works: Khamsa, Shīrīn wa Khusraw, Majnūn wa Liylī, under his influence. See
“Dihlawī, Amīr Khusraw,” CGIE. See al-Smarqandī, Tadhkirat al-shuʿarā, ed.
Edward Browne (Leiden: Brill, 1318 /1900), p. 238.
46 Shaykh ʿAbd al-Aḥad Sirhindī composed a collection of poetry entitled Chahār
risāla as well as Shawāhid al-tajdīd. See Khushgū, Safīna-yi Hindī, p. 598; ʿAlī
Ibrāhīm Khān Khalīl, Ṣuḥuf-i Ibrāhīm, ed. ʿĀbid Riḍā Bīdār (Patna: Khuda Bakhsh
Library, 1978), p. 122; Ghulām Sarwar Lāhūrī, Khazīnat al-Aṣfiyāʾ (Herat: Anṣārī
Kutubkhāna, n.d.), vol.1, p. 662.
47 The words ʿandalīb, gul and gulshan are murāʿāt al-naẓīr, rhetorical device in
Persian wherein the mention of either gul or gulshan is intended to evoke the other
in the audience’s minds.
48 Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 244. See also “Golšan Dehlavi, Shah Saʿd-
Allāh,” EIr.
49 Khushgū, Safīna-yi Hindī, p. 167; Mīr Qudrat Allāh,ʿAbd al-Qāsim, Majmūʿa-
yi Naghz, vol. 1, pp. 72–73 quoted in Umar, Islam in Northern India during the
Eighteenth Century (Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publisher Pvt. Ltd., 1993), fn.
420, p. 150.
50 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 18. From Gulshan’s contemporaries or those who
were under his influence the name of many Sufis and poets could be mentioned
such as Mīr Muḥammad Aḥsan Ījād (d. 1133/1720), Furṣat Kashmīrī (d. 1138/
1725), Mawlawī Muḥammad Mīrān Farḥat Kashmīrī (d. 1138/1725), Shaykh
Muḥammad ʿAlī Rawāj (d. 1140/1727), Khwāja Muḥammad Yūsuf Maymanat
(d. 1140/1727), Mīrzā Abū Turāb Ghubār (d. 1149/1737), Niẓām Khān Muʿjiz
(d. 1162/1748). See Hadi, s.v. “Fūrsat”; “Farḥat, Maulawi Muhammad Miran”;
“Ījād, Mīr Muhammad Ahsan”; “Maimanat Khān, Khwāja Muhammad Yūsūf ”;
“Mūʿjiz, Niẓām Khān”; “Ghūbār, Mīrzā Abū Tūrāb.”
51 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, p. 34.
52 Guide in the spiritual path (pīr in Persian and shaykh in Arabic) could have
various relationships with the disciple. Therefore, the title of pīr-i ṣuḥbat is one of
the titles that are used to refer to a specific type of relationship between masters
and disciples. “Pīr,” CGIE.
53 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p.35; see Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, p. 34.
54 Khushgū, Safīna-yi Hindi, vol.2, p. 598. Gulshan was buried in Aḥmadipurā ceme-
tery. See “Golšan Dehlavi, Shah Saʿd-Allāh,”EIr.
55 “Bīdel, ʿAbd-al-Qāder,” EIr.
56 Stefano Pellò, “Persian as a Passe-Partout: The Case of Mirza ʿAbd al-Qadir
Bidil and his Hindu Disciples,” Culture and Circulation: Literature in Motion in
Early Modern South Asia, ed. Thomas de Bruijn und Allison Busch (Leiden and
Boston, MA: Brill, 2014), p. 21.
57 See “Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī,” EI3.
58 See John A. Subhan, Sufism: Its Saints and Shrines (Lucknow: Lucknow Publishing
House, 1938), pp. 285–287.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 69
59 In order to join a ṭarīqa, disciples must pledge to obey a shaykh (pīr) by an oath of
allegiance (bayʿat). This shaykh is called the “shaykh of allegiance” (pīr-i bayʿat),
who guides disciples on the path.
60 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 3; vol. 2, p. 906.
61 Iḥsān, Rawḍat al-qayyūmiyya, Private Library of Pīr Maṭlūb al-Rasūl, Lillāh,
1883, part 4, fls. 338, 349.
62 Ibid., fl. 206.
63 Ibid., fl. 152.
64 Ibid., fls. 179–180.
65 Ibid., fls. 247–248.
66 Ibid., fl. 215.
67 Ibid., fls. 282–286.
68 Regarding the Mahdī and the status of Mujaddid, see Aḥmad Sirhindī, Maktūbāt
Imam Rabbānī, ed. Ḥasan Zāriʿī and Ayūb Ganjī (Zahedan: Ṣiddīqī, 1383 Sh./
2005), vol. 1, pp. 497, 538.
69 See “Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq,”EIr.
70 ʿAndalīb’s second wife of was Bakhshī Begum, also known as Manga Begum. See
Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, pp. 30, 106.
71 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 84.
72 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 4.
73 “ʿAndalīb, Nāṣer Moḥammad,” EIr.
74 Qādir Aḥmad, Khwāja Mīr Dard aur un kā Zikr-u Fikr (Delhi: Maktaba Shahrah
Union Press, 1962), pp. 86–87; quoted in Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,”
pp. 182–183.
75 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 84.
76 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 37; see Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,” p. 178.
77 Shāyasta Khānum, Chirāgh-i hidāyat-i Hidāyat Alllāh Khān, pp. 23, 26.
78 Mīr Alam, Barātī Begum, and Zīnat al-Nisā Begum.
79 Ibid., p. 24.
80 He was the son of Mīr Dard’s second daughter, Zīnat al-Nisā.
81 His maternal great-grandmother was ʿAndalīb’s great granddaughter. He was
the son of Shams al-Nisā Begum, Umda Begum’s daughter, the latter being the
daughter of Amanī Begum who was Mīr Alam’s daughter. See Firāq, Maykhāna-
yi dard, p. 2. Regarding Nāṣir Nadhīr Firāq Dihlawī’s fame, Rauf Parekh believes
that it can be attributed to “his portrayal of Delhi’s culture, society and history
in an elegantly idiomatic Urdu prose.” He was a disciple of Muḥammad Ḥusayn
Ᾱzād, the Urdu author in prose. See Rauf Parekh, “Nasir Nazeer Firaq: His Prose
and Delhi’s Cultural History,” in Dawn, www.dawn.com/news/1239539 (accessed
February 15, 2016).
82 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi Dard, p. 156.
83 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 5. For his poems, see for example, p. 6.
84 Shāyasta Khānum, Chirāgh-i hidāyat-i Hidāyat Allāh Khān, pp. 25–26.
85 She was the daughter of Emperor Aurangzeb, who was an advocate of Sufis in
Delhi. See Stephen P.Blake, Shahjahanabad: The Sovereign City in Mughal Indian
1639–1739 (Cambridge: The Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge,
1991), p. 53. Her master was Ashraf Mullā Muḥammad Saʿīd, the famous Sufi-
poet of the court. See Mīr Ghulām ʿAlī Āzād Bilgrāmī, Maʾāthir al-Kirām Tarikh-i
Bilgram (Lahore: Dukhānī Rifāh-i ʿĀm, 1913), p. 116.
70 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
86 This mosque was located in a strategic place along the Yamuna River and near
to the city gate (Khayrātī) and Fayḍ Bāzār. The British forces occupied the
mosque in 1857 and destroyed the tomb of princess Zīb al-Nisā. See Schimmel,
The Empire of the Great Mughals, p. 257. Ataullah describes the mosque in
his dissertation: “The mosque consists of a prayer chamber with seven arches
and three domes. There are two large minārs and a courtyard and central tank
on the river side. There are thirteen rooms below the courtyard. It is built of
red sandstone. The domes were banded with black and white marbles.” See
Ataullah, “The City of Delhi during the Eighteenth Century: A Socio-Cultural
Profile” (PhD diss., Aligarh Muslim University, 2008), p. 66. Mosques played
an important role in society of Shāhjahānābād. They demonstrated the power
of this Muslim empire and separated Muslim quarters from Hindu areas.
Many mosques were built throughout the city in accordance with a decree
of Shāh Jahān (d. 1068/1658), the successor of Jahāngīr (d. 1037/1627). See
Annemarie Schimmel, Classical Urdu Literature from the Beginning to Iqbal
(Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1975), p. 73. Malik explains that these
mosques highlighted the Islamic culture and demonstrated how the Prophet’s
teachings had dominated India. Along with mosques, the role of khānaqāhs
and the activities of Sufis in Islamizing India should be added. Among the
mosques of Delhi, Fatḥīpūr, Akbarābādī, Aurangābādī, Sirhindī and Zīnat al-
Masājid, were all built during the period of 1650–1728 and were each very
important for their own specific activities. For instance, Akbarābādī mosque
was a center for the Naqshbandī order. It was built by Akbarābādī Begum,
one of Shāh Jahān’s wives, in 1650. See Jamal Malik, “Islamic Institutions
and Infrastructure in Shahjahanabad,” in Eckart Ehlers and Thomas Krafft,
eds, Shahjahanabad/Old Delhi Tradition and Colonial Change (Delhi: Manohar
Publishers and Distributors, 2003), pp. 78–79.
87 Schimmel, Classical Urdu Literature, p. 171.
88 Sirāj al-Dīn ʿAlī Khān Ārzū, Majmaʿ al-Nafāʾis, ed. Mihr Nūr Muḥammad Khān
(Islamabad: Markaz-i Taḥqiqat-i Farsi Iran and Pakistan, 1385 Sh./2006), vol. 2,
p. 1094.
89 Schimmel, Classical Urdu Literature, p. 178.
90 Madrāsī, epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 906.
91 Turkmān Gate is located at the southern portion of Shāhjahānābād and is near
the Ajmirī Gate, and is also not far from the Fort and Jāmiʿ Masjid. See Ataullah,
“The City of Delhi,” p. 12. It was named after Shāh Turkmān Biyābānī, a famous
holy man. The gates were mostly surrounded by the poor inhabitants. See Malik,
“Islamic Institutions,” p. 78.
92 “ʿAndalīb, Nāṣer Moḥammad,” EIr.
93 Habibeh Rahim, Holy People of the World: A Cross- Cultural Encyclopaedia,
edited by Phyllis G. Jestice, s.v. “Dard, Khawaja Mīr,” (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-
CLIO, 2004).
94 Qadir Ahmad, Khwāja Mīr Dard, pp. 100–101.
95 Shāyasta Khānum, Chirāgh-i hidāyat-i Hidāyat Allāh Khān, p. 25.
96 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 147. In Tadhkirat al-awliyāʾ, it has been cited that Abū
ʿAlī Jawzjānī, a great Sufi of the third century, said “Be a possessor of persever-
ance and not a possessor of miracles.” Farīd al-Dīn ʿAṭṭār, Tadhkirat al-awliyāʾ,
ed. Muḥammad Istiʿlāmī (Tehran: Zawwār, 1386 Sh./2007), p. 491.
97 ‘Madrāsī, epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿ? Andalīb, vol. 2, p. 906.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 71
98 Shāyasta Khānum, Chirāgh-i hidāyat-i Hidāyat Alllāh Khān, p. 23; Mīr Dard,
ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 495.
99 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 146.
100 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 906.
101 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 628.
102 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 664.
103 Qāḍī Aḥmad Miyān Akhtar Junagrī, Tadhkira-yi Ahl-i Dil, quoted in Qadir
Ahmad, Khvaja Mir Dard, p. 98. Firāq attributes Dīwān-i ʿAndalīb as belonging
to ʿAndalīb, but he also does not present a manuscript of it in order to prove the
validity of the attribution. Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, p. 91.
104 Sayyid Fayyāḍ Maḥmūd and Sayyid Wazīr al-Ḥasan ʿĀbidī, Tārīkh-i adabiyāt-i
musalmānān-i Hind wa Pakistan (Lahore: Punjab University Press, 1972), vol. 5,
the third part, p. 311, quoted in Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,” p. 191.
105 The faqīr khāna and khānaqāh, also known as a ribāt, is a place for gatherings
of Sufis.
106 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 3–4.
107 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 3; vol. 2, p. 4.
108 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 4.
109 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 3–4.
110 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 4–5.
111 Schimmel considers this more than mere coincidence. See Schimmel, Pain and
Grace, p. 16.
112 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 789, 882.
113 Idem, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 1b. For instance, see idem, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1,
pp. 622, 797, 808.
114 Ibid., Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 3.
115 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 446–449, 842; vol. 2, p. 217.
116 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 583.
117 Ibid., Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 2a.
118 Idem, Khulāṣa-yi Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, summarized by ʿAbd al- Ḥaqq Shahīd
Fātiḥpūrī, Library of Punjab University, Lahore, no. PC II 48, 1106, fl. 1b.
119 ʿAndalīb describes the themes as being like a strange mixture of theological,
legal and philosophical discourses in the framework of an allegorical story. See
ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 4.
120 Madrāsī, the epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 905.
121 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 4.
122 Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, p. 47.
123 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 4.
124 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 3.
125 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 2.
126 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 7.
127 See Seyyed Hossein Nasr’s foreword to Khaliq Ahmad Nizami, Persian Influence
of the Development of Literary and Sufi Traditions in South Asia (Bethesda,
MD: The Foundation for Indian Study, 1992), p. 15.
128 Muzaffar Alam, “The Pursuit of Persian: Language in Mughal Politics,” Modern
Asian Studies, vol. 32, no. 2 (1998): p. 318.
129 Idem, “The Culture and Politics of Persian in Pre-Colonial Hindustan,” in
Literary Cultures in History: Reconstructions from South Asia, ed. Sheldon
Pollock (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2003), p. 168.
72 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
1 30 Ibid., “The Pursuit of Persian,” p. 331.
131 See Sayyid Fayyāḍ Maḥmūd and Sayyid Wazīr al- Ḥasan ʿĀbidī, Tārikh-i
adabiyyāt-i Fārsī dar Shibh-i Qārra (1707–1972), trans. Maryam Nāṭiq Sharīf
(Tehran: Nashr-i Rahnamūn, 1380 Sh./2001), p. 17.
132 Alam, “The Culture and Politics of Persian,” p. 171.
133 “INDIA, xiv. Persian Literature in India,” EIr.
134 See Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 14.
135 As Schimmel mentions, nevertheless, several years later many Indian authors
like Mīrzā Ghālib (d. 1285/1869), who is acclaimed as the greatest master of
Urdu, preferred Persian verse to “colorless” Urdu. See idem, “The West-Eastern
Divan: The Influence of Persian Poetry in East and West,” in The Persian
Presence in the Islamic World, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian and Georges Sabagh
(Cambridge: Cambridge University press, 1998), p. 156.
136 See Qurʾān, 12:3.
137 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 2.
138 Madrāsī, the epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 905–906.
139 Alam, The Language of Political Islam, p. 176. The malfūẓ is a genre in Sufi
literature, see S.H. Askari, Maktub and Malfuz Literature as a Source of Socio-
Political History (Patna: Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library, 1981); Amina
Steinfels, “His Master’s Voice: The Genre of Malfuzat in South Asian Sufism,”
History of Religions 44, no. 1 (2004): pp. 905–906.
140 Qutbān’s (c. 1503) Mirigāwatī, to explain it as a sample in this genre, is a love
story between a prince and a doe. In an innovative paper, Aditya Behl explains
that the earliest manuscripts of this genre are written in Persian script and that
one of the major themes found in these stories is the childless old king who
represents the poor conditions in his realm prior to the birth of his son. When a
dervish gives the king a healing fruit, the king’s child, the hero, is born and grows
up and falls in love with his beloved after only listening to her description. See
Aditya Behl, “The Magic Doe: Desire and Narrative in Hindi Sufi Romance,
circa 1503,” in India’s Islamic Traditions 711–1750, ed. Richard M. Eaton (New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 180–204.
141 Tanvir Anjum, “Vernacularization of Islam and Sufism in South Asia: A Study
of the Production of Sufi Literature in Local Languages,” Journal of the Research
Society of Pakistan 54/1 (2017): pp. 219–220.
142 Ibid., p. 220.
143 Pasha Muhammad Khan, “The Broken Spell: The Romance Genre in Late Mughal
India” (Ph.D., Columbia University, 2013), pp. 99–100.
144 Abhishek Kaicker, “The Promises and Perils of Courtly Poetry: The Case of Mir
ʿAbd Al-Jalil Bilgrami (1660–1725) in the Late Mughal Empire,” Journal of the
Economic and Social History of the Orient 61, no. 3 (2018): p. 354.
145 See Muḥammad Ghulām-Riḍā’ī, “Preaching and its Methods Based on
Mowlavī’s (Rūmī’s) Majālis-e Sabʿi (Seven Meetings),” Human Sciences, no. 57
(2008): p.156.
146 Schimmel believes that this method of naming was influenced by Mughal culture
and is rooted in traditional Indian tales. See Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 45;
idem, “A Sincere Muhammadan’s Way to Salvation,” in Man and His Salvation,
ed. Eric John Sharpe, John R. Hinnells (Manchester: Manchester University
Press, 1973), p. 241, fn. 69. Schimmel, in her work Pain and Grace, p. 33, considers
that ʿAndalīb’s “heroes are well versed in all those arts which were expected from
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works 73
a gentleman in later Mughal times: such as arrow-shooting, calligraphy, painting,
and music, until leaving military service to become ‘soldiers of God,’ fighting
the spiritual war against their lower selves.” Schimmel believes that this sort of
naming shows a mystical psychological inclination to search for the reality of
Sufism. See idem, Pain and Grace, p. 85. Schimmel, in fn. 16, refers to Merlin
Swartz’s saying that “a man’s name was viewed as participating in the very
essence of his person and, as such revealed something of the essential character
of his being. This meant, in effect, that a man’s name is bound up in the most
intimate way with the question of his identity.” See Merlin Swartz, “The Position
of Jews in Arab Lands Following the Rise of Islam,” in Reflections on the Middle
East Crisis, ed. H. Mason (Leiden: Blackwell, 1971), p. 30. See Appendix three in
which the main characters’ names with their meanings are mentioned.
147 See ʿAlī Akbar Nafīsī, Farhang-i Nafīsī, s.v. “ʿArsh Āshiyān,” (Tehran: Kitāb
furūshī Khayyām, 1355 Sh./1976).
148 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 4.
149 Ibid., vol.1, pp. 4–5.
150 Nizami, Persian Influence of the Development of Literary and Sufi Traditions,
p. 36, see p. 52.
151 Ibid., pp. 41, 45.
152 “A shaykh in book form” is a term that Ziad used to describe the work as a self-
guide. See Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, p. 319. In her dissertation, Ziad points
out that both Dard and his father ʿAndalīb emphasized “the inspired text (taṣnīf)
as a stand-alone source of guidance, a shaykh in book form.” She also describes
how “There is tension between Dard’s idea of the height of spiritual attainment
(achieving subsistence in the shaykh), which requires a teacher, and the idea of
the text replacing the teacher.” In their belief, only a few true masters lived in that
age. She asserts that “with the absence of righteous guidance, the transforma-
tive texts of true God-seekers must suffice.” See Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale,
p. 319. She highlights the uwaysī characteristic of the Muḥammadan Path and
how according to Mīr Dard, the ʿIlm al-Kitāb and Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb worked like
a guide on the path and the Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya does not required a shaykh
for initiation into the path. See ibid., p. 326. The important function of books
can be recognized as a characteristic of the eighteenth century since, according
to Dallal, education was more local and many of the prominent scholars did not
travel to the Ḥaramayn to attain Islamic knowledge. See Dallal, Islam without
Europe, p.59. In that age, the importance of books instead of traveling caused the
Islamic tradition to become more regional. Ibid., p.65.
153 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 3–4; see Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale,
p. 319.
154 ʿAndalīb emphasizes that his knowledge is given knowledge (ʿilm al-wahbī), not
acquired (ʿilm al-kasbī), and he is a divinely inspired mystic. See idem, Risāla-yi
hūsh afzā, p. 94b.
155 See Schimmel, The Empire of the Great Mughals, p. 140. The most famous work
among books of omens (fālnāma) is Ḥāfiẓ’s Dīwān. For more information about
Khwāja Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad Ḥāfiẓ Shīrāzī, a fourteenth-century Persian
mystic and poet, see “Ḥāfiẓ,” EI2.
156 Sūrat al-Fātiḥa is the first chapter (sūra) of the Qurʾān.
157 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 903.
158 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-Kitāb, pp. 434.
74 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Life and Works
159 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi Dard, p. 88. This content is from Mīr Dard, Dīwān-i fārsī
(Delhi: Maṭbaʿa-yi Anṣārī, 1891–1892), p. 216.
160 Mīr Dard, Chahār risāla, p. 188.
161 Ibid.
162 Ibid., ʿIlm al-Kitāb, p. 90.
163 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi Dard, p. 89, quoted in Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 47.
164 Shāyasta Khānum, Chirāgh-i hidāyat-i Hidāyat Alllāh Khān, p. 22. Hidāyat plays
with words in this sentence and considers the meaning of ʿAndalīb’s own name
as well as that of Gulshan, his master, Nāla, his work, Dard and Athar, his sons.
165 Madrāsī, the epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 904.
166 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 906.
167 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 47.
168 Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya, p. 135.
169 Alam, The Language of Political Islam, pp. 176–177.
170 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 110a.
171 Literally meaning “broken,” which is a style in Persian calligraphy. Siddiqui,
Islamic Calligraphy, p. 18.
172 See Aḥmad Munzawī, Fihrist-i mushtarak-i nuskha-hā-yi khaṭṭī-yi Pākistān
(Islamabad: Markaz-i taḥqīqāt-i Fāsī Iran wa Pakistan, 1986), vol. 3, p. 2055.
173 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, p. 91.
174 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 2b.
175 Ibid., fl. 76b.
176 Ibid., fl. 108a.
177 See, for instance, ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol.1, p. 526.
178 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 261.
179 Ibid., p. 262.
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2 Narratives
Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s
Mystical World
DOI: 10.4324/9781003228899-3
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 79
territory had been plunged into chaos. One day, as the king was returning to
his castle after hunting, which was his favorite pastime, he met an inconsol-
able woman who was wailing over the corpse of her slain son. She lamented
terribly over how the marauders and plunderers brutally slaughtered many
innocent people, all having met the same fate as her son. The king was deeply
moved by her words and shortly thereafter he brought order to the terri-
tory, extending security and justice everywhere. Years later, the unavoidable
symptoms of old age began to show on the king’s body, which were the signs
of his impending death, and thus the king decided to prepare himself for
death and the afterlife. He beseeched his sons, Falak Qadr and Sipihr Shukūh,
to remain united forever, since it would be difficult for them to resist their
enemies without unity, but if they are united, no one can underestimate or
harm them. Then, he divided his kingdom between his sons, with Falak Qadr
becoming the King of Iraq and Arabia while Sipihr Shukūh became the King
of Rūm.1
Travel to Iran
One day, a merchant reached the mountain and upon seeing the beauty of the
rose and smelling its strong sweet fragrance, he decided to take it as a souvenir
of his journey to give to the King of Iran. For a long time, the nightingale
searched for the rose until he finally found her at the court of the King of
Iran. The nightingale’s songs were so tragic and stunning that the king and
his queen perceived that there was a secret behind their sorrowful melody.
They therefore caged the nightingale to keep him at their court in order to
discover this hidden secret. After this, the nightingale began to speak and
to tell them his story, to which the king replied that his brother, the King
of Turan, possessed the spell-breaking jewel. By way of the spell-breaking
jewel, they broke the curse and the rose and the nightingale were transmog-
rified once more to their proper human forms. On one glorious day, the rose
and the nightingale were married. They could not consummate their marriage
physically, however, since their relationship was not a corporeal one because
the rose was so tender, yet the nightingale was content with only inhaling
her fragrance. With the approval of the rose, the nightingale was married to
two princesses from Iran and Turan who bore him two sons, Khushbū and
Khushgū, see Mihr Jahāngīr’s Family Tree in Table 2.1.
The story of Shīr Zan-i Āhū Shikār, which Shāh Shujāʿ told to Farrukh Fāl,
went as follows: Once upon a time, there was a couple who loved each other
immensely, but the husband had to travel to find a job. During the time he was
away from home, his wife sang the most sorrowful lyrics. When a passing gaz-
elle heard her mournful, melancholy singing, the gazelle became intoxicated
and started to frolic and dance. After that, the gazelle would come to her house
nightly and give her a gold coin from the treasury of the unseen (khazāna-
yi ghayb). As these coins accumulated, the wife was now not only able to
repair her house but also to hire a watchman and even musicians. Affected
by divine providence, the metaphorical love of the wife for her husband was
transformed into true love for God. She became a perfect human (al-insān
al-kāmil)5 and through the effect of her companionship (ṣuḥba)6 and love, the
gazelle attained an elevated degree, rising from base animality to humanity,
that is to say, his animal qualities were changing into human qualities. Since
the other gazelles were bewildered by these spiritual changes, they first heckled
the gazelle and then wanted to know the reality of the new states that they saw
him in. Thus, the gazelle, similar to a Muḥammadan master, explained true
knowledge to them in a manner proportionate to their capacities. Sometimes,
he was in such a rapturous and ecstatic state that he told the gazelles some
secrets which were more than their level of understanding could comprehend.
Finally, he even boldly proclaimed such ecstatic utterances (shaṭḥiyyāt)7 as,
“I am human.” When the husband returned home, he met the musicians as
well as the watchman whom his wife had employed and, being surprised, he
became suspicious of his wife. After hearing the story of the gazelle, he could
not believe his wife and he asked her to call the gazelle to their home, which
the wife did several times. Nevertheless, the husband could still not under-
stand the spiritual evolution of his wife and the gazelle. Eventually, one day
while the gazelle was dancing in ecstasy, the husband killed him. The house
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 83
was in an uproar, the wife wailed and screamed and was in such anguish that
she perished over the corpse of the gazelle. At the end of the tale, the husband
committed suicide without ever having understood the truth.
The second part of the legend of Farrukh Fāl and Shāh Shujāʿ is about
Farrukh Fāl’s love. On the Hindu ceremonial washing day, Farrukh Fāl was
at a riverside in the Deccan when he saw a beautiful girl taking a bath. After
falling in love, Farrukh Fāl mounted his horse with her and together they
rode off, back to Hindustan. The Hindus considered this event an injustice
and rebelled. Shāh Shujāʿ became angry with Farrukh Fāl and demanded his
arrest, but the King of Hindustan, Shāh Bā Kamāl, refused to incarcerate his
own son. Thus, Shāh Shujāʿ attacked Hindustan three times and on all three
occasions, he was defeated. Then, Shāh Shujāʿ left the kingdom to his vizier,
changed his appearance to that of a merchant and traveled to Hindustan in
search of Farrukh Fāl. Finally, he found Farrukh Fāl along with his beloved,
arrested them both, and returned with them to the Deccan where meanwhile,
Shāh Shujāʿ’s vizier had betrayed his trust and taken control of his throne.
First, Shāh Shujāʿ attempted to regain control of the territory, and then he
returned the Hindu girl to her tribe. Under the influence of Farrukh Fāl, the
Hindu girl’s beliefs had changed so that she now criticized Hinduism. Thus,
her tribe returned her to court of Shāh Shujāʿ, after which she converted to
Islam and was married to Farrukh Fāl.
The third part of the legend of Farrukh Fāl and Shāh Shujāʿ is about the
latter traveling to Hindustan. One night, Shāh Shujāʿ told Farrukh Fāl that he
wanted to know the truth of the existence of certain things in the world, those
being: an honest companion, a sincere vizier, a qualified doctor, a benevolent
man, and perfect beauty, in addition to knowing the meaning of the proverb
that states: “be a harlot but a perfect person” (lūlī bāsh, ādam bāsh). Farrukh
Fāl told him that he could find all of these things in Hindustan, the territory
of his father, Shāh Bā Kamāl. Hence, Shāh Shujāʿ changed his appearance
to that of a merchant and, under the nom de voyage of Tājir-i Ṣādiq, he set
off for Hindustan with Farrukh Fāl. After a short time, Tājir-i Ṣādiq entered
Shāh Bā Kamāl’s court and engaged in many discourses about ideological,
religious and Sufi issues, answering the king’s doubts as any Muḥammadan
master should.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq noticed that Shāh Bā Kamāl called his vizier by the name
Namak Ḥalāl. So one day, he asked the king if he would explain this sobriquet
because he was looking for a sincere vizier and he thought Namak Ḥalāl was
that person. Therefore, Shāh Bā Kamāl then told Tājir-i Ṣādiq the story of the
vizier that was once a burglar who, out of severe hunger, broke into Shāh Bā
84 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
Kamāl’s castle and took some mouthfuls of royal food. With a sense of grati-
tude toward the king, he chose not to help the other burglars any further and
he asked them to stop the burglary, even to the point of physically fighting
against them. In short, he proved his loyalty to the king through these actions
and as a result, he was then employed by the king. Next, the king authorized
him to conquer Nāhir Sanga castle, the raja of which had failed to obey the
king. After conquering the castle, he returned to the king’s court with the
raja as well as the raja’s son. On the way, Namak Ḥalāl conversed about his
own beliefs with his captive and in criticism of the latter’s religion, along with
telling the story of Bī Qayd-i Shūrīda Ḥāl. Under Namak Ḥalāl’s guidance, the
raja and his son both subsequently converted to Islam. Later, Namak Ḥalāl
attacked and defeated the Rajput tribe, which the raja belonged to.
As for the story that Namak Ḥalāl told the raja, it went as follows: once,
an insane beggar, called Bī Qayd-i Shūrīda Ḥāl, was at a party where a very
beautiful prostitute was dancing. Out of drunken lust, he began to make lewd
and inappropriate remarks, thus upsetting the prostitute, who then refused
to submit herself to this crass man. She described herself as being fickle and
faithless like the material world, as people are attracted to the mundane world,
but are never allowed to benefit from or to enjoy it unconditionally.
After listening to the story that shows Shāh Bā Kamāl’s feelings about his
vizier, Tājir-i Ṣādiq told him the story of “the one and a half worthy friends”
in criticism of Namak Ḥalāl, who claimed that he had 4,000 true companions,
since having only one true companion is so rare. In this story, an old mer-
chant passed his trade on to his son and recommended that he seek out a true
friend in life. Returning from his first journey, the son claimed that he had
found 40 true companions. The father was greatly surprised because he him-
self had only found one and a half worthy friends throughout his entire life.
The father wanted to examine his son’s new, supposedly worthy companions
and as expected, all of the son’s friends failed after being tested in the truth
of their friendship. The son then requested that he be allowed to examine his
father’s friends, and upon doing so, he perceived that his father’s perfect true
friend would devote his wealth, reputation and even his life for his friend but
the half-true friend would only devote his wealth for friendship.
Next, at the court of Shāh Bā Kamāl, Tājir-i Ṣādiq also discovered the exist-
ence of a highly qualified doctor, who was called Ḥakīm-i Masīḥ Khiṣāl
because of his remarkable skill in healing, which had already saved many
lives. Tājir-i Ṣādiq would not acknowledge him as a perfect doctor, however,
because Ḥakīm-i Masīḥ Khiṣāl was unable to cure his spiritual diseases.
The King of Hindustan did not yet know Tājir-i Ṣādiq, as it was Shāh
Shujāʿ who had taken Farrukh Fāl to the Deccan and had been with him
through the events thereafter. Most days, they spent much time together and
the king knew that Tājir-i Ṣādiq was a skillful and wise man. He thus came to
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 85
call Tājir-i Ṣādiq a “trustworthy friend” (Yār-i Ṣādiq) and appointed him to
a higher position in the court. He always reported to Farrukh Fāl any events
in his house that were concealed from him. In some meetings, Tājir-i Ṣādiq
explained Islamic doctrines of theology, religious jurisprudence and morality
to Farrukh Fāl.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq tested the king in many different ways to discover the realities
of an honest friend and a benevolent man. For the first examination, Tājir-i
Ṣādiq stole the necklace of the king’s son. When others accused him of stealing,
the king took his side and rebutted the charges. Furthermore, as an apology for
such accusations, the king sent Tājir-i Ṣādiq to a famous harlot’s house, and
this proved to be an opportunity for gaining insight into the meaning of the
proverb, “be a harlot, but a perfect person.” Tājir-i Ṣādiq gave her the neck-
lace, but she claimed that her price was more than the value of that necklace,
since she was looking for a perfect man, and not money. The next day, it was
reported to the king that the prince’s necklace was found in the harlot’s house.
As the king did not want to upset his friend, he forbade any further investi-
gation into the matter. Still, Tājir-i Ṣādiq himself sent representatives to the
harlot’s house to interrogate her concerning the issue. She did not, however,
betray him in the slightest, and when Tājir-i Ṣādiq saw her loyalty, he decided
to examine her in yet another way. He sent some people pretending that they
were the king’s soldiers to declare that the king had commanded them to take
her to the court. She refused to submit and was emphatic that she would only
go to bed with the perfect man and that the king was imperfect. Seeing no way
out, she drank poison to end her life, but Tājir-i Ṣādiq saved her with the help
of Ḥakīm-i Masīḥ Khiṣāl and then, he gave her a wedding ring.
As a further test of the king’s true friendship, Tājir-i Ṣādiq abducted the
king’s adolescent son, Ṣāḥib Jamāl, and sent him to the Deccan with the
king’s older son, Farrukh Fāl. Again, Shāh Bā Kamāl refused to accept any
accusations against Tājir-i Ṣādiq, who in turn, ordered Farrukh Fāl and Ṣāḥib
Jamāl to return to Hindustan as an acknowledgment of the truth of Shāh Bā
Kamāl’s friendship to him. When Shāh Bā Kamāl heard this news, he did not
rejoice, because he maintained that when he had a trustworthy friend, he had
no need of any others, even his sons.
The true identity of Tājir-i Ṣādiq was uncovered by Farrukh Fāl.
Appointed as Shāh Bā Kamāl’s vicegerent, Shāh Shujāʿ, under the guise of
Tājir-i Ṣādiq, started making adjustments to the positions of the courtiers
as well as to their salaries, along with other changes such as introducing new
rules and regulations. Shāh Shujāʿ’s reforms resulted in the spread of unity,
justice and equality across the territory. He was, in all practical senses, the
king throughout the Deccan and all of Hindustan, despite the fact that Shāh
Bā Kamāl was the official king, though in name only. Many of the courtiers
were unsatisfied with his increasing power and they complained that, since he
arrived at the court, they no longer had any authority.
Shāh Shujāʿ was soon married to Shāh Bā Kamāl’s daughter as well as to
the harlot. Accompanied by Shāh Bā Kamāl and his new wives, Shāh Shujāʿ
86 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
returned to the Deccan. A part of this story centers around the reaction of
Shāh Shujāʿ’s first wife to his two new wives. Shāh Bā Kamāl was a true father
to the wives of Shāh Shujāʿ, guiding and advising them in life, but since the
world is so capricious and fickle, Shāh Bā Kamāl passed away. Wearing his
robe and turban, Shāh Shujāʿ bore a resemblance to Shāh Bā Kamāl and he
became the second Shāh Bā Kamāl, that is, he achieved annihilation in his
master. When he passed away, Farrukh Fāl became his vicegerent and was
called the second Shāh Shujāʿ because of his annihilation in his own master.
Travel to Arabia
Mihr Jahāngīr, who was now in human form but was still being referred to by
the narrator as the nightingale, traveled to Arabia by sea. When he and his
companions arrived there and he was about to be the last to disembark the
ship, suddenly a violent storm began and, with the nightingale still aboard,
the ship sank in front of his wives’ and his parents’ very eyes. When the night-
ingale fell overboard into the sea, his horse leapt out of the vessel after him,
rescued him and took him to shore. After several days of wandering, he met
an anxious and disconsolate man, called Bī Naẓīr, who was also lost. In
spite of their family relationship, they did not yet know each other. Bī Naẓīr
was soothed by the presence of the nightingale. The nightingale introduced
himself as a pauper, a warriorm and a jihād-minded man who had fallen in
love with the rose. Prior to this meeting, he was informed by a dervish that
he would be joining Bī Naẓīr. He told Bī Naẓīr that he would assist him in
ascending to the throne, and he advised him to maintain his enthusiasm and
his righteousness, and in doing so, the nightingale imparted to him the legend
of the dervish Ganj Asrār.
Travel to Hindustan
Mihr Jahāngīr travelled to Arabia to meet the rose as well as his father, but he
did not yet know what had happened to the rose. When he arrived in Arabia
and heard of all the events that had transpired, he became upset and restless.
At that time, Māh Munīr gave him the letter from the rose and thus, he decided
to travel to Hindustan, giving up the kingdom of Shām and appointing
ʿĀbid-i Gūsha Nishīn as his successor. He anticipated that he would have four
vicegerents and that they would rule for 100 years. Later, however, some cruel
kings would come to govern, and everyone would only pretend to be Muslim,
but in truth, no one would actually observe Islamic principles. Along the way,
many people joined Mihr Jahāngīr and he asked them to call him the night-
ingale, because of this name’s relation to that of the rose. He preached to his
companions and everyone benefited from his words according to their own
personal capacity.
The rose had sent messengers to obtain news of the nightingale. Finally,
one of these messengers met the nightingale and his followers. He introduced
himself as a messenger from Shāh-i Shāhān, the King of Hindustan (whom
we know in actuality to be the rose), who was the sole possessor of the spell-
breaking jewel in the entire world. No one knew her real identity, however,
not even her four mediators. When the nightingale arrived in Hindustan, he
could not find the rose anywhere. The nightingale accepted the invitation of
the King of Hindustan and wanted to know how Shāh-i Shāhān had come
into possession of spell-breaking jewel, which he had given earlier to the rose.
Impressed and moved by the nightingale’s words and behavior during this
meeting, Shāh-i Shāhān’s vizier, who was a worldly warrior, asked the night-
ingale to accept him as a disciple, but the nightingale refused. “The training
methods are various and based on each disciple’s personal spiritual capacity.
Worldly persons should observe divine law and gain good morals,” he told the
vizier and advised him to pray, to remember the divine names of God and to
undergo self-mortification.
Meetings between the Rose Disguised as Shāh-i Shāhān and the Nightingale
Several times, the nightingale visited Shāh-i Shāhān, who remained veiled and
communicated with him only through her mediators, see Table 2.3.21 The first
94 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
Table 2.3 Shāh-i Shāhān’s mediators
time, the nightingale went to the court with all of his followers and the king
presented them with a special dress of honor (khilʿat) and permitted them
to enjoy themselves by relaxing in the Rest-Giving Garden (Bāgh-i Rāḥat
Afzā). The second time, the nightingale visited her alone and when he smelled
the rose’s sweet fragrance, he fainted. The mediators returned him to his
friends and the nightingale recounted to Māh Munīr that, when he was in the
presence of Shāh-i Shāhān, he experienced the same feeling that he had had
in the Love-Increasing Garden. Among the nightingale’s companions, Māh
Munīr was the only person who knew about his love. Māh Munīr assured the
nightingale that Shāh-i Shāhān was in fact his beloved, but disguised under
the veil of kingship. During the third visit, when the nightingale again smelled
the fragrance of the rose, he fainted once more.
The fourth time, however, he resolved to control himself, and in this
meeting, the king asked him to talk about himself. Then, she gave him a royal
silk robe which effused the sweet scent of the rose, thus signifying that one
of the veils had been removed. When her mediators placed the robe over the
nightingale’s head, he fainted from the strong fragrance of the rose. On the next
occasion, the nightingale was ordered to select from among his companions,
based on their seniority and stateliness, who would accompany him to the
court. This fifth time, he chose to bring Māh Munīr and in this meeting, this
close companion gave his full attention to the nightingale only. Shāh-i Shāhān
then gave Māh Munīr a carpet of bliss, and thus he was overcome like the
nightingale had been, and he fainted when he smelled the sweet fragrance
of the carpet. At that moment, it seemed that he had died, but in fact, he
was truly alive and had become light-hearted like the nightingale. After this
meeting, Māh Munīr reminded the nightingale that, “the rose has had many
different manifestations. When she manifested as your beloved, you became
her lover. When she manifested as a rose, you became a nightingale. Now, she
has manifested as a king so you became a pauper. She is veiled because kings
do not appear before paupers, but hopefully, she will become visible for you
and you will ascend to a royal state to join her.”
The sixth time, the nightingale went to the court with Bī Naẓīr, and Shāh-i
Shāhān gave this companion a green robe of honor and lordship along with
the ring of a vicegerent. The seventh time, the nightingale went with Amīr-i
Bā Tadbīr, who was given a patchwork robe of honor and an inlaid belt. The
eighth time, the nightingale was accompanied by Tājir-i Faqīr, who received
a colored robe of honor and an inlaid dirk. The ninth time, the nightingale
went again with Māh Munīr, who on this occasion was given some pearls
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 95
and jewels. The tenth meeting, the nightingale went alone to Shāh-i Shāhān’s
court and told her his story and requested that the king tell him how she had
acquired the spell-breaking jewel. The king explained that the spell-breaking
jewel was from the mystic’s heart, and that in fact, everyone who knew the
path of love could harness the spell-breaking jewel. She added that the night-
ingale had always possessed it, but he simply did not know this.
The eleventh time, once again the nightingale went alone to Shāh-i
Shāhān’s court. He was received with a special dinner of food and drink nor-
mally accorded only to royalty. Then, Shāh-i Shāhān asked him the name of
his beloved. The nightingale, however, answered that he did not know her
real name, because she had manifested in so many different forms according
to her various attributes. Upon hearing the nightingale’s words, Shāh-i
Shāhān promoted him to a higher state. He was drowned in the light of Shāh-
i Shāhān. The twelfth and final time, the nightingale was at the same level
as her mediators; that is, he was permitted to be next to the throne. Shāh-
i Shāhān asked the nightingale to tell a didactic tale, since the nightingale
was a perfected and wise man. Thus the nightingale recounted the legend of
Ghulām-i Khākī and called it “the mirror of the universe.”
Travel to Arabia
The nightingale travelled back to Arabia to visit his father, who passed away a
short time after his son’s arrival. The nightingale named the Love-Increasing
Garden together with Consciousness- Snatcher Mountain, “the Rose
Residence,” and he built a village nearby that he called, “the Nightingale’s
Refuge.” He asked Tājir-i Faqīr to teach the rituals of the Ḥajj and to tell
the story of the nightingale on the path of love to others. Amīr-i Bā Tadbīr
asked the nightingale to marry his daughter, Khayrī, so the rose granted him
permission knowing that the nightingale, as a human, had instinctive bodily
needs. When Bī Naẓīr’s father, King Sipihr Shukūh died, Bī Naẓīr refused
to become his successor in Rūm since he paid no attention at all to worldly
affairs and all that he wanted was to stay with the nightingale as his true
father. So, Tājir-i Kabīr was appointed to govern in Rūm.
Travel to Hindustan
Before travelling to Hindustan, the nightingale appointed Māh Munīr as his
vicegerent and asked all to swear allegiance to him. During that time, Māh
Munīr’s son, Shahāb was born. When the nightingale arrived in Iran, King
Fayḍ Bakhsh passed away. At the same time, he was informed that Māh
Munīr had also died and that he was buried in the Nightingale’s Refuge (the
nightingale’s home). In accordance with the nightingale’s command, Amīr-i
Bā Tadbīr became the successor of Māh Munīr. When the nightingale arrived
in Turan, Fayḍ Rasān died and Amīr-i Bā Tadbīr had been martyred and
was buried in the nightingale’s nest. Tājir-i Faqīr became his successor. He
gathered the nightingale’s words to create a book.
In this period, Sarfarāz, Tajdar’s son, revolted against the vicegerent in
Shām and he killed ʿĀbid-i Gūsha Nishīn. Sarfarāz claimed that he followed
the nightingale’s religion and that he was a relative of the nightingale. In gen-
eral, during the period of Tājir-i Faqīr, corruption increased and became
widespread. When the nightingale arrived in Hindustan, Shāh Ḥaq Shinās
passed away and he became aware of the fact that Māh Munīr’s son, Shahāb,
had come under the influence of incompetent advisors who had killed Tājir-i
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 101
Faqīr. In the nightingale’s territory, love was withdrawn after the death of
Māh Munīr, justice had vanished after the martyrdom of Amīr-i Bā Tadbīr,
and decency and compassion were lost after the murder of Tājir-i Faqīr. The
nightingale asked Bī Naẓīr to be his vicegerent in Arabia and to take Khushbū
and Khushgū, the nightingale’s sons, under his wing. He put the crown of
poverty (tāj-i faqr) on Khushbū’s head and gave him the Muḥammadan flag.
The nightingale told Khushbū: “one of your descendants will come whose
name will be the same as my name. He will lament in the same manner as the
nightingale and will teach the divine knowledge. His path will be the best path
and will be called the Muḥammadan path. Eventually, another one of your
descendants will come to complete the true guidance. After him, the world
will darken like night forever and autumn will become the permanent season.
No one will know who the rose was and how the nightingale moaned.”
Thereafter, the rose gave the spell-breaking jewel to Bī Naẓīr and told him,
You have heard the lamentation of the nightingale. Now, you know the
quality of heart and I have given you all-inclusive secrets. I hope that
people will listen to the lamentation of the nightingale again. I hope that
the descendants of the nightingale will teach all of his disciplines and
knowledge.
When Bī Naẓīr left Hindustan for Arabia with Khushbū and Khushgū, the
rose told the nightingale, “All of your companions are separated from you.
No one wants to listen to your songs and no one wants to see the beauty of
the rose. Fall has come here. You should come with me. Fly! Give up your
corporeal aspect.” Then, she began to fade away until there was nothing
left of her but her fragrance. Following her, the nightingale took flight and
disappeared over the horizon.
Everyone has a name in the land of the divine. Everyone has a message
from the other world. In love, there are innumerable states so that everyone
has a proper state commensurate with the extent of his own existence.63
O ʿAndalīb, how long do you stay in the cage when you should fly toward
the rose?
Your body is an obstacle: Hurry and break loose from your restraints!
Fly toward understanding the extent and breadth of [existence].66
108 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
In this point of view, there is a transformation from the concept of sīmurgh
to that of bulbul. This reveals the importance of the Prophet Muḥammad,
who is the representative of God, which will be discussed later on in terms of
ʿAndalīb’s Sufism. The nightingale declares that his religion is love and with
a heavy heart he contemplates the rose.67 The nightingale’s role is that of a
guide and mediator of spiritual truth.68 This is the same role which ʿAndalīb
considers for himself and it is through the voice of this bird that he is able
to share his wisdom with humanity. Note that he deliberately calls himself
ʿandalīb and the Prophet Muḥammad, bulbul, which are all one name, because
these names refer to the name “Muḥammad,” that is the name of not only the
Prophet, but also of Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb and the Mahdī.69
Nevertheless, ʿAndalīb only gradually discloses the identity of his protag-
onist. Primarily, the nightingale is introduced as the Prophet’s follower, off-
spring,70 his kinsman71 or vicegerent. Ultimately, it is in the second volume
where ʿAndalīb finally discloses what the nightingale is intended to stand for,
making clear that it is a symbol for the Prophet72 who is none other than the
hidden reality, the universal epiphanic form and the seal of the prophets. With
an emphasis on his symbolic work, ʿAndalib helps his audience understand
the Prophet’s reality and his companions’ situation.73
At one point, for instance, the nightingale cites a verse from the Qurʾān
about himself that corroborates this: “I hold not for [the power of] benefit or
harm, except what God has willed. And if I knew the unseen, I could have
acquired much wealth, and no harm would have touched me. I am not except
a warner and a bringer of good tidings to a people who believe.”74 He also
states, “I am only a man like you, to whom it has been revealed that your
God is one God,”75 and continues with, “you have acquired science while
I have divinely inspired knowledge.”76 Then, the nightingale points out that
he is an exemplar, a perfect human being, a descendant of Adam and the
comprehensive last creature of God (insān-i muʾakhkhar).77 More broadly,
since the Prophet is the seal of the prophets, the story of the nightingale also
encompasses the stories of various prophets, namely Noah, Jesus, Moses and
Muḥammad. Within these tales, the nightingale experiences in turn what each
of these prophets experienced so that his comprehensive essence includes all
of the divine signs.78 Thus through the acquisition of God’s characteristics, he
gains analogous attributes.79
In Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, the nightingale as the perfect individual possesses
the spell-breaking jewel: a valuable stone which according to legend, can be
found in the mouth of a snake or in the head of a dragon.80 In mystical lit-
erature, it has also been called the cup of Jamshīd (jām-i jam) and the world-
revealing cup (jām-i jahān-namā) which reflects the entire world and all of the
seven heavens and was said to reveal deep truths.81 From a Sufi perspective,
jām-i jam is the refined polished heart of the mystic in which the beauty of
Truth is reflected like a mirror.82 When the nightingale and the rose had been
transformed into animal and plant respectively, the spell-breaking jewel was
able to raise them back to the level of humanity. Each of them comes to possess
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 109
the spell-breaking jewel at different points and a lengthy story is told about
its reality. At the end, Bī Naẓīr, who in actuality represents ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib,
and after him Khushbū and Khushgū, who are similar to al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī
and al-Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī and are the sons of Mihr Jahāngīr, gain possession of
the spell-breaking jewel. ʿAndalīb writes that pure-hearted, pious people (ahl
al-qulūb), who know the path of love are the owners of the spell-breaking
jewel. He confirms that the principle of the creation of the spell-breaking
jewel is the heart of the mystic. The influence of the spell-breaking jewel is
fantastic because whoever holds it has the power to seize the world, overcome
evil and successfully navigate safely across the sea of this world to the coast
of ultimate reality. This rare and precious stone breaks curses and ultimately,
whomsoever accompanies and adheres to the ways of the ahl al-qulūb is able
to find the spell-breaking jewel, and with it salvation.83
The relationship between the nightingale and the rose is similar to the rela-
tionship between the Prophet and God. The inherent beauties and virtues of
the rose are not clear to all. Only the nightingale can understand the reality
of the rose as a manifestation of the divine, since the nightingale has, out of
all the others, more relation to the rose. They are lover (ʿāshiq) and beloved
(maʿshūq), seeker (ṭālib) and sought (maṭlūb). The relation between them is
one of talking, visiting and seeing, breathing and smelling the fragrance that
will be called nearness and companionship which is discussed in ʿAndalīb’s
Sufism.84 The lamentation of the nightingale is his singing that tells the story
of pain during various stages on the spiritual path. Their story is a poet-
ical expression of grief over painful separation. Theologically, the narrative
responds to the issue of union between man and God by explaining that the
reason for the nightingale’s lament is that as a bird, it cannot reach real union
with the rose as a plant. This can be seen as a rejection of the position of the
Wujūdī Sufis. ʿAndalīb narrates that the nightingale is plunged into bewil-
derment and perplexity. He employs the fictional dialogue between the rose
and the nightingale as a device through which to impart the divine secret.85
As a messenger, the nightingale distributes the secret of love that he received,
passing it on to others. After him, his progeny promulgate the true knowledge
of love, which can be obtained by reading Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb.86 Of considerable
note, at the end of the story of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, ʿAndalīb clarifies the point
that the reunion of the nightingale with the rose symbolizes seeing the beau-
tiful face of God on doomsday, that is the final spiritual stage for wayfarers
and devotees.87
Mapping ʿAndalīb’s intellectual trajectory, the triad of the rose, the night-
ingale and lamentation (gul, bulbul and nāla) is reminiscent of that of beauty,
love and grief (ḥusn, ʿishq, ḥuzn) as found in Suhrawardī’s philosophy of
illumination (Ḥikmat al-Ishrāq), wherein these are heavenly elements in the
material world with self-manifestation, Table 2.4.88 In Mūnis al-ʿushshāq,
Suhrawardī philosophically explains the secret behind the creation of this
trio. Only love can acquire beauty, and beauty has two dimensions: philo-
sophical and mystical. Beauty, as a divine principle, has a close relation with
110 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
Table 2.4 Suhrawardī’s Triad of Beauty, Love and Grief (Ḥusn, ʿIshq, Ḥuzn) and
ʿAndalīb’s Triad of the Rose, the Nightingale and Lamentation (Gul, Bulbul
and Nāla)
The Lament, the Love Story and Travel on the Path of Love
The love story between the nightingale and the rose is a key metaphor for
expressing the relationship of the human being with the Creator.93 Aʿlam
explains that since it is difficult to distinguish between female and male
nightingales, poets treat the bird as a perpetually male species, lacking any
females. Based on this point of view, their imaginative minds create the
nightingale’s longing for the rose.94 This point is important for understanding
why ʿAndalīb chose the nightingale and the rose for his mystical thought
during a time when struggles with the Wujūdīs were perceived as threatening
Islam itself. Different perspectives have been taken toward the nightingale’s
love: first, it has been considered as superficial and transitory, such as in
ʿAṭṭār’s presentation in Manṭiq al-ṭayr. Therein, the nightingale is not a true
lover, since it is a captive in the world of appearances. For ʿAndalīb, this char-
acteristic displays the earthly aspect of the nightingale/Prophet.95 The second
perspective belongs to those who consider the nightingale as the most per-
fect lover. Their paradigm describes the nightingale as a “disheartened lover”
(bīdil), a “miserable lover” (ʿāshiq-i zār), or “one who is drunk (mast) not with
wine but with love.”96 Thus the nightingale, especially in Persian writings in
India, provides an object which poets can imbue with many dimensions of
metaphorical and real love.97
The plot of the love story in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb provides an opportunity
for ʿAndalīb to explain the esoteric journey, since not only the nightingale,
but nearly all of the characters throughout the work are travelers on a spir-
itual journey. For a wayfarer, the process of spiritual change that has been
conceptualized as a constant ascending movement could be expressed by the
metaphor of the journey. Indeed, this occurs frequently in Sufi works such
as those that explain proper etiquette on the Sufi journey (ādāb-i safar) or in
stories of mystical travel. For instance, Najm al-Dīn Kubrā’s (d. 618/1220)
Ādāb al-ṣufiyya and Ṣayf al-Dīn Bākharzī’s (d. 659/1269) al-Taṣfiyya fī aḥwāl
112 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
al-mutaṣawwifa are about appropriate personal conduct along the journey
and also provide instruction as to how the wayfarer can pass through the
stages by observing special Sufi rituals. Among the works which consist of
stories of the mystical journey, Sayr al-ʿibād ila al-maʿād by Sanāʾī Ghaznawī
(d.ca. 545/1150), Ḥayy b. Yaqẓān by Ibn Sīnā (d. 428/1037) and some works of
Shihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā Suhrawardī (d. 587/1191) such as Qiṣṣat al-ghurba can
be mentioned. Perhaps the most celebrated literary development of this theme
can be found in three works by Farīd al-Dīn ʿAṭṭār (d. 617/1220): Muṣībat
nāma, Ilāhī nāma and Manṭiq al-ṭayr. The description of a heavenly journey
also constitutes one part of those stories, which are called miʿrāj nāma and
echo the Prophet’s night journey and ascent (miʿrāj). One major early example
of these is Bāyazīd Bisṭāmī’s (d. ca. 261/874) miʿrāj nāma, which describes his
mystical flight through the heavens. Sajjādī, in his work on the terminology
of Sufism, states that all such texts are the story of self-discovery and what is
called “sayr wa sulūk,” namely, the journey to one’s inner realm and the state
of one’s soul which, in fact, means directing the attention of one’s heart toward
God.98 Renard asserts that the importance of the metaphor of the journey has
its roots in three divine journeys of the Prophet: “his departure or emigration
(hijra) from Mecca to Medina in 1/622; the combined experience of the Night
Journey and Ascension; and the pilgrimage to Mecca that Muḥammad under-
took from Medina in 9/630. Sufi authors have often developed these themes at
considerable length, drawing out their inward meanings as models of various
aspects of spiritual transformation.”99
From a mystic’s perspective, to engage in the journey is to abandon the
mundane here and now, to leave behind indecent habits and blameworthy
attributes in order to obtain praiseworthy attributes and to be purified, to
ascend through the stages (sing. manzil), and to approach nearness (qurb) to
the beloved. When the apparent journey impresses itself on the soul of the
wayfarer and causes its refinement, it becomes an inner spiritual journey.100
In a word, the ultimate goal of any journey is, of course, the “arrival” at
one’s destination, where the wayfarer obtains waṣl and or union with God,
the sīmurgh or the rose.
Returning to Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, it explores not only the external journey,
that is the act of moving from one location to another, the outer voyage (sayr-i
āfāqī); but it also explains the internal journey, the inner voyage (sayr-i anfusī),
in accordance with what God states in the Qurʾān: “We will show them Our
signs in the horizons and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that
it is the truth. But it is not sufficient concerning your Lord that He is, over all
things, a Witness?”101
ʿAndalīb organizes the plot of the narrative based on the key metaphor
of the journey in order to describe the development of the human soul. As
it passes through the different stages on the circle of the path divided into
two different directions of movement: the ascending arc (qaws al-ṣuʿūd) and
the descending arc (qaws al-nuzūl).102 The dynamic characters in his mys-
tical stories undergo a gradual process of perfection, along with the eventual
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 113
obtaining of divine nearness.103 In other words, the mystic undergoes a trans-
formation between unity (waḥda) and diversity (kathra), union and separ-
ation, intoxication and sobriety, which are metaphors for the four journeys
(al-asfār al-arbaʿa) that are discussed in theoretical Sufism.104
These consist of the journey from creation to the Truth (min al-khalq ila’l-
Ḥaqq), in Truth with the Truth (fi’l-Ḥaqq bi’l-Ḥaqq), from the Truth to creation
with the Truth (min al-Ḥaqq ila’l-khalq bi’l-Ḥaqq) and with the Truth in cre-
ation (fi’l-khalq bi’l-Ḥaqq). Such a conception of the mystical journey evolved
over the course of the history of Sufism. The first two parts were known
from the time of the earlier shaykhs, but the last two parts were discussed
after Ibn al-ʿArabī. Among the Sufi scholars who were inspired by the works
of Ibn al-ʿArabī and who speak about four journeys were ʿAfīf al-Dīn al-
Tilmisānī (d. 690/1291), ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Kāshānī and Dawūd al-Qayṣarī.
They elaborated on the thought of Khwāja ʿAbd Allāh Anṣārī by writing
commentaries on his work Manāzil al-sāʾirīn.105 Later, Mullā Ṣadrā (d. 1050/
1628) deals with the discussion of a four-fold journey in his magnum opus,
al-Ḥikma al-mutaʿāliyya fī’l-asfār al-ʿaqliyya al-arbaʿa in a philosophical way
which has some differences from the version propounded by the mystics.106
In India, Sirhindī outlined the spiritual journey in four stages and as a
move in vast hierarchical levels of knowledge. For him, the first part of the
journey is the journey toward God (sayr ilā’l-Allāh) is an ascending arc that
begins from the lowest level of knowledge about creatures, who are the pos-
sibilities (mumkināt), and leads to acquiring knowledge of God, who is the
necessary (wājib). This journey is the act of abandoning all that is other than
God and it is where the Sufi experiences annihilation in God (fanāʾ). The
second leg of the journey is the journey in God (sayr fī’llāh), continuing the
ascent to now move in the divine names and attributes, eventually reaching
a point at which no words are sufficient and where the wayfarer experiences
subsistence (baqāʾ). The third stage of the journey is the journey from God
by way of God (sayr ʿan Allāh bi’llāh), thus beginning the descending arc
from the highest level of knowledge toward the lowest level of knowledge.
It paradoxically entails losing knowledge but while possessing the highest
knowledge. In other words, it is farness in nearness, because the wayfarer is
absorbed in oneness but his attention is simultaneously directed to multipli-
city. The last stage is the journey in things (sayr fī al-ashyāʾ), since the way-
farer regains the knowledge of things that he lost during the first journey.
The first two journeys are connected to wilāya while the latter two are related
to nubuwwa, since the wayfarer finally reaches the station of the call (maqām
al-daʿwa), inviting others to experience the same realizations he has under-
gone.107 Wilāya denotes intimacy with God, and as Buehler has explained,
it has two degrees. In the first journey, knowing the manifestations of the
divine names and attributes comprises “minor sainthood” (wilāyat-i sughrā)
and leads to the state of ecstasy (sukr) and the understanding of waḥdat al-
wujūd. The second journey is related to “major sainthood” (wilāyat-i kubrā),
the understanding of waḥdat al-shuhūd and the Prophet’s companions were in
114 Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World
this stage. Two later journeys are beyond the circle of wilāya as a return to this
world and are associated with nubuwwa. The last journey is to have an ordinary
life after obtaining “a transformed understanding of the phenomenal world”
and having “acquired the knowledge of corporeal things as things.”108 The
stages of journeys must be considered in conjunction with three degrees of
mystical knowledge: the knowledge of certainty (ʿilm al-yaqīn) obtainable by
reason, which is “intellectual perception of the Unity of Being,”109 the vision
of certainty (ʿayn al-yaqīn), which is the understanding of the unity of vision
and finally, the truth of certainty (ḥaqq al-yaqīn), which is the ultimate degree
of nearness and unity while realizing duality and distance.110
Regarding the first part of the journey in Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, the route of
the protagonist’s journey extends from Arabia to India. The first stage of the
journey begins when, in the Love-Increasing Garden, the protagonist falls in
love. By only hearing the gardeners describe the beloved, he was imparted with
divine inspiration (ilhām). This event is the starting point for the movement
from corporality to spirituality. The nightingale steps onto the path of pain
on the way to Consciousness-Snatcher Mountain, where he intends to go in
order to meet his beloved. By suffering, he controls the lower soul and puri-
fies himself from egoism, moral corruption and blameworthy traits. The story
demonstrates the change in the human being that can be initiated by a meta-
phorical love with external divine manifestations. It is the beginning of the
movement toward human perfection. This love leads the lover to abandon the
external dimension (ẓāhir). By and large, the plot moves from worshipping
beauty (jamāl parastī) to monotheistic worship (yiktā parastī). As previously
explained, in the first part of the journey, creation acts as a series of veils that
conceal the beloved, but in each meeting with the ethereal beloved, the lover
sees divine manifestation and a sign of divine beauty.
The second stage begins when Mihr Jahāngīr becomes human again under
the influence of the spell-breaking jewel, the mystical prophetic knowledge
available in Turan, the homeland of the Naqshbandiyya. He begins to attract
the beloved’s manifestations and he sinks into her beauty. He tastes a tem-
poral union with her wherein his state is peaceful and he finds spiritual equi-
librium. However, Mihr Jahāngīr remembers his father and wants to return
to his homeland, Arabia. Arabia is a poetic simile whereby ʿAndalīb reflects
his feelings about the birthplace of sharīʿa in Islam. Arabia is a symbol of
external religiosity.111 The nightingale falls overboard into the sea and is
tormented by the resulting separation from his beloved.112 Since the union
that he had attained was not true essential union, it was not the end of the
way, but was a prerequisite for obtaining subsistence (baqāʾ) with the divine
beloved.113 The first two journeys, which together comprise the ascending
arc, are thus brought to an end. The nightingale searches for his beloved in
the endless desert, which is the external journey in which the lover-wayfarer
becomes free of worldly desires. The movement toward the true beloved could
be described as a flight toward ascendancy. The nightingale sees all the signs
of the beloved and becomes intoxicated as in the second journey, where the
Narratives: Doorways into ʿAndalīb’s Mystical World 115
powerful divine manifestation acts as a veil from seeing all that is other (cre-
ation) than his beloved. He invites others to believe in his beloved through
the divine signs. In this stage, many people join him, among them his four
companions, and he attains the state of wilāya. He approaches his beloved
in India and, now deserving to receive divine revelation, he finally meets his
beloved without any veils, thus meaning that he has achieved the truth of cer-
tainty (ḥaqq al-yaqīn), corresponding to the level of prophecy. According to
the three classified degrees of gnosis, before reaching union with the beloved,
or the Truth, and gaining the truth of certainty (ḥaqq al-yaqīn), when the
nightingale came to know that Shāh-i Shāhān was actually the rose, he held
the knowledge of certainty(ʿilm al-yaqīn). When the rose manifested as the
Shāh Parī, the nightingale had the vision of certainty (ʿayn al-yaqīn) that is
the result of vision.
When the nightingale travels back toward Arabia, it represents a return to
the world, the descending arc. This journey indicates observing the sharīʿa
after reaching the end of ṭarīqa. The nightingale has the state of with-ness
(maʿiyya) with God, and the state of being sober after the intoxication of
the previous stage. In this stage, he has the status of prophethood, a perfect
man, who guides all in accordance with their abilities. According to the eleven
principles of the Naqshbandiyya, he has obtained the state of travelling in
the homeland (safar dar waṭan)114 along with the state of solitude in the crowd
(khalwat dar anjuman),115 since although he is apparently separated from his
beloved, he is inherently in union. This is called the separation after union
(farq baʿd al-jamʿ).116 Since he reached the highest grade of spirituality, baqāʾ
which is the final goal of the path of love, the protagonist came to possess
the spell-breaking jewel, to know the greatest divine name (ism al-aʿẓam) and
to become the vicegerent of God, the pole of poles (quṭb al-aqṭāb).117 The
narrative ultimately ends in India, the east of existence, a symbol of inner
religion, or the place of ḥaqīqa and maʿrifa, Table 2.5.
In conclusion, this section was an attempt to discover the inner layer of
key personalities in ʿAndalīb’s narrative. ʿAndalīb’s sending his imaginary fig-
ures on mystical journeys is not the mere representation of the development
of the human soul in the ascending and descending arcs, but it is indeed the
application of various metaphors, allegory, legends and historical archetypes
to signify the esoteric character of the Prophet Muḥammad at the center of
his mystical path, the Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya. The following discussions will
be focused on applying literary analysis of the text to establish a link between
the narrative and the needs of the Muslim community of India at the time.
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3 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi
Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
DOI: 10.4324/9781003228899-4
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 129
like the shoe-sellers’ riot in Delhi in 1141/1729. Therein, an argument between
two shoe-sellers in a bazaar, namely a follower of ʿAndalīb’s master Pīr
Muḥammad Zubayr and a Hindu, erupted into widespread conflict between
Muslims and non-Muslims. Such events in that time provoked a fury of Sunni
Turanian protests in defense of their faith and its followers.4
Thus ʿAndalīb developed the path of the Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya as a
reaction to inter-religious disputes, including the Shiʿi-Sunni conflict, which
were not merely religious but also consisted of political competition as
well.5 Controversial literature in the eighteenth century drew attention to the
conflicts and contradictions among Muslim theologians who debated over a
variety of theological principles. Moreover, many historical works written in
the eighteenth century depict the Sunni-Shiʿi conflict as having been every-
where, from khānaqāhs and madrasas to bazaars and houses.6 Howarth, in
his study of Shiʿism from the Deccan to Awadh, explains that Shiʿism was the
official religion of the ʿĀdil Shāhī rulers (r. 894/1489–1097/1686) in Bijāpūr
and the Quṭb Shāhī rulers (r. 923/1518–1098/1687) in Golconda. In 1687,
Aurangzeb’s Sunni army defeated the Quṭb Shāhī but 33 years later, ʿĀṣaf
Jāhī rulers (r. 1132/1720–1367/1948) gained the power and were followers
of the Quṭb Shāhī’s Shiʿa tendency. Later, the centre of Shiʿism moved from
the Deccan to northern India and particularly to the Shiʿa-ruled province of
Awadh (r. 1034/1722–1272/1856).7 The Mughal Empire was surrounded by
the Shiʿi Ṣafavids (r. 907/1501–1135/1722) in the west and the Shiʿi kingdom
in the Deccan in the south and thus the gradual influence of Shiʿi thought and
rituals on the court was inevitable. The Ṣafavid dynasty held influence over
the sayyid families like the Sayyids of Bārha as well as those families claiming
Persian origin.8
To understand the status of ʿAndalīb’s Sunni Turanian family and his
intellectual background, it must be explained that the Mughal court was
divided between three groups according to their land of origin and religious
affiliation: the native or Hindustani elites, Iranians who were mostly Shiʿa,
and Turanians from Transoxania who were mostly Sunni and belonged to
Sufi orders, generally the Naqshbandiyya.9 Each group struggled against
the others to gain royal support, and likewise, the royals fomented hostilities
between these groups to maintain their authority. The reigns of Muḥammad
Shāh and Aḥmad Shāh can be considered from the perspective of sectarian
conflicts. Allegiances could shift dramatically, for instance, an emperor such
as Aḥmad Shāh supported the Turanian Sunni Intiẓām al-Dawla in order to
suppress powerful Shiʿi courtiers. This policy led to increasing conflict, such
as when Turanian ʿulamāʾ issued a fatwa to kill Shiʿas in Shāhjahānābād as
innovators.10 The next emperor, Shāh ʿĀlam II (1759–1806), turned his support
toward the Shiʿas and had paid great attention to rituals in Muḥarram,11 but
when Aḥmad Shāh Abdālī invaded India, many Shiʿas were killed.12 Among
Naqshbandīs, Aḥmad Sirhindī’s reaction was influential, since he began
a movement against innovative Shiʿism in Jahāngīr’s time and he wrote a
book, Radd al-rafāʾiḍ.13 During the reign of Aurangzeb (r. 1068/1658–1118/
130 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
1707), who was a strict adherent of Sunni Islam, the atmosphere in Delhi
was charged with Shiʿa–Sunni animosity.14 In contrast, after the accession of
Bahādur Shāh, the power of many Sunni Turanians decreased as the emperor’s
Shiʿa sympathies further stoked Shiʿa–Sunni hostilities.15 Major examples of
inter-religious calamities of that time were the massacre of 2,500 Shiʿas by
Sunnis some years later at Ḥasanābād, near the capital of Kashmīr,16 along
with the massacre of the above-mentioned Sayyid family at Jansath in 1149/
1737 in Muẓaffarnagar.17 Regarding the latter, the Sayyid brothers came to
be thought of as Shiʿa18 who led native Hindustani elites and played a major
role in religious conflicts during the reign of Farrukh Siyar. The anti-Sayyid
lobby of Niẓām al-Mulk Āṣaf Jāh which overthrew the Sayyid brothers
was interpreted as a conflict between Shiʿism and Sunnism in Delhi.19 The
advocates of the Sayyids compared them with Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, who was killed
along with his family in Karbalāʾ. For instance, Mīr ʿAbd al-Jalīl Bilgrāmī (d.
1141/1729) described Ḥusayn ʿAlī Khān as Ḥusayn of India.20
From a historical analytical perspective, according to Malik, the activities
of certain Sunni Sufis in this context can be understood as a revival movement
and as resistance against the steadily growing Shiʿi political strength in North
India.21 Rizvi considers the situation in Delhi and Awadh to have been one
of explicit antagonism between the leaders of the two main forms of Indian
Islam.22 The refutation of Shiʿism continued among Sunni scholars and
ʿAndalīb’s contemporary, Shāh Walī Allāh wrote ʾIzālat al-khafā ʿan khalāfat
al-khulafāʾ, an influential work that inspired Shāh ʿAbd al- ʿAzīz (d. 1239/
1824) to write Tufḥa al-ʾithnā ʿashariyya many years later.23 In closing, in
light of the foregoing background, ʿAndalīb, on the side of the Sunni and
Turanian nobles, witnessed sectarian strife and bitter competition between
different factions.
Furthermore, ʿAndalīb’s motivation for resigning his military appointment
and pursuing his mystical vocation lies in what he saw as the ethical failure
and behavior of his contemporaries, from the rulers to the public. ʿAndalīb
devoted himself to reviving the Prophet Muḥammad’s ethics and sought to
enable a return to an idealized community within the framework of the eth-
ical concept of the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya. He criticizes the eth-
ical fall of the Muslim community under the guise of stories. In this way,
he is successful in avoiding explicit criticism. Although his text shows how
he evaluates the behavior of Mughal kings and other personalities, since he
avoids obviously referring to his surroundings and mentioning the rulers and
his contemporaries by name, some points from other research are helpful in
perceiving his ethical environment. During the decline of the Mughal Empire,
its heirs were immersed in the enjoyment of sensual pleasures. They were
famous for indulgent behavior and blatant disregard for Islamic moral rules.
As the historian Chaurasia notes, they “could hardly act as worthy custodians
of public interest or maintain the integrity of the empire.”24 Other scholars
confirm this point of view with concrete examples. For instance, Richards
reports that Jahāndār Shāh (r. 1124/1712–1125/1713) and his wife, a daughter
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 131
of a court musician, violated decorum with a controversial display of drunk-
enness and amorousness.25 As Schimmel relates, the emperor and his wife
shocked the people of Delhi after desecrating the shrine of Chirāgh-i Dihlawī
by bathing naked in its pool. Among the members of the royal family there
were some opponents who staunchly criticized the behavior of Jahāndār
Shāh, such as Aurangzeb’s daughter Zīnat al-Nisā (d. 1133/1721).26 The moral
laxity continued among other heirs to the Mughal throne. Muḥammad Shāh
was negligent of his duties, devoting much time, energy, and resources to the
enjoyment of sensual pleasure. Irvine maintains that his addiction to wine and
women were weaknesses that allowed his favorites, the women and eunuchs of
his harem, to influence him and to interfere in public affairs.27
As Irvine believes, this deterioration in the character of emperors resulted
in the decline in the character of the ruling class and nobility, since the
emperor failed to appoint meritorious persons to important positions and was
not qualified to supervise them in administrative affairs.28 Ikram points out
that the courtiers lacked in discipline and that their most outstanding traits
were laziness, shirking of duties, greed, and cruelty.29 Additionally, Chaurasia
refers to the demoralization and disintegration that could also be observed in
the imperial army. The soldiers, who could not be paid in time, plundered the
bazaars, kidnapped Hindu women, drank wine and had no concern for the
security of the public or the punishment of criminals.30
Khushbū and Khushgū are fruits of the pomegranate tree from which
the nightingale was its seed. He is the essence of creation, the “Reality
of Realities” (Ḥaqīqat al-Ḥaqāyiq), the “First Entification” (Taʿayyun al-
Awwal) and the “Reality of Muḥammad” (Ḥaqīqat al-Muḥammadiyya).
The seed budded under the influence of God’s power and a sapling grew
when the seed had a liking for multiplicity. Therefore, the seed and the
sapling both have the same essence. The nightingale is the root, Bī Naẓīr
is the trunk, and the nightingale’s other vicegerents are the branches and
leaves who serve as the ladder to reach perfection.36
In ʿAndalīb’s story, the nightingale took the crown of poverty (tāj-i faqr) from
his own head and placed it on that of Khushbū while also bestowing upon
him the Muḥammadan banner. There is a noteworthy point here: Khushbū
is the true heir of the nightingale’s crown of poverty and the Muḥammadan
banner, which respectively symbolize his mystical knowledge and the sharīʿa.37
This demonstrates the superiority of Khushbū, as some reports indicate the
Prophet’s slight preference toward al-Ḥasan over his brother, al-Ḥusayn.38 By
inserting some historical information around Khushbū, ʿAndalīb emphasizes
the strong link between Khushbū’s fictional character and the historical figure
of al-Ḥasan. He says that when Khushbū became vicegerent after Bī Naẓīr,
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 133
Sarfarāz, who reminds the reader of Muʿāwiya b. Abī Sufyān (d. 60/680),
revolted against him in Shām and claimed to rule over the territory. Later,
Khushbū was murdered by poisoning and his brother launched a rebellion
against Sarfarāz’s successor, ʿAlamdār, who reminds the readers of Yazīd
b. Muʿāwiya (d.64/683). The revolt was cruelly suppressed. ʿAndalīb also
refers to non-political aspects of the life of Khushbū in an effort to rehabili-
tate the image and reject widespread critiques of the historical figure whom
the character represents, viz., al-Ḥasan. He asserts that Khushbū’s renunci-
ation of the caliphate, in favor of the interests of the Muslims over Sarfarāz,
was a result of the fact that in his eyes worldly affairs were unimportant.39
Al-Ḥasan’s fame in Sufism and morality influences ʿAndalīb’s mys-
tical experience. In his Ḥilyat al-awliyāʾ wa ṭabaqāt al-aṣfiyāʾ, Abū Nuʿaym
Iṣfahānī (d. 430/1038) considers al-Ḥasan to be the spiritual ancestor of the
Sufis and as such, he is sometimes called the imam of Sufis.40 Hujwīrī (d. 470/
1078) articulates that al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī was profoundly versed in Sufism.41 Al-
Ḥasan is regarded as the first pole (quṭb) in the Shādhiliyya order and Abū
al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī (d. 656/1258) claims that his spiritual lineage goes back
to the Prophet through al-Ḥasan.42 Al-Ḥasan’s morality was what motivated
ʿAndalīb to have his character imitate the ethical example of the Prophet.
ʿAndalīb was deeply inspired by al-Ḥasan’s admirable promotion of virtues
such as poverty, piety, magnanimity, nobility, sincerity, a merciful heart,
meekness, tolerance, and generosity. According to the most reliable reports,
al-Ḥasan is frequently described as the person who most closely resembles the
Prophet and who thus brings to mind his deeds and acts.43 Thus, “the tem-
perament of Muḥammad” (khulq-i Muḥammadī) is reflected in “the tempera-
ment of al-Ḥasan” (khulq-i Ḥasan). ʿAndalīb asserts that if someone attains
virtue and perfection, this dignity can be related to al-Ḥasan.44 ʿAndalīb takes
advantage of the literal meaning of al-Ḥasan’s name, as the word ḥasan means
“good,” and he links it to goodness (ḥusn) as a virtue in order to explain the
“temperament of goodness” (ḥusn-i khulq). This idea has a preexisting foun-
dation in mystical literature in which many authors and poets have played
with the words ḥusn and al-Ḥasan and enjoyed the ambiguity of ḥusn-i khulq
and khulq-i Ḥasan. One such instance can be found when the great Persian
poet Sanāʾī Ghaznawī (d. ca. 545/1150) describes al-Ḥasan as: he “who has
ʿAlī’s sword and khulq-i ḥasan.”45 Similarly ʿAlāʾ al-Dawla Simnānī says, “See
the perfection of ḥusn in al-Ḥasan.”46
ʿAndalīb became overwhelmed with al-Ḥasan’s spirit and through him
with the Prophet. This is because he thinks of al-Ḥasan as being identical
to the Prophet and as being able to serve as a means for coming to under-
stand the Prophet’s reality. This demonstrates ʿAndalīb’s aspiration for both
his outer and inner life to conform to the words and deeds of the Prophet and
the imams, and for him to be deserving of being the intermediary between
his disciples and the Prophet, as a perfect friend of God (walī-yi kāmil). In
Islam, experiencing a vision of the Prophet or receiving intuition through the
intermediation of his descendants and companions has been considered the
134 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
most important spiritual accomplishment, since the Prophet says, “whoever
has seen me in a dream has seen the truth because Satan cannot emulate my
appearance in a dream.” According to this ḥadīth, a vision of the Prophet
is an authoritative and reliable source.47 ʿAndalīb’s visionary experience
appointed him to the task of leading and preserving Islam, yet he was not the
first in that age to claim to have had such a vision. His contemporaries also
asserted similar visions, such as Shāh Walī Allāh’s encounter with al-Ḥasan
in 1731 in Mecca. He claimed that al-Ḥasan along with al-Ḥusayn bestowed
the Prophet’s broken reed-pen and his blessed cloak. This vision along with a
series of other visions could be seen as preparing Shāh Walī Allāh to receive
the spiritual rank of a “preserver of time” (qāʾim al-zamān) from the Prophet
Muḥammad in a vision that took place in 1732.48 To consider the similarity
between ʿAndalīb and his contemporary, both masters of Delhi sought to
affirm their authority through recourse to direct contact with the Prophet’s
spirituality.49 An allegiance with the Prophet through their visions gave them
the authority to write the guiding books as a way for a long-lasting guidance
that was not limited to their present teaching circles during their lifetimes.50
Giving such a canonical role to al-Ḥasan empowers not only the orthodox
side of his thought, but it was also the result of heated sectarian debates and
the ethical dilemmas in Delhi. The vision is related to their main concern,
which was unification during a period of intra-religious hostility. One poten-
tial explanation for ʿAndalīb’s preferring al-Ḥasan as a model could be that he
may have had in mind a widely reported ḥadīth wherein the Prophet regards
al-Ḥasan as a unifier and predicts that al-Ḥasan would facilitate reconciliation
between two groups of Muslims.51 ʿAndalīb acquires the quality of being the
reviver of al-Ḥasan’s tenets, since in one ḥadīth the Prophet introduces him as
the true heir of his leadership who would restore Islam and the sunna.52
The vision of al-Ḥasan does not indicate that ʿAndalīb was a Shiʿa, but
it does show his sympathy for the concept of the imamate. It is rooted in the
Naqshbandī Mujaddidiyya’s respect toward the ahl al-bayt, in spite of their
rejection of Shiʿism and being adherent of Sunnism. ʿAndalīb believes that
after the death of the Prophet, the periods of vicegerecy (khilāfa), sainthood
(wilāya) and imamate (imāma) succeeded one another. ʿAndalīb’s concept of
the imam is neither identical with that of Sunni believers, who label leaders
of the Friday prayer or eminent scholars as imams, nor with that of Shiʿa
believers, who restrict the imamate to 12 or seven individuals. According to
ʿAndalīb, both groups do not know the truth and each tends toward opposite
extremes. For him, the imamate is specific to Fāṭima’s offspring, who inherited
the esoteric knowledge of the Prophet, and it began 30 years after the
Prophet’s death. At the age of 40, Muḥammad’s grandsons al-Ḥasan and al-
Ḥusayn became qualified to manifest the Prophet’s comprehensive perfection
in prophethood (nubuwwa), messengerhood (risāla), vicegerency (khilāfa),
delegation (niyāba), sainthood (wilāya) and imamate (imāma).
In Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, ʿAndalīb explains that al-Ḥasan and al-Ḥusayn are
true saints and that each of them demonstrates one of two aspects of the
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 135
Prophet’s perfection: sainthood and prophecy. Therefore, their state is the
state of Khāliṣ Muḥammadī, a high spiritual rank. Al-Ḥasan’s sainthood is
Aḥmadī (wilāyat-i Aḥmadī) and Aḥmad ( )احمدis distinguished from Aḥad
()احد, “the sole one,” one of the divine names, by the veil of one Arabic letter
()م, representing the entification of spirit (taʿayyun-i rūḥī). Prophecy and
sharīʿa have primacy in al-Ḥasan’s knowledge. He obtained the Prophet’s
nearness to God at the closest distance (aw adnā, “or even nearer”).53 Al-
Ḥusayn’s sainthood is Muḥammadī (wilāyat-i Muḥammadī) and Muḥammad
()محمد
َ is separated from Aḥad by the repeated letter ()م, representing both the
entification of spirit (taʿayyun-i rūḥī) and the entification of body (taʿayyun-i
jasadī). He obtained the Prophet’s nearness to God at a distance of “two bow-
lengths” (qāba al-qawsayn). This wilāya is the perfection of imamate and
pertains to the carrying out of laws.54 Therefore, ʿAndalīb is the possessor of
prophetic perfection since, as a Ḥusaynī Sayyid, he inherited wilāyat-i
Muḥammadī from al-Ḥusayn, but he also received wilāyat-i Aḥmadī from
al-Ḥasan.55
My son, others have done it and we did not do it. If we wanted, we could
have established in our age a path in our own name like others. We are
sons who are lost in the sea of unity and we are drowning victims in
Baḥr al-Qulzum (“the Red Sea”). Our name is Muḥammad’s name, our
sign is Muḥammad’s sign, our love is Muḥammad’s love, and our call
is Muḥammad’s call. This path must be named the Muḥammadī path
because it is Muḥammad’s path. We have not added anything to it. Our
way is the Prophetic way, and our path is the Ṭarīqa-yi Muḥammadī.56
Similarly, in Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, ʿAndalīb elucidates why he avoids calling this
path after his own name by saying that he is not an innovator. He considers
this as the first and foremost mistake in the thought of preceding masters,
namely, their seeing their own paths as separate from the Muḥammadan path
and following their own wishes: “If I was like others, this faqīr [“poor one,”
ʿAndalīb is referring to himself in a humble manner] must call and spread my
new path in my own name like them. Then, I would have no reason to con-
fess frequently that this faqīr believes in the same path as the very old straight
Muḥammadan path.”57 Therefore, his vision of al-Ḥasan along with labeling
136 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
his own teachings as the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya served to legitima-
tize ʿAndalīb’s special status as a true spiritual master.
The next topic here, which still pertains to the naming of the Ṭarīqa-yi
Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya, opens a discussion about a meaningful definition for
the term ṭarīqa in ʿAndalīb’s usage. The term ṭarīqa bears the meaning of
mashrab, dīn and madhhab, since it denotes a specific method and path which
guides mankind.58 The first point that can be gleaned is that the term ṭarīqa
stresses a direct relationship between ʿAndalīb and the Prophet through a
vision, thus pushing aside the silsila and removing any intermediaries.59 The
second point is that ṭarīqa refers to the practical dimension of Sufism, that
is it extends beyond the lengthy and merely theoretical discussions among
Wujūdīs and Shuhūdīs, namely, it teaches the actual steps to be taken by the
spiritual aspirant. The last point is that since each master has a specific spir-
itual training method, ṭarīqa refers to a specific circle of disciples seeking puri-
fication from immoralities and abandonment of worldly fears. Their goal is to
advance along the path, extend their capacity for receiving divine grace, and
proceed toward the direct presence of God.60
In Sufi Heirs of the Prophet, Arthur Buehler asserts that ʿAndalīb was
the first Indian Sufi to use the label Muḥammadiyya in legitimizing his path,
although it had already been a widely popular title among different Sufi lin-
eages outside of India, for instance, ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad Jazūlī (d. 870/
1465) was the first Sufi in Morocco who benefited from this title for his path.61
Fazlur Rahman explains that use of the name Ṭarīqa-yi Muḥammadiyya to
represent a path that is held to be identical with early Islam can be seen as an
effort that has been associated with such labels as neo-Sufism and mystical
reformist movements.62 R.S. O’ Fahey and Bernard Radtke assert that the
notion of Ṭarīqa-yi Muḥammadiyya is variously described as, “the substitu-
tion of a mystical union with the spirit of the Prophet for that with God; the
claim to an exclusive authority derived from the Prophet; a summons to polit-
ical activism, or a vaguely-defined following the path of the Prophet, meaning
a ‘return’ to the sunna and uṣūl al-dīn.”63
ʿAndalīb refers to the true followers of the Prophet who respect the imams.
He believes that the imamis (referring to the Shiʿa) of his time deviated from
the path of the imams and that they talk about imams without actually having
sufficient knowledge of them.69
The Prophet grants his companions (muhājir and anṣār), friends and
offspring and disciples all degrees of the stages of proximity to the
perfections of prophethood, of vicegerency, of sainthood, of imamate, of
wisdom and so on, according to the degree of their annihilation in him,
their association with him, their following of him, their dependence upon
him, their service to him, their close friendship with him, their union with
him, their sincerity and their devotion to him.71
For that reason, ʿAndalīb presents the companions and al-khulafāʾ al-
rāshidūn in his story as exemplars for Muslims to turn towards to find the
authentic faith.72 ʿAndalīb believes in the elevated positions of all four caliphs
since the Prophet, who was the caliph of God, nominated a caliph as his
successor. The period of the caliphate began after the Prophet’s death and
138 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
it continued for about 30 years. Al-khulafāʾ al-rāshidūn received sainthood
(wilāya) from the Prophet. Following Ibn al-ʿArabī in attributing different
degrees of sainthood of particular individuals to the prophets who function
as mediators to connect with the perfection of the Prophet,73 the first caliph’s
sainthood is attributed to Michael, the angel of sustenance, as well as to the
prophet Jesus. He was the confidant who was familiar with the divine secrets.
His state was that of trustfulness (ṣiddiqiyya) and friendship (khulla).74 The
second caliph embodied the perfections of prophethood, vicegerency, and
wisdom. His sainthood is attributed to Gabriel, the angel of revelation, and
to the prophets Noah and Moses. The first two caliphs’ prophethood was
higher than their sainthood. The third caliph enjoyed both prophethood
and sainthood equally. His sainthood was spiritual and is attributed to Uriel
(Isrāfīl), the angel of the trumpet, and to the prophet David. The last caliph
had the perfections of imamate and messengerhood (risāla). His sainthood is
attributed to Azrael, the angel of death; Gabriel, the angel of revelation; and
to the prophets Aaron and Jesus. His sainthood had a greater priority over
his prophethood and for this reason, mystics and awliyāʾ (sing. walī) received
sainthood from him.75
Prophecy is regarded as the tree whose roots sprouted from the seed of
reality by those whose religion is authentic;
Abū Bakr is the root, ʿUmar is the foliage, ʿUthmān is the blossom and
Murtaḍā [ʿAlī] is the fruit.76
The Prophet’s companions are held in high esteem as they enjoyed the benefit
of and were greatly influenced by direct contact with the Prophet. Accordingly,
their personalities and actions become the religious and ethical standard
pattern. They practiced the true meaning of the sunna and they are the most
important sources of ḥadīth. This view reveals their status as mediators for
knowing the Prophet. ʿAndalīb’s verse states:
The cited verse shows Khāliṣ Muḥammadīs acting as a mirror that reflects the
companions’ qualities and the virtues of the Prophet’s family. In several places
ʿAndalīb mentions the revered figures of both groups of Muslims together
in order to show that the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya is a comprehen-
sive way beyond any inter-religious conflicts. For instance, in one place he
asserts that his followers exhibit the good manners exemplified by al-Ḥasan,
the bravery of al-Ḥusayn, the virtue of Fāṭima and the wisdom of ʿĀʾisha
bint Abū Bakr (d. 58/678), the Prophet’s wife.87 Although ʿAndalīb is from a
Sunni background, he nevertheless frequently advises to love the ahl al-bayt
like a duty, and he exhorts to imitate them and follow the path of the imams.
He believes that the wayfarer cannot directly reach God unless through the
intermediacy of the Prophet and his family.88
Moreover, ʿAndalīb aims to provide a true unification of all denominations
and approaches (sing. mashrab). In this regard, he uses the term assimila-
tion (ikhṭilāt) to refer to the comprehensiveness of his path saying, “My way
and approach is assimilation. My path is all-encompassing of the status and
states of the different ways and approaches.”89 In this manner, ʿAndalīb
raises the banner of the Muḥammadiyya, removing diversity and calling for
friendship90 and camaraderie along the Muḥammadan path of love (ṭarīqa-yi
140 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
ʿishqiyya-yi Muḥammadiyya) saying, “We are seekers of Love and loyalty is
our occupation.”91
Therefore, other sects are perishing (hālik) while the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ
Muḥammadiyya offers the way to salvation because it is in accordance with
the Prophet’s sunna.94 Since the Prophet is true (bar ḥaqq), the Muḥammadī
path is the safest (aslam).95
For this reason, adopting the Khāliṣ Muḥammadī path is seen as obligatory,
as one verse of the Qurʾān advises, “Follow the best of what was revealed to
you from your Lord before the punishment comes upon you suddenly while
you do not perceive.”97 Joining the Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya means
being averse to idolatry, to cease following the rituals of the infidels and to be
released from lust and sensual passion.98
Nāṣir (“Helper”)
ʿAndalīb’s feeling that the Muslim community was helpless during his time,
as it had lost its divine backrest in the figure of Pīr Muḥammad Zubayr,
inspired his belief in an individual whom he calls nāṣir (“helper” or “one who
gives victory”). The designation of nāṣir as a specific religious title should be
considered in comparison with the development of the concept of the God’s
vicegerency and wilāya discussed in mystical terms of al-insān al-kāmil by Ibn
ʿArabī. The claims to have special spiritual authority as the Prophet’s heir
were represented in different ways like Ibn al-ʿArabī and his notion of khātam
al-awliyāʾ (“the seal of God’s friends”), itself reconsideration of al-Tirmidhī’s
thought. The continuity of the concept in India can be found in the notions of
qayyūm used by Sirhindī or ṣāḥib al-zamān used by Shāh Walī Allāh. Thus the
idea has been before ʿAndalīb and he might have had in mind some aspects
that the word of nāṣir shares with these terms, like the meanings of helper or
emancipator in the term of ghawth,107 although there is a distinction between
the rank of ghawth and that of quṭb.108 Similarly, the concept must be under-
stood as a contribution in the development of the notion of wilāya that can
be seen in other forms of the Ṭarīqa-yi Muḥammadiyya in different parts of
the Islamic world like the role of al-quṭb al-maktūm (“the hidden pole”) as
142 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
represented by Aḥmad al-Tījānī (d. 1230/1815), as a mediator to convey the
assistance of the Muḥammadan Reality.109
Particularly, ʿAndalīb’s usage of the doctrine of the mujaddid (“renewer”)
as a Naqshbandī Mujaddidī must be examined in representing the rank of
nāṣir. He inherently believes in the idea of there being a need for a mujaddid
based on a famous ḥadīth which declares that every century God will send a
renewer to revive and restore Islam.110 This doctrine is a puritanical approach
to Islam wherein the mujaddid removes all heretical innovative practices
(bidʿa), religious corruption and deviation, thereby uncovering the pristine
teachings of Islam. This is understood as necessary since, over the course of
time, the manner of thinking and lifeways of the people tend to go through
massive transformations. Although he does not actually call himself either a
renewer or a reviver of religion (muḥyī al-dīn), the status of nāṣir allowed him
to describe his own spiritual rank in a unique way. He deeply believes that the
Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya is inspired knowledge, and that the revival
(iḥyāʾ) of Islam which it calls for will bring about the prosperity of the sharīʿa.
Nāṣir is a divine name and God is described as the best of helpers (khayr
al-nāṣirīn),111 and the excellent helper (niʿma al-naṣīr).112 God is the helper
in this very world, as mentioned in the Qurʾān: “Indeed We will help Our
messengers and those who believe during the life of this World and the
Day when the witness will stand.”113 Furthermore, only God gives victory,
since “there is no victory but from Allāh.”114 ʿAndalīb considers the epi-
thet of Nāṣir as one of the 99 names of the Prophet, that attributing the 99
names to the Prophet was rooted in al-Jīlī’s Kalimāt al-ilāhiyya fī ṣifāt al-
Muḥammadiyya, since in this way he bestows a strong relationship to God
on the Prophet whose 99 names parallel the 99 names of God. By naming
himself in the same way, he connected himself to the Prophet as a mystic
who has attained union with him. Furthermore, he used his own epithet of
ʿAndalīb to symbolically describe the protagonist of his work as a refer-
ence to the name of Muḥammad, since according to him, bulbul, another
word for ʿandalīb, is an Arabic name equivalent to Muḥammad.115 The name
Nāṣir does not signify that ʿAndalīb was assigned a mission by God. In fact,
it shows that he is a representative of the Prophet and a mirror of proph-
ethood.116 The combination of nāṣir and ʿandalīb, his pen name, alludes
to ʿAndalīb’s leadership role and his claim of returning victory to Islam.
ʿAndalīb states in this regard:
The cited verses remind us of Rūmī’s poem in which he asserts that the
miraculous name of the Prophet, Aḥmad, delivers light and saves the people
from darkness of ignorance in both worlds. He is like an impregnable fortress
wherein everyone is sheltered:
The Name of Aḥmad gives such help as this, so that (one may judge) how
his Light keeps guard (over his followers).
Since the Name of Aḥmad became (to Christians) an impregnable fort-
ress, what then must be the Essence of that trusted Spirit?122
Mīr Dard affirms ʿAndalīb’s status as the helper of the religion of Muḥammad
(nāṣir-i dīn-i Muḥammadī) and the most right imam. He is imam of the
gnostics (imam al-ʿārifīn), because of the manifestation of the blessings and
lights of the imamate on him; elite of the united (zubdat al-wāṣilīn), due to his
nearness to God; heir of Murtaḍawī knowledge (wārith-i ʿilm-i Murtaḍawī),
since he was a genuine sayyid;123 and author of a book (ṣāḥib-i kitāb), as he
believed in a distinction between saints who had written a book and those who
had not, similar to the differences among the prophets. Having composed a
book demonstrates that ʿAndalīb is a perfect walī among others, due to his
establishing his own ṭarīqa. He is a manifestation of divine mercy (maẓhar-i
raḥm-i ilāhī)124 and a qibla, since he is a great Sufi and the direction to which
Muḥammadans shall turn.125
Mīr Dard uses the name Nāṣir to connect ʿAndalīb to ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib and
Fāṭima, since it was also their cognomen. Muḥammadīs wrote Huwa al-Nāṣir
(“He is the one who gives victory”) on the top of each writing, a practice
that was held to bring good fortune and blessing.126 The word nāṣir became
a holy source of blessing and divine support for the family. For example, it
144 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
was engraved in ṭughrā style127 on ʿAndalīb’s cane, thus making the object
blessed by that word and they kept this relic as a treasure for many years.
Furthermore, in the naming of children, the family used the word in names
such as Nāṣir Nadhīr and Nāṣir ʿAlī, since they believed that this would bring
divine assistance.128
One of your descendants will come whose name will be the same as my
name. He will lament in the same manner as the nightingale and will teach
the divine knowledge. His path will be the best path and will be called the
path of Muḥammadiyya. Eventually, another of your descendants will
come to complete the true guidance. After him, the world will darken
such as night forever. Autumn will come as a permanent season. No one
will know who the rose was nor how the nightingale cried.157
In this way, the combination of the seed of love has been made, since “love
produces the seed and the seed develops due to the effect of the seed of love
which it contains.”205 Thus, the connection between the notion of the seed
of creation and the notion of love in ʿAndalīb’s work had emerged and been
nourished from within the Sufi tradition long before and builds a foundation
for his mystical prophetology.206 In his teachings, whoever would know of
Muḥammad’s creation, would love him, since his reality is the status of love
(ḥubb) and he is the beloved (maḥbūb) of God. He interpreted that the Lord
of Lords created ḥubb. Ḥubb is ḥabb in the sense that it is the seed of creation,
the Reality of Realities, the substance and the reality of all forms and entities.
The notion of the seed presents Muḥammad as the comprehensive creature,
who has assumed the character traits of God. He is the divine vicegerent who
has control over the seven districts of the microcosm (the seven parts of his
body) and the macrocosm (all other bodies including all of the heavens and
the earth). All of creation is devoted to him and he is the ultimate cause of
creation, as God says that were it not for the Muḥammadan Reality, creation
would not have come into existence.207
ʿAndalīb relied on this notion and the oral literature around it to create an
allegorical description about the nature of the protagonist. In his narrative,
the Muḥammadī dervish gave the childless king a healing fruit, a pomegranate,
and after divine influence the protagonist was born. The seed of the pom-
egranate was made from the influence of the four elements (earth, water, air,
and fire), the stars, time and space, and the weather. It is Muḥammad or the
substance of creation, the only mediator of creation, which grew into a tree.
The image of the pomegranate serves to epitomize the representation of unity
and multiplicity and it reflects perfection and annihilation in the Prophet.
It demonstrates how Muḥammad is like a single pomegranate, which as a
whole (kull) encompasses small red seeds (juzʾ) or the individuals under a
thick skin.208 In describing the protagonist, ʿAndalīb uses the red color of
the pomegranate as a symbol of rebellion, and in fact, the protagonist’s
nature derives inherently from wild and shining red fire, as can be seen from
ʿAndalīb’s words here:
He would conquer all earth’s habitable lands. All, from east to west, would
be under his light of guidance and his bounty. All would know the fame
of his justice from Qāf Mountain to Qāf Mountain.209 Since the origin of
156 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
his creation is from the fire, the rebellion (shūrish), separation (firāq) and
bewilderment (sargardānī) in horizons (āfāq) is raised from him. He will
be brighter than the sun. This is why we called him Jahāngīr.210
ʿAndalīb maintains that for a wayfarer who has devoted himself to the
Prophet, the only way to attain annihilation in him is through a shaykh239
who emulates the prophetic virtues and spiritual practices. In his The Heirs
of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in Shiʿite Islam, Liyakat
N. Takim remarks about the notion of annihilation in the Prophet that “Due
to his pervading presence and charismatic appeal, contemporary Muslims
can somehow experience Muḥammad’s character and charisma.”240 ʿAndalīb
argues that since the shaykh has achieved annihilation in the Prophet,
through him the wayfarer will attain annihilation in the Prophet. In other
words, the manifestation of the shaykh’s lord leads the wayfarer to attain
the manifestation of the Prophet’s lord. Therefore, companionship with the
shaykh is of great importance, since the shaykh is a mediator for reaching
the Prophet,241 and the prophetic spirituality can only be conveyed chest to
chest, through companionship and friendship with perfect men.242 Therefore,
the Muḥammadiyya prefers companionship (ṣuḥba) to the practice of isola-
tion (khalwa),243 since it is believed that the wayfarer can only reach as far as
the knowledge of certainty (ʿilm al-yaqīn) through asceticism and religious
devotion, while through companionship he can attain the vision of certainty
(ʿayn al-yaqīn) and the reality of certainty (ḥaqq al-yaqīn). Such companion-
ship allows the wayfarer to indirectly establish his own spiritual relationship
with the Prophet.244 In fact, allegiance to a perfected man helps the wayfarer
reach the perfection of both the angelic stage and the human stage, and attain
to the status of being His (i.e., God’s) servant (ʿabduhu) and His messenger
(rasūluhu).245
The narrative itself comes under the influence of ʿAndalīb’s own spiritual
contraction (qabḍ) and expansion (basṭ), as his ego was annihilated in the
Prophet’s ego. In other words, ʿAndalīb (Muḥammad Nāṣir) loses himself in
the bulbul (the Prophet Muḥammad), thus the conflation of his identity with
the bulbul. This is a major reason for his choosing ʿAndalīb as his penname.246
He writes:
We call him Māh Munīr, who would be Mihr Jahāngīr’s vizier. He would
obtain Mihr’s light and perfections through following him. He would
bring shining day to the world which sinks in a long dark night. Like
the moon’s light shines, he would project the color of love and kindness
onto the world. He would color the fruit of the lover’s heart with various
colors such as initiative experience, eagerness, attraction by God, love and
grief, suffering and pain. His love, annihilation and following of Mihr
Jahāngīr, could not be explained by words, nevertheless, the sun has no
follower (tābiʿ) such as the moon. The moon passes all degrees and stages
of the sun through shadowiness and implicativeness. The moon obtains
so many spiritual benefits in this manner, insofar that if I talk about his
nearness with the sun, it seems as though I am explaining the perfections
of Mihr Jahāngīr himself.261
162 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
Māh Munīr is an exalted man, since he attained the station of perceiving the
Essence (Dhāt) and nearness to the Essence (qurb-i Dhāt). In the story, Māh
Munīr’s ascending arc was finished when he found the rose in India, and his
descending arc had begun when the rose sent him to find the nightingale. This
means that following the nightingale led him to understand divinity, but it
was not the end of the path and he must return to the world and spread the
nightingale’s teachings.
In order to demonstrate the position of Abū Bakr, ʿAndalīb divides
Muslims into three groups, those being common people (ʿawāmm), special
people (khawāṣṣ), and the most special of special people (akhaṣṣ al-khawāṣṣ).
Abū Bakr is the foremost among the last category, and it is he that is being
referred to in the Qurʾānic verse: “And the forerunners, the forerunners;
those are the ones brought near [to Allāh].”262 ʿAndalīb dignifies Abū Bakr
by declaring that he enjoys a comprehensive relationship (with-ness and
sameness) with the Prophet. He narrates a ḥadīth from Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq in which
Abū Bakr’s maternal ancestors are considered to be from the Prophet’s family.
This means that he in fact has not only apparent kinship (ʿayniyya), but also
the spiritual relationship of with-ness (maʿiyya), as the esoteric companion
of the Prophet.263 According to various ḥadīths and verses of the Qurʾān, the
relationship of Abū Bakr with the Prophet is one of precedence (aqdamiyya),
intimacy (maḥramiyya or khuṣūṣiyya), devotion (fadawiyya), allegiance
(tabaʿiyya), and with-ness (maʿiyya), but not of superiority (afḍaliyya).264 The
Prophet calls others to imitate him.265 Abū Bakr was the first to have attained
annihilation (fanāʾ) in the Prophet, thus his self (nafs) is Muḥammad’self, and
his body is Muḥammad’s body.266 To demonstrate the most perfect adher-
ence to following the Prophet, ʿAndalīb states that the wayfarer’s attention
is toward God while traversing the descending arc, but Abū Bakr pays no
attention to the glory or power of any other than his beloved-shaykh and
he looks to the Prophet’s essence. ʿAndalīb narrates that after the death of
Māh Munīr, he was buried under the pomegranate tree (the Cosmic Tree).
This demonstrates his obedience (tamkīn) and resistance (istiqāma), which are
higher than the stages of coloring (talwīn) and ecstasy (wajd).267 It is not sur-
prising that ʿAndalīb uses the movement of the sun and the transition of the
moon’s phases from crescent to full moon to symbolically refer to the pro-
cess of becoming the perfect man. He is looking for the sun’s light from the
moon’s light.
Regarding ʿAlī, the symbolism of the pomegranate seeds is used in this alle-
gorical story to describe his position, since he was created from the remainder
of the pomegranate seed. This idea is based on a ḥadīth according to which the
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 163
Prophet said: “people are from another tree, but I and ʿAlī are from the same
tree.”269 ʿAndalīb represented ʿAlī in the character of Bī Naẓīr (“Unique”),
who is a seed from the fruit of a pomegranate tree. The nightingale is the
principle (aṣl) and Bī Naẓīr is the consequence and the subsidiary (farʿ), so
essentially, he needs the nightingale. In this symbolic expression, ʿAndalīb
describes Māh Munīr as the apple tree that grew from that same seed. So, the
truths of apple and pomegranate trees are similar. When the original seed
tended toward multiplicity and detail, the pomegranate tree grew from it.
When it tended toward unity and synopsis, the apple tree grew from it. Thus,
ʿAlī possesses divine wisdom from Muḥammad and his offspring inherited
Muḥammadan influence from him. Bī Naẓīr is Mihr Jahāngīr’s cousin and
his father is Sipihr Shukūh. Bī Naẓīr is described as a disconsolate man who
was lost in the desert and met Mihr Jahāngīr after many years when Mihr
Jahāngīr was wandering to find his beloved. In ʿAndalīb’s point of view, ʿAlī
paid no attention to worldly affairs and because of this reason he refused
to become Muḥammad’s successor for a long time.270 Then, he came into
possession of the ring of a vicegerent. The vicegerency of the Prophet is the
stage of perfect allegiance and love for Muḥammad. He possessed the spell-
breaking jewel, which is a symbol of prophetic knowledge, and a green robe
of honor and lordship. His descending arc began from the time he became the
fourth caliph, and he attained the stage of “earth” (turāb). The descending arc
signifies the stage of perfect allegiance and love for Muḥammad.271 Indeed,
he is unified with Muḥammad (ittiḥād), although he is apparently separated
from him.272 It was ʿAlī who spread Muḥammad’s knowledge, lamentation,
the disciplines of his path of love and inner spiritual faith. ʿAlī conveyed the
perfection of sainthood (wilāya), the path (ṭarīqa) and knowledge (maʿrifa)
to the saints.273 ʿAlī attains the spiritual stage in which he can listen to the
conversations between the Prophet and God through his vicegerency and
through his following and imitating. He knows the greatest divine name and
the divine Essence.274
To clarify the lofty positions of Abū Bakr and ʿAlī, ʿAndalīb uses two
esoteric terms, the pole of the circle (quṭb al-madār) and the pole of guidance
(quṭb al-irshād). Abū Bakr is the pole of the circle, that is he is in the heart of
Muḥammad and divine love took root in his heart. Considering the path as a
circle which has two arcs, one ascending and the other descending, Abū Bakr
is the guide in the descending arc and he leads seekers in attaining resistance
and stability.275 If Bī Naẓīr was the pole of guidance and like the door to the
city of knowledge, then Māh Munīr was the pole of the circle and the sign of
endurance. ʿAndalīb regards ʿAlī as deliverance (ghawth)276 and as the pole of
guidance277 in the ascending arc. The wayfarer’s ascending journey is toward
the status of the divine name which is his lord.278 Also, the astronomical
aspect of the notion of quṭb, as a pivot (madār) of the universal and a way of
naming the Prophet, ʿAlī and Abū Bakr in ʿAndalīb’s narrative demonstrates
how he echoes the Shiʿi mystical view in which the imam is the solar pole (quṭb
al- shamsī) from whom the masters of ṭarīqas attain Prophetic spirituality and
164 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
are called the lunar pole (quṭb al-qamarī) and the pole of time (quṭb al-zamān).
From this perceptive, the twelfth imam, the Mahdī, is the pole of poles (quṭb
al- aqṭāb).279
ʿAndalīb describes two connections on the path of love. The first of these is
the connection of love (nisbat-i ʿishqī), which is related to the status of intoxi-
cation. In this stage, the wayfarer has a spiritual relationship with Abū Bakr
and finds a relationship of maʿiyya (“with-ness”) with his lord. Second is the
scholarly connection (nisbat-i ʿilmī), which is related to sobriety and the way-
farer has a spiritual relationship with ʿAlī and finds a relationship of ʿayniyya
(“sameness”) with his lord.280
Having the state of maʿiyya, the Muḥammadīs’ rank is higher than that
of others who claim to be Sufis. Accordingly, ʿAndalīb explains that if their
appearance were to distinguish them from other Sufis, it could be imagined
that they would wear a special style of large straw hat (kulāh kahkahī); which
would show their lofty status, distinguishing them from other so-called Sufis,
who traditionally wear four-piece or two-piece hats. For him, these types of
headgear can be indicative of their respective ways of thinking. Those who
wear a four-piece hat (kulāh chahār tarkī) deem four things necessary: aban-
donment of physical pleasure, of sensual passion and of worldly pleasure as
well as seeking pleasure only for the afterlife. Those who wear a two-piece hat
(kulāh du tarkī) deem two things necessary: abandonment of the world and
of the afterlife. Sufis in the state of contraction (qabẓ) wear dark clothes and
cover their entire body. In the state of expansion (basṭ) and relief, they wear
loose clothes in lighter colors, such as green or red. Those who are pretentious
paupers, since they chose to be in misery, wear clothes which do not show dirt.
Those who have achieved annihilation, wear a burial shroud. One group wears
the garb of the Qādiriyya, another group wears a towel. ʿAndalīb relates that
all of these groups are engrossed in the type of clothing they wear, explaining
how their clothing identifies them in terms of their states and status on the
path. As true mystics, however, he asserts that the Muḥammadīs actually care
nothing for unique styles of clothing or the color of such clothes, as other
groups do, and they do not in fact wear any special hats in ordinary, day-
to-day life. They wear the garment of piety in accordance with the Qurʾānic
verse, “O children of Adam, We have bestowed upon you clothing to conceal
your private parts and as adornment. But the clothing of righteousness–that
is the best. That is from the signs of Allāh that perhaps they will remember.”281
In sum, analyzing ʿAndalīb’s worldview demonstrates the ontological and
charismatic centrality of the Prophet under the influence of Shiʿi teachings
and the worldview of Ibn al-ʿArabī. The protagonist in his allegorical
narrative gives him an opportunity to show the many-faceted character of the
Prophet. Thus, the discussion of mystical prophetology presents the Prophet
in different mystical aspects, like the divine light, the seed of creation, the
beloved and lover of God and the perfect man. It also represents his figure
as a Prophet-shaykh and the most trustworthy leader who is the helper of
Islam. Having a connection with the Prophet’s spirituality through the two
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 165
main concepts of with-ness (maʿiyya) and sameness (ʿayniyya) demonstrates
the importance of having a connection with the spirituality of the Prophet
through Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq and ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. ʿAndalīb’s theory of with-
ness and sameness was his contribution in rejuvenating discussions about the
status of the Prophet’s caliphs as a reaction to Sunni-Shiʿa controversies and
also theological problems. Dealing with the issue from this perspective was
also applied by Shāh Walī Allāh. He wrote Izālat al-khulafā ʿan khalīfat al-
khulafā in Persian and this text pays attention to the sectarian debates from a
more socio-political perspective. He also composed Qurrat al-ʿaynayn fī tafḍīl
al-shaykhayn in order to defend the position of the first three caliphs and
ʿAlī with a rejecting approach toward the Shiʿa. Both works are concerned
about how the caliphates shaped Islam after the Prophet. Such attempts are
responses to the need for a religious political power and for harmonizing the
relation with the Prophet through his successors.282 According to Muhammad
Qasim Zaman, such a topic shows the importance of this theme in the trans-
mission of the Prophet’s mission. He says: “The prophet-like qualities the
Rashidun had possessed had allowed them to give form and substance to the
religion. They were able as well to understand what God wanted them to do
on their own rather than on anyone’s instruction (az sirr-i tahqiq na az sirr-i
taqlid).”283 The various approaches of the Delhi masters could be understood
by making a comparison between ʿAndalīb and Shāh Walī Allāh in applying
the imagery of the sun and moon. Shāh Walī Allāh uses the sun and moon to
affirm the inseparability of Abū Bakr and ʿUmar from the Prophet, who are
like the sun, from the Prophet, while ʿAlī like the moon is totally different from
the sun and separately reflects the light of the sun.284 In contrast, ʿAndalīb
does not deal with the status of ʿUmar and ʿUthmān and he concentrates on
the duality of Abū Bakr/ʿAlī. It can be interpreted that ʿAndalīb’s point of
view tended more toward the inside of Islam and the conveying sainthood
from the ahl al-bayt, although he does pay attention to the outer aspect and
the role of Abū Bakr.
The Wujūdī Sufis say that goodness and perfection, deficiency and
declining all must be in the presence of being. That is perfection, since
from non-being is proved imperfection and deficiency [but we say...] the
level of presence of being is nothing but goodness, perfection, beauty and
virtue which refers to the Qurʾānic verse “Whatever befalls you of the
good is from Allāh, and whatever befalls you of the evil is from yourself.
And for the people as a Messenger, and Allāh is sufficient as a Witness”306
and when He, the most glorified, says “Say, all is from Allāh,”307 it is
according to the Principle of Principles and the Reality of Realities. this
is what that comprehensiveness of the presence of illāhiyya requires.308
The wayfarer has the state of talwīn in his journey in the manifestation of
the [divine] names and attributes, and he has the state of tamkīn when he
172 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
sees the manifestation of essence. After these two states, the wayfarer will
obtain the state of taskīn. In one ḥadīth, it has been narrated: “O God!
Let me die in poverty and unite me [on the day of resurrection] such as a
miskīn.” The state of poverty (miskana) comes after seeing the manifest-
ation of the essence.
Since you are a squint-eyed man, your lord is your shaykh at first.354
If you take the first step in the right way, you will attain to the destin-
ation. For this, the shaykh’s guidance is necessary at the beginning of the
path.355
From ʿAndalīb’s standpoint, to put it succinctly, the best of people are those
who do good for others, providing them comfort and accommodation.367 This
reconciling of worldly affairs with religious matters by the sincere Sufi is a
difficult task, thus ʿAndalīb outlines some reasons why many wayfarers fail
to complete it.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 177
The following are some reasons for failing to reconcile worldly affairs with
religious matters. First, one lacks the inner ability to reconcile between
these two contradictory things. Second is the absence of the truth of know-
ledge. Thus it is a lack of understanding the wisdom of this reconciliation
[…] Third is the inability to control the inner and outer senses […]368
ʿAndalīb believes that spirituality must arrive on the scene to revive and
empower Muslim society in the affairs of the world. For him, sitting in soli-
tude and abandoning the world are not intrinsically advantageous in and of
themselves, and they are also not the only ways to salvation, but rather what is
more important is rectitude in life. The wise abandonment of the world is that
which leads spiritually to the figurative kingdom (salṭanat-i majāzī). Although
some practices such as purifying the heart, fearing God and training the
soul,377 as well as religious devotion, invocation of God, self-mortification and
the obtaining of praiseworthy attributes are all requisite for obtaining salva-
tion in the hereafter, they are not all that is required.378 In the following verses,
ʿAndalīb considers the importance of the Naqshbandī principle of solitude
within the crowd (khalwat dar anjuman), in which the mystic contributes to
society and attaches himself outwardly to ordinary life, yet inwardly to the
afterlife through remembrance of God.
For mystics, wearing the garment of poverty is a failure [on the path].
Wearing normal, everyday clothing, the same as other people, conceals
and prevents one from gaining fame […]
178 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
The great number of people [around oneself] is not an obstacle for the
mystic’s union
Most of the time, the solitude of this group is among the assembly.379
After elucidating this preference for inward abandonment of the world (tark-i
ḥikmī), as opposed to its outward abandonment (tark-i ṣūrī), ʿAndalīb advises
following the rightly- guided caliphs, whose characters demonstrate their
worldly concerns alongside their high degree of spiritual attainment.380
The king is a wayfarer who should bring together the world and religion,
so that neither of them damages the other. Should this not have been pos-
sible, the rightly-guided caliphs, who had attained abandonment of the
world, would not have accepted the caliphate and none of the prophets
would have reigned and the world would not have become the farm for
the afterlife.
Their kingdoms were mixed with spiritual poverty, meaning that they exem-
plified ascetic devotion and piety. From this perspective, it can be assumed
that the idea of tark-i ḥikmī in the manners of the rightly-guided caliphs is an
emphasis on having an active social life and paying attentions toward political
affairs. In this regard, he recommends working and activity during the day.
Facing increasing Shiʿi ijtihādāt along with the growing inclination among
disciples to imitate their shaykhs in matters of jurisprudence, ʿAndalīb sees
these Shiʿi scholars and Sufi shaykhs as innovators in Islam for issuing such
decrees.392 The central role of sharīʿa in his path draws attention to fiqh, and
in a discussion regarding the partial ablution (wuḍūʾ) among Sunnis and
Shiʿa, he asserts that the religious laws (aḥkām al-sharīʿa) are the Prophet’s
ijtihādāt. Thus, obedience to the Prophet’s ijtihād and command, which
have been proven in the obligatory text (naṣṣ), is like obedience to the divine
command.393 Therefore, the fallacious ijtihād of others who consider them-
selves the authorities of the Muslim community, like the large number of
mujtahids and Sufi masters with their various tendencies, endangers Islam.
Thus, once more he stresses the importance of ḥadīth as the only source, after
180 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
the Qurʾān, for mujtahids to know the Prophet and to issue correct decrees. In
conclusion, ʿAndalīb rejects the debates over juridical issues in the different
schools of fiqh. Although he acknowledges the reliability of the Ḥanafī and
Shāfiʿī schools, he believes that all of the conflicts among different groups in
terms of following various mujtahids according to their madhhab (Ḥanafiyya,
Mālikiyya, Shāfiʿiyya, Ḥanbaliyya) demonstrate how false understandings of
Islam had come to separate Muslims from each other.394 He attributes this
division among the umma to the worldly desires of contemporary mujtahids,
who stir up unnecessary conflicts regarding legal issues. If they had attained
the utmost piety or the required special knowledge of the Qurʾān and sunna,
their decrees (fatāwā, sing. fatwā) would not have distinguished one group of
Muslims from the others.395
This section concludes that the Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya offers deep insights
into the reorientation of Sufism due to its strict critical perspective toward
all contemporary Sufi activities and the rejection of any Wujūdī notions in
debates on the matter of tawḥīd. ʿAndalīb’s lament was over increasing innov-
ation, spreading polytheism and giving priority to wilāya. Forgetting the
importance of the Prophet among Muslims was reflected in the misguiding
of disciples on one hand and blind obedience to shaykhs on the other hand.
The weakness of the community was the result of paying no attention to the
above-mentioned points critiqued by the Sufi reformist trend of that age. The
only way to save Sufism from the indigenous influences of Hinduism and
deviations was practice according to the sharīʿa. ʿAndalīb scrutinizes theo-
logical and juridical concerns among Sufis during his lifetime and considers
how vulnerable they were in light of the unsteady situation of Muslims vis-à-
vis indigenous powers.
Jerusalem Head
Arabia Heart
Mecca Navel
India Foot
Jannat Naẓīr Island was located in the highest part of the universe above
the entire world, that is, beyond the seven climes (haft iqlīm)403 and the seven
floors of the earth. Jannat Naẓīr is the head of the universe while Arabia is
the heart of the world, Mecca is its navel, or the center of the world, since the
Prophet arose from Mecca, and he spread his message from there, and India
is its foot. In other pages, ʿAndalīb also describes Jerusalem as corresponding
with Jannat Naẓīr Island, and likewise he considers Rūm and Shām as the
highest of heavens.404 Jābulqā and Jābulsā are two cities on Jannat Naẓīr
Island which are dwelling places for humans.405 The inhabitants of the cities
are from the lowest world (ʿālam al-suflā).406 The wisdom behind the establish-
ment of these two cities was for the manifestation of the divine attributes,
both those of beauty and of majesty, thus they are symbols for paradise and
hell.407 Accordingly, the author draws attention to the hidden meanings of the
names of the cities as poetic similes. ʿAndalīb states:
In India, Khākī was impatient and wandered from one place to another until he
was able to grasp in his heart God’s presence in the diversity of creation. Thus,
India is a land from which Khākī must find a way to Jannat Naẓīr Island, and
it became the place of repentance, revelation and the starting point from which
to embark on the journey toward paradise. The location of India is particu-
larly noteworthy in the history of Islamic mystical thought, since in the Ishrāqī
school of Shihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā Suhrawardī, the east is the symbol of the lumi-
nous world, namely the world of pure light, the land of reality and truth or the
world of those who are brought near to God (muqarrabīn).409 The movement
of the spirit (a descending arc) originally proceeds from the east towards the
west (that is, from the world of sprits, or ʿālam al-arwāḥ, toward the world of
bodies, or ʿālam al-ajsād), and then the return movement (an ascending arc)
progresses from the west toward the east in order to reach the origin and to
become gradually completed.410 It should be mentioned that in the main plot
of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, the protagonist, himself a symbol of the Prophet’s spir-
ituality, undertakes an epic journey, the route of which spans from Arabia to
India (from west to east). India is presented as the land of love and passion,
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 183
thus it is the best of places and a pleasant land411 where the hero attains unity
with his divine beloved and finds the mystical prophetic knowledge, which is
represented symbolically as a spell-breaking jewel (shāh muhra).412
Like many Sufi authors, ʿAndalīb applies a number of features from the
legend of Adam in writing about divine forgiveness and kindness.413 Khākī was
forgiven because of his consistency on the path of love and changes gradually
took place in his character, being transformed from a servant who received the
highest position to a lover who yearned to find his beloved, then to a sinner
who repented of his sins, a perfect man who deserved to attain union with
God, a vicegerent of God who had finished the ascending arc of the path and
began the descending arc toward the earth, a messenger who received revela-
tion and read verses from the divine book and invited people to obey the divine
laws, a mediator and a shaykh by whom the people would attain salvation.
The question now, however, is what exactly lies between India and Jannat
Naẓīr Island? Here, India is where the hero undergoes certain preparatory
ordeals (riyāḍa). In order to reach the island, Khākī had to pass the seven dan-
gerous seas (the sea of selfishness, the maelstrom of pleasures and the waves
of sensual desires and blameworthy attributes). Then, he had to pass through
four terrible valleys (the valleys of hunger and thirst, of pain and agony, of
disaster and hardship, and finally, of fear and panic). What allowed him to
successfully pass through each of these valleys was a series of positive personal
characteristics. In the first valley, he was successful through patience (ṣabr),
contentment (qanāʿa), altruism (īthār) and bravery (shujāʿa); in the second,
through submission (taslīm), acceptance (riḍā), spiritual aspiration (himma)
and continence of heart (ʿiffa); in the third, forbearance (ḥilm), knowledge
(ʿilm), righteousness (istiqāma) and justice (ʿidāla); and in the last valley, love
(ishq), kindness (maḥabba), eagerness (shawq), and bravery (shujāʿa).414 After
passing the last valley, as a reward, the King permitted him to drink pure
divine wine (al-sharāb al-ṭahūr). After drinking it, Khākī became intoxicated
and was overwhelmed by divine love.
True, other countries like ʿIraq-i ʿArab and ʿIraq-i ʿAjam are closer in
distance to the radiant Medina than India and have been illuminated by
188 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
the sun of Prophecy earlier due to their proximity, and this remained so
as long as that Candle of Reality was shining in the visible world and
the twilight of this sun (namely the time of the caliphs and the guiding
imams) lasted. But after the setting of this soul-enlightening sun from the
visible horizon of humanity and the disappearance of its twilight from
eyes, India, which because of its outward distance, appeared like the dark
night, became full of splendor from the light of this world-embracing
sun thanks to the mirror holding the moon or sphere of sayyidship and
the Shah of the dynasty of the imamate (namely the noble existence
of the Excellence, the Prince of the Muhammadans) and thanks to the
radiance of this moon which is the individuation (taʿayyun) of the First
of Muhammadans, with strange subtlety of manifestations of Divine
Beauty. Now, until the morning of Resurrection the spreading of the light
of the spiritual bounty of the Muhammadan Path will firmly continue
for the world and its inhabitants. And God and Muhammad are always
Helper (Nāṣir) and friend, and everybody who has not found this light
has, in fact, turned away his face from the Muhammadan light, for the
light of the moon is taken from the light of the sun.441
Notes
1 Mehta refers to the massacre of a reported 2,000 captive Sikh warriors in a single
day. Mehta, Advanced Study in the History of Modern India, p. 14.
2 Ibid., p. 30. See “Dārā Šokōh,” EIr.
3 Regarding Muḥammad Shāh’s policy, see Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 374.
4 The shoe-sellers’ riot has been discussed in Irvine, Later Mughals, vol. 2, pp. 257–
259. There is invaluable information about the war of the shoemakers in unpub-
lished manuscripts according to Rizvi in his work, Shāh Walī-Allāh and His Times.
Rizvi mentioned some manuscripts that have been recorded in Charles Rieu,
Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum, London: British
Museum, 1879–1883. The first one was written by Mīrzā Muḥammad Bakhsh
Ᾱshūb and is entitled Tārīkh-i shahādat-i Farrukh Siyar wa julūs-i Muḥammad
Shāh, fls. 944a, 56a–64b; and the second one was written by Muḥammad Shafīʿ
Wārid and is entitled Mirʾāt-i wāridāt, fls. 275b, 26a–32b, See Rizvi, Shāh Walī-
Allāh and His Times, p. 201.
5 Regarding the religious color of political competitions, see Umar, Islam in
Northern India, p. 177.
6 Ibid., p. 220. See also p. 181.
7 See Toby M. Howarth, The Twelver Shiʿa as a Muslim Minority in India (London
and New York: Routledge, 2005), pp. 10–12
190 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
8 See “Conversion iii to Imami Shiʿism in India,” EIr.
9 See Irvine, Later Mughals, vol. 2, p. 313. The most famous Iranian was Asad Khān
and his son, Dhū al-Fiqār Khān Nuṣrat Jung and the most famous Turanian was
Niẓām al-Mulk Āṣaf Jāh. See Chaurasia, History of Modern India, pp. 5–6.
10 Umar, Islam in Northern India, 178–179.
11 Ibid., p. 186.
12 Ibid., p. 223.
13 Friedmann asserts that Sirhindī’s attitude regarding Shiʿa in the Maktūbāt and in
the last part of his life seems more moderate than in Radd-i Rawāfiz. His opinion
was modified, but he was still known for his hostility toward and polemics against
Shiʿa at the Mughal court, although he accords the status of walī to ʿAlī and other
imams. See Friedmann, Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī, pp. 52–53.
14 Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 169. Compare the discussion with Howarth,
The Twelver Shiʿa, p. 20; J. B. Tavernier, Travels in India (London: Macmillan and
Company, 1889), vol. 2, p. 177.
15 Bahādur Shāh was regarded as a Shiʿi by historians. See Malik, Islam in South
Asia, pp. 114–115. Hollister asserts that Bahādur Shāh’s order to use the title of
Waṣī (executor of the Prophet’s will) after the name of ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, during
the khuṭba of Friday prayers along with his command to have a new form of
prayer recited in the Bādshāhī Masjid in Lahore, 1122/1711 caused strong wide-
spread opposition from the ʿulamāʾ. See John Norman Hollister, The Shia of India
(London: Luzac and Company Ltd., 1953), p.139. This idea is confirmed by other
scholars such as Owen, The Fall of the Mogul Empire, p. 130.
16 Khāfī Khān, Muntakhab al-lubāb, vol. 2, p. 870, quoted in Irvine, Later Mughals,
vol. 2, p. 311.
17 Hollister, The Shia of India, p. 138.
18 While Umar speculates that it is highly possible that the Sayyids were not Shiʿa
(see his Islam in Northern India, pp. 172, 174), most scholars believe that they
were, such as Hollister, who has no doubt, however, that they were involved in
politics primarily for what they could personally gain from it, rather than to pro-
mote Shiʿism. Nevertheless, the Shiʿa and Shiʿism did benefit from their influence.
See Hollister, The Shia of India, p. 139. Aziz Ahmad concurs that the role of the
Sayyid brothers in policy shows the authority of the Shiʿi faction of the time. See
Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History, p. 19.
19 Richards, The Mughal Empire, p. 273.
20 Umar, Islam in Northern India, pp. 173–174.
21 Malik, Islam in South Asia, p. 116. Umar asserts that the Shiʿi population was
growing in the eighteenth century due to the emigration of Shiʿas to India. He
refers to Shāh ʿAbdul ʿAzīz, who complained critically that Shiʿism permeated
Sunni families. Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 176. There is also a related debate
in “Conversion iii. To Imami Shiʿism in India,” EIr.
22 Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 461.
23 Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 215.
24 Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 384; see also Chaurasia, History of Modern
India, p. 4.
25 Richards, The Mughal Empire, p. 263.
26 Schimmel, The Empire of the Great Mughals, p. 58.
27 Irvine, Later Mughals, vol. 2, p. 263.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 191
28 Ibid, vol. 2, p. 311; Rizvi believes that the nobility’s tendency to pleasures and
carelessness might have been a reaction to Aurangzeb’s ascetic tendency and his
extremist religiosity. See Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 384.
29 Ikram, Muslim Civilization in India.
30 Chaurasia, History of Modern India, pp. 4, 7.
31 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi Dard, p. 26.
32 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 43. In Mystical Dimensions of Islam, Schimmel
writes that ʿAndalīb’s vision occurred in 1734. Ibid., Mystical Dimension of Islam,
p. 374.
33 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-Kitāb, p. 85.
34 Aḥmad b. ʿAbd Allāh Ṭabarī relates a ḥadīth that the Prophet called al-Ḥasan
“the sweet flower” without any mention of al-Ḥusayn’s name. See Aḥmad b. ʿAbd
Allāh al-Ṭabarī, Dhakhāʾir al-ʿuqabā fī manāqib dhawī al-qurbāʾ, ed. Akram al-
Būshī (Jeddah: Maktaba al-Ṣaḥāba, 1415/1995), p. 125. Some sources mention
the name of both al-Ḥasan and al-Ḥusayn in this ḥadīth. Compare with Abū ʿĪsā
Muḥammad b. ʿĪsā al-Tirmidhī, Jāmiʿ al-Tirmidhī, trans. Abū Khalīl, ed. Hāfiẓ
Abū Ṭāhir Zubayr ʿAlī Zaʾī (Riyadh: Maktaba Dār al-Salām, 1427/2007), vol. 6,
ḥadīth no. 3770, p. 426. Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalānī, al-ʾIṣāba fī tamyīz al-ṣaḥāba, ed.
ʿAbd Allāh al-Tarkī (Cairo: Markaz Hijr liʾl-Buhūth waʾl-Dirāsāt al-Islāmiyya,
1428/2008), vol. 2, p. 12.
35 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 867.
36 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 875. ʿAndalīb refers to the story in which Maẓhar Qadīr, a great
shaykh, gave the king a healing pomegranate in order to fulfill his desire for a
child. Then, he predicted the birth of Mihr Jahāngīr (the bulbul, or the Prophet
Muḥammad). The shaykh also foretold of the birth of Bī Naẓīr (ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib)
from the remainder of the pomegranate and Māh Munīr (Abū Bakr) from a
healing apple.
37 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 868. The concept of tāj-i faqr derives from a ḥadīth in which the
Prophet took pride in faqr (“Poverty is my pride”). Faqr in Sufism is “The choice
to forego acquisition of possessions and wealth for the sake of more perfect
dedication to God, and a fundamental attitude based on the realization of one’s
radical neediness and utter dependence on God […] the virtue of spiritual pov-
erty characterized by the refusal to arrogate unto oneself any claim to power or
self-sufficiency.” See Renard, A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Poverty.” In addition to the
meaning of faqr, tāj refers to a special covering for the head among Sufi orders.
Different colors and forms of Sufi hats are according to their emphasis on specific
aspects of spiritual life. In sum, this term is related to the belief that the shaykh is
king for his disciples, and thus his hat is the same as a crown. “Tadj,” EI2.
38 Al-Tirmidhī narrates that al-Bard b. ʿAzīb said: “I saw the Prophet placing al-
Ḥasan b. ʿAlī upon his shoulder while saying: “O Allāh, I love him, so love him.”
[Abū ʿĪsā said:] This ḥadīth is correct (ṣaḥīḥ). And it is more correct than the
narration of al-Fuḍayl b. Marzūq no. 3783. See al-Tirmidhī, Jāmiʿ al-Tirmidhī,
ḥadīth no. 3783, p. 433. Also see “Ḥasan b. ʿAli b. abi Ṭālib,”EIr.
39 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 895.
40 Abū Nuʿaym Iṣfahānī, Ḥilyat al-awliyāʾ wa ṭabaqāt al-aṣfiyāʾ (Beirut: Dār al-
Kutub ʿIlmiyya, 1988), vol. 2, p. 35.
41 ʿAlī b. ʿUthman al-Jullābī al-Hujwīrī, The Kashf al- Mahjúb, trans. Reynold
A. Nicholson (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1911), p. 75.
192 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
42 “Al-Kutb,”EI2. See also Gavin N. Picken, Muhammad in History, Thought and
Culture: An Encyclopedia of the Prophet of God, edited by Coeli Fitzpatrick and
Adam Hani Walker, s.v. “Shadhiliyya,” (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2014);
Elmer H. Douglas, The Mystical Teachings of al-Shadhili (Albany, NY: State
University of New York Press, 1993), p. 246; “Shādhilliyya,”EI2. Paul Nwyia, Ibn
ʿAṭāʾ Allāh et la naissance de la confrérie šāḏilite (Beirut: Dār al-Mashriq, 1972),
p. 31, quoted in Schimmel, Mystical Dimension of Islam, p. 374.
43 Al-Tirmidhī, Jāmiʿ al-Tirmidhī, vol. 6, ḥadīth no. 3777, p. 430; ʿAlī Ibn ʿAsākir,
Tarīkh Dimashq, ed. ʿAlī Shīrī (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1995), pp. 84, 136. Al-Ḥasan
is considered one of the most trustworthy narrators of ḥadīth among Sunni and
Shiʿi scholars. See al-ʿAsqalānī, al-ʾIṣāba, vol. 2, pp. 60, 66.
44 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 435.
45 Abū al- Majd Majdūd b. Ādam Sanāʾī Ghaznawī, Ḥadīqat al- ḥaqīqa, ed.
Muḥammad Taqī Mudarris Raḍawī (Tehran: The University of Tehran, 1368 Sh./
1989), p. 262.
46 ʿAlāʾ al-Dawla Simnānī, Dīwān, ed. ʿAbd al-Rafīʿ Ḥaqīqat (Tehran: Shirkat-i
Muʾallifān wa Nāshirān-i Iran, 1364 Sh./1985), p. 27. See other literature in ven-
eration of al-Ḥasan such as Abu al-Faḍl Rashīd al-Dīn Maybudī, Kashf al-asrār
wa ʿuddat al-abrār, ed. ʿAlī Aṣghar Ḥikmat (Tehran: Amīr Kabīr, 1371 Sh./1992),
vol. 1, p. 626; vol. 2, p. 473. Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad b. Muḥammad al-Ghazālī,
Kīmiyā-yi Saʿādat, ed. Ḥusayn Khadīwjam (Tehran: ʿIlmī Farhangī, 1380 Sh./
2001), vol. 2, p. 168; Maḥmūd b. ʿAlī ʿIzz al-Dīn Kāshānī, Miṣbāḥ al-hidāya wa
miftāḥ al-kifāya, ed. J. Humāʾī (Tehran: Humā, 1323 Sh./1944), p. 275.
47 Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl al-Bukhārī, Kitāb al-ṣaḥīḥ, ed. Ḥāfiẓ Abū Ṭāhir Zubayr
ʿAlī Zaʾī, trans. Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Khaṭṭāb (Riyadh: Dār al-Salām, 2007), vol. 6,
ḥadīth no. 5918, p.123. The claim of inspiration from the Prophet can be traced
in the works of great masters such as Abū Saʿīd Abu al-Khayr, ʿIzz al-Dīn
Maḥmūd Kāshānī, Abū al-Qāsim Qushayrī, Abū al-Ḥasan Hujwīrī, ʿAyn al-
Quḍāt al-Hamadanī, Shahāb al-Dīn Suhrawardī, Ruzbihān Baqlī, Farīd al-Dīn
ʿAṭṭār, Najm al-Dīn Rāzī and Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī. Jonathan Katz summarizes the
result and importance of visions of the Prophet in different categories. Jonathan
Katz, Dreams, Sufism and Sainthood: The Visionary Career of Muḥammad
Zawawi (Leiden: Brill, 1996), p. 65. See also Amira Mittermaier, Muhammad
in History Thought and Culture: An Encyclopedia of the Prophet of God, edited
by Coeli Fitzpatrick and Adam Hani Walker, s.v. “Dream” (Santa Barbara,
CA: ABC-CLIO, LLC, 2014); Nile Green, “The Religious and Cultural Roles
of Dreams and Visions in Islam,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. 13
(2003): pp. 287–313. See the role of the vision of the Prophet in recognizing a Sufi
as uwaysī in Meenakshi Khanna, “The Visionaries of a Ṭarīqa: The Uwaysī Sufis
of Shāhjahānābād,” in Dreams and Visions in Islamic Societies: An Introduction,
ed. Özgen Felek and Alexander D. Knysh (Albany, NY: State University of
New York Press, 2012), pp. 273–297.
48 Johannes Marinus Simon Baljon, Religion and Thought of Shāh Walī Allāh
Dihlawī: 1703–1762 (Leiden: Brill, 1986), pp. 16–20.
49 The vision of the Prophet is considered as one of the defining features of Sufism in
the eighteenth century. See J.O. Voll, “Hadith Scholars and Tariqahs: An ʿUlama
Group in the 18th Century Haramayn and their Impact in the Islamic World,”
Journal of Asian and African Studies, no.15. 3–4 (1980): p. 270. About Shāh Walī
Allāh’s vision, see Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 253.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 193
50 In case of Shāh Walī Allāh, this interpretation is affirmed by Baljon, Religion and
Thought of Shāh Walī Allāh Dihlawī, p. 18. He cited that Shāh Walī Allāh himself
says that “From that date my breast was opened for writing books on religious
subjects.” Ibid., p. 17.
51 Abū Bakr narrated that on one occasion, the Prophet brought out al-Ḥasan and
took him up to the pulpit along with him and said, “This son of mine is a sayyid
(i.e., chief) and I hope that Allāh will help him bring about reconciliation between
two Muslim groups.” See al-Bukhārī, Kitāb al-ṣaḥīḥ, vol. 8, ḥadīth no. 3629, p. 497.
See also al-Tirmidhī, Jāmiʿ al-Tirmidhī, vol. 6, ḥadīth no. 3773, p. 428.
52 Mullā Muḥammad Bāqir Majlisī, Biḥār al-anwār, ed. Bāqir Maḥmūdī and ʿAbd
al-Zahrā ʿAlawī (Beirut: Dār al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, n.d.), vol. 43, p. 334. See “Ḥasan
b. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib,”EI2.
53 Qurʾān 53:9 is about the nearness of Muḥammad to God. The Prophet was at a
distance of “two bow-lengths or even nearer.”
5 4 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fls. 104a–104b.
55 According to Mujtabāʾī, wilāyat-i Aḥmadī and wilāyat-i Muḥammadī are two
terms from Sirhindī’s teachings. Regarding the theory of the mujaddid, Sirhindī
believes in two sainthoods (wilāya) for the Prophet: Aḥmadī sainthood (wilāyat-i
Aḥmadī) and Muḥammadī sainthood (wilāyat-i Muḥammadī). Wilāyat-i Aḥmadī is
close to Aḥad ()احد, “the sole one.” Only letter mīm ( )مof Aḥmad ()احمد
differentiates it from Aḥad and in fact, that refers to servanthood (ʿubūdiyya).
Regarding the wilāyat-i Muḥammadī, the two mīms in Muḥammad ( )محمدrefer to
the entification of spirit (taʿayyun-i rūḥī) and entification of the body (taʿayyun-i
jasadī). Taʿayyun-i jasadī came to an end after the Prophet’s death. “After
1,000 years, “letter alif ( )الفin divinity (ʾuluhiyya) was finally replaced with mīm
( )مin the entification of the body, which means that the entification of spirit
attained its greatest perfection. In this way, after one thousand years Muḥammad
was identified with Aḥmad and wilāyat-i Muḥammadī was transformed into
wilāyat-i Aḥmadī” (“Sirhindī,”CGIE). Difficulties for the Muslim community are
the result of ascending from wilāyat-i Muḥammadī to wilāyat-i Aḥmadī, Since in
wilāyat-i Aḥmadī divine aspect overcomes the human aspect. This change resulted
in increasing infidelity and weakness of Islam. See Sirhindī, al-Maktūbat, vol. 3,
letter no. 96, quoted in “Sirhindī,”CGIE.
56 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 85.
57 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 92b.
58 The meanings of the words madhhab, dīn and mashrab have evolved over the
course of history. In mystical terminology, they are multi-faceted terms meant
to describe the “path” on which a wayfarer walks and passes different stages to
realize the inner transcendental aspect of Islam. Translation of these words into
“school,” “religion,” “creed” and “sect” fails to fully and precisely render their
actual meanings in the context of Sufism. For more accurate descriptions of the
meanings of the words ṭarīqa, madhhab, and dīn, see Edward William Lane, An
English-Arabic Lexicon www.tyndalearchive.com/tabs/lane/ (accessed May 15,
2015). For an analysis of the meaning of madhhab, see Omid Safi, “On the ‘Path of
Love’ Towards the Divine: A Journey with Muslim Mystics,” Journal of Scriptural
Reasoning, no. 2 (2003): 28.
59 See the topic in Voll, “Hadith Scholars and Tariqahs,” p. 270. See Warren
Edward Fusfeld, The Shaping of Sufi Leadership in Delhi: The Naqshbandiyya
Mujaddidiyya, 1750 to 1920 (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1981), p. 77.
194 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
Reduced emphasis on the chain of spiritual lineage is one of the characteristics of
Neo-Sufism. See Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam, p. 107. It is quoted in R.S.
O’ Fahey and Bernd Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 70; Carl W. Ernst,
Encyclopedia of Islam and the Muslim World, ed. Richard C. Martin, s.v. “Tariqa”
(New York: Macmillan Reference, 2003).
60 Alexander Knysh, Islamic Mysticism: A Short History (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill,
2000), pp. 172–173, 280, 302; see the meaning of ṭarīqa in Trimingham, The Sufi
Orders in Islam, pp. 2–4.
61 Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the Prophet, p. 72.
62 Fazlur Rahman, Islam, p. 206.
63 O’Fahey and Radtke, “Neo Sufism Reconsidered,” p. 64.
64 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 519.
65 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 4.
66 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 646; the translation of verses is cited from Schimmel. The nine
books may refer to ʿAndalīb’s statement that the Prophet chose nine trusted per-
sons to write down the Qurʾān (ibid., vol. 1, p. 259). In explanation of these verses,
Schimmel says, “But how to perform such a purification? The poets discovered that
there is a way to clean the books blackened by sins, namely, weeping. Most oriental
ink is soluble in water, hence, books could be and have been washed off compara-
tively easily –and what would be a better way than to weep so profusely that the
tears of repentance wash off the black writing of the book of action?” Schimmel,
“The Book of Life-Metaphors Connected with the Book in Islamic Literature,”
in The Book in the Islamic World: The Written Word and Communication in the
Middle East, ed. George Nicholas Atiyeh (Albany, NY: State University of
New York Press, 1995), p. 74.
67 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 837–838.
68 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 788, 841. He believes that his contemporary Muslims are not
truly religious men and he describes them as dandānīs, indicating that they are
“shameless,” and dunbakīs, which can be used to denote “musicians,” but the more
likely reading here is that they are “capricious men.”
69 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 840.
70 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 145.
71 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 335.
72 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 787. The high level of faith of the ṣaḥāba has been supported with
the ḥadīth in which the Prophet says, “The people of my generation are the best,
then those who follow them, and then those who follow the latter.” al-Bukhārī,
Kitāb al-ṣaḥīḥ, vol. 8, ḥadīth no. 6428, p. 241.
73 Regarding the concept of sainthood in Ibn al- ʿArabī’s teachings and attrib-
uting different sainthoods to the particular prophets, see Michel Chodkiewicz,
Seal of the Saints: Prophethood and Sainthood in the Doctrine of Ibn ʻArabī
(Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1993).
74 Abū Bakr’s way is described as the path of ṣiddiqiyya and khulla.
75 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fls. 103a–103b.
76 Idem, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 641.
77 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 851.
78 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 744.
79 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 849.
80 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 861–862.
81 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 430.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 195
8 2 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 882–883.
83 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 806.
84 Ibid, vol. 1, pp. 836, 788.
85 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 838.
86 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 641.
87 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 435.
88 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 756, 840. As already mentioned, the Naqshbandī order’s
connection (nisba) to the Prophet traces back through Abū Bakr, but they were
also connected to the Prophet through the ahl al-bayt who are al-Ḥasan al-
ʿAskarī, al-Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq and ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.
89 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 804–806.
90 The nightingale’s path is love and kindness. See Ibid., vol. 2, p. 803–804. It is the
path of compassion and mercy. See vol. 1, p. 187.
91 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 87.
92 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 474.
93 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 833.
94 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 787.
95 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 307.
96 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 341.
97 Qurʾān 39: 55.
98 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 833.
99 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 4.
100 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 838–840.
101 Ibid., vol. 1, p.882.
102 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 787.
103 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 840.
104 Qurʾān 7: 181.
105 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 838.
106 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 108.
107 The quṭb, also called the qhawth, is the highest rank of spiritual masters.
Macdonald, in his article entitled “Ghawth,” asserts that sometimes in mystical
literature, the ghawth is a separate rank that is lower than the quṭb. He refers to
Islamic Sunni thought in which some figures are known as al-ghawth al-Islam in
their time and place, such as al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728). “Ghawth,” EI2.
108 “Al-Kutb,” EI2. See the comparative discussion concerning quṭb, qhawth,
mujaddid and qayyūm in Waleed Ziad, “From Yarkand to Sindh via Kabul: The
Rise of Naqshbandi-Mujaddidi Sufi Networks in the 18th–19th Century Durrani
Empire,” in The Persianate World: Rethinking a Shared Sphere, ed. Abbas
Amanat, Assef Ashraf (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2018), pp. 167–168. Regarding the role
of al-Tirmidhī in the development of the concept of sainthood see Bernd Radtke
and John O’Kane, The Concept of Sainthood in Early Islamic Mysticism: Two
Works by Al-Ḥakīm Al-Tirmidhī (Richmond, VA: Curzon Press, 1996).
109 Zachary Valentine Wright, Realizing Islam: The Tijaniyya in North Africa and the
Eighteenth-Century Muslim World (Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North
Carolina Press, 2020), p. 173.
110 This ḥadīthwas recorded by Abū Dāwūdin one of the six authoritative Sunni
collections of the Prophet’s statements. Therein it is narrated that the Prophet
said: “At the beginning of every century Allāh will send to this ummat someone
who will renew its religion.” Imam Hāfiẓ Abū Dāwūd Sulaymān b. Ashʿath,
196 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
Sunan, ed. Hāfiẓ Abū Ṭāhir Zubayr ʿAlī Zaʾī, trans. Hudā Khaṭṭāb (Riyadh: Dār
al-Salām, 1428/2008), vol. 4, ḥadīth no. 4291, p. 512. This ḥadīth is also recorded in
Shiʿi sources, such Sayyid b. Ṭāwūs, Kitāb al-malāḥim waʾl-Fitan, ḥadīth no. 4278.
111 Qurʾān 3:150.
112 Ibid., 9:40.
113 Ibid., 40:51.
114 Ibid., 3:126.
115 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 371.
116 This interpretation about how religious leaders identified themselves as pivots
of Islam by different names was adopted from and inspired by Sajida S. Alvi’s
comparison among Qāzī Thanā Allāh Panīpatī, Sirhindī and Shāh Walī Allāh in
“Qazi Sana Allāh Panipati an Eighteenth-Century Indian Sufi-Alim: A Study
of His Writings in their Sociopolitical Context,” in Islamic Studies Presented
to Charles J. Adams, ed. Wael B. Hallaq and Donald P. Little (Leiden: Brill,
1991), p. 16. Regarding the influence of such naming see Muḥammad Waqas
Sajjad, “Sobering Sufism in South Asia: The Legacy of Aḥmad Sirhindi (1564–
1624) and Shah Waliullah (1703–1762),” p. 13, https://centreforbarelwistudies.
files.wordpress.com/2016/10/sobering_sufism_in_south_asia_shah_waliu.pdf
(accessed November 10, 2015).
117 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 796.
118 Madrāsī, the epilogue of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 905–906.
119 Mīr Dard, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 648.
120 Ibid., p. 96.
121 Qādir Aḥmad, Khwāja Mīr Dard aur unkā Zikr-u-Fikr, pp. 86–87; also quoted in
Jamīl al-Raḥmān, “Aḥwāl wa āthār,” pp. 182–183.
122 Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī, The Mathnawī of Jalalu’ddīn Rūmī, ed. and trans. Reynold
Alleyne Nicholson (London: Cambridge University Press, 1926), daftar 1, verse
no. 737–738, vol. 2, p. 42.
123 Murtażawī knowledge refers to the knowledge of ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.
124 The status of caliph as a manifestation of the divine mercy has been redefined
in different contexts. To know the caliph’s role from a mystical perspective par-
ticularly during the Ottoman Empire, see Hüseyin Yilmaz, Caliphate Redefined:
The Mystical Turn in Ottoman Political Thought (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 2018).
125 Mīr Dard, Chahār risāla, p. 98.
126 Idem, ʿIlm al-kitāb, p. 95.
127 Ṭughrā is an Arabic calligraphic form of words. Atiq R. Siddiqui, The Story of
Islamic Calligraphy (Delhi: Sarita Book House, 1990), p. 19.
128 Firāq, Maykhāna-yi dard, pp. 92–93.
129 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 605.
130 On the precise meaning of khāliṣ, see Lane, An English-Arabic Lexicon.
131 Qurʾān 39:3.
132 Khāliṣ is one epithet that was attributed to al-Ḥasan al-ʿAskarī in Sunni sources.
Muḥammad Ibn Ṭalḥa Al-Shāfiʿī, Maṭālib al-suʾūl fī manāqib āl al-rasūl (Najaf: n.p.,
1318/1901), vol. 2, p. 18; ʿAlī Ibn Ṣabbāgh, al-Fuṣūl al-muhimma fī maʿrifat al-aʾimma,
ed. Sāmī ʿAzīzī (Qum: Dār al-Ḥadīth, 1379/1959), p. 273; Muʾmin al-Shiblanjī, Nūr
al-abṣār fī manāqib āl-i bayt-i nabī waʾl-mukhtār, ed. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz Salmān (Cairo:
al-Maktaba al-Tawfiqiyya, n.d.), p. 183; Ḥasan Ibn Shuʿba, Tuḥuf al-ʿuqūl ʿan āl al-
rasūl, ed. Ḥusayn al-Aʿlamī (Beirut: al-Aʿlamī al-Maṭbūʿāt, 1996), p. 359.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 197
133 Muḥammad ʿAlī b. ʿAlī al-Tahānwī, Kashshāf al-iṣṭilāḥāt al-funūn
(Beirut: Maktaba Lubnān Nāshirūn, 1991), vol. 1, p. 122. See Renard, A to Z
of Sufism, s.v. “Sincerity.” Lane states that al-Ḥārith al-Muḥāsabī further divides
sincerity into degrees of docility and promptness as a response to insincerity. For
the meanings of mukhliṣ and mukhlaṣ see kha-la-ṣa in Lane, An English-Arabic
Lexicon. Mīr Sayyid Sharīf Jurjānī acknowledges that mukhliṣ does not believe in
any other than God and sincerely obeys divine commands, his quality is different
from mukhlaṣ who is purified by God from any sins. See ʿAlī b. Muḥammad al-
Jurjānī, al-Taʿrīfāt (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-Khayriyya, 1306/1889), p. 90. ʿIzz al-Dīn
Kāshānī, in Miṣbāḥ al-hidāya wa miftāḥ al-kifāya, notes that the Sufis are in three
groups: mukhliṣān, mukhlaṣān and mukhliṣān-i mukhlaṣ. The people in the first
group are mubtadī (“novice”) on the path, remembering God all the time and
seeking to please Him. The people in the second group are muṭawassit (one who
is in the middle of the path) on the path and are famous for their righteousness,
and the people in the third group are muntahī (one who is at the final level) on
the path and they have both characteristics. See ʿIzz al-Dīn Kāshānī, Miṣbāḥ al-
hidāya, vol. 1, p. 271.
134 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 705.
135 Qurʾān 12:24.
136 Ibid., 19:51.
137 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 863; see vol. 2, p. 261.
138 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 321, 839.
139 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 861, 863.
140 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 864.
141 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 789, 880; vol. 1, p. 794.
142 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 863.
143 William C. Chittick, The Sufi Path of Knowledge (Albany, NY: State University
of New York Press), 378. This state refers to a Prophetic saying that the Prophet
said “I stood at the gate of the Garden. Most of the people who entered it were
from among the poor (miskin), while the people of riches were imprisoned.”
144 Ibid., p. 376.
145 Ibid., p. 377. Like those who inherit from Moses and are called Mūsawī, or those
who inherit from Jesus and are ʿĪsawī, and those who inherit from Ibrahim, who
are Ibrāhīmī. Ibid.
146 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 839.
147 Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, p. 242. Ziad says: “Most importantly, though
other exalted spiritual ranks such as the quṭbs and the qayyūm are open to all
wayfarers, the rank of the Pure Muḥammadī is open only to descendants of the
Prophet through his daughter Fāṭimah and her husband ʿAlī.”
148 See “Al-Kutb,”EI2. Mahdī in Arabic means “divinely guided one.” He is “a messi-
anic deliverer who will fill the Earth with justice and equity, restore true religion,
and usher in a short golden age lasting seven, eight, or nine years before the end
of the world. The Qurʾān does not mention him.” Many Sunnis do believe in
the Mahdī, but this belief is an essential part of Shiʿi doctrine. See the editors
of Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, s.v. “Mahdi” (Chicago,
IL: Encyclopædia Britannica, 2015), www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/358
096/(accessed May 15, 2016). See “Al-Mahdi,” EI2.
149 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 642–643.
150 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 864.
198 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
151 Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, p. 242; Schimmel thinks that the qayyūmiya
doctrine influenced the belief in the mystical graces bestowed upon ʿAndalīb.
Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 35.
152 This ḥadīth is weak due to discontinuity in the chain of narrators. Abū Isḥāq is
reported to have said: “ʿAlī –may Allāh be pleased with him –said, while looking
at his son al-Ḥasan: ‘This son of mine is a chief, as the Prophet called him. From
his loins will come a man who will have the same name as your Prophet. He will
resemble him in character but not in physical appearance.’ Then he mentioned
the story: ‘He will fill the earth with justice.’ ” See Abū Dāwūd, vol. 4, ḥadīth
no. 4290, p. 511; this is also narrated in Naʿīm b. Ḥimād al-Marwzī, Kitāb al-
fitan, ed. Suhayl Zarkār (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr li-Ṭibāʿat wa liʾl-Nashr waʾl-Tuzīʿ,
1413/1993), p. 231.
153 He “would impose the laws of Islam with the sword and Jesus would be one of
his wizīrs.” Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, p. 242.
154 Iḥsān, Rawḍat al-qayyūmiyya, part 4, fl. 312.
155 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 864.
156 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 901. Khush khulqān refers to Khushbū and Khushgū.
157 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 868.
158 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 354, 638.
159 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 882.
160 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 806.
161 Qurʾān 33:21. See discussions regarding the Prophet as an ethical pattern, such
as “The Ethical and Spiritual Character of Muhammad,” in Sayyid Hossein
Nasr, Encyclopæadia Britannica, online ed., s.v. “Muḥammad, Prophet of Islam”
(Chicago, IL: Encyclopædia Britannica, n.d.), www.britannica.com/EBchec
ked/topic/396226/Muḥammad/251801/The-ethical-and-spiritual-character-of-
Muḥammad (accessed May 15, 2015).
162 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol.1. p. 892.
163 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 803.
164 ʿAndalīb emphasizes the Qurʾān, ḥadīth, sunna and following the way of the
Prophet’s companions several times: vol. 1, pp. 519, 811, 883, 884, 892; vol. 2,
pp. 42, 660, 789, 807.
165 Regarding the importance of this subject, see “Hadith,”EI2. For the topic of
ḥadīth studies in the Muḥammadiyya, see Voll, “Hadith Scholars and Tariqahs,”
p. 270.
166 Schimmel, And Muhammad Is His Messenger, p. 225. “The suffering commu-
nity needed a strong, radiant model for their survival. One can also sense in this
movement a nostalgia, a longing for the Golden age. Did not the prophet create
the ‘best of all nations’, one that was called to be the bearer of the final Divine
law? And yet this nation, despite its former glory and power, had now nothing
to counteract the incursion of the sheikhs, Hindus, and Europeans in their area
except, at best, their pride in their past. Such nostalgia has been an important
ingredient of the veneration of the prophet up to the present, for the ideal of
Muslims has remained the time when Muhammad led them from victory to vic-
tory. The only way open to the beleaguered Muslims in India was, they left, to go
back to him in hope that in this way the community might prosper again.” Ibid.
167 See the discussion on imitation of the Prophet in Daniel W. Brown, Rethinking
Tradition in Modern Islamic Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1999), p. 138.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 199
1 68 Ibid., introduction to Rethinking Tradition in Modern Islamic Thought, p. 2.
169 Jamal Malik, “Constructions of the Past In and About India: From Jahiliyya
to the Cradle of Civilization,” in Pre-Colonial Perceptions of India Globalized
Antiquity: Uses and Perceptions of the Past in South Asia, Mesoamerica,
and Europe, ed. Ute Schüren, Daniel Marc Segesser, and Thomas Späth
(Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 2015), p. 51.
170 Sajida S. Alvi, “Qazi Sanaʾ-Allah Panipati,” pp. 22–23.
171 Schimmel, introduction to The Triumphal Sun, p. 8. Carl Ernst states, “Muhammad
had struck the perfect balance between the different capacities that he held. He
is set as the standard against which every field of Muslim culture is measured.
Political theorists regard him as the ideal ruler. Legal scholars view him as the
source of authentic law. Philosophers see him as a Platonic philosopher-king,
whose wisdom derives from his contact with the Active Intellect. Sufis, in con-
trast, see the Prophet as the beloved of God, the merciful one who will intercede
with God for all humanity, the inner mystical guide who is available to all.” See
Carl W. Ernst, The Shambhala Guide to Sufism (Boston and London: Shambhala,
1997), pp. 55–56.
172 John Renard, All the King’s Falcons: Rumi on Prophets and Revelation (Albany,
NY: State University of New York Press, 1994), pp. 2–16.
173 The commentaries that were attributed to him are cited by al-Sulamī (d. 412/
1021), who compiled Ḥaqāyiq al-tafsīr. See Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Sulamī,
Majmūʿa āthār-i Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Sulamī: Bakhsh-hāʾī az ḥaqāyiq al-
tafsīr wa rasāʾil-i dīgar, ed. Nasrollah Pourjavady (Tehran: Markaz Nashr
Danishgāhī, 1369–1372 Sh./1990–1993), vol.1, pp. 44–45. Ḥaqāyiq al-tafsīr
has been translated into English. See Jaʿfar Al-Sadiq, Spiritual Gems: The
Mystical Qurʾan Commentary Ascribed to Imam Jaʿfar Al-Sadiq as Contained
in Sulami’s Haqaʾiq Al-Tafsir, trans. Farhana Mayer (Louisville, KY: Fons
Vitae, 2011).
174 Muqātil b. Sulaymān, Tafsīr (Beirut: Muʾassassa al-Taʾrīkh al-ʿArabī, 2002),
vol. 3, p. 199. This esoteric verse of the Qurʾān (24: 35) is known as āyat al-
nūr: “Allāh is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The parable of His Light is
like a niche in which there is a lamp; the lamp is in a glass, the glass is as if it had
been a glittering star, kindled from a blessed olive tree, (which is) neither eastern
not western, whose oil will almost glow though fire has never touched it. Light
upon light, Allāh guides anyone He wishes to His light. And Allāh sets forth the
parables for humanity. And Allāh is aware of everything.”
175 Sahl b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Tustarī, Tafsīr al-Tustarī (Great Commentaries on the
Holy Qurʾān), trans. Annabel Keeler and Ali Keeler (Louisville, KY: Fons Vitae,
2011), p. 77. Al-Tustarī’s explanation is: “The progeny (dhurriyya) comprise there
[parts], a first, second and third: the first is Muḥammad for when God, Exalted
is He, wanted to create Muḥammad, He made appear (aẓhara) a light from His
light. And when it reached the veil of divine majesty (ʿaẓama) it prostrated before
God, and from that prostration God created an immense crystal-like column of
light, that was inwardly and outwardly translucent, and within it was the essence
of Muḥammad.” Ibid.
176 Ibid., p, 139.
177 Qurʾān 33:45–46.
178 Ḥusayn b. Manṣūr Ḥallāj, “Tawāsīn,” in Majmūʿa āthār-i Ḥallāj, ed. Qāsim Mīr-
Ākhurī (Tehran: Yadāwarān, 1379 Sh. /2000), pp. 43–44.
200 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
179 Shahāb al-Dīn Sayyid Maḥmūd al-Ālūsī, Rūḥ al-maʿānī fī tafsīr al-Qurʾān al-
ʿaẓīm wa’l-sabʿ wa’l-mathānī, ed. Maḥmūd Shukrī al-Ālūsī (Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-
Turāth al-ʿArabiyya, 1854), vol. 8, p. 71.
180 Rūzbihān Baqlī, Sharḥ-i shaṭḥiyyāt, ed. Henry Corbin and Mūhammad Muʿīn
(Tehran: Ṭahurī, 1389 Sh./2010), pp. 342–343.
181 Najm al-Dīn Rāzī, Mirṣād al-ʿibād, ed. Muḥammad Amīn Riyāḥī (Tehran: ʿIlmī
Farhangī, 1387 Sh./2008), pp. 131, 134. From Rāzī’s perspective, the Prophet has
no shadow for two reasons: “first because the Prophet was, from one point of view,
the sun –“a summoner to God, with His permission, and a light-giving lamp’ –
and the sun has no shadow; and second because he was, from a different point
of view, the monarch of religion, and the monarch is the shadow of God –‘the
monarch is God’s shadow upon earth’ ̶ and a shadow has no shadow.” Najm al-
Dīn Rāzī, The Path of God’s Bondsmen from Origin to Return (Merṣād al-ʿebād
men al-mabdāʿ elāʾl-maʿād), trans. Hamid Algar (New York: Caravan Books.
1982), p. 156. See this subject in ʿAyn al-Quḍāt Hamadānī, Tamhīdāt, ed. ʿAfīf
ʿUsayrān (Tehran: Manūchihrī, 1386 Sh./2006), p. 202. The light of Muḥammad
became the subject of much research, see Gerhard Bowering, Mystical Vision
of Existence in Classical Islam: The Qurʾanic Hermeneutics of the Ṣūfī Sahl At-
Tustarī (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter; 1979); Ibid., “The Light Verse: Text and Ṣūfī
Interpretation,” Oriens, no. 36 (2001): pp. 113–144; Uri Rubin, “Pre-existence and
Light: Aspects of the Concept of Nūr Muḥammad,” Israel Oriental Studies, no. 5
(1975): pp. 62–119. This has been discussed in Schimmel, The Triumphal Sun, p. 231;
Carl W. Ernst, Following Muhammad: Rethinking Islam in the Contemporary World
(Chapel Hill, NC and London: University of North Carolina Press, 2003), p. 84.
182 Deladriere, La Profession de Foi d’Ibn‚ Arabi, pp. 122, 124–125, quoted in Schimmel,
And Muhammad is His Messenger, p. 127. See Carl W. Ernst, “Muhammad as the
Pole of Existence,” in The Cambridge Companion to Muḥammad, ed. Jonathan
E. Brockopp (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 127.
183 Shihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā Suhrawardī’s Illuminationism, or Illuminationist
Philosophy, which is called ḥikmat al-ishrāq, was influenced by Peripatetic phil-
osophy, mysticism and Zoroastrian doctrines. Marcotte explains, “In the Niche
of Lights (1998), Muhammad al-Ghazali (d. 1111) discussed mystical epistem-
ology using Qurʾanic light terminology, whereas Suhrawardi, in his Philosophy
of Illumination, developed a truly original light ontology. While light always
remains in itself identical, its proximity or distance from the Light of Lights
determines the ontic light reality of all beings. Light operates through the activ-
ities of the dominion of the higher ‘triumphal’ or ‘victorious’ lights, as well as
the desire of the lower lights for the higher ones, operating at all levels and hier-
archies of reality (PI, 97.7–98.11). Reality proceeds from the Light of Lights
and unfolds via the First Light and all the subsequent lights whose exponential
interactions bring about the existence of all entities. As each new light interacts
with other existing lights, more light and dark substances are generated. Light
produces both immaterial and substantial lights, such as immaterial intellects
(angels), human and animal souls. Light produces dusky substances, such as
bodies. Light can generate both luminous accidents, such as those in immaterial
lights, physical lights or rays, and dark accidents, whether it is in immaterial lights
or in bodies (PI, 77.1–78.9).” Roxanne Marcotte, The Stanford Encyclopedia of
Philosophy, ed. Edward N. Zalta, s.v. “Suhrawardi,” http://plato.stanford.edu/
entries/suhrawardi/ (accessed February 11, 2015).
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 201
184 Shihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā Suhrawardī, Majmūʿa muṣannafāt-i shaykh-i ishrāq, ed.
Henry Korbin (Tehran: Anjuman-i Falsafa-yi Iran, 1355 Sh./1976), vol. 2, p. 150.
185 Ibid., vol. 3, p. 183. Pūr Nāmdāriyān, Ramz wa dāstān-hā-yi ramzī, p. 201.
Sīmurgh is the king of the birds in Manṭiq al-ṭayr by Farīd al-Dīn ʿAṭṭār.
186 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 104.
187 Regarding the role of the sun in Akbar’s thought, see M. Athar ʿAli, Mughal
India, p. 201. Reverence toward the sun as the source of light at the center of
his worldview can be studied in different ways. First, it was under the influ-
ence of worshipping the sun in the Hindu way of praying. For Akbar, it was a
sign of his respect toward the Hindus at Mughal court and the royal army. See
Ellison Banks Findly, Nur Jahan: Empress of Mughal India (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1993), p. 40. Second, this idea connected Akbar’s new reli-
gion to Zoroastrian thought. See David O. Morgan, Anthony Reid (ed.), The
New Cambridge History of Islam: vol. 3, The Eastern Islamic World Eleventh
to Eighteenth Century (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 283.
Third, according to Audrey Truschke, Akbar’s recitation of the names of the
sun shows his interest in illuminationist philosophy and the mystical points
of view of Shaṭṭārī and Nuqtawī Sufis. The veneration of the sun was not a
permanent element in Akbar’s thought, but it was attractive for his successor,
Jahāngīr. Later, it was interpreted as a practice “which strove to control rather
than exalt the sun.” See Audrey Truschke, Culture of Encounters: Sanskrit at
the Mughal Court (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), p. 42. Azfar
Moin studies the value of the sun for the Mughal emperors and in his survey
about sacred kingship and sainthood, he traces the idea back to Humāyūn’s age.
He explains that how Akbar respects the sun and regards 1001 names for it.
See A. Azfar Moin, The Millennial Sovereign: Sacred Kingship and Sainthood in
Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), p. 221.
188 Schimmel, The Empire of the Great Mughals, pp. 32–35.
189 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 19; see the quality of companionship
between Mihr Jahāngīr and Māh Munīr (sun and moon) in vol. 2, pp. 413–414.
190 Muḥammad b. Munawwar, Asrār al-tawḥīd fī maqāmāt al-Shaykh Abī Saʿīd, ed.
Dhabīḥ Allāh Ṣafā (Tehran: Amīr Kabīr, 1332 Sh./1953), p. 5.
191 Schimmel quotes Rūmī’s interpretation of the notion of the Tree of Life from
Manāqib al-ʿārifīn, written by Shams al-Dīn Aḥmad Aflākī (d. 761/1359), p. 379,
That endless ocean is the Greatness of God Most High, and that huge tree
is the blessed existence of Muhammad and the branches of this tree are the
ranks of the prophets and stations of saints, and those big birds are their
souls, and the different tunes they sing are the mysteries and secrets of their
tongues.
After this quotation, Schimmel refers to the similar ideas among medieval
Muslims in Indo-Muslim literature in the sixteenth century. She cites a song
about the “Muhammadan light” which describes the Prophet as the root of cre-
ation. This song is quoted from Charles S.J. White, “Sufism in Medieval Hindi
Literature,” History of Religions 5, no. 1 (1965), p. 128.
Muhammad, having become the root of the (cosmic tree),
The whole universe is his branch.
Schimmel, Muhammad is His messenger, p. 131
202 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
192 Ibn al-ʿArabī dedicated a very brief treatise, entitled Shajarat al-Kawn, to this
subject. The attribution of this work to him is questioned in a valuable paper that
studies the origin of this work. See Younes Alaoui Mdaghri, “Critical Study of
the Erroneous Attribution of the Book Shajarat al-Kawn to Ibn al-ʿArabī instead
of to Ibn Ghānim al-Maqdisī,” The Journal of Rotterdam Islamic and Social
Sciences, vol. 1, no. 1 (2010), accessed September 1, 2017, www.jriss.nl/index.
php/JRISS/article/view/6. On this subject, see also Najm al-Dīn Razī, Merṣād
al-ʿebād, pp. 60, 91–92.
193 Cited in Ernst, The Shambhala Guide to Sufism, p. 52. In this ḥadīth, it is also
narrated that the Prophet said, “I was the Prophet when Adam was between the
clay and the water.”
194 Rubin, “Pre-existence and Light,” pp. 80–81; M.A. Amīr-Moezzī, Le guide divin
dans le shiʿisme original: Aux sources de l’ésotérisme en islam (Paris: Verdier,
1992), p. 105 quoted in Claude Addas, “The Figure of the Prophet in the Work
of ʿAbdal Karīm Jīlī,” Part 2, The Muhyiddin Ibn ʿArabi Society, vol. 46 (2009),
www.ibnarabisociety.org/articles/qab-qawsayn-2.html (accessed December
12, 2015).
195 Qurʾān 33:40.
196 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 665. Böwering states that “Sahl al-Tustarī
(d. 896), the early classical Sufi and scholar, differentiates between three specks
of the three seeds: Muḥammad, Ādam, and the offspring of Ādam. Muḥammad,
the Muḥammad of pre-existence, was created of divine light. When he had
stood as a column of light before God for a million years in primordial ador-
ation, ‘God created Ādam from the light of Muḥammad,’ or according to
another passage of tafsīr, he created Ādam from the clay of divine might (tīn
al-ʿal-m) from the light of Muḥammad (min nūr Muḥammad). Not only Ādam
is formed from Muḥammad’s light: the light of the prophets is from his light.”
See Gerhard Böwering, The Mystical Vision of Existence in Classical Islam: the
Qurʾānic Hermeneutics of the Ṣūfī Sahl at-Tustarī (Berlin and New York: Walter
de Gruyter, 1979), p. 153.
197 Valerie J. Hoffmann, “Annihilation in the Messenger of God,” in Sufism: Critical
Concepts in Islamic Studies, ed. Lloyd Ridgeon (London and New York: Routledge,
2008), p. 35.
198 Toshihiko Izutsu states: “The ‘Reality of Muḥammad (ḥaqīqah Muḥammad or
al-ḥaqīqah al-muḥammadīyah), is one of the most important concepts in the phil-
osophy of Ibn ʿArabī. […] Ontologically, Muḥammad as a cosmic being who
existed from eternity corresponds to, or represents, the level of the permanent
archetypes; that is, the level of Being ‘which is neither existent nor non-existent’,
the intermediary stage (barzakh) between the absolute Absolute and the world
which is the outer self-manifestation of the Absolute. This intermediary stage
is divine in so far as it is identified with the Divine Consciousness, but it is, at
the same time, essentially creaturely or human in that it has significance only
as it is related to the created world. The intermediary stage in this latter aspect,
i.e., considered in its human aspect, is the Reality of Muḥammad. And it is also
the Perfect Man on the cosmic level [...] Muḥammad, as the Perfect Man on the
cosmic level, is the first of all self-determinations (taʿayyunāt) of the Absolute.
Theologically, it is the first ‘creature’ of God.” Toshihiko Izutsu, Sufism and
Taoism: A Comparative Study of Key Philosophical Concepts (Berkeley, Los
Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1984), pp. 236–237.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 203
199 Abdul Ela Afifi, The Mystical Philosophy of Muḥyid Dīn-Ibnul ‘Arabī
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1939), p. 71. According to Afifi, the
Muhammed Logos is called various names, of which he provides the following
terms: “(1) The Reality of Mohammed (al Haqīqatu’l Muḥammadiyyah). (2) The
Reality of Realities (Haqīqatu’l Ḥaqā’iq). (3) The Spirit of Mohammed (Rūḥ
Muhammad). (4) The First Intellect (al ‘Aqlu’l Awwal =Plotinus’ Noūs). (5) The
Throne (al ‘Arsh). (6) The Most Mighty Spirit (al Rūḥu’l A‘ẓam). (7) The Most
Exalted Pen (al Qalamu’l A‘lā). (8) The Vicegerent (al Khalifah). (9) The Perfect
Man (al Insānu’l Kāmil). (10) The Origin of the Universe (Aṣlu’l ‘Ālam). (11)
The Real Adam (Ādam al Haqiqi).(12) The Intermediary (al Barzakh). (13) The
Sphere of Life (Falaku’l Hayāh). (14) The Real who is the instrument of cre-
ation (al Haqqu’l makhlūqu bihi). (15) The Hayūlā or Prime Matter (al Hayūlā).
(16) The Spirit (al Rūḥ). (17) The Pole (al Quṭb). (18) The Servant of the All-
embracing One (Abdu’l Jāmi‘).” Ibid., p. 66.
200 Ibid. p. 70.
201 Ibid., p. 72. Ibn al-ʿArabī’s Shajarat al-Kawn has been translated into English
by Arthur Jeffery. In the introduction to Jeffery’s translation, it is attempted to
trace the roots of the belief of seed under the influence of the concept of Logos
to pre-Christian, non-Christian and Christian attitudes. See Arthur Jeffery, “Ibn
Al-‘Arabī’s Shajarat al-Kawn,” Studia Islamica, no. 10 (1959): pp. 43–77. In fact,
the concept shows the status of “Muhammad in his relationship to Allah, to
mankind and to the cosmos.” Ibid., p. 52.
202 Addas, in “The Figure of the Prophet in the Work of ʿAbdal Karīm Jīlī,” cites
Ibn al-ʿArabī’s notion from a book entitled ʿAnqā ʾ al-maghrib fī khatm al-
awliyāʾ (Cairo: n.p., 1954), pp. 32–40. Elmore says this literary work is a “doc-
trinal effort from Ibn al-ʿArabī’s early period of writing in the maghrib, around
the turn of the 7th/13th century.” See Gerald Elmore, “Ibn al-ʿArabī’s Book of
the Fabulous Gryphon (ʿAnqāʾ Mughrib),” The Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi Society,
vol. 25 (1999): pp. 61–87.
203 Renard, A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Love.” Graham states that the famous sources of
ḥadīths have not cited the ḥadīth of the hidden treasure in spite of interpreting it
mystically as a ḥadīth in the numerous Sufi commentaries. William A. Graham,
Divine Word and Prophetic Word in Early Islam a Reconsideration of the Sources,
with Special Reference to the Divine Saying or Ḥadîth Qudsî (Hague: Mouton,
1977), p. 72.
204 Maurice Gloton, “The Quranic Inspiration of Ibn ‘Arabī’s Vocabulary of
Love: Etymological Links and Doctrinal development,” trans. Cecilia Twinch,”
Journal of the Muhyiddin Ibn ‘Arabī Society, no. 27 (2000): p. 42. To Study of
different the station of love with regard to the twofold of ḥubb/ḥabb from Ibn
al-ʿArabian perspective see Pablo Benito, “The Servant of the Loving One: On
the Adoption of the Character Traits of al-Wadūd,” Journal of the Muhyiddin Ibn
‘Arabī Society, no. 32 (2002): p. 6. The interpretation of these two words makes
the relationships between the various literary meanings in a semantic analysis
of the same root (which is ḥ-b-b). As Hany Talaat Ahmed Ibrahim considers
the root signifies: “grain, seed, love, to love, loved one, to prefer, and a friend,”
that lead to consider that this twofold are “implying the growth of love between
God and His creation.” Hany Talaat Ahmed Ibrahim, Ibn ‘Arabi’s metaphysics
of love: a textual study of chapter 178 of al-Futuhat al-Makkiya (PhD diss.,
University of Lethbridge, 2014), p. 36.
204 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
2 05 Gloton, “The Quranic Inspiration of Ibn ‘Arabī’s Vocabulary of Love,” p. 42.
206 In Sufi parlance, God makes Himself known through the Prophet’s spirituality
because of love. See Hoffmann, “Annihilation in the Messenger of God,” p. 42.
207 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 141.
208 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 874–875.
209 Qāf is the name of a mountain that surrounds the world based on legends.
210 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 18.
211 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 875.
212 The Prophet is an elevated figure according to the Qurʾānic verse, “In truth
you are of a sublime character” (68: 4). According to a ḥadīth narrated on the
authority of ʿĀʾisha: “His character, it was the Qurʾān.” Based on the interpret-
ation of Chittick and Murata, this ḥadīth confirms the notion that the Prophet
incarnates the truth of sharīʿa, “To be fully human is to actualize the divine
form. In order to achieve this, Sufis follow the sunna of the Prophet and seek to
embody the Qurʾān. They want the Qurʾān to be their character, just as it was the
Prophet’s character.” See William Chittick and Sachiko Murata, The Vision of
Islam (Saint Paul, MN: Paragon House, 1994), p. 304.
213 Hoffmann, “Annihilation in the Messenger of God,” pp. 36.
214 Concerning the perfect man as barzakh, see Chittick, The Sufi Path of
Knowledge, p. 16.
215 See Kiyūmarth Chirāghī, “Barrisī-yi mafhūm-i insān-i kāmil az dīdgāh-i ʿAzīz
b. Muḥammad Nasafī,” in Pazhūhish nama-yi Adyān, vol. 2, no. 3 (2008): p. 75.
Al-Nasafī states that the perfect man is aware of the hidden laws of nature and he
is also able to transcend time and space. See the discussion in ibid., pp. 73–100.
216 Fitzroy Morrissey, Sufism and the Scriptures: Metaphysics and Sacred History in
the Thought of ‘Abd al-Karīm al-Jīlī (London: I.B. Tauris, 2020), p. 79.
217 Ibid., p. 80. The perfect man is considered all-comprehensive engendered being
(al-kawn al-jāmiʿ).
218 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 59.
219 See the concept in several pages. Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 79, 369, 413.
220 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 415.
221 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 879.
222 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 130.
223 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 244.
224 Izutsu scrutinizes the concept of al-aʿyān al-thābita (“Permanent archetypes”) in
the eleventh chapter of Sufism and Taoism. Pertaining to the school of Ibn al-
ʿArabī, he explains al-Kāshānī’s attitude about Ibn al-ʿArabī’s thoughts on the
relationship of the marbūb with its rabb. “When the Absolute manifests itself
in each individual being, it is able to do so only through one particular Name
because of the natural limitation set by the ‘preparedness’ of that particular
being. But this is exactly what is willed by the Absolute and what is desired by the
recipient, there being no discordance between the two parties. And this is what
is meant by everything being approved by its own Lord. […] And in fact, there
is an ontological aspect to the personal relation between each individual being
and his Lord. […] Each single Name has been regarded as representing a par-
ticular aspect of the Absolute. But a Divine Name, in order to actualize, neces-
sarily requires a particular being. A particular being in that capacity is a locus of
the self-manifestation of that Name. And in this context, each individual being,
as a locus in which a particular Name is manifested maintains with the Absolute
the same individual relationship as in the ‘prayer’ context. […] Unlike ordinary
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 205
men, the perfect Man actualizes and manifests not one single particular Name
but all the Names in their synthesis. An ordinary man is approved by his par-
ticular Lord. The latter is his Lord; not the Lord of other people. So that no
ordinary man is in direct relation with the absolute Lord (al-rabb al-muṭlaq). The
Perfect Man, on the contrary, actualizes in himself all the attributes and actions
of One who approves of him not as his Lord alone but as the absolute Lord.”
Izutsu, Sufism and Taoism, pp. 111–112. See also the discussion in Henry Corbin
and Ralph Manheim, Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn Arabi (Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969).
225 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 656; vol. 1, p. 242. ʿAndalīb considers nine
main divine attributes. Based on these nine divine attributes, the Prophet chose
nine as a secret number. He had nine wives. The revelation of the Qurʾān was
under the influence of the ninth divine attribute. He selected nine persons to
write the Qurʾān and he says that God has ninety-nine names. Also, God gave
Moses nine miracles and there are nine praiseworthy attributes which Muslims
should attain. See ibid., vol. 1, p. 259. Regarding the connection of the Prophets
with mystical knowledge, in Ibn al-ʿArabī’s Fuṣūṣ al-ḥikam, each chapter (faṣ) is
dedicated to one of the prophets and a corresponding divine attribute. Chittick
states, “The prophets and great friends of God, as human beings, manifest the
names of God in relative fullness. Then, in their specific functions, they display
one or more of the most beautiful names. They are exemplars who disclose the
possibilities of the human theomorphic state. Each is a model of Perfection.” See
Chittick, The Sufi Path of Knowledge, p. 28.
226 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 260.
227 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 253, vol. 2, p. 130.
228 Note that maʿiyya in the Mujaddidī parlance is translated into English by Buehler
as “being together with God.” See Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the Prophet, p. 244.
229 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 130–131 and p. 880.
230 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 246. The declaration of God’s incomparability (tanzīh) and
the declaration of His similarity (tashbīh) has been a heatedly debated issue
among Muslim intellectuals. See Chittick, The Sufi Path of Knowledge, p. 69.
Chittick points out that Ibn al-ʿArabī attempted to maintain an equilibrium
between these two ways of perceiving God. In Ibn al-ʿArabī’s point of view,
“inasmuch as God’s Essence is independent of words, the cosmos is not He,
but inasmuch as God freely assumes relationships with the words through
attributes such as creativity and generosity the cosmos manifests He. If we
examine anything in the universe, God is independent of that thing and infin-
itely exalted beyond it. He is ‘incomparable’ (tanzīh) with each thing and
all things. But at the same time each thing displays one or more of God’s
attributes, and in this respect the thing must be said to be ‘similar’ (tashbīh) in
some way to God.” Ibid., p. 9.
231 Ernst, Following Muhammad, p. 84.
232 Hoffmann, “Annihilation in the Messenger of God,” p. 41. On the notion of the
al-insān al-kāmil, which offers a synthesis of al-Jīlī’s prophetology, see “ʿAbd al-
Karīm, Ḳuṭb al-Dīn b. Ibrāhīm al-ḎJ̲īlī,” EI2.
233 Mark J. Sedgwick, “Saints and Sons: The Making and Remaking of the Rashīdi
Aḥmadi Sufi Order, 1799–2000,” in Social, Economic, and Political Studies of
the Middle East and Asia, vol. 97, ed. Dale Eickelman (Leiden and Boston,
MA: Brill, 2005), pp.29–30.
234 Ibid., p. 27.
206 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
235 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 657. The Qurʾān alludes to the Prophet’s
ascension in the following verse, “Exalted is He who took His Servant by night
from al-Masjid al-Ḥarām to al-Masjid al-ʾAqṣā, whose surroundings We have
blessed, to show him of Our signs. Indeed, He is the Hearing, the Seeing”
(Qurʾān 17:2). Also, the first eighteen verses of sūrat al-Najm are dedicated to
the israʾ wa’l-miʿrāj (Qurʾān 53:1–18): “By the star when it descends (1) your
companion [Muḥammad] has not strayed, nor has he erred, (2) Nor does he
speak from [his own] inclination, (3) It is not but a revelation revealed (4) Taught
to him by one intense in strength (5) One of soundness. And he rose to [his]
true form (6) While he was in the higher [part of the] horizon. (7) Then he
approached and descended. (8) And was at a distance of two bow lengths or
nearer. (9) And he revealed to His Servant what he revealed. (10) The heart
did not lie [about] what it saw. (11) So will you dispute with him over what he
saw? (12) And he certainly saw him in another descent. (13) At the Lote Tree
of the Utmost Boundary (14)-Near it is the Garden of Refuge (15) when there
covered the Lote Tree that which covered [it]. (16) The sight [of the Prophet] did
not swerve, nor did it transgress [its limit]. (17) He certainly saw of the greatest
signs of his Lord. (18).” Concerning isrāʾ and miʿrāj, see Frederick S. Colby,
Muhammad in History, Thought, and Culture: An Encyclopedia of the Prophet of
God, edited by Coeli Fitzpatrick and Adam Hani Walker, s.v. “Night Journey,”
(Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2014).
236 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 246.
237 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 686.
238 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 89.
239 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 573; see Hoffmann’s discussion about annihilation in the shaykh,
“Annihilation in the Messenger of God,” p. 55, fn. 33.
240 Liyakat N. Takim, The Heirs of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in
Shiʿite Islam (New York: State University of New York Press, 2006), p. 43.
241 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 793.
242 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 307.
243 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 791–792.
244 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 573, 307.
245 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 648. The state of ʿabduhu and rasūluhu is attained when the way-
farer has been annihilated in God after being annihilated first in the shaykh and
then in the Prophet (ibid., vol. 2, p. 125). ʿAbduhu is mentioned in Qurʾān 17:1
and 53:10. Chittick asserts, “Ibn ʿArabi places servanthood at the highest level
of human realization. After all, it was through his servanthood that Muḥammad
was worthy to be God’s messenger (ʿabduhu wa rasūluhu).” See Chittick, The Sufi
Path of Knowledge, p. 24.
246 In literature, the nightingale resembles the poet, eloquent orator and storyteller.
A large number of poets admired the bird’s attributes and identified their own
personalities with him, selecting ʿandalīb for their pennames. See ʿAli Asani,
“Birds in Islamic Mystical Poetry,” p. 174.
247 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p.121, quoted and translated in Schimmel, A
Two-Colored Brocade, p. 314.
248 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 124. Addas explains that in Islamic mysticism, as al-Jīlī confirms,
annihilation in the Prophet is through the ʾittibāʾ al-nabī, visualization of the
Prophet, imitation of his manner in ordinary life and reciting the tasliyya. Thus,
annihilation in the Prophet means the perception of the Prophet’s spirituality
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 207
(rūḥāniyya). See Addas, “The Figure of the Prophet in the Work of ʿAbdal
Karīm Jīlī.”
249 Hoffmann, “Annihilation in the Messenger of God,” p. 40.
250 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 344.
251 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 334–335.
252 Ibid., vol.1, p. 436.
253 Ibid., vol.1, p. 864.
254 Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger, p. 13. Dina Le Gall states that
“The notion of Bakrī descent developed gradually as the Naqshbandiyya
emerged from the earlier Khwājagānī tradition, and this notion became
established among Naqshbandīs in the generation after Bahāʾ al-Dīn, though
even then, and indeed for some time later, it continued to be less than exclusive.
[…For the great Naqshbandī Sufi, Muhammad] Pārsā, Abū Bakr was ‘the most
perfect, most excellent, most splendid and the best knowing of the friends of
God.’ ” She observes that Pārsā traces the silsila through the triad of parallel
Bakrī, ʿAlīd and imami lines. Dina Le Gall, A Culture of Sufism: Naqshbandīs
in the Othoman World, 1450-1700 (Albany: State University of New York Press,
2005), p. 128. She believes “The new circumstances of heightened Sunni-Shiʿa
conflict in the sixteenth century did not drive Naqshbandiyya to transform their
notion of Bakrī descent from a spiritual into a political maker. As a whole they
clung to the old modes of celebrating their Bakrī descent as a spiritual symbol,
and they routinely continued to acknowledge and even praise parallel ʿAlīd and
imami lines of descendant as part of their silsila.” Ibid., p. 134.
255 Ernst, The Shambhala Guide to Sufism, p. 28.
256 Le Gall, A Culture of Sufism, p. 127; Ibid., “Forgotten Naqshbandīs and
the Culture of Pre- Modern Sufi Brotherhoods,” Studia Islamica, no. 97
(2003): pp. 87–119.
257 Buehler refers to Sirhindī’s Sufism as an “inspired sober, sharīʿa-centered Sufism.”
See Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the Prophet, pp. 92–93. Weismann believes that Sirhindī’s
aim was the victory of orthodox Sunni Muslims over Shiʿas and non-Muslims. In
this regard, the emperors had the main roles and Sirhindī and his successors tried
to influence their religious policies. The best example of their attempts can be
seen during Aurangzeb’s reign. See Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya, p. 55. In spite
of the opposition to Shiʿa Islam, Yohanan Friedmann believes that “Sirhindī was
not completely free from shīʿī elements in his thought and he assigned to ʿAli and
the twelve imams a special spiritual task in the realm of Sufism.” Friedmann,
Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī, p. 113.
258 Harlan O. Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in the Nineteenth- Century
India: The Tarīqah-i-Muhammadīyah (New Delhi: Yoda Press, 2008), p. 24, fn. 70.
259 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 19.
260 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 59, 713.
261 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 18.
262 Qurʾān 56:10–11; see ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 850.
263 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 864.
264 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 319; vol. 1, p. 849.
265 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 123.
266 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 19.
267 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 872–873. Regarding the meaning of talwīn and tamkīn, see the
discussion in the section of this volume entitled “Criticism toward the People
208 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
of Talwīn and Tamkīn” in “Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya: A Critical View and
Reorientation of Sufism.”
268 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 254.
269 al- Ḥākīm al-Nīshābūrī, al-Mustadrak alā al-ṣaḥīhayn (Hyderabad: Majlis Dāʾirat
al-Maʿārif al-Niẓāmiyyat al-Kāʾināt, 1340/1961), vol. 2, p. 241.
270 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 851.
271 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 873.
272 Ibid.
273 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 864.
274 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 869. It is in the last pages of the work that Bī Naẓīr asked the
rose to tell him her esoteric name (ism al-bāṭin) before bidding him farewell, but
she answered that he, as vicegerent of the nightingale, would come to realize
her esoteric name because of his nearness to the nightingale and his devotion in
following him.
275 Ziad translates quṭb-i irshād and quṭb-i madār in Mīr Dard’s Sufism as “the pivot
of command” and “the pivot of revolution.” She explains that “these men belong
to the saints along with the substitutes (abdāl) and leaders. “There is a quṭb-i
madār in every time period and the world revolves thanks to his existence, like
the tracing of a circle with a compass is dependent on the center point. He is
the perfect man, the incomparable horizon (yagānah-yi āfāq) of his time, and
the manifestation of God’s infinite self-disclosures. He is always aware of the
line between Creator and created and he is rooted in the commands of the reli-
gious law. When God grants existence to a thing, the first effusion of existence
is acquired by this pivot and then, through his mediation, this effusion and its
concomitants are passed on to the phenomenal world. He embodies the perfec-
tion of bodily worship and spiritual practice. The general public turns to him and
he exhibits small miracles and charismatic acts (taṣarruf). His outward know-
ledge is often limited and in many cases, pivots of revolution remain unaware of
their exalted station. Quṭb-i irshād is usually considered to be a higher rank than
the pivot of revolution. He exhibits the greatest (spiritual?) command in his time
period and can express ancient realities and intellectual and textual knowledge
in the most beautiful manner. His heart is always being infused with God-given
knowledge (ʿilm-i ladunnī) and he can also be instantly endowed with worldly
knowledge if the need arises. He possesses beautiful character traits, actions and
words, and his outer and inner perfections are complete. He produces a won-
drous subtlety in all hearts capable of being touched. Regardless of whether the
pivot of command is aware of his own state, every scholar and gnostic, and the
righteous and devout individuals of his age are encompassed by him and derive
grace from him. In short, the differentiation (mufāṣṣilāt) of the entire world is
gathered in this one existent –he is a differentiation of the entire reality of man.
The pivot of command may also be the pivot of revolution, but not vice versa.
When one individual embodies both stages of pivot-hood, he is designated as the
sustainer of his age (qayyūm).” See Ziad, Quest of the Nightingale, pp. 237–238.
276 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 851.
277 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 873.
278 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 271.
279 “Al- Ḳuṭb,” EI2. See also “al-Insān al-Kāmil,” EI2.
280 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 864.
281 Qurʾān 7:26. See ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 386–387.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 209
282 Muhammad Qasim Zaman, “Political Power, Religious Authority, and the
Caliphate in Eighteenth-Century Indian Islamic Thought,” in Ways of Knowing
Muslim Cultures and Societies: Studies in Honour of Gudrun Krämer, ed.
Schirin Amir-Moazami, Bettina Graf, and Birgit Krawietz (Leiden and Boston,
MA: Brill, 2019), p. 318.
283 Ibid., p. 319.
284 Ibid., p. 326.
285 Aziz Ahmad asserts that the immorality of Sufis and increasing charlatanism in
which it is held that a societal and moral decay resulted from temporal distance
from the time of the Prophet, ignorance of the Qurʾān and lack of knowledge of
the ethics of the ḥadīth and sunna. Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History, p. 7. This
concept underscored the notion of the corruption of time (fisād al-zamān); see
Radtke, “Sufism in the 18th Century: An Attempt at a Provisional Appraisal,”
in Die Welt des Islams, vol. 36 (1996): p. 342. Van Gelder discussed how this
notion builds Muslim idealism by constantly comparing the Prophet’s golden
age of Islam with the current situation and sees the present Islam critically as
degeneration. See Geert Jan van Gelder, “Good Times, Bad Times: Opinions on
Fasād az-Zamān, ‘the Corruption of Time’,” in Inḥiṭāṭ, the Decline Paradigm: Its
Influence and Persistence in the Writing of Arab Cultural History, ed. Syrinx von
Hees (Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2017), p. 113.
286 Radtke, “Sufism in the 18th Century,” pp. 336, 342.
287 Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 73.
288 Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History, p. 45–46; Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol.
2, p. 431. Alam writes concerning some uncommon behaviors among Sufis. He
reports that “the Gurzmars, a branch of the Rifa‘īs, carried maces, with them
they inflicted wounds upon themselves; the Jalalis took hashish, ate snakes and
scorpions, and allowed their leaders sexual promiscuity with female members
of the order. The Qlandars shaved their head and facial hair, used intoxicants,
rubbed ash on their bodies and wandered naked. The Haidaris adorned them-
selves with iron necklaces and bracelets and wore a ring attached to a lead bar
piercing their sexual intercourse. Like a number of the other heterodox orders
that developed outside India, these locally influenced Sufi orders paid little care
to regular Islamic rituals and prayers. The violation of Islamic norms and the
absorption of the evidently anti-Islamic features were, however, glaringly bla-
tant.” See Alam, The Language of Political Islam, 90–91.
289 Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 73. Some years later, Shāh ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (d.
1239/1823), the eldest son of Shāh Walī Allāh, still criticized the Sufis of his time
for not being devoted to the rigorous practices of the past and failing to under-
take rigorous penances. Shāh ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz Dihlawī, Malfuẓāt-i Shāh ʿAbdul
ʿAzīz Dihlawī, ed. Qāḍī Bashīr al-Dīn (Meerut: Maṭbaʿ-i Mujtabāʾī, 1314/1897),
p. 6, quoted in Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 49.
290 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 168.
291 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 882. ʿAndalīb differs from al-Hujwīrī’s categorizations of Sufism
in Kashf al-maḥjūb in that the three groups he mentions are Thawriyya, Ḥaqīqiyya
and Shaṭṭāriyya, while al-Hujwīrī mentions Nūriyya, Khafīfiyya and Sayyāriyya.
Al-Hujwīrī says “All these assert the truth and belong to the mass of orthodox
Muslims. The two commended sects are firstly, the Ḥulūlīs, who derive their
name from the doctrine of incarnation (ḥulūl) and incorporation (imtizāj), and
with whom are connected the Sālamī sect of anthropomorphists; and secondly,
210 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
the Ḥallājīs, who have abandoned the sacred law and have adopted heresy, and
with whom are connected the Ibāḥatīs and the Fārisīs.” al-Hujwīrī, The Kashf
al-Mahjūb, pp. 130–131.
292 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 379.
293 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 661. All the mentioned prophets are possessors of holy books: the
Ṣuḥuf was revealed to Noah, the Zabūr (Psalms) to David, the Scrolls of Abraham
to Abraham, the Turāt (Torah) to Moses, and the Injīl (Gospel) to Jesus.
294 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 54. Based on al-Tahānawī’s explanation concerning the subject of
knowledge (maʿrifa), the first part of the ḥadīth refers to those who are possessors
of intuitive (shuhūdī) knowledge whereas the second part refers to those, who
have argumentative (istidlālī) knowledge. See al-Tahānawī, Kashshāf al-iṣṭilāḥāt
al-funūn, vol. 2, p. 1585.
295 The theory of the unity of being (waḥdat al-wujūd) asserts: “God is the absolute
being (wujūd al-ḥaqq)” and “there is no being other than God.”
296 There is a distinction among the people of the path: mubtadīs, mutawassiṭs, and
muntahīs.
297 Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya, p. 59. For a discussion about waḥdat al-shuhūd,
see several of Sirhindī’s letters in Maktūbāt. For instance, see vol. 3, letters no. 89,
100, and 122. The Maktubāt includes 536 letters in three volumes written by
Sirhindī to his representatives, children, friends and rulers. The first volume
includes 313 letters and was called Durr al-maʿrifat, the second volume includes
99 letters and was called Nūr al-khalāʾiq. The last volume includes 124 letters and
was called Maʿrifat al-ḥaqāyiq. For interpretation of Sirhindī’s waḥdat al-shuhūd,
see Friedmann, Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī, pp. 59–68; ter Haar, Follower and Heir
of the Prophet, pp. 117–136.
298 “In [Sirhindī’s] point of view, sharīʿa consists of knowledge, practice and sin-
cerity (ikhlāṣ), and the Sufi path is a supportive element for the maturation and
completion of sincerity, which is the third element of the religious law.” See
Abdullah Kartal, “Ahmad Sirhindî’s Criticism of Wahdat Al-Wujûd and its
Historical Background,” International Journal of Business and Social Science,
vol. 4, no. 1 (2013): p. 177. The topic is discussed in ter Haar, Follower and Heir
of the Prophet; Buehler, Revealed Grace; Muhammad Abdul Haq Ansari, Sufism
and Shariʿah: A Study of Shaykh Ahmad Sirhindī’s Effort to Reform Sufism
(Leicester: The Islamic Foundation, 1997).
299 Rizvi, History of Sufism, vol. 2, p. 425. About dīn-i ilāhī see “Dīn-i Ilāhī,” EI2.
300 Malik, Islam in South Asia, p. 178. Shiʿi ʿulamāʾ strongly condemned Sirhindī as
a serious danger to the state and Jahāngīr put him in prison in 1028/1619. Lisa
Balabanlilar in Encyclopeadia Iranica states that this event was not a rejection of
the Mughal family’s alliance with the Naqshbandī order but a reflection of the
emperor’s personal religious skepticism, mistrust of insincere piety and fear of
public disturbance. See “Jahāngir,” EIr. For more information about the reasons
behind this event, see Muṭribī al-Aṣamm Samarqandī, Khātima-yi muṭribī, ed.
ʿAbd al-Ghanī Mīr-Yūsuf (Karachi: n.p., 1977). This work was translated by
Richard C. Foltz as Conversations with Emperor Jahangir (Costa Mesa, CA: n.p.,
1998). Friedmann posits that Sirhindī was probably condemned because of his
claim to have reached a spiritual state beyond that of Abū Bakr. See “Aḥmad
Serhendī (1),” EIr. See this debate in ter Haar, Follower and Heir of the Prophet,
p. 4; Muḥammad Badr al-Dīn Sirhindī, Ḥaḍarāt al-quds (Lahore: Maḥbūb Ilāhī,
1971), vol. 2, pp. 123–126.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 211
3 01 ʿAndalīb, Risāla-yi hūsh afzā, fl. 92b.
302 Qurʾān 38:27.
303 Ibid., 46:3.
304 One of the fundamental aspects of Ibn al-ʿArabī’s Sufism is the five divine
presences (al-ḥaḍarāt al-ilāhiyyat al-khams) which were discussed as a doctrine
by his interpreters in order to explain the multiplicity of the divine manifestation.
It answers the question of how Being manifests in ontological realms. The most
comprehensive discussion was represented by Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Qūnawī in his work
al-Nafaḥāt al-ilāhiyya. The first presence is the level of Non-delimited Unseen
(al-Ghayb al-Muṭlaq) or Essence (al-Dhāt) which includes Exclusive–Unity (al-
Aḥadiyya) and Inclusive-Oneness (al-Wāḥidiyya) that is understandable. The
second presence is the spiritual world (ʿālam al-arwāḥ) known as invincibility (al-
jabarūt) or the world of the disengaged (ʿālam al-mujarradāt). The third presence
is the imaginal world (ʿālam al-mithāl) which is between the spiritual world
and the corporal world. The fourth presence is the visible and corporeal world,
known as nāsūt. The fifth presence is the perfect man (al-insān al-kāmil) that is
all-comprehensive of other divine worlds (jāmiʿ al-jamīʿ al-marātib ilāhī) which
is called al-kawn al-jāmiʿ. See Ṣadr al-Dīn al-Qūnawī, al-Nafaḥāt al-ilāhiyya,
ed. M. Khwājawī (Tehran: Mawlā, 1375 Sh./1996); William Chittick, “The Five
Divine Presences: From al-Qūnawī to al-Qayṣarī,” The Muslim World, no. 72,
(1982): pp. 107–128.
305 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 269.
306 Qurʾān 4:79.
307 Ibid., 4:78.
308 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 808.
309 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 797.
310 Ibid., vol. 2. p. 407.
311 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 325. See Sirhindī, Maktūbāt, vol. 1, letter no. 31.
312 Qurʾān 2:194.
313 Ibid., 2:249. ʿAndalīb lists many verses of the Qurʾān to support the idea of
maʿiyya, such as: “And fear Allāh and know that Allāh is with those who fear
Him” (2:194); “Indeed, Allāh is with the patient” (2:153); “Allāh is with the
believers” (8:19); “Allāh is the ally of those who believe” (2:257); “And Allah
is the ally of the believers” (3:68). He also draws a connection between maʿiyya
and love and quotes verses that show love between God and creation, such as
“And do good; indeed, Allah loves the doers of good” (2:195); “Allāh loves the
doers of good” (2:195, 3:134, 148, 5:13, 93); “And Allāh loves the steadfast”
(3:146); “Allāh loves those who rely [upon Him]” (3:159); “Allāh loves those who
act justly” (5:42, 49:9, 60:8); “Allāh loves those who fear Him” (3:76, 9:4,7);
“Allāh loves those who purify themselves” (9:108); “Allāh loves those who are
constantly repentant and loves those who purify themselves” (2:222); “Fear
Allāh-then indeed, Allāh loves those who fear Him” (3:76). See ʿAndalīb, Nāla-
yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 577.
314 Qurʾān 57:4.
315 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 366–367.
316 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 407. Fozail Ahmad Qadri writes, “Khwaja Nasir ʿAndalīb
vehemently attacks the group of mystics representing the pantheistic doctrine.
According to him speaking objectively Wahdat-ul Wujud is invalid; it is not the
truth about the reality. Objectively Wahdat-ush Shuhud or apparentism alone is
212 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
valid. But speaking subjectively, i.e., in their bearing on the mystic and his spir-
itual growth, both the doctrines are directed to the same, that is to dissociate him
from things other than Allāh.” Qadri, “Muslim-Mystic Trends,” p. 147.
317 Talwīn is translated as agitation or changing coloration, which means a changing
of states. Tamkīn is the state of fixity, stability of one’s inner state. See both terms
in Mūsawī (ed.), Farhang-i iṣṭilāḥāt-i ʿirfān-i Islāmī.
318 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 789–790.
319 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 792. They seek to enjoy passions such as eating forbidden foods
and performing prohibited acts.
320 He advocates sobriety in Sufism and adherence to the sharīʿa. He was approved
by theologians and jurists.
321 John Renard, introduction to A to Z of Sufism, p. 4.
322 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 409.
323 Literally, Lane explains that miskīn is a synonym for faqīr and it signifies possessing
nothing. He presents different ideas concerning the comparison between faqīr
and miskīn. One idea is that the miskīn is in more difficult conditions than the
faqīr. In Arabic, taskīn means “to be still, motionless, stationary, in a state of rest,
quiet, calm.” He asserts that “miskīn is from sukūn, since the person to whom it
is applied trusts to, or relies upon, others so as to be, or become, easy, or quiet, in
mind […] it means lowly, humble, or submissive.” He refers to a ḥadīth in which
the Prophet says: “O God, make me to live lowly (miskīnān), and make me to die
lowly, and gather me among the congregation of lowly.” Regarding the meaning
of sakina, Lane states that it signifies “calmness, tranquility, gravity, staidness,
steadiness, or sedateness […] a quality inspiring reverence or veneration.” See
miskīn and sakina in Lane, An English-Arabic Lexicon.
324 Chittick, The Path of Knowledge, p. 378.
325 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 410.
326 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 249–250. He refers to those friends of God who were sukrī
Sufis and achieved the connection of sameness (ʿayniyya), like Qayṣ Majnūn
and al-Ḥallāj. Their ecstatic utterances were under the influence of the state of
mystical intoxication. It can be described that after drinking the wine of with-
ness (maʿiyya) and after forgetting themselves, they, as sincere lovers, claimed to
be their own beloved, as Qayṣ Majnūn claimed, “I am Laylā” (ʾana Laylā); and
al-Ḥallāj claimed, “I am Truth” (ʾana al-Ḥaqq). However, ʿAndalīb emphasizes
undeniable differences between lover and beloved. See Ibid., vol. 1, p. 622.
327 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 795–796.
328 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 247.
329 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 367.
330 R.S. Chaurasia, History of Modern India 1707- 2000 (New Delhi: Atlantic
Publisher and Distributors, 2002), p. 9. Muzaffar Alam refers to how the
majority of Hindus were under Muslim minority rule in Northern India and
how Sufis encouraged Hindus and Muslims to coexistence. He states that “the
establishment of the Delhi sultanate at the beginning of the thirteenth cen-
tury, Sufi orders (silsila) began to expand, encouraging and promoting many
beliefs held in common by Hindus and Muslims.” See Alam, The Language of
Political Islam, p. 82. Jadunath Sarkar believes that for a long time the main
concern of intellectuals was the religiously pluralistic harmonization of Islam
and Hinduism while rejecting the rigid orthodoxy of the brahmans and mullahs
and deemphasizing the differences in ritual, dogma and other external marks of
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 213
faith. See Jadunath Sarkar, Mughal Administration: Patna University Readership
Lectures, 1920 (Calcutta: M.C. Sarkar & Sons, 1920), p. 135. In this regard, the
attempts of Kabīr (d. ca. 923/1518), Guru Nānak (d. 946/1539), Dadu Dayal (d.
1011/1603) and Chishti Sufis could be mentioned.
331 Regarding Dārā Shukūh’s contribution and monotheism, see Munis D. Faruqui,
“Dara Shukoh, Vedanta, and Imperial Succession in Mughal India,” in Religious
Interactions in Mughal India, ed. Vasudha Dalmia, and Munis Daniyal Faruqui
(New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2015).
332 Stein, A History of India, p. 176.
333 There is a heated debate about the influence of the conflict between these
brothers on religious issues of India. Dārā Shukūh’s fame is for his toleration
and his attempt to understand Hinduism by translation of fifty Upanishads from
Sanskrit into Persian. See Athar Ali, The Mughal Nobility Under Aurangzeb,
pp. 165–204. Schimmel notes the difference between Dārā Shukūh’s and Akbar’s
respective approaches to religion, pointing out that “Dārā Šokōh’s interest was
not so much in the reconciliation of Islam and Hinduism on the political and
practical level on which Akbar had focused; rather, it was focused on the experi-
ential realization that esoteric understanding of both religions provides proof of
a single divine principle behind the variety of outward manifestations, just as `the
ocean is one and the waves and foam flecks cannot be distinguished from it once
they disappear.’” “Dārā Šokōh,” EIr. This subject has been reflected in several
pages of primary literature, such as ʿAlī Muḥammad Khān, Mirʾāt-i Aḥmadī:
A History of Gujarat in Persian, ed. Syed Nawab Ali (Baroda: Oriental Institute,
1928), vol. 1, p. 296.
334 Muʿīn al-Ḥaqq Khafī Khān, History of Alamgir (Karachi: n.p., 1975), pp. 258,259
quoted in Richards, The Mughal Empire, p. 177. Aurangzeb declared jihad upon
non-Muslims, or the infidels (kāfirs), ordered the destruction of their schools and
temples and strictly refused to allow the building of new ones. See Spear (ed.),
The Oxford History of India, p. 416.
335 Richards, The Mughal Empire, p. 164.
336 The dahriyya are “those who believe in the eternity of the course of time”
according to the Mafātīḥ al-ʿulūm. They were called azaliyya by the Ikhwān al-
ṣafāʾ. Al-Ghazālī considers them among groups of philosophers. Following him,
al-Shahrastānī in Kitāb al-Milal wa al-Niḥal, believes that they are al-ṭabīʿiyyūn,
“the naturalists who believe in dahr, who do not expound an intelligible [world].”
“Dahriyya,” EI2.
337 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 746, 790. ʿAndalīb places sukrī or Wujūdīs
alongside Hindu Brahmins and the followers of Advaita Vedanta, due to their
religious syncretism and openness. Regarding the similar concepts of waḥdat
al-wujūd as Hindu pantheism and the Vedantism in South Asia, see Fazlur
Rahman, Islam, p. 164, quoted in David Damrel, “The Naqshbandi Reaction
Reconsidered,” in Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in
Islamicate South Asia, ed. David Gilmartin, Bruce B. Lawrence (Gainesville,
FL: University of Florida Press, 2000), pp. 176, 194, fn. 4.
338 Shāh Walī Allāh asked Aḥmad Shāh Abdalī, a non-Indian leader, to save India for
Muslims, since non-Muslims, particularly the Marathas, had gained power and
were spreading idolatry. See Aziz Ahmad, An Intellectual History, p. 9. Regarding
this subject see, Umar, Islam in Northern India, p. 373; Voll, Islam, p. 59.
214 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
339 Arthur Buehler, “The Naqshbandiyya in Timurid India: The Central Asian
Legacy,” Islamic Studies 7, no. 2 (1996): pp. 208–228. See also Francis Robinson,
“Ottomans- Safavids-Mughals: Shared Knowledge and Connective Systems,”
Islamic Studies, vol. 8 (1997): pp. 151–184.
340 Claude Markovits (ed.), A History of Modern India, 1480-1950, trans. Nisha
Goerge and Maggy Hendry (London and New York: Anthem Press, 2004), p. 168.
Muhammad Mujeeb, The Indian Muslims (London: George Allen and Unwin,
1967), p. 281; Mushirul Haq, “Muslim Understanding of Hindu Religion,” Islam
and the Modern Age, no.4 (1973): 71–77.
341 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 802. On Sufism and Yoga, see Carl W. Ernst,
“Situating Sufism and Yoga,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 15, no. 1
(2005): pp. 15–43.
342 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 585.
343 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 803.
344 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 799.
345 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 802.
346 Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 45. See ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 800.
347 For the debates regarding the superiority of prophets versus that of saints, see
Carl W. Ernst, introduction to Manifestations of Sainthood in Islam, ed. Grace
Martin Smith (Istanbul: Isis Press, 1993), pp. xi–xxviii; ibid., “Muhammad as the
Pole of Existence,” 123–138.
348 Baljon claims that Shāh Walī Allāh’s perspective on his own prophetology was
inspired by Ibn al-ʿArabī. See M.S. Baljon, “Prophetology of Shāh WalĪ Allāh,”
Islamic Studies 9, no. 1 (1970): 69.
349 In Sufism, while prophethood came to an end with the last prophet, their spiritu-
ality remained among the saints. A group of Sufis tended to consider sainthood
(walāya) over prophecy (nubuwwa), since a saint (walī, a friend of God) obtains
the highest spiritual life. This idea was debated theologically in Sufi tradition
under the notion of tafaḍil al-walī ʿan al-nabī, which placed awliyāʾ above
anbiyāʾ and formed the walī-nabī dichotomy. See Gerald T. Elmore, Islamic
Sainthood in the Fullness of Time: Ibn al-ʿArabī’s Book of the Fabulous Gryphon
(Leiden: Brill, 1999), p. 131. Later, al-Tirmidhī (d. ca. 279/892) developed the
notion of the seal of saints (khātimat al-awliyāʾ). Ibn al-ʿArabī revised his idea
and highlighted differences between three terms: prophet (nabī), messenger
(rasūl) and saint (walī). From his point of view, as Elmore explains, while the
rasūl is a lawgiver, the nabī is a saint who received profound knowledge and
revelation. See Ibid., p. 152. According to McGregor, Ibn al-ʿArabī believes
that “when the Prophet speaks on the matters that lie outside the scope of law,
he is then speaking as a saint and gnostic, so that his station as a knower [of
truth] is more complete and perfect than that as a [messenger] or lawgiver. If
you hear any of the [people of God] transmitting sayings from him to the effect
that sainthood is higher than prophecy, he means only what we have just said.
Likewise, if he says that the saint is superior to the prophet and the [messenger],
he means only that this is so within one person. This is because the messenger
in his sainthood is more perfect than he is as a prophet or a messenger. It does
not mean that any saint coming after him is higher than he. So Muḥammad
can function through sainthood or through his prophecy, yet his prophecy is
limited to a time and place while his walāya is universal and timeless. So within
his person (or within that of any other prophet or messenger), sainthood is
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 215
superior to prophecy, but an individual who has sainthood, but not prophecy
or mission, is not superior to one who possesses prophecy, or mission, this
is the case because risāla and nubuwwa are cumulative. In other words, the
messenger has mission, prophecy and sainthood, the prophet has prophecy
and sainthood. The saint has only sainthood.” See Richard J.A. McGregor,
Sanctity and Mysticism in Medieval Egypt: The Wafa Sufi Order and the Legacy
of Ibn ʿArabi (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2006), pp. 24–
25. Compare this discussion with Michel Chodkiewicz, The Seal of the Saints,
Prophethood and Sainthood in the Doctrine of Ibn ʿArabi (Cambridge: The
Islamic Texts Society, 1993).
350 Concerning Shāh Walī Allāh’s opinion and its connection with reformist ideas,
see Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in the Nineteenth-Century India, p. 29.
This subject is also studied in Buehler, “The Naqshbandiyya in Timurid India,”
pp. 208–228. Disciples strove to nurture their bond (rābiṭa) with the shaykh along
with other practices such as fasting, praying and so on.
351 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 271.
352 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 882–883.
353 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 340.
354 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 739.
355 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 399.
356 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 592.
357 Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 573, 656. Al-Bukhārī narrated that “A man came to Allāh’s
Messenger and said, ‘O Allāh’s Messenger! What do you say about a man who
loves some people but cannot catch up with their good deeds?’ Allāh’s Messenger
said, ‘Everyone will be with those whom he loves.’ ” al-Bukhārī, Kitāb al-ṣaḥīḥ,
vol. 8, ḥadīth no. 6169, p. 110.
358 Qurʾān 4:59, “O ye who believe! Obey Allāh, and obey the Messenger, and
those charged with authority among you. If ye differ in anything among your-
selves, refer it to Allāh and His Messenger, if ye do believe in Allāh and the Last
Day: That is best, and most suitable for final determination.”
359 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 336.
360 Renard in A to Z of Sufism writes that companionship means ṣuḥba or muʿāshira,
that is relationship with the Prophet and friends of God. Later, it refers to the rela-
tionship between a disciple and his shaykh as a member of a mystical circle. See
Renard, A to Z of Sufism, s.v. “Companionship.” Concerning solitude (khalwa),
he describes it as the observation of thoughts in public and remembering God. It
means retreat and “withdrawal (ʿuzla)” from usual activities in family and society
in order to concentrate on spiritual practices. See ibid., s.v. “Retreat.”
361 Buehler, Sufi Heirs of the Prophet, p. 92.
362 Schimmel, Islam in the Indian Subcontinent, p. 95.
363 Fazlur Rahman, Revival and Reform in Islam, p. 170.
364 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 895. Regarding marriage, there are different
attitudes among Sufis. Al-Hujwīrī, in Kashf al-maḥjūb, dedicated one chapter
to the manners of married wayfarers and single wayfarers. This discussion can
also be followed in Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad al-Ghazālī’s Iḥyā al-ʿulūm al-dīn
and Kimiyā-yi saʿādat, Shahāb al-Dīn Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar Suhrawardī’s ʿAwārif
al-maʿārif, and ʿIzz al-Dīn Maḥmūd al-Kāshānī’s Miṣbāḥ al-hidāyawa miftāh
al-kifāya. Various attitudes toward marriage caused one group to reject it as a
worldly matter while the other group puts stress on its importance.
216 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
365 On the worldly point of view in eighteenth century Sufism, see Levtzion and Voll
(ed.), introduction to Eighteenth Century Renewal and Reform in Islam, pp. 9–
10; Lizzio, “The Naqshbandi/Saifiyya Battle for Islamic Tradition,” 55–56. On
social and political engagement in early Naqshbandī Sufism, see ʿUbayd Allāh
b. Maḥmūd Aḥrār, The Letters of Khwaja ‘Ubayd Allah Ahrar and His Associates,
ed. Asom Urunbaev, trans. Jo-An Gross (Leiden: Brill, 2002).
366 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 81.
367 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 601.
368 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 893–894.
369 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 226.
370 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 516.
371 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 517.
372 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 57.
373 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 802.
374 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 58.
375 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 570.
376 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 741.
377 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 217.
378 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 388.
379 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 894. Hamid Algar considers the principle of khalwat dar anjuman
as the “most striking example of the political role of the Naqshbandiyya” which
exercises “intense devotion to God within the context of society.” See Hamid
Algar, “Naqshbandī Order,” p. 138.
380 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 217.
381 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 893.
382 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 388.
383 Weismann, The Naqshbandiyya, p. 27. The Naqshbandi principles, or kalimat-i
qudsiyya, are as follows: control of the breath (hūsh dar dam), control of the
feet (naẓar bar qadam), voyage to the spiritual country (safar dar waṭan), soli-
tude within the crowd (khalwat dar anjuman), the act of remembering (yād kard),
the return of memory (bāzgasht), the protection of memory (nigāh dāsht), the
returning of memory (yād dāsht), control of the heart (wuquf-i qalbi), control of
time (wuquf-i zamānī) and control of numbers (wuqūf-i ʿadadī). Also see a brief
explanation in ter Haar, Follower and Heir of the Prophet, pp. 47–57.
384 Regarding ʿAndalīb’s criticism of Islamic formalism and his anti- clericalist
opinions see Neda Saghaee, “A Critical Examination of Influential Religious
Groups in Eighteenth-Century India through the Lens of a Mystical Persian
Text,” in Sufis and Their Opponents in the Persianate World, eds. Reza Tabandeh
and Leonard Lewisohn (Irvine: Jordan Center for Persian Studies, 2020),
pp. 545–564.
385 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 144.
386 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 777.
387 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 881.
388 Ibid.
389 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 726.
390 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 730.
391 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 788.
392 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 882–883. The need for ijtihād (rethinking) was one aspect of the
efforts toward a renewal of sharīʿa. It was a way to save Muslims from the most
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 217
complicated problems of the time. From the points of view of some scholars, such
as Esposito and Voll, advocating ijtihād is a revivalist element which serves as the
means for a radical reform of the community. Supporters of ijtihād were opposed
to blind imitation (taqlīd-i jāmid) in matters of faith and fiqh. Kenneth Lizzio,
however, shows that the support for ijtihād in India was a revision of Sirhindī’s
thought, since for his devotees following a mujtahid is related to a comprehen-
sive familarity with the main Islamic sources. See Lizzio, “The Naqshbandi/
Saifiyya Battle for Islamic Tradition,” endnote 4, p.54. Ali Rahnema, in his
introduction to Pioneers of Islamic Revival, asserts that Muslim revivalists bene-
fitted from ijtihād in understanding the revelation as it applies to modern times
based on the circumstances. He refers to the conflict between revivalist Sunnis
and traditional Sunnis who prohibit ijtihād as it was practiced during the thir-
teenth century. See Ali Rahnema, introduction to Pioneeers of Islamic Revival,
ed. Ali Rahnema (London and New Jersey: Zed Book Ltd., 1994), p. 8. The
struggle about fiqh between the imami Shiʿi like the Akhbāriyya and Uṣūliyya
and the spread of their debate in the Indian religious environment of India can
be followed in Robert Gleave, Scripturalist Islam The History and Doctrines of
the Akhbārī Shīʿī School (Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill, 2007). For Shiʿism in
India see Justin Jones, Shiʿa Islam in Colonial India Religion, Community and
Sectarianism (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012).
393 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 848.
394 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 847. Although ʿAndalīb explains that an understanding of the
differences between the Ḥanafī and Shāfiʿī schools cannot be conveyed through
the written word, he does try to clarify the differences of these two schools.
He divides prophethood into two parts: the ascending part which relates to
sainthood/friendship with God (wilāya) and the descending part which relates
to prophecy (nubuwwa). With respect to the first aspect, the devotee is focused
on God and receives the blessings of the saints (wilāya), while concerning the
second aspect, the devotee is focused on creation and the divine laws (Sharīʿa)
to which he must adhere. Shāfiʿī religious jurisprudence has comprehensively
addressed issues related to the first part, the status of the wilāya of prophet-
hood, while Ḥanafī religious jurisprudence has perfectly understood the status
of the nubuwwa of prophethood. After clarifying the differences among these
two schools of fiqh, he articulates his own position as follows: “I am Ḥanafī
but I do not follow Abū Ḥanīfa in some fatāwā and new issues (muḥaddathāt)
like his other famous followers such as Abū Muḥammad (d. 189/805) and Abū
Yūsuf (d. 182/798), who attained the status of taḥqīq [or ijtihād] from taqlīd.”
ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 787–789, qouted in Saghaee, “A Critical
Examination of Influential Religious Groups,” p. 562, fn.52.
395 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, pp. 840–841.
396 Being both ghulām (“a servant”) and khākī (“terrestrial”) is remarkable for
several reasons. First, khākī means “created from soil,” since according to the
Qurʾān, God created humankind out of dust (Qurʾān 3:59) or clay (ibid., 37:11,
15:28, 23:12). Second, this name refers to his low place in the universe, since he
lives in the world that is described as ʿālam-i khākī (“terrestrial world”). Third, in
Persian this word refers to a praiseworthy attribute and means modest, unselfish
and humble. Fourth, khākī symbolizes all human beings and the people of earth,
but it has a particular connection with Adam, whose name is derived from the
Hebrew word for earth (ʾadama). This refers to God forming human beings from
218 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
the dust of the earth: “Then the Lord God formed man [ʾadam] of the dust of the
earth [ʾadama]” (Genesis 2:7).
397 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 443. The legend demonstrates the situation
of man as a mirror of the universe.
398 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 454. Ghulām Khākī is described as a farmer and similarly, it is
narrated in a ḥadīth that Adam planted seeds on the earth. See Brannon M. Wheeler,
Introduction to the Qurʾān: Stories of the Prophets (New York: Continuum,
2001), p. 28.
399 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 661. Based on the Qurʾān, “the creation
of Adam was from clay (7:12), while God breathed into him some of His
spirit (15:29) and he became God’s caliph on the earth. The angels objected
and believed that Adam would cause trouble and violence (2:30). Adam is the
possessor of comprehensive knowledge since God taught him all of the names
(2:30–32). God ordered the angels to bow down to Adam, but Satan disobeyed
and God expelled him from heaven (2:34, 7:11–18). Adam and his wife lived in
paradise. God forbade them from eating from the tree of immortality (7:189,
2:35, and 20:120). After eating the forbidden fruit, God expelled them from para-
dise. In exile, they lived on the earth and their offspring will continue to live
and die until the day of resurrection (7:20–25, 20:121–23, 2:36).” Juan Eduardo
Campo, Encyclopedia of World Religions, Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. “Adam
and Eve” (New York: Infobase Publishing, 2009). Concerning Adam in Islamic
literature, see M. J. Kister, “Ādam: A Study of Some Legends in Tafsīr and
Ḥadīth Literature,” Israel Oriental Studies, no. 13 (1993): 113–174. For a brief
comparative study about Adam in Islam and Judaism, see Scott B. Noegel and
Brannon M. Wheeler, The A to Z of Prophets in Islam and Judaism, s.v. “Adam”
(Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2010).
400 In the Qurʾān, Adam was forbidden from eating the fruit from a particular
tree: “And We said, O Adam, dwell, you and your wife, in Paradise and eat there-
from in abundance from wherever you will. But do not approach this tree, lest you
be among the wrongdoers” (Qurʾān 2:35). Commentators on the Qurʾān believed
that the forbidden tree or fruit refers to a grapevine and wheat. In the legend
of Ghulām Khākī, ʿAndalīb applied the imagery of forbidden wine (may) from
Persian mystical literature. Sanāʾī Ghaznawī (d. ca. 545/1150) was the first poet
who used the themes of wine, drunkenness (mastī) and the tavern (maykhāna)
to represent deep mystical experience. After him, Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad
Ḥāfiẓ Shīrāzī benefited from the imagery of wine and he described an intoxicated
mystic as a drunk. In sum, this imagery was used to portray the sincere feelings
of the Sufi lovers, who were opposed to the ostentatious religiosity of the ascetics
(zāhidān).
401 In the Qurʾān, Satan misled Adam and Eve: “But Satan whispered to them to
make apparent to them that which was concealed from them of their private
parts. He said, ‘Your Lord did not forbid you this tree except that you become
angels or become of the immortal’.” (Qurʾān 7:20).
402 “So he made them fall, through deception. And when they tasted of the tree,
their private parts became apparent to them, and they began to fasten together
over themselves from the leaves of Paradise. And their Lord called to them, ‘Did
I not forbid you from that tree and tell you that Satan is to you a clear enemy?’ ”
(Qurʾān 2:22).
403 The terrestrial sphere is divided into seven areas: India, Arabia, Shām, Iran,
Rūm, Turan and China.
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 219
4 04 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 107; vol. 2, p. 449.
405 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 453.
406 The lowest world is the world of the earth or humanity and is called ʿālam al-
mulk or nāsūt.
407 Ibid., p. 445.
408 Ibid., p. 454. In Islamic cosmology, there exist two mysterious cities, Jābulqā and
Jābulsā. The former is a city in the east, beyond which there is no habitation. This
is the first station on the path of the wayfarer, while the last station is Jābulsā,
a city in the west that has one thousand gates. The cities are located in the
“imaginal world” (ʿālam al-mithāl). See Dihkhudā, Lughhat nāma, s.v. “Jābulsā”
and s.v. “Jābulqā”; Sajjādī, Farhang-i iṣṭilāḥāt wa taʾbīrāt-i Fārsī, s.v. “Jābulsā wa
Jābulqā.” Ḥumayrā Arsanjānī mentions that these cities became important, since
according to Shiʿi sources, the Mahdī, who is hidden, lives there until the end of
the world. “Jābulsā wa Jābulqā,” CGIE.
409 Pūr Nāmdāriyān, Ramz wa dāstān-hā-yi ramzī, p. 299.
410 Suhrawardī, al-Ghurbat al-Gharbiyya, in Majmūʿa muṣannafāt, ed. Henry Korbin
(Tehran: Anjuman-i Ḥikmat wa Falsafa-yi Iran, 1355 Sh./1976), vol. 2, p. 278,
quoted in Sajjādī, s.v. “Bilād-i Gharb” and s.v. “Jabulsā wa Jabulqā”. In the same
way, Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī asserts that India is the paradise of truth in the story of
“the Parrot and the Grocer” in his Mathnawī.
411 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 435.
412 The spell-breaking jewel (shāh muhra) has also been called the Cup of Jamshīd
(Jām-i Jam) and the World-revealing Cup (Jām-i jahān namā) in mystical Persian
literature. It is a rare and precious piece of stone that reflects the whole world
along with the seven heavens, in addition to revealing deep truths. Dihkhudā,
Lughat nāma, s.v. “Shāh muhra” and s.v. “Jām-i Jam.”
413 These topics, according to Chittick, are very important in Islamic mysticism;
and it was these elements, instead of divine wrath and vengeance, that were
emphasized by many Sufi authors, like Aḥmad al-Samʿānī’s (d. 534/1140), who
in his work, Rawḥ al-arwāḥ fi sharḥ asmāʾ al-malik al-fattāḥ, relies on God’s
mercy, love and compassion. The main idea derives from the famous ḥadīth,
“God’s mercy predominates over his wrath.” See William Chittick, “The Myth
of Adam’s Fall in Ahmad Samani’s Rawh al-Arwah,” in The Heritage of Sufism,
vol. 1, ed. Leonard Lewisohn (Oxford: Oneworld, 1999), p. 339.
414 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 614–623.
415 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 668.
416 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 661.
417 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 641.
418 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 665.
419 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 515. It is also called the First Intellect (ʿAql al-Awwal) or the
Reality of Realities (Ḥaqīqat al-Ḥaqāyiq).
420 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 466.
421 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 623.
422 Ibid., pp. 638–639.
423 Ibid., p. 639.
424 Al-Ṭabarī in Taʾrīkh al-rusul waʾl-mulūk, composed in Arabic, identifies India
as location where Adam and Eve were casted down. To support his claim, he
added the names of some reliable and prominent scholars, among them the name
of al-Ḥasan b. Yaḥyā ʿAbd al-Razzāq Maʿmar Qatādah can be mentioned. Al-
Ṭabarī also considers the account of al-Ḥārith b. Saʿd Hishām b. Muḥammad,
220 Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya
who places the fall of Eva in Jeddah, while also maintaining that Adam arrived
at a mountain in India called Nūdh. See Muḥammad al-Ṭabarī, The History of
al-Ṭabari, trans. Franz Rosenthal (Albany, NY: State University of New York
Press, 1989), vol. 1, pp. 290–91.
425 Carl W. Ernst, “India as a Sacred Islamic Land,” in Religions of India in Practice,
ed. Donald S. Lopez Jr. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), p. 556;
Jamal Malik dedicates the last pages of his paper, “Constructions of the Past in
and about India: From Jahiliyya to the Cradle of Civilization,” to the study of
Adam in India, with focus on Āzād Bilgrāmī’s thought. See Malik, “Constructions
of the Past in and about India,” p. 65–67.
4 26 Ernst, “India as a Sacred Islamic Land,” p. 557. He explains:
Adam’s peak is the second holiest place on earth next to Mecca; India was
the site of the first revelation, the first mosque on earth, and the place from
which pilgrimage to Mecca was first performed. Using the Sufi mystical con-
cept of Muḥammad’s primordial prophetic nature, Ᾱzād described India as
the place where the eternal light of Muḥammad first manifested in Adam,
whereas Arabia is where it found its final expression in the physical form of
the prophet. The black stone of Mecca descended with Adam, the staff of
Moses grew from a myrtle that Adam planted on the peak, and all fruits,
perfumes, and craft tools derive from Adam’s descent to India.
(ibid.)
427 Nile Green, Indian Sufism since the Seventeenth Century: Saints, Books and
Empires in the Muslim Deccan (London and New York: Routledge, 2006), p. 46.
428 Schimmel, Muhammad is His Messenger, p. 208. Chaurasia, History of Modern
India 1707–2000, p. 9.
429 Friedmann, Shaykh Aḥmad Sirhindī, p. 49.
430 Mana Kia in her book identifies the last two groups as Turanians and Iranians
in the Persianate Hindustan with the aims to examine the notions of “exile, com-
munity and self-figuring.” Her debate conceptualizes ghurbat (exile) and waṭan
(home) for Iranian immigrants in India. She traces the positions of Iranians
and Turanians back to the reign of Akbar, since the emperor’s policy to con-
trol the power of the Chagatai elites opens the door of the Mughal court to
those who accompanied Humayun. She refers to ʿAbd al-Karīm Kashmīrī
who uses “Turani Mughals (Mughuliyyih-yi Tūrānī)” for elites from Turan.
This naming was a way to recognize them from Iranian nobles. See Mana Kia,
Persianate Selves: Memories of Place and Origin Before Nationalism (Stanford,
CA: Stanford University Press, 2020), p.161. Analyzing the concept of sacredness
of India rejects the ghurbat /waṭan dilemma in order to streghten the notion of
waṭan/India in ʿAndalīb’s discourse.
431 Ralph Russell and Khurshidul Islam, Three Mughal Poets (London: George Allen
and Unwin Ltd., 1968), p. 21. Here, the study of works in the genre of shahr āshūb
becomes very significant, and as Carla R. Petievich notes, they were influenced by
the events of the time and are the best instrument for understanding the worldview
of those who witnessed them. See Carla R. Petievich, “Poetry of the Declining
Mughals: Shahr Ashub,” Journal of South Asian Literature, vol. 25, no.1 (1990): 99.
432 Petievich, “Poetry of the Declining Mughals,” p. 101. See also H.M. Elliott and
John Dowson (trans. and eds.), The History of India As Told by its Own Historians
(Allahabad: Kitab Mahal, 1964), vol. 8, pp. 21–22. This genre in Urdu became
something quite different from its Persian counterpart. See Soofia Siddique,
Muḥammad Nāṣir ʿAndalīb’s Ṭarīqa-yi Khāliṣ Muḥammadiyya 221
“Remembering the Revolt of 1857: Contrapuntal Formations in Indian Literature
and History,” (PhD diss., SOAS, 2012), p.43.
433 This point of view was common among many Sufi authors, and as Chittick
asserts, they paid attention to the positive consequences of the fall of Adam.
Chittick, “The Myth of Adam’s Fall,” pp. 339–341.
434 Malik, “Constructions of the Past in and about India,” p. 65. He writes that
“Since the Holy Spirit first descended on Adam and informed the first prophet
(Adam) about the last prophet (Muhammad), prophecy and revelation were
initiated in India to the point where the Muhammadan light, a topos developed
by Khurasanian Sufis in the thirteenth century, was transferred through Adam
and finally delivered to Muhammad. Hence, India was the source of light, which
assumed its final physical form only in Arabia.” Ibid., p. 66. In a footnote he
regarding the concept of millat ḥanifi, he explains “millat ḥanifi (the commu-
nity adhering to the religion of Abraham) started from India and thus the
Muhammadan kingdom actually germinated from here. Indeed, the black stone
of the Kaʿba descended here for the first time. Similarly, Noah hailed from India
where all the God-given amenities such as diamonds, professional tools, good
smell, pious tree, fruits etc. appeared for the first time.” In sum, the first mosque
was located in India and India became the very starting point for the pilgrimage
toward the Holy Land. See ibid., fn. 66. For more on this subject, see Ernst,
“India as a Sacred Islamic Land,” p. 557.
435 Malik, “Constructions of the Past in and about India,” p. 71.
436 God’s manifestation through the attributes of majesty and wrath in India was
very common among Muslim adherents of shahr āshūb such as Mīr Taqī Mīr.
437 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 35.
438 This ḥadīth is regarded as ṣaḥīḥ based on sources such as al-Tirmidhī, Jāmiʿ
al-Tirmidhī, ḥadīth no. 2324, 357; Abdul Hussain Muslim ibn al-Hallaj, Ṣaḥīḥ
Muslim, trans. Nasiruddin al-Khattab, ed. Huda Kattab (Riyadh: Maktaba Dar-
us-Salam, 2007), ḥadīth no.7417, p. 361.
439 ʿAndalīb, Nāla--yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 8, vol. 1, p. 156.
440 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 57.
441 Mīr Dard, Chahār risāla, cited and translated in Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 32.
442 Qurʾān 21:107: “And We have not sent you, [O Muḥammad], except as a mercy to
the worlds.”
443 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, p. 141.
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Epilogue
Notes
1 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 7. In his eyes, the princes not only have to
learn the skillful management of state affairs, statesmanship and responsibility for
maintaining security and social order, but also at the same time, they must learn
wisdom and religion. See ibid., vol. 1, p. 24. His critique targets the Mughal kings
who were over-engaged in the enjoyment of hunting and games. He asserts that the
real hunting is the hunting of corrupters, bandits, rebels, and infidels. See ibid., vol.
1, p. 186.
2 Therefore, a vizier, as a true friend of the king, is a wise companion, honest adviser
and teacher of the emperor, as the ḥadīth emphasizes, “Speak truth to power—that
is the religion.” See ibid., vol. 2, pp. 337 and 390. See also vol. 1, p. 389.
3 As Schimmel notes, ʿAndalīb thinks that the practices in Yoga in comparison with
Sufi meditation do not have value because the Sufi practices get blessings from
their connection to the Prophet. Schimmel, Pain and Grace, p. 45. See ʿAndalīb,
Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 1, p. 800. In this way, ʿAndalīb has a critical point of view
and prohibits Yogis’ extreme practices, because the ḥadīth support the principle of
moderation on the path which encourages equilibrium in everything from eating
and drinking to one’s style of clothing. See ibid., vol. 2, p. 585. His attention shows
the significance of regulating the body and controlling it with regard to the three
categories of food, drink and breathing according to the ḥadīth. See ibid., vol. 1,
p. 802.
4 ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol.2, p. 81.
5 Wright, Realizing Islam, p. 153.
6 Ibid., p.142.
7 See the role of al-Wāsiṭī and the development of Ṭarīqa-yi Muḥammadiyya in
Sedgwick, “Saints and Sons,” pp. 27 and 31. ʿAndalīb describes how the faqīr-i
Muḥammadī does not care for identifying himself from others. He clarifies what
he has in mind by referring to different types of dress that the Sufis around him
wear. The way of dressing shows their desire to be distinguished from others, that
is from his perspective, their mistake and an innovation. In contrast, Muḥammadīs
wear the garment of piety in accordance with the Qurʾānic verse (7:26) on the path
of the Prophet’s faqr. See ʿAndalīb, Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb, vol. 2, pp. 386–387. In more
detail, he explains different approaches that Sufis demonstrates in their appearance.
Some of them wear a four-piece hat (kulāh chahār tarkī), deem four things neces-
sary: abandonment of physical pleasure, abandonment of sensual passion,
Epilogue 241
abandonment of worldly pleasure, and seeking pleasure only for the afterlife. Those
who wear a two-piece hat (kulāh du tarkī) deem two things necessary: abandonment
of the world and abandonment of the afterlife. Sufis in the state of contraction
(qabḍ) wear dark clothes and cover the entire body. In the state of expansion (basṭ)
and relief, they wear loose clothes in lighter colors such as green or red. Those who
are pretentious paupers, since they chose to be in misery, wear clothes which do not
show dirt. Those who have achieved annihilation, wear a burial shroud. One group
wears the garb of the Qādiriyya, another group wears a towel. However, the faqīr-i
Muḥammadī wears the biggest straw hat (kulāh kah-kahī). Ibid.
8 Dallal, Islam without Europe, p. 59.
9 Sedgwick, “Saints and Sons,” pp. 31–35. Sedgwick writes about “an unknown
connection” between ʿAndalīb and eighteenth- century adherents of Ṭarīqa-yi
Muḥammadiyya like ʿAbd al-Ghanī al-Nāblusī and al-Bakri. ibid., p. 44.
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Appendices
Appendix 1: Summarized Table of
Contents of Nāla-yi ʿAndalīb
Volume 1
Prologue
Introduction
ʿArsh Āshiyān
Falak Qadr
Mihr Jahāngīr (the Bulbul)
At the Love-Increasing Garden
At Consciousness-Snatcher Mountain
At the Court of Fayḍ Bakhsh, King of Iran
The Story of Farrukh Fāl
The Story of Shīr Zan-i Āhū Shikār
The Story of Shāh Shujāʿ
The Story of Shāh Bā Kamāl’s Vizier
The Story of Bī Qayd-i Shūrīda Ḥāl
The Story of One and a Half Worthy Friends
The Legend of Ḥusn and ʿIshq
The Legend of the Spell-breaking Jewel
Volume 2
Journey of the Nightingale from Iran to Arabia
Getting Lost at Sea
Wandering in the Deserts of Arabia and Being Joined by
Companions
The Legend of the Dervish Ganj Asrār
About the Situation of the Rose in Hindustan
About Māh Munīr
Joining Māh Munīr to the Rose and his Companions
Conquering Shām
Arriving to Arabia and Not Finding the Rose There
Journey of the Nightingale from Arabia to Hindustan to Find the Rose
Describing the Way and its Hardships
Appendices 243
Arriving to Hindustan and Not Finding the Rose at the Mountain
Meeting Shāh-i Shāhān Several Times
The Legend of Ghulām-i Khākī
The Story of the Perfect Dervishes
The Story of the Imperfect Vizier
Continuation of the Meetings with Shāh-i Shāhān
The Story of Sulṭān and Kanīz
Journey of the Nightingale from Hindustan to Arabia and Back
Building an Army, Returning to Hindustan, Staying at Shāh Ḥaq
Shinās’s Court and Proposing Marriage to the CrownPrincess
(the Rose)
Volume 1
Prologue
Introduction
King ʿArsh Āshiyān
ʿArsh Āshiyān meets an old woman making unpleasant remarks
about the king’s way of governing and complaining about injustice
and insecurity.
ʿArsh Āshiyān becomes sick and submits himself to God’s will.
ʿArsh Āshiyān beseeches his sons, Falak Qadr and Sipihr Shukūh, to
maintain their unity forever.
Falak Qadr rules Arabia and Sipihr Shukūh governs Rūm.
King Falak Qadr
King Falak Qadr tells his vizier about his desire to have a son.
The vizier chooses poverty and goes on a journey in order to find a
dervish and ask him to pray to God that the king be healed.
The vizier joins the disciples of the dervish Maẓhar Qadīr.
Mihr Jahāngīr, the king’s son, and Māh Munīr, the vizier’s son,
are born.
Sipihr Shukūh wishes to have a child and Bī Naẓīr is born.
The vizier educates the two boys.
The vizier abandons the world and rejoins the disciples of the dervish
Maẓhar Qadīr.
Mihr Jahāngīr (the Nightingale)
At the Love-Increasing Garden
Mihr Jahāngīr hears about the zāhid’s daughter and their love
begins.
Meetings between Mihr Jahāngīr and the zāhid’s daughter.
First night: Māh Munīr and Mihr Jahāngīr conceal
themselves in the garden. The zāhid’s daughter’s heart
is pained by Mihr Jahāngīr’s pitiful sigh and Mihr
Jahāngīr faints due to the intensity of the beloved’s
manifestation.
Appendices 245
Second night: The zāhid comes to the Love-Increasing
Garden without his daughter and expresses impatience
with her and Mihr Jahāngīr
Third night: Mihr Jahāngīr and the zāhid’s daughter
meet again. Māh Munīr devises a method to allow
Mihr Jahāngīr to visit the beloved without being
overwhelmed. They arrange their next meeting at
Consciousness-Snatcher Mountain.
At Consciousness-Snatcher Mountain
Hardships and difficulties along the way
Mihr Jahāngīr and the zāhid’s daughter meet again under the lote tree
The zāhid’s curse and transformation into a nightingale and a rose.
Māh Munīr goes on a journey to find the spell-breaking jewel.
Tājir-i Jahān Gard gives the rose as a gift to Fayḍ Bakhsh, the King
of Iran.
Mihr Jahāngīr, as the nightingale, becomes restless from being
separated from the rose and after a long time, he finds her at Fayḍ
Bakhsh’s court.
In King Fayḍ Bakhsh’s Court, Iran
King Fayḍ Bakhsh and his queen realize the true identities of the rose
and the nightingale.
They try to find a solution for them and ask Fayḍ Rasān, King of
Turan, to bring the spell-breaking jewel.
They break the curse and the rose and the nightingale are transformed
once more into human form.
The rose and the nightingale are married.
The nightingale marries Nasrīn, Fayḍ Rasān’s daughter, and Nastaran,
Fayḍ Bakhsh’s daughter. Khushbū and Khushgū are born.
The nightingale tells the story of Farrukh Fāl.
Criticism of the extravagance of Farrukh Fāl, the son of the
King of Hindustan, for hunting to excess in the Deccan
Shāh Shujāʿ, King of the Deccan, tells the story of
Shīr Zan-i Āhū Shikār to Farrukh Fāl.
The love story of Ṭahūr Bayk and Dil Rubā.
Ṭahūr Bayk goes on a journey to earn money,
thus Dil Rubā is separated from her lover.
The gazelle falls in love with Dil Rubā.
The gazelle tells a herd of deer about the
knowledge he acquired from this love.
Ṭahūr Bayk returns home and is suspicious
about the relationship between the gazelle and
Dil Rubā.
Ṭahūr Bayk kills the gazelle. Dil Rubā dies and
Ṭahūr Bayk commits suicide.
The story of Farrukh Fāl’s love for a Hindu girl.
246 Appendices
Farrukh Fāl falls in love with a Hindu girl and escapes with
her to Hindustan. Her tribe rebels in protest of this injustice
toward a peasant.
Shāh Shujāʿ attacks Hindustan three times for arresting
Farrukh Fāl and the Hindu girl.
Shāh Shujāʿ replaces his vizier and renounces the kingdom to
find and arrest Farrukh Fāl. He disguises himself as a mer-
chant and travels to Hindustan.
Shāh Shujāʿ’s vizier betrays him and seizes control. Shāh Shujāʿ
tries to regain control.
Shāh Shujāʿ returns the Hindu girl to her tribe. The Hindu girl
criticizes her tribe’s religion so they return her to Shāh Shujāʿ’s
court. She converts to the Muḥammadan Path and finally is
married to Farrukh Fāl.
The nightingale tells the story of Shāh Shujāʿ to two kings.
Shāh Shujāʿ disguises himself as a merchant who calls himself Tājir-i
Ṣādiq and travels to the court of Shāh Bā Kamāl, Farrukh Fāl’s father,
in Hindustan in order to find an honest companion, a sincere vizier,
a qualified doctor and to discover the meaning of the proverb: “be
a harlot, but a perfect person.” The king discusses different subjects.
The story of Shāh Bā Kamāl’s vizier, Namak Ḥalāl.
The story of the burglary at Shāh Bā Kamāl’s castle.
The story of his conquering Nāhir Sanga castle and Namak
Ḥalāl’s discussion with its raja about religious and ideological
issues.
The story of Bīqayd-i Shūrīda-i Ḥāl, in criticism of the
raja’s religion
Tājir-i Ṣādiq tells the story of “One and a half worthy friends,”
in criticism of Namak Ḥalāl.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq recognizes the true character of Ḥakīm-i Masīḥ
Khiṣāl.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq tests Shāh Bā Kamāl in different ways to assess his
truth in friendship.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq’s position at Shāh Bā Kamāl’s court
The birth of prince Ṣāḥib Jamāl, Shāh Bā Kamāl’s son
How Tājir-i Ṣādiq manages the court, etc.
They go to hunt but Shāh Bā Kamāl is injured. Tājir-i Ṣādiq
heals him by way of a strange prescription.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq tells Farrukh Fāl about profound knowledge.
Tājir-i Ṣādiq discovers the meaning of the proverb “be a harlot
but a perfect person.”
Farrukh Fāl and his father, Shāh Bā Kamāl, meet again.
Farrukh Fāl introduces Tājir-i Ṣādiq as Shāh Shujāʿ, the King
of the Deccan. Description of Shāh Shujāʿ’s management of
the kingdom.
Appendices 247
The adventure of Bakhshī Raʾīs al-Rijāl.
The adventure of Ghalʿa Dār Khān.
Shāh Shujāʿ marries the harlot.
The position of Shāh Shujāʿ’s first wife, in the face of the harlot.
Death of Shāh Bā Kamāl and his succession by Shāh Shujāʿ,
after him Farrukh Fāl, and then Ṣāḥib Jamāl.
The nightingale tells the legend of Ḥusn and ʿIshq to the kings.
The legend of the goldsmith, Zargar-i ʿAql.
The adventure of the white elephant which Zargar-i ʿAql made
for Shāh Shaydā, the King of Turan
The adventure of Zar Giriftār, who had a hidden relationship
with Zargar-i ʿAql’s wife. Zar Giriftār tries to discover Zargar-i
ʿAql’s secret and learn about his theft of the material he used
to make the white elephant. Zargar-i ʿAql’s wife betrays him.
Zargar-i ʿAql marries his second wife, Ṭabʿ-i Salīm and ʿIshq
is born.
Arjumand Shāh, the King of Iran, attacks Turan in order to
acquire the white elephant.
The story of ʿIshq, the goldsmith’s son
ʿIshq falls in love with Ḥusn, the daughter of Arjumand Shāh.
Ḥusn’s mother asks Shāh Shaydā to marry Ḥusn and send her
picture to him. Shāh Shaydā falls in love with the picture of
Ḥusn. He fights with ʿIshq because of Ḥusn. Ḥusn and ʿIshq
escape to Shām. Shāh Shaydā abandons his kingdom and goes
on a journey to find Ḥusn.
Ḥusn and ʿIshq change their names in Shām. Wāla Shāh, the
King of Shām falls in love with Ḥusn. Consequently, Ḥusn and
ʿIshq try to run away. They drown at sea. Wāla Shāh gives up
his kingdom and goes to find Ḥusn.
The two kings, Shāh Shaydā and Wāla Shāh, encounter each
other. Then, they find and serve ʿIshq. A merchant informs
them about the place of Ḥusn in Hindustan and they then
travel there to find her. Eventually, they are annihilated in love.
King Fayḍ Rasān tells the legend of the spell-breaking jewel (shāh muhra) to
the nightingale.
Khujasta Shamīm, the King of Iran, falls in love when he sees the pic-
ture of Buland Himam, the King of Turan.
On one hand, Buland Himam renounces his kingdom in order to travel
in the world as a faqīr. On the other hand, Khujasta Shamīm gives up
his kingdom in order to visit Buland Himam in Turan. However, when
he arrives, he finds that Buland Himam is not there. Thus, he becomes
disappointed and travels to Mecca and joins Shāh ʿĀrif’s circle of
disciples.
The circumstances of the realms of these two kings after they leave
their kingdoms.
248 Appendices
Shāh ʿĀrif inculcates into Buland Himam’s heart the desire to travel
to Mecca.
Twelve private sessions take place between Shāh ʿĀrif and Khujasta
Shamīm and Buland Himam.
First: in criticism of wisdom and philosophy.
Second: in criticism of alchemy.
Third: in criticism of Islamic sects.
Fourth: in criticism of Sufism.
Fifth: in criticism of Yogis.
Sixth: in expressing determinism and authority (jabr wa
ikhtiyār).
Seventh: about the bridge over hell (ṣirāṭ).
Eighth: about the balance of deeds (mīzān).
Ninth: about seeing God in the afterlife.
Tenth: about jihād-i akbar and jihād-i aṣghar.
Eleventh: about the beliefs of the seventy-four sects of the
Muḥammadī religion.
Twelfth: about sama’, the annihilation of Shāh ʿĀrif and his
finding the spell-breaking jewel.
Volume 2
Journey of the nightingale from Iran to Arabia in order to visit his father,
Falak Qadr
The nightingale gets lost at sea.
He wanders in the deserts of Arabia.
The companions join the nightingale.
Bī Nazīr joins the nightingale.
The legend of the dervish Ganj Asrār
Performance of the magician
The magician and the dervish Ganj Asrār
The king and the dervish Ganj Asrār
Amīr-i Bā Tadbīr joins the nightingale
Tājir-i Ghanī joins the nightingale
Tājir-i Kabīr and his ten companions join the nightingale.
The 40 companions join the nightingale.
The 310 companions join the nightingale.
The circles of the nightingale’s companions
After losing the nightingale, the rose nearly drowns herself at sea. She
is rescued by a ship and is taken to Hindustan. She takes refuge on the
mountain.
Māh Munīr, who travels to find the spell-breaking jewel, comes
to Hindustan and finds the rose on the mountain. He goes
again on a journey to find the nightingale.
Appendices 249
Shāh Ḥaq Shinās visits the rose and appoints her as his crown
princess. Then, she is known as Shāh-i Shāhān and Shāh-i
Ghayb, etc. She sends some couriers to find the nightingale.
Māh Munīr goes to find the nightingale, but on the way, he falls in love
with Mushtarī, the daughter of Nāhīd Sāh, the Queen of Sabā.
Mushtarī wants to accompany Māh Munīr on his journey.
They arrive in Shām. The King of Shām, Shāh-i Tājdār falls
in love with Mushtarī. Mushtarī tries to run away but nearly
drowns at sea.
She is saved by ʿĀbid-i Gūsha Nishīn.
Māh Munīr also nearly drowns at sea but is saved and encounters the
nightingale and his companions.
They defeat Shāh-i Tajdār, the King of Shām.
ʿĀbid-i Gūsha Nishīn comes to the nightingale’s court with Mushtarī.
Mushtarī rejoins Māh Munīr.
The nightingale assigns ʿĀbid-i Gūsha Nishīn to be the ruler of Shām.
Then, he continues with his companions to journey to Arabia
When they arrive in Arabia, the nightingale finds that the rose is not
there. Māh Munīr informs him that the rose is in Hindustan. So, they
go to Hindustan.
Journey of the nightingale from Arabia to Hindustan in order to find the rose
Hardships on the journey and the circumstances of the circles of the
nightingale’s companions
They arrive in Hindustan and do not find the rose on the mountain.
The nightingale meets Shāh-i Shāhān several times.
The first meeting, he goes to Shāh-i Shāhān’s court with all of
his companions and Shāh-i Shāhān gives them special robes
of honor.
The second meeting, he goes there alone.
The third meeting, he again goes alone.
The fourth meeting, he goes and receives a king’s robe of honor.
The fifth meeting, he goes with Māh Munīr, whom Shāh-i
Shāhān gives the carpet of happiness.
The sixth meeting, he goes with Bī Nazīr, whom Shāh-i Shāhān
gives a lord’s green robe of honor and a vicariate ring.
The seventh meeting, he goes with Amīr-i Bā Tadbīr, whom
Shāh-i Shāhān gives a patchwork robe of honor and an
inlaid belt.
The eighth meeting, he goes with Tājir-i Faqīr, whom Shāh-i
Shāhān gives a colored robe of honor and an inlaid dirk.
The ninth meeting, he goes again with Māh Munīr, whom
Shāh-i Shāhān gives pearls and jewels.
The tenth meeting, he goes alone and tells her his story.
The eleventh meeting, he goes alone and receives a special
dinner.
250 Appendices
The twelfth meeting, the nightingale tells Shāh-i Shāhān the
legend of Ghulām-i Khākī.
Malik al-Jān, the King of Jannat Naẓīr Island, finds a
strange pearl. He sees the manifestation of Shāh-i Jinn
wa Ins in this pearl.
Shāh-i Jinn wa Ins is obliged to Ghulām-i Khākī and
gives him a special position at his court.
Shāh-i Jinn wa Ins manifests himself in a dream to
Ghulām-i Khākī and Ghulām-i Khākī falls in love
with him.
Ḥakīm Dhūʾl-Funūn speaks with Ghulām-i Khākī.
Ḥakīm Dhu’l-Funūn tells the story of the harmful
foolish friend and the beneficial wise enemy.
After being deceived by a woman, Ghulām-i Khākī
incurs the wrath of Shāh-i Jinn wa Ins and is deported
to Hindustan.
Four birds accompany Ghulām-i Khākī.
The situation of Ghulām-i Khākī in Hindustan. Many
people gather around him to hear about his knowledge.
Ghulām-i Khākī tells the story of the perfect
dervishes for his followers.
Ghulām-i Khākī speaks with Ḥakīm Dhūʾl-Funūn.
Ghulām-i Khākī tells the story of a vizier for
Ḥakīm Dhūʾl-Funūn.
Ghulām-i Khākī travels to find Jannat Naẓīr Island,
passing through seven seas and four valleys.
The first valley: starvation and drought.
The second valley: pain and agony.
The third valley: disaster and hardship.
The fourth valley: fear and panic.
Ghulām-i Khākī arrives at Jannat Naẓīr Island. Shāh-i
Jinn wa Ins manifests himself to him.
Ghulām-i Khākī is granted permission to meet Shāh-i
Jinn wa Ins (ascending arc).
He returns to the world (descending arc).
Continuation of the meetings with Shāh-i Shāhān.
The first meeting: the manifestation of Shāh-i Shāhān as the
rose to the nightingale.
The second meeting: questions and answers are exchanged
between them with Maḥram-i Ḥāl as the mediator.
Shāh-i Shāhān examines the nightingale and his companions but she
becomes angry with them because of their reaction. Shāh Ḥaq Shinās
intercedes for them and Shāh-i Shāhān forgives them and accepts the
repentance of the nightingale.
Continuation of the meetings after that event.
Appendices 251
The first meeting: Shāh-i Shāhān tells the story of the rose to
the nightingale.
The second meeting: the nightingale receives a vision and is
forbidden by Shāh-i Shāhān to speak of it to others.
Shāh-i Shāhān tells the story of Sulṭān and Kanīz.
The third meeting: the nightingale goes to Shāh-i Shāhān’s
court with Mushtarī.
Beginning of the seven-part revelation to the nightingale by Hamdam-
i Qāl.
The nightingale again meets Shāh-i Shāhān and asks her for per-
manent union (ascending arc).
Shāh-i Shāhān orders the nightingale to travel to Arabia, gather an
army, conquer the realms and get married to the crown princess,
daughter of Shāh Ḥaq Shinās (descending arc).
Journey of the nightingale, from Hindustan to Arabia and back.
The nightingale assembles an army, returns to Hindustan, occupies
Shāh Ḥaq Shinās’ court, proposes to the crownprincess and finds that
she is in fact the rose.
Wedding of the nightingale and the rose.
Wedding of Māh Munīr and Mushtarī.
Journey of the nightingale from Hindustan to Turan, Iran and Arabia.
Description of the circumstances of those realms and the situations
of their kings.
Death of King Falak Qadr and succession of the nightingale.Death of
King Sipihr Shukūh and succession of Tājir-i Kabīr.
Return journey of the nightingale from Arabia, Iran and Turan to Hindustan.
The nightingale gives the Caliphate of Arabia to Māh Munīr.
He arrives in Iran, becomes aware of the death of Māh Munīr, gives
the Caliphate to Amīr-i Bā-Tadbīr and becomes aware of the death of
Shāh Fayḍ Risān, the King of Turan.
He arrives in Turan, becomes aware of the death of Amīr-i Bā Tadbīr,
gives the Caliphate to Tājir-i Faqīr and becomes aware of the death of
Shāh Fiyḍ Bakhsh, the King of Iran.
He arrives in Iran, becomes aware of the death of Tājir-i Faqīr, gives
the Caliphate to Bī Nazīr and becomes aware of the death of Shāh
Ḥaq Shinās.
Bī Nazīr asks the rose about real knowledge and secrets.
Bī Nazīr travels to Arabia accompanied by Khushbū and Khushgū,
the sons of the nightingale.
The end of the story of the nightingale and the rose
Bī Nazīr
Khushbū
Khushgū
Epilogue
Index