In the celebrated Haji Bibi Case of 1905 at the Bombay High Court, His Highness Sir Sulṭān Muḥammad Shāh, the forty-eighth imam or spiritual leader of the world's Ismaili Muslims, was questioned about the provenance of his followers. While enumerating his disciples in Iran, Afghanistan, Russia, Central Asia, Chinese Turkestan, Syria, and so on, in his oral testimony, the Ismaili imam also remarked, “In Hindustan and Africa there are many Guptīs who believe in me.” Asked to elucidate the identity of these “Guptī” followers, the imam replied, “I consider them Shī‘ī Imāmī Ismailis; by caste they are Hindus.”Footnote ¹

In his judgment in the case in 1908, Justice Coram Russel shed more light on the existence and identity of the Guptīs:

In Sanskrit, as in many of the new Indo-Aryan languages, including Gujarati, the word gupta means “secret” or “hidden.” As their name as well as the foregoing evidence indicates, the Guptīs have a practice of concealing their belief in the Ismaili imam from their caste-fellows. They consider ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib, the first imam of the Shī‘ī Muslims, and his successors in the line of Ismā‘īl, collectively, to be the tenth and final avatāra, representing the continuity of divine guidance to humankind. Portrayals in some of the Sanskrit epics as well as the Purāṇas of the final avatāra's advent as Kalkī, riding a white horse and carrying a flashing sword, are considered to be predictions of the Imam ‘Alī's famous mount Duldul and his sword Dhū al-Faqār.Footnote ³ Their history and aspects of their belief system illustrate how the practice of dissimulation, common among minority Shī‘īs, was reworked in the Indic milieu in unprecedented ways. Meanwhile, a South Asian worldview allowed them to evolve a religious identity rooted in a particular understanding of salvation history.

The Guptī practice of dissimulating religious beliefs out of fear of maltreatment is not uncommon in Islam. In Arabic, this is generally known as taqiyya or kitmān, and Muslims of various persuasions generally acknowledge the legitimacy of its use in certain circumstances.Footnote ⁴ The Qur'an (3:28) advises that the company of believers should not be forsaken for that of doubters, unless this be as a precaution, out of fear.Footnote ⁵ Verse 16:106, which refers to the blamelessness of those who feign disbelief under compulsion, is explained by both Sunnī and Shī‘ī commentators as referring to the case of the companion ‘Ammār b. Yāsir, who was compelled under torture to renounce his faith.Footnote ⁶ In the course of time, the majority Sunnī Muslims, who had gained political supremacy, only rarely had occasion to resort to precautionary dissimulation. We may cite, for example, the Sunnī scholars who resorted to taqiyya during the Inquisition (miḥna) at the time of the caliph al-Ma'mūn, affirming that the Qur'an was created, though they believed otherwise.Footnote ⁷ By contrast, since the earliest days of Islam, the precarious existence of the minority Shī‘a forced them to practice taqiyya as an almost innate and instinctive method of self-preservation and protection.Footnote ⁸ The Shī‘a even have a specific legal term for regions where taqiyya is obligatory: dār al-taqiyya, the realm of dissimulation.Footnote ⁹

Naturally, many Shī‘a who dissimulate may not even be aware of the scholarly minutiae of the practice, or its technical term. Nevertheless, two primary aspects of taqiyya rose to prominence in Shī‘a considerations of the subject: not disclosing their association with the imams when this may expose them to danger and, equally important, keeping the esoteric teachings of the imams hidden from those who are unprepared to receive them.Footnote ¹⁰ With regard to the latter, the Shī‘ī imam Ja‘far al-Ṣādiq is reputed to have said, “Our teaching is the truth, the truth of the truth; it is the exoteric and the esoteric, and the esoteric of the esoteric; it is the secret and the secret of a secret, a protected secret, hidden by a secret.”Footnote ¹¹

For the Ismaili Shī‘a, a minority within a minority, who emphasized the paramount importance of the bāṭin, or the esoteric dimension of the revelation, this need was even more pronounced.Footnote ¹² However, even among their Ismaili coreligionists, the Guptī practice of taqiyya is unique. Historically, the Ismailis are known to have frequently maintained a veneer of Sunnī, Ṣūfī, or Ithnā‘asharī Islam.Footnote ¹³ This was particularly true after the thirteenth century, when the invading Mongols destroyed their political power and massacred the community, forcing those who survived to go undercover. The Guptī Ismailis, however, live as Hindus. So successful have they been in this endeavor that their very existence has eluded the notice of historians of Ismailism almost entirely. In the second edition of the encyclopedic 772-page tome of Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘īlīs: Their History and Doctrines, weighty in both erudition and physical size, the name “Guptī” never occurs.Footnote ¹⁴ Only recently has this form of taqiyya been acknowledged.Footnote ¹⁵

Fortunately, we do find allusions to the Guptī communities (jamā‘ats), under this and other names, in some medieval Persian sources, in the various gazetteers and ethnographic publications produced in South Asia, in the edicts (farmāns) of the forty-eighth Ismaili imam, in some sectarian writings and popular accounts dating from the first half of the twentieth century onward, in the proceedings of a few court cases, such as the one cited earlier, and even in certain of the polemical works of the Āryā Samāj in the early 1900s. This study focuses primarily on the experience of the Guptī community of Bhavnagar, Gujarat, one of many Guptī Ismaili communities spread primarily in Gujarat, Sindh, and Punjab.

Bhavnagar, on the western shore of the Gulf of Cambay, was founded in the eighteenth century. The surrounding region once constituted a princely state of the same name. Originally a trading post for cotton goods, Bhavnagar city is now a sprawling industrial metropolis that is home to nearly a million people. The Guptīs of Bhavnagar trace the independent existence of their community to the early twentieth century. Thus, they claim a history distinct from the other Guptī communities of South Asia, many of which have been in continuous contact with the Ismaili imams for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, they share with other Guptīs a common allegiance to the imam and a common practice of dissimulation as Hindus. Recently, they have discarded much of their earlier reticence and have publicly acknowledged their fealty to the Aga Khan.

In addition to the sources already mentioned, this paper utilizes the oral tradition of the Bhavnagar Guptīs as it was narrated to me during interviews conducted in Gujarati and Hindi in 1998 in India, and in written correspondence after that year. My primary informants, their ages at the time of the interviews, and the designators that will be used to reference their input are as follows: seventy-four-year-old Bachchubhāī (B), whose mother and maternal uncle were motivating forces in the nascent community; fifty-seven-year-old Kapīlābahen Andhārīya (KB), a dynamic and popular Guptī wā‘iẓa (preacher); thirty-seven-year-old Rāju Andhārīyā (R), also a wā‘iẓ, who served two terms as the chairman of the Bhavnagar Ismaili Tariqah and Religious Education Board, and whose father's grandfather, Raṇchhoḍ Bhagat, was a motivating force in the nascent community; and finally, eighty-one-year-old Kālīdās Bhagat (KD), the community's most respected elder at that time, who served for twenty-five years as the kāmaḍīā (an Ismaili official, second to a mukhī) of the jamā‘at during its formative period and whose mukhī, the late Paramāṇanddās Khoḍīdās, was the Guptī jamā‘at's most charismatic leader, whose reputation spread through the Ismaili community far beyond the confines of Bhavnagar, Gujarat, and even India. My conversations with these four individuals took place separately, often in their homes, over tea or a meal.

Frequently, large numbers of family members and friends joined in these discussions, avidly relating their own experiences and recollections, jogging the memories of those being interviewed, and asking questions of their own. The contributions of the others who were present have been incorporated into the narrative with the designator (O), for other, as their names were not always known to me. Because this study draws frequently on the reminiscences and memories of individuals and on eye-witness accounts of events, it does not disdain the use of anecdotes or anecdotal style as narrated by the informants. This captures something of the vividness of the community's own perceptions of its history and effectively conveys emotional, doctrinal, and devotional undercurrents that would otherwise be lost.

The modern history of the Bhavnagar Guptīs can legitimately be divided into three main periods. From the turn of the century until approximately 1930, the Guptīs became increasingly aware of their historical and doctrinal relationship to Ismailism, and reestablished contact with the Ismaili imam and community, while at the same time practicing intense taqiyya or precautionary dissimulation among their own caste. The need for such caution was further accentuated by the open declarations of allegiance to the imam by other South Asian Guptī communities, which provoked virulent attacks by the Āryā Samāj. The period from about 1930 to 1946 followed the excommunication of the Bhavnagar Guptīs from their caste and resulted in immense uncertainty. Nevertheless, it also ushered in a period of greater boldness, proselytization, and cohesiveness as a unit. Ultimately, reconciliation with the caste was effected and permission to follow their personal religious inclinations within the caste structure was granted. The third period commenced in 1946 with the founding of the first official Guptī community center (jamā‘at-khāna) in Bhavnagar. The ensuing increase in confidence and solidarity as a community culminated in the establishment of a separate housing society, which was recently completed and which, perhaps, represents the commencement of the next stage of the community's development. The evolution of Bhavnagar's Guptīs, and their self-identification as both Hindus and Muslims, also demonstrates that there is a need, in a number of instances, to reevaluate the terms “Hindu” and “Muslim” as either/or categories.

Historical Background

Members of the Kāchhīyā caste of vegetable sellers, the Guptī Ismailis of Bhavnagar consider themselves Pāṭīdārs, a designation that became increasingly more common in the 1930s, and is gradually replacing the traditional caste-name of Kaṇbī.Footnote ¹⁶ They join their caste-fellows in their historic and age-old devotion to the memory of Sayyid Imām al-Dīn. Imām al-Dīn, or Imāmshāh, as he is better known, was stationed at Pīrāṇā, near Ahmedabad in Gujarat. He was the son of the fifteenth-century Ismaili dignitary Ḥasan Kabīr al-Dīn, and a descendant of the Imam Ismā‘īl.Footnote ¹⁷

A common version of the foundational communal narrative describes a pilgrimage of their Levā Kaṇbī ancestors to the sacred city of Kāshī, where they would bathe in the Ganges and have their sins forgiven. On the way, they chanced upon Imāmshāh in the village of Girmatha, not far from Ahmedabad. He explained to them the futility of the journey and told them that they could bathe in the Ganges at that very place. As the learned teacher explained to them the mysteries of the Satpanth, the path of the truth, lo and behold, the Ganges flowed before them. They bathed in the sacred river, their sins were forgiven, and they joined the path of their newfound spiritual guide (B, K, KD, O).Footnote ¹⁸

In his Mir’āt-i Aḥmadī and Khātima-yi Mir'āt-i Aḥmadī, compiled in the mid-1700s, the well-informed ‘Alī Muḥammad Khān Bahādur writes in some detail about the Kaṇbīs and their sister communities. Those who lived around Ahmedabad were called Momnās or Momans (from the Arabic word mu'min, meaning “believer”), while their coreligionists in Saurashtra were called Khwājas (i.e., the Nizārī Ismaili Khojās).Footnote ¹⁹ Kaṇbī devotion “reaches the extent that they submit the tenth part of their income as a pious offering at the dargāh of [their pīr's] descendants … and would happily give up their lives in service.”Footnote ²⁰ The author notes their practice of dissimulation as “they observe many of the rituals of the non-Muslims in order to foster friendship and placate the hearts of the non-believers”Footnote ²¹ and that their creed “differs from that of the majority [of Muslims].”Footnote ²² Outwardly (dar ẓāhir), he informs us, many of them conduct themselves as Hindus among their families and caste-fellows, while inwardly (dar bāṭin), they are followers of the sayyid.Footnote ²³ He narrates at length a story that illustrates how the Ismaili Muslims of Gujarat, including the Nizārī followers of Imāmshāh, hid their adherence to Islam in milieus where the non-Muslim political authorities may have been hostile.Footnote ²⁴

The most dramatic series of events that changed the course of the community's history occurred under the reign of the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb (d. 1707). ‘Alī Muḥammad Khān, whose father had accompanied this sovereign during his Deccan campaigns and was the official chronicler at Ahmedabad, was well placed to describe the events:Footnote ²⁵

The aged successor of Imāmshāh, Sayyid Shāhjī, was thus accused of Shī‘ism and summoned to appear before Aurangzeb. His death en route enraged his followers. ‘Alī Muḥammad Khān describes at great length how, when word of the death of their spiritual preceptor spread, this community of simple trades people—men, women, and even children—gathered from far and wide and took up arms against the military. Overwhelmed by the force and unexpected nature of the onslaught, Aurangzeb's forces lost control, and the community, bolstered by their large numbers, succeeded in capturing the fortress of Broach. However, it was not long before reinforcements arrived and the resurrection was put down, resulting in a massacre of the Kaṇbīs.Footnote ²⁷ Similar unsettling events, spurred by Aurangzeb's policies, were occurring elsewhere among sister communities.

For example, Ḥasan Pīr b. Fāḍil Shāh led a group of approximately 18,500 families of both Khojā and Momnā Ismailis. His brother, Pīr Mashā'ikh (d. 1697), however, became associated with Aurangzeb, and joined the ruler in his battles against the Shī‘ī kingdoms of the Deccan. He had Ḥasan Pīr imprisoned and embarked on a campaign to convert his brother's followers to Sunnism. The vast majority, 18,000, joined him. Today, the Momnās who remain Ismailis are called junā dharma nā moman, “the Momnās of the old faith,” while those who were converted by Pīr Mashā’ikh to Sunnism are called navā dharma nā moman, “the Momnās of the new faith.”Footnote ²⁸ These difficult circumstances would have necessitated extreme measures of taqiyya for those Imāmshāhīs who remained attached to their original practices.

A host of ethnographic works written from the late 1800s to modern times testify to the continuity of this tendency, explaining that the Kaṇbī agricultural community, also called Kurmīs,Footnote ²⁹ draw on both “Islamic” as well as “Hindu” antecedents in their cultural and religious life.Footnote ³⁰ According to traditional accounts of their history, Imāmshāh's Guptī followers, while pledging allegiance to the Ismaili imam in Persia, maintained an outward identity indistinguishable from that of their caste-fellows, while the Momnās became publicly identifiable as Muslims. In this article, the followers of the Aga Khan are intended in referring to the Guptīs, though it is possible that some other Imāmshāhīs who are not followers of the imam also refer to themselves by this name. The Imāmshāhīs remained in contact with the Ismaili imams in Persia from the time of Imāmshāh until at least the early eighteenth century. Their prayers, in a manner similar to that of their Persian, Badakhshani, and Khojā coreligionists in South Asia, invoke the names of the line of imams. However, many of the Imāmshāhī lists abruptly end with the name of the fortieth imam in the series, Nizār b. Khalīl Allāh (r. 1680–1722) who, notably, was the Ismaili imam contemporary with Aurangzeb's rule in India. Meanwhile, the lists of non-Imāmshāhī Ismailis include the names of the imams who came after the reign of Aurangzeb.Footnote ³¹

Evidence adduced here demonstrates that some of the Imāmshāhī leadership, the sayyids descended from Imāmshāh, secretly continued their contact with the Ismaili imams, but did not share this information with the rank-and-file of the community. The bulk of the Kāchhīyā followers appear to have looked only to these sayyids (along with officials at the shrine known as kākās) as their leaders, submitting their religious dues to them. For these believers, contact with the imams in remote Persia seems to have been severed in the early eighteenth century. While the details have yet to be fully examined, circumstantial evidence strongly suggests that this may be attributed to the aforementioned policies of Aurangzeb. The Kāchhīyās thus evolved a religious and social identity largely independent of their Ismaili coreligionists. Notable for this study, though, is evidence of a common adherence to the Gināns, or religious compositions of a number of Ismaili dignitaries, and the performance of certain rituals and prayers that reflect a shared history.Footnote ³²

Establishment

The genesis of the Guptī community at Bhavnagar, independent of the leadership of the sayyids and kākās of Pīrāṇā, is associated with a certain Khoḍīdās Manordās Vanmāḷī, a learned and well-read Kāchhīyā with a profound interest in religious matters. Versed in the community's Gināns, of which he was an avid reciter, Khoḍīdās was also fully conversant with the most important religious epics of the Sanskrit tradition, the Rāmāyaṇa and the Mahābhārata (K, KD). His frequent pilgrimages to the shrine of Sayyid Imāmshāh in Pīrāṇā alerted him to some very disturbing innovations being introduced into the community's sacred literature by the authorities at the shrine complex (dargāh).Footnote ³³ The interpolations were significant enough to alarm him (K, KD).

Moreover, a number of religious rituals that had once been practiced were now discontinued. Significant among these was the custom of uttering hai zindā upon entering the shrine precincts, to which those in attendance would reply kāyam pāyā (B, K, KD). Both formulae consist of an Arabic word followed by its Persian translation and reflect a Gujarati pronunciation. The first, from ḥayy zinda, means “living,” and is traditionally regarded by the Ismailis as a declaration of the belief in a living imam. The second, from qā’im pāyinda, meaning “eternal” or “abiding,” asserts the eternal nature of divine guidance. Indeed, one of the most common titles of the imam in Arabic is qā'im, which conveys the sense that the imam is the one who ushers in the resurrection, or qiyāma. Footnote ³⁴ Notably, the change in rituals was within memory of a schism from the Kaṇbī community, and may have been adopted as a protective measure to avoid similar secessions.Footnote ³⁵ Later, in 1899, two prominent Kaṇbī brothers, Kalyanji Mehta (1870–1973) and Kunvarji Mehta (1886–1982) from Vanz village near Surat, joined the Āryā Samāj. They became active in proselytizing among the Matīyā Kaṇbī followers of Imāmshāh, urging them to renounce their Islamic traditions.Footnote ³⁶

Khoḍīdās's distress at the changes being introduced into religious practices prompted him to seek answers upon his return to Pīrāṇā in about 1900. He approached the sayyids and kākās in charge of the shrine and requested to see the old manuscript copies of the Gināns. He was aware of the existence of these documents because they were regularly displayed on the occasion of festivals, such as the death anniversary (‘urs) of Imāmshāh (K, KD).Footnote ³⁷ He was, however, refused. The authorities there simply offered him more of the altered versions, in which certain words, such as shāh, imām and so on, which had specific Ismaili connotations, had been replaced by Sanskritized expressions (K, KD).Footnote ³⁸

Continuous pressure and the payment of some money to one of the sayyids finally enabled him to procure an old manuscript copy of the book Caution for the Faithful (Moman Chetāmaṇī) by Imāmshāh (K, KD). Khoḍīdās was roused by the vividness of the admonitions to recognize the current avatāra contained in this work, such as the following (K, KD):

Upon his return to Bhavnagar, Khoḍīdās began to pore over his religious scriptures. The oral tradition of the Guptīs is unanimous in describing Khoḍīdās's captivation by one particular passage in the Bhagavat Gīta (IV:7–8) in which the avatāra Kṛṣṇa addresses his disciple, Arjuṇa, in the following words:

Not only did nearly every Guptī whom I interviewed make reference to the importance of this passage in Khoḍīdās's belief system, but they also recited the passage to me in its original Sanskrit (B, K, R, KD). The oral tradition maintains that Khoḍīdās was convinced that the testimony of the religious scriptures made the existence of an avatāra in the present age incumbent. This belief was further strengthened when he met other Hindus in various cities who were also adherents of ‘Alī as the tenth avatāra (KD).

Because of his ancestral profession as a vegetable seller, Khoḍīdās was in frequent contact with the Khojā Ismailis of Bhavnagar, who were involved in the same hereditary occupation. With these acquaintances, he would avidly discuss matters of religion, and was startled to learn of the Ismaili adherence to the Gināns (K). He had been unaware of the historical connections between the two communities, and was under the impression that these compositions were the exclusive inheritance of his caste. Not being able to respond to some of his queries, his Ismaili acquaintances eventually introduced him to a learned member of their community by the name of Vāras ‘Īsā, who discussed matters further with Khoḍīdās and gave him a copy of an Ismaili prayer known as aṣl du‘ā. Footnote ⁴⁰ This prayer contained numerous passages parallel to the Imāmshāhī prayers. He studied this book deeply and soon began to recite the du‘ā daily (B, R).

In 1903, Khoḍīdās was granted an audience with the Ismaili imam, Sulṭān Muḥammad Shāh. Before long, his brothers Ramjībhāī, Maganlāl, and Jeṭhālāl joined him in his devotions (R).Footnote ⁴¹ As religious modifications from Pīrāṇā continued, Khoḍīdās was moved to appear at the chief Ismaili community center (jamā‘at-khāna) of Bhavnagar, where he requested admission (K). He was then taken to the Re-Creation Club Institute, the primary Ismaili organization for religious matters, and formal arrangements were made. In 1913, he officially performed the bai‘a or oath of allegiance to the Ismaili imam, formally acknowledging him as his spiritual leader. The opposition of some members of his family to this move failed to dissuade him. Instead, he entered into private deliberations with other members of his caste and induced them to join him. Prominent among them were Raṇchhoḍdās Kuberdās, Dhuḍā Oghā, Maganlāl, Vanārasīdās Maganlāl, Mukhī Budhardās, Khīmālāl, and Narmadāshaṅkar (KD).

The small group began to have frequent meetings with a number of Ismailis in addition to Vāras ‘Īsā. These included Missionary Sharīfbhāī, Mukhī Jamālbhāī, and Missionary Jamālbhāī Vīrjī of Mumbai and ‘Īsā Dā’ūd Khānmuḥammad of Bhavnagar.Footnote ⁴² Fear of discovery prevented the Guptīs from practicing openly, and they were allowed to enter the jamā‘at-khāna by the back door. The elders of the community vividly recall doing this as children (R, KD, O). Kālīdās Vanārasīdās recollects how Ḥasan ‘Alī Bāpu, one of the pioneers of the nascent movement, would encourage the Kāchhīyā children in the prayer hall by pointing to the picture of the imam and proclaiming in Gujarati, ā kharo sāheb chhe, “This is the true lord.” Chuckling, he says, “What a revolution that was. As Hindus, we would not even have a cup of tea with Muslims, and here we were praying with them!” (KD)

The experience of some people joining the community at this time and the family dynamics involved are noteworthy. One young Jīvābhāī Motīrām supported the group, but was opposed by his father. Unable to openly participate in early morning meditations that were commonly practiced among the Ismailis, he is said to have tied a string to his foot every night, which he would leave hanging from the window. At the required time, one of the other Guptīs would pull the string, thus awakening him and allowing him to participate in the prayers unnoticed (K). Jīvābhāī passed away while young, and his father experienced tremendous feelings of guilt. In 1923, Khoḍīdās encouraged him to accompany them to Limdi, where they were going for the dīdār (beatific vision) of the imam. Half-heartedly, Motīrām joined the group. In Limdi, he was astounded to see one of the female sayyids from Pīrāṇā, supposedly a Sunnī, in attendance. He approached her in bewilderment, asking her why she was present for the dīdār. She told him, “The Aga Khan is our spiritual leader (pīr). It is incumbent for us to come.” This so moved Motīrām that he became an Ismaili forthwith and even performed a symbolic ceremony (known as sirbandī) of dedicating his life, heart, and all of his worldly possessions (tan, man and dhan) to the Ismaili imam (KD).Footnote ⁴³

The continued allegiance of at least some of the sayyids of Pīrāṇā to the imam, which seems to have existed without the knowledge of their followers, is noteworthy. A few of the sayyids whom I interviewed in Pīrāṇā intimated that a portion of the religious dues collected at the shrine used to be forwarded to the imams in Persia. Documentary evidence indicates that this practice continued right until the time of the arrival of the first Aga Khan in India in the nineteenth century.Footnote ⁴⁴ Kapīlābahen Andhāriyā also relates that at one point, the authorities in Pīrāṇā caught wind of the regular treks of a group of Guptīs to Mumbai for the dīdār of the Ismaili imam. Interestingly, they did not oppose this, but instead insisted that these pilgrimages not be revealed to other members of their caste. This was readily agreeable to the party, as its members had no desire to draw attention to themselves (K).

About this time, a number of countervailing forces—Christian, Hindu, and Muslim—were at play, particularly among communities perceived as having a composite heritage. The Āryā Samāj was becoming more active in Gujarat, often in reaction to Christian and Muslim activities among “untouchables” and disadvantaged groups such as orphans. Hindus who were “lost” could be “reclaimed” by undergoing the Āryā Samājī purification ritual known as shuddhi. During the famine of 1899–1900, a number of Christian orphanages were established to look after children who had lost their parents, such as the one established in Nadiad by Reverend G. W. Park of the Methodist Episcopalian Church. This provoked the Āryā Samājīs to launch a campaign in 1908 to reconvert and “rescue” the orphans. It also led to the establishment of a “Hindū Anāth Āshram” for the children.Footnote ⁴⁵ In 1911, a collection of bhajans entitled Anāth Bhajanāvalī was prepared for the Nadiad orphans to sing in processions around the town. In one of them, they would sing that in the evil times of famine, as their parents were no more, they were left at the mercy of Christians and Muslims: “To eat us alive the Qur'an and the Bible are hissing [like snakes]; to drink our blood, famine and plague are gnashing their teeth.”Footnote ⁴⁶

Among communities targeted for shuddhi, there were sometimes strong reactions. In March 1926, for example, the Molesalams held an anti-shuddhi conference in Charotar, presided over by one of their prominent leaders and a member of the Bombay Legislative Assembly, Sardar Naharsinhji Ishvarsinhji.Footnote ⁴⁷ The Ismailis, whose various communities, and particularly the Guptīs, had also been targeted,Footnote ⁴⁸ reacted strongly as well. They endeavored to solidify their position and even to gain adherents. This movement reached its greatest momentum in the 1920s and was spearheaded primarily by four Ismaili missionaries: Khudābakhsh Ṭālib,Footnote ⁴⁹ Hājī Muḥammad Fāḍil,Footnote ⁵⁰ Muḥammad Murād ‘Alī Juma‘,Footnote ⁵¹ and ‘Alī Muḥammad Ḍāyā. The successful proselytization activities of these four and others like them precipitated intense jealousy and rivalry. An attempt was made on the life of Khudābakhsh Ṭālib by adding potassium cyanide to his tea. In the ensuing court case, the personal intervention of the Aga Khan resulted in the charges being dropped, thus assuaging lingering tensions.Footnote ⁵²

Parallel to these developments were the abandonment of taqiyya and public declarations of allegiance to the Ismaili imam that were being made by centuries-old Guptī communities, particularly in the Punjab, Surat, and Mumbai.Footnote ⁵³ The combination of proselytizing activities and these public declarations aroused the ire of the Āryā Samāj. Sometime before 1919, Paṇḍit Rādhākṛṣṇa of Peshawar wrote in his polemical Urdu work, Āghākhānī khudā’ī awr uske karishme,

Echoing these sentiments, Paṇḍit Ānandaprīyajī, Gujarat Hindu Sabha's founding secretary, decried the Christians and the Ismaili Muslims who “worked day and night to transform the great devotees of Ram and Krishna into Johns and Alis.”Footnote ⁵⁵ Paṇḍit Rādhākṛṣṇa charged in a tract entitled My Sound Advice that the Guptī Hindus would never be accepted by Muslims and that Ismailis would refuse to give their daughters in marriage to Islamized Hindus. Ibrāhīm Vartejī responded by pointing out the recent case of a Guptī by the name of Nānālāl Hardevashrām, a Brahmin by birth, who secretly held to a belief in the Ismaili imam as the avatāra of the current age. When he openly declared this, his parents-in-law forced their daughter, Chandravidyā, to leave him. However, following the divorce, not only did this Brahmin (whose Arabic name was Nūrmuḥammad ‘Alīmuḥammad) find an Ismaili Muslim bride, but their wedding was happily attended by about five hundred Ismailis, including prominent members of the community, among whom was the president of the Mumbai Ismaili Council.Footnote ⁵⁶ Extremely interesting to note is the fact that the oral tradition of the Guptīs of Punjab maintains that Paṇḍit Rādhākṛṣṇa was himself born to Guptī parents and only later turned against his ancestral belief in the tenth avatāra. Footnote ⁵⁷

The Āryā Samāj's repeated attacks against both the Ismailis and Guptī Hindus continued, coupled with allegations of cannibalism and infanticide. The astonishing accusations led to physical violence against these communities in southern Gujarat, and the government was forced to intervene (B, R). The thirty-fifth resolution of the 1922 Kathiawad political assembly held in Vaḍhvāṇ aimed at dispelling the fears that had been aroused in the population and ensuring the security of those who had been wrongly impugned:

The harassment by the Āryā Samāj provoked opposite reactions among different groups of Guptīs. In July 1914 in Surat, for example, abandoning their dissimulation, 150 Hindu families jointly made a public declaration, accompanied by announcements in prominent newspapers, of their allegiance to the Aga Khan; while in Bhavnagar, the threat of disclosure led to even greater adherence to taqiyya. Attendance at the Khojā jamā‘at-khāna, even through the back door, now became exceedingly difficult. Rather, daily gatherings were held at individual homes (KD). Kālīdās Vanārasīdās recalls how early morning prayer meetings were held at his own house, the house of Khoḍīdās and the house of Raṇchhoḍ Bhagat from at least the mid-1920s.

Despite attacks by the Āryā Samāj, there was continued growth of Guptī numbers (KD). This provoked increased suspicion and disapproval by the rest of the Kāchhīyā caste, which accused the Guptīs of adhering to Islamic customs. These accusations are rather startling considering the fact that all members of this Hindu caste, whether Guptī or not, began prayers and mantras with the formula om farmānjī bi'smi'l-lāh al-raḥmān al-raḥīm, “OM, by the command, in the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful” (R).Footnote ⁵⁹ But interestingly, the inclusion of the first verse of the Qur'an in religious practices was somehow considered neither objectionable nor Islamic.

Excommunication and Reconciliation

Matters finally came to a head in the early 1930s, when the caste took drastic action and excommunicated the Guptīs collectively (K, KD). Such a move was exceptional, as the Kaṇbīs are well known, even today, for the latitude of beliefs and practices within the community. The proverb Kaṇbī nyāt bahār nahīṃ, meaning “a Kaṇbī is never out casted,” clearly did not apply in this circumstance.Footnote ⁶⁰ An order was circulated to each and every house requiring complete dissociation from all Kāchhīyā partisans of the Aga Khan (KD). This order had dramatic consequences. For the first time, the Guptī adherents of the Ismaili imam in Bhavnagar were defined as a distinct and identifiable group. Many who had never before considered themselves to be any different from other members of their caste except in their private religious convictions were forced to reevaluate their position (KD). It must be remembered that religion is but one aspect, and in fact sometimes a rather minor one, of caste identity. In his 1922 work The Tribes and Castes of Bombay, for example, R. E. Enthoven notes that although they are a single caste, the Kāchhīyās “belong to different religious sects.”Footnote ⁶¹ Adherents included Bījpanthīs, Shaivas, Vallabhāchāryas, Swāmīnārāyaṇs, Kabīrpanthīs, and, of course, Muslims. The Andhārīā and Khatrī Kāchhīyās, like the Matīyā Kaṇbīs, however, are distinguished by their adherence to the path of their saint, Imāmshāh.Footnote ⁶²

The out casting provoked heated arguments. Kālīdās Vanārasīdās recounts how, as a teenager, he contended with his friends that if he were an Ismaili, then so were all of them, whether they realized it or not. He pointed out the fact that the Gināns recorded that Imāmshāh himself, along with all of the other recognized saints (pīrs) of the community, had traveled to Persia for audiences with the Aga Khan's ancestors (KD).Footnote ⁶³

The role of women in this movement is remarkable. Seventy-four-year-old Bachchubhāī vividly recalls that his father was not a believer. However, soon after his father passed away, his mother revealed to him her own belief in the Aga Khan as the avatāra of the current era (yuga). She told him that at the age of twelve, he would have to decide which group to join and firmly told him, “be here or there, but not in between.” At the age of twelve, Bachchubhāī chose to swear allegiance to the Aga Khan.Footnote ⁶⁴ Bachchubhāī's mother then proceeded to convince her brother, Motīlāl, to support the group of Khoḍīdās. Motīlāl did so and became one of the most ardent benefactors of the emerging community (B).Footnote ⁶⁵

A handful of the most daring Guptīs abandoned all pretences of dissimulation, challenging community leaders by saying that as they had been expelled, the caste no longer had jurisdiction over their actions (K). Immediately, three heads of families boldly joined the mainstream Ismaili community, changed their names, and began attending the Khojā jamā‘at-khāna once again. These were Maganlāl, the brother of Khoḍīdās, who now became known as Murād ‘Alī; Hemālāl, who became Qurbān ‘Alī and Prabhudās,Footnote ⁶⁶ who not only changed his name to Ḥasan ‘Alī, but also adopted “Muslim” dress and became well known for sporting a red cap in the Muslim style. This type of reaction was completely unexpected by the caste authorities (KD).

In 1936, the leaders of the Bhavnagar Guptī community sent representatives to participate in the imam's golden jubilee celebrations being held in Mumbai (R). More Kāchhīyās started to attend the Khojā jamā‘at-khāna, though still through the back door, and a number even began sending their children to be taught at Ismaili religious schools (KD).

But, as time went on, members of the Kāchhīyā caste relented and began to flout the orders of excommunication, openly intermingling with expelled family members. This was particularly true at times of weddings and other such occasions when families refused to exclude members censured for their allegiance to the Aga Khan (K). Numerous caste members privately held to the same religious convictions, and so naturally felt sympathetic to the plight of those who had been ostracized (KD). The discomfort caused by a general disregard toward the injunctions occasioned a postponement of the excommunication until such time as instructions were received from Pīrāṇā (K).

The year 1939 was a landmark for the Guptī community, as a delegation of their leaders went to Limdi, where the imam was to grant audience (dīdār) on February 3. Upon arrival, they requested the relevant authorities for a special mehmānī, a meeting at which they could express their devotion and homage. However, they were told that they could participate in the mehmānī of the general Bhavnagar Ismaili jamā‘at. Budhar Mukhī pressed the matter,Footnote ⁶⁷ suggesting that they were prepared to telegram the imam if need be. In the end, the jamā‘atī authorities relented and honored the request. When the imam approached the group, he inquired as to which jamā‘at's mehmānī it was, to which Budhar Mukhī replied that it was the mehmānī of the Guptī jamā‘at of Bhavnagar (KD). The significance of this incident should not be underestimated, for it marks the first instance in which the Ismaili institutional structure recognized the Guptīs of Bhavnagar as a distinct Ismaili jamā‘at.

Fortunately, the communication made by the imam to the Guptīs on this occasion has been recorded in the Khojkī book The Jewel of Mercy. Footnote ⁶⁸ The imam accepted the offering of the group and gave his blessings to the “Imāmshāhī brethren” who were assembled. He further said that Imāmshāh had correctly shown them the recognition of the imam of the time, in the manner that the sage himself had believed. They should therefore believe in the “living imam” of the Imāmshāhīs. He urged them to perform meditation or esoteric worship (bāṭinī ‘ibādat), never to do this for reasons of ostentation, and never to cause pain to anyone.Footnote ⁶⁹

In attendance on this occasion was Paramāṇanddās, the son of Khoḍīdās. He was so moved by the episode that henceforth he became the motivating force behind the Bhavnagar Guptī community and its most charismatic leader (KD). With captivating speaking skills and a gifted singing voice for recitation of the Gināns, Paramāṇanddās was able to win over even larger numbers. Thus commenced an era of open and public proselytization (B, K, R, KD).

The Guptīs of Bhavnagar came into contact with Guptī communities in other areas that, despite having a variety of histories and backgrounds, faced many of the same challenges posed by their dissimulation as Hindus. Khoḍīdās and Paramāṇanddās traveled widely to speak to both Guptī and non-Guptī communities, often accompanied by Kālīdās, Raṇchhoḍ, Shaṅkar, and others (KD).Footnote ⁷⁰

Paramāṇanddās became extremely popular and was in demand to deliver sermons (wa‘ẓ) in Mumbai and other centers. Even today, the Ismailis of Mumbai affectionately refer to him as dhotī-wālā mishnarī, “the preacher in the Indian loin cloth.” Recordings of both his sermons and his Gināns proliferated far beyond the confines of Bhavnagar, Gujarat, and even India. His favorite subject appears to have been rūḥāniyyat or “spirituality.”

Paramāṇanddās was not the only Guptī speaker (wā‘iẓ) to gain renown. Rājū Andhārīyā recounts how his father-in-law, Bābubhāī Manjī, would travel to other centers of Guptī strength, particularly Khambhāt, to deliver sermons. Most significantly, every year at the grand celebration of Sayyid Imāmshāh's ‘urs in Pīrāṇā, Bābubhāī Manjī would give public lectures to thousands of Hindus gathered there, informing them of the arrival of the long-awaited avatāra (R).

The powerful hierarchy at Pīrāṇa was not prepared for this public opposition to their authority. However, having tried and failed in their attempt at excommunication, they decided to try other tactics. In 1945, a public debate was announced in Andhārīyā Kāchhīyā Jñātinī Vāḍī between the party of Sayyid Aḥmad‘alī Bāwā Khākī and the party of Khoḍīdās (K, R, KD).Footnote ⁷¹ The irony of the Pīrāṇā party's being led by a Muslim, a sayyid (descendant of the Prophet Muḥammad) no less, in accusing the Hindu party of Khoḍīdās of adhering to forbidden Islamic practices should not be lost. Khoḍīdās was called upon to prove that he and his party had not stepped out of the bounds of their caste. The loser of the debate was to take the shoe of the winning party in his mouth, a most demeaning condition (K, R, KD). Drawing on a number of sources, notable among them the Caution for the Faithful (Moman Chetāmaṇī) of Sayyid Imāmshāh, the universally acknowledged saint of both parties, Khoḍīdās sought to show that not only was his party's allegiance to the Aga Khan in conformity with the religious beliefs of their caste, but that such an allegiance was the logical outcome of adherence to their religious scriptures (K, R, KD). Further evidence was drawn from the daily prayers of the party from Pīrāṇā, which included a recitation of the genealogy of Ismaili imams until the time of Nizār b. Khalīl Allāh (d. 1722) and the practice of uttering the formulae hai zindā and kāyam pāyā at the entrance to the dargāh (K, R).

In the end, the sayyid conceded defeat and admitted the acceptability of Khoḍīdās's arguments. However, as the Guptīs are proud to explain, Khoḍīdās was magnanimous in victory and would not allow the sayyid to be humiliated by the punishment that had been decided. Instead, he showed utmost reverence, saying “you are our most respected elder, we shall follow what you recommend” (K, KD). The sayyid then conceded the right of the Guptīs to remain within the caste, but requested that they no longer attend the jamā‘at-khāna of the Khojās and instead establish their own prayer house, a condition that was found acceptable to the Guptīs (K, KD). The debate, a turning point in the history of the community, ended with great jubilation and applause. Considering the Ismaili allegiance of some of the sayyids themselves and their laissez-faire attitude toward the Guptī pilgrimages to Mumbai to see the imam, so long as these were kept private, one suspects it was not the Bhavnagar Guptīs’ “Islamic” leanings that the Pīrāṇā party found disturbing, but the potential repercussions of their public manifestation.

Formation of Community

The establishment of the first Guptī jamā‘at-khāna in Āmbā Chok above the store of Khoḍīdās on June 15, 1946, ushered in a new era for the community (B, R, KD). Caste acceptance encouraged a number of previously reticent families to join, most notably that of a certain Jñānchandbhāī, whose brother, Chāndubhāī Mukhī, was already publicly part of the group. Jñānchandbhāī brought with him about forty members of his own family, which was a major boost to the morale of the Guptīs (R). Two of Khoḍīdās's sons, Budharbhāī Khoḍīdās and Maṇīlāl Khoḍīdās, were appointed as religious functionaries (mukhī and kāmaḍīā) for the newly established congregation (KD). During the same year, a delegation was also sent on behalf of the Guptī jamā‘at to participate in the Aga Khan's diamond jubilee (R).Footnote ⁷²

One of the most distinctive features of the Bhavnagar Guptī jamā‘at was the passion for religious sermons, known as wa‘ẓ (K, R). Until 1980, there were daily wa‘ẓ in the Guptī jamā‘at-khāna. A minimum of three sermons were delivered on important religious festivals, known as majlis. On the occasions of the imam's birthday (sālgirah), the anniversary of his accession to his position, and the festival of spring (nawrūz, the Persian New Year), there would be as many as seven to eight sermons (R).Footnote ⁷³

An interesting passage in a Gujarati travelogue entitled The Enchanting Lands I've Seen (Joyā Raḷīyāmaṇā Desh), written by the late Shamsudīn Bandālī Hājī, narrates a trip to Bhavnagar in the mid-1970s, the day after the spring festival (nawrūz). The mukhī at the time, Paramāṇanddās Khoḍīdās, lamented the fact that the traveler had missed the religious celebrations, which had continued late into the night. The traveler wished another majlis to be held that day, a request that was readily agreed to by the mukhī. To draw a comparison, it was as though Christmas mass were to be celebrated again the following day at the request of an itinerant traveler. This majlis was attended by six hundred people, and sermons were delivered until one o'clock in the morning.Footnote ⁷⁴ Equally telling about the Guptī jamā‘at's passion for religious sermons is a note in the platinum jubilee souvenir issue of Jāgṛti magazine, which records the fact that the Guptī jamā‘at in Bhavnagar could boast an overwhelming twenty-seven preachers.Footnote ⁷⁵

The year 1947 saw the partition of India and Pakistan. Surprisingly, the Guptīs were little affected by this. The jamā‘at-khāna was not closed and, despite the curfew in Bhavnagar, members were permitted to leave their houses and attend early morning ceremonies (KD).

In 1950, a number of Guptīs attended the audience (dīdār) given by the imam in Hasanabad, Mumbai. By this time, Khoḍīdās, the founding father of the community, was extremely aged. He was granted a meeting with the imam in which he said that he had not much longer to live and desired to spend his last days at Hasanabad, site of the mausoleum of the first Aga Khan, and to be buried there (K). The imam advised him against this drastic action, suggesting instead that he return to Bhavnagar and have his caste perform his last rites. This startled Khoḍīdās, who ventured, “But we burn our dead;” to which the imam is purported to have replied, “So burn them, but what you wish is not appropriate at the present time” (K). It is likely that the situation was still too volatile for such a bold statement, which may have been viewed as provocative. Kapīlābahen Andhārīyā recalls the hair-raising case of Savjī Kākā, a leading Hindu religious figure at the shrine of Imāmshāh in Pīrāṇā.Footnote ⁷⁶ Savjī Kākā had been an open advocate of the concept of the imamate, and published a book to this affect. The book hinted at his allegiance to the Aga Khan. Soon after its release, however, Sawjī Kākā was murdered (K).Footnote ⁷⁷

Following the instructions received from the imam, Khoḍīdās returned to Bhavnagar, where he passed away within a short time. All rites were performed according to the tradition of his caste except that as his body was being taken in its funeral procession (shmashāṇ yātrā), rather than chanting Rām bolo Rām, “say Rām say Rām,” in the traditional manner, the gathered mourners called out Jai Nakalaṅk, “long live Nakalaṅk.” This bold slogan recalls the belief in the imam as Nakalaṅk, the Immaculate One, the name used by Ismaili pīrs from perhaps the eleventh century onward for the last and final avatāra, ‘Alī, the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet Muḥammad. Furthermore, the title of Nakalaṅk is a direct parallel to the Shī‘ī belief of the imam as ma‘ṣūm, which also means “immaculate.” Henceforth, all funeral ceremonies performed by the Guptīs were to include this slogan.

Already dynamically involved in the field of delivering sermons both within their own community and among the general Ismaili population, the Bhavnagar Guptīs now actively immersed themselves in all respects with the general jamā‘at or what they refer to as the mūḷ jamā‘at, roughly translatable as “the parent community.” Thus, they can be found at every level of the jamā‘at's institutional structure and have even provided the chairman of the Ismaili Tariqah and Religious Education Board (R).

In 1964, twenty-five Bhavnagar Guptīs attended the World Ismaili Socio-Economic Conference in Karachi, Pakistan. They were overwhelmed at meeting other followers of the imam from across the globe, including places as dispersed as Hunza, Gilgit, Afghanistan, and Africa (R, KD). They narrate how the mukhī of the Multan jamā‘at noticed their appearance and approached them, inquiring as to whether they were Hindus. They replied in the affirmative, stating that they were members of the Guptī jamā‘at of Bhavnagar. Hearing this, the Multan mukhī was overjoyed. At one time, virtually all Ismailis of the Punjab had been Guptīs themselves. He embraced Paramāṇanddās and Kālīdās, the Guptī mukhī and kāmaḍīā, and insisted that they come to Multan, where he would show them the shrine (dargāh) of Pīr Shams and the nearby shrines of Pīr Ṣadr al-Dīn and Pīr Ḥasan Kabīr al-Dīn, Imāmshāh's great-ancestor, grandfather, and father, respectively. At first, Paramaṇanddās hesitated, saying, “But there are twenty-five of us.” To which the mukhī of the Multan jamā‘at replied, “So for twenty-five of our brothers we will provide twenty-five rooms.” This warm-hearted welcome moved them deeply and further solidified their attachment to the mūḷ jamā‘at (KD).

What was left to do, in the eyes of Paramaṇanddās, who by now had been granted the title of “Vazīr” for his dedicated services, was to establish a housing society for his community, at the center of which would be a purpose-built jamā‘at-khāna. This would finally sever their dependence on their caste, and provide an environment for their autonomous development (B, R, KD). Mukhī Maskatvālā of the Darkhāna jamā‘at-khāna in Mumbai, who was also chairman of the Ismaili Housing Board, strongly encouraged him in this project. But Paramāṇanddās lamented the impossibility of the idea, noting that there was probably not even one Guptī who was financially capable of saving enough to provide for a week of his family's sustenance, let alone dream of establishing a housing society (R, KD). Nevertheless, gradually funds were collected as the Guptī jamā‘at made economic progress. With moral, technical, and financial support from the muḷ jamā‘at, land for a Guptī Ismaili colony was finally purchased at the cost of Rs. 850,000 in 1990–91. The generous Rs. 200,000 donation of Ṣadr al-Dīn Nāṇāvatī enabled the total to be met, and houses began to be built on the land (R, KD). In 1995, however, the dynamic force behind all of this, Mukhī Paramāṇanddās Khoḍīdās, passed away, having seen his vision realized (R, KD). In his honor, the colony was officially named the Vazīr Paramāṇanddās Khoḍīdās Housing Society. By December 1995, people began inhabiting the colony (R), and soon enough, a purpose-built jamā‘at-khāna was constructed at its center, perhaps ushering in a new phase in the history of this community, and the end of an era of taqiyya.

Analysis: A Paradigm Shift in our Understanding of Taqiyya and Religious Identity

For several reasons, the Guptī case is clearly an example of taqiyya and South Asian religious identity that forces a paradigm shift in academic studies of these concepts: it goes against the norm of Muslim minorities dissimulating in the garb of Muslim majorities. It challenges ideas of Islam and Hinduism as mutually exclusive, unchanging categories. It demonstrates that the need for dissimulation was felt just as much because of caste considerations as because of matters that would more broadly be considered religious. It highlights the assimilative capacities of Islam. And, finally, it reveals that taqiyya and its practice can adapt to changing times and circumstances, a facet that was facilitated by the centrality of the concept of imamate in Ismailism.

Challenging Reified Categories of Hinduism and Islam

While the situation of the Guptīs provides new tools to explore the situations of Muslims practicing taqiyya as non-Muslims, such as the aforementioned case of the Spanish Moriscos, it must be noted that even here, the experience is qualitatively quite different. Many of the Guptīs have few qualms about self-identifying as both Hindus and Muslims (though they may not admit to the latter in public), because to them, these are not either/or categories. In fact, in the Guptī case, either/or becomes both/and. In other words, they see no reason why they cannot be both Hindu and Muslim. When Gujarati researcher Bhagavānalāl Māṅkaḍ asked the Momnās (the sister community of the Guptīs and also followers of Imāmshāh) whether they were originally Hindus or Muslims, his interviewees refused to answer the question when it was framed in this manner. Instead, they replied that they were Kaṇbīs who had become Momnās.Footnote ⁸³

Perhaps one of the most noteworthy features of the Guptī religious vocabulary is precisely that in the context of South Asia, it is not unique, regardless of how much that may surprise us. Its survival in an age no longer accustomed to the type of fecund cross-fertilization that had spawned a Sanskrito-Perso-Arabic culture is striking, but the fact remains that the Guptī religious literature is, in many senses, perfectly representative of medieval Islamic literatures written in the vernaculars. Compare, for example, the famous Muslim mystical romance The Night-Flowering Jasmine (Madhumālatī), composed in Awadhi in 1545 by Mīr Sayyid Manjhan Rājgirī, a Ṣūfī of the Shaṭṭārī order. The poem, typical of its genre, begins,

God, giver of love, the treasure-house of joy

Creator of the two worlds in the one sound Om.Footnote ⁸⁴

This Sunnī Muslim work seamlessly blends Qur'anic descriptions of the Prophet Muḥammad and praise of the first four caliphs with references to the monkey god Hanumān and the cosmos of Brahma. The reigning Afghan sultan, Islāmshāh, the son and successor of Shershāh Sūrī and Manjhan's patron, is praised with reference to not only Ḥātim al-Ṭaiy, the epitome of hospitality in Arab lore, but also King Harīshchandra, Indian archetype of the unflinching lover of truth. The story is set in the Dvāpara yuga, while dates are provided in the hijrī calendar.Footnote ⁸⁵ Medieval Muslim authors writing in the vernacular were not in the least self-conscious of composing in this idiom, nor were their non-Muslim fellows at all embarrassed by Arabo-Persian vocabulary or concepts.

However, in some quarters of academia, there has been a fixation on the belief in certain “pure types.” Not only the Guptīs, but also South Asian Muslims in general, could hardly, in the eyes of some, be accounted “pure Muslims” by simple virtue of the fact that they were not Arabs. As Gottschalk has trenchantly pointed out, “The British Orientalists of South Asia paid far more attention to Hinduism, opting to rely on their Middle Eastern-assigned colleagues to describe Islam from the supposed heartland.”Footnote ⁸⁶ Thus, individuals, communities and phenomena in South Asia that did not fit with predefined ideas of what Islam and Hinduism “should be” were given short shrift.Footnote ⁸⁷

The individuals whom I interviewed were quite adamant that they were Hindus. They were equally adamant that they were Muslims. To them, there was no contradiction between the two. As one of them explained to me, “In a sense, Muslims are also Christians.” When I asked her what she meant by this, she said, “Muslims believe in Christ, don't they? So they can also consider themselves to be Christians if they want to.” I asked her to elaborate further. She said, “If there is no contradiction in a Muslim believing in Christ and yet being a Muslim, there is no contradiction in our believing in the avatāras and being Muslim. The Qur'an states that messengers were sent to every land and spoke in the language of its people.Footnote ⁸⁸ Certainly India was not forgotten. For those Hindus who believe in the avatāras, many are waiting for the tenth one to arrive. For us, he is already here and his name is ‘Alī, the Nakalaṅkī avatāra. That, she concluded happily, “is the reason why we are Hindu Muslims.” Her friend, standing nearby, then chimed in, “In fact, those Muslims who do not accept the avatāras are forgetting God's guidance that we must make no distinction between God's messengers.” She was clearly referring to Qur'an 2:285, which contains this exact sentiment. The Guptīs whom I met were often bemused, if not incredulous, at what they considered the simplistic notions of some of their fellow Muslims who denied India the divine guidance that the Qur'an so explicitly guaranteed to all of humankind.

If we were to read even further into the statements of these two women, perhaps we could extrapolate that they would consider themselves “more complete Muslims” than their fellows, because they recognize “God's earlier messengers who came to India,” and “more complete Hindus” (or at least Vaishnava Hindus) than their caste-fellows, because they recognize the final avatāra. Footnote ⁸⁹

Clearly then, given such statements, it appears that we often rely too heavily on “Hindu” and “Muslim” as descriptive adjectives and analytic categories, as terms that are so self-apparent that they can be brandished to represent exclusive areas of religious activity. Of course, this is not to suggest that such distinctions are without use, merely that they should not be overprivileged and must themselves be analyzed for applicability in a variety of circumstances.Footnote ⁹⁰ To the Guptīs, Kṛṣṇa's insistence in the Bhagavat Gīta that there is an avatāra in every age and the statements in the Purāṇas regarding the coming, after Rām and Kṛṣṇa, of the tenth avatāra on a white horse were the very reasons for their attachment to ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib, whom they consider the fulfillment of this prophecy.Footnote ⁹¹ In other words, they find the rationale for their conviction in Islam within the Sanskrit tradition.

Indeed, in this, their methodology mirrors the Qur'an's claim that Jesus foretold the advent of a prophet known as “Aḥmad.” Footnote ⁹² Early Arab Muslims therefore sought legitimacy for their new faith in existing traditions. Jesus, to the Arab Muslims, thus played a role analogous to Kṛṣṇa to this group of “Hindu Muslims.” It should be recalled at this juncture that the word “Hindu,” today used almost exclusively as a religious moniker, is originally a geographic designation, not a religious one, and so the parallelism of “Arab Muslims” and “Hindu Muslims” is quite natural.Footnote ⁹³ Such facts on the ground fly in the face of opinions such as those expressed by M. R. Majmudar in his influential book Cultural History of Gujarat, that “Islam is in every respect the antithesis of Hinduism.”Footnote ⁹⁴

Cartesian categorizations of Hinduism and Islam are not at all amenable to such complexity. Religion, presumed to be exclusionary, was used as a principal criterion by the British in their censuses. Such assumptions were helpful in governing, and thus we see the creation, for example, of Hindu and Muslim personal law in India. While this is often valid, it is not always so; and unfortunately, as Gilmartin and Lawrence have noted, “Even when the categories palpably do not fit the evidence, scholars are often reluctant to jettison them, opting instead to suggest the existence of hybrid or syncretic forms, defined by the mixing of ‘irreconcilable’ religions, or by the lack of those attributes that are thought to be essential to a given world religion.”Footnote ⁹⁵ Simplistic, and perhaps even insulting, labels such as “syncretic” do no justice to such phenomena. In fact, such labels do little more than explain away the belief systems of such communities by simply pigeonholing them, rather than seeking to understand them.

Problematizing Article 18 of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which enshrines the freedom to change one's religion, Arvind Sharma argues that this makes little sense to many in the South Asian context. He explains that the right of changing religions “only arises if they are exclusive, for change means that a border has to be crossed.”Footnote ⁹⁶ He therefore suggests, “(1) my right to retain my religion rather than to change it and (2) my right to accept any other religion without having to change to it, in the sense of my having to sever links with any other culture or faith. Thus I should be able to claim that I am a Christian without having to say I am not a Hindu.”Footnote ⁹⁷ Similar tendencies hold true in other parts of the world. In Japan, for example, the 1985 statistics for religious affiliation show 76 percent professing Buddhism, while 95 percent claimed to be followers of Shintoism. Clearly, a huge majority of Japanese had no problem belonging to more than one “religion.”Footnote ⁹⁸ In the first census of Gujarat in 1911, the census superintendent recorded 35,000 “Hindu-Mohammadans.” Referring to these statistics, E. A. Gait, census commissioner, could write that the category of Hindu-Mohammadans “has perhaps served a very useful purpose in drawing prominent attention to the extremely indefinite character of the boundary line between different religions in India.”Footnote ⁹⁹

It is particularly in modern times, with the tectonic shifts that have taken place in the religious landscape of South Asia, that expressing such worldviews has become difficult, adding an additional layer of dissimulation for those who hold them. What was, in many contexts, considered quite commonplace has now become a source of discomfort. Thus, we see examples, such as the one cited earlier, of the religious works of those on the Hindu side of the fault line being purged of Perso-Arabic vocabulary and concepts, with an entirely parallel process taking place on the Muslim side with terms and ideas originating in the Sanskrit tradition.

Often, well-meaning calls for communal harmony take for granted the conceptions of fixed and separate communities. At the time of this writing, the solar and lunar calendars had aligned in such a way that the festivals of Diwali and Ramzan Eid (i.e., ‘Īd al-Fiṭr) happened to be celebrated at almost the same time. A poster published by ActionAid India was one of the most commonly circulated digital greeting cards sent at this time (see figure 1).

Figure 1.

“Who are we to draw the line?” ActionAid Poster. Reproduced with permission.

The clever pun on the names of the seventh and final avatāras, Rām and ‘Alī, respectively, would no doubt have delighted the Guptīs, as would the question, “Who are we to draw the line?” But the card also unconsciously draws attention to the fact that, for most people, unlike for the Guptīs, the relationship between Rām and ‘Alī can no longer be taken as organic.