A Dawoodi Bohra is usually easy to pick out on a crowded Mumbai street. Usually the women wear ridah s — colourful burqas — over their clothing, the men even if not clad in white wear white skullcaps with gold embroidery. Invisible, though, is the discontent with the patriarchal mindset of its older members and the grip its religious head has over its members.
These aren’t new issues: most of these questions have been raised before by reformists within the community. But now new voices are being heard, many of them from the youth.
One such issue is the practice of khatna — loosely translated, it means cutting — or as the community terms it more formally, khafz , female circumcision. As practised by the community it is a clitoridectomy, the partial removal of the clitoris, specifically the clitoral hood that is made of erectile tissue and protects the glans. Believers say that the “purpose of both male and female circumcision is solely to do with taharat or religious purity.” The World Health Organisation (WHO), on the other hand, calls it female genital mutilation and a human rights violation .
Masooma Ranalvi (50), a publisher in Delhi, initiated the Speak Out On FGM campaign in 2015, calling khatna a violation of human rights. As The Hindureported in December 2016 , it petitioned the United Nations to recognise India as a country where FGM/C (Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting) is practised; so far, the petition has 51,008 signatures. The younger generation in the community does not identify with this kind of control on lives, Ms. Ranalvi says, and questioning has increased over the last five years or so; the underlying disquiet has helped the movement grow tremendously. “There is a schizophrenic kind of voice of support. People still don’t want to come out openly. But at least, there is a voice.”
Another group, Sahiyo, started by five women — a social worker, a researcher, two filmmakers and a journalist — also launched a campaign, less confrontational, reaching out to the community’s elderly and young members, talking about the practice. The Hindu reported this in February .
Younger women (and men) in the community have joined these campaigns and are speaking out publicly, and privately starting conversations with their family members and friends.
For example, a 25-year-old Mumbai woman (who asked that her name be withheld) read an article on khatna and, for the first time, discussed it with her mother. “I learnt that my mother was completely opposed to it. But there was so much family pressure that she couldn’t stand up when I was being cut. I also discussed it with my father and he was against it as well. In principle, most of our family members were against it, but we never knew it. I don’t know if it changes anything, but the conversations will at least help the next generation to stand up when they are at the decision-making end.” She says two of her Dawoodi Bohra male friends also agreed with her. Another 27-year-old man from the community, also speaking anonymously, said it needs to be gradual: “It has to be done sensitively, without hurting the sentiments of others.”
Ms. Ranalvi says that the voices against the theocracy have always existed, “but these were subdued by the ingrained practice of social boycott, which continues to exist, but not in the blatant form of more than 50 years ago, by publicly announcing the names of people who have been excommunicated.”
Community members say today, the boycotting is never explicit but nevertheless visible to all in the community, what one called the “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” way. Anyone who speaks about the boycott find themselves never welcomed to any community programmes or gatherings.
“Imagine that you are being watched constantly,” Ms. Ranalvi says, “how many times you visit the mosque; whether the women in your house are wearing ridah ; whether you sport a beard or not… Would that be a good feeling?”
Owner of lives
The Dawoodi Bohras, around a million worldwide, are a sect within the Ismaili branch of Shia Islam. They are mainly from Gujarat and were traditionally shopkeepers and traders, mostly in the hardware business. As a business community, they were vulnerable to boycotts: business would take a beating.
The Bohras are led by a religious head, the Dai-al-Mutlaq. Around a hundred years ago, the 51st Syedna, Tahir Saifuddin (who took charge in 1915) brought in the concept of raza or permission. He is said to have ordered that all religious books be sent to his custody and read only with his permission. He also realised the importance of finances: his predecessor was rumoured to have been in an impoverished state despite being the head priest, and he did not want that to happen to him. He coined and popularised the term ‘ Jaan aane maal na maalik ’, ‘ the owner of the lives and wealth’ of people. “Gradually, he took control of all the trusts and funds and became the sole owner,” says Mujtaba Lokhandwala, a community reformer. “He told the community that if they don't believe in him, they are not Bohras. Slowly, he converted all into his slaves and the slavery continues till date.”
The community has not been completely accepting of this hold. In 1917, a few community members filed a suit against the incumbent Syedna. They alleged that he had used money taken from the gulla (a donation box to collect funds for charity) at the popular Seth Chandabhai mausoleum in Mumbai to buy property. The court ruled that the mausoleum’s trust would have all rights on the offerings collected. The Syedna then requested the court to allow him to set up another gulla in his name, with all offerings collected completely belonging to the Dai-al-Mutlaq; this was granted.
In 1949, Home Minister Morarji Desai passed a law against social boycott, a decision welcomed by the community. (But in 1962, the Supreme Court upheld the Syedna’s power to excommunicate.)
- Of the 385 women surveyed, 98% of women said they had been cut.
- 74% cut by untrained traditional cutters, usually older women, using razors, while 15% were cut by health professionals.
- 108 replied to a question on impact on their sexual lives: 94 indicated negative impact, 8 said it had positive impact.
- 309 replied to a question on emotional impact on their adult lives: 149 said yes.
- 56% believed khatna was for religious purposes, 45% thought that it to decrease sexual arousal, 42% felt that it was to maintains traditions and customs, 27% said it was meant for hygiene and cleanliness.
- Source: Sahiyo survey on khatna
In the early 1970s, in an Udaipur municipal council election, the Syedna wanted his people to support candidates of his choosing, and a section of the community did not agree. The Sydena’s candidates were defeated badly, and the Syedna called this a “defiance against the religious authority.” The rebellion took an ugly turn in 1973 when members of the community gathered for the Urs of a Bohra saint in Galiakot village, 70 miles away. “The reformists who had visited the shrine were attacked and their women were dishonoured. This was all done in the presence of the Syedna,” says Saifuddin Insaf, a reformer. He says that the practice of wearing the ridah and topi is also rooted there. “The Syedna wanted to easily bifurcate between his followers and the reformists. So the dress code became a mandate.” The revolt eventually led to the formation of the Bohra Reformist Movement and the Central Board of Dawoodi Bohras (both still active). Businessman Noman Contractor, social worker Zulfikar Husain and writer and thinker Asghar Ali Engineer were among the prominent members of the Board.
After Partition, when other communities — particularly Sindhi migrants — began entering their traditional businesses, Bohras began encouraging their families, women included, to go in for higher education. Education also sowed the seeds of dissent. In his book, The Bohras , Mr. Engineer wrote, “…a class of highly educated people (both male and female) was coming into existence which no longer depended on petty business for its livelihood. This revolution, naturally, brought about attitudinal changes of a far-reaching character, i.e., greater awareness of their individual rights and democratic privileges. This class began to resent priestly domination over the secular sphere too in the name of religion.”
In 1977, the ruling Janta Party’s grey eminence, Jayprakash Narayan, set up the Justice Narendra Nathwani commission to probe the allegations of social boycott. The report, published in 1979, stated, “There is large-scale infringement of civil liberties and human rights of reformist Bohras at the hands of the priestly class.” It said that those who disobeyed the Syedna, even in purely secular matters, were subjected to ‘ baraat ’, “mental torture and frequent physical assaults.” It went on to say that misaaq (the oath of unquestioning obedience to the head priest) was used to keep the community under the subjugation of the Syedna and his nominees. Baraat prevented Bohras from reading periodicals he did not approve of, establishing charitable institutions without prior permission and only under conditions he imposed, contesting elections without his blessings. It even extended to prohibiting social contact not just with a person subjected to baraat , but even to the person’s family: “The weapon of baraat has been used to compel a husband to divorce his wife, a son to disown his father, a mother to refuse to see her son, and a brother or sister to desist from attending the marriage of his or her sister or brother.”
Mohammad Burhanuddin, 52nd Syedna, died in January 2014 at age 103 after a 50-year reign. His son, Mufaddal Saifuddin, succeeded him, but Khuzaima Qutbuddin, the late Syedna's brother and deputy of 49 years, also claimed the title and took the battle to court. While he passed away in March 2016, his son Taher Fahruddin is now claiming to be the rightful Dai-al-Mutlaq. This has been one of the rare times when the affairs of the community, and the discontent within, have been out in the public sphere.
“The succession battle has broken the cult into two,” says Mr. Lokhandwala. “Earlier, when the progressive or the reformist members of the community wanted to reach out to people, they would send out pamphlets. Today there is social media through which a variety of narratives are reaching people, especially the young.
Fighting ostracism
Mr. Lokhandwala started a group called Bohras for Change (BfC) in October 2015, with this manifesto: “Support and safety net for individuals who would like to emancipate themselves by coming out of the slavery without leaving the community.” Two issues, he says, are very close to the hearts of community members: matrimony and burial grounds; and when the Syedna is questioned, the rebels get hit in those soft spots. “No one wants to marry children in your family and you don’t get to burry your loved ones in the community burial ground.” BfC, he says, seeks to create smaller communities-within-the-community who support each other. “Thus, marriages can take place within these smaller communities of like-minded people and we can fight for the right of a burial ground.” Mr. Lokhandwala himself dealt with the trauma when he sought police intervention to be able to bury his father in the Bohra burial ground in Pune in August this year. The 1000-plus members of the BfC have had 18 meetings so far, 13 in Pune, three in Mumbai and two in the United States. “We are proud to be Dawoodi Bohras. But what we don’t agree to is to remain slaves of the Syedna family.” BfC members also support the campaign against khatna, which they believe will help them reach younger audiences.
Mr. Insaf, 75, a member of the Bohra Reformist Movement led by, among others, the late Mr. Engineer, agrees that the community today stands in turmoil, being pulled by the opposing forces of affluence and education on one side and feudal attitudes on the other. Partly, this is a result of the increased influence of the clergy, he says. “Earlier, Syednas were mere religious heads who guided community members about the better aspects of religion. They led simple lives and earned their own livelihood as well. Today, the Syedna has a say in everything you do, wear or say. The moment something is imposed upon you, it becomes a problem.”
Ms. Ranalvi finds the paradoxes within the community amusing. “We are a wealthy and educated community,” she says, “and yet we are stuck in orthodoxy. There are some who bow down while they are within the system but outside, you wouldn’t even know they are Dawoodi Bohras.”
