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Part I
The Becoming of Mappila Muslim Culture
A Remarkable Development and a Symbol of Hope
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1
The Mappilas and Their Composite Culture Setting
Who are the Mappilas? Where are they located? How was their culture formed? Our study of Mappila Muslim culture begins with these basic questions.
It is possible to answer the questions in a simple, straightforward manner. The Mappilas are the Malayali Muslims of southwest India, where they constitute a large and distinct community of more than eight million members. Their culture is the offshoot of a successful marriage between the Malayalam and the Islamic cultural traditions. Their way of life has developed over more than thirteen centuries as the oldest Muslim community in South Asia.
Yet simplicity conceals as well as reveals. The Mappilas are not stick figures, but flesh and blood. They are living people in motion. Their culture is not an abstract time-bound collection of habits and customs. It is, rather, the ongoing behavioral reflection of a dynamic human development. At a deeper level, therefore, our answers to the questions raised above require a journey into the life and spirit of a people. In a sense, they require a personal meeting, one that brings both learning and pleasure.
The primary purpose of this opening chapter is to point to and to delineate the twofold source of Mappila culture. It flows from both the Malayalam and Islamic worlds, and both stream into the living culture of the Mappilas down to the present. Before beginning that story we will look more closely at Mappila identity through a visit with Abdulla and Amina.
Mappila Identity
I had traveled along the road to Malappuram many times, but its liveliness never seemed to lessen or to become dull. The road teems with people and activity. On both sides pedestrians walk briskly, dodging one another and the endless stream of cycles, three-wheelers, cars, buses, and lorries. The goats, “brake-testing” water buffalo, and oxcarts that once occupied much of the road space are no longer visible. People move in and out of the open-front shops that line the streets—general provision stores, cloth and clothing establishments, pharmacies, hardware suppliers, restaurants and tea-shops, and many more. Behind them stretches an open area, the town playing-field or maidan, where football teams are active. Next to it is the site of the weekly market, where everything from brinjals to books are on sale. It is evening, and from the nearby educational institutions children and youth pour out in huge numbers. Evening is also the going-out and visiting time in Mappila culture. I am on my way to see old family friends.
Abdulla and Amina are expecting me. They live in a house that overlooks this busy scene. This is their space, their town, in their state called Kerala. A quarter of the state population are Mappila Muslims who live in towns like this, alongside Hindu and Christian neighbors, interacting harmoniously. Their name “Mappila” is an honorific title meaning “great child” that goes back to their origins.1 It was quite respectfully given to them by Hindus when they first came to Kerala. The name carries intimations of their double-streamed Arab–Malayalam cultural background. Many centuries have passed by since then, and now Mappilas are experiencing tremendous change.
Abdulla’s family is an example of that phenomenon. His parents were very poor, but he went to school, became a lawyer, and worked hard to pull himself up on the economic scale. Amina also went against the trend and managed to become a teacher. Now they have a nice home, proudly cared for. As I arrived I was greeted with great warmth by all the members of the family. For a time we talked happily together in Malayalam, the common language of the region, sharing family news. I was then led to a sumptuous meal, with special Mappila ingredients. It was not only a culinary feast but also a friendship-fest, especially meaningful because of our differing backgrounds. Abdulla brought in my taxi driver, a stranger to both of us, and seated him also at the table. The time flew by all too quickly.
As I returned to my destination through the now darkened streets of this emotional center of Mappila culture, I reflected on the remarkable story of this society and pondered its future. Abdulla’s family represents a community that goes back to the earliest days of Islam experiencing a long period of peaceful intercultural growth, then passed through terrible and testing times, but is now developing a behavioral synthesis. The saga has cultural significance, heaped up and overflowing. It begs for wider recognition and fuller description. The Mappila Muslims are better known now than they once were, but still labor under a shadow of concealment. The course of historical events, especially in the Malabar2 region of northern Kerala, conspired to put the Mappilas into a defined image box. There is an old Malabar proverb, however, that declares: “If you put anything inside, it will surely be known outside.”3 It is time, and for good reasons high time, for the Mappilas to be better known outside.4
One of those good reasons is the sheer size of the Mappila Muslim population. In their numbers they make up a major social group both within the Indian nation and within the global Islamic profile. The estimated Muslim population (2014) in Kerala State is over 8,900,0005: this is a figure that is larger in size than 22 out of the 44 Muslim majority countries in the world. There are other substantial reasons, however, for making Mappila culture more widely known. They represent a significant example of successful Muslim cultural adaptation, one that points to possibility for contemporary Muslims engaged in cultural interrelationships. The Mappilas are a notable example of self-change, moving from a negative to a positive cultural image. Finally, the culture content of Mappila life has unique customary aspects that make up a fascinating chapter in the wider story of human cultural development.
The Mappila Muslims have both a clear identity and social significance. The rich complexity of their learned behavior cannot be appreciated, however, without examining its two forming streams. The Mappilas are Malayali Muslims. They draw on their Malayalam heritage for their everyday life and at the same time on their Islamic heritage for their faith, religious ethos, and many customs. We turn first to the Malayalam culture stream.
The Malayalam Culture Setting
The task of making Mappila culture better known takes us to a lively society in southwest India set amidst a lush tropical splendor. The home of the Mappilas stretches from Cape Comorin to Mangalore but for our purposes we will confine ourselves to the state of Kerala where the overwhelming majority reside. Its culture and language are called Malayalam, and the people are Malayalis.6 Generally quick of mind and independent in outlook, they have produced a distinct culture that constantly draws on external influences but never loses its traditional core ethos. The Mappila Muslims are contributing members of that vibrant culture. Some of its informing factors that we will consider are the state’s natural endowments, the extreme population pressure, the enterprising spirit of the people, the paradoxical factors of social diversity and solidarity, and the mobility of the society.
The word Malayalam means “the place between the mountains and the sea.” It refers to Kerala’s geographical setting as a coastal strip of land bordered on one side by the Arabian Sea (=the Indian Ocean) and on the other by the Western Ghat mountains. It is only 576 kilometers (360 miles) north and south and never exceeds 112 kilometers (70 miles) east and west. The first impression it gives is that of an extended garden. The terrain is alternately hilly, the tops often crowned with coconut palm trees, or it is flat, well-watered alluvial fields that produce rice and other crops. Almost countless homes cluster under the trees, alongside the rice paddy fields, or near the rivers and canals that run down to the sea. The tropical scene is the product of two annual monsoons that bring an average of 320 centimeters (160 inches) of rain a year to the area.
If the beauty of nature is the first impression one has of Kerala, its productivity is even more important. While the state has the hustle and bustle associated with modernity, with high technology one of its major new industrial developments, statistically and at heart the Malayalis are still heavily involved with agriculture. The state produces 92 percent of India’s rubber, 70 percent of its coconuts, 60 percent of its tapioca, and large amounts of coffee, tea, and bananas.7 Many of the spices that were so important in Mappila history continue to be raised, especially pepper and ginger. Paddy fields still remain despite the steady encroachment of the growing population and the intrusive development of crops other than rice. They stretch out in undulating flow, glowing with their delicate shades of green.
Could there be any shadow on such a lovely scene? Alas, its beauty cannot hide the tensions in Mappila history that revolved around the ownership of the fields. At a very early stage in Kerala history, a complicated land tenure system had evolved that was marked by echelons of ownership and management. The system gave Mappilas and other tenants and poor laborers no ready access to land ownership. Therefore, when the Marxist government in 1969 decreed that the maximum holding of the most productive rice fields would be ten acres and the remainder would have to be distributed among the landless, agricultural workers from all backgrounds breathed a sigh of relief. Through modest payments tenant farmers could now become the absolute owners of the land they tilled. It was one of the most radical property decisions ever taken in a free society.8
The coconut plantations contend with the rice paddies for Malayali affection. By some the word Kerala is said to signify “land of the coconut.” Others derive the term from Chera, the name of a prominent ruling dynasty. Whatever the fact may be, Malayalis regard the coconut as a divine gift. It thrives almost everywhere, in low-lying, well-watered areas, on the roadside, in the yards of homes, and on hill plantations. All of its parts are useful—the leaves for the roof; the fruit fiber for ropes, baskets and mats; the pulp for food and for the extraction of oil; and the juice of the tender fruit for a refreshing drink on a hot day. When, after fifty years or so, the tree dies, its decay-resistant wood is used for building. Only a Malayali who has lost his soul will cut down a tree before that time. And, if necessary, he will even let it grow through his roof!
The mountains and the sea also contribute their share to Kerala’s productive beauty. In the mountains grow great hardwood trees. Although declining in number, they are still hauled by elephants from inaccessible jungles and are either floated down rivers or placed on lorries to be taken to lumberyards. The great groves of multipurpose bamboo, however, are now virtually exhausted. The sea too is bounteous with the fish that mean so much both for the diet of Malayalis and for the economy of the state. It has made its fierce power so clearly evident that granite rock protecting walls have been constructed along Kerala’s coast to prevent its shore from disappearing under the waves. Without exception Malayalis are united in their affection for their home.
If beauty reigns in southwest India, density is her consort. If nature’s grandeur impresses, humanity’s mass overwhelms. There are two important things that must be said about Kerala’s population. The first is that it is massive considering the space. The second is that it is unusually balanced in its religious makeup. The state is one of the most crowded places in the world. It contains 33,406,061 people (2011 census) within an area of 38,863 square kilometers (15,175 square miles). The ratio of 859 per sq.km. (or 2199 per sq.m.) is extraordinarily high, and can be matched by only a very few other global regions. In fact, Kerala is simply one big village. A low infant mortality rate of 16 per 1,000 and an average life expectancy of 70.3 ironically contribute to the population pressure that is the state’s major problem. Family planning awareness is strong and the annual growth rate is now below one percent. This achievement is remarkable, but its full effect will not be felt for another generation. In the meantime, the demographic reality has major implications for domiciliary decisions, for employment possibilities, for human relations, and for lifestyles in general.
Equally remarkable is the relatively balanced nature of Kerala’s religious population. Its people are 56.2 percent Hindu, 24.7 percent Muslim, and 19.1 percent Christian. This ratio has no parallel elsewhere. The relative equilibrium points to three critical factors in the state’s history. The first is the cultural spaciousness of the host Hindu society that was open to the development of both Christianity and Islam. The second is the centuries-long interreligious harmony within this trialogical situation that made possible the development of new faith communities.9 The third is the cultural interaction inevitably involved. No one who has observed children pouring out of the state’s elementary schools can be insensitive to the various levels of interaction entailed by this unusual religious profile.
A final comment on Kerala’s religious population is that the Muslim share is steadily increasing. Fifty years ago the comparative percentages were 61.6 for Hindus, 17.5 for Muslims, and 20.8 for Christians. The increase is not unique since it parallels the national statistics.10 The number of Mappilas is particularly high in the northern region of the state, where 34 percent are Muslims.
The statistics underline what the traveler discovers, namely, that Malayalis live in an intermingled manner. Mappilas are dispersed throughout the southwest coastal region; there are areas where more Mappilas reside than elsewhere, but there are few places where only Mappilas live. Behind that reality lies practical necessity related to the availability and cost of living space. The price of land is almost unbelievable high in comparison with personal income. Many people cannot afford to purchase their own home and must live with relatives or rent space. When they do get a chance to obtain a house and compound, it is the cost rather than the makeup of the neighborhood that is the main factor. In sum, Malayalis make their choices as to where to live based on practical rather than on religious grounds. Hindus, Muslims, and Christians commonly live together.
It is not religious ghettoism but another kind of cultural dream that is visible in the Malayali living pattern, and that is the deep desire for some separation and independence. While nature is a beneficent self-giving friend, one’s fellow human beings are inevitably competitors. They crowd in on you, and compete for the good things of life. The partial answer is a place of your own. There you can include a portion of kindly nature, however small, and to a degree exclude an ever-present humanity. So you build a compound wall, or even a thorn fence, around your little space. That also serves to keep out the omnipresent and voracious goat! Within that guarded space is your home, a little garden, always some flowers, a coconut tree, perhaps even a papaya tree. From its privacy and serenity the Malayali develops the accommodating spirit that makes possible a neighborhood culture within the turbulence of a highly compressed society. A journey through Kerala, from Kasaragode District to the north to Trivandrum District in the south, is therefore a journey through a village of homely compounds interspersed by commercial areas.
The density of Kerala’s population affects not only its home life, but also its economy. It creates the great search for jobs that characterizes the society. The search for jobs!—it is the dominant drive in all of India where more than three million new jobs are created annual...
