Bagheera, By Any Other Name: My Black Panther

Originall published on Desicritics

Kipling’s Jungle Book was my first introduction to secret India. How I fantasized as a child about Bhalu, Sher Khan and the Black Panther, the palang or as it was called in the novel, Bagheera. When the movie first came out, I was out for ninety minutes in another secret world, trying to put my imagined version of the stories together with what I had read. Somehow, it was Bagheera the Indian leopard that caught my fancy more than all the others. It slinked and slithered, it disappeared into the jungle at night like a phantom; its grating call sent shivers down my spine.

Yesterday, I was reading stories of Jim Corbett, the legendary man-eating tiger killer. I found it strange that at the exact time I was writing the initial draft of this article that Jason Bellows, on April 29th. 2008 was engaged in writing something just as interesting about the same topic, A Large-Hearted Gentleman, a wonderful account of Jim Corbett and how he killed man-eating tigers. That gentleman lived between 1874 and 1955 and his stories were even more avidly read by me than those of Kipling and by many of us who owned guns and were addicted to shikar. (the hunt)

There is a zoo in Lahore where we went as a family to see the animals mentioned by Kipling. As a child I was saddened by it, and many decades later, as an adult I was appalled. I found the Indian Leopard cage and stared into the eyes of a creature that had been in its tiny cement and steel barred box for a decade, its fur dull, its muscles flaccid from lack of use. I stood a long time and stared into its eyes, the only part of it that seemed alive as it lay on a cement slab. I had read that if you stare into the eyes of a leopard or tiger, it will be unable to maintain your gaze and look away. I stared now waiting for it to look away. It stared at me, it too, it too having read about this phenomenon and did not look away, waiting for me to tire. I spoke. “Hello leopard. What secret thoughts are you thinking? Do you remember your home in the jungle of the Nepal terrai?” Now it looked away and yawned, showing its long yellowed canines. It rolled over and dismissed me. It had been born in the zoo and had no idea about what I was referring to. Its language skills were limited to the taunts the Lahore kids threw at it.

The road from the Woodstock Hostie, as the senior boys’ hostel was called, to the chukkar near the top of the hill in Mussoorie, was a fair hike of about half an hour. The short cuts through the jungle were narrow paths that wound around the hillside. These were often used by the charcoal carriers and other paharis, our name for the hill people who lived in secluded villages on this part of the Himalayan foothills. These were the paths I took on my thrice weekly excursions to visit at the house of my girlfriend and future wife, who, it seemed, lived as far away from my hostie as was possible and still be part of our ex-patriot community. The trip there was in the daylight which was for me a naturalist’s paradise. Along the trails in the rainy season, the leeches, feeling the vibration of my footsteps would stand up like tiny antennae and wave about waiting for a foot to land nearby onto which they could cling. On the bushes there were always insects; rhinoceros beetles, stags with their fearsome pinschers and June Bugs with iridescent green backs. As I walked I would collect one or another of these and move along. These paths were a favorite place for lungurs, the agile and often aggressive hairy monkeys that swung on their long arms and stared down at me from the branches of trees covered with hanging moss. If I was very lucky I might see Chikor Partridge scurry away or a slinking Kaleej Pheasant.

The trip back, usually at night when it was pitch dark was another world experience. My flashlight picked up the shiny eyes of many creatures as I strode along, or often loping on the downward slopes. Usually the batteries in my torch were fairly new, or at least sufficiently charged to produce an orange glow. I used the torch sparingly because it cost money to buy batteries. I walked along briskly in the semi-darkness, the waxing moon giving some light to make out the road. Something moved in the path in front of me and I stopped in my tracks, my heart pounding. The light of my torch reflected back from two eyes of a leopard standing in the path facing me. Behind it, down on the edge of the kud was something black. I stood stock still and I held the light steady for what seemed to me like an eternity. It turned its head away from the glare, then once again stared at me and made a coughing, snarling noise like a saw cutting into hard timber. My hand shook, my knees felt like putty and I had a hard time holding my bowels. It was not fear, rather terror that came over me, alone on a jungle trail with a leopard twenty feet away, at night, with no gun. I blinked my eyes and when I looked again it was gone. I shone the light around and there was no reflection, no sound, only a slight odor of feline urine.

I did not go forward. I backed up slowly for fifty feet and then walked uphill for half a mile and took a major dirt road that led to the Teri road, a rather long way to get home, but hopefully safer than a path where leopards roamed. I was almost home. I could see the light of the boarding halls below me and I relaxed. At that moment a pack of jackals, not more than twenty feet from me near the road began to howl. Somehow this gave speed to my feet as I raced the rest of the way back. This has been a secret until now and one I have kept for many, many decades. Imagine, admitting to my girlfriend about my terror. Imagine telling about a girl friend. Imagine how surprised the leopard was too, who was at the time with his dark-haired girlfriend.

The wife of one of the British officers was walking her small dog on the chukkar not far from where I had met my leopard and stared into its eyes. She told her story rather properly and matter-of-factly. “I was walking the dog and a leopard came out of the bushes at the side of the road and in one motion, snatched Bonnie, holding her by the neck and pulled her away from me into the bushes. Neither the dog nor the leopard made a sound. One moment it was there, the next it was gone!” When asked if she had been terrified she replied, “No, not at all. I was furious that it just took Bonnie like that in broad daylight. I did not have time to be frightened. It was a horribly beautiful animal, I must say, black as coal.”

Two other dogs were taken near homes in the area that year. The men in many households now oiled up their guns, bought new batteries for their torches and vowed that if they saw the culprit that they would shoot the bugger on site. That only lasted until the rainy season, because guns rusted easily if they got soaking wet, and who in their right mind would wander about in a pouring rain anyway? The leopards moved down toward Dehra Dun where the rain was not so severe and there were ample numbers of village dogs to eat.

I have waited until now to insert a snippet of Jim Corbett’s tale. “He continued briskly along the sand, hoping to make it to the hilltop before the tigress finished her buffalo feast. As he squeezed past a large boulder which blocked most of the riverbed, something in his peripheral vision gave him pause: something orange and black, with predator’s eyes, poised behind the boulder ready to pounce. He… set the rifle butt against his hip, and managed to fire a singe shot. For a moment the tiger was unaffected, and stayed coiled on the verge of springing out. Then her muscles slacked and her head came down to rest on her forepaws. The bullet had entered the back of her neck, and plunged through to her heart. … the Chowgrath Tigress was indeed dead.” The tiger is more charismatic than the slinking leopard, and almost always takes the headlines, except in this case. I find Corbett’s prose a bit too dramatic. “Poised, ready to pounce.” Come on.

Charismatic mega-vertebrates such as the elephant, the Sumatran rhino, gaur and tigers have captured the attention of animal lovers in India. Leopards somehow have not had good press agents. They are seldom mentioned except when a goat, cow or dog is killed and then once again the men pick up their guns and make vows of vengeance. But the Indian Leopard is seldom seen now. Rapid human population expansion has forced the leopard to move away into more remote jungle areas. The Indian leopard may still number in the tens of thousands, however, with a human population of a billion and growing, the leopard may endure in its last stronghold in the Himalayas. The leopard, as opposed to the more fearsome and grand tiger, will, I believe continue to remain in its secret places for quiet some time. Children may see the leopard in a zoo, glance at its spotted fur, or if lucky into its eyes for a moment and then pass on to see the elephants or the Bengal Tiger with its sagging stomach.

Leopard fixation is incurable. It is caught at an early age when a young child is highly vulnerable to the environmental and psychological influences of the mysterious jungles of India. I speak from experience. Long before I met the leopard on the pathway I used to put my hand into its mouth. What? Yes. You see my father, a surgeon, had acquired a leopard skin with a mounted head, claws and all, in a moment of a rajah’s generosity. I think it was not really a rajah, rather a Wali, a ruler in Swat whose wife he had treated most circumspectly, examining her through a sheet with a hole in it with the husband in attendance. He prescribed, she took the medicine, got better and the Wali was most grateful. He had a leopard skin with the head mounted, glass eyes, and its mouth wide open. He gave it to my father, who had, without thinking, admired it. The skin was a lovely thing to look at. That leopard skin got a special spot in our living room. My mother did not like it, but we children did. When we did prayers, puja, or namaz, depending on our choice that day, on the carpet, I would stretch out my hand and stroke its head and put my hand in its gaping mouth and feel its long teeth. Incurable. It was my favorite place to read, to lie back with my head against the leopard’s stuffed head, stretched out on the soft spotted fur.

While I attended boarding school I heard many a tale about leopards. One was about a black leopard, or as it was then called, a black panther. These were the most feared and stories about them were very special. They are very hard to see at night as they slink about. One tale that was told in the dormitory as we lay in the dark on our beds was interesting that I feel I can now share.

The Black Panther had made its kill the night before. The goat was not totally consumed so the great white hunter, the intrepid sahib bahadur, decided to sit up for it in a natural machan, which was no more than a comfortable spot on a tree branch with the trunk against his back. He got his three-cell flash light ready, mounted on the side of the shot gun with adhesive tape. The first hour went by and nothing materialized, but, he later admitted, that he became rather apprehensive and a bit fearful sitting there alone. The full moon came out and bathed the area in a silvery light so wonderful he could see for hundreds of feet down the trail leading to the place where the dead goat was tied to a low tree. He was nodding and almost falling asleep when he saw a motion far, far down the path. His adrenaline kicked in and his heart beat wildly. There, about one hundred feet down the road, heading directly toward him was the Black Panther. It walked slowly, almost languorsly, its long tail held high, moving from side to side as it came down the road. The hunter slowly raised his gun, getting ready to fire when the black monster came within thirty yards. His mouth was dry and he fought back the urge to shoot, wanting the kala baghera to be close enough for an easy kill. He was almost ready to fire when it meowed and rolled in the dirt directly in front of him. He was so startled that he fired and crushed, dalit, obliterated, the black house cat only a few feet in front of him, literally blowing it away with the full force of the LG cartridge from his twelve bore shot gun. (USA: OO Buck twelve gauge) Oh, there were many other stories told about leopards, but none of them about the black panther.

The tiger is endangered in India, only a few thousand now remain in reserves. The leopard, however, is doing very well in its extensive range along the entire length of the Himalayas as well as in a variety of riverine, jungle locations. It is sometimes, but seldom observed in India’s wildlife reserves in Kanha, Kaziranga, Periya, Ranthambore and Sariska. It is highly adaptable, nocturnal and diurnal and usually moves away when disturbed as it is a secretive animal. It is a loner except during its mating season. Unlike the tiger, it seldom takes down huge herbivores like the sambar, nil guy or gaur, rather, preys on the spotted deer, kakar, monkeys, peafowl and a variety of smaller mammals. It is the ultimate stealth hunter, relying on its skill to approach its prey so closely that a more prolonged high speed chase is usually not needed, which is the case with the Cheetah. Interestingly, the leopard has a traditional Indian name from which the name Cheetah may have been derived, mistakenly. The leopard was called by another name, chita, in ‘ancient’ times, not the chita of suttee; that is quite another story.

Pakistani and Indian Madrasas - A Fine Balance?

Originally published on Desicritics
Have the political environments of madrasas in two different countries affected their programs and curricula? Has the development of madrasas in India, under a secular constitution since Partition, created religious education programs which have a different emphasis and intent from those across the border in Pakistan where these have developed under an Islamic state?

Recent news reports from Pakistan about madrasas appear to center on whether these schools are supporting Islamic militancy and training young people to become involved with the Taliban. News reports from India about madrasas hint at another concern, how to remain viable institutions whose primary mission is to provide religious training to support the growth of Islam as a word religion within a secular political/social environment which allows for and protects any expression of religious belief for its citizens.

My first personal experience as an adult with Islamic religious schools began in 1984 in Sukkur, Pakistan. During the early morning hours, after the first call to prayer, my colleague, a professional sociologist working with the Department of Agriculture, were invited to an Islamic school for young boys. The school was not far from the Indus River near the famous Mir Ma’Sum Sha Minaret Minaret.

I will call the teacher Alhaji Mohammed. He sat on a mat in the shade under a mango tree. Twenty children sat in front of him on the hard-packed ground. Alhaji Mohammed held a long narrow cane in his right hand and appeared to be half asleep. The boys were reciting, pointing to the Arabic words written out on their chalk boards, Surah 4, vs. 74. Let those who fight in the way of Allah… sell the life of this world for the other. Whoso fighteth in the way of Allah, be he slain or be he victorious, on him We shall bestow a vast reward. (Translation into English by Mohammed M. Picthall, 1953, Karachi.)

All the voices chanted in unison, pointing to the words with their index fingers, their bodies swaying backwards and forwards. One child, a skinny little lad, began to fall asleep and his finger sagged in front of his slate, his eye lids drooped. The long slender cane held in Alhaji’s hand snaked forward and tapped the hand smartly. The boy awakened, and now crying, pointed to the Arabic words. The children next to him raised their voices and sang out the words more vigorously, reinvigorated by the tears. In the background the second call to prayer of the day sounded from the short minaret.

Alhaji Mohammed rose to his feet and with much flourish, adjusted his loose flowing robe, set his embroidered Quetta style hat on his head and walked across the street, followed by the children. At the mosque they all began the ritual washings, hands, feet, face and ears. The teacher set the example and the boys all followed suit. He took a handful of water and slurped it into his mouth, swished the water around, turned and spat onto the soil behind him. The boys rinsed their mouths and spat.

After namaz the group dispersed. I asked Alhaji to tell me about the lesson the boys were learning. “What is the meaning of the Surah the boys were learning today?” I asked in Urdu.

He turned to face me abruptly, (his orange colored beard signaling that he had made the haj to Mecca) and frowning, repeated the Surah in Arabic. Then feeling satisfied, he said, “That’s it.”

I persisted. “Tell me in Urdu what the meaning is so I can understand what the boys were repeating and memorizing.”

“It only has real meaning in Arabic, the language of Allah. To say the holy words of the Prophet, peace be unto Him, in another language, removes the meaning from the Surah. The boys learn the Arabic. After some years of learning, they feel and understand and believe the meaning when their Arabic improves.”

“Do they get classes in the Arabic language as well, so the meaning of the Arabic words they are reading makes sense to them?”

“Yes. At the end of the day when it is cool, I teach them some Arabic. I will teach them the word fight today. Then tomorrow when we once again repeat the Surah they will understand the meaning. First the holy words in Arabic, not in Urdu, then later the meaning.” He now smiled and I got the feeling that I was being dismissed.

Growing up in northern India near the North West Frontier Province, was my first introduction to Islamic schools, most of which were connected to mosques. Entering such places required that we take off our sandals. The stone floors against our bare feet was pleasant as we walked about, led proudly by the Imam. The stone steps leading up to the top of the high minaret of the Badshahi Mosque in Lahore were cool against our bare feet. From the top we could see the huge open area where thousands came to pray. In one shaded corner a group of boys and their teacher were having a lesson from the Koran. Their high voices carried up to us as they repeated a surah, over and over again, learning by rote the verse of that day, in Arabic.

I had not heard the word madrasas until after September 11, 2001. Then the frequency of its usage made it a household word and a concern for those involved in formulating U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East and Southeast Asia. Madrasas came into focus when it became known that several Al Qaeda members and Taliban leaders had developed their rather radical political views at madrasas in Pakistan. Words such as Islamic extremism, militancy and terrorism and Taliban were frequently used in conjunction with madrasas. I learned that Taliban meant student in Arabic. Then we heard that one such school in Pakistan near the Afghan border had been bombed by American forces, and there were pictures of Pakistanis holding up signs in protest against George Bush and America. (A fictional account of such a bombing appeared in my novel One Way to Pakistan) That madrasa was located in the Bajaur tribal region. Reports in the USA indicated that 80 militants were killed in the 2006 air strike. The reaction in Pakistan to this military violation of their territory was immediate and strong. Anti-American feelings ran high. They also ran high yesterday when it was reported that Pakistani people were killed in a raid on the Afghanistan border with Pakistan. Such incidents feed the fervor against one who is called the Great Satan.

In Pakistan, most madrasas offer free education to their students. Thus, many poor families are eager to send their sons to such schools, which in large measure, are supported by alms-giving, known in Arabic as zakat. In some instances, little is provided to the students, who are told to go and beg to help support themselves through the gifts of others who consider giving alms to such children a good deed.

A small number of madrasas are for girls, although I have never personally seen one. I recently read Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson which commented about Islamic religious schools, madrasas, and their financial support from foreign sources. The approach taken by Mortenson through his efforts to develop 55 schools in Pakistan, primarily for girls, was a means to fight extremism and terrorism. I found the first part of his book inspiring. To educate young women gives them a window on the world through literacy, writing and dealing with numbers, it provides them with improved means for keeping healthy and rearing children and this is a most positive effort toward promoting peace, one school, one girl at a time.

In Pakistan there are over 12,000 madrasas. (See the CRS Report for Congress,”Islamic Religious Schools, Madrasas: Background” by Christopher Blanchard, Jan.23, 2008)

“In an economy that is marked by extreme poverty and underdevelopment, costs associated with Pakistan’s cash-strapped public education system have led some Pakistanis to turn to madrasas for free education, room and board.”

This report states that some madrasas have been used as incubators for violent extremism. Some foreign students were enrolled in Pakistani madrasas. In 2006 there was a report that Pakistani authorities would deport 700 of the remaining foreign students unless they got permission from their own governments to remain in Pakistan with appropriate visas. Many of the 12,000 madrasas in Pakistan teach only Islamic studies. In September of 2007, according to the CRS report mentioned, “…many Pakistani madrasas have taught extremist doctrine in support of terrorism.” The curriculum, if it is only Islamic in nature, does not provide students with contemporary knowledge about the world outside Pakistan, about its neighboring state India from which Pakistan emerged after partition or other nearby non-Islamic countries. One teacher in such a school said, “The aim of our religion is to reach god.” The CRS report quoted Samuel Haq who said, “We only impart religious education here. The students later take up arms on their own.”

Though it is matter of conjecture of what is actually taught by religious teachers in Pakistani madrasas, since none of us will sit and hear what the teachers teach, their own statements are that these schools impart religious information only. This is of sufficient concern to many in the world at large. A curriculum which teaches that there is only one right way and this is based on religious belief, which by its nature is exclusive of other ways of thought, of other belief systems, exclusive of others who live out their lives in the greater modern world, this fundamental religious stance can produce graduates whose world and life view is conservative and focused on intolerance. Reportedly, some Pakistani madrasas teach subjects other than religion. Some teach computers and local languages, however, their mainstay is religious training. Some madrasas in other countries are seeking government approval for awarding bachelor and master’s degrees in Islamic religious studies, or as one stated, Islamic Religious Science.

If the truth can only be learned in Arabic from religious documents such as the Koran and the madrasas’ curricula rejects secular information based on scientific enquiry and holds it to be suspect or dangerous, it is logical that such students will form highly conservative social understandings, including negative consideration and respect for other religions or ideas such as the emancipation of women. Militancy, extremism, crusades and/or jihad frequently emerge from rigid belief systems.

In Pakistan, twelve thousand madrasas are teaching youngsters in schools which have funding from other Islamic states, including Iran. As hundreds of young men leave these schools each year, they merge into society at large and seek work and life causes with religious zeal and philosophical underpinnings that, from this writer’s point of view, bodes ill for their participation in the development and support for a liberal, secular and democratic society. Madrasas are proliferating in many Muslim states, including Bangladesh and Afghanistan, and nearby neighbor, India, but there are differences, both in curricula and emphasis.

There has been a long debate about madrasas in India going as far back as 1947. The volume of literature about this is large and experts from within the madrasas system, as well as social critics about the system, have and are continuing to speak out about the need for reform of the madrasas’ curriculum. Such dialogue, which emerges out of Indian religious diversity, is healthy and keeps alive the issues. Dialogue, forces conservative elements to constantly review their programs and their teaching approaches in order to bring these more in line with modern secular-political needs which are in support of freedom of religion as expressed in the Indian Constitution. Madrasas enjoy this freedom to express their religious beliefs and teach these in Indian madrasas.

R. Upadhyay’s article published in Feb. 2003 presents an interesting review which leans toward reform and change, "Madrasa Education in India"
Is it to sustain medieval attitude among Muslims? “A recent circular of Government of India to keep watch on the anti-national activities of madrasas raised many eyebrows in the country. But if we look back to the historical developments of madrasas in India this Islamic system of education has all along been playing a prominent role in keeping the movement of Muslim separatism alive in this country. The British also suspected them. Contrary to it the Post-colonial India for reason best known gave special constitutional privilege for the autonomy of madrasas. But the manner in which the madrasas promote medieval attitude among the Indian Muslims at the cost of secular education needs to be checked. In fact, orthodoxy, religious conservatism and obsession to medieval identity remained the main focus of Madrasa education in India.

Muzaffar Alam’s article, Modernization of Madrasas in India, The Hindu , April 23, 2002 reviews how various changes are being made to bring madrasas up to modern standards, yet still remaining true to their basic principles of training youth in the fundamentals of their faith. This same debate is well presented in the book Bastions of Believers: Madrasas and Islamic Education in India by Yogender Sikand, New Delhi, Penguin 2005. The book utilizes a historical research perspective to describe the growth of this institution and summarizes what the stated intents of madrasas have been.

The debate centers on the words modern and liberal vs. medieval and radically conservative. One writer speaks of new trends in madrasas as being efforts to teach the youth Islamic ‘science’, which made me smile, thinking of the Christian Science Church movement in the United States which is a distinct form of religious fundamentalism with an approach that is far from what is globally considered to be scientific. (However, to be fair, the Latin, scio, from which our word science came, simply means, knowledge in the fullest sense of the word.) But still, the terms science and religion seem to grate when put side by side in this context. Some writers debate whether Islam and democracy are compatible with each other. One thing is certain, the madrasa movement is growing and moving south through India to Sri Lanka and Indonesia. It is a grass roots movement supported and fed by funds from Iran, Saudi Arabia and local donations.

How many young men and women are being taught in Indian madrasas? That seems to be a hard question to answer. Many such schools are not registered and what is taught in them is not monitored nor approved by government, thus counting them or defining what they are is a difficult task. One source suggests that there are 1.5 million children and young adults in Indian madrasas. Another source says there are between 25,000 and 40,000 madrasas scattered across India. (Consider that in Pakistan there may be only 12,000 of them.) I found the blog by Yoginder Sikand, “Islam and Democracy: Lessons from the Indian Muslim” interesting. He debates whether or not Islam and democracy are compatible with each other. Sikand presents Ali Naswi’s point of view this way.

In contrast to Muslim liberals, and echoing the views of the Islamists, he insisted on the need for an Islamic order in order to implement the laws of God. However, he stood apart from most Islamists by arguing that the Islamic political order could come about in India only in some remotely distant future. Rather than directly struggling for it at the present, he believed that the Muslims of the country should accept the secular and democratic Indian state as it was and focus their energies in trying to build what he saw as a truly Islamic society, on the basis of which alone could an ideal Islamic political order come into being.

Madrasas in Pakistan emerged from within an Islamic religious state are not a mirror image of those in India. There is a point of view that many of these madrasas are hotbeds for the training of radical religious elements and this is expressed almost daily in Pakistan newspapers. Many of the Indian madrasas have expanded their curriculum to include a wider number of what could possibly be termed secular subjects, however, all are taught with the intent of understanding and giving meaning to the teachings of Islam. What could be called the ‘core curriculum’ is the Holy Koran. Hopefully, madrasas in India will be influenced by the various religions around them, by the secular political nature of India and by the great philosophical and religious tolerance that embodies Hinduism.

With the growth of dynamic and expansive secular democracy in many parts of the world there appears to be a concomitant growth of more dynamic and radical religious teaching opposing the ‘heretical secularism’ and its perceived dangers. The ‘Great Satan’, America and its war with Afghanistan and Iraq have polarized religious attitudes and have created responses of hatred for the ‘enemy of Islam’. Madrasas are one of the few places that young people can be taught to uphold and struggle, make a jihad against secularism. Though the word jihad has a few meanings, one is certainly to stand up and fight in a cause for the truth as perceived by Islamists. Ali Naswi’s point of view is to wait, and this differs from many in Pakistan. I can still hear Alhaji Mohammed’s voice. Whoso fighteth in the way of Allah, be he slain or be he victorious, on him shall We bestow a vast reward.