DAWN in Istanbul carries an enchanting charm of its own. As day breaks, the call to prayer — the Adhan — echoing from towering minarets in every direction, creates a spiritual atmosphere. It is not merely pleasing to the ear; it deeply uplifts and captures the heart and soul.
Walking through the streets and bazaars here — streets upon which the footprints of the renowned sultans of the Ottoman Empire were once imprinted — one feels that the intellectual grandeur of the Süleymaniye, the silent yet eloquent majesty of Hagia Sophia, the imperial gates of Topkapı, and the waves of the Bosphorus all bear witness to one truth: this city is not merely the name of a geographical region or a political border, but a living and immortal chapter in the struggle of human history.
Walking in this enchanting environment, a question continuously stirs in my mind: What was that magnetic pull that bound the hearts of millions of Muslims in the Indian subcontinent to this Turkish soil a century ago? What was the relationship that drove the poor and oppressed people of India — who had never seen the land of Anatolia, nor had any acquaintance even with the alphabet of the Turkish language — to become so restless for the political safeguarding of this far-off region? If one sets out to find the answer to this question, a genius comes to light at every turn: Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar. He was the greatest symbol of the conflicted collective consciousness of the Muslims of the subcontinent.
Viewed from a socio-political perspective, Mohammad Ali Jauhar did not see Türkiye merely as a traditional geographical state; rather, in his intellectual framework, this region was the last symbolic citadel of global Muslim unity and geopolitical dignity. This is the reason why, when the Ottoman Caliphate faced decline and the threat of dismemberment after the First World War, its most intense agony, intellectual restlessness, and grief did not erupt in the streets of Türkiye itself with the same intensity as it did in the lanes and alleys of Delhi, Lucknow, and Lahore.
It was a unique and astonishing spectacle in global political history: on one side, the Ottoman Empire was breathing its last, surrounded by its internal structural crises, an economy on the verge of collapse, and the tyrannical pressure of European imperialism; on the other side, thousands of miles away, a colonized, oppressed, and suffering nation in the subcontinent was expressing its anguish through rallies and demonstrations, making its own effort to save the symbol of unity of the Muslim Ummah. Destitute mothers chanted slogans urging the sacrifice of their beloved children, elderly women wept as they offered their last pieces of saved jewellery, and newspaper pages were inked with passionate support for Türkiye.
This relationship of the Muslims of the subcontinent was not limited merely to emotional slogans or financial aid; rather, it had an unparalleled history of practical sympathy. During the Balkan War of 1912, when Turkish soldiers and civilians were severely wounded, a medical mission comprising top doctors and volunteers from the subcontinent — the “Dr. Mukhtar Ahmad Ansari Medical Mission” — was sent to Türkiye at the sincere appeal of Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar and Hakim Ajmal Khan. Going directly to the battlefields and hospitals, this delegation not only soothed the wounds of its injured Turkish brothers but also proved that the Indian Muslim considered Türkiye’s pain as his own.
It was this very history of practical sacrifice that established a spiritual and enduring bond between Maulana Jauhar, the Muslims of the subcontinent, and the Ottoman Turks.
Yet, alas! Here emerges the most blood-stained and heart-wrenching paradox of history, one that continues to torment the soul to this day. At the very time when destitute mothers in the subcontinent were selling their children’s clothes to collect pennies for Türkiye, and when a flood of tears flowed through the streets of Delhi and Lahore for the preservation of the Caliphate, the sacred land of Hejaz — incited by British imperialism and intoxicated by the lust for power — saw the ruler of Makkah plunge a dagger into the back of the Ottoman Caliphate.
The importance that this central authority held in the hearts of Indian Muslims can be gauged from the solace offered by the Poet of the East, Allama Iqbal, years before the end of the Caliphate:
Agar Usmani’on par koh-e-gham tuta to kya gham hai
Ke khun-e-sad hazar anjum se hoti hai sahar paida
[If a mountain of grief has fallen upon the Ottomans, why grieve?
For the dawn is born from the blood of a hundred thousand stars.]
During this era of oppression, an agonising voice arose from the mud houses of Delhi and Lucknow that pierced the hearts of young and old across the subcontinent. It was Bi Amma, the elderly mother of Mohammad Ali Jauhar, who took to the streets herself after both her sons went to jail, and the song that came out of her trembling lips echoed through every street like a funeral dirge:
Boleen Amma Mohammad Ali ki
Jan beta Khilafat pe de do!
[Spoke the mother of Mohammad Ali:
Sacrifice your life, my son, for the Khilafat!]
This was not merely a slogan; it was the final sob of a plundered nation desperate to save the last minaret of its identity. To understand this state of affairs, we must analyse the psychological condition of the subcontinent’s Muslims during that era, who had become completely stripped of their power and central authority after the formal end of the Mughal Empire and the tragedy of 1857. In this era of political orphanage, when British imperialism was aggressively effacing its identity and Muslims had become strangers in their own homeland, Türkiye was no ordinary empire to them; rather, it had become a psychological reflection of their lost glory and their last beacon of hope. They felt that if this light were also extinguished, they would be surrendering to darkness.
Mohammad Ali Jauhar gauged this accumulated psychological state and collective consciousness with remarkable foresight. He converted it, in the form of the “Khilafat Movement,” into a political energy that connected the Muslims of the subcontinent to global dynamics for the first time. The greatest paradox and beauty of his life was that Mohammad Ali Jauhar was an Oxford-educated intellectual, well-versed in the principles of Western politics, who used the pen and speech within the traditional atmosphere of the subcontinent as the most effective weapon to awaken the political consciousness of the Muslim Ummah.
His published English newspaper Comrade and Urdu newspaper Hamdard were not merely daily news supplements; they constituted an intellectual journalistic institution of their era, whose true objective was not to make Muslims cry temporarily or provoke them into merely raising slogans, but to teach them a rational and logical understanding of the imperial powers’ geopolitical moves.
The masterpiece of his global journalistic and political insight emerged in September 1914, during World War I, when he wrote his historic and pathbreaking editorial titled “The Choice of the Turks” in his English newspaper Comrade. In this lengthy editorial, Maulana Jauhar looked at the British government straight in the eyes, exposing its anti-Muslim policies through logical arguments and warning of the severe consequences for the Islamic World if it engaged in aggression against Türkiye. The British government was so terrified by his intellectual crusade that the security deposit of the newspaper and its press were confiscated, and Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar and his brother, Maulana Shaukat Ali, were arrested and interned in Chhindwara (Madhya Pradesh).
He demonstrated the same fearless vision later when, after the war, Allied powers were bent on dismembering Türkiye through the Treaty of Sèvres. Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar went to London with a delegation, met British Prime Minister Lloyd George, and fought Türkiye’s case with constitutional and rational arguments.
Yet, it is a historical tragedy that we remember only the emotional part of Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s balanced thought, and completely forget his constructive viewpoint grounded in knowledge, journalism, and modern constitutional struggle. If we measure the Khilafat Movement solely by the traditional scale of its apparent and immediate political fallout, we will never understand its societal impact. At the very peak of this stormy and emotional movement — which taught Muslims how public opinion and organised protest could shake the mightiest empire — Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s constructive mind was laying the foundation for a revolutionary educational institution known to the world today as Jamia Millia Islamia.
He knew that storms of slogans are temporary, but the lamps of knowledge are permanent. He understood the sensitivity of the times and, amidst emotional upheavals, placed the pen of modern scientific and contemporary education into the hands of the youth rather than guns, so they could face the difficulties of the coming centuries.
Regrettably, while we remember the slogans of his movement, we have buried his constructive and educational vision. Today, when the future of a university established in Rampur bearing Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s name also hangs in uncertainty amid controversies and threats of demolition, and students of this institution are exerting all efforts to protect their educational future. The situation poses a very bitter question regarding Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s educational legacy. The personality who proved amidst political turmoil that a nation’s future is built through institutions of knowledge rather than slogans — today, an educational institution associated with his name is itself facing a crisis of existence.
Here, history also leaves a bitter and inescapable logical lesson: that unrefined emotions and romantic zeal can temporarily awaken a nation, but cannot keep it alive and dignified for centuries. If high-calibre educational institutions, scientific research, a robust economy, and sustainable institutional discipline are not established immediately following this delicate and transitional phase of awakening, nations plunge into an even deeper abyss of decline after a temporary surge, from where the path of return becomes blocked, and then they remain fit only to boast over the bones of their ancestors.
And we witnessed the horrific and heart-wrenching consequence of this unchecked romantic emotionalism when, following a religious decree (fatwa) during the “Hijrat Movement,” thousands of innocent Muslims of the subcontinent sold their homes, ancestral lands, and properties for pennies, walking barefoot toward Afghanistan holding their children’s hands. They thought they were going to preserve Islam and assist their Turkish brethren, but history bears witness that the borders of Kabul were closed on their faces, and thousands of those innocent, suffering Muslims perished agonisingly along the roads from scorching heat, rugged mountains, hunger, thirst, and cold. Children breathed their last in their mothers’ laps, and those who returned alive became beggars in their own homeland. When the hem of reason is abandoned in the tempest of emotion, nations become fodder for ruin in this very way.
Intellectual Tragedy
A deep intellectual tragedy also emerges here. Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar and his contemporary intellectuals were viewing Türkiye as the final centre of Pan-Islamism, whereas circumstances within Türkiye were taking a different direction. Türkiye’s emerging new class was laying the foundation for modern Turkish nationalism (Turkism), breaking free from the burden of the Ottoman Empire. The very centre that the Muslims of the subcontinent sought to save as a unifying point for the entire Ummah was forced to reforge its existence into a limited nation-state.
There is a major lesson for the entire Muslim Ummah in Türkiye’s history and its current circumstances. Following the abolition of the Ottoman Caliphate in 1924, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk initiated anti-Islamic policies. The call to prayer (Adhan) and prayers were forced to be performed in the Turkish language, restrictions were imposed on religious education, and women observing hijab were also forced to unveil. Thus, for a long period, Muslims in Türkiye struggled to protect their religious identity.
Eventually, in 1996, the Islamist Refah Party under the leadership of Prof Dr. Necmettin Erbakan came to power, offering Turkish Muslims some hope and relief. However, due to the military’s deep political influence in Türkiye, Erbakan’s government could not remain in the saddle for long. Certain policies of Erbakan and escalating tensions with the military brought the situation to a head. In 1997, the military forced his government out, and the grip of secular forces over power tightened once again.
Nevertheless, Erbakan’s disciple, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, continued his political journey with immense wisdom, foresight, and a strategy of gradual reform. When his party assumed power in 2002, many long-standing restrictions faced by the religious populace were systematically removed. Women gained the freedom to wear the hijab, various restrictions on religious practices were lifted, and the country was simultaneously placed on a path of economic development, infrastructure construction, and political stability.
Pragmatic Wisdom
This Turkish experience serves as a reminder of the reality that emotion alone is not enough; rather, wisdom, patience, gradual progress, and an understanding of ground realities are indispensable for lasting change. Interestingly, drawing from his own experience, Erdoğan also advised the late former President of Egypt, Mohamed Morsi, to choose a gradual and constitutional path rather than crying out against secularism. Had the deceased acted upon that advice for the sake of pragmatic wisdom, Egypt’s circumstances might well have been different today.
Today, as I observe this intellectual landscape of modern Türkiye first-hand — high-speed metros, modern universities, state-of-the-art defence industry, and international diplomacy existing side-by-side with soul-stirring calls to prayer rising from mosques — I realise the deep wisdom that prevented the core existence of the Turkish nation from scattering, despite the painful decision to end the traditional and visibly weakened political structure of the Caliphate. The strategists in Ankara and Istanbul treated the Ottoman past as a revered relic and part of national identity, yet they did not allow the state’s daily material and scientific journey to be sacrificed to the captive traditions of that past.
Tradition and Modernity Are Not Contradictory
This model of modern Türkiye teaches us that tradition and modernity are not contradictory notions, provided a nation possesses the intellectual skill to give a new form to its past. Today’s Turkish youth do not waste time remaining satisfied merely recounting stories of sultans and conquests; rather, they strive to become world-class architects and researchers, because they are aware of the reality that grand civilisations do not breathe solely through the stones of the past, but through the intellectual and scientific superiority of the present, asserting their power in the world.
This entire scenario acts as a whip and a mirror for the Muslims of the subcontinent, who even today take only romantic pride in their glorious history, yet appear perpetually incapable of drawing any constructive lesson from it. We remember personalities, but bury their scholarly viewpoint; we repeat slogans, but do not build institutions.
No More Basking in the Past Glory
In this intellectual context, sitting in the courtyard of the Süleymaniye Mosque and looking down at the valley of Istanbul and the shimmering waters of the Bosphorus, I feel that if Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar were to come into this city today, he would certainly feel saddened for a few moments at not finding the traditional structure of the Caliphate here. Yet, his heart would surely find satisfaction seeing Türkiye’s modern universities, scientific advancements, robust defence system, and national self-confidence. He would turn toward us and ask a scathing question: “You remembered my speeches delivered while consumed by severe illness, but what did you learn from my true intellectual struggle?”
This question is a mirror for the entire Muslim World, and particularly for the Muslims of the subcontinent, who, over the past hundred years, viewed history through the hazy mirror of emotions rather than principles of development, counting their past wounds, yet committing criminal neglect in placing solid foundations for the future. Indian Muslims possess an unmatched intellectual heritage: the philosophical dimensions of Shah Waliullah, the educational revolution of Sir Syed Ahmad Khan, the scholarly critique of Allama Shibli Nomani, the political sagacity of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, and the fearless journalism of Mohammad Ali Jauhar himself. But the truth is that history does not keep a nation credible forever merely because of the medals of the past and the names of its ancestors.
Producing the ‘Conqueror’
Every new generation must fight its own battle for survival and glory, producing its own “conqueror” according to its own difficulties. If we fail to equip our new generation with the best scientific and technological education of the contemporary era, fail to establish world-class universities, and fail to assert our intellectual leadership in media, law, medicine, and the global economy, we will remain nothing more than a tragic and oppressed memorial scattered across the pages of dusty history books.
I have immense love for Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s writings and his practical and intellectual courage; truth be told, it was through reading his works and through his eyes that I first came to know and recognise this Turkish horizon. His frail existence consumed by severe illness, his health deteriorating in anguish for his nation, and ultimately his final resting place in Jerusalem — all create a painful, lingering pang inside my heart.
The Roar of a Sick Lion
Maulana Jauhar was not merely a political orator or journalist; rather, his pen and poetry were infused with the same heartfelt yearning and spirit of monotheism (Tawhid) that summed up his entire life. In the solitudes of imprisonment, when his body was wearing down with disease, his soul remained radiant with the same fearlessness expressed in his famous verse:
Tawhid to yeh hai ke Khuda hashr mein kah de
Yeh banda do alam se khafa mere liye hai
(True monotheism is when God declares on the Day of Judgment:
“This servant turned his back on both worlds solely for My sake.”)
It was this selfless devotion that did not allow him to bow before any great power in the world. That existence had become hollowed out from within for the freedom of the Ummah when he stood one last time at the Round Table Conference in London in 1930; his eyesight had failed, and he was unable to stand on his feet, yet the roar of this sick lion shook the British halls. Looking the British rulers straight in the eyes, he uttered that historic statement etched forever into the chest of history: “I will not return to a slave country. If you do not give freedom to my country, you will have to give me a space for my grave here.”
True to His Words
And then this ailing warrior showed the world how steadfast true men of mettle are to their word. Just a few days after that speech, on January 4, 1931, he breathed his last in London, refusing to accept burial in the soil of an enslaved India. According to his final wish and the desire of the Muslim Ummah, his mortal remains were carried to Jerusalem (Bayt al-Maqdis) and laid to rest within the compound of the Al-Aqsa Mosque. This spiritual and emotional connection uniting the Ottoman Caliphate, Palestine, and the Muslims of the subcontinent reached its completion in Maulana Jauhar’s person.
That was why the Sage of the Ummah, Allama Iqbal, shedding tears of blood upon his passing away, proclaimed that the warrior who spent his life yearning for the freedom and honour of the Ummah did not find the enslaved land of India suitable even for his eternal sleep, choosing instead to sleep in the embrace of Jerusalem’s sacred soil. What an immortal elegy Iqbal wrote:
Ae khusha musht-e-ghubar-e-o ke az jazb-e-Haram
Az kanar-e-Andalus va az sahil-e-Barbar guzasht
Khak-e-Quds o ra ba aghosh-e-tamanna dar girift
Suye gardun raft zan rahe ke Payghambar guzasht
(O blessed is his handful of dust, which through the attraction of the Sanctuary
Passed beyond the shores of Andalusia and the coast of the Barbary!
The holy soil of Jerusalem gathered him into its yearning embrace;
He ascended to the heavens along the path traversed by the Prophet.)
Sitting in Türkiye today, I reflect that perhaps to understand a genius like Mohammad Ali Jauhar, there is no longer a need to go and shed tears at his grave in London or Jerusalem; rather, there is a need to carefully observe this material and cultural synthesis of Türkiye that calls out loudly to us: “Love history, by all means, but do not take up permanent residence in it.” Nations do not vanish from the face of the earth merely because of their external and declared enemies; rather, they suffer an intellectual death from within when they lose the courage for self-introspection, cease admitting their structural weaknesses, and absolve themselves by laying the blame for every historical failure onto others.
Maulana Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s greatest legacy was not a temporary political movement or emotional agitation; rather, it was a “Movement of Consciousness” aimed at creating within Muslims a political foresight, logical methodology, and scholarly awakening that would provide them the courage to stand on their own feet rather than lamenting and crying over their circumstances.
As I descend the steps of the Süleymaniye Mosque, and the beautiful yet sombre lights of night-time Istanbul appear shimmering on the cool waters of the Bosphorus, this question continues to haunt me: Will we continue to pass down only dirges of our oppression to future generations and teach them the art of crying, or will we inspire them with the resolve to create a new world through their capability, character, and knowledge?
The true satisfaction of Mohammad Ali Jauhar’s soul and the genuine return of his thought will occur on the day when, instead of straining our throats shouting slogans in his name, we adopt his scholarly habits: that is, the courage to ask questions, an unconditional thirst for knowledge, faith in the sanctity of the pen, and that Oxfordian outlook to prepare our nation for future difficulties — an outlook the Muslim Ummah needs today more than ever before, so that no tyranny of history may ever make us slaves again.
____________________
Mohammad Alamullah is a UK-based academic, author, and journalist, holding two Master’s degrees from Swansea University, UK, and Jamia Millia Islamia. He has authored three books: A Brief History of Muslim Majlis Mushawarat, Few Days in Iran, and Media: Paper to Screen — Scenarios, Problems and Possibilities. The views expressed are solely his own.
