Reflections on Nadwatul Ulama

Where Farhads Reside

14/4/2026

Riyaz! An age has passed, though you arrived late,
Yet my call to prayer still echoes through the nights in the sanctuary.

It was the evening of April 4, 2026. The Asr prayer had just concluded, and the sun was gently casting its golden rays upon the waters of the Gomti, much like the final divine illuminations that quietly settle upon the heart of a mystic. I arrived at Nadwatul Ulama: the very Nadwa, whose dust is not mere earth to me, but the kohl of my eyes; the very threshold, whose walls are not a lifeless arrangement of bricks and stones, but the golden pages of the history of the Muslim community, upon which the thoughts of great scholars have left their luminous marks.

First, I met with Maulana Syed Bilal Hasani, the administrator of Nadwatul Ulama; then I had the honor of meeting Maulana Syed Ammar Hasani, the overseer of Nadwatul Ulama. I exchanged thoughts with Maulana Muhammad Wathiq Nadwi, a teacher at Darul Uloom; I had the privilege of meeting the esteemed members of the advisory council; and then I sat with the delegation from Bhopal, led by Maulana Muhammad Yusuf Siddiqi Nadwi and Maulana Muhammad Maaz Nadwi. The details of these meetings will come in their place, for each meeting is a separate chapter, and each chapter holds its own unique story.

Yet, what most powerfully occupied my heart and mind at that moment was the atmosphere of Nadwa itself. This institution, nestled by the banks of the Gomti, this fountainhead of knowledge and thought, this cradle of art and literature, pulls my heart towards it with an intensity akin to that of an infant instinctively reaching for its mother’s embrace. In this attraction, there is not merely the enchantment of past memories, nor simply the warmth of affection, but a spiritual connection that cannot be fully captured within the confines of words.

The waters of the Gomti flow from west to east, but the bounty of Nadwa is not confined to any single direction. Its fountain flows east and west, north and south, reaching all corners. It is a river whose flow is free from the constraints of geography; it is a breeze indifferent to the walls of borders. The voices that rise from here have never been limited to the streets of Lucknow; their effects have been felt in Delhi, Damascus, Cairo, Istanbul, , and New York.

Like the breeze, I am in the garden of life,
I am neither adorned by the flower nor harmed by the thorn.

The world has divided humanity into classes, groups, nationalities, sects, and languages. Everyone has drawn a circle around themselves, and every group has established its own boundary. But Nadwa does not acknowledge these circles. Its nature is not division, but unity and harmony. When Allama Abdul Hayy Hasani writes “Nuzhat al-Khawatir,” the breadth of his pen encompasses scholars and intellectuals from every class, group, sect, and region. This is the same grandeur found in Syed Sulaiman Nadwi’s “Yad-e-Raftagan”; the same spirit shines in Maulana Abul Hasan Ali Nadwi’s “Purane Chiragh”; and the same hue is reflected in this humble one’s “Al-Jami’ Al-Mu’in.”

Today’s era is intoxicated with particulars. People are so entangled in secondary debates that polemics have been mistaken for knowledge, refutations have become substitutes for invitation, and issuing verdicts has been deemed the standard of integrity. Everyone is busy refuting others, yet neglectful of their own reform. But the generation trained by Nadwa still calls to monotheism, spreads the light of the Sunnah, emphasizes principles and universals, and calls the community back to the original center.

We have erected an artificial wall between knowledge and literature, as if knowledge is the name of dry logic and literature merely a play of words. This is a new innovation, which did not exist in the era of the Prophets, nor in the time of the Companions, nor among the pious predecessors. The greatest characteristic of Nadwa is that here, knowledge and literature are not separate; here, even in the lessons of jurisprudence, the fragrance of literature is present, and in the gatherings of literature, the light of knowledge shines. Here, when the Quran is taught, language is refined; when Hadith is taught, taste is elevated.

When religion was being overlooked and interpretations of sects and schools of thought were being sought, human opinions and ideas were being imposed upon the community and divided into various titles, hatred was being spread, and the market of excommunication and misguidance was thriving, Nadwa protected Islamic values, taught the lesson of inclusiveness and moderation, and instilled in the new generation the consciousness that sects and schools of thought are divisions upon divisions; therefore, remember the lesson of “Indeed, this community of yours is one community.”

The faint-hearted are proud of their limited study and superficial knowledge. After reading a few pages, they consider themselves scholars; after listening to a few speeches, they fancy themselves thinkers. But in Nadwa, even today, those Farhads reside, who have the courage to draw streams of milk from rocky mountains. Here, you find those young men who delve into the intricate discussions of “I’lam al-Muwaqqi’in”; here, you see those seekers of knowledge who wrestle with the complex arguments of “Al-Radd ‘Ala al-Mantiqiyyin”; here, you find those insightful individuals who keep the lamps of insight burning in the long debates of “Dar’ Ta’arud al-‘Aql wa al-Naql.”

Even today, the scent of the caravan of Hijaz emanates from this abode. Even today, the wisdom of Ghazali, the precision of Razi, and the courage of thought of Ibn Taymiyyah are alive in its halls. Here, when a student opens a book, it feels as if they are sitting in a great school of Baghdad; and when a teacher delivers a lecture, it seems as if the voice of knowledge is rising from a madrasa in Damascus.

In the land of India, Nadwa is an island that maintains its identity amidst the tumult of the times. It is a place where “Al-Muhalla” is studied, and discussions on “Al-Mughni” also take place; where on one side, students engage in intellectual dialogue over cups of tea, and on the other, in the classrooms, extensive discussions on the thoughts of Ibn Taymiyyah and Shah Waliullah continue. This is not a gathering of opposites, but the grandeur of inclusiveness, which is the hallmark of only living civilizations.

When I walk in the courtyard of Nadwa, I feel as if time has stopped. Here, the past breathes in the present, and the present converses with the future. This is not merely a school; it is a thought, a tradition, a trust. And the greatest symbol of this trust is that even today, Farhads reside here, those Farhads who do not carve stones, but hearts; who do not dig canals, but release the springs of knowledge.

Like the tulip, we came to this garden
To take scars, and left with them.

This is the greatness of Nadwa, this is its secret, and this is its future.