Visit to Educational Institutions in Lucknow

The Madrasas of Lucknow and Its Surroundings

21/4/2026

On the gentle morning of April 6, 2026, as the hour of dawn knocked, we (myself, Zaid, Maulana Muhammad Waseeq, and Saud Al-Azmi) set out to visit the illuminating academic beacons—madrasas—scattered around Lucknow and its environs. This journey was not merely a measurement of distances but a rediscovery of memories, connections, and intellectual bonds, where at every turn, a ray from the past would fall into the lap of the present. It felt as though we were not just traversing distances but gathering the scattered fragments of our own existence.

For two days, the constant wearing of a cap had left a mild yet persistent ache in my head, as if an unseen finger was drawing a question mark on my forehead. To me, the true test of intimacy lies in those friends before whom one can shed the shell of outward decorum. The friends of Nadwa, understanding the distinctions of faith and sect with utmost seriousness, never made me feel awkward about removing my cap among them; piety is neither confined to a particular style of clothing nor imprisoned in a specific form.

Regrettably, in most of our madrasas, sectarianism has been sanctified to such an extent that it has become a substitute for religion. Not wearing a cap is seen as a deficiency in faith, and caps of various colors have become the identity of every sect and school of thought, as if religion has become an exhibition in a museum rather than a living reality. One of our friends, known as Mufti Sahib, equates the Ajmal cap with apostasy and considers the Thanawi cap the pinnacle of piety.

When I mentioned this subtle yet meaningful difference to Mir Sahib, he smiled slightly and said: “The Thanawi cap will not enter Paradise, for no Prophet wore it, nor any Companion, nor any individual from the early generations.” There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone, but behind it shone a bright ray of truth. I found a strange comfort in knowing that in this matter, the end is the same for everyone—no cap is a ticket to Paradise, nor is its absence a sign of deprivation!

They wish for me to cease expressing grievances,
Meaning to abandon love, to leave its tale untold.

Our first destination was Farangi Mahal, details of which I have penned in a separate Arabic article. From there, we reached the madrasa in Balochpura, which is associated with a bright lantern of my old memories. Many years ago, when Maulana Ammar Hasni was its administrator, he invited me for a lecture. That first attendance remains as vivid in my mind as a preserved branch of spring in an autumn-stricken garden.

This time, among those welcoming us was the prominent figure of Maulana Muhammad Ihsan Nadwi, who has been a most sincere friend since our student days. His affection has always been like a river that silently flows yet continues to provide nourishment. During this journey, he had breakfast prepared from his home for our hospitality, spreading an aroma of sincerity in the air that words cannot capture.

We met with the madrasa’s administrators and teachers. We were also taken to the site where a grand mosque is expected to be built. If this dream materializes, God willing, it will be the largest mosque in Lucknow, a beacon of light standing proudly on the city’s horizon. After a detailed review of the madrasa, we departed from there.

We then headed towards Nadwa’s branch in Mahabat Mau. On the way, we passed through areas of Lucknow where we once roamed carefree on foot or raced our dreams on bicycle wheels. I have affection for those who, even at seventy or eighty, can laugh heartily—the true warmth of life remains in such hearts. In reality, youth is not dependent on age but is a state of the heart. Alas, those who, at thirty or forty, are buried under the weight of seriousness and forget how to laugh; they can neither hear nor tell a joke. How artificial is the life molded into the templates of artificial piety!

The true person is one who can occasionally say and enjoy:
“Without seeing, I said we won’t eat chickpeas,
How can we be raw, they are at least boiled.”

There was a time when the area of Mahabat Mau was like a deserted desert; we used to come here for picnics on Fridays. Our belief has been that if a holiday is not spent differently from the routine, then the warmth of life is lost. But now the same area has transformed into a densely populated place, the streets have become narrow, and passing through with a vehicle has become a trial. Nevertheless, we managed to reach there with great difficulty and reviewed the madrasa while sitting in the car.

As the time for the Zuhr prayer approached, it was decided to perform the prayer at Nadwa’s other branch in Sakrodi. Upon arrival, we met Maulana Zahid Sahib, who has been the guiding spirit of our literary gatherings. Meeting him rekindled a new warmth and enthusiasm in the heart, as if life had started flowing again in dormant veins.

We also met the madrasa’s administrator, Maulana Mutiur Rahman Auf, who had been my student at Nadwa. We all went to the guest house, performed ablution, and offered the Zuhr prayer in congregation. After the prayer, we met Maulana Mubeen Nadwi Azmi and other teachers, and had further conversation with Maulana Zahid Sahib, making this brief stay memorable.

After that, we headed towards Madrasa Al-Haram, located in Rahman Kheda, approximately twenty kilometers from Lucknow on Hardoi Road. Its administrator is Maulana Najeebul Hasan Siddiqi Nadwi. I had the honor of visiting this place before and had the opportunity to address a respectable gathering of scholars.

Madrasa Al-Haram is situated in a very lush and verdant location, as if the greenery embraces the fragrance of knowledge. In its external beauty and charm, this place presents a captivating scene. Here, we had lunch, rested for a while, and then proceeded towards Kakori, details of which will come in a separate article.

One of the great blessings of Nadwa is that its branches are abundantly present in and around Lucknow, and the number of “Nadwi” individuals is not small. But their real virtue is that they do not confine themselves to teaching alone but prove their mettle in various fields of life. Some are engaged in trade, some have made their mark in modern fields through contemporary education, and some are serving the nation and community in the field of politics.

My prayer is that these individuals protect themselves from unnecessary competition and unwise constructions in the name of madrasas and mosques. Nowadays, the establishment of new madrasas and mosques sometimes takes the form of a business; somewhere the husband runs a boys’ madrasa, the wife a girls’, and if there is a disagreement with the daughter-in-law, a separate madrasa is established for her! The wealth that was actually the right of the poor and needy is going into unqualified hands, resulting in educational and financial losses for the community.

I hope that sooner or later, this reality will also become apparent to those who are currently unaware of its implications, and like us, they will begin to understand that a scholar and learned person is one who can prove their abilities in a field of life other than just building madrasas.

Under the branch of a flower, the nightingale bitten by a snake,

How can one who has never been wounded know the weight of its lament?