Journey to Educational Institutions in Lucknow

The Madrasas of Lucknow and Its Surroundings

21/4/2026

On the gentle and soft morning of April 6, 2026, as the hour of dawn knocked, we (myself, Zaid, Maulana Muhammad Wasiq, and Saud Al-Azmi) set out to visit the scholarly beacons—madrasas—spread across Lucknow and its surroundings. This journey was not merely a measurement of distances, but a rediscovery of memories, connections, and intellectual bonds, where at every turn, a ray of 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, a light yet persistent ache had settled in my head from wearing a cap continuously, as if an invisible finger was drawing a question mark on my forehead. To me, the true test of intimacy is the friends before whom one can step out of the shell of outward decorum. Among the friends of Nadwa, who understand the distinctions of faith and sect with utmost seriousness, removing the cap never seemed inappropriate to me; piety is neither confined to a specific style of clothing nor imprisoned in a particular 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 considered a deficiency in faith, and colorful caps have become the identity of every sect and school of thought, as if religion has turned into an exhibition in a museum rather than a living reality. A friend of ours, known by the title Mufti Sahib, equates the Ajmal cap with apostasy and considers the Thanwi cap the pinnacle of piety.

When I mentioned this subtle yet meaningful difference to Mir Sahib, he smiled slightly and said, “The Thanwi cap will not enter Paradise, for no Prophet wore it, nor any Companion, nor anyone from the early generations.” There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone, yet behind it gleamed a bright ray of truth. I found a strange solace in the fact 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 that I cease to express complaints
Meaning, I should abandon love, and leave its tale

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

This time, the prominent figure among those welcoming us was Maulana Muhammad Ihsan Nadwi, who has been a most sincere friend since our student days. His affection has always been like a river, quietly flowing yet providing sustenance. In this journey too, he had breakfast prepared from his home for our hospitality, spreading a fragrance 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.

Afterward, we headed towards the Nadwa branch in Mahabat Mau. Along the way, we passed through areas of Lucknow where we once roamed carefree on foot or raced our dreams on bicycle wheels. I cherish those who can still laugh heartily at seventy or eighty years of age—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, by 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 forms of artificial piety!

The true person is one who can occasionally say and enjoy:
“I said without seeing that we won’t eat chickpeas
Where are they raw, my friend, they are 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 routine, then the warmth of life is missing. But now that same area has transformed into a densely populated one, the streets have become narrow, and passing through by car has become a trial. Nevertheless, we reached 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 the second Nadwa branch in Sakrodi. Upon arrival, we met Maulana Zahid Sahib, who has been the spiritual guide 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 Sahib, who had been my student at Nadwa. We all went to the guest house, performed ablution, and offered the Zuhr prayer in congregation at the mosque. After the prayer, we met Maulana Mubeen Nadwi Azmi and other teachers, and had further discussions with Maulana Zahid Sahib, making this brief stay memorable.

Afterward, we proceeded to Madrasa Al-Haram, located in Rahman Khera, about twenty kilometers from Lucknow on Hardoi Road. Its administrator is Maulana Najeebul Hasan Siddiqi Nadwi. Here too, I had previously had the honor of visiting and addressing a dignified 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 outward beauty and charm, this place presents a captivating scene. Here we had lunch, rested for a while, and then set off towards Kakori, the details of which will be in a separate article.

One of the great blessings of Nadwa is that its branches are abundantly present in Lucknow and its surroundings, and the number of “Nadwi” individuals is not small. But their real merit is that they are not confined to teaching alone, but prove their mettle in various fields of life. Some are engaged in trade, some have made their place 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 has sometimes taken the form of a business; somewhere the husband is running 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 unworthy 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 come to understand that a truly learned and accomplished person is one who can prove their abilities in a field of life beyond just establishing a madrasa.

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

What does the one who has never suffered a wound know of the weight of its lament?

Dr. Muhammad Akram Nadwi