Political/Social motivations for the narrative style of "The Quilt"

Isn't it interesting that Chughtai chooses to write "The Quilt" from a child's perspective? It's almost as though she knew that her story would cause controversy and designed the narrative to hold up against conservative criticisms. It seems clear that Chughtai knew precisely what she was describing in the story - what else would have motivated her to write it in the first place? She must have had so much fun formulating creative ways to depict lesbian sexuality, especially under the guise of a sexually innocent child. Assuming that Chughtai deliberately wrote in this manner to avoid censorship, we must realize that by writing "The Quilt" she is showing her contemporaries in society that homosexuals exist, that their voices are often stifled, and their preferences hidden. Whether Chughtai is a homosexual daring to share her perspective with a biased society, an ally of homosexuals, or just a creative author, she shows bravery and boldness through the publication of this short story.

Pigeons

It is interesting to read about how Mir Nihal cared for his pigeons, when here in the United States they are thought of as filthy, disease carrying birds. Some people have gone so far as to calling them sky rats. But for Mir Nihal they are his prize possession and a sign of having a higher-ranking status in Delhi. An interesting fact about pigeons is that they are one of the most intelligent species of birds in the world. The drastic differences of how these birds are treated in different countries are amazing. For one country they are a sign of being well-off but on the other side of the world they are seen as something to avoid out of fear of a disease it might carry.

Bilqueece and Asghar

I'm not trying to defend Asghar's conduct towards Bilqueece; he did marry someone he loves and had no excuse for cheating on her while she was alive and lusting after her sister after her death.

Nevertheless, I can't see that he has ever been given the chance to properly fall in love with anyone. With his courtesan there was romance and flirting and no sex, with Bilqueece there was sex but no romance. It is as if he is happy for the few fleeting moments in the beginning where the notion of love and of being in love filled up all the hours of his thoughts and dreams (Mehro was the same, dreaming dreams of handsome princes and then was married off to someone opposite), then came expectations and disappointments. I think it's fair if you say he's completely self-centered for whining for his misfortunes, I think the fact of being the youngest and never having to love anyone until Bilqueece makes Asghar egocentric.

Bilqueece's education made her a "simple Indian girl, and did not know the ways of love...." (p. 186). Even her love for Asghar is not a completely a romantic love, rather, it's a combination of or something between love and worship of a higher being. I sympathize with her, Asghar, and the others who were simply denied a natural progression of love. Instead, they were sexually repressed and then made to enter into something they never completely understood and had to learn of their disappointments when it's too late.

I've been thinking a lot about two things: Ahmed Ali's curious position with which he "uses the oppressor's tongue to attack the oppressor" (I'm quoting Ajai) and the shocking ratio of British soldiers to Indian subjects during the time of British rule. It brings to mind (the later not the former) the practice of staking elephants. If you want to keep an elephant calf in place, you've got to tie it to a stake driven deep into the ground, but after a lifetime of staking, grown elephants can be kept in place by a stake tapped gently into the ground. This process of subjugation is entirely psychological. So how do you induce a nation to overthrow its mental fetters?

I think there is this idea that there needs to be an equalizing element to all this, that the British and the Indians alike need to be convinced that they're all brothers, all the same, all capable of the same things. For me, this implies a convergence of thought that doesn't ring wholly true. I don't doubt that there are elements of this at play, but I also want to explore the idea that a break from British rule requires a divergence of thought. The problem is that the Home Rule movement (as was pointed out in class) was born from people with foreign education, which, if Ahmed Ali is taken as an example, can instigate a straddling of sympathies and an assimilation, however mild, of western thoughts and opinions. I'm not sure how to reconcile these diverging and converging elements.

paper proposal

I'm thinking of doing something on indians used by the british in their wartime exploits, but aside from that general idea i'm really at a loss. it sounded like an interesting subject when we were talking about it but i don't really know where to go with a topic that broad. the idea of a people taken over and used as fodder in wars that in no way affected them is a hugely tragic idea that, truthfully i was completely unaware had happened on such a large scale. i guess if you have any ideas for a more concrete direction to lead my research just hit a dude up. thanks, zach

Words as weapons

Thinking more about the curious puzzle at the heart of Twilight in Delhi, the authorial presence as educated, arguably haughty observer of his people.  It occurs to me that in addition to using the oppressor's tongue to attack the oppressor, Ali's narrator persona serves to buck the homogenization we've talked about in class.  Maybe I'm belaboring the same point, but maybe there's a distinction.  The British came and looked on the entire country as one big mass of uncultivated dark people; Ali's voice comes from an emerging perspective, the deeply ambiguous and puzzling plight of the displaced but (relatively) well-off Indian living in Western civilization.

If you would like to see your final paper in print ...

The Columbia Undergraduate Journal of South Asian Studies is looking for submissions for its Fall 2009 issue!

The Columbia Undergraduate Journal of South Asian Studies (CUJSAS) is a web-only academic journal based out of Columbia University. The journal is a space for undergraduates to publish their original research on South Asia (Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, Sri Lanka) from both the social sciences and humanities. As such, CUJSAS is multi-disciplinary, which primarily reflects the movement of the field of South Asian studies to avoid notions of academic provincialism.

CUJSAS is currently accepting submissions for its inaugural issue. We accept theses, research papers, seminar papers, and essays relating to the study of South Asia from both the humanities and social sciences. However, it is preferred that papers that solely deal with quantitative analysis are not submitted. The term "South Asia" refers to the historical areas of: Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka. There is no "ideal" page range, though generally submissions between 15 and 40 pages are preferred. Your submission will not be disqualified if it is under 15 or over 40 pages.

The deadline for submissions is October 1st, 2009.

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We look forward to hearing from you!

The poetry of a fallen Delhi

Khwaja Altaf Husain "Hali" penned this poem after the 1857 Mutiny. The translation is taken from Narayani Gupta, Delhi Between Two Empires (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981) xviii. There is a specific genre for poetry in Farsi and Urdu which describes the sacking of a city called the "shehrashob":

Hearken to me, do not go into the ruins of Delhi.
At every step, priceless pearls lie buried beneath the dust,
No place in the world is so rich with hidden treasure.
Even the traces of what reminded us of the city’s destruction are gone,
Dear Heaven, can there be greater oblivion than that?
Those are gone have forgotten us. We too have ceased to think of them.
Times have changed as they can never change again.
Can you point to any family that which does not bear scars?
Dear heave, that made us weep, cease, I beseech you,
But do not let strangers mock us.
If they were to know our plight, not only friends
But the whole world would pity us.
O cup-bearer, who passes the last round of wine.
Do not fill it to the brim, and let no thirst be fully quenched.
For now their long spell of good fortune lies asleep.
Do not awaken them, O wheel of time, they are in deep slumber.
O mirth and joy, hasten hence, Delhi is no place for you any more,
Yes, once Delhi was the center of art and science
But the art of poetry is dead, never to be born again.
Do not grieve for the glories of the past.
‘Ghalib,’ ‘Shefta,’ ‘Nayyar,’ ‘Azurda’ and ‘Zauq’ will never come again.
After ‘Momin,’ ‘Alavi’ and ‘Sehba,’ who is left to speak of that art of poetry.

Public v. Private...ramblings

One aspect of Ahmed Ali's description of life in Delhi (in Part I) I find interesting is the monotony of the day to day in both public and private spaces. He lulls the reader into complacency about both spaces, continually referencing its sameness and staidness. We almost accept the status quo until an event However, while private space is boring because it is closed off from the outside world, each home a fortress "protecting" its women, the public space is oppressively staid in its poverty (31). He states that women in the home are not active participants in life, that "life passed them by" (29). This ambivalence about life in Delhi--both nostalgic and critical--poses an interesting question. What are Ali's true feelings about the social structures in Delhi? About women? He has, in my opinion, a fairly progressive view of his female characters. Whether courtesans or the Asghar's relatives, he portrays them with humanity and compassion, but is careful not to over-emphasize their feminine virtue. 

Images of Delhi

A picture of Humayun's Tomb:





A picture of the Qutb Minar:

Gender roles, eunuchs, holy men

One thing about Twilight in Delhi that fascinates me is the presence and portrayal of eunuchs, holy men, and mystics which forms part of the general background noise of the novel.  It got me thinking about gender roles outside of the normative male/female hierarchy, and whether and to what degree Muslim communities would respect and revere men reputed to be mystics.  Particularly intriguing was the "Bride of God" who was an alchemist and more interestingly, a transvestite.  Could such people exist and be embraced today?  I feel like India in my lifetime is less tolerant than in older days.  In theory, Hinduism (Shaivism at least) embraces homosexuals and transgendered people, as embodying the dual masculine/feminine aspect of the Divine; I wonder if the casual acceptance of the "Bride of God" partakes of that attitude at all, or doesn't exist in Islamic thought (I wouldn't be surprised to find it in Sufistic thought).

random thoughts

it's strange that you mentioned our supposed emotional alignment with Asghar over Mir Nihal in class, because from the very first pages i've sided in the complete opposite way. while my modern western sense of issues like marriage and women's rights at first led me to Asghar's side, shortly after you realize that he is just a spoiled kid. the interesting thing about his marriage to Belqueece is that though it goes wrong for him, it's not because it's an arranged marraige but because he fell in love with the girls face, strictly against islam's codes for bequethment. when you add to that the fact that father and son represent the old India and the new British India (NEW Delhi) your feelings fall further into place behind Mir Nihal. the pervasive images of culture that Ahmed Ali draws falling into dust create a very depressing mood over the novel. towards the end of the novel you can't help but despise Asghar as he embodies (by embracing) the very thing dragging india down, and susequently destroying the happiness of mother, father, and even his betrothed.

Women's Education

Reading Umrao Jan I began to wonder how the book may or may not have imposed negative feelings towards the push for educating women. In Heavenly Ornaments Thanawi advocated very adamantly for the education of woman, but also for keeping them in the house. I wonder if he would cite Umrao as an example of the precise reason educated woman should be kept in the house. I also wonder if Umrao's character, being as scandalous as she was, negatively affected the want to even educate woman at all. Just a thought.

Images of Delhi

Here are some images of Delhi to give you a sense of the kinds of urban spaces that Ahmed Ali is talking about.

This is from a map of Shahjahanabad (also called Old Delhi or the Walled City) from 1858, right after the Mutiny:



Much of the middle part of the novel describes the Delhi Durbar of 1911 (or the Coronation of George V. These images should give you a sense of the enormous expenditure that the Durbar involved. The last image is of a Delhi street in 1908, roughly the time at which the novel opens.

what happened to the money?

I wanted to raise the question in class but hadn't the opportunity and plus it doesn't tie into our discussion. So where did all the gold and silver given to Umrao by Faiz Ali go after she recovered it from her friend? Do you think it fell into Gauhar Mirza's lot? Do you think Umrao is that desperate to entertain thoughts of sharing her wealth with him to keep his company (prof. Shingavi did mention that she wanted a husband and was flirting with Ruswa, should we say she attempted the same with Gauhar Mirza, or does she know about him enough not to expect anything?)? She's living pretty comfortably right now (or else there wouldn't be a rumour of her being a rich woman p. 144) due to her "frugal" ways...perhaps some of the money did remain.

On another note, I did try as I read the last 10 pages or so to find a reconciliation between the Umrao before the reading of the manuscript and the one after...the discussion in class touched on most of the points I tried to tie between the two Umraos (the prof. said it much better than I could ever put it in words). I did feel like there is a tone of genuine regret for SOME, not all,of the aspects of her former ways. As she did express her envy of Begum Sultan's life (Ram Dei) p. 133, I feel she wanted very much that security and constancy in life, what every woman wants according to her reasonings on the way women and men fall in love (ch. 15). There is also some issue with that security in the upper class, as we know Sultan Sahib is not perfectly loyal though he treats his wife well (not to mention the lawless elements eyeing your money). I don't know if Umrao's father, being a devout, middle-class man, was faithful to his wife till the end. Still, I feel that Umrao wouldn't be satisfied marrying into a middle-class family, as the opulent lifestyle she's used to is hard to give up. Complex, isn't it?

Umrao Jan resources

A few sources to consider:

Arnold, David. Colonizing the Body: State Medicine and Epidemic Disease in Nineteenth-Century India. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993.

Oldenburg, Veena Talwar. The Making of Colonial Lucknow, 1856-1877. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984.

Dutta, J. P., Aishwariya Rai, Abhishek Bachchan, Sunil Shetty, Shabana Azmi, Jāved Akhtar, Annu Malik, Mirza Mohammad Hadi Ruswa, and Vaibhavi Merchant. Umrao Jaan Umarāva Jāna = Umrāo Jān Adā. Mumbai, India: Adlabs, 2006.

Rokeẏā, Rokeya, and Barnita Bagchi. Sultana's Dream ; And Padmarag : Two Feminist Utopias. New Delhi: Penguin, 2005.

This last book, in particular, is an interesting counterpoint to Umrao Jan Ada in that it imagines early utopian feminist politics while Ruswa has a much more limited ideal.

Fate or Religion

Umrao states, “I was totally without religion, and completely resigned to fate.” Umrao believes that her entire life has been submitted into the hands of fate rather than following the ways of religion to guide her life. She lived her life as a courtesan because she believes that is what fate had planned for her, and that if her life were lived through religion her life would have been different. In a sense is true because if she had abided by religion when she was little she would have never stepped outside where the strange man was in the yard waiting to kidnap her, and her whole life would have been different. Then again there is the fact that she did find religion later in life and yet she continued to be a courtesan when called upon, even though it is shunned by religion. My question is, would religion really have made a difference on her life?

Fate, love, and government

Near the end of Umrao Jan Ada, Umrao comments that“in this age, destiny has lost its force, and all is regulated and planned.”  By “this age” she means post-mutiny India; she contrasts this development with the era of kings, who ruled more whimsically.  I find it interesting that the workings of destiny are linked in her thinking to the system of governance—more human planning = less influence of destiny.  In this section Umrao expresses contempt for people who ascribe everything to God’s will as a way of justifying sinful actions.  In this section she also discusses her own impression of what love is, specifically, for males and females, and this discussion is linked to the question of destiny—Umrao argues that if males and females fulfilled their proper rules, there would be no suffering.  Thanawi would be proud.  Her vision of a regulated and orderly state peopled with obedient Muslims is certainly consonant with his vision.

Ruswa's technique

In the preface to his Zaat-e-Sharif -- a text in which Ruswa decribes his literary style -- Ruswa explains his understanding of realism:

"It is the practice of some contemporary writers to frame a plot in order to prove a particular point and then fill in the details accordingly. I make no objections against them, but I shall not be at fault if I simply say that my method is the opposite of theirs. I aim simply at a faithful portrayal of actual happenings and am not concerned with recording the conclusions to be drawn from them."

The quote is taken from Alison Safadi's essay on Umrao Jan Ada available here.

Umrao Jan's Progressive Worldview

After yesterday's discussion in class, I found myself thinking about Umrao Jan's unique position as she reflects upon her life at the end of the book.  On the one hand, she seems repentant concerning her life as a courtesan, while on the other she justifies her experiences as the result of a "cruel stroke of fate."  I would argue that Umrao Jan demonstrates a progressive worldview in which the sinful, decadent lifestyle of a courtesan can harmoniously coexist with Islamic ideals under the pretext that fate is synonymous with the will of God.  In other words, Unrao Jan can respect Islam as an establishment, appreciating the merits of the religion, without actually practicing the faith.  This reminds me of the Dalai Lama's visit to UT in the fall of 2005.  I remember going to see his address during which he said "I think, when you really look at what they are saying, all religion is the same."  The implication here, as I perceive it, is that the social and moral requirements of being a "good" person apply in some degree to any religion that a person could practice.  Therefore, it is possible to still be a good person outside of a particular (or any) religion - an idea that seems impossibly radical considering the perspective of a devout Muslim (or many devout Christians I know, for that matter) such as Thanawi.  Umrao Jan finds no difficulty in justifying her lifestyle because she doesn't feel as if she has ever a) been associated with religion, or b) deliberately wronged another person.  Any misdeeds she may have committed were simply a result of her circumstances (God's will/fate), which she dealt with to the best of her ability.  She claims to have used discretion when choosing her clients, and that her success was based largely on her talent rather than upon a large clientele.  Umrao Jan represents a shift from traditional moral structures, which are based largely upon religious codes, to a new moral code which emphasizes fairness to oneself and others, regardless of circumstance.

19th-century Lucknow

Here's a rendering of the streets of Lucknow from the 19th century (if I'm not mistaken, it's the back view of the image of the imambara below):



Here's an artist's rendering of the 1857 Mutiny in Lucknow:



This is a twentieth-century image, but the structure is an imambara that would have been around during Umrao Jan's time:

Map of Awadh

Here is a map of Awadh. Lucknow is towards the center of the image and you will notice that Faizabad and Kanpur (Cawnpore) are relatively close by (even though they seem like immense distances for Umrao Jan). The map is easier to read if you click on the image.

Liberating or...?

Thanawi's descriptions of customs and Thao's post got me to thinking about similarities between the West and Islamic society in the Bihishti Zewar. These customs described by Thanawi seem to form sociocultural norms practiced by Muslims during this period of time. Often, the customs were extravagant and, as he points out, quite ostentatious. They seem to have formed what the West perceives as Culture (with a capital C). In Victorian Britain, customs existed in much the same way as described by Thanawi. Everyday life was codified by the upper class, and those who did not follow these customs were marginalized or seen as uncultured. It seems like this same codification prevailed in the Islamic society in the Bihishti Zewar. There were particular cultural practices which led to a posturing to attain a certain reputation. In fact, it seems like most of these customs contained a bit of ostentation that served no other purpose but to elevate or maintain desireable social status. Thanawi does quite a bit to dispel these customs, and in my opinion for the best of their well-being. I only think this because of the pages and pages of Bhishti Zewar dedicated to describing (nearly a play by play) of a typical day in the life of a Muslim during this time. Their days- down to the minutes- seemed hindered by these practices which were at the end of the day rendered meaningless. To cite particularly the amount of time spent exchanging money that never was really exchanged, just passed to someone so that they could look at it and then sent back. I also thought it was particularly interesting how Thanawi saw some of these customs as paganistic, because their meaning was not inscribed by anything Islamic, and they had no practical meaning, so the meaning must have come from some unexplained superstition. I am getting this from page 98 in Book 6, "Women also place a sword or knife near the woman giving birth, to protect her against evil. This is, again, a polytheistic charm."

I guess my question is then (since liberation has been such a topic of discussion): does anyone else see the Bihishti Zewar as necessary, as I do, to the freeing of Islamic culture, so that these dudes can just move on to more important things? Also, how do you feel about this from a socioeconomic perspective, and what do you think the effects were it had on the lower class-who were probably just left to emulate these customs to the best of their abilities?

Freedoms for Women in Islam

I think that Thanawi's guidelines for women in the "Bihishti Zewar" are more restrictive than liberating for women. Yes, Thanawi advocates some freedoms for women, such as getting an education, but they have to trade in other freedoms, like being able to go outside the home, to get this. Women are supposed to be symbols of piety and representatives of what good Islam is, yet they are not given the same liberties as the men they represent. So while it looks like they have freedoms, they really don't have any freedom at all because of the restrictions on them. Women are expected to be a symbol of their country while being supressed at the same time. And using the freedoms they have, like an education and being able to read and think, I think they would be able to rebel against the men who try to control them.

Anxieties that accompany fear over loss of identity

I took a course last semester about 19th century British novels and got to read some passages which we interpreted as attempt to preserve the English identity among "impurities" overseas. What strikes me is the strict definition of what it is to be an Englishman. In Rudyard Kipling's Kim we see the effort (by the Sahibs and others) in keeping Kim from going completely native. My point is that Thanawi's strict interpretation and adherence of the holy texts, trying to blot out the "impure" intrusions from other religions and culture has the same anxieties the English have when their identities is threatened by the "mix" of race and cultures among which they now live. In such a time, the discourse of being an Englishman, or in this case, a Muslim, is narrowed as it tries to distinguish itself from the "others." The tradition of exclusionary practices helps form a cohesive identity and give a clearer idea of what one is in relation to the others. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I see some parallels in the English's exclusionary practices and Thanawi's discussion about customs and religion, among others, in which he attributes false belief to have roots in Hinduism, calling Muslims to abandon the practice.

Thanawi's Feminism?

I do not think that this book is one with a feminist agenda. I believe that it is more of a, "How to be a good Muslim book" and, because of some reason women were supposedly more inclined to use their nafs than their aql, Thawnawi is writing this book. I agree, however, that the book is progressive towards a feminist scope inasmuch that he advocates for women to attain education, be devote Muslims, for they are able like any other human. As he claims, all humans are inclined to be Muslim. Other than that, he makes clear distinctions that a woman's place in fuctional society lies within the confines of the walls of her husbands home. Here is where she will rear good Muslim children by being model Muslims, keep her husbands happy, and not squander away his money.

I can see how feminists would perhaps site the book as a push toward a notion of equalizing the playing field in the ability to attain education. Ultimately, however, in reference to Ajai's question, I think the feminists would try to be making a move towards having women fill more masculine roles within society, rather than the meek oil on the cogs in the functioning world that belongs to men, as Thanawi suggests they be. I also question if the move historically was toward that notion of masculine role attainment, and I wonder what the general response in regards towomen was after the release of the book and how woman who received this book began to truly feel about their roles.

Islamic battery packs

I'm intrigued by the extrapolation we arrived at near the end of last class, about the implications of Thanawi's ideal view of what should happen if women behave as he prescribes, and if that in turn leads to his vision of an ideal Islamic society. Such a society would be fundamentally opposed to all other religious traditions but willing to tolerate their existence, as Thanawi nowhere advocates violence-- his telling quotation about the Prophet, as well as the introductory comments indicating that the perfect Muslim woman he describes is essentially not different from the perfect Muslim man, are demonstrations of this. Ultimately then, Islam would function as a sort of secret sub-society within the state, maybe within all states, wherein feminine energy is directed in the orderly running of the home and masculine energy largely devoted to dealings with the outside world inasmuch as would be necessary to keep the batteries charged, so to speak.

What I wonder is whether contemporary Islamic reform trends tend more towards Thanawi's view, or more in the direction of breaking with traditional women's roles altogether and making it acceptable for women to take on traditionally "masculine" roles and lifestyles.

Kamala Viswesaran on Islam

UT Anthropology Professor, Kamala Viswesaran, has a nice overview of the variety of reformist trends in Islam here. She talks about a couple of important examples for our purposes: Rokheya Hossein's Bangla short story, "Sultana's Dream," and of course Ashraf Ali Thanawi's Bihishti Zewar:

I cannot emphasize enough the presence of literary debate and theological discussion around women's rights in the Islamic world. In 1905 Rokheya Hossein published a gentle satire called "Sultana's Dream" in which men were kept in purdah, and women inhabited public space. There are also long traditions of Islamic reform, from the publication of Maulana Ashraf Ali Thanawi's Bihishti Zewar in India at the turn of the century, to the publication of Qasim Amin's "Liberation of Women" in Egypt at the same time. The idea that Islam holds women to be intrinsically inferior is a pernicious stereotype that must be refuted. For example, in Maulana Thanawi's Bihishti Zewar, men and women are fundamentally the same, possessed of equal faculties, and held equally responsible for their behavior. Men and women are similarly positioned in the struggle between intelligence (aql) and undisciplined impulses (nafs). For Thanawi, women and men had different social roles, but were otherwise identically endowed as conscient beings. Thanawi made no argument that women, by nature, were morally inferior to men.

Women and Property in Colonial India

Some sources to consult:

* Kumkum Sangari, "The 'Amenities of Domestic Life': Questions on Labour," Social Scientist 21.9 (Sept/Oct 1993): 3-46.

This article deals with the problems of property, inheritance, and labor that came about as colonial legal institutions attempted to codify certain customary marriage practices as normative. Alongside the colonial transformation of the family, new manuals on women's etiquette and behavior attempted to extract as much labor as possible from new domestic arrangements. Thanawi's BIHISHTI ZEWAR is seen as part of that process.

* Gail Minault, "Sayyid Mumtaz Ali and 'Huquq un-Niswan': An Advocate of Women's Rights in Islam in the Late Nineteenth Century," Modern Asian Studies 24.1 (Feb. 1990): 147-172.

This article traces the career of another Deobandi text (Huquq un-Niswan) and its relationship to women's reform in the nineteenth century. Ali's text goes beyond the traditional Deobandi interest in the abolition of customary practices (at one point Minault calls the text "revolutionary") to "equip Muslim women with a reaffirmation of their equality with men as human souls and with a reformulation of their rights in Islamic law" (150). Of particular interest may be his argument that veiling was a historical necessity rather than a moral injuction, and that there is nothing in the Qur'an which prevents women from public mobility or public presence.