Muhammad Elyass
Today, I feel compelled to speak about a disheartening and disgusting reality—the current state of most Madāris and private educational institutions in the Kashmir Valley. As you all know, there are hundreds of such institutions that have been running for decades across the valley. But have you ever paused to ask: Who is operating them? Who is being hired as mentors? What is being taught, and how? What does the overall schedule of these institutions look like? The truth is, most people don’t bother to ask these vital questions.
Historically, Madāris were beacons of knowledge, centres of peace, justice, equality, and divine guidance—pathways to light and, ultimately, heaven. Tragically, many of these institutions have now been reduced to nothing more than business enterprises. The spiritual essence, the educational quality, and the moral integrity they once upheld have largely eroded.
In most of these Madāris today, those at the helm are individuals who can barely recite the Qur’an properly, let alone memorise even a single Juzz of it (unit). They lack basic pedagogical skills, have no understanding of maintaining balance or discipline among students, and worst of all, they are unaware of the true purpose of running a Madrasa. Sadly, the same pattern is evident in numerous private institutions across the Valley.
When it comes to staffing, merit often takes a backseat. Teachers and administrative personnel are commonly selected from within the operator’s own family or close circle of relatives. Hiring one’s family members isn’t wrong in itself. However, employing people who don’t know what or how to teach the students—merely to maintain status and authority—is deeply problematic.
In some rare cases, they recruit their own former students—but only if they come from financially stable backgrounds. Those from less fortunate families, no matter how capable or brilliant, are sidelined and denied the opportunity to serve or grow within these institutions, or they are hired on meagre wages. This kind of nepotism and class bias is not just unfair—it’s devastating.
Worse still is the conduct during annual examinations and the declaration of results. Fairness and transparency are thrown out the window. Children of those in management magically top the results—even when they’ve blatantly copied and cheated during exams—just to maintain a facade of excellence. It’s a cruel joke on deserving students and a mockery of the values these institutions claim to uphold.
Let’s be honest: just because a teacher is bright and brilliant doesn’t automatically mean their child will possess the same intellect. Yet, this basic logic is ignored, as favouritism continues to destroy the credibility of the system. The result? Capable students are crushed, and mediocrity is rewarded.
There’s another painful truth I must share—one that breaks my heart the most and is specifically related to Madāris. Every year, these Madāris organise grand gatherings (Ijtima’as) and turban-tying ceremonies to showcase the supposed achievements of their students upon completing the Dars-e-Nizami (coursework). Renowned Islamic scholars are invited to deliver sermons, and huge crowds gather with the hope of spiritual upliftment. But what truly happens?
Students who are being honoured with the turban—symbolising the completion of their sacred studies—are often unable to summarise even a single Hadith from Sahih Al-Bukhari Shareef or Al-Mishkat Shareef. They have no meaningful understanding of what they’ve studied. The entire ceremony becomes a mere show—a spectacle to market the institution rather than honour true scholarship.
Despite this, male students and even the parents of female students feel proud and ecstatic over nothing at all during these turban-tying ceremonies. Students are even expected—whether willingly or under subtle pressure—to bring expensive gifts to their mentors in exchange for their certificates and degrees.
What saddens me the most is that the managing authorities and mentors shamelessly accept these costly gifts without hesitation, even from students belonging to impoverished families—without any feeling of guilt or shame.
I challenge the governing bodies of these Madāris: bring your graduating (Ālimiyyat) students onto the stage and assess them publicly—let them answer questions orally or in writing. Then, if they genuinely meet the standard, tie the turban on their heads, or better yet, on their parents’ heads as a symbol of pride. But if not, stop this mockery. Otherwise, merely announcing the turban-tying of 40 to 50 unqualified students helps no one—it only leads them further into darkness and eventual ruin.
On the other hand, if only five students graduate each year but are truly deserving, that would be far more honourable and inspiring than this mockery we currently witness.
In continuation, I must highlight another painful reality: highly respected Islamic scholars from distant places are invited to these gatherings—scholars whose every minute is precious and worthy of the highest respect. Yet, their valuable time is wasted, and their honour is diminished through these hollow, superficial ceremonies.
At times, I feel an overwhelming urge to cry out—to scream so loudly that my cries touch the skies—in order to express the immense pain and torment I feel witnessing the disrespect shown towards these beloved servants of Allah.
Unfortunately, these ceremonies have become tools for self-promotion, gimmicks to attract more students and funding—not acts of genuine celebration of knowledge or spirituality.
In conclusion, I beg—for the sake of Allah—bring back fairness, equality, sincerity, and humility into our institutions. Restore the spirit of righteousness and justice. Respect the scholars, uplift the deserving, and stop treating education as a business. If we don’t change our course now, we will be held accountable—not just in this world, but in the Hereafter, under the wrath of Allah.
~Muhammad Elyass
