Do we really know why we fast?

Much before the advent of Islam, it was customary for Arabs to devote an allocated time for worship and prayers. In The Life of Muhammad (PBUH), Muhammad Hussein Heikal, the celebrated Egyptian journalist and editor of the famous Al-Ahram newspaper, referred to this apportioned time as “the Arabs’ annual retreat.” Much earlier than the revelations, the Prophet (PBUH) would spend time at Mount Hira, devoting himself to his spiritual pursuits in solitude and peace.

With the dawn of Ramazan each year, my mind is befogged with memories of Ramazan spent in the loving care of parents and siblings. In the years when it wasn’t obligatory to fast, the joy of having sehri and iftar, without having to experience the pangs of thirst and hunger, was the high point of the Holy month. Added to this was the thrill of being woken up by the human alarm clocks or the dholwallahs [drum beaters], who would arrive in the early hours of the night, beating the dhol [a traditional percussion instrument]to wake up the peacefully asleep people. Certainly not a very gentle way to wake people up, but it was an age-old tradition, adding colour to Ramazan life. Maybe they were trying to compete with the shrill alarm sound or just concerned about waking up the Muslim brethren (and others too) for the purpose of fasting. Their vocals resounded in the street outside the house, “Utho rozaydaron” [wake up, fasters] they would chant over the menacing beat of the dhol.

Some were more ingenious. They would have a harmonium slung across, and would use the opportunity to have a full concert singing popular qawalis or religious songs while we gulped down paratha, keema, eggs or whatever the parents would be forcing us to gobble within in the prescribed time for sehri. Once the vocal talent had rendered hamds and naats [poetry sung in praise of God or the Prophet (PBUH) respectively, they would disappear to arrive for the next day’s fast. Of course, at the end of Ramazan they would come to take a small charge for this voluntary service, the naat khawan [the person who recited the naats] would expect a little bit more always, perhaps the extra charge for waking you up in a more sophisticated and a less jungle-tribe manner with to the raucous beating of the dhol.

Today, if any were to enter a street or ring the door or gate bell at sehri with the noblest of intentions to wake up, the reaction would be completely different ― a dash to see the closed-circuit cameras and check to see if the dholwallahs are gun-toting dacoits in disguise, all set to take advantage of the morning peace and quiet. Times have changed. The society has changed. I believe this practice to wake up for early breakfast still has some remnants in Morocco and some parts of the subcontinent.

During Ramazan, the days slip by quietly and mostly without much activity during the day, changing gears in the late afternoon as iftar approaches. In the past, Iftar preparations would start around 3pm. Discussions begin with dives into the freezer as to what can be quickly prepared, what should be ordered online, who in the family was going out for iftar and who would stay in and what will they eat. Iftari wasn’t bought off the shelf, it would be cooked, with efforts and toil. Traditional items would be lovingly and laboriously prepared and the aroma of fried fritters would waft out of windows. The prepared iftari, laid out on trays, covered with prettily embroidered cloth napkins to be sent to neighbours, but more to the nearby mosque by children or men of the house. That was considered the essence and beauty of Ramazan, to work with one’s own hands and to share. This wasn’t construed as free dinner, the objective was to assist the less-privileged, and not create parasites, as is done today. Free food creates leeches, who turn to extremism.

My opinion aside, the literal meaning of the Arabic saum means to be at rest, and it implies, abstinence, derived from the root word, ramz, which means to burn. In this context, it means burning of selfish human desires. Ramazan is an annual invitation to shed evil away, and an opportunity to re-garment ourselves in the garb of humility. It is a month of patience. A period when the act of fasting puts the rich and the poor, the high and the low, and the privileged and the less privileged, on the same pedestal. All must experience the same stab and pain of hunger and thirst. The privation is to an equal degree.

The Lord has prescribed this format of worship for the greater cause of humanising humans. The act has many lessons in it, for instance, by abstaining from food and drink and indulging in prayer, the individual develops spirituality leading to purging of inner negatives and expunging of malice, if any, towards others. In a verse, the covering of faults of others is equated with the pristine concept of charity. It thus establishes that there is no ritualistic worship in Islam, but regrettably by behaviour we are rendering it to be one. Worship has to induce revolutionary changes in the character of the practitioner.

The essence of fasting is to imbibe a permanent inherent quality of leading a devout and disciplined life. The practice of good behaviour has to be replicated for 365 days of the year. The garb of modesty and humility (now completely lacking) is not to be restricted to thirty days until Ramazan. We are not supposed to put it away in the wardrobe, to be taken out at the next

Ramazan, for if this was the case, then fasting is without purpose. The entire edifice built for thirty days gets demolished, if righteousness doesn’t stand out as a trait in a person. Fasting is an exercise of progressive cultivation of spiritual values. Our Prophet (PBUH) was extremely emphatic about this aspect of fasting. Moral lapses render the fast to mere starvation.

The moral and spiritual discipline underlying the concept of fasting is to teach man, restraint and patience in deprivation. Just as physical exercise strengthens muscles, moral exercise strengthens the moral side of his life. Fasting is meant to induce traits such as mercifulness, forbearance, patience, the ability to cover the faults in others and above a heightened sense of taqwa [piety]. In what we refer to as practical life, we indulge unashamedly in broadcasting misdoings of others, and sometimes add our own spice to make it sellable and attractive. Such behaviour is in direct conflict with the spirit of fasting or any other form of worship.

At the core of each form of worship is the objective of developing human qualities in a person. The fear of divinity must usher good manners, decent speech and other qualitative changes must get exemplified in the individual. Unfortunately, even whilst fasting we violate its basic precepts.

Just watch the haggling going on at any fruit vendor’s cart. Both the buyer and the seller indulge in vitiating the teachings of our religion, or any religion for that matter. Both cheat. The seller cheats by mixing up the good quality fruit with inferior quality fruit. The buyer fishes in the pile, picking up the good fruit and leaves behind the defected fruit for his “Muslim brother.” This is in absolute contradiction to the teachings of Islam where you choose better for your brother, than for yourself. Both are Muslims in the state of fasting, fruit for thought!

On a separate plane, shouldn’t profit margins be reasonable. Calling extortion as profitable activity is a deception of the highest order. Interest is exploitative, why don’t our scholars point out that the profit of unreasonable margin is exploitation too. If all compartments of life are in discord with the spirit of fasting, then, that certainly is without purpose. Social reformation must follow all noble acts of worship. Fasting is meant to sanctify the human personality, it must cut the carnal self to its size, it must brighten and heighten human virtues, reactivate pious resolve, infuse order, obedience and responsibility. All these endeavours must aim at the enrichment of the soul, and only then, will the Muslim man manifest himself physically... pure and noble.

Most of us fast but make no amends to our persona. Ramazan is seen as a month to make the most profits, to the abject disadvantage of the less privileged. Is it difficult for us to climb up the ladder of spiritual profitability? This is not to suggest renunciation of worldly gains of material profit, but an attention to placing a cap on how much profit? Can we not let the sublime benefits of fasting outstrip the negative trait of greed?

During Ramazan it is best to keep asking how much material wealth we want to acquire. And for whom. And how much of it will accompany us to the yonder. Ramazan then, was full of innocence; people made profits, but not vulgar profits, as is being done now. Let’s delve deeper into ourselves to determine, why do we fast? Is it for us a ritual or a process of reform?

Sirajuddin Aziz is a senior banker, published author and freelance contributor. All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author.