During the late nineteenth-century colonial era in India, the Khatam-e-Nubuwwat (Finality of the Prophethood) assumed remarkable salience as a theme for religious debate among Muslim sects. The controversies around the establishment of the Ahmadiya sect in 1889 brought the issue of Khatam-e-Nubuwwat to the centre stage of religious polemic or munazara. Tense relations continued between Ahmadiya and Sunnis, in particular, though the tension remained confined to the domain of religious polemic. However, immediately after Pakistan's creation, the Khatam-e-Nubuwwat squeezed itself out of the epistemic confines of the ‘theological’ and entered the realm of the ‘political’. Majlis-Tahafuz-i-Khatam-e-Nubuwwat (the Association for the Safety of the Finality of the Prophethood) grew out of the almost-defunct Majlis-i-Ahrar-i-Islam on 13 January 1949, with the principal objective of excluding the Ahmadiya sect from the Islamic fold.1 This article seeks to reveal how the Khatam-e-Nubuwwat has impinged upon the course of Pakistani politics from 1949 onwards as an instrument of religious exclusion, peaking in 1953. The pre-history of religious exclusion, which had 1889 as a watershed—the year when the Ahmadiya sect took a definitive shape—thus forms the initial part of the article.

This paper investigates some key questions regarding the socio-cultural implications of a relatively understudied print media, the literary miscellany, its production and consumption in early twentieth century British Bengal. Through a study of Ramananda Chattopadhyay's Prabāsī, a major literary journal that set the trend of sacitra māsik patrikā or illustrated monthly magazine in Bāṅglā, its literary innovations and editorial interventions, this paper explores how periodical reading and the notions of aesthetics and culture that it cultivated became intimately tied up with questions of middle class identity and class differentiation. It shows how this pioneering sacitra patrikā came to command a literary and visual space that, by the time of the Swadeshi years, was conceived as co-extensive with the future sovereign nation. Problematizing notions of a quotidian practice like leisure-reading that had become integral to the lifestyles of an expanding middle class, this study shows how Prabāsī not only lent new meanings to ideas of sustained interest and participation in public life amongst its readers, but that it also represented a self-consciously, high-brow cultural sensitivity that the Bengali bhadralok were to claim and safeguard as their own.

This paper discusses the nature of local permutations of transnational Muslim networks in Thailand's southern Muslim-majority provinces and assesses their impact on creed, custom, and conflict in the region. More specifically, the paper interrogates the agenda and methods of idea and norm-propagation on the part of these agents and networks, and their evolving role, as well as the structures and conduits through which they operate and mobilize. In so doing, it finds a tremendously fluid and dynamic terrain in southern Thailand, where narratives, representations, and expressions of Islamic doctrine, legitimacy, and authority, are increasingly heavily contested within the Muslim community as a whole. In addition, the paper investigates the transnational dimensions of on-going violence in the southern provinces. Here, it argues that there is little by way of substantive evidence of any sustained penetration of the conflict in southern Thailand by external actors. No doubt, many have attempted to draw conclusions to the contrary, but their evidence and arguments, not to mention analytical methodology, are tenuous at best.

To debate about patterns of economic and social mobility within peasant societies is hardly a new game. In particular, our modern discussions are the heirs of a Russian heritage, inevitably mirroring, in some aspect, the great arguments about agrarian change which raged there between the late nineteenth century and collectivization. Two elements ensured for the Russian literature a special cogency and the potential for widespread application. Firstly, the mass of zemstvo statistics provided a more reliable empirical base to theoretical discussions than in any other equivalent society. Secondly, the debate over the peasantry was at the very forefront of the economic and political struggle over Russia's future. Russia between 1890 and 1930 was a society uniquely torn between the advanced and the less developed worlds, bouts of extensive, feverishly quick industrial growth coexisting with an agriculture where Malthusian crisis seemed inexorably to be gathering. The economic performance of the peasantry, three-quarters of the population, clearly provided the key to Russia's developmental fate. In addition, understanding agrarian society was crucial to the political battle for the country. If a large and powerful rich peasant class existed or, as Stolypin hoped, could be created, then the countryside's loyalty could be secured for a conservative régime. Alternatively, Lenin's interpretation of an impoverished, embittered majority within the peasantry seemed to promise a much sounder basis for political revolution than the support of the tiny Russian industrial proletariat. This immediate, practical importance of the Russian peasant debate sharpened the cut and thrust of the arguments.

Study of the economic and social history of modern mainland South Asia—covering present-day India, Pakistan and Bangla Desh over roughly the last hundred years—has been a major academic growth industry since the 1960s. The result has been a bulky and disparate corpus of work, spinning off in many directions and adopting increasingly inter-disciplinary approaches, with historians borrowing from, informing, and interacting with anthropologists, sociologists, and economists among others. The sheer volume of recent research is impressive. One survey of empirical work on the nineteenth century (N. C. Charlesworth, The Indian Economy under British Rule, 1800–1914, London, 1983) lists over 150 titles, more than half of them published in the 1970s; another discussion of conceptual material available for the study of Indian economic growth and development in an historical context has over 100 footnote references, and an appendix listing 109 further relevant works published between 1979 and 1984.

A Formidable consensus of academic opinion exists on the question of the formation of Malaysia. In its most commonly stated form, this consensus is manifested in an explanation which specifies a date—27 May 1961—and sees Malaysia as the outcome of the attempt to solve the ‘Singapore Problem’. The movement towards Malaysia is, with dull regularity, dated from the Tunku's almost casual, certainly very vague, reference to the need for a ‘closer understanding’ between Singapore, British North Borneo (Sabah), Brunei, and Sarawak, and for ‘a plan whereby these territories can be brought closer together in a political and economic association’ which he made in the course of a speech to the Foreign Correspondents’ Association of South-east Asia on 27 May 1961. The Tunku's initiative arose, it is almost invariably argued, from the fear of future events in Singapore. Since the Republicwould in all probability be granted a separate independence by 1963,the British would no longer be in a position to control the island's internal security, defence and foreign relations. The Federation would be deprived of the Internal Security Council through which it had had (in conjunction with the British) direct control over Singapore's internal Malaya viewpoint if an amenable Singapore government could be guaranteed. By May 1961, however, the opposite appeared imminent. There were indications that the PAP was rapidly losing ground. In the Hong Lim by-election held in late April, its candidate was severely trounced. This, combined with the knowledge that no government had in the past managed to win more than one term of office, and full aware-ness of the seemingly perpetual leftward movement of Singapore politics, ness of the seemingly perpetual leftward movement of Singapore politics, created the impression in Kuala Lumpur that unless something was done, the Republic would become a second Cuba threatening the security of the Federation. The Tunku was convinced, so the argument goes, that the Federation had to ensure control over Singapore's internal security. A reversal of his previous stand on merger was, therefore, necessary. This explanation may be referred to as the security theory on the formation of Malaysia. It has a corollary: having decided that the incorporation of Singapore was necessary, the Tunku had to find a racial counter-balance to the island's Chinese population; the Borneo territories had to be included because it was essential that Singapore be territories had to be included because it was essential that Singapore be brought into the Federation of Malaya. Malaysia was thus the logicalsolution to the Singapore Problem. Among those who have propounded the security theory are Willard Hanna, Arnold Brackman, Gordon Means, George Me. T. Kahin, James Gould, Milton Osborne, Tan Koh Chiang, J. M. Gullick, Emily Sadka, Sir Richard Allen and Justus Van der Kroef.

In 1980, the Nilgiris of Tamil Nadu were chosen to be India's first biosphere reserve under the Man and the Environment program launched by UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) in an attempt to conserve for study examples of characteristic eco-systems from each of the world's natural regions. Scholastic interest from a broad spectrum of disciplines has turned, therefore, to the Nilgiris, and it has become apparent that although the Nilgiris have been studied extensively, anthropological attention has been uneven and parts of the region have been grossly understudied. The present paper intends to provide a foundation for filling this gap in the Nilgiri scholarship.

Communism as an ideology was first introduced to Malaya by Chinese anarchists, and not by Kuomintang Left, Indonesian communists or Chinese communists as claimed in existing scholarship.1 A handful of Chinese anarchists arrived in British Malaya during the First World War to take up positions as Chinese vernacular school teachers or journalists. These Chinese intellectuals harboured not only anarchism but also communism, commonly known then as anarcho-communism.

Malaysia's planning organization has become the institutional centrepiece of that country's development effort. Indeed, Malaysia ranks as one of the non-Communist developing countries where planning is most highly institutionalized. Malaysian planning evolved as an effective policy mechanism for directing the authoritative allocation of public resources towards declared developmental objectives. Despite this attachment to national planning, Malaysia remains a staunchly market-oriented, open, and predominantly private enterprise economy. Nevertheless, as the role of planning expanded, private sector activity became increasingly subject to policy interventions predicated upon the politically-determined goals of development planning.

During the first decade of the twentieth century, foreign residents in China observed a noticeable change in the temper of the Chinese people. It was more than a change in mood, but a wave of activities, a dynamic force aimed at the recovery of China's sovereign rights. The movement was so intense that Japanese diplomats in Peking called it the ‘rights recovery fever’. Sir Ernest Satow, British minister in China, remarked that the movement was a manifestation of ‘the consciousness of national solidarity, which is entirely a new phenomenon in China’.

Economists and economic historians have not devoted much time or effort to the analysis of premodern economies. Most scholars have tended to concentrate on the United States and Western Europe during the twentieth century. While a few persons have examined the economic development of premodern Europe (1000–1700 a.d.), almost no one has chosen to write about economic organization in the countries of Asia and Africa before 1800.

The Subaltern studies project has been a major contribution towards rethinking the role of groups such as peasants, lower castes, labourers or women in forming the course of Indian history. The project has also brought the issues of culture, ideology and consciousness to the forefront of Indian history writing. Although the importance of non-elite action on the historical developments of the Indian independence movement has already been noted by more mainstream historians, the concertedness of the project has created a whole new situation in which the subalternist perspective has become a new paradigm for Indian history writing, indeed, the subalternist perspective has increasingly come to dominate the formation of perspectives and concepts. As Masselos points out, the Subaltern studies has become the establishment.

In 1971 a war led to the creation of Bangladesh. Instantly three narratives sprang up: the war as a national triumph, the war as betrayal and shame, and the war as a glorious campaign. Today more layered interpretations are superseding these ‘first-generation narratives’. Taking the case of insurgents from neighbouring India who, against their will, became embroiled in the war, this article seeks to contribute to ‘second-generation narratives’ that challenge the historiographical apportioning of blame and the national/ethnic framing of the conflict. The article uses hitherto-unpublished photographs from private collections to demonstrate how the war for the liberation of Mizoram (India) and that for the liberation of Bangladesh became entangled. Jointly they produced a ‘war within a war’ that unsettles common assumptions about both these struggles.

This article inquires into the cultural and political nexus of secular (stage) magic, modernity, and Orientalism at the turn of the twentieth century. It argues that these three arenas interacted in important and special ways to both shape and reflect the politics of knowledge of the period. In doing so, it draws attention to the ways in which secular magic has been overlooked as a historical phenomenon and highlights its utility in furthering our understanding of the great problematics of modernity and Orientalism; in particular, it suggests that magic actually provides an unusually vibrant and clear lens through which to view the politics of the Other and through which to explore issues of tradition and the modern.

Focusing on two historical cases—the ‘Indian Rope Trick’ challenge issued by the Magic Circle in the 1930s and the astonishing ‘duel’ between the ‘Chinese’ magicians Chung Ling Soo and Ching Ling Foo in 1905—this article considers the ways in which discourses of origination, popular ideas about esotericism and the ‘mystic East’, and questions of technical competence interacted and competed in the culture politics of the early twentieth century.

Drawing on published documents and research in Russian, Uzbek, British, and Indian archives, this article explains how a hasty attempt by Russia to put pressure on the British in Central Asia unintentionally triggered the second Anglo–Afghan War of 1878–80. This conflict is usually interpreted within the framework of the so-called ‘Great Game’, which assumes that only the European ‘Great Powers’ had any agency in Central Asia, pursuing a coherent strategy with a clearly defined set of goals and mutually understood rules. The outbreak of the Second Anglo–Afghan war is usually seen as a deliberate attempt by the Russians to embroil the British disastrously in Afghan affairs, leading to the eventual installation of ‘Abd al-Rahman Khan, hosted for many years by the Russians in Samarkand, on the Afghan throne. In fact, the Russians did not foresee any of this. ‘Abd al-Rahman's ascent to the Afghan throne owed nothing to Russian support, and everything to British desperation. What at first seems like a classic ‘Great Game’ episode was a tale of blundering and unintended consequences on both sides. Central Asian rulers were not merely passive bystanders who provided a picturesque backdrop for Anglo–Russian relations, but important actors in their own right.

The movement to create a phonetic script for the Chinese language was arguably one of the most arresting and exciting engagements in modern China. While generations of Chinese intellectuals tirelessly applied themselves to sorting out the linguistic technicalities in devising a Chinese phonetic system, what made language reform—or, depending on the perspective taken, revolution—historically so intriguing was that it had been a fiercely contested domain where a fascinating array of ideological positions was staked and contended. As John de Francis has observed, there had always been ‘a significant correlation between attitudes toward social change and attitudes toward linguistic reform in China’. Indeed, Qian Xuantong insisted at the height of the May Fourth New Culture Movement that to destroy Confucianism, one must ‘first dispose of the Chinese language’, whereas the Communist-led latinization movement of the 1930s, for its part, was meant to create a medium for the emergence of a true proletarian culture.

The spectre of the 1937 ‘Rape of Nanking’ continues to haunt China and Japan. Sixty years ago in Tokyo, the International Military Tribunal for the Far East (IMTFE) announced its definitive ‘judgement’ of what happened in Nanking. This judgement purported to be intractable. The legal process used to reach it produced a disputed picture instead. The resulting narrative confusion continues to inform how memory of Nanjing is shaped, used and contested. This paper explores the construction of ‘Rape of Nanking’ narratives at the IMTFE. By demonstrating the inherently contested nature of narratives produced by adversarial legal proceedings, it argues that using courts as a panacea for postwar restoration and as validators of traumatic narratives is both short-sighted and ineffective. The IMTFE exemplifies the inadequacy of trial-based post-conflict reconciliation. It is hoped that the lessons learned from Tokyo's limitations will benefit the ongoing quest for tenable models of international justice.

Historians often characterize Japan's foreign policy regarding China during the 1920s as dominated by economic priorities and a commitment to peaceful cooperation within a collaborative system of treaty port imperialism. In that narrative, the Manchurian Incident of 1931 thus stands as a watershed moment in modern East Asian history when Japan returned to a policy of acquiring formal colonial territory. Akira Iriye made this thesis famous with his groundbreaking international history of East Asia during the 1920s. More recently, Peter Duus has reinforced this paradigm in his summary of Japan's informal empire, pondering why it was that ‘just when Japan appeared to be emerging as the paramount foreign economic power in China within the framework of the treaty system, it embarked on a new policy of establishing direct political control over Manchuria’ in the autumn of 1931. Similarly, Mark Peattie has also suggested that ‘in the overheated atmosphere of the 1930s, the Japanese empire once more became expansive,’ clearly emphasizing the notion that a return to previously abandoned patterns of colonial conquest was underway.

By examining the career of a woman agrarian entrepreneur in early nineteenth-century Gujarat, this article seeks to foreground the role of family firms specializing in the assessment, realization, and investment of land revenue. The article argues that such firms, which were commonly found service providers in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, were deemed to be alienators of the loyalties and revenues that the East India Company state considered its due. They were allowed to persist on sufferance for a few decades but were phased out by the 1830s, an obliteration that has erased their role from the history of South Asian capitalism.

The imperial institution's capacity for survival, despite the many transformations in Japanese society and politics over the past thirteen hundred years, has few parallels in the history of human institutions. In 1965 the Imperial Household Agency could legitimately claim that the structure for managing the palace even today, though changed several times, including the ‘epoch-making’ renovation of 1947, could be traced back to the Taihō Institutes of 701.