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Why do the Tatars bear radiant faces?
Each year, the Muslim world rejoices in the celebration of the Prophet Muhammad’s birth, known as Mawlid an-Nabi. The Prophet himself cautioned against elevating individuals to idols, proclaiming that none in this world is worthy of worship save Allah. He declared, “Do not extol me beyond measure, as the Christians exalted Jesus, son of Mary, for I am but Allah’s servant and His messenger. Say: ‘Praise be to my Lord! Am I not merely a man, a messenger?’” (Quran 17:92, 94-95). The Quran ceaselessly reminds Muhammad that only Allah holds omnipotence, and all that unfolds bends to His divine will. Yet, despite fervent debates over its essence, Mawlid an-Nabi was enshrined by al-ijma, a pillar of Islamic law, as a “commended innovation.”
Composer Masguda Shamsutdinova delves into the profound influence of the Prophet Muhammad’s image on the Tatar consciousness. We invite you to explore…
Muslim scholars unanimously trace the first public celebration of the Prophet’s birthday to Irbil, between 1204 and 1208, under the aegis of Al-Malik Muzaffaruddin Kuk-Bure (d. 1232). The great historian Ibn Hallikan, cited in Adam Metz’s Muslim Renaissance, vividly recounts: “From around 300/912, veneration of the Prophet surged in pious circles, sparking celebrations of his birth—a novelty that irked adherents of the old faith. The first to grandly honor Mawlid an-Nabi was Emir Abu Sa’id Muzaffaruddin of Irbil (d. 1233). A throng of theologians, Sufis, preachers, Quran reciters, and poets from Baghdad, Mosul, Jaziri, Sinjar, Nisibin, and Persia flocked to Irbil, lingering from Muharram to early Rabi’ al-Awwal. The emir ordered some twenty wooden pavilions, four or five stories tall, erected along the main street, adorned with splendor and filled from base to summit with singers, shadow-play actors, and musicians. For days, the people did naught but wander past these pavilions, enraptured by the spectacles. On the night of the Mawlid, the emir rode through the street, preceded by a sea of flickering candles mounted on mules’ backs. The celebration culminated in a grand parade and a sumptuous feast.” This Mawlid Bayram, blending sacred verses with music, harmonized with pre-Islamic musical festivals, fulfilling the people’s aesthetic yearnings. It became a breath of freedom before the fear of sin upheld by orthodox madrasas.
Literature celebrating the Prophet Muhammad holds a cherished place in Tatar-Muslim homes, second only to the Quran. At the heart of the Tatar Mawlid Bayram lies the recitation—not mere declamation, but a hallowed reading—of the Mawlid Kitaby (“The Book of Mawlid”). This text typically opens with invocations to Allah, prayers, and accounts of the Nur—the divine light of Muhammad—tracing its journey through celestial stages to his earthly birth, heralded by wondrous signs to his mother, Amina, who carried the Prophet in her womb.
The Nur Muhammadi (“Light of Muhammad”) teaches of the Prophet’s soul pre-existing as a radiant, luminous point from which all predestined souls sprang. The Quran (24:35) speaks thus: “Allah is the light of the heavens and the earth. His light is like a niche, a lamp within glass, the glass like a pearly star. It is kindled from a blessed olive tree, neither of the east nor west, its oil poised to blaze even untouched by fire. Light upon light. Allah guides to His light whom He wills, and He offers parables for humanity. Allah knows all life.”
Through countless expeditions, I gathered rich insights into how Tatars envision the Prophet Muhammad. One poetic depiction sings: “No shadow fell from the Prophet’s form, for how could light cast a shadow? Light streamed through his being. He heard whispers near and far. As his lips moved, celestial stars trembled. From the gleam of his teeth, one could find a needle in the dark. His radiance pierced the deepest night. Winds, brushing his hair, carried fragrant breezes. From his fingers flowed pure springs, quenching all who sought them.” Musappikha Hafizova, from the village of Asai in Tatarstan’s Aznakayevsky district, described the Prophet’s face: “Like the fourteenth day of the moon, his countenance shone as if in full splendor, radiating light.” She believed, “Allah first crafted light, shaping it into the Prophet’s soul. This light-soul was held long in a sacred place called karura—its meaning eludes us. After the world’s creation, this light passed through prophets to Muhammad’s parents. As his followers, this light touches us too. Thus, the Tatars’ faces glow, for Allah chose us as Muslims—a divine gift. Yet, of one who strays from righteousness, they say, ‘The light has fled their face’—yuzennan nury kachkan.”
Renowned Islamic scholar Yeremeyev, in Art and World Religions, notes: “Islam wove a tapestry of symbols with both religious and artistic weight. The symbol of light, woven into Mawlid, draws from ancient traditions of light and dark as life’s dual forces. In antiquity, the radiant, sun-like Apollo—bearer of knowledge and reason—stood against the shadowy, chaotic Dionysian force. Late-antique aesthetics, leaning toward mysticism, stripped Apollo of his human form, rendering him a pure symbol of divine beauty. For Plotinus, ultimate beauty was the sun’s glow, lightning’s flash, or celestial light, embodying divine emanation. Similar notions echo in medieval Islamic theology, especially in Sufism’s pantheistic strain, where light is the world’s supreme, singular essence—beautiful in its radiance. This luminous essence pours beauty into the world, perfecting it. For Sufi illuminators like Suhrawardi, light became a cosmological force, the root of existence. He wrote: ‘The essence of the First Absolute Light, God, grants ceaseless illumination, manifesting all things and endowing them with life through its rays. All in the world flows from this Light; its beauty, its perfection, are gifts of its boundless generosity.’”
The luminous celebration of Mawlid an-Nabi among the Tatars is a living act of folk artistry. One who has witnessed a Mawlid performance will never forget its profound impact—a collective creation of sound, sight, and emotion, forging a singular, enduring artistic image. The celebration’s expressive power lies in its meaning and the musical cadence of its texts. Held in the intimate confines of a home, the event gains a chamber-like warmth. The Tatar home, ever versatile, serves as dwelling, guest hall, sacred space, and stage for musical-poetic evenings where tales, songs, and chanted epics fill long nights. Sermons, Quranic recitations, poetic declamations, and “verse-singing” unfold on a prepared “stage”—the home adorned festively, mirrors removed, the lead reciter of the Mawlid Kitaby seated at the “throne of the house” (uy ture). The ritual opening of the festive table invites divine light, with prayer beads, elegant attire, and a pre-celebration prayer weaving a luminous, poetic atmosphere. Thus, the Prophet’s birth becomes a catalyst for the Tatars’ inspired creation, a moment to revel in the aesthetic ecstasy of exalting their faith’s messenger.
—Masguda Shamsutdinova, composer
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