This is a complete ghazal attributed to Khwâja Mu’înuddîn Chishtî: Az matla’-yi-dil zad ‘alam yak lam’a az rukhsâr-i-û Shud zarra zarra hastîyam dar parda-yi-anwâr-i-û A flash of light from His face appeared in my heart: My existence became a particle of the luminous veil of Huuu. Bâ ânke zarrât tan-am har yak hazârân dîda shud Yak zarra ham dîda na-shud az partaw-i-rukhsâr-i-û Although each particle of my body manifested itself in thousands of ways, Not one particle was illuminated, before this ray of light of the face of Huuu. Husn-ash chû âyad jilwa-gar tâqat na-yârad chashm-i-sar Az dîda-yi-dil kun nazar tâ bi-nigarî dîdâr-i-û My outward eyes were incapable to see when His beauty powerfully manifested itself, Then the eyes of…
The ‘Urs of Sayyid Bukhari
Looking ahead of us, the oasis village of Uch Sharif, nestled deep in the eastern Punjab of Pakistan, emerged from the desert. As we entered it was throbbing with people. Today was not only Friday, Jum’ah, but the ‘urs of a famous saint, Sayyid Bukhari. An ‘urs is a yearly celebration of the death date of a famous wali (friend) of Allah. In Pakistan and the Indian sub-continent Islam was spread, upheld and revitalised by Sufis. The people who loved these men often built beautiful structures around their tombs, sometimes with an adjoining mosque. These darbars as they are called became places for Muslims to come to, and by the life-example and barakah of the dead wali, to remember, possibly…
The small-sized sufi community
A certain Sufi community in Bangalore had shrunk over the years until only one teacher and three disciples remained. They lived together in their Sufi centre, spending their days in remembrance of God, meditation and tending their fields and orchards. The residents of this Sufi centre grew older and older and they became concerned that their way of life might die out as no new, young people joined the order. One day a traveller arrived. He was a caliph of a Sufi order from what formerly was called Yugoslavia. The teacher of the Sufi community in Bangalore told the visitor about their worries about the future of their community. The traveller did not know how they could solve their problem,…
The Cherisher of the Poor
Just suppose you are able to make an interview with Khwaja Mo’inuddin Chishti, who is also known as Gharib Nawaz, the Cherisher of the Poor. What would you ask him? Perhaps some of your questions are similar to the ones as given below: Q: Can you tell us how you started on the spiritual path? A: After the death of my father – I was hardly 15 years old – I inherited a grinding stone and a garden. These formed my source of livelihood. From a very early age I liked the company of dervishes and I always offered them great respect. My meeting with Hazrat Ibrahim Qanduzi was a turning point in my life. It so happened that one…
The Mantle of Illumination
The Chishti pir we’ve met in Ajmer at times presented a khirqa to his murids. The khirqa could take the shape of a mantle, a cap, a handkerchief, etc. This often took place when he was alone with his disciple in order not to evoke the jealousy of other disciples who were not ready to receive a khirqa. The bestowing may take place in a formal (e.g. by means of a certain rite, going together with an official document) or in an informal way (e.g. by means of giving a cap as a last minute farewell-present at an airport). When this very Chishti pir was in Holland in August 1983 he delived a speech we have recorded. Part of it…
Baba Farid
Baba Farid (may God sanctify his innermost consciousness) has written these verses in Persian: (1) Ba-qadr ranj yaabi soruri raa Ba-shab bidaar budan mehtari raa You’ll experience bliss to the extent of the pains you undertake. Greatness will come if in the night you keep awake. (2) Khaaham ke hamisha dar hawaaye to ziyam Khaaki shawam o ba-zir paaye to ziyam Maqsud-e-man banda ze kawnayn to’i Az ba-har to miram ze baaraaye to ziyam I wish that I’d always live in love with You. I’d like to live as the dust under the feet of You. You are my goal in both the worlds: I die for You and I live for You. (3) Gar wesaal-e-shaah midaari tam’ Az wesaal-e-khishtan…
The Hidden Treasure
Once upon a time there lived in Damascus a man called Zayn al-Arab. He was a poor man and he had to struggle hard to keep his family from hunger. Every loaf of bread was gained by him with much anxiety. He worked so hard that he was always tired and had no thought for the joys and pleasures of life. Even when things became easier for him he did not know how to stop working and therefore for the first time in his life money began to accumulate. When he had saved a considerable sum he could hardly believe his good fortune. That is how he felt about it although he had worked hard for every penny. Fortune had…
The parcel
Some time ago I ordered a book of Ibn al-‘Arabi by writing to the publisher. The book had to come from abroad so I calculated the time I had to wait. When the arrival time came near I really was on the lookout for the book, very eager for its arrival by post. Then, when coming home from work, I found a message telling me that the postman tried to deliver a parcel, but was not able to do so because of nobody being home. However the same evening the parcel would be offered again. In the evening the great moment came. A van stopped in front of my house and the postman with his parcel walked towards my door….
Dervish ‘Abdullah and the Utter Idiots
‘Arif walks to the bus at sunset. He sees a vast flock of starlings moving as one body in the sky. He recites softly in Persian: بر پرم همچون طيور الصافات I soar up like the birds which spread their wings. The bus is overcrowded. A woman hears the ringtone of her smartphone. She cannot reach it without jabbing her elbows into the limbs of those around her. They sigh and roll their eyes. The woman tries to make amends by scattering apologetic smiles, which freeze on her face the moment she answers the call. “You need to breathe, my love,” are the first words she speaks—at once icily calm yet utterly alert. “We’ve been through this before, and it turned…
Sufi Poetry: Spring
Spring 1 It is the 21st of March. Spring has started! The Kashf-al-Asrar or ‘Unveiling of Secrets’ is a Persian book attributed to Khwaja Mo’inuddin Chishti: The life of a human being knows four seasons, just like the world knows four seasons. The days of childhood are therefore the summer. The years of youth are the harvest of spring. The time that passes passively is autumn And the years of old age are the harvest of autumn. Spring 2 You can find his in the Masnavi: Behold the garden of the heart, green and moist and fresh, full of rosebuds and cypresses and jasmines; Boughs hidden by the multitude of leaves, vast plain and high palace hidden by the multitude…