Let us begin with a meeting that occurred at the end and conclude with what transpired at the start.
Just before sunset, a poor and gaunt man appeared at the door of a farmhouse, his prominent cheekbones visible above the beard of a traveling dervish. You would recognize him immediately, but it took a moment before the farmer said, “Welcome, Dervish ‘Abdullah!”
“How are you, ‘Arif?” Dervish ‘Abdullah asked as they sat together. “You have a beautiful farmhouse. What has happened in the years since we last met?”
‘Arif explained that his professional life had flourished due to his keen eye for detail—something fairly common. More significantly, however, was his ability to perceive the bigger picture. He could discern emerging patterns and spot new possibilities. He had been as busy as a bee.
Dervish ‘Abdullah smiled at the remark, for both had once studied the Language of the Bees. Naturally, their conversation turned to their shared history.
Both dervishes had been deeply interested in learning the Language of the Bees. They knew that when the Prophet received divine revelations, the sound of buzzing bees could sometimes be heard near his face. They wondered what the Prophet might have heard when the Quran was revealed to him.
This curiosity led them to seek a guide. Shaykh Sulayman, an expert in the Language of the Birds, directed them to Shaykh Arusi, who had mastered the Language of the Ants. But neither could teach them the Language of the Bees. As they departed, a voice called out in the street, “Last call! The caravan to the city of Hichmakam is about to leave!” When ‘Arif and Dervish ‘Abdullah enquired how long the journey would take, the caller replied, “Seven years!”
‘Arif said, “We are prepared. Shall we join the caravan?”
Dervish ‘Abdullah answered, “Look at the people in this caravan! Of course, we must join the caravan of birds traveling to Hichmakam. In such noble company, seven years will pass as swiftly as seven days.”
During their journey, ‘Arif and Dervish ‘Abdullah encountered a Hakim who introduced them to the sang-e-sabur—the Stone of Patience. The Hakim explained, “To use this stone, sit in meditation and pour all your misery, pain, and secrets into it. The stone will absorb your sorrows like a sponge, leaving you healed. I acquired this stone from Ustad Zabani, who lives in Hichmakam. I will introduce you to Yaquta, his student, who is traveling with us.”
Yaquta, they learned, spoke many extraordinary languages: the Language of the Stones, the Language of the Flowers, and the Language of the Birds. She was also currently studying the Language of the Bees. “But let us discuss the bees after our arrival,” she advised. “Be patient and follow the narrow path between desires.”
The two dervishes journeyed long and far, crossing valleys, mountains, deserts, and seas. They traveled at sunrise and endured the heat of noon. By Allah’s grace, they arrived in Hichmakam after seven years. After settling in a caravanserai, they visited a chai khana that evening.
A dervish there was singing a quatrain:
The wine sparkles for me,
The bee buzzes for me!
Because of the Queen’s embrace,
My heart burns within me.
Over tea sweetened with honey, Yaquta shared her meditative experience with bees. “They communicated patiently in their own language. Perhaps, one day, you, too, will understand the Language of the Bees. For now, I will translate what they shared with me.”
A bee had said: “I make my hive in the hills. I alight on flowers and fruits, drawing a substance as light as dew, and then return to my hive. No Hundertwasser or Le Corbusier could match the design of my comb. Even Euclid would marvel at the symmetry of my six-sided cells.”
“Guided by divine inspiration, I dedicate myself to my tasks with grace. My wax and honey are the fruits of my labour. Wax illuminates and honey heals. Some seek the light of my wax; others the sweetness of my honey.”
The conversation was interrupted by a commotion outside the chai khana. Michael, the local fool of God, waved a familiar object—none other than the sang-e-sabur, the Stone of Patience.
Amid his incoherent shouts, Michael proclaimed, “We overflow continually—towards those before us, our origins, and those after us. It is our task to imprint this fleeting, perishable earth so deeply within ourselves that its essence rises again, invisibly, within us. We are the bees of the invisible, gathering the honey of the visible to store in the golden hive of the unseen.”
Then came the shock: “Ustad Zabani has died.” This news dashed ‘Arif and Dervish ‘Abdullah’s hopes of studying the Language of the Bees with him. They soon left Hichmakam, journeying home for over seven years.
Unbeknownst to them, Yaquta had been appointed Speaker of the Dead. She was entrusted with passing on Ustad Zabani’s insights, sometimes through dreams. In one such dream, ‘Arif found himself transformed into a bee within a hive.
He marveled at the bees’ waggle dances, which communicated intricate information about locations. Yet, what followed bewildered him. Clear skies gave way to a sudden flood within the hive, causing panic. From the perspective of a bee, the event seemed catastrophic. But as a human, ‘Arif realized it was only a small clod of earth temporarily blocking a waterfall. The water’s trickle had caused the commotion. He laughed aloud and awoke.
Now, let us return to where the story began. Years later, ‘Arif explained his success: an eye for detail and, more importantly, the ability to see the bigger picture. He had been as busy as a bee.
And Dervish ‘Abdullah? His progress in the Language of the Bees remained mysterious. At the end of their meeting, he took something from his pocket, placed it on the table, and departed. It was the sang-e-sabur, the Stone of Patience.