We get so overwhelmed by the bad news being bombarded on us daily that we never see the equally overwhelming good news stories simmering quietly in the background. In fact we live in an age of scientific renaissance, but don’t realize it.
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One story from the book. To read more, buy the book
Once upon a time, a famous Sufi shaykh lived in old Baghdad. The shaykh was renowned for his charity and goodness. Aside from what he really needed, he gave away everything he received each day to the poor. So, his reputation among the common folk was outstanding.
Almost everyone loved him. Almost.
There was only one problem. Since he didn’t own any-
thing, he borrowed everything that he gave away each
day. So the shaykh was constantly in debt to many people.
Usually some generous person came to his aid whenever
he really needed it, but nonetheless he was always only
one step ahead of his creditors.
The shaykh was getting on in years, and just as things
are today, people became less and less willing to loan him
anything for fear that he might not be able to pay them
back. Nonetheless, the shaykh’s good reputation ensured
that there were always people who would loan him what
he needed. If nothing else, rich merchants were afraid to
let it be known that they were too stingy to give to a gen-
erous holy man. It might diminish their customer base.
Now it happened that the shaykh fell ill. And, day by
day, he seemed to be failing. The shaykh asked his murids
(students) to bring his bed into a small meeting hall in the
khanaqah, the Sufi gathering place where he and a few stu-
dents lived. The shaykh told them that he wanted to meet
his maker there.
Unlike many such edifices in the ancient Sufi world,
this khanaqah was a very modest, mud-brick affair. The
students’ rooms surrounded a central, domed mosque
and meeting hall, like a heart with two wings enclosing it.
His students gathered around the shaykh’s bed,
many of them with long faces, hoping for a final bless-
ing from the great man. The shaykh was smiling benef-
icently and breathing peacefully. Gradually, word
got out of the shaykh’s imminent passing, and many
other people from the neighborhood began to gather.
Among them were the shaykh’s many creditors. Instead
of a final blessing, the creditors had another object in
mind: repayment. They hoped that before the shaykh
died, he would manifest some miracle and pay them
what he owed.
One of them whispered into the ear of another.
“How much does he owe you?”
”One thousand gold dinars. You?”
→
“Only 500 silver dirhams, thank God! But it’s still
enough for me.”
The atmosphere in the room was very mixed, to say the
least: sadness, hope, expectation, anxiety, and a growing
undercurrent of whispering and grumbling.
“If he owed that much to you, why did he also borrow
from me?”
“Couldn’t he have paid me back with what he bor-
rowed from Ahmed? He can afford to lose 600.”
“It’s incredible! He owes all of us!”
In fact, the room was now overfull, and only the small
circle of students around his bed protected the shaykh
from the increasingly agitated and growing crowd of
creditors who edged nearer and nearer.
The shaykh’s breath became more and more refined,
until only those nearest him could tell whether he was
breathing at all. He motioned for one of his students to
come closer.
“What are all these others doing here?” he whispered
loudly.
“Master, Allah forgive me, but many of them say that
you owe them money.”
“Money? Oh, yes, yes . . . probably I do. It’s all in Allah’s
hands.”
“What does your master say?” asked one of the credi-
tors in a voice everyone could hear.
“The master says,” relayed the student, “that your
money is all in Allah’s hands.”
A loud moan went up from the creditors.
“In Allah’s hands? You know what that means!”
“I’m done for!” cried one.
“You? I’ll be bankrupt!”
Others also proclaimed their incipient destitution,
with increasingly cataclysmic predictions about what
would happen to their businesses, their families, the
whole community they supported! And so on. They began
to fight among themselves about who would be more
destitute.
“What are they all talking about?” the shaykh whis-
pered to his nearest student. “This is a house of prayer. It
has become increasingly noisy in here.”
“Forgive me, Allah, they say that they will be bankrupt.”
“No,” said the shaykh, “how can it be? I don’t believe it.
Ya Alim! Allah knows the truth.”
The students also became increasingly agitated. Not
only was this very embarrassing, but it might distract the
shaykh from giving them a final blessing. Or, looking at
things from an earthlier viewpoint, it might diminish the reputation of the khanaqah as well as their ability to
gather donations for it in the future. The students also
began to talk anxiously among themselves.
Just then, a very loud, high voice out in the street cut
through all the hubbub.
“Halvah! Nice sweet halvah! Who wants to buy some?
Best halvah in Baghdad!”
Because the voice startled everyone, they all stopped
talking for just an instant, but then at once went back to
their angst-ridden conversations.
The shaykh motioned to his closest student.
“Ask the boy to come in, let’s have some halvah,” he
rasped.
The student went out into the street and brought the
small boy in, who was carrying a large silver plate cov-
ered with many pieces of halvah.
“Boy, how much for your whole plate of halvah?” asked
the shaykh.
“This is my last plate of halvah for the day, and it’s the
best halvah in Baghdad. There isn’t any even close to this
quality in the whole world!” The boy had clearly been
well trained. “So, one silver dirham.”
“One silver dirham!” exclaimed the shaykh softly,
raising one eyebrow in disbelief. “Is the halvah made of silver? No, boy, we’re just poor Sufis here. And I’m dying.
I’ll give you half a silver dirham.”
The boy paused, but only for effect, since he knew that
the plate was worth only a half of that, and he would need
to bring his master back even less.
“All right. But only this once. Because you’re dying.
And because you’re holy people. Or so they say.”
“Share it all around,” the shaykh told the boy, whisper-
ing hoarsely as loudly as he could so that everyone heard.
“These are all my brothers and friends here. Let them
enjoy the sweetness, just as I am about to enjoy the sweet-
ness of heaven . . . inshallah (Allah willing)!”
The boy went around the room, offering halvah to
everyone, and by some chance (or indeed miracle), there
was enough for all. For some blessed moments, conversa-
tion stopped, with only the sound of chewing and smack-
ing of lips breaking the silence. Someone burped.
After a discreet pause, the boy approached the shaykh
for payment, holding his hand out.
“Money? You want money? Boy, as I told you, we’re
only poor Sufis here. I agreed to a price, but I didn’t say I
would pay you.”
The boy became furious. “You Sufi dogs! You would steal from a poor boy? What
kind of people are you? I will be short when I return to
the shop. Don’t you know that my master will beat me?
In fact, he’ll probably kill me! In fact, he’ll kill my whole
family! In fact . . .”
The boy went on in this vein, becoming louder and
louder, increasingly and genuinely hysterical, his voice
echoing through the mosque.
The creditors also went into an uproar.
“First he cheats us, now he cheats this poor boy!”
“Call the judge!”
“I’ll never offer a friendly loan, not to mention a char-
itable donation, to a Sufi again!”
The students turned bright red and turned to one
another, whispering frantically, unsure what to do.
“That’s it. The reputation of our whole order is ruined!”
“We’re done for!”
“Doesn’t anyone have a half a dirham?”
They began to search through their robes.
While all of this was going on, a messenger in richly
braided and brightly colored livery entered the room.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Which of you is the shaykh?” As mes-
sengers were trained to have loud voices in those days, everyone stopped for an instant, now aware that some-
one important had likely sent the messenger.
“He is,” said one of the creditors, pointing to the shaykh
on his bed.
As it happened, the messenger was also carrying a sil-
ver tray, this one covered with a silk cloth. He approached
the shaykh.
“Someone hired me ten minutes ago to send you this,
express delivery. For some reason, it had to be on a silver
tray. I don’t know who it was, but we work for an expen-
sive service, you know. Had to be someone rich.”
The shaykh, who had been resting with his eyes
closed during the melee, opened one eye and asked his
nearest student to remove the cloth and see what was
there.
Under the cloth were two packets also wrapped in silk,
one very large, the other very small. When the student
untied the larger packet, it was full of gold dinars, more
than he had ever seen. There was doubtless enough to
pay off all the shaykh’s creditors, plus enough to support
the khanaqah for some time.
When he untied the small packet he found it contained half a silver dirham. The shaykh instructed his students to repay all the
creditors, keep the rest, and give the half dirham to
the boy.
Everyone was astonished. The boy grabbed the money
and ran off with it before anything else crazy happened.
These Sufis!
The creditors wiped their brows and breathed a huge
sigh of relief. Then they began to protest to the shaykh
that, of course, they knew that he was a righteous man
and would make good on his debts, and to please pray for
them when he got to the other side—in other words, they
began to talk total nonsense.
The students were also relieved. Life would go on
without them needing to face disaster, like getting jobs
outside the khanaqah.
“Master,” asked one murid, “how did this happen?
How could anyone know about the halvah? And why did
he (or she) wait so long to bail us out?”
“Allah knows!” said the shaykh. “But I’ll tell you this:
all these creditors don’t really need the money. They are
all rich men many times over. Their distress was all an
act. Also, all of you are perfectly capable of making your
own way when I’m gone. You may only need to be a littleThe shaykh instructed his students to repay all the
creditors, keep the rest, and give the half dirham to
the boy.
Everyone was astonished. The boy grabbed the money
and ran off with it before anything else crazy happened.
These Sufis!
The creditors wiped their brows and breathed a huge
sigh of relief. Then they began to protest to the shaykh
that, of course, they knew that he was a righteous man
and would make good on his debts, and to please pray for
them when he got to the other side—in other words, they
began to talk total nonsense.
The students were also relieved. Life would go on
without them needing to face disaster, like getting jobs
outside the khanaqah.
“Master,” asked one murid, “how did this happen?
How could anyone know about the halvah? And why did
he (or she) wait so long to bail us out?”
“Allah knows!” said the shaykh. “But I’ll tell you this:
all these creditors don’t really need the money. They are
all rich men many times over. Their distress was all an
act. Also, all of you are perfectly capable of making your
own way when I’m gone. You may only need to be a little. more . . . ingenious. It was only the boy who had real
need. You could hear it in his voice.
“When a real cry from the depths of the heart goes
out, then Allah always answers. Try to find more genuine
need in yourself. Then you will be on the inner path.”
Today, standing in the balcony, I saw a school bus full of cute little children dressed as Santa. This small moment refreshed all the childhood memories when Christmas was the much-awaited festival. That day, we went to school without making any excuses, with our eyes filled with hopes of getting chocolates from the Santa. That jingle bell chorus and decorating trees for the welcome of Santa was the happiest moment. A bar of single chocolate from the Santa made our day and we all made a wish list to be fulfilled by Santa.
Childhood was so wonderful, I wish I could relive it. Walking down the memory lane I realized how the festivals have just become holidays and how we all have just forgotten their real meaning. December 25, celebrated across the globe as the birth of the Son of the God, Jesus Christ, who was born to mother Mary and father Joseph at Bethlehem. The holy soul was sent to earth to spread the message of love and peace to humans and save us from the sins and sorrows.
Christmas is the festival of joy, happiness, peace, love, and forgiveness All over the globe this festival is celebrated with great enthusiasm. The houses are cleaned, delicious delicacies are served with people coming together to celebrate this pious occasion leaving behind all their differences. Christmas trees are decorated and gifts are exchanged to show affection and love towards each other. The whole city and the church are turned into heaven. While adults are busy with their decorations and exchanges, innocent children make their wishlist, keep them in the socks beside the Christmas tree and wait for their Santa Claus to fulfill their wishes.
But with the outdoor preparations, we usually tend to forget the real essence of the festival. The dazzle of the outdoor decoration makes us blind to the real meaning of the customs followed for the celebrations. As Christmas arrives we all start cleaning and decorating our houses and churches. Preoccupied with the cleaning of houses, we often forget to cleanse our souls. This Christmas let’s cleanse our souls of greed and hatred before putting any decoration on the entry gate. Let’s throw away all the bitterness and the negative thoughts before throwing away the used and old clothes away. Let us welcome people with open heart and cleanse our hearts of all the malice of the past. If we decorate our souls with the shimmer of positive thoughts, good heart, and love for everybody, we would be one step closer to the God and lay the foundation of the beautiful tomorrow we all had one imagined in our childhood.
Christmas tree is believed to attract positivity and keep the negative vibes away. It is not just the Christmas tree which attracts positivity, God has blessed us with the mother earth to take care of all our needs. But we have left no stone unturned to exploit the nature for our greed and selfish needs. Christmas not only teaches us to live in harmony with each other but also teaches us to live in harmony with the mother earth. Let this Christmas be the starting of the new era where we all take a pledge to respect all that is around us and make this earth a greener and cleaner place to live in.
Now, Santa Claus. We all have spent our childhood making our wish list and have slept changing sides and waiting for morning to see our gifts and wishes be granted. Now we all grown up, after the reality hit us hard, know that there is no Santa Claus to fulfill our wishes. But what we do not realize is that we all are our lives, Santa Claus. Let this Christmas we forgive ourselves and give ourselves the gift of a better version of ourselves with good hearts and compassion for others. Let us be the Santa for the people in need and grant them their wishes of a better lifestyle. Let us be grateful to God for the beautiful gift of life, wisdom, and mind and use this wisdom for the betterment of society.
Today’s world is not different from the world when Jesus was born. We all live in a world filled with hatred, ignorance, greed, and superstition. We all are children of the Almighty God. This little realization and a small amount of effort can turn our world into a better place to live in. A place where everybody is treated with respect and equality. A place where peace prevails and we all live in harmony with each other. Let this Christmas bring happiness and smile on the faces of people who are less blessed and we all pray to the Almighty God to bless us and take care of us. Let us put all our faith in God and spend our lives working for the other children of God. In the end, I would like to quote Jesus Christ:
“For what shall profit a man, if he gained the whole world, and suffer the loss of his soul”
-Chainika Tanwar
This article from Economic Times clearly points out how our so called ‘traditions’ of immersive devotion are immersing all of us into a cesspool of Poison
There are so many gifts
Still unopened from your birthday,
There are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to you by God.
The Beloved does not mind repeating: ‘Everything I have is yours.’
Please forgive Hafiz and the Friend if we break into a sweet laughter when your heart complains.
Ages ago every cell in your soul
Capsized forever into this infinite golden sea.
Indeed a lover’s pain is this sleeping,
When God just rolled over and gave you
Such a big good morning kiss!
–Hafiz tr. Daniel Ladinsky in ‘The Gift: Poems By Hafiz’ (Penguin).
Hafiz is underrated and eclipsed by Jalaluddin Rumi. Even virulently Islamophobic discourses and persons, adore Rumi. Whereas, Hafiz is the underrated Sufi, the forever second fiddle to Mevlana Rumi.
The first lines are priceless: the need for loving appreciation of the many unopened gifts and hand-crafted presents from the divine Beloved/Friend.
However, many of us whine and complain about what we don’t have, as opposed to gratitude for the many unopened gifts and hand-crafted presents–our talents, our bodies, our fluid genders and sexualities, our laughter and our love–to mention a few.
Hafiz goes on to talk about every metaphorical cell ‘of the soul’. capsized in the golden sea of divine love ages ago.
The last lines are unrivaled in literature–I cannot think of anyone except for Rumi and Rilke who communicate such easy intimacy with God so fluently and well.
Cute metaphor: the Beloved rolling over in bed to give us a good morning kiss–fast asleep in our own separateness and self-pity, we don’t feel it!
–Raj Ayyar
And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.
Jeremiah
There is no Hindu and no Muslim!
–Guru Nanak after his enlightenment.
Time to revisit that gentle, beautiful universalist mystic Guru Nanak, one who synthesizes the best of Hinduism and Islam, without being constrained by the narrow identity badges of any faith.
Beyond that is the ultimate reality that Nanak calls Ik Onkar–both the ineffable One, (similar to the Nirguna Brahman in Hindu Vedanta and the Allah beyond attributes, beyond the 99 names, in Sufi Islam), and All-That-Is.
Nanak also believed that if you wanted to continue to describe yourself as a member of this or that faith, that you needed to establish that by living the essence of that faith, not its superficials.
His message is especially relevant in India today, torn by right-wing religio-political polarization and separation, the clamor of politically stoked sectarian and communal fervor and religious nationalism.
Nanak would dress as a Hindu on some days, and as a Muslim on others, to show the need for taking one’s religious labels and identities lightly.
–Raj Ayyar