The Temple of Hanuman

The Temple of Hanuman

Da'ud ibn Tamam ibn Ibrahim al-Shawni

Published by Smashwords

Copyright 2009 Da'ud ibn Tamam ibn Ibrahim al-Shawni

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Cover Photograph Copyright Sadiq M. Alam

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The Garden Enclosed, the Fountain Sealed

The religion of God—the journey of Rama, the revelation of Krishna, the way of the Buddha—is a garden enclosed. In that garden is a sealed fountain above a well of fathomless waters. Why sound the depths of that abyss when the fountain pours forth without end? Let them be ashamed who say that fountain has run dry! If you drink from your hands or the bottle, from the cup or a jar of clay, it still quenches thirst. If you bow to Rama, or Krishna, or the Buddha, you bow before the One. If you call Him Vishnu, or Shiva or Brahma, you call upon the One.

This work is not a history, but is in the likeness of a history, or the recollection of a likeness. This work is the dream of a memory, not the dream made real. It is not the work of a scholar or even one well educated. This work is a niche in which I have placed a key carved of rosewood. This key is to a single door to a single chamber of the King’s treasury. I offer it to share with you a glimpse of what I have seen and this is the likeness. Let your heart, not your intellect, judge the value of this key and of the treasures in His keep. Judge its worth and assay its truth.

This is what I offer you. But what will we offer Him? What gift is best when He wants for nothing, and the worlds are but dust to Him? Would you carry water to the sea or bring light to the sun? Rumi says, Bring Him a mirror. But even this is not fitting except that you become the mirror. Surrender to Him what He gave you: your life, your will, all that you are or ever will be. The one who offers this becomes the gift and one with the Giver.

God has been kind to me, though I have deserved terrible punishment. Behind my every austerity are a dozen of His laws that I have transgressed. God has permitted this hand to write these words. This, however, is not a sign of His blessing, but of His mercy. While I am entirely in His power, He permits all men to err or to do right, according to their characters and capacities. Therefore, allow me to speak to your heart while blood still flows through these veins. Be kind and forgive me when I speak too boldly or when I am in manifest error. And if at any moment my words contradict the words of the Most Pure, follow God and obey Him, knowing that His way is better for you.

If She pleases, the Handmaid of God will correct me where I have gone astray, but I will not be alive to accept this correction. O daughter of Ahmad, sister of Moses, mother of Jesus, let me be the first to adore You, though I am the least of believers. Let me be among the first to love You. In that forest clearing, along the lantern-lit path, I imagined I saw Your home, its graceful gable crowning walls painted red and green. You held a lantern in Your hand. Did I glimpse You in misty dawn or in hazy twilight? O houri, O Janáb-i-Táhira, O Mona, O Kuan Yin, I saw Your pale face and Your sparkling eyes framed by black tresses. While the light of the world was failing, You shone like the moon. When You have arisen, I will be long dead. Let me be the dust at Your feet. Let me be the dirt upon the path You will tread, upon that path I have dreamed.

She cherished the scarf with which they choked her. She blessed the waters in which they cast her down. She kissed the noose with which they hanged her. O you who read these words, forgive me and seek God’s pardon on my behalf. I am entirely in His power.

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The Shadow Play

What caste are you that you are cast out by His command? What obligation will you fulfill if, by fulfilling it, you are distant from Him? You cannot uphold dharma if in your actions you have rejected Him or if by your actions He has rejected you. There is no dharma except that you must obey Him. If you turn away from His command, you have strayed from dharma, though you may be the father of every righteous act and the paragon of every virtue. O do-er, surrender the fruits of what you have done. Give it in the way of charity, but do not be proud in your liberality, for this is not submission. If they accuse you of idolatry, they are right, for by acting to achieve the rewards of your actions, you have achieved your ends and not His. There can be no you remaining. You cannot offer what you have also consumed. Such an offering is pollution itself. O widower, cast yourself into the pyre as the moth to the lantern. Let yourself be consumed in fire. Give up all hope for yourself. Cast away worthless ambition. Do not seek His pleasure for some mean reward. Serving Him is sufficient reward for you.

Remember the names of Vishnu, Brahma, and Shiva and see that they are in truth One word, One voice, the One unalterable as He alters, invisible as He invests every atom of creation with His command, unknowable even as He is the source of all knowledge. From the lotus of His navel, He has created the universe.

In Kerala, where I stopped for a time, I saw a shadow play of the Ramayana. The day was warm. My eyes gradually dimmed. The shadows took on wondrous shapes in many colors. My mind drifted and I dozed to the sound of Rama’s wedding and exile, Sita’s abduction and rescue, Ravana’s defeat and death, and Rama’s coronation.

In his time, Rama was the best of creation, born the oldest of four noble brothers. He was the avatar of Vishnu; he was the presence of God on Earth. His brother Lakshmana was his dedicated friend. His brother Bharata was the exemplar of dharma. His brother Shatrughna was Bharata’s dearest companion. Rama was the favorite son of King Dasaratha of Ayodhya and was trained by Vasishta and Viswamithra. In a trial of strength, he broke Shiva’s bow and strung Vishnu’s bow and in this there are signs to be understood. He captured the heart of Sita; she became his only wife. After Rama came of age, his father stepped down from the throne hoping to see Rama crowned in his place. But Kaikeyi, Rama’s stepmother, conspired to give the throne to her son, Bharata. Calling upon Dasaratha to fulfill a promise he had once made to her, Kaikeyi sent Rama into exile for fourteen years. And though the people, and even her own son, cursed Kaikeyi, Rama was obedient and obeyed Kaikeyi and fulfilled his father’s promise. Renouncing the luxuries of the palace, Sita and Lakshmana followed Rama into forest exile. There they lived for many years as ascetics until Ravana, the demon king of Lanka, abducted Sita, carrying her away to his kingdom.

Searching for his wife, Rama killed Vali, who was king of the monkeys, and crowned Sugriva king in Vali’s place. Hanuman, a servant of Sugriva, set fire to Ravana’s city on the island of Lanka, returning to Rama with news of Sita’s whereabouts. Under Rama’s command, Sugriva and Hanuman led their army against Ravana. When Rama defeated the demon king, Sita proved to the people that she had been faithful. At the end of his fourteen years of exile, Rama returned to Ayodhya where Bharata had ruled not as king, but as Rama’s regent. Rama was crowned in his father’s city. He restored peace in his family, making Bharata his heir and granting Kaikeyi the forgiveness she sought saying, Though you contrived against me, God made it for good. You are as much my mother as the one who bore me, therefore accept me again as your son.

This I dreamed for nineteen days. I slept undisturbed in the shadow of the temple without food or water. On the evening of the twentieth day I awoke. The play was done. The audience had gone. The performers were packing away their puppets. The one who had played Hanuman said to me, We have given you a fine gift in exchange for your austerities. Do not squander it. I pressed my palms together and bowed my head to him. He held up his right hand and said, You have heard the tale of Rama. Go to Sarnath and hear the tale and the teachings of Krishna.

As I walked away from the temple grounds, a sliver of moon was setting in the west. The greater part of its surface, untouched by the sun, was awash in the light of the Earth. It glowed dimly and ghostly white. I saw in that moon the whole of the Ramayana; that splinter so well illuminated, bright like a struck match, and above it the full surface. I thought, I will not let the brightest part distract me; I will look with deeper perception and see the whole of it, the entirety of it.

By the ceremony of the cord, see how your actions are connected to Him. Perform your duty; honor the righteous who came before you, even as you seek a path like theirs; forgive the unrighteous, even as you repudiate them. Be careful that the cord not wrap around your neck. It is better to break the cord of duty than to be stillborn. A Brahmin stopped me on the road to Varanasi. He said to me, Foreigner, why are you here?

I said, I am passing through.

The Brahmin was not satisfied with my answer and demanded, What is your name? I told him,