Odyssey of the Spirit

by Muhammad Harun
[published first as a 4-part series in Womens Own Apr., May, Jul. & Aug.2000]
Since became a Muslim in 1975 and settled in this country, have been asked
over and over again, how my conversion came about, mainly by my Muslim
brothers and sisters who were astonished that someone who had been raised in
the socio-economic comfort of a wealthy western nation should give up that
background to live with them as one of them, putting up with all the backdrops
and inconveniences of a developing country.
Allah has informed us in His Generous Book, of the most crucial event of our
existence, to which however most of us do not have conscious access. The
event of "Alast, when God gathered the spirits of mankind into HS Presence of
Glory and Majesty long before their physical incarnation on the earthly plane of
existence and confronted them with the ultimate creational reality : "a lastu bi
rabbikum - Am not your Lord? And they all - we all - had to submit to it,
confirming with one voice as it were: bala Yeah, truly Thou art - entering
thereby into the most awesome covenant.
The Sufis say, that some of the spirits those of the lovers - were drunken with
ecstasy at the beatific vision of their Lord, and joyously danced into temporal
existence, whereas others those of the non-believers - were bogged down by
the prospect of a life of dependence and bondage, and only unwillingly dragged
themselves into what appeared to them the misery of life, and Allah knows best
what went on. One thing is certain however, deep down in the soul of every man
there is a memory of that event, which can never be erased, and which is
activated several times in the life of every man; it may be triggered by anything.
These are the moments of truth, the instances when we suddenly re-cognize
reality, the absence of phony games and falsehood and illusions. And in these
situations it is that God is reminding us of our covenant with HM, at the same
time opening a door and offering us to return to HM.
During my later years of adolescence and early years of adulthood had heard
the knock of the Real at the door of my heart a couple of times, before finally set
out in search of it in 1974. At that time was actively involved with theater, had
earlier made the very profound experience, that any form of self-expression, if
pursued intensely enough would lead to some higher form of consciousness and
eventually self realization. had consciously chosen acting as the medium, since
that did not depend on any outward means other than my body, of which could
possibly be deprived, and thus decided to go to ndia to study Hata Yoga (a
discipline which is capable of developing more or less total control over all
outward and inward functions of the body) and classical dance. did not know
much about slam then, rather should say, did not have any correct information
about slam at all. All thought knew about it stemmed from a subtle, viciously
mind-poisoning misinformation set-up, which has been permeating the organs of
education and information in the West since the early Middle Ages up to this day.
Due to this wrong information was not particularly interested in slam, moreover
what had seen from the Turkish immigrants who had come to my country
mainly in pursuit of worldly gains, did not strike me as in any way impressive
either. This state of affairs however was to change very soon and drastically,
when actually reached Turkey on my journey to the East. Apart from an
overwhelmingly warm hospitality, as compared to the arrogant, cool indifference
many western people show towards strangers, was charmed by a number of
behavioral patterns of the people there, which were rather new to me. For
example, there was actual communication going on between young and old
people, who seemed to have a healthy relationship of mutual respect and regard
for each other. The unbridgeable generation gap, knew from home was
nowhere apparent. Another impressive discovery made was, that the people
there had a sincere respect for their religion, even if they did not practice it. When
the call for prayer was heard form the loudspeakers of the minarets all
conversation came to a sudden halt, radios were switched off, and nobody spoke
a word until the adhan was over, furthermore did never during my more than
three month stay there hear a single joke about religious or sexual subject
matter, which disgustingly enough are the two most popular joke topics almost
everywhere else in the non-islamic world. Another mind-boggling novelty for me
was the respect these people had for food, in particular bread. f a piece would
accidentally fall on the floor, they would pick it up, kiss it and put it on some
elevated place, to be picked up by some fellow creature from the animal
kingdom. n the western world, tons of bread are thrown away every day. could
go on recounting these little ordinary every-day happenings which appeared to
me with my western background quite extraordinary and so profoundly sound,
and which, as realized, must have had to do with the religion of these people.
Thus had to credit this religion, which had held in so little esteem with a
considerable amount of wisdom. thought it would be worthwhile to read the
source book of slam which, as knew, was still available in its original, and
although did not see the remotest chance of me becoming a Muslim at that
time, made a commitment in my heart that, if should ever have a chance to
learn Arabic, would do so, as to have access to the treasure of wisdom, which
was convinced, was to be found in the Qur'an.
The next close encounter with the Real happened some 5 month later, again in
Turkey which had left in the meantime. was traveling south with three Dutch
youths, who had given me a lift while hitch-hiking back into Turkey from Greece
(where had unsuccessfully tried to get a job on a ship, as to work my passage
over to Bombay). had read about the "Whirling Dervishes (a Sufi order founded
in the 7
th
century Hijri in Konya by the great saint and scholar , Mawlana Jalal ud
Din Rumi may Allah sanctify his secret), and was very interested to see one of
their famous dance performances, so asked my hosts to stop over in Konya,
which they willingly did. could not see the "Whirling Dervishes (whose public
performances are now under the auspices of the Turkish tourism department),
but visited the shrine of the saint, which used to be the monastery (khanqua) of
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the order, now - by courtesy of Mustapha Kamal's "modernization of Turkey - it
is a museum. There, among other exhibits, an old handwritten manuscript was
displayed in a glass cabinet, along with a translation of the Persian text. t read
something like:
ome back! come back!
e"en i# $ou are a hristian or a #ire worshi%%er! come back&
'"en i# $ou ha"e betra$ed $our re%entance a hundred times! come back&
ome back! this is not a %lace o# des%air&
Reading these lines left me with a peculiar kind of feeling, the meaning of it had
somehow communicated with my soul, and even though did not pay any further
attention, something had 'clicked' deep inside me.
We left Konya shortly after that, but when we had driven about 50 km, suddenly
heard a very clear voice in my heart, telling me: "You must go back to Konya, you
missed something there, and if you do not return, you will incur a great loss! This
did not leave me with much of a choice, and asked my bewildered hosts to stop
their car at once, thanked them and bade farewell. Back in Konya, visited the
only person knew, a shopkeeper, whose acquaintance had made late one
night during the first visit, in some wine shop, fully drunk, and singing at the top of
his voice. When saw him this time at his antiques and souvenir shop, he turned
out to be a well educated person, speaking several foreign languages, and
seeming to have some connection or access to the present master of that
dervish order, which however he was somehow very reluctant to share or make
available to me. But he gave me some books in exchange for books, had been
carrying with me, the most important and sizeable one of which contained the 1
st
two volumes of Mawlana Rumi's '(athnawi) On this second sojourn in Konya
also met a truck driver in the hotel where was staying, and he promised me he
would take me with him to Teheran once his truck was ready, and was to meet
him in a few days time in Mersin, another city on the Mediterranean coast . So
left the town of Mawlana Rumi and went south for my date. Reaching there, still
had to wait a couple of days, and spent my time idly, fishing, swimming or sitting
in tea houses, smoking water pipe and practicing the little bit of Turkish had
learnt by chatting to fellow idlers. On one of these occasions asked the people
around me about the dervishes, about whom had heard so much. They laughed
and said these were all stories of the past, and nowadays there were no more of
them, but one man beckoned me to sit next to him, and then told me he knew a
dervish. Very good, said, "can you take to him? He agreed, and off we went.
did not pay particular attention to the way, walking along and talking with my
companion. We must have walked some 20 minutes, when he stopped in front of
a house, telling me his friend lived there. He knocked the door, but there was no
one at home. My guide told me that his dervish friend was a peddler, selling
household goods in the streets with a push cart, and that he probably was on his
round now, so we turned around and walked back. My truck driver had still not
shown up, and so decided two days later to try the dervish once more.
Unfortunately couldn't find the man anymore who had taken me there, and had
neither noted down an address nor watched the way. So, with not much hope
would ever meet the dervish, set out to walk more or less aimlessly, but to my
3
great surprise, after some time found myself again in front of his house. Again,
there was nobody answering my knock, but when was just about to leave, saw
an old man with a push cart in one of the alleys. went up to him, and he gave
me a curiously welcoming smile when , a total stranger asked him whether his
name was so-and-so, but when posed my next question, whether he was a
dervish, he became very serious, almost harsh, asking me suspiciously: What
do you want? introduced myself and explained how and why had come, which
made his face light up again and he cordially invited me into his house, where he
immediately started preparing something to eat. His 'house' actually was just a
simple room with hardly any furniture and barely space enough for his cart, a bed
and a small table, and except for the cart with all the merchandise on it, it was
more like a hermits cell, outwardly narrow and bleak, but inwardly expanded and
made comfortable by the kindheartedness and hospitality of this good man. After
the meal, he asked me about my faith, and hearing that was a Christian, he
reached out to a makeshift shelf on the wall , took a book from it, kissed and
opened it reverently, and started to read certain passages from it. did not
understand any of what he read, but later figured, he had read out to me all the
passages from the Qur'an which speak about Jesus (a.s.), trying to show me that
Muslims too, respect him believe in him as a prophet. A lot of what the old man
said, could not (linguistically) understand, but he spoke with such tenderness
and kindness that it was sheer delight, just listening to him. Later in the evening
he told me not to go home to my hotel, but to stay with him, which although the
idea of sharing the bed with this old man estranged me a little, somewhat
reluctantly agreed to. n the morning again he served me a simple but delicious
breakfast, and then he told me something which, strangely enough, understood
every word of. He said that the dervishes were not a relic of the past, and that
they were present everywhere, only they were hidden, and would not be able to
see one, even if he stood right in front of me. They had a password, he said, and
if knew that, they would let me enter into their circle. asked him what the
password was, and he said, pronouncing it very slowly and distinctly: 'ash*hadu
an*la ilaha illa*llah wa ash*hadu anna muhammadan*rasula*llah! and he even
made me repeat it three times. asked him what it meant, but although he tried to
explain its meaning to me, could not understand him anymore. t was like a veil
had been lifted just to let this most important message through to me, and then it
was dropped again. My generous host and friend then wrote the password for me
on the back of a packet of cigarettes, he had bought for me, gave me a few liras
and sent me on my way. The next day my truck driver also turned up at the hotel
where was to meet him, and soon was well on my way to the East.
On the long journey through Turkey, started reading the books which had
traded-in in Konya, avoiding the big one, which thought would be better to read
in a more stationary situation. After a few days we reached the ranian border,
and the truck driver advised me to make my own way from there, since he
expected to be held up with the customs clearing longer than it would take me to
reach Teheran hitch-hiking. Teheran did not impress me a lot, it appeared to be
just another modern metropolis like London or Paris, and so just passed
4
through, heading east for Meshed and the Afghan border. n Meshed got my
visa for Afghanistan and before long was on my way to Kabul.
Afghanistan was quite a cultural shock for me not an unpleasant one though.,
the clock seemed to have been turned back some 500 years or so, everything
seemed to be so much more down-to-earth, and time itself appeared to move at
a very comfortable pace, no hectic haste anywhere. My antiques dealer in Konya
had told me that there was a city in Afghanistan by the name of Mazar-e-Sharif,
and that should make it a point to visit that place on my way to ndia. enquired
about it in Kabul, and was told that it was up in the north, a day's journey by bus,
and since was not in a particular hurry, made the trip. The first thing that
caught my attention after getting down from the bus were the white pigeons.
There were so many of them, and when started looking for gray ones, and
other birds altogether, couldn't find any, there were just white pigeons. figured
this had to be a very special place. There is a great saint buried there, and
people believe it is his miracle that all birds which come to this city are turned into
white pigeons God knows best. tried to visit the shrine, but was not allowed to
enter as non-muslim, and promised myself that would come back here one
day, and nobody would recognize me as non-muslim and stop me.
A short distance from Mazar-e-Sharif is the ancient city of Balkh which, besides
its historical sites is also famous for its hashish, of which used to be an
occasional user at that time, and so paid this old city a short visit too. Only later
on came to know that Balkh actually was the birth place of Mawlana Rumi, the
saint from Konya who had been yielding such a compelling influence on my
decisions during this journey of mine, and who was to overtake my destiny
altogether.
That evening after returning to my hotel room, finally decided to start reading
that enormous book had been given in Konya, and which had avoided all
along because of its size, the '(athnawi o# Mawlana Rumi. t was absolutely
amazing, the moment opened the book and started reading, he was right there.
A strong and vivid presence, which could feel so real and near, as if he were
sitting right in front of me. Although my eyes were reading the words, it was
actually he, speaking to me what was reading, like a personal message which
went straight to my heart. n this moment knew, if there was anything worthy of
being called truth, then this was it, there was no doubt! realized had found, or
rather had been given what had been searching for all along. have never
before or afterwards had an experience like this with a book, and after this
would not let go of this book and spent every free minute reading in it, devouring
its content like someone who had suffered two thousand years of starvation of
the mind.
After returning to Kabul there was nothing to keep me much longer in
Afghanistan, and soon crossed the Khyber Pass and reached Peshawar.
somehow had the notion that wanted to reach Bombay first of all places in
ndia, and this was only possible either by sea or by air, and since the latter was,
due to financial restraints out of the question, boarded a train to Karachi, where
5
hoped to get a ship. The train ride gave me a lot of time and ease to read in my
'(athnawi! and doing this, the length, discomfort and monotony of the journey
south did not bother me at all) While reading came across a passage, where the
author stated, that for the traveler on the path of reality, it would become
necessary at one point to acquire the help and guidance of a master, without
which further progress not only was not possible, but the danger of being waylaid
and misled became imminent. do not remember! nor did pay any attention,
where exactly the train was passing at this point, but have good reasons to
believe that it must have been somewhere half-way between Lahore and Multan
when silently turned to my Creator and said this prayer in my heart:
'O m$ +od! ,O- know o# this %lan o# mine to go to .ndia! which . consider the
best . e"er made) .# it is good #or me in ,O-/ 0ight! make me succeed in it! and
make me #ind a master to teach me) 1ut i# ,O- in ,O-/ Wisdom know! that it is
better #or me! that . should #ind a guide #rom among the (uslims to lead me on
the %ath o# realit$! then . am %re%ared to gi"e u% m$ own %lan and submit to what
,O- ha"e %lanned #or me.
Now this was really the turning point, the point where actually surrendered the
management of my life to HM, and by that inwardly became a Muslim,
because that is exactly what slam means: surrender. Of course slam cannot be
complete or take effect, if it is executed only inwardly, just as it is utterly in vain, if
it is practiced only outwardly. t is complete only when the outward is based on
the inward and the inward confirms the outward, or the other way around, which
is only a different, but just as valid approach, in order to provide an access for
people with a different mentality. n one case love leads to wisdom and
knowledge and in the other, knowledge leads to wisdom and love - and God
knows best.
When got down from the train in Karachi, a man came straight up to me, took
my bag and carried it to a taxi opened the door and took his seat behind the
steering wheel: "Where do you want to go? - "f knew that, wouldn't be sitting
in your taxi, thought to myself. told him needed to go to the shipping
company which operated the Karachi Bombay boat, and perhaps to the harbor.
He told me that would cost me 10 Rupees, and upon my remark that was going
to pay that much, even though thought he was trying to rip me off (which was
not justified at all, since had no idea how far the good man was going to drive
me), he said very seriously that he was not going to charge me anything if
thought that, which effectively dispelled all my distrust about his honesty. At the
shipping company was told that the next boat to Bombay was not due before
another two weeks, and the harbor seemed to be a restricted area, prohibited to
enter for anyone who could not convince the guards of having a justified reason
to be there, which of course 'looking for a passage to Bombay' was not.
"Where do you want to go now? was the inevitable next question of my taxi
driver, and when told him that neither knew that nor had enough money to go
to a hotel for two weeks, he pondered for a short while and then started driving.
After a while he stopped the cab, and asked me to follow him. We went into a
densely populated, poorly developed low-income-area somewhere alongside the
6
railway tracks, by-standing children staring at me like was a creature from
another world. After a short walk we reached a hut, where a man was baking
bread in a 'tandoor) The taxi driver spoke shortly with the baker and then told me
that could stay here until the departure of my ship to Bombay in two weeks'
time, apologizing that he was not able to accommodate me in his own house.
The baker did not know English at all, and so could not verbally communicate
with him, but the hospitality was given by this simple man was absolutely
remarkable. He gave me a bed and served me two meals every day for two
weeks, not once asking me a single question, or indicating in any way
whatsoever that he expected anything in return.
Taj, the taxi driver came by almost everyday, he also showed me a small shrine
nearby, which was like a peaceful, pretty little island in this chaotic metropolitan
ocean of concrete and exhaust fumes. There were flowers and trees with birds
singing in them, a horse, a few goats and some domestic fowl, and calm but
happy people, who did not seem to have anything other to do than just to be
there. An outward manifestation of the beauty and serenity of the soul of that
saintly person who once lived there and lies buried there. There was also a man
living there, who, was told, was a descendant of the former, he had noble
features and on his face and in his eyes noticed some sort of light. He was very
respected and sometimes he came out and sat there on the veranda on a prayer
mat, listening to people who came there to seek solace or counsel, sometimes
he would rise his hands to pray for someone.
During these days of waiting used to spend most of my time at that place, which
somehow attracted me very strongly, reading in my '(athnawi. On the wall over
the prayer rug, on which the caretaker of the shrine used to sit, there were two
Arabic calligraphies which attracted my attention in a very peculiar way, and
often caught myself looking at them, wondering what meaning lay hidden under
these artful pen strokes, and somehow had a strong intuition that the mystery of
the entire universe was encrypted here. Only much later realized how correct
and to the point my feelings had been: these two Arabic calligraphies actually
depicted the Divine Name 'Allah', the eternal source and destiny of all creation,
and the name of the Noble Prophet 'Muhammad' peace be upon him, its real
purpose and ultimate fulfillment. (There is a very famous tradition in which is
related that God addressed the Noble Prophet in words to the effect: "Had it not
been for you, would not have brought the creation into existence.)
After two relaxed weeks, Taj, my taxi driver took me again to the city where was
informed by the shipping company, that the boat to Bombay was due in two days.
Walking out of their office, a man in the street came straight up to me and asked
me whether was German. Somewhat surprised admitted it, and hearing that,
he insisted that went with him to his office close by. He was a Persian
businessman who had once worked and lived in Germany for some time, and he
was just curious why had come and what was doing here. Over a cup of tea,
told him about my journey and its prospective destination, and after listening
patiently, he said: "Look, if you really want to learn more about slam and also
learn Arabic, can take you to a place where you can stay and study it, free.
7
thought to myself.now?.two days before my ship is going to take me to
Bombay? t didn't really make any sense! But then, something deep inside me
reminded me of that promise had made myself in stanbul at the beginning of
my journey, that, if ever had a chance to learn Arabic, would do so. Well, this
was it, here someone actually offered me to arrange for me to learn Arabic free
of cost. was confronted with my own sincerity. How serious could take myself
and my quest altogether, if did not stick to a decision had made in a 'moment
of truth'? And what was it anyway that was stopping me - missing a boat which
goes every month? And what about the prayer had made, surrendering the
pursuit and realization of my plans to the higher wisdom of divine guidance? How
could be so sure, that the offer of this Persian businessman, was not part of the
divine guidance? f was not to face myself being a total hypocrite, there was
only one possible answer to all of these questions, my conscience was
bombarding me with: had to check it out, had to give this offer at least a fair
trial.
Soon the three of us were sitting in Taj's taxi, who followed the directions of the
businessman. After stopping at a few places, where the latter got out of the car to
make some inquiries, we finally stopped at an enormous mosque which had a
religious school (madrasah) attached to it. The businessman again got out, and
after a short while he returned with two bearded and turbaned men, and the
tidings that could study and stay here, and would even get a small stipend,
however there was one condition an administrative requirement: would have
to become a Muslim first. was not very thrilled at the prospect of this, and
thought that it was altogether not correct to make "becoming a Muslim a
condition for admitting me. f slam was so good it should be self-evident, and
one should be given a chance to come to that by one's own free decision, but
since it appeared to be quite futile to argue with the administration of the place,
did not insist on my point of view, and instead asked what it implied to become a
Muslim. One of the men who had come out with my Persian host explained, that
first of all had to pronounce the formula: ' ash*hadu an*la ilaha illa*llah wa
ash*hadu anna muhammadan*rasula*llah) That sounded familiar! t was the
'watchword of the dervishes' which had been given in Turkey, and, realizing
this, my 'icy' opposition to the whole idea started to thaw. At good last, was told
what the meaning of this "mysterious, powerful secret code was: the simple
affirmation of the oneness of God, and the genuineness of the prophethood of
the Noble Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him. The second thing, the
clergyman explained, had to offer a ritual prayer five times a day. Thirdly, had
to keep a day-time fast every day during the lunar month of ' ramadan. The fourth
obligation was to give a fortieth part of ones wealth in charity, and the fifth and
last requirement was to perform the pilgrimage to Makkah once in a lifetime,
these last two obligations being conditional to disposing over sufficient means.
t did not take these 'Five Pillars of slam' as they are called - much time to
pass the scrutiny of my conscience and intellect. The first and perhaps most
consequential one did not really pose much of a problem. The mysterious,
logically inconsistent and incomprehensible Christian concept of a tri-unite,
entirely good god, who sacrifices his only begotten son in order to appease his
8
wrath about the evil which his own human creation had wrought, had long ago
lost its credibility. could not conceive that God who had given me an intellect as
a faculty of discernment, would demand of me that believed in something which
was repulsive to this very intellect. had no doubt that there was only one God,
and the Prophet of slam, among whose followers my beloved and revered
Mawlana Rumi was proud to count himself, had to be a genuine prophet, no less
genuine than Moses, Jesus, Buddha or Lao Tse peace be upon all of them
and was not required to renounce those either, quite to the contrary slam
actually confirms them, some by name, some by implication. So by pronouncing
the slamic testimony of faith, would not betray any of what believed to be true!
To pray five times a day was a bit of a bother thought, but then, one could
probably get used to it. The fast was rather an incentive than a deterrent, had
kept more difficult fasts than the slamic fast before, since considered it to be a
spiritually beneficial practice anyway. The charity tax and the pilgrimage were not
acute at this point, and if my situation changed so that they would be, did not
think would have a problem observing these either, and so told them that
although did not consider it a pressing necessity for myself to become a Muslim
yet, if they did, was ready to go along.
We all went inside the compound and entered what appeared to be one of the
lecture rooms, which soon filled up with students and lecturers, who gathered
around us seating themselves on the floor. The apparent director of the school (if
remember correctly, his name was Mufti Wali Hasan) addressed the gathering
with a few words, and then made me repeat after him the slamic testimony of
faith like that der"ish in Mersin had done before, only now, was aware of its
meaning. Then he told me that should adopt a Muslim name now, and asked
me what my old name was. told him, it was "Harald, and one of the students
immediately suggested the name Haroon for me. The Mufti seemed to like this
suggestion, but he bestowed upon me the great honor, which, when think of it
now, often feel so unworthy of: preceding this suggested name Haroon, he
added the best name any man could have, Muhammad.
With this new name, Muhammad Haroon, the mufti quasi conferred upon me a
new identity, telling me, that all the sins and misdeeds had committed in my life
before this auspicious moment were completely forgiven, and that this was a new
beginning for me with clean slates. do not think was at that time (or perhaps
ever) able to fully grasp the magnitude of God's Generosity and Kindness
unfolding in this event, nor the implications thereof, being admitted into the
community of the followers of the Noble Prophet (blessings and peace be upon
him), being - potentially - the best community that ever walked the earth,
representing the pinnacle of man's spiritual evolution. This statement must not be
misunderstood, slam does not have a "savioristic doctrine like the Pauline
version of Christianity, and unless the individual Muslim strives to realize this
given potential by a correct life transaction (i.e. fulfilling the rights, his/her creator,
fellow creatures and own self have over him/her), it will not avail him or her
anything at all.
9
After this short ceremony everyone present embraced me to welcome me into
the new fold, and the joy and sincerity by which these people accepted me, a
total stranger, as a brother, was quite moving. bade farewell from the ranian
businessman and Taj, the taxi driver, and started to live in the new place.
This was quite a change! was supposed to transform from a carefree wandering
'troubadour' into a disciplined student of theology, a transformation which
perhaps never completely realized, but in as far as it progressed, must admit
that the five times daily prayers, which, in my ignorance, had held in so little
esteem, proved to be a formidable help.
was at first put up in a room with the only two other western converts, Abd ul
Karim, an African-American brother, and Yousuf Talal, a white American, both
senior students, who already had acquired a considerable amount of scholarship,
and who were quite helpful, seeing me through the initial phases of adjustment to
the new environment. The administration thus made all-out efforts to make my
stay as comfortable as possible, as well by having me take my meals in the
foreigners' mess. These were all well-meant arrangements, which however
soon declined to utilize, and instead asked to be allowed to live and eat with the
local students, which was, with some astonishment though, granted, and it did
not diminish my comfort in the least, quite to the contrary. The academic aspect
of my adjustment was a bit more difficult. Due to understandable restraints on
part of the administration, who of course were not able to set up a special study
program for me, put me in traditional Qur'an-reading class, where was to get
acquainted with the Arabic script in order to be able to read the Holy Book. There
was quite a number and variety of mostly non-resident students, mainly young
boys and girls between 4 and 12 years of age to whom the addition to their ranks
of a 27 year old 'ghora or angrez, as they referred to me when talking amongst
themselves, was quite a curiosity. This probably applied as well to the teacher,
who, except for the disciplinary use of his cane, nevertheless applied the same
method of instruction to me as he did to the rest of his pupils.
n this manner it took me about three or four weeks to complete the qaidah (a
small booklet, traditionally used to teach the Arabic alphabet to children), and
started to have serious doubts whether had made the right decision to get
myself into this situation. Although had learned by this time to slowly read words
in this new script, sort of despaired at the thought of how long it would take me
to actually learn the language, if continued at this pace and in this fashion.
So, one day decided to find out when the next boat to Bombay was available.
The people at the shipping company informed me that there was no service until
after one month, except for a ship, which was sailing that very day, but there
were only two hours until its scheduled departure. thought this was my good
chance, and rushed back to the madrasah to pack a few necessities. Having
done so, painstakingly avoided to be seen leaving by anyone and sneaked out.
At the port was told that needed a leaving permit from the police department,
and there was informed that the same could only be issued if handed in my
registration papers. Those were with the administration of the madrasah. When
reached there, it was shortly before the noon prayers, and the office was closed.
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n addition to the agony that the passing of every minute caused me, was very
concerned that the people in the office would ask me a lot of questions, which to
answer and to explain neither the time, nor the guts, and although hated
myself for it, decided to tell them needed my registration papers for some work
at my consulate. The person dealing with these matters was somewhat
astonished, but he nevertheless gave me the papers. rushed back to the police
station, and the officer there said that the ship must have left by now. quipped:
"You are not supposed to be here anymore, but you still are, if God wills the boat
will still be here. He smiled and gave me my leaving permit, but when finally
reached the docks, it turned out that God had not willed, the boat had sailed half
an hour ago.
Even though it was disappointing, because had fixed my mind on the idea that,
since the departure of the vessel had coincided with the day on which enquired
about it, my decision to leave was correct, felt also some relief, because if that
cowardly lie had made up to make good my escape, would have been part of
the basis upon which my further endeavors were founded, did not feel right. just
had to put up with my present plight for another month.
n order to escape the somewhat uneventful and dry routine at the madrasah,
would sometimes go to the small shrine, where had found so much solace
during my first two weeks in Karachi, otherwise kept to my earlier practice of
reading a lot in my (athnawi)
Once, a young man, who did not look like one of the students at all, approached
me, and asked me in English whether was interested in Sufism, since he had
observed me reading in that book quite frequently. Upon my affirmative reply, he
asked me whether had actually ever met a Sufi master or %ir, as they are called
here, and on my denial, he asked me whether would like to meet one. Of course
did want to, and so he promised to make arrangements for such a meeting.
This young man, Yusuf Kakakhel, was a student of engineering at the university,
but he lived in the madrasah with his brother, one of the senior lecturers. One
Saturday he took me to a lavishly furnished office in one of the business centers
in the city, where he introduced me to one of the directors of that company, who
was a disciple of the pir, we were going to visit. The businessman, Mr. Haroon
Jaffer, kindly made a chauffeur-driven, air-conditioned car for us available to take
us to our destination, which was also an institution of religious studies, like the
madrasah where we had come from, some distance outside the city. We had to
wait for a short while before the man, we had come to see, entered the room. He
was a man of big stature, dressed very simply in a long white shirt and a lungi,
and although his complexion was not of particularly fair color, there was a lot of
light on it. He welcomed me in flawless English, and then listened patiently to my
story. At the end, he said he would try to help me, and asked me to see him
again in a week's time, during which was advised to recite frequently
benedictions upon the Noble Prophet.
A week later, my friend Yusuf again took me to my appointment, this time the
venue had changed, we went to a mosque in the center of the city, where quite a
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number of people had gathered, sitting on the floor around spread-out linen
sheets, in the center of which a large amount of date pits and other seeds were
lying, which they picked up in handfuls to drop them one by one onto heaps in
front of them, while silently reciting something. After all the seeds from the center
had disappeared into the heaps in font of each person, Mawlana Tufail, made a
supplication, and then addressed the gathering, this time of course he spoke in
Urdu, and did not catch a single meaning of what he was saying. After that the
congregation stood up for the night prayers, which concluded the gathering.
expressed my disappointment about having been invited to come here, and then
not been given any attention to my companion, but he told me that got it all
wrong, and that the Mawlana's discourse actually had been revolving mainly
around my case. Giving me a summary of the discourse, Yusuf told me that
Mawlana Tufail had talked about the different Sufi orders and explained that
these, while adopting different methods of training, had all but one aim, to realize
and perfect the spiritual potential in man. The variety of the different silsilahs, as
they are called here, was only a means of providing a suitable approach for the
vast variety of human nature, and in this context, the Mawlana who himself
belonged to the 2aqshbandiah order, had mentioned that he could, and, if
insisted, would impart spiritual training to me, but that, according to my nature,
would be better off, entering the hishti$ah order, and he also mentioned that
there was a master of that order by the name of Shahidullah Faridi living in
Karachi, whose address however was not known to him. One of Mawlana Tufail's
disciples however remembered that he knew one of Hadrat Shahidullah Faridi's
disciples through some business connection, and so the search for this Sufi
0ha$kh in a monster of a city like Karachi did not seem so hopeless anymore.
The following weekend my friend Yusuf again went with me to the city to seek out
Mr. Saleem Tariq, the man who was supposed to become my contact to the
hishti$ah 0ha$kh) After finally finding the office of the insurance company for
which he worked, we were told that he was on leave. The following week we
repeated this exercise with the same result, he was still not back. Not having
learned yet the virtue of patience, and besides that, the time for the departure of
the ship to Bombay, which was still spooking in my head, coming awfully near,
told my companion during our third attempt on the following Saturday, that, if we
were again unsuccessful this time, would give up my search and leave. He was
very upset and tried to change my mind, telling me stories about the great
rewards some people had gained by persevering, but was rather determined,
thinking, that if it had taken me three weeks just to make contact with a disciple
of the 0ha$kh, how long would it take to reach him?
Allah never tries us beyond our powers of endurance, and although our man was
not in the office, where we had gone to meet him, we were told that he was back
from his leave now, and that we could find him in another office. Reaching there,
we still did not find him, but we were informed that he was expected within half
an hour, which was little after all the time and effort we had spent in the past
three weeks. As promised Mr. Saleem Tariq finally turned up, and listening with
great interest to the account of my odyssey, he decided to give a call to his %ir
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immediately, who in turn, quite contrary to my apprehensions, ordered him to
take me to him at once.
f one has expectations of something that one does not know from a previous
experience, one always forms some conjecture in one's mind as to how it will be,
and while we were waiting for Hadrat Shahidullah in the lounge of his house, my
fantasy painted a picture of 'My Master'. Having come from the West in search of
a guide, of course imagined him to be from among the people of this part of the
world. Then, expected him to appear in some sort of princely attire, adorned by
costly ornaments. And lastly would he inspire such awe that could not dare to
look him straight into the eyes.
My surprise, when he entered the room came close to consternation. There was
an over six feet tall man of obviously European origin, dressed in a simple plain
white collarless shirt and a pair of white pajamas, not even a ring on his fingers,
and above all, a loving, welcoming smile on his noble face.
"Just look at him, the devil almost audibly whispered into my mind, bombarding
me with the seed of doubt, "how can he qualify to be $our master? never
figured out whether it was the presence of the Shaykh himself, or the soul of my
first spiritual guardian, Mawlana Rumi, which fortified my heart against this
onslaught of satanic impertinence. suddenly remembered, having read in the
(athnawi that Allah sometimes tests a seeker of the truth by allowing him to fall
prey to an imposter, but if the former remained steadfast and sincere to his
quest, God would deliver him from that false mentor, and never put him through
the same test again. This very thing had already happened to me in Turkey
during my first sojourn there, and thus was inspired with the certainty that the
man in front of me had to be a genuine man of God, into whose spiritual care
could entrust myself, without any danger of losing my soul, or harming it in the
least.
The first words he spoke to me smilingly were something to the effect: So, finally
you have come, we were expecting you earlier. And to my surprised question,
how he had known of my coming, he just casually replied that someone had told
him about it. Then, after listening to some of my narrative, he told me that he was
ready to accept me as a disciple and to teach me, however that had to stay in
Karachi for that purpose, and should forget about traveling, dealing a final and
fatal blow to the 'spook of the boat to Bombay' that, although had not mentioned
any of it to him, had until shortly before my meeting with him still been lingering in
my mind. replied that since had reached the goal and destination of my travels
now, there was no need to go any further, and sincerely meant that. He once
more confirmed his willingness to accept me as a murid, but told me to think
about it myself once more before made the commitment of obeying and
following him unquestionably, and then to come back the following Thursday, on
which day he had a weekly gathering in his house, after which he usually
accepted new members into the order if there were any. had no more doubts in
my heart, but he still insisted that should think it over once more.
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The following Thursday Mr. Saleem Tariq came to the madrasah to pick me up,
but he came two hours earlier than we had fixed, and was just having a shower,
slowly getting ready for what was to become the most consequential event of my
life. He told me to hurry up, the 0ha$kh had especially called and told him to
bring me there well before the gathering. The reason, why he had diverted from
his usual practice, i.e. to initiate me into the order before the gathering instead of
after it, only realized later. That day was the auspicious day of the miraj 3 the
famous night journey and ascension to the Divine Presence of the Noble Prophet
Allah's Blessings and peace be upon him and after the gathering, which
always started with the sunset prayers, the date of the slamic calendar would
have changed, and the 0ha$kh wanted me to have the blessings of that day for
my initiation.
When we reached the house of Hadrat Shahidullah, was taken to the room of
the master who was sitting on a prayer rug on the floor, with a calm air of serenity
on his noble countenance. Seated next to him was another senior member of the
order, who was present as a witness to the simple ritual, called ba$ah or ahd,
(denoting an oath of allegiance) which was to take place. The master explained
to me the implications thereof, and then asked me to sit before him in a kneeling
position, which he also had assumed, my knees touching his. He then took my
hands in between his and recited the words of the oath, which repeated after
him sentence by sentence. After this, he raised his hands and made a prayer,
asking God's Blessings and Protection for me on this path had chosen to tread.
His prayers, attention and loving care have ever since stayed with me as an
inexhaustible source of strength and support in every situation, particularly in
difficult ones and in moments of weakness, doubt and temptation, and his
physical departure from this world in 1978, did not change this blessing in aught.
do not find words to even come close to portray the magnitude of blessings and
benefits temporal and spiritual that derived from my association with this
wali of Allah may God sanctify his secret, raise his station and grant him ever-
increasing nearness to HMSELF!
Epilogue
did not write this account of my experiences as some sort of memoirs, but
mainly for three reasons:
Firstly, in 0urah 4uha of the Qur'an, which literally touches so many aspects of
my life, Allah says: #a amma binimati rabbika #ahaddith 3 and as to the favors of
your Lord, relate them!
Secondly, have come across a number of dangerous misconceptions about the
spiritual aspects of slam and the working of the saints or Awli$a Allah! as they
are referred to in slamic literature, which have, by my very own living
experience, been de facto refuted. These wrong ideas are in vogue mainly
among certain circles who like to consider themselves "progressive Muslims,
whereas the fact of the matter is that their minds are infested with materialistic
thought, and their hearts are paralyzed by arrogance.
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Thirdly, have over and again been asked by my Muslim brothers and sisters
how my conversion came about, and was deeply rewarded by the interest,
enthusiasm and joy they expressed about it, whereas Christians, and in particular
people from the west hardly ever ask. They think it is really weird and cannot
conceive that there could possibly be any valid reason at all for someone to act
this way.
Great changes in the lives of people usually have their effects not only on the
person who undergoes the change, but also on his or her social environment, i.e.
the people whose lives are directly or indirectly linked to that person. One very
conspicuous trait of human nature is, its fixation to the status quo. Therefore, the
people who are affected by somebody else's change usually are uneasy about it
and oppose it - unless it brings them some obvious gain or benefit - because it
means they have to adapt themselves to a new, unknown situation. They have to
watch out, they might have to change their approach and attitude to that person,
which might imply changing old habits (one of the most mortifying measures).
This discomfort and opposition can even turn into enmity, when that change is in
direct conflict with what they hold dear and cherish, or what had always been an
unquestioned standard or truth, and they are absolutely unwilling, perhaps even
incapable of considering a possible justification for the change their acquaintance
or relative has made.
n the glorious Qur'an, there is frequent mention of people who were admonished
by their respective prophets to amend their wrong social behavior or religious
practices. The response of these people was invariably rejection of the
admonition, because as they said, their ancestors had been doing the same
things, and therefore there couldn't be anything wrong with it. This is the great
pitfall of habit and even tradition; at one point it takes over and asserts itself as
an unquestionable truism in the mind. f it is a truly good habit or a virtuous
tradition, it can be a formidable traveling companion on the journey of life, but if
there is any impurity in it, it can bring its adherent to fall.
The touchstone for what is good and what is not is uncompromising sincerity
towards oneself, because God has given everyone of us a conscience that would
never fail us, unless we constantly violate it, and even in that case, it is not our
conscience that fails us, but it is our faculty of perception that we have
incapacitated.
f look back, it was not really a conversion in the sense of a change in belief, it
was rather a transformation, much like the one a caterpillar undergoes when it
turns into a butterfly, which is actually a process of leaving the imperfections and
limitations of a particular state of being behind, to move on to a state of
perfection. The same principle really, that applied to the divine message itself,
when it was presented in its final, the '(uhammadan version, which God
HMSELF certified by revealing: "This day have perfected for you your
religion. This does not mean that God's Message to man was at any time
imperfect in any way HE is far beyond the possibility of imperfection in HS
Being and in HS Acts! only the various subsequent presentation forms of HS
Message, which were entrusted to man from time to time at the hands of a chain
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prophets, suffered alterations and other effects of corruption that time inevitably
brings with itself, while in the custody of man. We can hardly fathom how
fortunate we are, that this latest and final edition which the Noble Prophet
Muhammad Allah's Blessings and peace be upon him was entrusted with,
and which he truthfully delivered in its full splendor, has got the promise of God's
Protection from all corruption and decay until the end of time.
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