Although there was Sufi influence in his own family, Hazrat Inayat Khan here begins to describe several events during his tour of India that opened the way to his Sufi path. The previous post in the series is here.
Well-makers lead the water; archers bend the bow; carpenters hew a log of wood; wise people fashion themselves.
– Dhammapada
At Ajmer I visited the tomb of Khwaja Muinuddin Chishti, the most celebrated Sufi saint of India. The atmosphere of his last resting-place was in itself a phenomenon; a sense of calm and peace pervaded it, and among all that throng of pilgrims I yet felt as if I were the only one present. At nightfall I went home and said Tahajud, the midnight prayer.
And lo! at the end of my prayers there came to me a voice, as though in answer to my invocations. It was the voice of a faqir calling the people to prayer before sunrise, and he sang, ‘Awake, O man, from thy fast sleep! Thou knowest not that death watcheth thee every moment. Thou canst not imagine how great a load thou hast gathered to carry on thy shoulders, and how long the journey yet is for thee to accomplish. Up! up! The night is passed and the sun will soon arise!’
The unearthly quiet of the hour and the solemnity of the song moved me to tears. Sitting on my rug with my rosary in my hand, I reflected that all the proficiency and reputation which I had achieved were utterly profitless in regard to my Najat or salvation. I recognized that the world was neither a stage set up for our amusement nor a bazaar to satisfy our vanity and hunger, but a school wherein to learn a hard lesson. I then chose quite a different path to that which I had followed until then; in other words I turned over a new page in my life.
The morning broke and the birds began their hymn of praise to God. I heard men and women pass by below, some going to the mosque, others to the temples, and the general masses to the toil that yields their daily bread. Then I too fared forth and, lost in thought, not knowing my destination, made my way towards the jungle, with an inner yearning to be apart from the world and give an outlet to the thoughts and emotions with which my mind was so occupied.
Thus I arrived at a cemetery where a group of dervishes sat on the green grass, chattering together. They were all poorly clad, some without shoes and others without coats; one had a shirt with only one sleeve and another lacked them both. One wore a robe with a thousand patches and the next a hat without a crown. This strange group attracted my attention and I sat there for some time, noticing all that was going on, yet feigning to be utterly indifferent.
Presently their Pir-o-Murshid or Master came towards them, even more scantily dressed than they, and with a group of dervishes circling round him as he approached. Two of the latter led the odd procession, and with each step they cried out loudly, ‘Hosh bar dam, nazar bar qadam, khalwat dar anjuman!’ – Be conscious of your breath and watch every step you take, and thus experience solitude in the crowd!
When the Murshid arrived at the assembly of his disciples each one greeted the other, saying, Ishq Allah Mabud Allah! – God is love and God is the Beloved! It was this very greeting which later unveiled for me the Bible words that God is love, and also the verse of the Arabian poet Abul Ala, who says,
Church, a Temple, or a Kaba stone,
Quran or Bible, or a martyr’s bone,
All these and more my heart can tolerate
Since my religion is of love alone.
The solemnity of the sacred words they uttered found their echo in my soul, thereupon I watched their ceremonial with still greater attention. Naturally at first sight their dire poverty was puzzling, but then I had learned before I saw them how the holy Prophet had always prayed to Allah to sustain him in his life among the miskīn or dervishes, who voluntarily choose this humble way of living. The queer patches on their garments reminded me of the words of Hafiz, ‘Do not befool thyself by short sleeves full of patches, for most powerful arms are hidden under them.’
To be continued…