the 10th of zil haj

Road Prince

 

قَالَ رَسُولُ اللَّهِ صَلَّى اللَّهُ عَلَيْهِ وَسَلَّمَ

الْمُؤْمِنُ آلِفٌ مَأْلُوفٌ وَلا خَيْرَ فِيمَنْ لا يَأْلَفُ وَلا يُؤْلَفُ ، خَيْرُ النَّاسِ أَنْفَعُهُمْ لِلنَّاسِ

 

The Prophet of God (peace be upon him) said,

 

"The Mo’min is the one who loves and is loved.

And there is no goodness for the one who does not give love and receive love.

The best amongst people is the one who gives others benefit.

 

Recently life made me ponder the state of sadness and its relation with the ego. All of us experience sadness, then some of us become parked in that state, sometimes not even knowing it. Superficially we appear angry or numb, but over time it just turns into a deep selfishness that permeates the entire being, inward and outward. The curse of that selfishness manifests as a deprivation of ehsaas, sensitivity towards the state of another.

 

Then by the Mercy of God, enters affection or love or just compassion. For everyone. But can anyone really reduce another’s sadness, lessen selfishness? I used to think no, that the state has to exited by each one of us but I had forgotten.

 

Nothing happens without a waseela, a source. It is sent. Ability is granted. Answering the call of love is a shortcut for sure. But sometimes even love emanates from the ego instead of the heart. It is transient, it dissipates, it needs reciprocity to survive. And the proof is in the pudding!

 

Ghaus Pak (ra) says in the Tafseer e Jilani: The heart in which lies the seed of love, the fruit of that love is a witnessing; mushahida.

 

Everything difficult, traumatic that we go through, leaves a scar upon our heart even when we bury it, ignore it. The upside of the experience though is undeniable, the gift of resilience granted to us. We can survive pretty much anything. But ultimately the pain has to be shed otherwise we retreat, becoming invisible as it veils the heart, hardening it, making it seemingly impossible to pierce.

 

But then not all of us are like that.

 

A couple of weeks ago I saw a homeless man in a park, Bagh e Jinnah. My favourite hang now since I worked there to make the tables and definitely this fall when the weather will turn gorgeous and I will play there every single day. The cherry though was not the beauty of the green, the ancient trees, the variety of flora or the immaculate workmanship of hundreds of gardeners. It was the shrine of Hazrat Pir Sakhi Turat Murad Shah (ra). I couldn’t stop going there almost every single day after the first time.

 

One afternoon after my game I walked over to him.

 

“Salam,” I said sitting down on the steel bench opposite where he was lying down. “I see you sitting here all the time. I wondered if you need anything.”

 

He looked up at me and the first thing I noticed was the sweetness of his face. His tan was an olive complexion. His hair was short, light. It always covered with a baseball cap.

 

“No,” he said gently, sitting up. “I’m fine.”

 

“So what about the box?” I asked casually. “How come you bring that with you every day?”

 

I knew I was being intrusive. But it wasn’t out of curiosity. I actually wanted to know if he needed anything.

 

“My things are in it,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world to carry your belongings around everywhere.

 

As I left I turned around and asked, “What’s your name?”

 

He hesitated for a second, then said, “Shaan.”

 

I smiled.

 

“Like the actor.”

 

He smiled back.

 

On another day I asked him again if he needed anything. He said no but when I insisted, he pointed at his sandals. One of them was broken. I bought him a new pair and a few t-shirts and short-sleeved button down shirts. He didn’t ask for any of it.

 

“Here!” I said, sitting down placing the bags next to him. “I hope you like them.”

 

He took each bag carefully, then opened the plastic covers that wrapped each item so slowly, I couldn’t help but notice the delicacy of his nature. He was nafees.

 

“They’re beautiful,” he said happily. “You have good taste. I saw your shirts that you play in. They’re nice.”

 

I thanked my lucky stars I had chosen everything for him myself.

 

When he tried the shoes though they were still too big. “I’m so sorry. I did tell my driver that they looked big. He isn’t getting the size right.”

 

Shaan glanced over at my feet. I was wearing my Bata sandals.

 

“That looks about right,” he said. “Let me try them.”

 

My nafs jumped. I’m a huge germophobe, the fear of dirt, on my feet specifically. bordering on OCD. I never ever walk around barefoot, except sometimes on grass and sand.

 

“Ummm,” my head thought until thankfully my heart kicked it in the head.

 

“Stop being disgusting and let him try the shoe.”

 

“Oh yes, of course,” I jumped up placing my shoe near his foot. He slipped it on and beamed.

 

“It’s a perfect fit.”

 

“I’ll have him change the shoe,” I said smiling back.

 

It was my driver, Usman, who informed me that Shaan was a woman. One day I sent a cooler for him with water and ice so he could keep it next to him when he called me.

 

“She isn’t here. I asked the guards and they said they haven’t seen her today. Should I wait or come back?”

 

“Come back,” I said ignoring the gender revelation.

 

Later when I was in the car I said, “So he’s a girl.”

 

“Ji,” he replied in the affirmative.

 

“Well, since he’s referring to himself as a male, let’s just do that,” I said.

 

“Okay,” he replied.

 

That was the beauty of a 2o some year old for a driver.

 

Everything about an individual related to gender identity and sexuality was cool, accepted with warmth by his generation, regardless of socio-economic background. It was ingrained through social media no doubt, which I believe is poison, but then I guess everything has its upside. My decades old driver, Sadulah, would have been freaking out for sure and driven me mad.

 

Another day or so later, again on my way back from the shrine, I went over to see Shaan.

 

“Salam,” I said, asking how he was, then ventured, “I was wondering Shaan, where do you live?”

 

“In the park,” he answered as if he was giving me an address in the city.

 

“But the park closes at 9.”

 

“Not this park,” he said. “The one in Shadman.”

 

I knew which park he was talking about. It was a grassy spot surrounded by markets on all sides.

 

“And bathrooms?” My curiosity started kicking in.

 

“I used to go to the Mosque but they said I can’t come unless I wear Shalwar Kamiz. I don’t have one.”

 

“Oh,” I thought. I wondered if they had figured out that he was a woman. Women don’t go to Mosques in Pakistan for some reason.

 

“So I just wash myself where there is a tap with my clothes on.”

 

“I was thinking,” I said gently. “It’s not the safest thing, living in a park I mean. Why don’t you find a place to live and I can pay for it.”

 

“If you could get me a job…” Shaan said instead.

 

I shook my head.

 

“I’m leaving the country next week for a month or so. I don’t know many people but I will try for sure. In the meantime, how about you find a place in the next couple of days. Is that possible?”

 

“Well,” he said, “I can share with someone and...”

 

“No, no,” I cut him off. “No sharing.”

 

I knew drivers and laborers who came into the cities from the villages, shared rooms, sometimes four people to a space, if not more. How would a woman live with them? Sounded like a nightmare.

 

“How old are you Shaan?” I asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

 

I don’t know why my manners finally kicked in.

 

“47,” he replied.

 

“What?” my jaw dropped. “You look like you’re 22.”

 

Later when I told my friends the story they said I look young too.

 

“Yeah,” I said rolling my eyes, “But I’m not living in a park. If I was I would be looking 65.”

 

“That’s true,” they all conceded.

 

That evening a friend of mine, Hiba, called to tell me she had some money she wanted to give to an orphanage and could I send it over to them. I started telling her about Shaan. Did she want to give any money towards settling him into an apartment?

 

She turned around and told me she had a workshop in the city where there was a room that could be fixed up for Shaan and he could live there. Her carpenters worked in the space from 9 till 6 and the rest of the time, the house was empty. A family lived in the back to take care of it. Shaan was welcome to live there she said.

 

“Super!” I said. “Can I bring him over soon?”

 

“Sure,” she said, “let’s go together tomorrow.”

 

The next day I went to see Shaan and suggested the idea, wondering if he would he be open to it. I was terrified he might become paranoid and disappear.

 

“She might even have a job for you,” I offered never having spoken so softly to anyone in my life. That’s the beauty of people who exude tenderness. They make you gentle with them. Suhbat! The number one factor that shapes and changes a human being at any age; company!

 

“Ok,” he said. “When?”

 

“Tomorrow,” I beamed. “She will come with me so we can go together.”

 

At 11am the following morning, I went to the park to pick up Shaan. I saw him walking towards me, drenched in sweat.

 

“Can I change my clothes before we go?” he asked.

 

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I said. “We’re late and you’re fine.”

 

“No,” he insisted. “It will only take a minute.”

 

He turned around and walked to back to the pergola where his stuff was. He pulled off one of his tshirts, he was wearing two, and put on one of the new shirts. Then he wrapped what seemed like a sheet around his waist and changed his trousers. He fixed his hair and walked towards me looking fresh.

 

I smiled at him and we got into the car. At the gate of the park we met my friend and we set off to her workshop. My friend started asking Shaan questions about himself. Of course it started with the question every employer-to-be has.

 

“Do you have an ID card?” she asked warily.

 

“No,” Shaan answered. “I used to have one. Then it expired and I haven’t renewed it yet. But I will do that.”

 

“My driver can help you in terms of taking you to an office.” I offered. “It should be pretty straightforward.”

 

“And do you have a CV?” my friend asked.

 

“I made one,” Shaan said turning around to look at us from the front seat. “I have worked in boutiques, factories, shops. I used to teach in a school at one time. I’ve done many jobs. I can even fix electrical things,” he said smilingly.

 

“Cool,” I piped in.

 

“I’m also an artist. I like to write stories and poetry. I like drawing. I like many things,” he said.

 

“Wow! You seem to have done it all,” Hiba remarked. “Well this job will most likely be admin. Mostly coordination between my different projects. Ensuring deliveries are happening on time, checking the merchandise etc.”

 

“Like a foreman,” Shaan suggested.

 

“Yes, exactly like a foreman.” Then she asked, “Can I ask where all you have you have lived?”

 

“Many places, many parks.” he said, looking out the window.

“I’m a road prince.”

 

“Road prince!” I echoed from the back. “I like that title. I sometimes write stories too. I think I might write a story about you and call it that,” I said, waiting for him to react.

 

I could see him in the rear view mirror. He was still smiling.

 

The house was in Johar Town. Almost all the rooms were being used by the carpenters but on the second floor we found a room that was empty. It had a bathroom with it. The room was spacious with a large window. It needed to be cleaned.

 

“Let’s go sit in my office,” Hiba suggested.

 

While sitting there I suggested that Shaan go and buy whatever he needed from the market for himself. Hiba handed him a blank piece of paper.

 

“Here, you can make a list,” I gave him a pen.

 

He took the paper and placed it sideways. Next to him was a piece of wood about the size of a ruler. He took it and using the pen, started drawing horizontal lines on the page. I smiled and wondered what his zodiac was. His approach to everything was so detailed.

 

I gave him some money to buy the items and anything else that occurred to him and to use the rest to purchase food since the kitchen was not yet functional. There was a small stove connected to a cylinder which the carpenters used to make tea.

 

After leaving him, on the way home I told Usman how I liked his title for himself. “It’s cool.”

 

He told me Road Prince was the name of a model of a motor cycle.

 

When I had called him later in the evening to make sure he was settling in alright, he said to me excitedly. “I have all the receipts and I wrote down everything I got for you to see. I also got a shirt and pants. That will be my uniform for work which I will wear every day.”

 

“Nice,” I smiled thinking, who does that.

 

The next day, the first for Shaan in his new space, I went to see him. He wasn’t interacting with the rest of the workers in the house. They were trying to be friendly but he stayed in his room mostly. The job was going to start in a week or ten days because Eid was around the corner and everything would be closed. Till then he had nothing to do.

 

We sat in the office and talked. I asked him how he spent the morning.

 

“I wrote in my diary,” he said. “I like to write in it every day. Would you like to see it?”

 

“Sure,” I replied enthusiastically. “I would love to see it.”

 

I couldn’t really understand what he had written. It was in English but the sentence construction wasn’t making sense to me. There were several entries with varying dates even though he had written them all that same day. One line was on almost every page. “I like ice-cream.” I immediately called Usman and told him to bring some along with some food.

 

Shaan wasn’t going downstairs so he wasn’t eating anything except buns he had bought from a bakery the day before. I told him the staff would get him anything he wanted. All he had to do was tell them what. He nodded and I wondered if it was actually going to happen.

 

It was the first page of the diary that caught my attention.

On it he had written Name, Father’s name, Mother’s name and then filled them out. Everyone’s last name was Shaan. For Address he had written Shadman. Below that was “Date of birth” and “ID card number.” Those were blank. It was like a form. Everything about him was so particular. He reminded me of myself. Later he told me he was born in late November.

 

“I’m Sagittarius,” he said.

 

When I asked him about the people he used to hang out with in the park, he didn’t say much.

 

To my question, “What were they like?” he answered, “If you spend time with someone, it’s not nice to say anything bad about them.”

 

Wow, I thought. I felt like I was seeing someone who was the personification of a daily tasbeeh I read myself and also taught my niece. “Allah u Rabbi.” “My Lord is The One who raises me by His Lutf, Kindness and His Fazal, Bounty.” For Shaan at least one consequence of that raising seemed to be a bestowing of excellence in manners.

 

I could see he was tired. I asked him if he slept well. “It’s a new place so you know…” he said looking down, his eyes turning sad. “And if you think of something bad before you sleep, then sometimes it comes into your dream.”

 

To just that comment, I had a thousand questions but I kept my mouth shut. I racked my brain for something that might make him laugh. But since I didn’t know him, I couldn’t think of anything. I tried just being friendly.

 

“Yesterday I noticed the way you made your list of things you were going to get. Using the wood to line the page,” I said smiling.

 

“Yes,” he said looking up at me. “I like to write on paper that has lines.”

 

He had written down exactly seven items on it; a pail with a bowl for it, soap, a towel, a bed-sheet, shampoo and powder.

I sat with Shaan while he ate, then I left. When I got home I started feeling bad that he might be feeling lonely. I called Qari Sahib to ask him what to do.

 

“It’s just an adjustment for him right now. The first few days are hard. Then they become better. It’s like that for anyone who lives alone for the first time.”

 

“But the room isn’t great Qari Sahib,” I said. “It’s a big size but it needs stuff so it’s cozy. There’s nothing in it.”

 

“No one’s first room is great,” my teacher responded clearly remembering his own.

 

The problem was I was thinking of a story Qari Sahib had told us recently in class:

 

One day a man came to see Hazrat Shah Suleman Taunsvi (ra). He asked him about Tauheed, the One-ness of Allah.

 

“Teach me what it means,” he requested.

 

The Saint replied, “Tauheed is thinking of Allah better than you think of yourself. Or at least treating him as you treat yourself.”

 

The man was flabbergasted.

 

“What are you saying to me? I had no idea you would say something so inappropriate as a scholar and someone so highly regarded in spirituality. How can I think of Allah in any way related to my base self. This is shirk. You are misguiding people,” he ranted.

 

Hazrat Shah Suleman Taunsvi (ra) calmly replied, “This is what I know of Tauheed and so I have told you it. If you can find a better answer elsewhere, seek it.”

 

The man wanted to leave but night had already appeared so he decided to stay till the morning. Hazrat Shah Suleman Taunsvi (ra) told his disciples to give him dinner but with a special instruction.

 

“Send him some fresh food and bread and some that is old.”

 

As the man began to eat, a sa’il, one in need, made a plea in the street.

 

“Will anyone give me anything in the Name of Allah?”

 

The man heard the voice and looked at his tray. Then he decided to keep the fresh food for himself and send the old one to the hungry person. Soon after he fell asleep.

 

The next morning, before leaving, he came to Hazrat Shah Suleman Taunsvi (ra) to say goodbye. He asked him again, “So did you understand anything about Tauheed from our previous conversation?”

 

The man reiterated his disappointment.

 

The Saint then said, “O friend! Listen to me. I told you this; Think of Allah more than you think of yourself or treat Him at the least, as you treat yourself. Yesterday night you had before you fresh food as well as food that was old. When the needy person asked for something for the Sake of Allah, you kept the good food for yourself and sent the old food for him.

Since sadqa goes into the Hands of Allah, you kept what was better and sent what was worse to Him. You couldn’t treat Allah better than yourself by giving the man all the fresh food and you couldn’t even treat him as you treat yourself (by giving him some of it).”

 

It was true; understanding the essence of faith, of God, who for so many was entirely elusive, always only comes as a result of another human being.

 

Then Qari Sahib had quoted a verse from the Quran;

 

يَا أَيُّهَا الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا أَنفِقُوا مِن طَيِّبَاتِ مَا كَسَبْتُمْ

وَمِمَّا أَخْرَجْنَا لَكُم مِّنَ الْأَرْضِ

الْخَبِيثَ مِنْهُ تُنفِقُونَ وَلَا تَيَمَّمُوا

وَلَسْتُم بِآخِذِيهِ إِلَّا أَن تُغْمِضُوا فِيهِ

وَاعْلَمُوا أَنَّ اللَّهَ غَنِيٌّ حَمِيد

 

O ye attained who faith!

Spend on others out of the good things which you have acquired

and out of that which We have produced from the Earth.

Do not choose the worst of it to give in charity that you yourself would be reluctant to accept.

Know that Allah is Rich beyond need and Praiseworthy.

 

Surah Al-Baqarah, Verse 267

 

I thought of my room and what was in it. His room and what was in it. I sent a text around to my friends to get some furniture so I could place it in his room before I left. I went to see my Aunt but my heart felt heavy. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. On the way back I told my driver that I thought Shaan was low. That I didn’t know how to raise his spirits.

Usman told me that the guys in the workshop had said they tried to make conversation with him and to everything they asked, Shaan had said, “If you don’t mind, mujhe nahin pata.” “If you don’t mind, I don’t know.”

 

I burst out laughing. Sounded like a t-shirt Uzma would love!

 

I called Hiba and told her I was feeling nervous. She said she was sending over a phone for Shaan through her driver.

“He will have it tonight. Then we can call him. And he can call other people. That might make him happier. And I will go see him tomorrow. It will just take a little time.”

 

He had said he liked art. I thought I would get him some stuff so he can paint while he waits for his job to start. I thought I would buy him a bike. He said he preferred a bicycle to a motor bike. But would these things make him happy?

 

That night I cried in my bed while I thought of him and I cried in my prayers at dawn. I only asked for one thing; “Guide my heart to do that which will make Shaan happy. Please, tell me what will make him happy.”

 

It was a prayer I never prayed like that for anyone before. Not a family member that was unhappy, not a romantic love that was sad, not a friend who was depressed. I prayed for them to be happy, sure but I never pleaded for it. Plus people are different. Some shun love offered all the time. Others choose their loneliness, then extract pride from it. It always ended up a façade upon a façade full of landmines, impossible to traverse. Shaan was alone.

 

The prayer I uttered for guidance was new. It had been the topic of a lecture I heard by Uzair the same day; a hadith mubarik

 

اللَّهُمَّ إِنِّي أَسْتَخِيرُكَ بِعِلْمِكَ

 

Allahumma inni astakhiruka bi'ilmika

 

“O Allah! I ask guidance from Your Knowledge.”

 

“Guide my heart, Ya Rabbi, to do what which is right for Shaan. Pleeeeeease!” I sobbed.

 

While I lay in bed, I could sense my nafs feeling astounded.

 

Then it asked me, “Why are you crying like this? Do you want Shaan to be happy because of that story you read in Ghaus Pak’s (ra) book? ‘Pleasing the needy is pleasing God.’”

 

“No,” I answered truthfully starting to cry again. “I’m just worried. What if he doesn’t feel happy.”

 

“Well, could you wait a day to see what happens please because you’re killing me,” was its genuinely irritated response.

 

Through the tears I smiled. A sense of humour always did heal everything for me! That’s why Zee’s always been the most special of my friends.

 

I think what was making me feel that worried was my leaving for the States for a month two days later. If I had been in Lahore longer, I would have been able to see Shaan every other day and made sure personally that he was settled. If the job was not going to start, I would have found other things for him to do so his time was occupied. I was sure he missed the park, the outdoors, sound.

 

The next day I called Shaan in the morning and told him I was sending over the rest of the stuff he had asked for. It was a shalwar kamiz, gray, tea bags, sugar, a frying pan, a pot to boil water, some plates and cutlery. I added to that a new pair of pyjamas I had just gotten made for myself and a t-shirt I absolutely love. I wanted to take them myself but it was a crazy day so I sent Usman. Which as it turned out was the best thing I could have done.

 

“Call me when you are with him so I can have a word please.”

An hour or so later, I heard from him. Shaan’s voice sounded upbeat. He loved the clothes and now he was going for a drive with Usman to buy some fruit and check out a park nearby. He told me again that I had great taste. I asked him to please see what the food choices were nearby so he wasn’t eating junk.

 

“You sound much better today,” I said. “You sound happy.”

 

I could hear his smile. “Yes,” he said dreamily. “It’s a good day,” he said in English and my heart leapt with joy. I thanked God in my heart and vowed to do a tasbeeh later.

 

In our last class on the Haj Qari Sahib had told us the verse:

 

وَيَزِيدُ اللَّهُ الَّذِينَ اهْتَدَوْا هُدًى

وَالْبَاقِيَاتُ الصَّالِحَاتُ خَيْرٌ عِندَ رَبِّكَ ثَوَابًا وَخَيْرٌ مَّرَدًّ

 

And Allah increases guidance for those who accept guidance.

And the everlasting good deeds are far better near your Lord in reward and in outcome.

Surah Maryam, Verse 76

 

“Nabi Kareem (peace be upon him) says that those “everlasting good deeds” are sometimes words. Specifically the words His Beloved (saw) chose were, ‘Subhan Allah, Alhamdolillah, Allah o Akbar, La hawala wa la quwwata.’”

 

All Glory is for Allah, All praise is for Him alone, Allah is the Greatest, I cannot come around to that which is good for me (without Him) and I cannot stay away from that which is harmful to me (without Him).

 

It was a tasbeeh that held deep meaning for me that day!

Especially the last part.

 

In the evening I went to the shrine in the park to say Salam, then to Daata Sahib’s (ra) to say goodbye. On the way I asked Usman to tell me the details of the afternoon. He told me Shaan seemed to have had a really good time.

 

“I set up his phone and he called me. Hiba bibi gave him a really nice one. Samsung.”

 

“Oh, so you were the first call,” I said almost with a pang of jealousy. “Cool! That’s good. It’s very important he trusts someone. You should go see him twice a week while I’m gone and take him out for a drive, do something fun, eat something nice. He will enjoy that.”

 

Usman smiled. “When we came back from the shopping, he even had a cup of tea with the workers downstairs for the first time. Then as I was taking my leave to come home, I asked him if he needed anything else. He said no, he was fine. Then he offered me the Sprite he bought and I said no thank you, I just had tea.

 

So he asked me if I wanted fruit from the peaches and apples we had just got. Again I said no and Shaan says, ‘Aren’t you my best friend? If you take some fruit, it will make me really happy.’ Then he put the two bags in front of me. He didn’t even pick them out. So I took a peach and an apple.”

 

I noted Usman pointing out that he placed the bags before him; Rich people always pick out things and give them. Quantity is always chosen. They never place it in front of anyone and say, “Take what you want, however much you want.”

 

I listened to each word intently and it occurred to me that gentleness, like grace, was endowed. Not just to Shaan but everyone. How we responded to the difficulty of life made us aggressive if we became angry or bitter if we became dejected. Those that didn’t remained gentle. That’s what made it rare as well as palpable.

 

I thought of the hadith I had just translated with Qari Sahib about the Bedouin who asked Nabi Kareem (peace be upon him) 25 questions. When we got home, I looked up each question that had the word “manners” in the answer.

 

“The man said, ‘How do I perfect my Imaan, faith?’”

 

Allah’s Beloved (peace be upon him) said, “Improve your manners (akhlaq).””

 

Then he asked, “What is the worst thing?”

 

The Messenger of God (peace be upon him) said, “Having bad manners and being miserly.”

 

Lastly, he asked, “And what is the best of things?”

 

The Beloved of Allah (peace be upon him) replied, “Excellence in manners, humility and patience.”

 

Shaan possessed all three!

 

How one celebrates a blessing and bears a trial is entirely different for each person. Ghaus Pak (ra) says that those who are grateful for their blessings and reflect upon them and heed from them, their reward is that they move forward, rank by rank, drowning in the knowing of Allah’s Jamal, Beauty.

 

After we had shifted Shaan to Hiba’s place, she had called me thanking me profusely for the opportunity to do something kind. I had said to her that what we had done was nothing in terms of its impact on our time or our wallet. I could have given Shaan ten times more money than I had already or that I would eventually and it would have made no difference to my wealth.

 

“It’s what he does for us that’s going to be unique Hib,” I said.

“I don’t know what it will mean for me but I know for you, it will be a reward so sweet, I can’t even begin to fathom its impact.”

 

While the events were happening, every time I met a friend it was all I could speak about. Each one expressed curiosity around what Shaan’s circumstances might have been that lead him to live in a park of all places.

 

“Will you ask him?” they wondered.

 

“No,” I replied. “I don’t think I will.”

 

I wasn’t curious about it personally. I never am about the source of people’s pain. It’s too difficult to hear. Dysfunction fascinates me but not pain. Especially when it is almost sublime.

 

Recently I had added a prayer to my intention before each Namaz. I learnt it through Uzair again. The prayer was uttered by Hazrat Mohyuddin Ibn e Arabi (ra), Ghaus Pak’s (ra) progeny. It was amazing. I said it with inordinate focus which I almost always lost a few seconds later. If nothing else, for the first time in my namaz I was able to convey my soul’s longing.

 

ارید ان اصلی للقربۃ الی اللہ

 

“I want to pray to gain closeness to God.”

 

Meeting Shaan, finding him a place to live in, a job, all of it suddenly seemed like prayer to me. Like an act of worship. It made me realize that everything I do, I want it to somehow bring me closer to my Lord. Lately, I had already been saying the prayer, just changing the verb, for anything I did during the day.

 

“I want to drink to gain closeness to God.”

 

“I want to eat to gain closeness to God.”

 

Most times I said that, I would just stare at the drink or morsel in my hand and wonder at myself, “I expect this to bring me closeness?” It made me think about why spirituality places such extraordinary emphasis on simplicity and purity of food.

This year I learnt, much to my amazement that the first 10 days of Haj are special like no other to God.

 

قَالَ رَسُولُ اللَّهِ صَلَّى اللَّهُ عَلَيْهِ وَسَلَّمَ:‏‏‏‏

مَا مِنْ أَيَّامٍ الْعَمَلُ الصَّالِحُ فِيهِنَّ أَحَبُّ إِلَى اللَّهِ مِنْ هَذِهِ الْأَيَّامِ الْعَشْرِ

فَقَالُوا:‏‏‏‏ يَا رَسُولَ اللَّهِ وَلَا الْجِهَادُ فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ، ‏‏‏‏‏‏

فَقَالَ رَسُولُ اللَّهِ صَلَّى اللَّهُ عَلَيْهِ وَسَلَّمَ:‏‏‏‏

وَلَا الْجِهَادُ فِي سَبِيلِ اللَّهِ إِلَّا رَجُلٌ خَرَجَ بِنَفْسِهِ وَمَالِهِ فَلَمْ يَرْجِعْ مِنْ ذَلِكَ بِشَيْءٍ

 

The Prophet of God (peace be upon him) said, "There are no days in which good deeds are more beloved to Allah then these ten days of Zil Haj."

 

They (the Companions) asked, "Ya Rasool Allah (peace be upon you)! Not even jihad in Allah's Cause?"

 

The Messenger of Allah (peace be upon him) replied, "Not even jihad in Allah's Cause, except for the man who went for it with his self and his wealth and did not return with any of them."

 

Since I heard the hadith, which was on day four or five, I had been in overdrive trying to do good things. It as not lost on me that Shaan came in to my life during these days.

 

Through traversing the path of spirituality, I have learnt that the greatest boon of attachment to the Friends of God is learning the short-cuts. Otherwise unknown. One of the surprising ones that I discovered came courtesy of a scientist, Avicenna or Ibn e Sina, who was a Persian polymath regarded as one of the most significant physicians, astronomers, thinkers and writers of the Islamic Golden Age.

 

He has been described as the father of early modern medicine. Of the 450 works he is known to have written, around 240 have survived, including 150 on philosophy and 40 on medicine. He had memorized the Quran by the age of 10, started studying medicine at the age of 16 and by 18 was a qualified physician. But he also had a deep interest in theology and studied it with the aim to reconcile it with rational philosophy.

 

He writes; “The softness of the heart comes from two things. The first is purification of thought. The second, a pure love, the condition for which is that it is mental and spiritual, not physical and lustful, so that the reason for loving the beloved is their akhlaq (manners and morality) that forms their behavior.”

 

I don’t believe I have ever seen anyone fall in love with someone because of manners and morality. But I guess there’s always a first time.

 

Ghaus Pak (ra) says in Al-Fath Ar-Rabbani addressing his listener, “I love you for your sake not mine.” It was such a simple statement. It made me wonder who I had ever loved in my life for their sake alone. I only came up with two people; my mother and my niece. Only for them was my love purely unconditional. It was not transient. It did not dissipate. It did not require reciprocity. It was muwwadat!

 

With everyone else, once I hit my 40s, calculation, negotiation, expectation seeped into my love. Then followed disappointment and hurt. And funnily enough, it was always all in my head. I hardly ever even voiced it to anyone.

 

Maulana Shams Tabrez (ra) says that love with conditions is Hell. He couldn’t have used a better word. I guess that’s why the heart has to be cleansed of association with anything except God. It’s not for His Sake, it’s for mine. Otherwise I am burning in fires of unceasing torment. I can accept another’s nature but I can’t give them preference.

 

Acceptance alone still leaves a hurt masking grudge. Only with that preference, when we are both needy, will greed (in my case emotional) be taken from me and I will be of the Mufliheen.

 

وَيُؤْثِرُونَ عَلَىٰٓ أَنفُسِهِمْ وَلَوْ كَانَ بِهِمْ خَصَاصَةٌ ۚ

وَمَن يُوقَ شُحَّ نَفْسِهِۦ فَأُو۟لَـٰٓئِكَ هُمُ ٱلْمُفْلِحُونَ

 

They give them preference over themselves, even if they themselves are needy.

And whoever is spared from their own greed, they are the successful ones.

Surah Al-Hashr, Verse 9

 

I even knew in theory what would create unconditional love; the annihilation of the ego. That was the cure for everything else as well.

 

The greatest of blessings is escaping the entrapments of your ego because between you and your Creator, it is the thickest of veils

- Hazrat Abu Bakr Tamastani (ra)

 

But I didn’t know how to make it happen.

 

And then it was made to happen for me. At least in one instance.

 

It was two days before I was leaving for Portland. I had asked Usman to get Shaan a tv, a paint job for his room, he chose gray, some curtains for his window and a ceiling fan. He was not happy with the one in his room. “Let him pick out everything,” I said. “So he likes it.” Deeda was sending over furniture, pretty much everything a room would need. Hopefully work would start soon after.

 

I was visiting my 90 some year old grandmother who adores me for some reason unknown to the rest of the family since she has probably two dozen grandchildren. She stares at me with the sweetest smile. In turn, I show my love pleasing her by wearing my best outfits on every visit, which I would otherwise never wear, because she loves touching fabric and commenting on it.

 

Suddenly I received a text on my phone that something bad had happened to someone I once knew. We were not estranged but our relationship was not warm either. But then maybe it was estranged because I always felt after like I had met a stranger. So I guess I could say it was kind of non-existent.

 

I remained calm and called my friend who sent the text. “What happened?” I asked.

 

“I don’t really know. Let me first confirm,” is all she said and quickly hung up.

 

Feeling nervous, I left my grandmother’s house and came home waiting to hear from her. I called the person in question and received no answer. That’s when the paranoia started kicking in and I began to think of the worst of possibilities. I started calling the person the text was about half a dozen times. My friend who told me the “news” didn’t pick up my calls either, she didn’t respond to my texts. As I saw myself starting to panic I thought, maybe I should just pray.

 

It was a long prayer Qari Sahib had told us to try and do every day during the Haj days. I knew once I started I wouldn’t be able to answer the phone for at least 20 minutes. But I began anyway. Through the prayer I cried. First I asked God to please let the person be ok. Then I began telling myself that if the worst has happened, it must be accepted as His Will but through that my tears streamed non-stop.

 

While I read the Arabic part, my heart whispered, “It’s true. I surrender myself to Allah and His Rasool (peace be upon him). I entrust my matter to Allah and His Rasool (peace be upon him). I seek the pleasure of Allah wa Rasoolu-hu (peace be upon him).”

 

My phone rang throughout my namaz and I ignored it. Then when I finished and looked at the missed calls, three of them were from the person the text was about. I breathed a sigh of relief and called back.

 

“You called me six times,” I heard on the other end.

 

“Come to my house now,” I said with an urgency.

 

The rest of that story isn’t important. What is is that the devastatingly intense experience only happened to make me realize how fragile life is. That choosing to hold a grudge or be badguman, thinking of another as insincere or insensitive, at the same time as claiming love for them was not acceptable to God. Not as a show of disapproval from Him but simply because the claim was a false and truth and falsehood cannot co-exist.

 

It went against one of my most intense asks after each namaz, a prayer that Allah taught his Beloved (peace be upon him). And I remember repeating it in the shrine in the park and hoping it would come true.

 

وَقُل رَّبِّ أَدْخِلْنِي مُدْخَلَ صِدْقٍ

وَأَخْرِجْنِي مُخْرَجَ صِدْقٍ

وَاجْعَل لِّي مِن لَّدُنكَ سُلْطَانًا نَّصِيرً

 

Say, O Beloved (peace be upon you), “O my Lord! Cause me to enter (in all I do) with truth

and cause me to leave (it) with truth,

and grant me out of Thy Grace, a sustaining strength.

Surah Al-Isra’, Verse 80

 

There was, in fact, no love. It was just pretense created by the ego, rendering me to be the most insincere of all while longing for sincerity. Even the beginning of this piece while I edited it. I noticed I sound bitter because I felt dejected.

 

I spoke to Shaan one last time the day before I left. It had rained that morning and cooled the weather significantly. “It’s very pleasant outside today,” he said when I asked him how he was. He told me he didn’t want a tv but would rather have a speaker to listen to music. He chose gray for the colour of his wall paint. He had even made a pouch for his new phone with some cloth he had. Usman told me every single time he gave him something, he thanked him profusely.

 

I told Shaan I would speak to him sometime from the States. He ended the call with me warmly expressing his feelings, “I love you Ma’am,” he said. I smiled. “Take care of yourself please.”

 

What happens next who knows but there was absolutely no better way to mark the present moment, which happened to be the 10th of Zil Haj. My incidence of good deeds was sky high. A fake news text brought me closer to being truthful. And a homeless person in a park by the name of Shaan made me a Mo’min!

 

www.youtube.com/channel/UCqb01bB-J3kyiu-HKIX2MKw

Done