(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-06) Mahawara Teer Wa Shamsheer

Conversation of the arrow and the sword
How truthfully the well‐notched arrow spoke
Unto the sword in heat of battletide:
“What magic lustre glitters in thy steel
Like fairy dancers in the Caucasus?
Thou, who canst boast in thy long ancestry
Of Ali’s trusty weapon, Dhul‐Faqar;
Who hast beheld the might of Khalid’s arm,
Sprinkled red sunset on the head of night –
Thine is the fire of God’s omnipotence,
And neath thy shadow Paradise awaits.
Whether I wing in air, or lie encased
Within the quiver, wheresoe’er I be
I am all fire. When from the bow I speed
Towards a human breast, right well I see
Into its depth, and if it do not hold
A heart unflawed, unvisited by thoughts
Of terror or despair, swiftly my point
Plucks it asunder, and I spread it o’er
With surging gore for shift. But if that breast
Serenely throb with a believer’s heart
And glow reflective to an inward light,
My soul is turned to water by its flame,
My shafts fall soft as the innocuous dew.”

(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-05) Dar Ma'ani Aynke Yaas Wa Huzn Wa Khof Umm-ul-Khabais Ast

That despair, grief and fear are the mother of abominations, destroying life; and that belief in the Unity of God puts an end to those foul diseases

The amputation of desire condemns
To Death; Life rests secure on the behest
Do not despair. Desire continuing
The substance is of hope, while hopelessness
Poisons the very blood of life. Despair
Presses thee down, a tombstone on thy heart,
And, though thou be as high as Alond’s mount,
It casts thee down; impotence is the slave
Of its poor favours, unambition hangs
Upon its skirts. Despair lulls life asleep,
And proves the langour of its element;
The spirit’s eye is blinded by the smear
Of its collyrium, and brightest day
Transformed to pitchy night; life’s faculties
Die at its breath, Life’s springs are all dried up.
Despair and Sorrow sleep beneath one quilt;
Grief, like a lancet, pierces the soul’s vein.
O thou who art a prisoner of care,
Learn from the Prophet’s message, Do not grieve!
This lesson fortified with trusty faith
The heart of Abu Bakr, and with the cup
Of blessed certitude rejoiced his soul.
The Muslim, well content with God’s good grace,
Is like a star, and goes upon his way
Smiling. If thou acknowledgest a God,
Shake free from sorrow, and deliver thee
From vain imaging of Fortune’s turns.
Life more abundant strength of faith bestows.
No fear shall be upon them: let this be
Constantly on thy lips. When Moses strides
Before the Pharaoh, steadfast is his heart
As he remembereth Thou shalt not fear.
Fear, save of God, is the dire enemy
Of Works, the highwayman that plundereth
Life‘s caravan. Purpose most resolute.
When fear attends, thinks upon what may be,
And lofty zeal to circumspection yields.
Or let its seed be sown within thy soil,
Life remains stunted of its full display.
Feeble its nature is, and well accords.

With heart a‐tremble and with palsied hand.
Fear robs the foot of strength to rove abroad,
And filches from the brain the power of
thought.
Thy enemy, observing thee afraid,
Will pluck thee from thy bower like a bloom;
Stronger will be the impact of his swords,
His very glance transfix thee like a knife.
Fear is a chain that fetters close our feet,
A hundred torrents roaring in our sea.
And if thy melody not freely soars,
Fear has relaxed the tension of thy strings;
Then twist the pegs that keep thy lute in tune,
And hear its music mount into the skies
In unrestrained and passionate lament.
Fear is a spy sent from the clime of Death,
Its spirit dark and chill as Death’s own heart;
Its eye wreaks havoc in the realm of Life,
Its ear’s a thief of Life’s intelligence.
Whatever evil lurks within thy heart
Thou canst be certain that its origin
Is fear: fraud, cunning, malice, lies – all these
Flourish on terror, who is wrapped about
With falsehood and hypocrisy for veil,
And fondles foul sedition at her breast.
And since it is least strong when zeal is high,
It is most happy in disunion.
Who understands the Prophet’s clue aright
Sees infidelity concealed in fear.

(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-04) Arkan-e-Asasi Milba Islamia - Rukan-e-Awal : Touheed

The pillars of Islam
First pillar: the Unity of God

The Mind, astray in this determinate world,
First found the pathway to this distant goal
By faith in God the One; what other home
Should bring the hapless wanderer to rest?
Upon what other shore should Reason’s barque
Touch haven? All men intimate with truth
The secrets of the Godhead have by heart,
Which is implicit in the sacred words
He comes unto the Merciful, a slave.
In action let faith’s potency be tried,
That it may guide thee to thy secret powers:
From it derive religion, wisdom, law,
Unfailing vigour, power, authority.
Its splendour doth amaze the learned mind,
But giveth unto lovers force to act;
The lowly in its shadow reacheth high,
And worthless earth becomes like alchemy
Precious beyond compute. Its mighty force
Chooseth the slave, whereof it doth create
Another species; sprightlier he treads
Upon the path of truth, and in his veins
The blood burns hotter than the lightning’s shaft.
Fear dies, and doubt; toil is new vitalized;
The vision sees the inner mystery
Of all creation. When in servanthood
To God man’s foot is established, beggary’s bowl
Becomes the magic cup that Jamshid bore.
There is no god but God: this is the soul
And body of our Pure Community,
The pitch that keeps our instrument in tune,
The very substance of our mysteries,
The knotted thread that bids our scattered thoughts.
And when these words, being uttered on the lips,
Reach to the heart, they do augment the power
Of life itself; graven upon the rock,
They wake a heart therein; but if the heart
Burns not with the remembrance of that faith
It doth convert to clay. When we inflamed
The hearts within us with the passionate glow
Of this belief, we set ablaze the barn
Of all contingency with but a sigh.
This is the lustre glittering in the hearts
Of men, those steely mirrors liquefied

By Faith’s consuming flame, whose torch is
like
A tulip in our veins, and so we bear
No other mark of glory but its brand.
Through this true Faith black man becomes as
red,
Kinsman to Omar, aye, and Abu Dharr.
The heart’s a lodge to self and the Not‐self,
And passion quickens when the cup is shared;
When several hearts put on a single hue
That is community, which Sinai
Grows radiant in one epiphany.
Peoples must have one thought, and in their
minds
Pursue a single purpose; to one draw
Their temperaments respond, one testingstone
Discriminates their hideous from their fair.
Unless the instrument of thought possess
The fire of truth, it is impossible
Its range can be so wide. We Muslims are,
Children of Abraham, which fact is proved
(If proof thou seekest) by Your father he.
Though nations’ destinies their lands control,
Though nations build their edifice on race,
Thinkest thou the community is based
Upon the Country? Shall so much regard
Be blindly paid to water, air and earth?
It is dull ignorance to put one’s boast
In lineage; that judgment rests upon
The body, and the body perishes.
Other are the foundations that support
Islam’s Community; they lie concealed
Within our hearts. We, who are present now,
Have bound our hearts to Him who is unseen,
And therefore are delivered from the chains
Of earthly things. The cord that links this folk
Is like the thread which keeps the stars in place,
And, as the sight itself, invisible.
Well‐pointed arrows of one quiver are we,
One showing, one beholding, one in thought;
One is our goal and purpose, one the form,
The fashion, and the measure of our dream.
Thanks to His blessings, we are brothers all
Sharing one speech, one spirit and one heart.

(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-03) Dar Ma'ani Aynke Millat Az Ikhtilaf-e-Afrad Paida Mee Shud...

That the community is made up of the mingling of individuals, and owes the perfecting of its education to prophethood

Upon what manner man is bound to man:
That tale’s a thread, the end whereof is lost
Beyond unraveling. We can descry
The individual within the Mass,
And we can pluck him as a flower is plucked
Out of the garden. All his nature is
Entranced with individuality,
Yet only in Society he finds
Security and preservation. On
The road of life, the furnace of life’s fire,
That roaring battlefield, sets him aflame.
Men grow habituated each to each,
Like jewels threaded on a single cord;
Succors each other in the war of life
In mutual bond, like workmen bent upon
A common task. Through such polarity
The constellations congregate, each star
In several attraction keeping each
Poised firmly and unshaken. Caravans
May pitch their tents on mountain or on hill,
Broad meadow, fringe of desert, sandy mound.
Yet slack and lifeless hangs the warp and woof
Of the Group’s labour, unresolved the bud
Of its deep meditation, still unplayed
The flickering levin of its instrument,
Its music hushed within its muted strings,
Unsmitten by the pounding of the quest,
The plectrum of desire; disordered still
Its new‐born concourse, and so thin its wine
As to be blotted up with cotton flock;
New‐sprung the verdure of its soil, and cold
The blood in its vine’s veins; a habitat
Of demons and of fairy sprites its thoughts,
So that it leaps in terror from the shapes
Conjured by its own surmise; shrunk the scope
Of its crude life, its narrow thoughts confined
Beneath the rim of its constricting roof;
Fear for its life the meagre stock‐in‐trade
Of its constituent elements; its heart
Trembling before the whistle of the wind;

Its spirit shies away from arduous toil,
Little disposed to pluck at Nature’s skirt,
But whatsoever springs of its own self
Or falls from heaven, that it gathers up.
Till God discovers a man pure of heart
In His good time, who in a single word
A volume shall rehearse; a minstrel he
Whose piercing music gives new life to dust.
Through him the unsubstantial atom glows
Radiant with life, the meanest merchandise
Takes on new worth. Out of his single breath
Two hundred bodies quicken; with one glass
He livens an assembly. His bright glance
Slays, but forthwith his single uttered word
Bestows new life, that so Duality
Expiring, Unity may come to birth.
His thread, whose end is knotted to the skies,
Weaves all together life’s dissevered parts.
Revealing a new vista to the gaze,
He can convert broad desert and bare vale
Into a garden. At his fiery breath
A people leap like rue upon a fire
In sudden tumult, in their heart one spark
Caught from his kindling, and their sullen clay
Breaks instantly aflame. Where’er he treads
The earth receiving vision, every mote
May wink the eye at Moses’ Sinai.
The naked understanding he adorns,
With wealth abundant fills its indigence,
Fans with his skirts its embers, purifies
Its gold of every particle of dross.
He strikes the shackles from the fettered slave,
Redeems him from his masters, and declares,
“No other’s slave thou art, nor any less
Than those mute idols.” So unto one goal
Drawing each on, he circumscribes the feet
Of all within the circle of one Law,
Reschools them in God’s wondrous Unity,
And teaches them the habit and the use
Of self‐surrender to the Will Divine.

(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-02) Tamheed (Aghaz) Fard-o-Millat Ka Rabt

Prelude: Of the bond between individual and community

The link that binds the individual
To the Society a mercy is;
His truest self in the community
Alone achieves fulfilment. Wherefore be
So far as in thee lies in close rapport
With thy Society, and lustre bring
To the wide intercourse of free‐born men.
Keep for thy talisman these words he spoke
That was the best of mortals: “Satan holds
His furthest distance where men congregate.”
The individual a mirror holds
To the community, and they to him;
He is a jewel threaded on their cord,
A star that in their constellation shines;
And the Society is organized
As by comprising many such as he.
When in the Congregation he is list
’Tis like a drop which, seeking to expand,
Becomes an ocean. It is strong and rich
In ancient ways, a mirror to the Past
As to the Future, and the link between
What is to come, and what has gone before,
As is Eternity. The joy of growth
Swells in his heart from the community,
That watches and controls his every deed;
To them he owes his body and his soul,
Alike his outward and his hidden parts.
His thoughts are vocal on the People’s tongue,
And on the pathway that his forbears laid
He learns to run. His immaturity
Is warmed to ripeness by their friendship’s flame,
Till he becomes one with the Commonwealth.
His singleness in multiplicity
Is firm and stable, and itself supplies
A unity to their innumerate swarm.
The word that sits outside its proper verse
Shatters the jewel of the thought concealed
Within its pocket; when the verdant leaf
Falls from the stem, its thread of hope for Spring
Is snapped asunder. He who has not drunk
The water of the People’s sacred well,
The flames of minstrelsy within his lute
Grow cold, and die. The individual,
Alone, is heedless of high purposes;
His strength is apt to dissipate itself;
The People only make him intimate
With discipline, teach him to be as soft
And tractable as is the gentle breeze,
Set him in earth like a well‐rooted oak,
Close‐fetter him, to make him truly free.
When he is prisoner to the chain of Law
His deer, by nature wild and uncontrolled,
Yields in captivity the precious musk.
Thou, who hast not known self from selflessness,
Therefore hast lost thyself in vain surmise,
Within thy dust there is an element
Of Light, whose single shaft illuminates
Thy whole perception; all thy joy derives
From its enjoyment, all thy sorrow springs
From its distress; its constant change and turn
Keep thee in vital being. It is one
And, being one, brooks no duality;
Grace to its glow I am myself, thou thou.
Preserving self, staking and making self,
Nourishing pride in meek humility,
It is a flame that sets a fire alight,
A spark that overshoots the blazing torch.
Its nature is to be both free and bond;
Itself a part, it has the potency
To seize the whole. I have beheld its wont
Is strife incessant, and have called its name
Selfhood, and Life. Whenever it comes forth
From its seclusion, and discreetly steps
Into the riot of phenomena
Its heart is impressed with the stamp of “he”,
“I” is dissolved, converting into “thou”.
Compulsion cuts the freedom of its choice,
Making it rich in love. While pride of self
Pulls its own way, humility is not born;
Pull pride together, and humility
Comes into being. self negates itself
In the community, that it maybe
No more a petal, but a rosary.
“These subtleties are like a steely sword:
If they defeat thy wit, quick, flee away!”1

1 The quotation is from Rumi.

(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-01) Paishkash Ba Huzoor-e-Millat-e-Islamia

Dedication to the Muslim Community

Question me not when I speak of Love. 

If I may not have tasted this wine, someone else must have.
Urfi of Shiraz

You, who were made by God to be the Seal
Of all the peoples dwelling upon earth,
That all beginnings might in you find end;
Whose saints were prophet‐like, whose wounded hearts
Wove into unity the souls of men;
Why are you fallen now so far astray
From Makkah’s holy Ka‘ba, all bemused
By the strange beauty of the Christian’s way?
The very skies are but a gathering
Of your street’s dust, yourselves the cynosure
Of all men’s eyes; whither in restless haste
Do you now hurry like a storm‐tossed wave,
What new diversion seeking? No, but learn
The mystery of ardour from the moth
And make your lodgement in the burning flame;
Lay love’s foundation‐stone in your own soul,
And to the Prophet pledge anew your troth.
My mind was weary of Christian company,
When suddenly your beauty stood unveiled.
My fellow‐minstrel sang the epiphany
Of alien loveliness, the lovelorn theme

Of stresses and soft cheeks, and rubbed his brow
Against the saki’s door, rehearsed the chant
Of Magian wenches. I would martyr be
To your brow’s scimitar, am fain to rest
Like dust upon your street. Too proud am I
To mouth base panegyrics, or to bow
My stubborn head to every tyrant’s court.
Trained up to fashion mirrors out of words,
I need not Alexander’s magic glass.
My neck endures not men’s magic glass.
My neck endures not men’s munificence;
Where roses bloom, I gather close the skirt
Of my soul’s bud. Hard as the dagger’s steel
I labour in this life, my lustre win
From the tough granite. Though I am a sea,
Not restless is my billow; in my hand
I hold no whirlpool bowl. A painted veil
Am I, no blossom’s perfume‐scattering,
No prey to every billowing breeze that blows.
I am glowing coal within Life’s fire,
And wrap me in my embers for a cloak.
And now my soul comes suppliant to your door
Bringing a gift of ardour passionate.
A mighty water out of heaven’s deep
Momently trickles ‘er my burning breast,
The which I channel narrower than a brook
That I may fling it in your garden’s dish.
Because you are beloved by him I love
I fold you to me closely as my heart.
Since love first made the breast an instrument
Of fierce lamenting, by its flame my heart
Was molten to a mirror; like a rose
I pluck my breast apart, that I may hang
This mirror in your sight. Gaze you therein
On your own beauty, and you shall become
A captive fettered in your tress’ chain.
I chant again the tale of long ago,
To bid your bosom’s old wounds bleed anew.
So for a people no more intimate
With its own soul I supplicated God,
That He might grant to them a firm‐knit life.
In the mid‐swatch of night, when all the world
Was hushed in slumber, I made loud lament;
My spirit robbed of patience and response,
Unto the Living and Omnipotent God
I made my litany; my yearning heart
Surged, till its blood streamed from my weeping eyes.
“How long, O lord, how long the tulip‐glow,
The begging of cool dewdrops from the dawn?
Lo, like a candle wrestling with the night
O’er my own self I pour my flooding tears.”
I spent myself, that there might be more light,
More loveliness, more joy for other men.
Not for one moment takes my ardent breast
Repose from burning; Friday does not shame
My restless week of unremitting toil.
Wasted is now my spirit’s envelop;
My glowing sigh is sullied all with dust.
When God created me at Time’s first dawn
A lamentation quivered on the strings
Of my melodious lute, and in that note
Loves’s secrets stood revealed, the ransomprice
Of the long sadness of the tale of Love;
Which music even to sapless straw imparts
The ardency of fire, and on dull clay
Bestows the daring of the reckless moth.
Love, like the tulip, has one brand at heart,
And on its bosom wears a singly rose;
And so my solitary rose I pin
Upon your turban, and cry havoc loud
Against your drunken slumber, hoping yet
Tulips may blossom from your earth anew
Breathing the fragrance of the breeze of Spring.

(Rumuz-e-Bekhudi-00) Dibacha (Rumooz-e-Bekhudi)

Strive, and find yourself in selflessness; this is
the easy path, may God know better.

Rumi