The story of Laila and Majnun has been told in the East for thousands of years and has always exerted a great fascination, for it is not only a love-story, but a lesson in love. Not love as it is generally understood by man, but the love that rises above the earth and heavens.

A lad called Majnun from childhood had shown love in his nature, revealing to the eye of the seers the tragedy of his life. When Majnun was at school he became fond of Laila. In time the spark grew into a flame, and Majnun did not feel at rest if Laila was a little late in coming to school. With his book in his hand, he fixed his eyes on the entrance, which amused the scoffers and disturbed everybody there. The flame in time rose into a blaze and then Laila’s heart became kindled by Majnun’s love. Each looked at the other. She did not see anyone in the class but Majnun, nor did he see anyone save Laila. In reading from the book Majnun would read the name of Laila, in writing from dictation Laila would cover her slate with the name of Majnun. ‘All else disappears when the thought of the beloved occupies the mind of the lover.’

Everyone in the school whispered to each other, pointing them out. The teachers were worried and wrote to the parents of both that the children were crazy and intensely fond of one another, and that there seemed no way to divert their attention from their love-affair which had stopped every possibility of their progress in study.

Laila’s parents removed her at once, and kept a careful watch over her. In this way they took her away from Majnun, but who could take Majnun away from her heart? She had no thought but of Majnun. Majnun, without her, in his heart’s unrest and grief, kept the whole school in a turmoil, until his parents were compelled to take him home, as there seemed to be nothing left for him in the school. Majnun’s parents called physicians, soothsayers, healers, magicians, and poured money at their feet, asking them for some remedy to take away from the heart of Majnun the thought of Laila. But how could it be done? ‘Even Luqman the great physician of the ancients, had no cure for the lovesick.’

No one has ever healed a patient of love. Friends came, relations came, well-wishers came, wise counselors came, and all tried their best to efface from his mind the thought of Laila, but all was in vain. Someone said to him, ‘O Majnun, why do you sorrow at the separation from Laila? She is not beautiful. I can show you a thousand fairer and more charming maidens, and can let you choose your mate from among them.’ Majnun answered, ‘O, to see the beauty of Laila the eyes of Majnun are needed.’

When no remedy had been left untried, the parents of Majnun resolved to seek the refuge of the Kaba as their last resort. They took Majnun on the pilgrimage to Kabatullah. When they drew near to the Kaba a great crowd gathered to see them. The parents, each in turn, went and prayed to God, saying, ‘O Lord, Thou art most merciful and compassionate, grant Thy favor to our only son, that the heart of Majnun may be released from the pain of the love of Laila.’ Everybody there listened to this intently, and wonderingly awaited what Majnun had to say. Then Majnun was asked by his parents, ‘Child, go and pray that the love of Laila may be taken away from your heart.’ Majnun replied, ‘Shall I meet my Laila if I pray?’ They, with the greatest disappointment, said, ‘Pray, child, whatever you like to pray.’ He went there and said, ‘I want my Laila,’ and everyone present said, ‘Amen.’ ‘The world echoes to the lover’s call.’

When the parents had sought in every way to cure Majnun of his craze for Laila, in the end they thought the best way was to approach the parents of Laila, for this was the last hope of saving Majnun’s life. They sent a message to Laila’s parents, who were of another faith, saying, ‘We have done all we can to take away from Majnun the thought of Laila, but so far we have not succeeded, nor is there any hope of success lift to us except one, that is your consent to their marriage.’ They, in answer, said, ‘Although it exposes us to the scorn of our people, still Laila seems never to forget the thought of Majnun for one single moment, and since we have taken her away from school she pines away every day. Therefore we should not mind giving Laila in marriage to Majnun, if only we were convinced that he is sane.’

On hearing this the parents of Majnun were much pleased and advised Majnun to behave sensibly, so that Laila’s parents might have no cause to suspect him of being out of his mind. Majnun agreed to do everything his parents desired, if he could only meet his Laila. They went, according to the custom of the East, in procession to the house of the bride, where a special seat was made for the bridegroom, who was covered with garlands of flowers. But as they say in the East that the gods are against lovers, so destiny did not grant these perfect lovers the happiness of being together. The dog that used to accompany Laila to school happened to come into the room where they were sitting. As soon as Majnun’s eyes fell on this dog his emotion broke out. He could not sit in the high seat and look at the dog. He ran to the dog and kissed its paws and put all the garlands of flowers on the neck of the dog. There was no sign of reverence or worship that Majnun did not show to this dog. ‘The dust of the beloved’s dwelling is the earth of Kaba to the lover.’ This conduct plainly proved him insane. As love’s language is gibberish to the loveless, so the action of Majnun was held by those present to be mere folly. They were all greatly disappointed, and Majnun was taken back home and Laila’s parents refused their consent to the marriage.

This utter disappointment made Majnun’s parents altogether hopeless, and they no longer kept watch over him, seeing that life and death to him were both the same, and this gave Majnun freedom to wander about the town in search of Laila, inquiring of everyone he met about Laila. By chance he met a letter-carrier who was carrying mail on the back of a camel, and when Majnun asked this man Laila’s whereabouts, he said, ‘Her parents have left this country and have gone to live a hundred miles from here.’ Majnun begged him to give his message to Laila. He said, ‘With pleasure.’ But when Majnun began to tell the message the telling continued for a long, long time. ‘The message of love has no end.’

The letter-carrier was partly amused and partly he sympathized with his earnestness. Although Majnun, walking with his camel, was company for him on his long journey, still, out of pity, he said, ‘Now you have walked ten miles giving me your message, how long will it take me to deliver it to Laila? Now go your way, I will see to it.’ Then Majnun turned back, but he had not gone a hundred yards before he returned to say, ‘O kind friend, I have forgotten to tell you a few things that you might tell my Laila.’ When he continued his message it carried him another ten miles on the way. The carrier said, ‘For mercy’s sake, go back. You have walked a long way. How shall I be able to remember all the message you have given me? Still, I will do my best. Now go back, you are far from home.’ Majnun again went back a few yards and again remembered something to tell the message-bearer and went after him. In this way the whole journey was accomplished, and he himself arrived at the place to which he was sending the message.

The letter-carrier was astonished at this earnest love, and said to him, ‘You have already arrived in the land where your Laila lives. Now stay in this ruined mosque. This is outside the town. If you go with me into the town they will torment you before you can reach Laila. The best thing is for you to rest here now, as you have walked so very far, and I will convey your message to Laila as soon as I can reach her.’ ‘Love’s intoxication sees no time or space.’

Majnun listened to his advice and stayed there, and felt inclined to rest, but the idea that he was in the town where Laila dwelt made him wonder in which direction he should stretch out his legs. He thought of the north, south, east, and west, and thought to himself, ‘If Laila were on this side it would be insolence on my part to stretch out my feet towards her. The best thing, then, would be to hang my feet by a rope from above, for surely she will not be there.’ ‘The lover’s Kaba is the dwelling-place of the beloved.’ He was thirsty, and could find no water except some rainwater that had collected in a disused tank.

When the letter-carrier entered the house of Laila’s parents he saw Laila and said to her, ‘I had to make a great effort to speak with you. Your lover Majnun, who is a lover without compare in all the world, gave me a message for you, and he continued to speak with me throughout the journey and has walked as far as this town with the camel.’ She said, ‘For heavens sake! Poor Majnun! I wonder what will become of him.’ She asked her old nurse, ‘What becomes of a person who has walked a hundred miles without a break?’ The nurse said rashly, ‘Such a person must die.’ Laila said, ‘Is there any remedy?’ She said, ‘He must drink some rainwater collected for a year past and from that water a snake must drink, and then his feet must be tied and he must be hung up in the air with his head down for a very long time. That might save his life.’ Laila said, ‘Oh, but how difficult it is to obtain!’ God, who Himself is love, was the guide of Majnun, therefore everything came to Majnun as was best for him. ‘Verily love is the healer of its own wounds.’

The next morning Laila put her food aside, and sent it secretly, by a maid whom she took into her confidence, with a message to tell Majnun that she longed to see him as much as he to see her, the difference being only of chains. As soon as she had and opportunity, she said, she would come at once.

The maid went to the ruined mosque, and saw two people sitting there, one who seemed self-absorbed, unaware of his surroundings, and the other a fat, robust man. She thought that Laila could not possibly love a person like this dreamy one whom she herself would not have cared to love. But in order to make sure, she asked which of them was named Majnun. The mind of Majnun was deeply sunk in his thought and far away from her words, but this man, who was out of work, was rather glad to see the dinner-basket in her hand, and said, ‘For whom are you looking?’ She said, ‘I am asked to give this to Majnun. Are you Majnun?’ He readily stretched out his hands to take the basket, and said, ‘I am the one for whom you have brought it,’ and spoke a word or two with her in jest, and she was delighted.

On the maid’s return Laila asked, ‘Did you give it to him?’ She said, ‘Yes, I did.’ Laila then sent to Majnun every day the larger part of her meals, which was received every day by this man, who was very glad to have it while out of work. Laila one day asked her maid, ‘You never tell me what he says and how he eats.’ She said, ‘He says that he sends very many thanks to you and he appreciates it very much, and he is a pleasant-spoken man. You must not worry for one moment. He is getting fatter every day.’ Laila said, ‘But my Majnun has never been fat, and has never had a tendency to become fat, and he is too deep in his thought to say pleasant things to anyone. He is too sad to speak.’ Laila at once suspected that the dinner might have been handed to the wrong person. She said, ‘Is anybody else there?’ The maid said, ‘Yes, there is another person sitting there also, but he seems to be beside himself. He never notices who comes or who goes, nor does he hear a word said by anybody there. He cannot possibly be the man that you love.’ Laila said, ‘I think he must be the man. Alas, if you have all this time given the food to the wrong person! Well, to make sure, today take on the plate a knife instead of food and say to that one whom you gave the food, ‘For Laila a few drops of your blood are needed, to cure her of an illness.”

When the maid next went to the mosque the man as usual came most eagerly to take his meal, and seeing the knife was surprised. The maid told him that a few drops of his blood were needed to cure Laila. He said, ‘No, certainly I am not Majnun. There is Majnun. Ask him for it.’ The maid foolishly went to him and said to him aloud, ‘Laila wants a few drops of your blood to cure her.’ Majnun most readily took the knife in his hand and said, ‘How fortunate am I that my blood may be of some use to my Laila. This is nothing, even if my life were to become a sacrifice for her cure, I would consider myself most fortunate to give it.’ ‘Whatever the lover did for the beloved, it could never be too much.’ He gashed his arm in several places, but the starvation of months had left no blood, nothing but skin and bone. When a great many places had been cut hardly one drop of blood came out. He said, ‘That is what is left. You may take that.’ ‘Love means pain, but the lover alone is above all pain.’

Majnun’s coming to the town soon became known, and when Laila’s parents knew of it they thought, ‘Surly Laila will go out of her mind if she ever sees Majnun.’ Therefore they resolved to leave the town for some time, thinking that Majnun would make his way home when he found that Laila was not there. Before leaving the place Laila sent a message to Majnun to say, ‘We are leaving this town for a while, and I am most unhappy that I have not been able to meet you. The only chance of our meeting is that we should meet on the way, if you will go on before and wait for me in the Sahara.’

Majnun started most happily to go to the Sahara, with great hope of once more seeing his Laila. When the caravan arrived in the desert and halted there for a while, the mind of Laila’s parents became a little relieved, and they saw Laila also a little happier for the change, as they thought, not knowing the true reason.

Laila went for a walk in the Sahara with her maid, and suddenly came upon Majnun, whose eyes had been fixed for long, long time on the way by which she was to come. She came and said, ‘Majnun, I am here.’ There remained no power in the tongue of Majnun to express his joy. He held her hands and pressed them to his breast, and said, ‘Laila, you will not leave me any more?’ She said, ‘Majnun, I have been able to come for one moment. If I stay any longer my people will seek for me and your life will not be safe.’ Majnun said, ‘I do not care for life. You are my life, O stay, do not leave me any more.’ Laila said, ‘Majnun, be sensible and believe me. I will surely come back.’ Majnun let go her hands and said, ‘Surely I believe you.’ So Laila left Majnun, with heavy heart, and Majnun, who had so long lived on his own flesh and blood, could no more stand erect, but fell backward against the trunk of a tree, which propped him up, and he remained there, living only on hope.

Years passed and this half-dead body of Majnun was exposed to all things, cold and heat and rain, frost and storm. The hands that were holding the branches became branches themselves, his body became a part of the tree. Laila was as unhappy as before on her travels, and the parents lost hope of her life. She was living only in one hope, that she might once fulfill her promise given to Majnun at the moment of parting, saying, ‘I will come back.’ She wondered if he were alive or dead, or had gone away or whether the animals in the Sahara had carried him off.

When they returned their caravan halted in the same place, and Laila’s heart became full of joy and sorrow, of cheerfulness and gloom, of hope and fear. As she was looking for the place where she had left Majnun she met a woodcutter, who said to her, ‘Oh, don’t go that way. There is some ghost there.’ Laila said, ‘What is it like?’ He said, ‘It is a tree and at the same time man, and as I struck a branch of this tree with my hatchet I heard him say in a deep sigh, ‘O Laila.’ ‘

Hearing this moved Laila beyond description. She said she would go, and drawing near the tree she saw Majnun turned almost into the tree. Flesh and blood had already wasted, and the skin and bone that remained, by contact with the tree, had become like its branches. Laila called him aloud, ‘Majnun!’ He answered, ‘Laila!’ She said, ‘I am here as I promised, O Majnun.’ He answered, ‘I am Laila.‘ She said, ‘Majnun, come to your senses. I am Laila. Look at me.’ Majnun said, ‘Are you Laila? Then I am not,’ and he was dead. Laila, seeing this perfection in love, could not live a single moment more. She at the same time cried the name of Majnun and fell down and died.

The beloved is all in all, the lover only veils him.
The beloved is all that lives, the lover a dead thing.
                                 Jalaluddin Rumi, Mathnawi I, 30

Excerpted from Wahiduddin’s Blog

The ego is always trying to dupe us we need to crush it before humanity. Paulo Coelho is always my favorite writer and an inspirational figure. This is a must read story and don’t underestimate your comments after reading it. Thank you Paulo for your contribution to the world of mutual understanding. God Bless you!

Abrazo

Nooru

Por Rosa Montero

We are at the restaurant of a German University. A red haired student, and undeniably German takes her tray and sits down at her table. She then realizes she has forgotten her cutlery and gets up again to pick it up.

Coming back, she sees with astonishment that a black man, possibly sub-Saharian by his appearance, is sitting there and is eating from her tray.
Straight away, the young woman feels lost and stressed . But immediately changes her thought and presumes that the African is not familiar with European customs concerning private property and privacy. She also takes into consideration that perhaps he does not have enough money to pay for his meal.

In any case, she decides to sit in front of the guy and to smile at him in a friendly manner. The African responds with another dazzling smile.
The German girl starts to help herself, –sharing the food with the black man with genuine pleasure and courtesy. And thus, he took the salad, she ate the soup, both took their share of the stew, one took care of the yoghurt and the other of the piece of fruit, All this peppered with numerous refined smiles – timid from the man and smoothly, encouraging and kind by the girl –. They eat up their lunch. The German girl gets up to get a coffee. And it is then that she discovers, on the table behind the black man, her coat placed on the back of a chair and her food tray untouched.

________________________

I dedicated this charming story – furthermore an authentic one – to all who are wary of immigrants and consider them as inferior individuals. To all these people, who with the best of intentions, observe them condescendingly and with paternalism.

It would be better that we free ourselves of prejudices or we run the risk to make a fool of ourselves like the poor German who thought to be at the height of civilization whilst the African greatly educated, let her eat and share her meal and at the same time was thinking :; how mad these Europeans are.’

Peace!!!

The sensuous eye is a horse,
and the light of God is the rider:
without the rider the horse is useless.
The light of God rides the sensuous eye,
and then the soul yearns for God.
How can a riderless horse
recognize the signs of the road?
God’s light enhances the senses:
this is the meaning of ‘Light Upon Light’

Rumi in his Masnavi 2.1290-1293.

The Divine light has been mentioned in detail in the verse of Light (24:35):

“Allah is the light of the heavens and the earth; His light is as a niche in which is a lamp, and the lamp is in a glass, the glass is as though it were a glittering star; it is lit from the blessed tree, an Olive neither of the east nor of the west, the oil of which would well-nigh give light though no fire touched it, – light upon light – Allah guides to His light whom He pleases; and Allah strikes out parables for men; and Allah all things doth know.”

(Holy Quran 24:35)

Peace!!!

As usual, I’m standing at balcony gazing at the  sky, observing th calm sea, listening to heartwarming melodies that drive me crazy while, the mildness of breeze and the silence of night breed the madness of unity with my own realm- where the music knocks at the door of feelings and bring the purest memories of past which reposed deep. These memories are flapping like invisible wings around me, filling the depth of my heart with pain and joy that bring tears to my eyes.

Once again this heart sinks in pain; moments of life have gone too fast. O’ friends!! I’m dwelling in the region of thoughts and loosing the power of words. Tears roll down on my face, when I think of those moments, when I miss school days, when I miss the hug of mother, when I miss the songs of childhood, when I miss the moments I’ve spent thinking of You. O’ Alchemist come and see what you have done to me!

The silent tears establishing a connection with the world where  the days are filled with dreams night with burning ideas, where the nearness of understanding becomes easy and energy of solitariness transforms into an art of expression, where my heart grows twice larger and my vision of life becomes less dim,  where parched lips meet with the silent tears streaming down on my face…..!!!!

I believe love that is washed by tears will remain eternally pure and beautiful- [KG]. Perhaps, one need to be cleansed by tears once in a while so that one can see life with a clear view— so what if my healing comes through these tears that are trapping memories of happiness in them.

The memory of such night remains forever.

With love,

Nooru

Imam Husayn (a.s) was the grandson of the beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) who stood tall  against yazid’s despotism. He was martyred by the evil forces of despotism for not accepting yazid as a leader. Yazid was evil intentious serving people in severe cruelty an injustice person our beloved Imam was aware of yazid intentions that if he accepted yazid as Leader so he will be the cause of great devastation of pure religion(Islam).

Hussain wrote with his blood

On the sand of Karbala

La Illaha Illallah Muhammad rasul Alla

Here is  a collection of short quotations about Imam Hussayn (a.s)  from a wide variety of Non-Muslim notables from around the world.

Charles Dickens (English novelist):

“If Husain had fought to quench his worldly desires…then I do not understand why his sister, wife, and children accompanied him. It stands to reason therefore, that he sacrificed purely for Islam.

Thomas Carlyle (Scottish historian and essayist):

“The best lesson which we get from the tragedy of Cerebella is that Husain and his companions were rigid believers in God. They illustrated that the numerical superiority does not count when it comes to the truth and the falsehood. The victory of Husain, despite his minority, marvels me!”

Edward Gibbon (English historian and member of parliament):

“In a distant age and climate, the tragic scene of the death of Hosein will awaken the sympathy of the coldest reader.” (The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, London, 1911, volume 5, p. 391-392)

Antoine Bara (Lebanese writer):

“No battle in the modern and past history of mankind has earned more sympathy and admiration as well as provided more lessons than the martyrdom of Husayn in the battle of Karbala.” (Husayn in Christian Ideology)

Sir William Muir (Scottish orientalist):

“The tragedy of Karbala decided not only the fate of the Caliphate, but also of Mohammadan kingdoms long after the Caliphate had waned and disappeared.” (Annals of the Early Caliphate,London, 1883, p.441-442)

Dr. Radha Krishnan:

“Though Imam Hussain gave his life years ago, but his indestructible soul rules the hearts of people even today.”

Mahatma Gandhi:

“My faith is that the progress of Islam does not depend on the use of sword by its believers, but the result of the supreme sacrifice of Hussain (A.S.), the great saint.”

Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru:

“Imam Hussain’s (A.S.) sacrifice is for all groups and communities, an example of the path of righteousness.”

Rabindranath Tagore:

“In order to keep alive justice and truth, instead of an army or weapons, success can be achieved by sacrificing lives, exactly what Imam Hussain (A.S.) did.

Dr. Rajendra Prasad:

“The sacrifice of Imam Hussain (A.S.) is not limited to one country, or nation, but it is the hereditary state of the brotherhood of all mankind.”

Swami Shankaracharya:

“It is Hussain’s (A.S.) sacrifice that has kept Islam alive or else in this world there would be no one left to take Islam’s name.”

Mrs. Sarojini Naidu:

“I congratulate Muslims that from among them, Hussain (A.S.), a great human being was born, who is reverted and honored totally by all communities

Reynold Alleyne Nicholson:

“Hussain (A.S.) fell, pierced by an arrow, and his brave followers were cut down beside him to the last man. Muhammadan tradition, which with rare exceptions is uniformly hostile to the Umayyad dynasty, regards Hussain (A.S.) as a martyr and Yazid as his murderer.” [A Literary History of the Arabs, Cambridge, 1930, p197]

Edward G. Brown (Professor at the University of Cambridge):

“…a reminder of that blood-stained field of Karbala, where the grandson of the Apostle of God fell, at length, tortured by thirst, and surround by the bodies of his murdered kinsmen, has been at anytime since then, sufficient to evoke, even in the most lukewarm and the heedless, the deepest emotion, the most frantic grief, and an exaltation of spirit before which pain, danger, and death shrink to unconsidered trifles.” (A Literary History of Persia, London, 1919, p.227)

Ignaz Goldziher (Hungarian orientalist):

“…Weeping and lamentation over  the evils and persecutions suffered by the ‘Alid family, and mourning for its martyrs: these are things from which loyal supporters of the cause cannot cease. ‘More touching than the tears of the Shi’is’ has even become an Arabic proverb.” (Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law, Princeton, 1981, p.179)

Dr. K. Sheldrake:

“Of that gallant band, male and female knew that the enemy forces around were implacable, and were not only ready to fight, but to kill. Denied even water for the children, they remained parched under the burning sun and scorching sands, yet not one faltered for a moment. Husain marched with his little company, not to glory, not to power of wealth, but to a supreme sacrifice, and every member bravely faced the greatest odds without flinching.”

Peter J. Chelkowski (Prof. of Middle Eastern Studies, New York University):

‰ “Hussein accepted and set out from Mecca with his family and an entourage of about seventy followers.  But on the plain of Kerbela they were caught in an ambush set by the … caliph, Yazid.  Though defeat was certain, Hussein refused to pay homage to him.  Surrounded by a great enemy force, Hussein and his company existed without water for ten days in the burning desert of Kerbela.  Finally Hussein, the adults and some male children of his family and his companions were cut to bits by the arrows and swords of Yazid’s
army; his women and remaining children were taken as captives to Yazid in Damascus.  The renowned historian Abu Reyhan al-Biruni states; “… then fire was set to their camp and the bodies were trampled by the hoofs of the horses; nobody in the history of the human kind has seen such atrocities.”
[Ta'ziyeh: Ritual and Drama in Iran, New York, 1979, p. 2]

Sir William Muir (Scottish scholar and statesman) :

‰ “The tragedy of Karbala decided not only the fate of the caliphate, but of the Mohammedan kingdoms long after the Caliphate had waned and disappeared.”
[Annals of the Early Caliphate, London, 1883, pp. 441-2

Simon Ockley (Prof. of Arabic at the University of Cambridge):

 
‰ "Then Hosein mounted his horse, and took the Koran and laid it before him, and, coming up to the people, invited them to the performances of their duty: adding, 'O God, thou art my confidence in every trouble, and my hope in all adversity!'… He next reminded them of his excellency, the nobility of his birth, the greatness of his power, and his high descent, and said, 'Consider with yourselves whether or not such a man as I am is not better than you; I who am the son of your prophet's daughter, besides whom there is no other upon the face of the earth.  Ali was my father; Jaafar and Hamza, the chief of the martyrs, were both my uncles; and the apostle of
God, upon whom be peace, said both of me and my brother, that we were the chief of the youth of paradise.  If you will believe me, what I say is true, for by God, I never told a lie in earnest since I had my understanding; for God hates a lie.  If you do not believe me, ask the companions of the apostle of God [here he named them], and they will tell you the same.  Let me go back to what I have.’  They asked, ‘What hindered him from being ruled by the rest of his relations.’  He answered, ‘God forbid that I should set my hand to the resignation of my right after a slavish manner.  I have
recourse to God from every tyrant that doth not believe in the day of account.’”
[The History of the Saracens, London, 1894, pp. 404-5

Robert Durey Osborn (Major of the Bengal Staff Corps):

‰ “Hosain had a child named Abdallah, only a year old.  He had accompanied his father in this terrible march.  Touched by its cries, he took the infant in his arms and wept.  At that instant, a shaft from the hostile ranks pierced the child’s ear, and it expired in his father’s arms.  Hosain placed the little corpse upon the ground.  ‘We come from God, and we return to Him!’ he cried; ‘O Lord, give me strength to bear these misfortunes!’ … Faint with thirst, and exhausted with wounds, he fought with desperate courage, slaying several of his antagonists.  At last he was cut down from behind; at

the same instance a lance was thrust through his back and bore him to the ground; as the dealer of this last blow withdrew his weapon, the ill-fated son of Ali rolled over a corpse.  The head was severed from the trunk; the trunk was trampled under the hoofs of the victors’ horses; and the next morning the women and a surviving infant son were carried away to Koufa. The bodies of Hosain and his followers were left unburied on the spot where they fell.  For three days they remained exposed to the sun and the night dews, the vultures and the prowling animals of the waste; but then the

inhabitants of a neighbouring village, struck with horror that the body of a grandson of the Prophet should be thus shamefully abandoned to the unclean beasts of the field, dared the anger of Obaidallah, and interred the body of the martyr and those of his heroic friends.

[Islam Under the Arabs, Delaware, 1976, pp. 126-7

Charlie Chaplin has left something awe-inspiring  to the world, to ponder. He was  famous for his comedic monologues actually pulled off astounding powerful speech of all the time.

On Facebook hub – where so many stories in so many frames and sizes, hues and tones are coming together, suddenly my gaze happened to drift up to one of the video that got my attention ‘Charlie Chaplin famous speech’- as he was more famous of his comedic monologues.

I was dumbfounded when I saw this speech because he delivered the best message of rationality.

These words are crucial because they never get attention they deserve. Therefore, as a citizen of the world we have to identify and build upon things that bind us. We need to inject the message of love, peace and unity to shrug off the distances and to breed brotherhood and sisterhood.

However I salute Charlie Chaplin for delivering such a nice and motivating speech. I quote Charlie here:-

Let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfill their promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfill that promise! Let us fight to free the world! To do away with national barriers! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness – Charlie Chaplin

Here is a link to his speech in written form. Take a close LOOK!!!  otherwise you will be under a watchful eye.

Nooru

Cross posted from Sadaf Arshad’s blog

An honest answer to one simple question about your identity as a Pakistani or a Muslim explains the roots of extremism and an increasing intolerance among this society. I was asked this question many years ago, and my answer was not logical rather an abrupt and sudden gush of emotions. I said I am a Muslim first. The later years have weakened or killed that emotion and today I would like to answer in a different way.

The white patch in Pakistan’s flag which seems evaporating now, determines the answer. We are Pakistani first is a simple answer to this white patch. The difference in views of majority is stark. Majority now dreams of a homeland only for Muslims and the survival for rest depends on their submission to majority’s religion.

A few months ago, my friend Saad Sarfraz Sheikh, went to Kalash, a beautiful valley in the northwest of Pakistan, to capture its exotic beauty and rich culture. A tiny tribe of total 4,500 people, which cannot be a considerate share of the total 180 million Pakistanis, is about to be nonexistent. He returned with breathtaking pictures, but seemed perturbed. In the middle of the Kalash fairytale, he mentioned his visit to a school which did not have pupils for some unknown and known reasons. The school’s timetable shows a class of Islamic studies for the students who do not believe in Islam. How would Muslims feel if they are forced to attend a class on Christianity? In my view, they will be marching on roads, burning tyres and property, and calling it a threat to Islam and a Jewish conspiracy against Muslims. My friend mentioned that how tremendously Kalash has changed due to the extremist elements forcing the people to convert to Islam. Some radical Muslims, bound to spread Islam by force, began building mosques in the valley for Kalashs, who claim descent from Alexander the Great’s army.

The valley runs along the border of Afghanistan and for centuries, they sacrificed animals and practiced polytheism without any interference from the Muslim community.

So what has changed now? The youth of this country, mainly inspired by Jihad against then Soviet Union, have grown up brandishing radicalized version of Islam. The concept of coexistence is at stake in this country, which has minimized the chances of survival for our minorities. Now the question arises that can all flee from this country in sheer despair and frustration? Will this country have space only for a particular sect of Islam? But we need to ask ourselves if we are humans or Pakistanis first or Muslims later? If the answer is Pakistanis first, I see hope.

Reuters Story:

Nestled among the valleys of Pakistan’s mountainous northwest, a tiny religious community that claims descent from Alexander the Great’s army is under increasing pressure from radicals bent on converting them to Islam.

The Kalash , who number just about 3,500 in Pakistan’s population of 180 million, are spread over three valleys along the border with Afghanistan. For centuries they practiced polytheism and animal sacrifice without interference from members of Pakistan’s Muslim majority.

But now they are under increasing danger from proselytizing Muslim militants just across the border, and a hardline interpretation of Islam creeping through mainstream society — as Pook Shireen discovered.

After falling unconscious during a car accident , the mid-20s member of the paramilitary Chitral Scouts woke to find that people with him had converted him to Islam.

“Some of the Muslim people here try to influence the Kalash or encourage them by reading certain verses to them from the Koran,” said his mother, Shingerai Bibi.

“The men that were with him read verses of the Koran and then when he woke up they said to him, ‘You are a convert now to Islam’. So he converted.”

The conversion was a shock for his family. But they were lucky compared with other religious minorities under threat from growing religious conservatism that is destabilizing Pakistan, a nuclear-armed U.S. ally.

In May 2010, more than 80 Ahmadis, a minority who consider themselves Muslims but are regarded by Pakistan as non-Muslim, were killed in attacks on two mosques in Lahore.

Then in March this year, the Christian minorities minister, Shahbaz Bhatti, whose job it was to protect groups like the Kalash, was assassinated outside his home in the capital, Islamabad, in an attack claimed by the Pakistani Taliban.

SMOOTH CO-EXISTENCE

The lush green Kalash valleys, which sit below snow-capped peaks of the Hindu Kush, have been a magnet for tourists, both for the scenery and for the people, who are indigenous to the area.

Most are fair and with light eyes, which they say proves their descent from the army of Alexander of Macedonia that passed through the area in the 4th century BC to invade India. The community brews its own wine and women are not veiled.

But the smooth co-existence between the Kalash and Muslims has been fading in recent months and the area is suffering from many of the religious tensions marring the rest of Pakistan.

The conversions are causing splits among the Kalash — converts become outcasts overnight, described by many as “dead to their families”.

“When a Kalash converts we don’t live with them in our houses anymore,” said farmer Asil Khan, sitting on a neighbor’s balcony.

“Our festivals and our culture are different. They can’t take part in the festivals or the way we live.”

Some in the area are so concerned that they believe segregation is the only way to protect the Kalash.

“We should move the Muslims out of the valley to make more room for the Kalash,” said Shohor Gul, a Kalash member of the border police who lives in Rumbur valley. “This area should be just for us. We dislike these conversions – it disturbs our culture and our festivals, and it reduces our numbers.”

The subject of Kalash festivals is raised often in these narrow valleys, where carefully cultivated corn crops cover what flat land exists, and the Kalash community’s distinctive wooden houses terrace the valley walls.

Held to usher in seasonal change or to pray for a good harvest, Kalash festivals include hypnotic dancing and animal sacrifice, fueled by the grape wine with which the Kalash lace their gatherings.

Converts to Islam say, though, that these rituals quicken the decision to leave the Kalash.

“The main thing wrong in the Kalash culture are these festivals,” said 29-year-old convert Rehmat Zar. “When someone dies the body is kept in that house for three days.”

Muslims usually bury people the day they die.

Zar added of the Kalash: “They slaughter up to a hundred goats and the family are mourning – but those around them are celebrating, beating drums, drinking wine and dancing. Why are they celebrating this? That’s wrong.”

NOT ALL MUSLIMS

Not all of the area’s Muslims feel this way.

Qari Barhatullah is the imam, or priest, at the Jami Masjid in Bumboret valley’s Shikanandeh village.

He stresses that many of the valley’s Muslims value the Kalash’s contributions to the area’s tourism industry and contends that Kalash festivals run parallel to their own.

He admits though that there is tension between the two communities. Unveiled Kalash girls in colorful homemade skirts and head-dresses grow up alongside Muslim women covered by the all-enveloping burqas.

The Kalash girls are also free to marry who they chose, in a country where arranged marriages are common.

“We do support the Kalash – Islam teaches us respect for other religions – but there are people here, maybe they are not as educated – who don’t like the Kalash because of their religion,” Barhatullah said.

Akram Hussain oversees the Kalasha Dur, a cultural center devoted to promoting and protecting the Kalash culture, a stunning structure of elegantly crafted carved wooden beams and stone where Kalash children are educated. It also houses a library, clinic and museum, which are open to both the Kalash and Muslim communities.

“Some of the Muslims here don’t want to educate the Kalash people. They don’t want us to have an education,” he said.

Without more schools that cater exclusively to the Kalash, though, Hussain worries his community and culture will be disappear.

“There are few Kalash teachers and there aren’t schools for older children, so they go to the secondary schools and learn about Islam. The Muslim teachers are brainwashing them. They tell the children that Islam is the only right way and that we are going to hell,” he said.

A provincial spokesman said the regional government is funding development projects for the Kalash and that Pakistan was committed to protecting their unique heritage.

“We have set aside 15 million rupees ($173,210) over three years for projects such as improving roads, water supply systems and community centers,” said Ahmad Hassan. “Whatever the Kalash say they need.”

Others in the Kalash valleys though say development should cease and insist the adoption of Islam should continue, despite the impact on the Kalash culture.

Rehmat Zar, the Kalash convert, says his eventual aim is to convert his entire community to Islam.

“I’m trying my best to convert many of the Kalash myself. I’m trying to convert as many as I can,” he said.

“The people who are trying to preserve the Kalash culture are doing wrong. They are committing a mistake. The Kalash should convert to Islam because this is the real, and last, religion”. ($1 = 86.600 Pakistani rupees)

Subcontinent (India and Pakistan) have been blessed with many saints and mystics such as ‘Amir khusrau, Kabir Das, Bulleh Shah, Abdul Latif bhita’i, Sai Baba shirdii and the list goes on. They were committed to uplift human wisdom, they served humanity and spread message of love and peace among the people of all backgrounds without considering race, creed and caste.

Here is a selection of two mystical-sound from India and Pakistan and whosoever has the knowledge of sound, he indeed knows the secret of the universe. The deeper you dive into the ocean of feelings, the more beautiful are the pearls you can bring forth in the form of melodies and poetries.- Hazrat Inayat Khan

Kabir

Kabir’s poetry evokes the faculty of thoughts and makes you astounded when you do not comprehend and contemplate. He was a great mystic and myth of Indian subcontinent whose poetry breeds tolerance and harmony that’s why he has been owned by each school of interpretation. I have found Pandit Kumar Gandhvara, the best voice of echoing his poetry.

Here is a song that makes my heart go really fast and my hands rise-up in the air with the wave of Kumar Gandharva-Ud jaeya Huns Aekela.

Lyrics and Translation Source:

http://www.boloji.com/index.cfm?md=Content&sd=MysticSongsDetails&MysticSongID=14

Bulleh Shah

In the depths of Bulleh Shah’s poetry, there are songs that mesmerize the senses. These poetries are living as seed in the beholder’s heart. I only understand Punjabi (language) in bits and snatches but my favorite Saeen Zahoor is making it easier. His voice is translating them for me into a language that doesn’t beg for understanding.

Here is one of the most enthralling song that makes you move in the inner most sanctum. The depth of his voice brought tears in my eyes.

Ishq Bulle Nu Nachaave  -Love makes me {Bulleh} dance 

Lyrics source:

http://gagankaur.blogspot.com/2008/11/shq-bulleh-nu-nachave.html

The dreams of our founding fathers have been murdered. The expectations held by most Pakistanis yearning for a democratic government have been crushed into pieces. There are cries and tears amongst my people. There is an air of melancholy, an air of anguish when one meets  the people or surfs the TV channels. People are falling like flies, people are struggling to survive. Violence has swept the land –coupled with gross intolerance from its northern borders to the seashore.

Karachi- the city of lights as it is often termed now becomes the city of widows and orphans converted into sheer darkness. It and has fallen into a hub of violent ghosts. After seeing the target killings on the streets of Karachi; I cried in a secluded corner.

During the last couple of weeks the city has been glowing with the faint embers of ghosts-killed, tortured or kidnapped. Tragically, this has become a recurrent phenomenon. The crazy gangs, armed thugs associated with leading political factions, and to a limited extent religious extremists are all playing a role in this mayhem.  People have lost faith in political parties. Their eyes fixed on Kala coats and khakhi’s, which once stood for justice and protection. But people are now asking one question: Why General Kayani and Justice Chaudhry  stood by silent when innocent lives were being brutally murdered and tortured on streets? Were they waiting for the death count to increase to double or triple digits and beyond?

The Government is not serious to disarm the city or to protect its citizens. Their chief concern is to save their seat and hold power.  They use their supposed power for oppression, not to protect the people. They practice pseudo-democracy throughout the land as a weapon of revenge. We see the spoils of corruption in their purchasing of expensive bags, brief cases, purses and watches and enjoy luxury vacations to Europe. With some certainty these baubles are a result of various US agencies showering supposed ‘aid’ for our downcast people only to be stolen by the power elite.

A role for the military is increasingly being discussed in Pakistani media, but history has shown that military operations have not solved any crisis in this country since its inception. Rather, its involvement has almost always led to further complications including civil wars, huger and starvation and subjugation of many innocent Pakistani’s. The top military and governmental officials are busy in the trove of strategic depth which proved to be the strategic death to our nation and economy. Our beloved Pakistan has a history of dictators who have eaten its roots and made it barren and fallow, yielding nothing for its people.

 Ik aur rehbar aaj qaum ka apni, qatl huwa bay-jurm-o-khata
Paband-e-qafas magar na hoga kabhi, qatil os maseeha ka

Dastoor hay nada.n qoam ka apni, jo kaam karay kuch islah ka
Haq baat say gar wo baaz na aae, kaat kay phaink do sar os ka

Ham ab bhi magar mayoos nahi, ik deya sa aankh may jalta hay
Kay aisay hi andheray may hamesha, umeed ka suraj nikalta hay

- Irfan Shah

English Translation:

Another guide of our nation, got killed without any crime or reason
Never shall the gallows hang, the murderer of our messiah
It is the message of our imbecile nation, to whoever does the job of reform
If you don’t cease telling the truth, we’ll chop-off and throw your head

But we have not given up yet, a light kindles in our eyes
That always in such darkness, the sun of hope rises

I salute the people of Pakistan for continuously struggling against injustice, extremism and tyranny. I salute their strengths, hopes and dreams which may currently have fallen and dissipated to the universe but their spirits refuse to die. Their pockets may be empty but they still have a rich fund of hope as the sun rises for a better tomorrow.  They may live in darkness, the darkness may have its work to do, but after darkness comes light. These amazing, amazing people are my strength and hope.

 I cry today because everything is false, unjust and untrue here. The Zardari cabinet would win a Guiness world record for achieving victory in modeling a puppet parliamentary cabinet. I cried when I saw this religious faction cheering the murder of Taseer and lawyers proclaimed victory, showering the accused with rose petals. The creeds of ruhani actors are busy using teenage boys as pawns in the war machine.  Our society is now infused with warring factional ideologies where trusted aalim appears to be the prophet of villains.

My deepest condolences goes to all those who have lost their loved ones in these most despicable of deeds.

Aey Mere Chahne Walo’n Koi Tu T’adbir Karo: Courtesy Express TV

© Nooruddin Jalal

The holy month Ramadan (also pronounced as Ramazan) is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, the blessed month in which Quranic Revelation started. It’s a special month of prayer, meditation,  contemplation and fasting will begin tomorrow in Pakistan and in many other countries who observe this most honoured occasion.

I’m not scholar of any faith but a wanderer who quests for understanding of the Holy Message. To my understanding Ramadan is a blessed month to celebrate the spirituality in which one remembers the creator, contemplate their life, sacrifice the ego and  remove all the barriers that cloud the mirror of Perfection.

Fasting (restraining oneself from food) for the day and feasting at night isn’t the real essence of this month. For the ones who know, it is the month of union with the Universal Soul. The wise ones seek the inner self, they relinquish all the worldly desires and pleasures because they know the’ hidden self’ is behind the veil of ones own physical, emotional and mental bodies.

As Kabir says:

Within this body

Are enchanted landscape and woods,

The seven seas and the innumerable stars.

Within this body

The Eternal keeps singing

And its spring goes on and on flowing.

If you ever get a chance to read Rumi’s Mathnavi, you will be touched by delete  amazing experiences and you will realize why he compares the human body with the reed flute. To connect oneself with the Divine Spirit, first we need to become hollow like a reed to pour out songs  for the Beloved.

In Rumi’s language again:

There’s hidden sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness.

We are lutes, no more, no less.

 If the soundboxes stuffed full of anything, no music.

If the brain and belly are burning clean with fasting,

every moment a new song comes out of the fire.

The fog clears, and new energy makes you run

up the steps in front of you.

Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.

 

Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.

When you’re full of food and drink,

Satan sits where your spirit should,

an ugly metal statue in place of the Kaaba.

When you fast, good habits gather

like friends who want to help.

Fasting is Solomon’s ring.

 

Don’t give into some illusion and lose your power,

but even if you have, if you’ve lost all will and control,

they come back when you fast,

like soldiers appearing out of the ground,

pennants flying above them.

 

A table descends to your tents, Jesus’ table.

Expect to see it, when you fast,

this tablespread with other food,

better than the broth of cabbages.

(Excerpt from the Divan-e Shams-e Tabrizi)

Masters of the truth have said that our physical strength depends on food and drink while, our spiritual strength depends on going hungry and thirsty. Our spiritual masters used to mediate without food and drink for many days. In Allah’s dominion, hunger is a divine food -according to them. Even in the holy scriptures of the Prophet Mosses and the Prophet Jesus you will find the similar wisdom.

Here is selection to share with you from the book Discourses on the Sufi path :

A Bedouin was walking with his dog in the desert, carrying a leather skin of water on his shoulder, and crying pitifully as he went along. When asked why he was crying, he replied,

“Because my dog is dying of thirst!” 

“Why don’t you give him some of your water, then?” the person said.

“Because I might need it for myself.”

So it depends on ones spiritual station, revelations by Universal Wisdom to discern between the two “Fanna and  Nafs.” I have seen many pseudo figures, who seem to be very genuine in their speech but when it comes to practice their nafs appear and unfortunately our land is full of such heretics who rule not from a place of highest Truth.

As Nasir Khusraw Says:

By day you fast and moan and finger your rosary,

By night you’re enjoying music and wine.

You’ve memorized the Book of con quite smoothly,

So now you’re grand mufti of Balkh, Nishapur and Herat.

Your words are very heavy with fruits as a date palm

But when it comes to action your thorn appear.

Those who are successful in unfreezing their heart from worldly desires will recognize soon the Divine reality as confirmed by Mustafa and His progeny. May Allah Almighty bless us all , may He fulfil our prayers and wishes and may He makes us understand the spirit of Ramadan . Ameen

In service to the Real,

 Nooru