Sufi Articles of Meher Murshed
If rain can grow sugarcane, man can realize the Divine – the story of Sheikh Muhibullah
O’ Beauty of Truth, the Eternal Light! Do I call you necessity and possibility, Do I call you the ancient divinity, The One, creation and the world, Do I call you free and pure Being, Or the apparent lord of all, Do I call you the souls, the egos and
Baba Farid: Bringing happiness to the human heart
I wish always to live in longing for You. May I become dust, dwelling under your Feet. My goal freed of both worlds is only You. I die for you, just as I live for You. Baba Farid It was sometime around 1264, young Nizamuddin Auliya wandered into a desert
Basant: The day hope lived in Nizamuddin Auliya again
There was a day when hope died in Nizamuddin Auliya’s Khanqah. That was the day he buried his nephew Taqiuddin Nooh, the apple of his eye, quite like his favourite disciple, Amir Khusrau, court poet of the sultans of Delhi and master musician. The master
Rang De, Amir Khusrau’s ode to Nizamuddin Auliya, by Chand Tara Orchestra moves the heart
It was December 12, 1319, the Ulamas were getting more and more irritable. How could Nizamuddin Auliya dance and weep to Sama, just like his master Shaikh Farid? This issue of music had been boiling. The Ulama wanted it banned. Nizamuddin’s disciple
A Faqir has no religion – there is only Haq and love, says Sain Zuhoor
His expression rarely changes. His face is gaunt and wrinkled; he seems lost in another world; his eyes are sunken, but look right into you. “God did not create religions to divide Hindus, Muslims and Christians. Sufis only believe in God; nothing else
The Prince and The Four Darweshes
The night sky was coal black; the Moon was hidden by a blanket of thick grey clouds, but the prince could see a fire burning at a distance. Four dervishes crouched around the flames to keep the howling icy wind at bay; the graves around them whispering
An Apple that ravaged a Sufi’s soul
Abu Saleh Musa Jangi Dost lived sometime in the eleventh century in Naif town in the district of Gilan, present day Iran. He had renounced the world and wandered from village to village, town to town, in search of the truth; to tread the path of the
This Path is not about religion: Just faith
The lyrical notes enveloped his senses. He was mesmerized. A band of wandering minstrels was exhorting Moinuddin Chishti. And just then Moghul emperor Akbar was enveloped by a yearning; he had to go to Ajmer. It was sometime during the 1560s. The emperor
Nizamuddin Auliya: The Darwesh of Love
Faith. And love. It is all that matters in this courtyard. Bibi Zulaikha’s father, Khwaja Arab, was a man of riches in Bukhara when the Mongol Chinghiz Khan eyed the riches of the city. He sacked Bukhara, looted its wealth and murdered thousands. Bibi
Bruce Lawrence’s Morals for the Heart: You may not see Nizamuddin but you can hear him
Amir Hasan Sijzi came to his master Nizamuddin Auliya looking worried. It was Friday, September, 19 1310, he writes in Fawaid-ul-Fawad. “I obtained the benefit of kissing his feet. In this week I was distressed because there had been an interruption
Nizamuddin Auliya: A life spent in bringing happiness to the human heart
Whenever Bibi Zulaikha looked at her son’s feet, she would say: “Nizamuddin, I see the signs of a bright future. You will be a man of destiny some day.” Nizamuddin returned to Delhi from Ajodhan after spending time with his master Baba Farid, learning
Nizamuddin Auliya: Amir Khusrau’s soul
It was 1253, Saifuddin Shamsi, a Turk, was celebrating the birth of his second son in Patiali. Saifuddin lived next to a man with a gift for prophecy. The man glanced at the baby and said: “You have brought someone who will be two steps ahead of the
Learn from the Hindu how worship is done: Amir Khusrau
There are as many paths as there are grains of sand. -Nizamuddin Auliya Oh you who sneer at the idolatry of the Hindu, Learn also from him how worship is done. –Amir Khusrau Six yogis once came to Nizamuddin’s hospice in Ghayaspur and started to
Nizamuddin Auliya to Amir Khusrau: I am weary of everyone, even myself, but never of you
Amir Khusrau would pray most of the night. Once his master Nizamuddin Auliya asked him: “Turk, what is the state of being occupied?” “There are times at the end of the night when one is overcome by weeping,” he replied. “Praise be to God, bit by bit
