On one friday morning, my world was a happy place with all the
elements in its place. With the usual bowings to the maker. I turned my
face to a smiling photo of a father whose love had no boundaries. The
embryotic thread of spirituality that connected me and the rest of my
brethrens that glowed in his divine face, made my day.my energy boosted
at the photoframe image of the sun that cannot be seen by our naked eye.
For he was the image of the sun, powered by the sun in these days of
daur us sattar. With all the challenges of the day dangling on my head,
there was a hand of god that shadowed and spoke in length- that he was
there. He was there to hold me and help me fight my challenges. At the
age of 35 like a child I stood infront of his photoframed image and
murmed my love in unspoken words and shame on my face. Simply because
today too like every other day, I was there to ask from him while
following too little of what he said. Vajib to ghanu chhe….
I have been doing this for god knows how many years now. And truly he heard. He heard me, because his name defeated such terrors that made my nerves ache in sorrow.
Everyday the same thought kept ticking my heart – mushkilo to chhe, kai nahi. Burhanuddin maula to baqi chhe.
That day the 16th of rabi ul awwal, I followed the same program of my life. I saw his smiling face , asked him to bless me with safety that I reach the mosque & absorb the sweetness of mufaddal mola’s bayan to be relayed in the mosque.
His smiling face satisfied me and I felt blessed. I kissed the photoframe & said goodbye.
But the maker above had a different thing in mind. Reaching the mosque, I waited patiently for the white projector to beam out the vaaz.but then I heard the faces that had terror, cry , pain and shock. A soundless echo in the beginning that had so much to say.
The unbeleivable that had to be sipped in the cruel straw of time.
And when the news entered my ears my body lost its feel, my tears rolled, my scream became soundless filled with grief. I felt I lost breath.my hands started trembling. I asked my brethren in the surrounding if it was true? But every one was in trauma. So I called my mother if it was true that my maula was no more. She had not heard the newd of grief. .kept on saying I dont understand what you are saying. How can one understand when the energy to understand was gone.
I feel weak. My mobile phone rings have become inaudible, my work has lost all the flavours. I feel vulnerable to my challenges, I tremble to search for that hand of god. His name that is embedded in my heart & soul brings tears to my eyes.in my car , my tears accompany me and on my pillow they rest with me. The moist of my eyes have befriended them permanently and my heart aches with his absence for the feeling that the next time I will go for his deedar, it will be his ziyarat that I will be approaching for.
The heart has accepted now that he has left his blessings to us. His saif that will protect us. And yes I know that syedna mufaddal saifuddin(tus) is my maula , my dai azzaman.
but my eyes keeps its pace, in offering the condolence from my heart & soul. Ansu thamta nathi.Aa shafiq bawani judai si kem na roye, kem na roye.. Sabr kem aavey….
I have been doing this for god knows how many years now. And truly he heard. He heard me, because his name defeated such terrors that made my nerves ache in sorrow.
Everyday the same thought kept ticking my heart – mushkilo to chhe, kai nahi. Burhanuddin maula to baqi chhe.
That day the 16th of rabi ul awwal, I followed the same program of my life. I saw his smiling face , asked him to bless me with safety that I reach the mosque & absorb the sweetness of mufaddal mola’s bayan to be relayed in the mosque.
His smiling face satisfied me and I felt blessed. I kissed the photoframe & said goodbye.
But the maker above had a different thing in mind. Reaching the mosque, I waited patiently for the white projector to beam out the vaaz.but then I heard the faces that had terror, cry , pain and shock. A soundless echo in the beginning that had so much to say.
The unbeleivable that had to be sipped in the cruel straw of time.
And when the news entered my ears my body lost its feel, my tears rolled, my scream became soundless filled with grief. I felt I lost breath.my hands started trembling. I asked my brethren in the surrounding if it was true? But every one was in trauma. So I called my mother if it was true that my maula was no more. She had not heard the newd of grief. .kept on saying I dont understand what you are saying. How can one understand when the energy to understand was gone.
I feel weak. My mobile phone rings have become inaudible, my work has lost all the flavours. I feel vulnerable to my challenges, I tremble to search for that hand of god. His name that is embedded in my heart & soul brings tears to my eyes.in my car , my tears accompany me and on my pillow they rest with me. The moist of my eyes have befriended them permanently and my heart aches with his absence for the feeling that the next time I will go for his deedar, it will be his ziyarat that I will be approaching for.
The heart has accepted now that he has left his blessings to us. His saif that will protect us. And yes I know that syedna mufaddal saifuddin(tus) is my maula , my dai azzaman.
but my eyes keeps its pace, in offering the condolence from my heart & soul. Ansu thamta nathi.Aa shafiq bawani judai si kem na roye, kem na roye.. Sabr kem aavey….
