Three Visits to a Sage

Bahaudin Naqshband was visited by a group of seekers.
They found him in his courtyard, surrounded by disciples, in the midst of what seemed obviously to be revels.
Some of the newcomers said:
“How obnoxious — this is no way to behave, whatever the pretext.”They tried to remonstrate with the master.
Others said:
“This seems to us excellent— we like this kind of teaching, and wish to take part in it.”Yet others said:
“We are partly perplexed and wish to know more about this puzzle.”The remainder said to one another:
“There may be some wisdom in this, but whether we should ask about it or not we do not know.”The teacher sent them all away.
And all these people spread, in conversation and in writing, their opinions of the occasion. Even those who did not allude to their experience directly were affected by it, and their speech and works reflected their beliefs about it.
Some time later certain members of this party again passed that way. They called upon the teacher.
Standing at his door, they noticed that within the courtyard he and his disciples now sat, decorously, deep in contemplation.
“This is better,” said some of the visitors, “for he has evidently learned from our protests.”
“This is excellent,” said others, “for last time he was undoubtedly only testing us.”
“This is too somber,” said others, “for we could have found long faces anywhere.”And there were other opinions, voiced and otherwise.
The sage, when the time of reflection was over, sent all these visitors away.
Much later, a small number returned and sought his interpretation of what they had experienced.
They presented themselves at the gateway, and looked into the courtyard. The teacher sat there, alone, neither reveling nor in meditation. His disciples were now nowhere to be seen.
“You may at last hear the whole story,” he said, “for I have been able to dismiss my pupils, since the task is done.
“When you first came, that class of mine had been too serious — I was in process of applying the corrective. The second time you came, they had been too merry — I was applying the corrective.
“When a man is working, he does not always explain himself to casual visitors, however interested the visitors may think themselves to be. When an action is in progress, what counts is the correct operation of that action. Under these circumstances, external evaluation becomes a secondary concern. 

Lamb Stew

Bahaudin Shah once gave an address on the principles and practices of Sufis. A certain man who thought that he was clever and could benefit from criticizing him, said:

‘If only this man would say something new! That is my only criticism.’

Bahaudin heard of this, and invited the critic to dinner.

‘I hope that you will approve of my lamb stew,’ he said.

When he had taken the first mouthful, the guest jumped up, shouting ‘You are trying to poison me – this isn’t lamb stew!’

‘But it is,’ said Bahaudin, ‘though, since you don’t like old recipes, I have tried something new. This contains lamb all right, but there is a good dash of mustard, honey and emetic in it as well.’

The Seal Bearer

Very soon after the death of Maulana Bahauddin Naqshband, a ragged man arrived near his burial-place and demanded:

‘Take me to the Khalifa (deputy).’ The Khalifa was not there.

He said ‘Let Bibi Jan, Maulana’s widow, identify me.’

Everyone was nonplussed by the stranger, and those who remained of the Maulana’s following did not know what to say or do.

The wanderer said:

‘No Khalifa, no understanding! So I shall show you this, which even a man-donkey should know.’

He produced the seal of Bahaudin Naqshband.

Now this man was treated with honor, but he asked to be taken to the wall against the hill of Tillaju. He threw down a part of that wall, and told the men present to dig out its foundation. 

Then he removed certain objects buried there and said:

‘These are for me. They would have been for the disciples, if they had been Adepts.’

Someone asked:

‘Why did the disciples not get them?’

He said:

‘El-Shah told them to dig out the foundations of the wall, but instead they built the wall on top. So the wall will eventually fall, and the priceless objects here would have been lost. The idleness of the murids (disciples) in manual labor, and their superiority in imagination has caused their negation in the spiritual realm.’

A Murid Asked:

‘May we know of those who are not like us, for we crave knowledge.’

The mysterious dervish said:

‘Those who could know already know. Those who are left are too late to know. They therefore satisfy themselves with having been near El-Shah. But it would be better if they were to disband. Otherwise they will merely repeat the names and formulae of El-Shah, and people will be led astray, imagining that this is Sufism.’

Someone said:

“Which Enlightened One are you, which Wali, which Abdal? Will you not stay with us?’

He answered:

‘I am the lowest servant of the Masters, the Khwajagan. A servant can only stay where he can serve his master’s commands. I cannot carry out the service of humility in the company of arrogance.’

Someone asked:

‘How can we reduce our arrogance?’

He said

‘You can reduce it by realizing that you are not worthy to be representatives of the Teaching of El-Shah. The unworthy are doubly incapacitated. They lead themselves astray by imagining that they are studying the Way. They lead others astray by pretending to teach them, even by implication.’

‘This is not study. This is not teaching. Where there is Representative, imitation of his position is equal to us

Wheat & Barley

A distinguished learned man who was visiting Bahaudin Naqshband asked:

‘Through your character, exercises and manifest capacity for good, you are established in public, as in the hearts of your followers, as the current Master of the Age. Was it always thus with you?’

Bahaudin said:

‘No, it was not always thus.’

The visitor said:

‘The Ancients among the Sufis were frequently regarded as imitators, derided by scholars, feared by interpreters. Some of those whom the Adepts count as their most noble exemplars are registered in the books of the formally learned as undesirables or as influences not to be welcomed by the authorities. Yet if they have contributed to the knowledge and practice of the Way, they were surely visibly adepts?’

Bahaudin said:

‘Some are evidently Adepts, others are evidently nothing.’

‘Where then lies the essential quality of the dervish?’

‘It lies in his reality, not in his appearance.’

‘Have such people not qualities whereby everyone can assess them?’

Bahaudin answered:

‘Remember the tale of the wheat and the barley. At one time people planted wheat in a field. Everyone be came accustomed to seeing wheat come up, and to live on bread made from its flour. But time passed, and it was necessary to plant barley. When this came up many people, literalists as all ordinary scholars tend to be, cried out, “This is not wheat!”

“Yes,” said the growers of the barley, “but it is a cereal, and it is cereals which we all need.”

“Charlatan,” cried the literalists. Many a time, when a barley crop was raised, the clamor to drive out the cultivators was so loud and effective that they were unable to provide flour for the people. The people starved, but they thought, persuaded by their literal-minded advisors, that they were better off avoiding the crop being cultivated by the barley-people.’

The visitor asked:

‘Then what we call “Sufism” is really the cereal of your story? In that case we have been calling “wheat” or “barley” “cereals”, and have to realize that there is something more profound of which both crops are a manifestation?’

‘Yes,’ said the Maulana.

‘It would surely be more desirable if we could be given knowledge of “cereals” instead of “wheat” or “barley” under the name of “cereals”, said the enquirer.

‘It would surely be better if it could be done,’ said Bahaudin, ‘but the position is that most people, for their own sake and that of others, still have to work for the crop, so that they may eat. There are very few who know what cereals are. They are the people whom you call the Guides. When a man knows that people may die of starvation, he has to provide what food he can. It is only those who are not working in the fields who have time to wonder about grain. It is they, too, who have no right to do so, for they have not tasted it, nor are they working towards the production of flour for the people.’

‘It is bad to tell people to do things when they cannot understand why they should do it,’ said the visitor.

‘It is worse to explain that a certain tree is going to fall in such detail that bef9re you have finished the story your audience is crushed to death beneath it,’ responded Bahaudin.

Fish On The Moon

Sheikh Bahaudin Naqshband was asked:

Why do you always say that none can learn Sufism himself, and that nobody who thinks that he is more advanced in the Way than another is of any account at all?

He answered:

Because it is a matter of my daily experience that those who think that they can learn Sufism by themselves cannot in fact do so: they have too much self-centeredness. Those who think that they cannot learn it alone can in fact do so. But, because of vanity, it is only a real Teacher who can give them leave to proceed alone, since he can diagnose their true condition.

‘Whosever thinks that he is more advanced in Knowledge than another is almost completely ignorant, and is not able to learn further. He goes round and round in “Satan’s intestines” of his ignorance. This is because the experience of real knowledge is in no way similar to thinking that one is more advanced than another.

You observe that anyone whom I criticize for having self-will is never accepted by me as a pupil. This is because he would certainly feel, no matter what he imagined that my criticism of him was motivated by a desire to teach him. Therefore those whom I criticize I always send away. There is always a hope that they might find a teacher somewhere who does not flatter them, though it is as likely as there are fish on the Moon.’

Books!

If I give out an empty book, meaning, ‘You cannot yet profit from my book’, you will perhaps think, ‘He is insulting me.’

But if I give out a full and understandable book, all readers will take its superficialities for their stimulation exclaiming ‘how magnificent, how profound.’ People will follow these outward things after I am gone, making them a source of stimulation and debate. They will read didactics into them, or poetry, exercises or stories.

If I give out no books, or a small one, scholars will scoff and ruin the minds of potential and vulnerable students with alternative literature, even more than they do at present.

Baffled students become destructive, imagining solutions and then trying to impose them upon others.

If I give out a large book, some people will imagine that it is pretentious. All these suppositions are there, you notice, because the suit the people to have them, not because they are even likely to be true.    

If I give out a cryptic book, people will imagine that it contains strange secrets. Or they may become unnecessarily artful through trying to understand it.

And the more that you say these things, the more people petulantly or with disdain say: ‘You do not understand us. We have no such behavior. The lack of erstafld11ig is with you.’

But if I say all these things, and you will look at all of them, even for a time, giving each statement equal attention, I shall be content.

The Cook’s Assistant

A certain famous, well-liked and influential merchant came to Bahaudin Naqshband. He said, in open assembly:

‘I have come to offer my submission to you and to your teaching, and beg you’ to accept me as a disciple.’

Bahaudin asked him:

‘Why do you feel that you are able to profit by the teaching?’

The merchant replied:

‘Everything that I have known and loved in the poetry and the teaching of the ancients, as recorded in their books, I find in you. Everything that other Sufi teachers preach, extol and report from the Wise Ones I find in actuality in you, and not in completeness and perfection with them. I regard you as at one with the great ones, for I can discern the aroma of Truth in you and in everything connected with you.’

Bahaudin told the man to withdraw, saying that he would give him a decision as to his acceptability in due time.

After six months, Bahaudin called the merchant to him, and said:

‘Are you prepared to appear publicly with me in an interchange?’

He answered:

‘Yes, by my head and eyes.’

When a morning meeting was in progress, Bahaudin called the other man from the circle and had him sit beside him. To the hearers he said:

‘This is so-and-so, the distinguished King of Merchants of this city. Six months ago he came here and believed that he could discern the aroma of truth in everything connected with me.’

The merchant said:

‘This period of trial and separation this six months without a glimpse of the Teacher, this exile, has caused me to plunge even more deeply into the classics, so that I could at least maintain some relationship with him whom I wish to serve, Bahaudin el-Shah, himself visibly identical with the Great Ones.’

Bahaudin said:

‘Six moons have passed since you were last here. You have nor been idle: you have been working in your shop, and you have been studying the lives of the Great Sufis. You could, however, have been studying me, whom you regard as identifiably one with the Knowers of the past, for I have been, twice a week in your shop. During this six months during which we “have not been in contact”, I have been forty-eight times in your shop. Many of those occasions passed with my making some kind of transaction with you, buying or selling merchandise. Because of the goods and because of a simple change of dress and appearances you did not recognize me. Is this “discerning the aroma of truth”?’

The other man remained silent.

Bahaudin continued:

‘When you come near to the man whom others call “Bahaudin”, you can feel that he is the truth. When you meet the man who calls himself the merchant Khwaja Alavi (one of Bahaudin’s pseudonyms) you cannot discern the aroma of truth from that which is connected with Alavi. You find perceptibly in Naqshband only what others preach and themselves are not. In Alavi you do not find what the Wise are but do not appear to be. The poetry and the teaching to which you have referred is an outward manifestation. You feed on outward manifestation. Do nor, please, give that the name of spirituality.’

This merchant was Mahsud Nadimzada, later a famous saint, who became a disciple of Bahaudin’s after he had submitted to studying under the cook of the Khanqa, who was quite uninstructed in poetry, spiritual talk or exercises.

He once said:

‘If I had not studied what I imagined to be a spiritual path, I would not have had to forget the numerous errors and superficialities which Khalifa-Ashpaz (the cook) burned out of me by ignoring my pretensions.’