Sufi Stories 5
A Drink of Tea
An elderly lady who was conscientious and sincere in her faith one
day met a wandering Dervish – she paid him respect and invited him
to partake of some food. Though hunger was well under his control
the Dervish was pleased with her demonstration of respect which
was not showy or superstitious, but derived from a sincere heart. He
therefore accepted. At the end of the repast he asked her if there
was anything he could do to repay her generosity. She refused
anything saying she was more than content with the blessings she
had. But Dervishes are not such that they judge from outward
expression and he detected in her heart a knot of anxiety. He
pressed her gently and almost against her will she found herself
telling of a problem she had with her son to which she had not been
able to find a solution.
‘My son is a good hearted and quite intelligent person’ she said,
close to tears, ‘but he is leading a dissolute life taking wine and the
company of loose women and gambling. I have talked to him but he
has taken it into his head that when he has sown his wild oats and
had his fill of the pleasures of this world, then he will turn to sincere
repentance, and he believes that his sins will be forgiven and turned
to goodness. He even quotes scripture to support his case. I cannot
persuade him of his foolishness even though he holds me in respect
and tries to hide his philandering from me’.
The Dervish pondered a moment and in warm and reassuring tones
said, ‘On account of your good nature and the saving grace that
your son continues to respect you I will see what can be done to
help his case’. I am making a camp by the stream yonder – when
your son returns, send him to me to bring me some tea leaves – and
now do not worry any more’. The good woman smiled radiantly as
she felt the knot of anxiety evaporate in the sun of that saintly man’s
look
In due time the son returned home, still warm from the embraces of a
sweetheart and a little drunk. His mother asked him to take the gift of
tea leaves to the old man he would find at the nearby stream. He
complied and soon arrived at the place where the dervish was
sitting. That venerable man had lit a fire, and, suspended on some
sticks, he had hung a metal pot in which water was nearly boiling.
The young man paused to watch the behaviour of the Dervish – as
soon as the water was on the point of boiling the dervish would pour
some of the water on to the fire – which hissed and crackled, in the
way of fire meeting its old enemy water, and then died down. The
dervish then allowed the fire to continue until the water began to
heat again. He then repeated the behaviour and the fire died down
even further. He repeated this several times. The young man
coughed and the dervish turned his head. ‘Ah!’ he said feigning
surprise, ‘you have brought the tea leaves – good! Sit down and we
will have a drink of tea a soon as the water is boiled’.
The young man sat down and the dervish again repeated the same
behaviour – this time the fire was nearly extinguished totally and
only a small flame remained. ‘Sir! ‘said the young man, ‘this
behaviour is very strange, and if it was not for your grey hair I would
call it foolish. How will you make the water boil when you keep
putting the fire out with the water – if you are not careful you will put
it out altogether and then how will you relight it or make your tea,
you will have neither water nor fire. Even if you do not put it out
altogether how will you ever make the water boil by this method’.
The mystic looked intently at the young man for a moment. ‘You
regard this behaviour as foolish’ he said sharply, ‘yet how is it that
you keep putting out the fire of repentance with the water of your
lust for the pleasures of this world. Know that repentance is a fierce
fire that can cook a man’s soul till God gives him Mercy – but if you
keep putting out that fire you will not receive the cooking that is
required – then how will the Mercy descend. Indeed if you persist
too far the potential for that fire to remain alight at all may one day
disappear altogether’. As he spoke the small remaining flames of the
fire spluttered and died.
The young man was aghast and sought for the match box nearby
which proved to be empty. The realisation of the foolishness of his
behaviour flooded through him, root and branch, and he cast himself
at the feet of that wise man and vowed to reform his life which now
appeared to him as hollow and useless as the trunk of a dead tree.
He begged to become his humble disciple from thereon in.
The mystic smiled and accepted the youth’s heartfelt request. ‘Very
good’ he said, ‘then let us now have our tea’. ‘But how is this
possible, the fire is out and the matches are gone’ spluttered the
youth. ‘Do not ask the Sheykh how’, the master said, and smiled as
the flame appeared to rekindle itself and began to dance merrily until
the steam from the water began to ascend heavenward. ‘Know’, he
said quietly as he put the tea leaves into the pot, ‘that the master is
not subject to the metaphors he uses, but until you attain that
mastery do not cease to learn from every thing you see and hear –
regard all as the signs of God’.
Jamiluddin Morris Zahuri
Southampton
February 05
day met a wandering Dervish – she paid him respect and invited him
to partake of some food. Though hunger was well under his control
the Dervish was pleased with her demonstration of respect which
was not showy or superstitious, but derived from a sincere heart. He
therefore accepted. At the end of the repast he asked her if there
was anything he could do to repay her generosity. She refused
anything saying she was more than content with the blessings she
had. But Dervishes are not such that they judge from outward
expression and he detected in her heart a knot of anxiety. He
pressed her gently and almost against her will she found herself
telling of a problem she had with her son to which she had not been
able to find a solution.
‘My son is a good hearted and quite intelligent person’ she said,
close to tears, ‘but he is leading a dissolute life taking wine and the
company of loose women and gambling. I have talked to him but he
has taken it into his head that when he has sown his wild oats and
had his fill of the pleasures of this world, then he will turn to sincere
repentance, and he believes that his sins will be forgiven and turned
to goodness. He even quotes scripture to support his case. I cannot
persuade him of his foolishness even though he holds me in respect
and tries to hide his philandering from me’.
The Dervish pondered a moment and in warm and reassuring tones
said, ‘On account of your good nature and the saving grace that
your son continues to respect you I will see what can be done to
help his case’. I am making a camp by the stream yonder – when
your son returns, send him to me to bring me some tea leaves – and
now do not worry any more’. The good woman smiled radiantly as
she felt the knot of anxiety evaporate in the sun of that saintly man’s
look
In due time the son returned home, still warm from the embraces of a
sweetheart and a little drunk. His mother asked him to take the gift of
tea leaves to the old man he would find at the nearby stream. He
complied and soon arrived at the place where the dervish was
sitting. That venerable man had lit a fire, and, suspended on some
sticks, he had hung a metal pot in which water was nearly boiling.
The young man paused to watch the behaviour of the Dervish – as
soon as the water was on the point of boiling the dervish would pour
some of the water on to the fire – which hissed and crackled, in the
way of fire meeting its old enemy water, and then died down. The
dervish then allowed the fire to continue until the water began to
heat again. He then repeated the behaviour and the fire died down
even further. He repeated this several times. The young man
coughed and the dervish turned his head. ‘Ah!’ he said feigning
surprise, ‘you have brought the tea leaves – good! Sit down and we
will have a drink of tea a soon as the water is boiled’.
The young man sat down and the dervish again repeated the same
behaviour – this time the fire was nearly extinguished totally and
only a small flame remained. ‘Sir! ‘said the young man, ‘this
behaviour is very strange, and if it was not for your grey hair I would
call it foolish. How will you make the water boil when you keep
putting the fire out with the water – if you are not careful you will put
it out altogether and then how will you relight it or make your tea,
you will have neither water nor fire. Even if you do not put it out
altogether how will you ever make the water boil by this method’.
The mystic looked intently at the young man for a moment. ‘You
regard this behaviour as foolish’ he said sharply, ‘yet how is it that
you keep putting out the fire of repentance with the water of your
lust for the pleasures of this world. Know that repentance is a fierce
fire that can cook a man’s soul till God gives him Mercy – but if you
keep putting out that fire you will not receive the cooking that is
required – then how will the Mercy descend. Indeed if you persist
too far the potential for that fire to remain alight at all may one day
disappear altogether’. As he spoke the small remaining flames of the
fire spluttered and died.
The young man was aghast and sought for the match box nearby
which proved to be empty. The realisation of the foolishness of his
behaviour flooded through him, root and branch, and he cast himself
at the feet of that wise man and vowed to reform his life which now
appeared to him as hollow and useless as the trunk of a dead tree.
He begged to become his humble disciple from thereon in.
The mystic smiled and accepted the youth’s heartfelt request. ‘Very
good’ he said, ‘then let us now have our tea’. ‘But how is this
possible, the fire is out and the matches are gone’ spluttered the
youth. ‘Do not ask the Sheykh how’, the master said, and smiled as
the flame appeared to rekindle itself and began to dance merrily until
the steam from the water began to ascend heavenward. ‘Know’, he
said quietly as he put the tea leaves into the pot, ‘that the master is
not subject to the metaphors he uses, but until you attain that
mastery do not cease to learn from every thing you see and hear –
regard all as the signs of God’.
Jamiluddin Morris Zahuri
Southampton
February 05
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