Footprints in the Sand: Lessons from the Pious | Muftī Azeemuddin Ahmed | 03/08

Footprints in the Sand: Lessons from the Pious

By Muftī Azeemuddin Ahmed

InshāAllah, all the fathers and other attendees, of course, please move forward. And the younger children, inshāAllah, if you can go to the side prayer hall. We'll have, inshāAllah, a du'ā workshop with Mawlana Farhan.

SubhānAllāh, so all the other attendees, if you can please move forward. InshāAllah, this is our final few minutes before Iftar. And we have this daily session here after Asr.

And the younger boys, inshāAllah, if you can please go to the side prayer hall. JazākAllāhu khairan.

This, for those who are joining us for the first time — this is a book that I'm reading from, called The Fathers and Sons of Deoband, by Shaykh al-Hadīth, Mawlana Muhammad Zakariyyā, rahimahullāh. And this has anecdotes, just stories. Because this is supposed to be story time, between Asr and Maghrib.

The Secret of Our Pious Predecessors

So we are focused on the stories of our recent pious predecessors — our teachers' teachers, alhamdulillāh — our grand teachers, the type of lifestyle they had, and the success Allah Jalla Jalāluhu gave them. And we're focused on the fact that that success — the criteria of that success — was not on the abundance of wealth, or abundance of material things, but based on the abundance of personal relationship they have with Allah.

So similarly, if any one of us have issues — who doesn't? — if anyone wants to solve their problems in life — who doesn't have problems in life? — then we have to also, not just problems in our life, if we want to further the effort of deen, we want to further the effort of deen, how do we do that? It has to be with our personal ta'alluq with Allah.

A'māl as the Tools of Success

So today we have election season going on right now, and a lot of Muslims running for different offices, and they ask for advice and help and things of that sort. So I always tell them that along with whatever advice that I'll give you, and everyone else gives you, one main thing is that if you want to win your campaign, you need to make sure you have yourself and your Muslim staffers come onto adhkār. Make dhikr goals for your office.

And ensure that every single day there's Salātul Hājah happening, Salātul Ishrāq happening, there's awwābeen happening, there's tahajjud happening. There are thousands of durūd sharīf happening, there are various āyāt of the Qur'ān being recited, there's even khatmul Qur'ān once a month or whatnot, with the du'ā. There's sadaqah being given. Those are our tools for success.

Along with going door to door, and canvassing, and putting on yard signs, and so forth. That's what differentiates a believer from a non-believer. The way we do things — we do what everyone else does, but on top of that we have this most potent, powerful thing called a'māl. And our own rūhāniyyah and our spiritual ta'alluq with Allah.

So if Allah wills, a person doesn't win the election — but imagine all his staffers, the young Muslim male and female staffers, they start praying Ishrāq and Hājah and Tahajjud, and you have khatmul Qur'ān. Isn't that a success? That is success. That you have all these group of people, alhamdulillāh, they have become much more closer to Allah through this election.

I know one brother whose father was running for a very high position in this country. So the son was telling me, "I watched my dad run for election." And he said, "The filth and the horrible things that I saw, I never imagined existed like this. The amount of lying, cheating, deception, underhanded stuff." He is not necessarily saying his dad was involved in everything, but naturally that's part of the business.

Now to stay clearly away from that business and to do your work properly is not easy. This is where your personal rūhāniyyah comes in. When you have ta'alluq with Allah, you'll have people who — you know they have large groups coming and saying, "We'll pay you 20 million dollars, come out of the race." Now how do you say no to 20 million? Cash. And by the way, some of them said cash too. Non-taxable. One brother told me: "You do this, you'll receive duffel bags — non-taxable — every single year, huge amounts."

The type of horrible corruption that's happening around us is unbelievable. Unbelievable. And the most corrupt people are there, at the top. Most corrupt, most corrupt. So how do you not fall for this? How do you not fall for this type of steps or moves that people make towards you? Bātil makes towards you, bātil. That is only if you have a strong relationship with Allah. Otherwise, anyone will fall for that.

So this is the secret sauce of our ulamā, these efforts. How did they become successful? It's because they had this amazing ta'alluq with Allah and their rūhāniyyah, because of which no one could buy them, no one could sell them. And their efforts spread across the entire globe.

A Life of Giving: Zakāt and Sadaqah of the Ulamā

So now we are reading — we've been reading a section on zakāt — of how the zakāt used to be given by our ulamā. And the opening section of it is that zakāt was never, for the majority of them, obligatory upon them in the first place — their whole life. Zakāt was never. How come? Because they gave sadaqah the whole year so much that they were never people upon whom zakāt is fard. That's what all the stories are about. That they had resources of money, but all that money was always given, given, given — that zakāt never became obligatory upon them.

So yesterday we read Mawlana Abdul Rahīm Raipuri's stories. Today we're going to be reading, inshāAllah, Mawlana Abdul Qādir Raipuri's — his students' story.

The Story of Mawlana Abdul Qādir Raipuri at the Khānqah

Bismillāhir-Rahmānir-Rahīm. It is written that when Mawlana Abdul Qādir Raipuri, still a fresh graduate from the madrasah, first arrived in Raipur at his sheikh's khānqah — meaning Mawlana Abdul Rahīm Raipuri's khānqah.

What is a khānqah? A khānqah — I explained it a few days ago — is what we call a zāwiyah, or a house, or a place dedicated to spiritual rectification, for dhikr, riyādāt, and various spiritual exercises. Just as you have a masjid — in the masjid you can have circles of knowledge and full ilm — but you can also have a madrasah that's run separately, in a building or inside a masjid. Similarly, just as a madrasah focuses on the ulūm al-zāhir — the external sciences — a khānqah or zāwiyah is where you focus on the ulūm al-bātin, the esoteric internal sciences, the sciences related to the spiritual rectification of the heart. And there you have — just as you need an experienced hadīth teacher, tafsīr teacher, and nahw teacher — similarly you must have an experienced sheikh, who is a master doctor of the soul, and can assist his students who come for their spiritual rectification in their spiritual hospital. That is called a khānqah.

The Neglect of Islāh al-Bātin in Our Times

We don't even — with this word I'm explaining it — because it's out of sight, out of mind; it's out of our vocabulary. And no one even thinks that it's even necessary. Everyone's talking about internships, and fellowships, and post-grad, but who's talking about, "I need to go to a khānqah, I need to go humble myself in front of a sheikh, in front of a murabbī, and work on my rectification"? That's not even the discussion. How many dads are saying, "Beta, my dear daughter, my dear son, you're 17, 18 — but subhānAllāh, I need to focus on your islāh — islāh al-bātin, islāh of the inside. We need to have ta'alluq with someone who is a spiritual doctor."

One small little spot comes on the forehead, our moms and dads get so worried — "Chalo chalo, let's go to the ER, let's go to urgent care, let's call this specialist, call that specialist, go to University of Chicago, let's go to Mayo Clinic." But the boy and the girl — their soul is dying, dying. It's like 90% dead, 10% alive. Still parents today are completely aloof — that subhānAllāh, this boy and girl, they don't need a vacation, they don't need a new car. They need someone to revive their dead soul. That's what they need.

So this needs to be constantly spoken about in our homes. The importance of islāh al-bātin, the importance of spiritual rectification, the importance of connecting ourselves with mashāyikh and mentors whose focus is this. Alhamdulillāh, they are still alive. They're dying — every day someone passes away and we get the news on some group or another. A senior scholar in Malaysia died, a senior scholar in Africa died, a senior scholar in Southeast Asia passed away. I say, non-stop, even in Ramadān, non-stop we're receiving the news.

So as long as alhamdulillāh, we have some of them alive around us, we need to make sure we make this our focus: that I need to connect myself with those ulamā who focus on these sciences. In the meantime, where do I start? Read.

Reading books like this, and reading books similar to this in which you read the stories and the biographies of our salaf — as well as their lectures, as well as their letters — this is the second best thing to being in front of them in real life. If you sit and read their works, it's as though you're sitting in their company. So we can all do this.

Right now, sitting in Chicago or wherever we are, we can definitely find books and start reading them. And say, "Yā Allāh, I am reading someone who passed away 100 years ago — his books. Allow me to benefit from his works as though I am benefiting in his presence." Because who is the one who is actually going to give the tarbiyah? Who is it? Allāh. Allāh is the Murabbī al-Haqīqī. The only one who is actually going to make a tarbiyah — and my tarbiyah is Allāh's.

So we say, "Yā Allāh, You are capable of giving me tarbiyah through this. He's not here right now, he passed away. These people passed away. But I'm going to read their stories, and Yā Allāh, allow my heart to change through the barakah of what I read."

Why the Scholars Went to the Khānqah After Graduation

So Mawlana Abdul Qādir Raipuri — after graduating, he went to Raipur to attend his sheikh's khānqah. Why? Because in the past, when you used to graduate, you didn't immediately go start serving in the community. After studying 10, 11, 12 years, you would go to a sheikh to work on your internal state.

Imagine laying beautiful granite, beautiful marble — cutting and putting in a nice design. In the process of that, imagine how much dust flies, how much dirt comes in the process of cutting, cleaning, installing, polishing — all that stuff. It's part of the process. It's part of the process that there's going to be a lot of dirt, a lot of dust. Similarly, when a person goes to a madrasah and seeks ilm — studies Qur'ān, Sunnah, hadīth, fiqh — although it's very beautiful, in the process you get a lot of dust as well. In the process, you'll find that your soul is getting dirty. With what? With arrogance. With being self-conceited. With taking too lightly what you're studying. Becoming too accustomed to it. And the list goes on.

These are spiritual diseases that will happen when a person seeks knowledge. When a person doesn't seek knowledge, he has his own separate huge line of spiritual diseases, which are much more numerous. But understand that when you're studying ilm also, those spiritual diseases — you cannot be free from them. They're going to come. Even the most beautiful rose is going to have thorns around it. You're going to have to get rid of the thorns and enjoy that rose. Similarly, to benefit from the ilm that we're gaining, the knowledge we're gaining, we have to work on these spiritual diseases. Does it make sense?

So this is why in the past, ulamā would graduate from the madrasah and then go to the khānqah — to the zāwiyah — to the abode of spiritual rectification. Today, we don't have that system. And we're suffering from that.

A Word on Muftī Taqī Uthmānī and His Counsel

And so now it's important that the madrasah itself — and Muftī Taqī Uthmānī, hafizahullāh — may Allāh give barakah in his life. May Allāh lengthen his life. May Allāh protect his life. May Allāh protect his health. May Allāh protect his whole family. May Allāh allow the whole ummah to benefit from his ilm, from his rūhāniyyah, from his foresight. Allāhumma āmīn.

I heard his bayan from the Khatmul Bukhāri this past year. How long ago was that? January? Probably mid-January when the Dawrā Hadīth was graduating. The madrasah was closing before exams. Usually all the madrasahs close 15–20 days before Ramadān starts. So in the graduation ceremony, he spoke — and I didn't hear the whole thing. Someone shared with me an 8-minute clip from the bayan. And I shared it with my students and others, colleagues.

The sad part is, in those 9 minutes he must have said it 4 times:

Kept on saying this, which scared me. Allāhu Akbar. "I don't know if I'm going to meet you again or not. I don't know if I'm going to see you next year or not. I don't know if we're ever going to see each other again. But just hold on to what I've got to say."

And in that advice, he says that the biggest problem right now in the entire ummah that we're facing is the lack of spiritual rectification. And this issue is plaguing our madrasahs as well — ālim course, hifz class, boys, girls, everything. And he said we have to understand that in this day and age, the emphasis that we need to give on spiritual rectification is more than anything else — that is the gist of what he's saying. And that it cannot be separated from your studies. Your islāh and your spiritual rectification has to be part of your daily studies.

So I was very happy to hear this because this is something which we've been trying to do here in this madrasah for a long time — in this masjid as well. That whoever comes here should walk away inspired with his head screwed on right, understanding that "I need to work on myself in my relationship with Allāh. I cannot just attend talks. I cannot just attend salāh. I cannot just volunteer, etc. I have to make a concentrated effort on improving myself."

Sometimes I get asked by colleagues in the school and outside the school: "Brother, this is a madrasah. Should we focus on tarbiyah or should we focus on ta'līm?" I get this question unfortunately asked too many times. I say, "What is the use of ta'līm without tarbiyah? What is that supposed to mean?" Someone's bringing you steak, or bringing you — I don't know — heavy food, nihari or whatever, something heavy. And then someone says, "Brother, do you just need food or do you need water as well? This is one of the two — either water or food." Where did you get this dichotomy from? I'm going to give you food or I'm going to give you water — what is this supposed to mean? I need water with my food. I need something to drink with my food — before, after, during, whatever it is. Why are you separating? Why are you saying you have to choose one or the other?

And this is the example of ilm and tazkiyah. You cannot say "I need this or that." Along with seeking knowledge, we have to be focusing on tazkiyah. So if a student — if your son — because māshāAllāh, many dads of the sons doing hifz are right here, maybe listening online, moms, dads, and ourselves as students of knowledge if you're listening to this somewhere — if alhamdulillāh getting 85% and 90% in your tafsīr class is important for you, and if your son and daughter passing his sabaq, sabaq pārah, amukhta, and Arabic class is important for you — if not more, I think more, I think more, I think more. But chalo, you don't want to do more — equally important should be the quality of his salāh. Equally important should be the amount of time he does du'ā. Equally important would be how punctual he or she is in the dhikr — when leaving the home, entering the home, using the bathroom; dhikr during the wudū, dhikr after Fajr, dhikr after Ishā.

Because what are we here to make? We want people to become good Muslims. And a good Muslim cannot be the one who neglects the Sunnah and the one who neglects a'māl. Cannot be a good Muslim. So we are in this frenzy of "let's go to the next year, let's move on, upgrade to the next program, let's finish our hifz, and let's do qirā'at, and let's get ijāzah" — and all these types of things. And in the process of that, we are missing the maghz — we are missing the real deal. Which is: what is our relationship — what is my son's and daughter's or my own relationship — with Allāh? Which becomes manifested in how I speak to Him in seclusion, and how I perform my salāh when no one is looking, and what is the quality of my dhikr, what is the quality of my du'ā. That is one of the main telling points of our relationship with Allāh.

So make this a goal. This is not something for us to say it's either this or that — hameid dono karna — we need to do both. We need to focus on your education, but simultaneously we have to be focused on your self-rectification as well.

The Hardships of Mawlana Abdul Qādir Raipuri at the Khānqah

When he arrived at the khānqah, he received one roti daily — and even that was half dry and half baked, and the other half fully baked, but without any curry. He received one roti daily. Sometimes it would be like this, sometimes it would be like that — and no salan, no curry. Sometimes he said, "I would wash down the roti with buttermilk, but only when someone gifted it from any of the nearby villages" — like lassi. If someone gifted it from the nearby villages, he'd use that to push the dry bread down his throat. Otherwise, nothing — he would wash it down with water.

Dekhō — that very example I gave you: food and drink. You have to wash it down. You cannot — the roti is going to get stuck here. Similarly, the ilm will get stuck right here — above your throat, maximum till your throat. It's not going to go down to the heart. What's going to push down that ilm into your heart, into the rest of your body?

That's what pushes down that ilm.

He narrates: the brothers from UP — Uttar Pradesh — would portion out their roti: one half for the day and the other half for the night. He said, "I, the Punjabi, would eat the whole roti all in one go — and the other time would only say 'Allāh, Allāh.'" Samajh gaye? The UP people, from one state, would split the roti in half — eat half in the morning, half in the evening. He said, "I used to end up eating all of it in the morning and say, 'In the evening we'll just do dhikr. I don't know what to do — I'm not going to keep half of the roti till the night.'"

He relieved his hunger by looking out for edible plants and bushes in the nearby jungle, and subsisting on a variety of different bushes and plants. He's a Mawlana — a great scholar — Mawlana Abdul Qādir. But this is what is happening.

He heated up the hardened molasses he found in the kitchen until it became syrup. And mixed it with tea grounds he collected from the bottom of the guests' tea cups. Allāhu Akbar, Allāhu Akbar. Who has seen such a state? A tea cup — you know a tea cup? It has loose leaf black tea. He said any guest would leave it and he would go collect the black, used tea leaves — the ground tea leaves from the bottom of the people's chai cups. And then he would take some hardened molasses he found in the kitchen and warm it up until it became syrup. Take that syrup and the used tea leaves and eat it with his roti.

At the dump — the garbage dump — he found an old quilt, trashed by its owner. He scavenged it, washed it, then double-folded it, and laid it out near the shanty where Hāfiz Yūsuf Ali, rahimahullāh, tied his horse. That was to be his bedding and his musallā for the next 14 years. 14 years he performed salāh and he laid on this quilt that he found on a garbage dump — which he obviously washed and folded and used.

There was only one lantern in the khānqah — one lantern — no lights besides that. And the scorpions, centipedes, and snakes infested the khānqah from the nearby jungle. Hazrat says, "I kept a broken bamboo stick near the bed" — you know, his "bed" was that same quilt — "and sometimes struck the bamboo stick against the ground to scare the scorpions and the snakes away."

This is what you call the giant. This is what you call the wrestler. This is what you call the ultimate, absolutely fearless person. How many of us can do something like that — just keep a stick to shoo away the scorpions and the snakes? How do you get this tāqat? How do you get the ability to eat this type of food and live off of this? This is called rūhānī tāqat — this is called spiritual nourishment. When your spirituality is so strong, you literally can live off of stuff like this.

When I traveled to India in August, I would tell these extremely poor individuals in the villages, "I said, honestly, you are more lucky in some sense than we are. You are stronger than we are." I said, "We came from America, we're used to luxury. We are going ha ha ha — without fan and without AC, we can't handle it. We're sweating, we can't handle it. We're getting sores, we're getting blisters due to heat. We can't handle this bitter water — we spit it out. We try to do madmadah, forget it — madmadah is just Sunnah. Let's just do the fard. Gargling the mouth is Sunnah in the ālimul madhab. So let's just wash our hands and feet because this water is just too bitter. Shower — you can't take a shower every day? Delay it. Who's going to be able to handle this type of shower — go get a bucket and go take a shower like this."

And I was telling these brothers, "You all, subhānAllāh, you live with so much difficulty. If you were to come to our city, in our country, it would not take you long. Within half an hour, within 10 minutes, you'd get adjusted — taking a shower in our homes, using the bathroom in our homes, and enjoying the masjid salāh here. You don't even need time to adjust. But for us, we have been unfortunately so accustomed to luxury that for us it's becoming very hard." So who is the strong person? That is the question.

Warmth Through Dhikr in Winter

There are many stories of Hazrat in his biography. Another story says: it was wintertime, with no blanket or duvet to keep him warm. In the evening he sat from Maghrib to Ishā near the place where the wudū water was warmed up, and completed his du'ās there. He's sitting by the fire in which wudū water was made warm for the brothers doing i'tikāf or those coming to pray salāh — because it would be too freezing cold to make wudū.

Have you ever done freezing cold wudū? With water? In a freezing cold place? Few years ago our water heater broke down during i'tikāf — you remember? People had to make wudū — one for Fajr. And so many people said, "Brother, can we do tayammum? Too cold." Inside the building here — and the heater was working, but the water heater broke. Do you remember? The water was so cold. It was very, very cold, I know. But subhānAllāh, one day's wudū — that happened four or five years ago — we're still remembering it today. There are people who would have to do this every day.

So he said, that's why they used to warm up the water. He said, "I used to go sit there by the firewood that's warming up the wudū water to do my dhikr, because I have no blanket, nothing." After Ishā, he closed the doors of the masjid and rolled up in the straw mats. The straw mats — they don't have carpets, they have straw mats. They're usually all worn out — they don't really do a good job of insulation. But it's better than nothing.

He said, "I closed the doors of the masjid and slept on the straw mat. But my head remained exposed to the chilly air. I stayed rolled up in the mat for some time and then unrolled myself and started doing dhikr. I spent the whole night keeping myself warm with the chant of dhikr — Allāh, Allāh, lā ilāha illallāh."

It's warm. In taking Allāh's name, it gives you warmth. You know that?

One of my friends from madrasa days — he used to do dhikr. He was not a scholar, he was a madrasah student. And he used to do:

Like this. And I used to hear him before Tahajjud. Before Tahajjud, he would be making dhikr. And then he would say مُحَمَّدٌ رَّسُولُ اللَّهِ ﷺ on the tenth time. I asked him, "Why do you do this?" He was senior to me. I said, "What is this?" He said, "When I start doing لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا اللَّهُ — in the way he used to make niyyah — I make niyyah: 'lā' is a sword. You're breaking the idols in the heart." He said, "I think of each continent of the world, and I imagine the sword of lā ilāha is going across it, and all bātil is being cut, and the nūr of Allāh is descending on that continent." He said, "With that focus, I do dhikr." He said, "As I do the dhikr, I start sweating. My body heat goes up — so much so that the most I can do لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا اللَّهُ is nine times. The tenth time I have to say مُحَمَّدٌ رَّسُولُ اللَّهِ ﷺ to calm me and to cool me, because I cannot handle لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا اللَّهُ more than that."

This is a brother who is a few years senior to me in the madrasah — I'm telling you. This is his own dhikr. When we start doing dhikr properly, we'll realize that dhikr has warmth that you cannot imagine. We have to do it properly to get that.

So he got out of his straw mat. And what did he do? He just started doing dhikr — the whole night. The winter season passed by in this manner. But he never complained of his situation to anyone, nor did anyone ever find out.

He also said: the first winter passed in this manner, but hereafter he received a new blanket every winter. Allāh — we saw that. In previous stories too, Allāh Jalla Jalāluhu tests you. And when you handle your test properly, He opens up the doors of blessing. The key thing is, Allāh tests us in both times. Allāh tests us initially with sabr. And then He tests us after that with shukr. So when He doesn't give you, you're being tested through sabr. And when He gives you, you're also being tested — but that's through shukr.

The Generosity of Shaykh al-Hadīth and the Gift of the Comforters

Shaykh Zakariyyā continues to write: "All of my teachers showed me lots of affection and love. But unfortunately, I still never changed for the better." He's speaking about himself. "Anyhow, if Mawlana Abdul Qādir ever received a high quality blanket, he would mail it to me straight away as a gift. But this lowly one — who never got into the habit of wearing nice new clothes, as it has already been squashed under my father's shoes — I have already narrated this in Abī — would carefully wrap up the comforter in a canvas, and save it for my daughters' bridal gifts whenever they got married." He's going to give a comforter. Allāhumma salli 'alā Muhammad. "All of my daughters' bridal comforters came from Hazrat Abdul Qādir Raipuri. He often gave them to me when I came to visit him. And if I ever insisted he gift it to his attendants and helpers, he would say, 'Do not refuse when I give to you — I give it by order' — and then I could say no more."

He says — Hazrat Shaykh says — "I never got a habit of wearing new clothes." Let's see what he's talking about:

Footnote: Shaykh al-Hadīth is referring to an incident from his childhood when his father beat him on the head with a shoe. The reason: he was flaunting a flashy new garment his mother had put on him when his father appeared. The everlasting effect of this beating was that Shaykh al-Hadīth developed a lifelong aversion to new clothes and remained ever grateful to his father for it.

You know — that's why there's a book called بڑوں کا بچپن — The Childhood of the Seniors. You don't become like this on your own. This book right here — we're reading the end of their lives. They became like this because their moms and dads raised them in a very different manner than the way we have raised and the way we're raising our children. These stories can still come true, but we have to raise our children in that manner — which is: take out the muhabbat of the dunyā, take out the muhabbat of the dunyā.

Closing Remarks

That is the end of that story — Mawlana Abdul Qādir Raipuri. The next one in this section is Mawlana Husain Ahmad Madanī, rahimahullāh. That's the last one in this section. InshāAllāh, Allāh willing, we'll cover this tomorrow.

May Allāh inspire us from what we heard and what I shared. May Allāh remove the desire for materialism from our hearts and the hearts of our spouses. And may Allāh grant us all yaqīn on the promises of Allāh.

InshāAllāh, we'll start our du'ā over here. If the brothers can go downstairs, inshāAllāh, for the Iftār and du'ā.