Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (38 page)

'And this time, the doctor will live there. If he doesn't, then let me know.'

'I don't know how to thank you—procuring a doctor for the dispensary has been a major problem.'

'You don't need to.' He paused, then continued, 'before going there, I had not expected to see work being done at this scale and in such an organized manner—I've really been very impressed by your work. My offer is still open: to help however I can with your project.' Salar was serious.

'Salar, I've told you earlier too that you should start a similar project in another village. You have more resources and contacts than we do and you can run it very successfully.'

'You know my problem is scarcity of time—I cannot give as much time as you do, and besides, I cannot stay in Pakistan. Unlike your family, mine will not be very helpful in any such venture,' Salar revealed.

'Anyway, we'll talk about this later. Finish your tea and then come with me,' said Furqan, changing the topic.

'Where?'

'I'll tell you on the way,' replied Furqan with a secretive smile.

'What will I do there?' Salar asked Furqan, getting into the car. 'The same as I do,' he said, stopping the car at the signal. 'And what do you do there?' 'You can see that when you get there.'

Furqan was taking him to one Dr. Syed Sibt-e-Ali, whom he used to meet himself. He was a religious scholar and Salar was not interested in religious scholars. In the last few years he had seen so many of them, and in their true colors, that he did not wish to waste his time on them. 'Frankly speaking, Furqan, I'm not the type you're imagining me to be.' He spoke after remaining silent for some time. 'What type?' Furqan turned and faced him. 'The same, of spiritual leaders and followers or oaths of loyalty etc....or whatever you make of it.' He spoke very candidly.

'That's why I'm taking you there. You need help.' Salar shot him a look of surprise, but he was looking at the road.

'What kind of help?'

'If a Hafiz-e-Quran, after reciting a sipara at night is unable to fall asleep without the aid of sleeping pills, then there is, indeed, something wrong somewhere. Several years ago, I had also gone into deep depression. My mind was a morass. Then, someone took me to doctor sahib and I've been going to him for the last eight to ten years. Meeting you, I realized that, like me, you also needed help - guidance,' Furqan said softly.

'Why do you want to help me?'

'Because my faith tells me that you are my brother,' he said turning the corner. Salar turned his head away from him and looked ahead. He had nothing more to say to him.

He was not interested in religious scholars. Every scholar was a genius in portraying his own sect as the loftiest. Every scholar was proud of his knowledge. Every scholar felt that only he was good and the others were bad. I am all-knowing and the others are wanting. Looking at every scholar, one felt that he had not acquired knowledge from books, but directly through divine revelation, where there was no possibility of error. To date, he had not come across a scholar who could tolerate criticism.

Salar himself belonged to the Sunni Sect, but the last thing he wanted to discuss with anyone was schools of thought and sects, and these were the first things that these religious scholars would discuss. Going to these religious scholars, he had gradually grown averse to them. Their only asset was knowledge, not its application. They would give a very long lecture on 'Slander: a Sin', give references of Quranic verses and ahadis, and in the very next breath mention a fellow religious scholar by name, make fun of him, and try to prove his ignorance in matters of religion.

They would get to know the bio-data of everyone who came to them, and if the details were of interest to them, then a whole spate of demands and requests for favors would follow. And they would use the bio-data to impress others, to tell them what important person had come to them and when; who had benefited from their audience and how; which important person was for ever fawning over them; who had invited them home and how respectful and how deferential they had been. The scholars he had been to till now, he had never visited again, and here Furqan was dragging him to another such person. They had traveled to one of the good areas of the city. The locality was respectable but not posh. There were already a lot of cars parked on that street. Furqan parked the car at a suitable place by the curb and got down. Salar also got down. After walking for three or four minutes along the row of houses, they reached a comparatively modest but impressive house. 'Dr. Syed Sibt-e-Ali' was written on the name plate. Furqan, without hesitating, entered the house. Salar followed suit. A gardener was busy at work on the small lawn inside the bungalow. Furqan exchanged greetings with a retainer in the porch and walked on till he came to a door, where he took off his shoes. There were already lots of other pairs. Voices could be heard from inside. Salar also took off his shoes, and entering the room a step behind, in one sweeping glance, took in the whole scenario. He was in a spacious room, carpeted, and strewn with floor cushions. The room was very sparsely furnished and the walls bore calligraphies of Quranic ayats. There were some twenty to twenty-five men who were busy talking. Furqan, as he entered the room, greeted all loudly, exchanged pleasantries with a few, and went and sat in a vacant corner.

'Where is Dr. Sibt-e-Ali?' Salar asked in a low voice as he sat down close by.

'He'll enter exactly at eight, it's only seven-twenty-five now,' Furqan informed him.

Salar began to look around and observe the people. There people of all ages - some teenage boys, some his own age, people of Furqan's age, some middle-aged, and some of advanced years also. Furqan was engrossed in conversation with someone sitting on his right. At the stroke of eight, Salar saw a man, 60 to 65 years of age, enter the room through an inner door. Contrary to his expectations, no one in the room stood up to greet him. The entrant began by offering salutations and everyone responded. Salar noticed the change in the mode of the audience's seating—they had straightened up in respect to the scholar. They became alert and careful.

The man who came was none other than Dr Sibt-e-Ali. He took up his usual place against the wall, which had probably been set aside for him. He was dressed in a white shalwar qameez; he had a fair complexion, and in his youth, he must have been handsome. His beard was not very long but was thick, well-trimmed and grizzled, much like his hair. His graying hair and beard gave him a mature, dignified look. He turned to enquire the welfare of a man to his right who had probably been ill.

Salar took in his appearance in a quick glance. He was sitting with Furqan at the rear end of the room.

Dr Sibt-e-Ali commenced his lecture. He spoke eloquently in a well-modulated voice. There was complete silence in the room; the audience did not even stir. From the introductory sentences of Dr Ali's speech, Salar realized that he was in the presence of an extraordinary scholar. 'A human being passes through several ups and downs in his life. From the peaks of achievement to the depths of failure, all his life he moves on a path between these two limits. That path can be one of gratitude or thanklessness. Some are fortunate that whether they may succeed or fail, their path is that of gratitude. Some on the other hand, despite their achievements or their failures, tread the path of ingratitude. And there are those who walk both paths: grateful when they succeed and ungrateful when they do not. Humanity is just one of Allah's innumerable creations: the best of His creation yet just a creation. They have no rights over their Creator, only duties. Man has not been sent to this world with a track record that entitles him to any right or demand of his Creator. Yet Allah's bounties on man began with his very presence in Eden and have continued boundless ever since. In return, all that is asked of us is gratitude. What do you feel about this? When you do anyone a favor, do you expect him to overlook it and remind you of the times when you did not favor him instead of acknowledging your kindness? Or that your kindness is not enough, that you could have done this or that in a better way? What would your reaction be to such a person? Far from being kind to him, you would not want to have anything to do with him.

'But that is how we respond to Allah—instead of being thankful for His blessings, we grumble and complain about what we do not have and we wanted. Allah is merciful; He is benevolent that He continues to shower His bounties on us. These blessings may increase or decrease according to the nature of our actions, but they never cease.' Salar listened to him with rapt attention.

'Ingratitude is a disease, one that constricts our hearts day by day, that does not allow our tongues to speak except in complaint. If we are not in the habit of thanking Allah, we fail to thank our fellow beings as well. If we cannot remember the favors bestowed by our Creator, we cannot learn to remember the favors done by His creatures.' Salar closed his eyes. No one knew the meaning of ingratitude better than him. He looked up at Dr Sibt-e-Ali again. His lecture came to an end after a full hour. Some people had questions to ask him; others rose and left, one by one. They began to get in their cars and drive away. Furqan and Salar also got into their car and Furqan began to drive home. Dr Sibt-e-Ali's voice, his words were echoing in Salar's ears. A week ago, he did not even know who Furqan was; in these seven days, he had traveled many steps to build a relationship with Furqan. This surprised Salar because he was not a people's person, but...some relationships, some contacts seem to be determined from above—who, when, how, where—why people meet and what changes they bring about in others' lives, all of this is predetermined. Salar had planned to visit Lahore for just a day, but he spent the rest of his days in Pakistan not in Islamabad but in Lahore. Every day that he was there, he went to Dr Sibt-e-Ali's with Furqan. He did not once meet Dr Sibt-e-Ali directly: he'd just go the lecture, listen and return.

The better part of Dr Sibt-e-Ali's life had been spent in various European universities, teaching Islamic studies and Islamic history. He had been in Lahore since the last ten or twelve years and was associated with one of the universities. That was about how long Furqan had known him. The day when Salar was due to return to Islamabad and then take a flight to New York was the day he stayed back with Furqan after the lecture. People were leaving the room and Dr Sibt-e-Ali stood there, shaking hands and bidding them goodbye. Furqan moved towards him with Salar.

'How are you, Furqan? You stayed back after a long time,' he said warmly.

Furqan offered a clarification, then introduced Salar. 'This is Salar Sikandar, my friend.'

Salar noticed his surprise when his name was mentioned, but he quickly regained his composure and the smile returned to his face. Furqan was giving him the details about Salar.

'Please be seated,' Dr Sibt-e-Ali gestured towards the carpet. They sat a little distance away from him. Furqan discussed about his project with him, while Salar quietly listened to them. Meanwhile, a servant entered the room and Dr Ali asked him to serve dinner. The man set out the food; apparently, Furqan had been eating there. When they washed their hands and sat down to eat, Dr Sibt-e-Ali addressed Salar.

'How come you don't smile, Salar?' Salar gave an astonished smile. In this brief meeting, how had he gauged that Salar was not in the habit of smiling? He looked at Furqan sheepishly and made a poor effort to sustain his smile. It was not easy.

'Does my face reflect all my emotions that first Furqan and now Dr Sibt-e-Ali want to know the reason for my gravity?' he wondered. 'No, it's not like that—I'm not all that serious and sober.' He seemed to be reassuring himself rather than answering Dr Ali's question. 'Hopefully, it's like that,' Dr Ali said with a smile. After dinner, he went in before bidding his guests goodbye. He returned with a book which he held out to Salar.

'You're associated with economics. Some time ago, I had written this book on Islamic economy. It'll make me happy if you read this book and learn about the Islamic economic system.' Taking the book, Salar glanced at it briefly, then turned to Dr Ali and softly said, 'I would like to keep in touch with you, even after my return to the US. It's not just economics—there's much more that I want to learn from you.' Dr Ali gently patted his shoulder.

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'All those who go to Dr. Sibt-e-Ali Sahib are involved in community work. Some are already involved prior to going to him, and those who are not, get involved after meeting him,' Furqan told him after the first meeting with Dr. Sibt-e-Ali.

'Most of those who visit him are highly qualified. They are attached to reputable institutions. I also started going to him by chance. I happened to hear his lecture in London and, after returning to Pakistan, I got the opportunity to meet him through a friend. I've been going to him ever since. I feel that now my views on life are clearer and I'm mentally stronger. You were asking me about the project. In this project, a lot of help has also been given by the people who come to Dr. Sibt-e-Ali. They provided a lot of the facilities and I'm not the only one to work on such projects. We help each other, though the nature of help is different. But the objective is the same: we all want to change this country - for the better.'

At his comment, Salar looked at him rather quizzically. 'It's not so easy,' he observed.

'Yes, we know that it's not an easy job. We also know that all this will not be completed during our lifetime, but we want to lay down the foundation on which our children and subsequent generations will be able to build, and not be left floundering in the dark. At least, we would die with the satisfaction that we were not idle spectators and that, like a lot of people, we did not spend our time only criticizing others, pointing accusing fingers, and confined Islam to the mosque only... that we did not try to bring a change for the better in our own lives and that of others.'

He looked with amazement at Furqan. After Imama Hashim, Jalal Ansar, and Saad he was looking at an entirely different kind of Muslim, he was getting acquainted with another breed of Muslim - a practical Muslim. A Muslim, who belonged to both this world and the spiritual one as well, who knew the middle path between the two extremes, and who knew how to tread this path. His mind was set ablaze. 'What have you thought about my offer?' he asked Furqan. 'I'd told you what I wanted from you. This country needs you; its people, its institutions, need you; you should come and work here.' Salar laughed a little at his suggestion. 'You can't leave this topic alone, can you? OK, I'll think about it, and what would you say about my offer?'