Forty Rules of Love(65)

With this, Shams picked up a dead branch and drew a large circle around the oak tree. When he was done, he raised his arms toward the sky, as if wishing to be pulled up by an invisible rope, and uttered the ninety-nine names of God. At the same time, he began to whirl inside the circle, first slowly and tenderly but then accelerating steadily, like a late-afternoon breeze. Soon he was whirling with the speed and might of gusty winds. So captivating was his frenzy that I couldn’t help but feel as if the whole universe—the earth, the stars, and the moon—spun with him. I watched this most unusual dance, letting the energy it radiated envelop my soul and body.

Finally Shams slowed down to a halt, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath, his face white, his voice suddenly deep, as if coming from a distant place. “The universe is one being. Everything and everyone is interconnected through an invisible web of stories. Whether we are aware of it or not, we are all in a silent conversation. Do no harm. Practice compassion. And do not gossip behind anyone’s back—not even a seemingly innocent remark! The words that come out of our mouths do not vanish but are perpetually stored in infinite space, and they will come back to us in due time. One man’s pain will hurt us all. One man’s joy will make everyone smile,” he murmured. “This is what one of the forty rules reminds us.”

Then he turned his inquisitive gaze to me. There was a shadow of despair in the bottomless depths of his eyes, a wave of sorrow that I had never seen in him before.

“One day you will be known as the Voice of Love,” Shams remarked. “East and West, people who have never seen your face will be inspired by your voice.”

“How is that going to happen?” I asked incredulously.

“Through your words,” Shams answered. “But I am not talking about lectures or sermons. I am talking about poetry.”

“Poetry?” My voice cracked. “I don’t write poetry. I am a scholar.”

This elicited a subtle smile from Shams. “You, my friend, are one of the finest poets the world will ever come to know.”

I was about to protest, but the determined look in Shams’s eyes stopped me. Besides, I didn’t feel like arguing. “Even so, whatever needs to be done, we will do it together. We will walk on this path together.”

Shams nodded absently and lapsed into an eerie silence, gazing at the fading colors in the horizon. When he finally spoke, he uttered those ominous words that have never left me, scarring my soul permanently: “As much as I would love to join you, I’m afraid you will have to do it alone.”

“What do you mean? Where are you going?” I asked.

With a wistful pucker of the lips, Shams lowered his gaze. “It is not in my hands.”

A sudden wind blew in our direction, and the weather turned chilly, as if warning us that the fall would soon be over. It began to rain out of the clear blue sky, in light, warm drops, as faint and delicate as the touch of butterflies. And that was the first time the thought of Shams’s leaving me hit me like a sharp pain in the chest.





Sultan Walad





KONYA, DECEMBER 1245

Banter to some, but it pains me to hear the gossip. How can people be so disdainful and scornful with regard to things they know so little about? It is queer, if not frightening, how out of touch with truth people are! They don’t understand the depth of the bond between my father and Shams. Apparently they haven’t read the Qur’an. Because if they had, they would know that there are similar stories of spiritual companionship, such as the story of Moses and Khidr.

It is in the verse al-Kahf, clear and plain. Moses was an exemplary man, great enough to become a prophet someday, as well as a legendary commander and lawmaker. But there was a time when he sorely needed a spiritual companion to open his third eye. And that companion was no other than Khidr, the Comforter of the Distressed and Dejected.

Khidr said to Moses, “I am a lifelong traveler. God has assigned me to roam the world and do what needs to be done. You say you want to join me in my journeys, but if you follow me, you must not question anything I do. Can you bear to accompany me without questioning? Can you trust me fully?”

“Yes, I can,” Moses assured him. “Let me come with you. I promise, I won’t ask you any questions.”

So they set out on the road, visiting various towns on the way. But when he witnessed Khidr perform senseless actions, like killing a young boy or sinking a boat, Moses could not hold his tongue. “Why did you do those awful things?” he asked desperately.

“What happened to your promise?” Khidr asked back. “Did I not tell you that you can ask me no questions?”