Jan 14
27
52nd Dai al-Mutlaq Syedna Mohammed Burhanuddin RA to 53rd Dai al-Mutlaq Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin TUS
From Moula RA to Moula TUS
Moula Mohammed Burhanuddin Aqa! Moula Mohammed Burhanuddin Aqa! Aap kaha padhaari gaya?
As Moula departed this earthly realm of ours, the gates of Jannat parted. In all of the heavens, there was Eid, rejoicing in the arrival of a Dai whose coming the ones who dwell in the heavens above had been anticipating with great zeal and earnestness. It is not a coincidence that Moula had returned to whence he had come in the year of his Eid e Zahabi, for Eid means ‘to return’. Moula’s Eid e Zahabi was his valedictory farewell to us all.
As Moula came, Panjatan must have reached out to welcome him amongst their midst. Rasulullah must have felt such joy as his namesake, Mohammed like Mohammed, whose existence itself had been the life-blood of Islam and the beating heart of Iman, had finally come to join him. Moulana Ali must have come, with the water of Kauser, eager to hand it to his Dai with his own hand, whose deedar itself was the Kauser that quenched thousands. Moulatena Fatema must have come to say Ahlan wa Sahlan to her Dai, Al Dai Al Fatemi who embodied the Shafa’at filled tears of Moulatena Fatema and whose wish till his last breath was to see the Zarih of Moulatena Fatema erected in Jannatul Baqi. Imam Hassan must have come, as this 102 year “Fata” – youth – of Syedna Taher Saifuddin, was welcomed by the Syed of the Shabaab (youth) of Jannat.
As Moulana Mohammed Burhanuddin Aqa entered Jannat, Imam Hussain welcomed him. Aqa Moula would have looked up to see him and then reached down to Imam Hussain’s feet, but instead Imam Hussain must have held Moula, brought him closer and embraced him. For who was this Moula? His unwavering sacrifice for Imam Hussain for over half a century, was unmatched save only by Imam Hussain’s own sacrifice for Rasulullah and his Ummat. Imam Hussain’s eyes must have been brimming with tears of joy, for a Dai, his Dai, was the very Dai at whose feet mumineen wept as they were breathed into life by the countless tears he wept in remembering Imam Hussain. Can anyone doubt the elation Imam Hussain must have felt as he saw him? As Imam Hussain embraced Moula, so must all of Panjatan, taking Moula into their arms. What a sight it must have been to behold!
Each Imam must have been waiting with earnest as all the heavens greeted him. For this was the Moula who had relit the mishkat of Al Anwar in Fatemi Misr, this was the Dai whose countenance was the luminous moon of Al Aqmar, whose radiance was the light of Al Azhar and whose smile was the pearl of Lulua. Each Dai must have been standing next to Imam ul Zaman, longing to set eyes on the Dai who had embodied their every virtue, and had fulfilled their every prophecy. As Imam ul Zaman, to whose khidmat this Dai had devoted his every breath and every moment, saw his Dai approach, he must have greeted him with open arms, embracing him in his divine nazar.
Imagine the joy of a father reunited with his son after fifty years. Syedna Taher Saifuddin Aqa’s face must have been lit up with joy and pride as his Mansoos, his mirror image, his gift to Imam ul Zaman, finally rejoined him. This must have been the scenes of splendour and celestial celebration as Moula was welcomed back.
ALAS! In our world, a torrent of utter loss and grief has engulfed the flock he tended with such love and affection for fifty years. No words could ever begin to attempt to cross the chasm of pain that has beset every mumin. Hands tremble as they feebly try to put pen to paper but the surge of emotion is too overwhelming to channel it into words. Moula was the centre of our universe, our pivot around which all our lives revolved and now, in a jarring, cruel twist of fate, our existence has come crashing down. We’ve lost our bearing, for every action and every particle of our being was directed to Moula. Where is he now? On Friday 16th Rabi ul Awal, the incomprehensible, the unthinkable, the impossible became a reality – one which shattered the hearts of hundreds of thousands. Was it true that a Moula, whose single smile would wash away a sea of sorrows, whose fatherly gaze gave hope when despair was all we could see, whose steady hand held us in our most darkest hour and whose Dua transcended the boundaries of time and space to reach us when we thought all was lost – was it true, was it possible that this Moula had left us – forever? Moula was Noor – the light of our lives, the light that always showed the way, the right way, guiding each mumin and mumina, in a time of seismic turmoil, towards righteousness. Had that light now been extinguished by the savage winds of time?! Where do we turn to Moula? Who do we go to? How can we exist without you? Could not Death have taken us in your stead?
Sleep eludes every mumin and every morsel of food has turned to poison. Our will to live without Moula has been lost. Our entire life we have not known anyone else, anything else, dearer or more loved than Moulana Mohammed Burhanuddin. Our hearts are torn, our chests heave with an unbearable pain as the blade of anguish slices away relentlessly. Our eyes gush floods of tears as they search for a glimpse of a Moula who gave meaning to our ability to see and whose deedar enabled us to see what could not be seen. Our ears strain to hear the voice of a Moula whose words “E maara pyaara pyaara farzando” will forever resonate in our hearts. Our hands reach out towards the empty void, desperately trying to touch the hands of a Moula who never, never, ever, let go of a mumin. Our lips mouth the words ‘Moula! Moula!’ but all that can be seen is a tomb, where the sun of all suns has set for the last time, buried next to his father.
No sorrow can surpass the sorrow of an orphaned son, a son whose father was the very embodiment of love itself, who knew nothing but the warmth of his embrace, who felt nothing but his magnanimous affection, who lived and breathed every moment by his side. A collective crack of hearts broken into an infinite number of pieces can be heard as we all look at Moulana Mufaddal and see the burden of a million souls on him and the insufferable loss of his beloved father flow through tears that roll like priceless pearls on his face. Not one of us can comprehend what Moulana Mufaddal is going through. Every moment must be opening a floodgate of memories that span over seventy years. Every loving embrace, every affectionate look, every benevolent smile, every father-fed morsel, every qadambosi, every ziyafat, every ziyarat, every wasila, every waaz, every bayaan, every tear, every Shahadat of Imam Hussain, every salaami, every step, every gesture – Mufaddal Moula must be reliving and yet, he does not seek solace for himself, but for every mumin who Moula considered his own. As we go for taziyat, it does not seem that we are going to console Mufaddal Moula, but rather he looks at each one of us with the same love, affection and care as Burhanuddin Moula, with those same gentle eyes, letting each one of us know, that “Your Moula is not gone, for I am here”.
Moula Burhanuddin did not leave us alone, he did not abandon us. He left us with Mufaddal Moula, a father just like him. He is our Dai, our Moula, our Aqa. We see him and we see Moulana Mohammed Burhanuddin. For us, that is proof enough. Khuda taala aap Moula ni Umr Shareef ne Ta Roze Qayamat Daraaz Kare. Ameen
Heart rending expression of love and sorrow by Sh Adnan Abidali.
