That Memorable Id Day
Id-ul-fitr, the Muslim holiday, is falling on November 26th or 27th, depending on the sighting of the moon. This is celebrated after fasting for 30 days during Ramadan; when the Muslims, both young and old, do not eat or drink anything from dawn to dusk.
On the last day of Ramadan, I sat in my room in Brindavan, Bangalore, and opened the Quran. A significant verse met my gaze, “Indeed to the Lord is the return of all.” (XCVI: 8)
The “return” is often confused with death. But I wondered if this could be the only meaning. I could not find a satisfactory answer. When a wave dashes against the shore, water not the wave flows back to the sea. When illusions fall off, the soul alone in its sublime state merges with the supreme consciousness—Allah of the Muslim mind.
But these were only explanations that I had no experience or proof for. Little did I suspect that I was to witness a brief moment of a “return” on that memorable Id day.
The morning of May 18, 1988 began as a not-very-happy day. I was sad knowing full well that many Muslims all over the world had spent the month worshipping Him—the one and only one. But what had I to offer? Nothing. No nightly prayers, no self-discipline through fasting, no soul-pleasing recitation of His revelation. I had simply wasted the month.
The previous night I had washed cloves, cardamom, and sugar candy, then put them in the betel nut box Baba had consecrated years ago in our house. What a poor offering, I thought, as I carefully wrapped it in white silk. I sat waiting in the darshan [sight of a holy person] line. Would He accept it?
He did accept it, but in His own Divine way, by motioning us to go for an interview—the Id interview. As the small group of Anantapur teachers got up, each one had the same feeling. He knew where we sat, what we had to offer. And this was a chance for a brief return to Him. We felt the same assurance that He knew what was in the box. Even more than that, we felt that He had watched me as I went from shop to shop buying the box’s contents. He opened the box, took a clove, and blessed the offering. It was a gesture at once human and divine.
I sat opposite Swami’s chair and quietly resolved not to say anything, rather to be content with feasting on the beauty of His face and the soft tenderness of His mellow voice. Then from the mosque outside the walls came the call for prayer—Allah-ho Akbar.” Saluting His greatness, His formless majesty, I became aware that He too was singing, softly, as if to Himself, an old Telugu song. The song celebrated Radha’s devotion, its steadfast courage, and its fearless resolve. Love for God became faith itself. The two sounds rose and merged in one, became One in the golden light that filled the room. The room was lit as if by a self-illumined yellow splendor—not too bright, but soft and pleasant. The two voices, now one, surged and floated like a golden ocean that is blissful in its own beauty.
Perhaps my colleagues were talking, but their voices were outside the silence in whose centre the One, as a sonic image, pleased itself. It was as if nothing else lived.
Then, just as suddenly as the moment had started, it was over. Images, words, faces returned and I was back in the world of the many. The experience was Baba’s Id gift.
That brief moment of “the return” was His silent gift of love. I was left with a tearful memory of a togetherness that was not physical but was, as the ancient covenant describes, before creation and for which all objects yearn. The theme was the same as a Sufi song we had sung many times on ceremonial occasions:
What’s the meaning of this paste,
O friend! Merge in SAI, be one with Him.
The ancient Sufi from Bijapur knew Him as SAI, who is also known as Al-Ahad.
Al Ahad: The One
With my head bent, I found my way out of the room feeling overwhelmed. My tears would not stop. I just wanted to be alone and gather the moment to myself again. In that moment of brief “return,” a veil had been lifted and a very fleeting glimpse had been shown of a principle which the Muslims describe as Al Ahad the One. Elsewhere it was also written. I wondered where and the lines came to me:
“That morning, [Holy Easwaramma narrated] when I was at the well drawing water, a big ball of blue light came rolling toward me and I fainted and fell. I felt it glide into me.” And Baba, answering a question of Mr. Rama Sarma, added, “I was not begotten.”
(Kasturi: Easwaramma page 20)
The same principle is repeated in the mystic words of the Quran:
He begets not
Nor is He begotten.
And there is none
Like unto Him. (CXII: 3-4)
Thus, unaware, the majesty of the giver enriches the supplicant from His fountain of abundance.
~Mrs. Zeba Bashiruddin, Sri Sathya Sai College for Women, Anantapur
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, August, 1988
