'Razaa - Mim Be'

'Are you sure?' I could sense the disbelief at the other end as I politely tried to convey that I was turning down a job offer at their highly prestigious firm that promised a substantially higher pay grade than my current job. 'You may never get such an opportunity again', one of my colleagues had tried to counsel me. Within a year, the division that had offered the position had folded, and all the employees in that team were without a job. I, on the other hand had done quite well at where I was. And, for the first time, was even given the flexibility during Ramazan to manage my schedule such that I could offer tamaam namaaz  for the entire duration of the month. That was the power and barakat of 'Razaa - Mim Be'.

Broach the subject with any mumin and you will get countless recollections of how His Dua and Razaa Mubarak were and continue to be pivotal to our success stories. And in each story you will find a common theme - the conviction that irrespective of the implications on immediate circumstances, when that arzi came back with "Razaa - Mim Be" written on it, He knew what was best for us.

'Mumineen! Mein tamaro Bawa bhi chhu ane Maa bhi chhu!', He would proudly proclaim. As the days pass and our fondness for Him keeps growing, we can only be thankful, through the tears in our eyes, for the affection He bestowed upon us through his Dua and Razaa Mubarak, which have guided us through the most difficult moments of our lives.

In Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin TUS, He has left us with another Bawa ane Maa, who continues to guide us in the exact same way.

Three days ago, a friend called asking for advice on a very important decision that needed to be made. My simple advice, 'Moula ma araz kari lau. Pacchi jem Moula farmawe em'.

The Green Cadillac

I managed a weak smile to the stewardess as I boarded the plane to Mumbai on that Saturday, 17th of Rabi Ul Awwal. The mind was still racing with emotion from the events of the past 36 hours. The ears were still ringing with the trembling voice on the phone at 1:00 AM in the morning, as she repeated between sobs, 'Moula ye hamesha waaste aaram farmayo chhe!'. The eyes were still flashing images of my Moula's Janaza being led through the streets of Mumbai. And the heart was still unwilling to come to terms with the sinking reality that the one person to whom I owed my very existence, was no more. The unthinkable had happened.

As I hauled away my luggage in the overhead bin, I remembered the last time we were on this very same flight to Mumbai two and a half months earlier. There was excitement at the prospect of being able to get the sharaf of His deedar every day for the next 10 days and the anxious anticipation of the opportunity to do qadambosi. As I had kissed His hands and feet on that Saturday, the 13th of Moharram, and looked up at His gaze, the heart had cried in joy -  'Moula aapye mane bulawi lidha!'.

I waived off the meal and looked out of the window onto the highway below. The most distinct memory of childhood in Mumbai came to mind. Moula would come back home from safar to a grand reception at the airport. We would take position at the usual vantage point on the highway that led out of the airport, eagerly waiting for His entourage. And then we would see it, in the distance - two police cars in the front, followed by sets of motorcycles with their riders dressed in sparkling white uniforms; and then that magnificent Green Cadillac. 'Moula ni gaari dekhai chhe!'. As the shining car would roll ever so slowly by us, He would raise his hand in salaami and look upon us with a smile that can never ever be forgotten.

I was ushered into Raudat Tahera along with throngs of other Mumineen. As I approached His Qabr Mubarak, that paradise which He had chosen to be His final resting place, the heart sank in extreme grief. Would I never see that salaami again? Wasn't there any way to just bring back those minutes and hours spent eagerly waiting for the Green Cadillac?

I waited in line the next day, heart filled with grief, but also with the hope of getting the opportunity to do taziyat araz to Aaliqadr Moula, and with the belief that even a few seconds in His presence would provide the solace that I was desperately craving for. We waited patiently inside Saifee Masjid, eyes fixed to the TV screen that provided a view of the road that led up to the Masjid entrance. Moula was about the arrive at any moment.

And then I saw it. Two police cars in the front, followed by sets of motorcycles with their riders dressed in sparkling white uniforms; and then - that magnificent Green Cadillac! Mufaddal Saifuddin Moula had arrived. The brain registered. It was that unmistakeable salaami, and that very same shafaqat ni nazar. It was Him. It was Burhanuddin Moula who had arrived.

In Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin TUS, He has left us with another Moula, without a doubt, equal in all aspects to Himself.

Abde Syedna TUS