Hazrat Sultan Bahu R.A.
Hazrat Sultan Bahus ancestors had migrated from Arabia to Khorasan initially, and later after Hazrat Imam Husains martyrdom settled in a region of present day Pakistan. He is said to be of Prophet Muhammad’s descent. Hagiographers reckon that he was born in 1628 or 1629. His mother, Bibi Rasti, was a devout lady and when she was pregnant with Hazrat in her womb, she received the Divine sign to name her son Ba-Hu. "Ba" means with, and "Hu" means God. The name thus means united with God.As a child he never received any formal education, yet despite this he has proven to be a great scholar and poet due to his inner realization and spiritual insight. He is said to have written 140 books in Arabic and Persian. In addition he wrote a number of poetical works in Punjabi of which only the Abyat has survived. His Arabic and Persian mystical treatise have been forgotten, but his Punjabi poetry lives on and is extremely popular amongst the local Punjabi populace as part of their folk music. The Abyat-Bahu also form an important basis for the study of his mystical teachings and spirituality.
Hazrat Sultan Bahu was brought up under the guidance of his mother who led a deeply religious and spiritual life. When he felt the need to adopt a Murshid, he could think of no better person than his mother. Bibi Rasti, however, felt inadequate to take on this role and declined the offer. Consequently he left home in search of a perfect master. After sometime he reached a village on the banks of the Ravi where he met the saint, Hazrat Habibullah Qadiri and became his disciple. Hazrat Sultan Bahu made very rapid spiritual progress and noticing his accomplishment his guide said to him one day: The spiritual wealth you seek is not with me, but you will be able to attain it at the hands of my Murshid, Hazrat Abdurahman Qadiri.
Thus, Hazrat Sultan Bahu presented himself to this great master in Delhi, whose lineage went back to the great sufi saint of Baghdad, Hazrat Abdul Qadir Jilani [1077-1166]. It was through this doorway that Hazrat Sultan Bahu entered the exalted presence of Divine Reality.
Below you may relish the richness and profundity of the spiritual wealth bequeathed to us by the Sultan-ul-Arifeen [The King of the Gnostics, a title of Hazrat Sultan Bahu].
The Abyat is written in a four-line verse form, each four-liner called a bayt, thus the plural "Abyat". Originally written in Punjabi, the translation by J.R Puri and Kirpal Singh Khak is presented below with some changes as desired.
The opening bayt perfumes the senses by the words:
My Master has planted in my heart the jasmine of Allah’s Name.
Both, my denial that the Creation is real
And my embracing of God, the only reality,
Have nourished the seeding down to its core.
When the buds of mystery unfolded
Into the blossoms of revelation
My entire being was filled with God’s fragrance.
May the perfect Master
Who planted this jasmine in my heart
Be ever blessed, O Bahu!
On The Ruse of the Ego-Self.
You have read the name of God over and over,
You have stored the Holy Quran in your memory,
But this has still not unveiled the hidden mystery.
Instead, your learning and your scholarship
Have sharpened your greed for worldly things.
None of the countless books you’ve read in your life
Has destroyed your brutal ego.
Indeed, none but the saints can kill this inner thief,
For it ravages the very house in which it lives.
On the Longing of the Soul for God.
When, at the time of creation,
God separated me from Himself,
I heard Him say: Am I not your God?
"Indeed You are," cried my soul, reassured.
Since then has my heart flowered
With the inner urge to return Home
Giving me not a moment of calm here on earth.
May doom strike this world!
It robs souls on their way to God.
The world has never accepted His lovers;
They are persecuted and left to cry in pain.
On the Ignorant versus the Realised.
I have at last, grasped the beginning and the end:
I have seen the whole spectacle of past, present and future
Pass before my eyes,
Within my heart are fourteen realms:
Chambers of light ablaze
With the profusion of God’s radiance.
Those who have not realized God will wander,
Homeless in this world, destitute in the next.
But watch the lovers dance with ecstasy,
As they merge into the Oneness of God.
On the Creed of Love.
Believers pray to God for the protection of faith,
But few pray for the gift of His Love.
I am ashamed at what they ask for,
Even more at what they are willing to yield.
Religion is quite unaware of the spiritual plane
To which love can raise us.
O Lord, keep my love for you ever fresh, says Bahu:
I shall mortgage my religion for it.
On Love for The Murshid.
Were my whole body festooned with eyes,
I would gaze at my Master with untiring zeal.
O, how I wish that every pore of my body
Would turn into a million eyes
Then, as some closed to blink, others would open to see!
But even then my thirst to see him
Might remain unquenched.
What am I to do where am I to go?
To me, O Bahu, a glimpse of my Master
Is worth millions of pilgrimages to the Holy Kaaba!
On True Devotion.
I offer my prayer in the temple of my heart
The only true place to worship God.
I stand in supplication, I bow in obeisance,
I tender my prayer without break in repetition.
Hanging between life and death
My heart burns in the fire of separation from Him.
The Path indicated by the Prophet s,w is true, O Bahu:
Following it one can find God.
On the Signs of "Fuqr" or Poverty.
Their eyes sleepless, their faces pale,
Lovers constantly sigh in grief.
What has become of these faces
That once beamed of youth and vivacity?
Love is like musk that cannot stay hidden:
Its fragrance cannot but reveal its presence.
Only those who abide in realms beyond space
Deserve to be called "Faqir", O Bahu.
On the Finitude of Mortal Life.
The soul has come to lodge in this body
A desolate wilderness,
A rapidly crumbling bank of the river of time.
It will collapse tomorrow, if not today.
Lodged on the edge of such a shore,
How can a traveller sleep in peace?
For where sand and water meet,
No embankment can hold, O Bahu.
On the Nature of True Pilgrimage.
The garden of my heart has so blossomed
That it puts the charming narcissus to shame.
Manifested within me is the holy Kaaba;
Blessed with the purity of love, my heart rejoices.
I circle the inner Kaaba with fervent love;
In ardent devotion I yearn
For the blessing of my Beloved’s presence.
The veil is now lifted, my pilgrimage is complete.
In His mercy, O Bahu, lies the way to remission.
On the Imperative need for Purification.
If you don’t have the Master’s presence within,
You will not attain acceptance in God’s court.
Useless is all prayer, futile is all chanting.
You can fast, you can pray the whole night through
To supplement your daily prayer;
You can also perform numerous acts of charity;
But if your heart is not purified,
You will not feel God’s presence within.
If you have not died before your death,
Chanting in group prayers will avail you nothing.
On The Hypocrisy of External Piety.
Thoroughly blacken the face of priestly wisdom,
And dump it in the sewer.
The Kalima has adorned you like a diamond necklace
Let the guile of religious formalities beguile those who have sold their souls to them.
The Kalima has manifested itself within me;
The fear of death is now banished from my heart.
It was my Master, O Bahu, who gave me to drink
From the cup that held the water of Life.
On Renunciation.
You will be able to renounce the world
Only when you find the treasure of devotion.
True renunciation will only occur
When you beg for the Lord’s Grace
In the begging bowl of your heart.
Deep have I drunk from the ocean of Oneness,
Yet my soul always thirsts for more.
Only tears of blood can pave the way to God;
O Bahu, none but the ignorant will take this lightly.
On God-Reliance.
Build the ship of faith and bravely sail across.
Do not mind the pain that results in happiness.
Inscribe on the tablet of your heart
The writ of the Holy Quran:
"From suffering comes ease and comfort."
Absolute is the Lord, He is accountable to none.
O Bahu, let us offer Him his due
Through prayer and the tears of penitence.
On the Truth of Love.
Like the lion that kills in the forest
And a hawk that preys in the farmyard,
Love destroys all impurities of the heart
Better than a goldsmith can purify gold.
Lovers are always awake.
They are free from appetites of the flesh,
And they have conquered death.
But only those lovers are truly alive, O Bahu,
Who offer their heads at the altar of God.
On the Art of Dying while Living.
If you wish to learn the art of dying while living
Go and sit in the company of the mystics.
If someone splatters you with dirt,
Be like a dung-hill, take it without reproach.
Let them hurl abuse at you
accept it in humility.
Bear complaints, censure, blame, calumny with patience
For the sake of the Beloved.
Our strings are in the hands of the AlMighty,
Let us live in submission to His Will.