Category: Short Stories

It is related that three butterflies, dwelling in the shade of a vast forest, heard whispers of a mysterious flame. The flame was spoken of with awe—its light irresistible, its heat transformative. Stirred by longing rather than curiosity, they resolved to journey toward it, each carrying within its tiny breast a different measure of courage.

When they came near, the first butterfly hovered at a safe distance. The warmth reached its wings, and the glow dazzled its sight. It said, “This is sufficient for me. I now know that the flame exists.” Content with this assurance, it turned back, confident in its knowledge.

The second butterfly, not satisfied with mere warmth or rumor, flew closer. Its wings were scorched, and pain etched itself upon its body. It cried, “Now I have truly seen the flame. I believe in it with certainty.” Bearing the marks of its encounter, it too withdrew.

The third butterfly did not pause to measure distance or consequence. Drawn by an irresistible pull, it plunged directly into the heart of the flame. In that moment, form vanished. The flame became the butterfly, and the butterfly became the flame. None could say whether the fire consumed the butterfly or the butterfly consumed the fire. As it burned, it spoke no longer of belief or proof, but uttered only: “I am the flame.”

When the shaykh completed the story, he said:
“This is the parable of the three degrees of certainty. The first butterfly stands at ʿIlm al-Yaqīn—knowledge of the truth. It knows by report and inference, and this knowledge satisfies it. Such are those who are content with forms, doctrines, and outward acts, stopping at the threshold of meaning.

The second butterfly represents ʿAyn al-Yaqīn—the eye of certainty. It sees the truth directly and bears its marks. These are the seekers who demand proof and witness, whose faith is strengthened by experience, yet who remain separate from what they behold.

The third butterfly is Ḥaqq al-Yaqīn—the truth of certainty. It does not speak of the flame, nor even see it; it is the flame. These are the elect, for whom the Real is no longer an object of knowledge but the ground of their being. They do not say, ‘I know’ or ‘I have seen,’ for there is no longer a ‘they’ apart from the Truth.”

Then the shaykh fell silent, and after a pause he added:
“Many are satisfied mere hearsay about light, some seek the pain of proof. But few surrender themselves to the Light. Certainty is not completed by knowledge, nor by sight, but by annihilation in what is sought. When the Self burns away, only Reality remains.”

And those who understood said nothing, for silence, too, is a form of witness.

Abridged from a story in Siasat Name of Nizamul Mulk (d 1093 CE)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a man named Yusuf. He was a kind, devout, and pious man who loved and worshiped God with all his heart. He kept his prayers, fasted, and avoided all great sins. For forty years, Yusuf lived a life of piety and devotion. According to the belief of his times, anyone who followed such a path could ask God for three wishes.

After forty years, Yusuf was finally given the chance to make his wishes. He thought long and hard about what to ask for but could not think of anything wise enough on his own. So, he turned to his wife, Kirsuf, for advice, knowing she loved him deeply and desired his happiness.

Kirsuf, who was also devout and kind, told Yusuf that a wife is like a peaceful garden, meant to bring joy to her husband's heart. She then suggested that Yusuf ask God for the most extraordinary beauty for her, so that he would always be happy to see her.

Yusuf was pleased with this suggestion and prayed to God for his wife to be granted beauty beyond imagination.

The next day, Kirsuf was transformed into the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen. Her beauty was so great that women came from villages far and near just to catch a glimpse of her. As time passed, Kirsuf's beauty only grew, becoming more and more dazzling every day.

One day, Kirsuf chanced to look at herself in a mirror and was amazed at her own dazzling beauty. Vanity and pride entered her Nafs (soul). “I am fit for princes and kings”, she thought, “why should I struggle with Yusuf who can barely provide a loaf of bread for his family”. She started to mistreat Yusuf. She became rude, disrespectful, and selfish, neglecting her children and her duties as a wife. Her heart was filled with a desire for riches and status, thinking she deserved to be treated like a queen.

Yusuf, heartbroken and confused, could not understand what had happened to his loving wife. In his distress, he asked God for his second wish – to turn Kirsuf into a bear.

Immediately, Kirsuf was transformed into a bear, roaming around their home in misery, unable to leave. The bear shed tears, and Yosuf, now unable to care for his children or his worship, felt lost and helpless.

In his despair, Yusuf again turned to God and asked for his third wish. He prayed for his wife to be returned to her original form, but this time with a contented heart.

God granted his wish, and Kirsuf was restored to her former self. She resumed caring for her children and living with her husband in peace. She had no memory of what had happened; it was as if it was all a dream.

The moral of the story is that true happiness lies in contentment (Qina’et). Contentment is a priceless jewel from the treasure house of God. Happiness lies not in seeking more and more, but in appreciating what we already have.

 

Submitted by Dr. M. Basheer Ahmed, Texas

Transmitted from Ron Little

In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”

“Nonsense,” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”

The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”

The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.”

The second insisted, “Well I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”

The first replied, “Nonsense. And moreover, if there is life, then why has no one ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery, there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”

The first replied “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists, then where is She now?”

The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her, this world would not and could not exist.”

Said the first: “Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.”

To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.”

Perhaps this was one of the best explanations for the concept of GOD.

Comment: The human has lost the capacity to see with the inner eye. Immersed as he is in the ocean of Divine grace, he cannot perceive the presence of the Owner of Grace. The human is like the fish in the ocean which asks, “where is the ocean?”. Or, as Mevlana Rumi said: “You ride your horse from village to village asking everyone: ‘Have you seen my horse?”.

 

A story from Southern India

Professor Nazeer Ahmed

There lived a milkmaid, Akka, in a remote village tucked away in the hilly tracts of Southern India. She was young, ambitious and pretty, her beautiful face blackened by the hot tropical Indian sun. Akka lived in a thatched adobe hut in a single room. In one corner of the hut was a brick oven plastered over with red clay. A mattress and a straw pillow, a cotton saree and a few pieces of clothes lay neatly piled up in another corner. Tethered outside to a peg was a water buffalo. This was her wealth. Indeed, it was her universe in which her neighbors who lived in clusters of thatched mud huts were the constellations.

Akka was up every morning as soon as the first rooster heralded the imminent onset of another dawn. Soon, the sparrows came, in droves of hundreds, as well as the cuckoo and the myna; the air was filled with a symphony of a hundred bird songs. She carefully washed her hands and face in cold water, chilled overnight in an unbaked clay jug molded in the skillful hands of the village potter.

Her routine was the same every morning: she milked the buffalo, carried the milk in a matki (large clay pot) to the nearby town, sold the milk for one rupee and brought back some rice, ragi, onions and lentils for food.

That morning, as she approached the buffalo, Akka found that its udders were swollen with milk. She squeezed each udder with care and love until the matki was filled to the brim.

Akka curled up a piece of cloth into a rope, made it into a ring (a chambel) and placed the chambel on her head. She stood up, lifted the mutki and carefully positioned it on her head so that the weight of the filled clay pot was distributed around the rim of her chambel.

Akka started to walk towards the town, a distance of three miles, through the mango orchards and past the tall, slender aracanut trees that reached up to the sky and were waving gently in the morning breeze. Soon, the sun rose from the hills, its balmy rays reflecting off the morning dew on the grass in the open fields.

“Today, will be a good day for me”, Akka thought. “My mutki is full of milk. It will easily sell for two rupees”. Now, her mind started to race ahead. “I will save the extra rupee. Tomorrow, I will save another rupee. Soon I will have enough money to buy a second buffalo. My profits will double. In time I will have a large herd of buffalos so that I can supply milk to the entire town. With the money, I will build a mansion with a large garden, mango groves and aracanut trees. I will hire servants and buy troves of sarees of silk and jewelry made of pure gold.

“My fame will spread far and wide”, Akka continued to day-dream even as the pace of her walk picked up until she was practically jogging.  Her slender black frame moved forward in mighty strides as she hurried towards the town. “The news about my wealth will finally reach the prince”, she thought. The prince will inquire: Who is that wealthy young lady that everyone speaks of?”

“Then, the prince will appear before my mansion in a chariot, accompanied by his companions. He will ring the silver bell at my beautiful mahogany door. My maid servants will open door and I will appear before the prince, bedecked with my beautiful jewelry and an embroidered, red silk sari. So dazzled will the prince be with my beauty that he will kneel and ask me: Will you marry me?”

Akka’s mind paused for a moment. “How will I respond to the prince?” she asked herself. Pride took over her inner self and she decided she would reject the prince’s proposal.

“I will firmly say ‘No’ to the prince”. As if to emphasize her rejection, Akka shook her head with a sudden jerk. The mutki tumbled from her head and fell. It broke into pieces and all the milk spilled onto the ground, shattering her dreams and hurling her back into the world of reality.

The story-teller concluded: “The milkmaid reminds you of your Nafs (ego). Dream but be thankful for the pot of milk that God has already given you.”

 

Submitted by Professor Nazeer Ahmed

Once upon a time there lived a little frog in a tiny pond. Years of living in cramped shallow waters had turned its color muddy red. The pond was isolated from other sources of water so the frog had no idea about the mighty rivers that flowed through the land or the vast oceans that covered more than seventy percent of the earth’s surface. The little red frog was happy in its ignorance, content that it was the king of the pond which it believed was the largest body of water in the world.

One day, the region was hit by a powerful hurricane. There was a mighty downpour lasting days, creating a deluge that occurs only once in a century. The rivers overflowed; the land was flooded and became one continuous lake as far as the eye could see.

A blue frog that lived in the ocean was caught up in the floods and was hurled into the small pond that was home to the red frog.

The red frog had never seen a blue frog. It was curious to learn about the companion that had just landed in its domain.

“Where did you come from?”, asked the red frog of the newcomer.

“My home is the ocean. I have lived there for generations. The floods carried me off my turf and have landed me into your pond”, answered the blue frog.

The red frog was curious. “I wonder what kind of a pond this other frog comes from? Are there other ponds out there bigger than my pond?”, it ruminated.

“How large is your pond?”, asked the red frog.

“It is larger than this pond”, came the answer.

Jealousy overtook curiosity. “Surely, this newcomer is lying”, thought the red frog. “After all, I have lived in this pond all my life. I know, for sure, there is no pond larger than mine”.

It was time for a test. The red frog took a long hop, then turned to the blue frog and asked: “Is your pond as large as that hop?”

“It is larger”, replied the blue frog.

The red frog took two long hops. “Surely”, it mused, “his pond cannot be bigger than two of my hops”.

“Is your pond as big as my two hops?”, asked the red frog.

“It is bigger”, was the reply.

Jealousy gave way to suspicion. “Surely, this newcomer is a confirmed liar”, thought the red frog.

This time, the red frog took three long hops. It jumped as far as it could and was certain in its knowledge that this time it had traversed a larger distance than the extent of the pond that the blue frog came from.

“Surely, your pond is not larger than the distance I covered in my three hops”, asserted the red frog.

“It is much, much larger”, said the blue frog. “It is larger than a thousand of your ponds”.

The red frog was frothing at the mouth. Suspicion gave way to anger. “What more evidence do I need to confirm this intruder is a big liar? I have known all my life that my pond is the biggest”.

Seething with anger, the red frog lunged at the blue frog and chased it away.

“Where ignorance is bliss, it is foolish to be wise”. Ignorance is the doorkeeper of the Ego. It is the curtain that keeps the light out from Nafs e Ammara.

How many civilizations have destroyed themselves because they closed their doors and failed to learn from other civilizations?