"Submit." It was asked of him.
"I have submitted," he replied
The manner of his submission is a lifetime's worth of learning. Impeccable, immaculate, unquestionable submission. In honour of this man, thousands of people journey for days only to fulfil a legacy that he began. In memory of this man, millions of people the world over are celebrating with their families. As I gorge on sumptuous Biryani today, this man's story makes my skin tingle. As I deliberately sit down to drink my glass of water in three breaths, I think of how this man's prayer has been answered. The deal was simple. Submit to Me and I will take care of everything else.
How difficult could that be?
Let's answer that straight from the beginning.
He was born in Babylon and belonged to a respectable family. His father held an esteemed postion in society, belonging to a trade that was considered noble in the days. Idol carving. His father sculpted animal figures from stone and wood, much to his delight. He played with them, rode on their backs and even kicked them around. Those toys were his play-school buddies. But things were soon starting to get messy. Imagine the little boy's shock when men from his community began bowing and prostrating before his toys! They're Gods, his father would tell him. But I kick them around! He'd think in repulsion. His repulsion continued to grow and along with it grew curiousity. One day, he set out to find answers for himself. He was thirteen.
He looked at a star and wondered if it was God. The moon emerged from behind a cloud and he wondered if that was God. But the night passed away and took the stars and the moon away with it. A thirteen year old boy thought to himself- I do not like that which sets. Surely, this is not my God.
Dawn arrived in all it's beauty and the sun embraced the horizon. Could this be God? The sun set and dusk arrived with the answer. My God is permanent. My Lord is the Creator of the heavens and the earth and everything in between. He has the power to make the stars rise and set.
That instant, this boy came to be known as Khaleelullah. He had just become brand ambassador of what was to be known as Deen e Hanifa. Because in that very instant, God spoke to him.
Submit.
I have submitted.
The reason I'm talking so emphatically about submission is my plate of Biryani.
This thirteen year old boy now attained a glorious age of 86. Needless to say, life had not been all that easy. But nothing compared to that which was yet to come. He had no heir. No son to pass on this beautiful experience that is Deen e Hanifa. His beard grew luxuriantly but his eyes longed to see a child. His bones were growing weaker but his lips mouthed prayers asking for a miracle. After 86 long and tiring years of prayer, he received his little miracle. The tiny coughs and coos were to make his heart burst in uncontainable joy and gratitude.
On the 9th day of the month of ZilHajj, he was asked to sacrifice his boy.
HE SUBMITTED.
My story ends here. I'm not touching upon what follows next only because proceeding from here without extracting everything there is to be had would be a glaring injustice. It would be an injustice to my own self and, more importantly, to the man who taught me the meaning of submission. Because from now on, it's about living up to his directives. Of being a Muslim (the one who submits) the way he had been.
He was not born into a believing family. The call to prayer was not sounded in his ears when he was born. His first words were not the name of God. HE found his way to his Lord. And that is what mesmerizes me about this man. He never played the "That's not fair! Nobody ever told me!" card. He never tried to simply "fit in" with the idolators of his time only to save himself. He never worshipped "stars" (go ahead, give them names: Proxima Centauri, Michael Jackson, Kobe Bryant, Eminem, Miley Cyrus and a whole galaxy more) only to appear "cool." He was thirteen. Societal pressure was immense. Top that off with crazy stars-and-moon-worshipping peer pressure!
Yet, he did not buckle.
And that is why he inspires me even today.
And that is why, celebrating this Festival of Sacrifice, I think of the 86 year old man who agreed to sacrifice his miracle baby as the loftiest expression of whole-hearted submission.
The man was Ibrahim Alayhissalam.
إِذْ قَالَ لَهُ رَبُّهُ أَسْلِمْ [When his Lord asked to him, "Submit"]
قَالَ أَسْلَمْتُ لِرَبِّ الْعَالَمِينَ [He said "I have submitted [in Islam] to the Lord of the worlds."]
[2:131]
"I have submitted," he replied
The manner of his submission is a lifetime's worth of learning. Impeccable, immaculate, unquestionable submission. In honour of this man, thousands of people journey for days only to fulfil a legacy that he began. In memory of this man, millions of people the world over are celebrating with their families. As I gorge on sumptuous Biryani today, this man's story makes my skin tingle. As I deliberately sit down to drink my glass of water in three breaths, I think of how this man's prayer has been answered. The deal was simple. Submit to Me and I will take care of everything else.
How difficult could that be?
Let's answer that straight from the beginning.
He was born in Babylon and belonged to a respectable family. His father held an esteemed postion in society, belonging to a trade that was considered noble in the days. Idol carving. His father sculpted animal figures from stone and wood, much to his delight. He played with them, rode on their backs and even kicked them around. Those toys were his play-school buddies. But things were soon starting to get messy. Imagine the little boy's shock when men from his community began bowing and prostrating before his toys! They're Gods, his father would tell him. But I kick them around! He'd think in repulsion. His repulsion continued to grow and along with it grew curiousity. One day, he set out to find answers for himself. He was thirteen.
He looked at a star and wondered if it was God. The moon emerged from behind a cloud and he wondered if that was God. But the night passed away and took the stars and the moon away with it. A thirteen year old boy thought to himself- I do not like that which sets. Surely, this is not my God.
Dawn arrived in all it's beauty and the sun embraced the horizon. Could this be God? The sun set and dusk arrived with the answer. My God is permanent. My Lord is the Creator of the heavens and the earth and everything in between. He has the power to make the stars rise and set.
That instant, this boy came to be known as Khaleelullah. He had just become brand ambassador of what was to be known as Deen e Hanifa. Because in that very instant, God spoke to him.
Submit.
I have submitted.
The reason I'm talking so emphatically about submission is my plate of Biryani.
This thirteen year old boy now attained a glorious age of 86. Needless to say, life had not been all that easy. But nothing compared to that which was yet to come. He had no heir. No son to pass on this beautiful experience that is Deen e Hanifa. His beard grew luxuriantly but his eyes longed to see a child. His bones were growing weaker but his lips mouthed prayers asking for a miracle. After 86 long and tiring years of prayer, he received his little miracle. The tiny coughs and coos were to make his heart burst in uncontainable joy and gratitude.
On the 9th day of the month of ZilHajj, he was asked to sacrifice his boy.
HE SUBMITTED.
My story ends here. I'm not touching upon what follows next only because proceeding from here without extracting everything there is to be had would be a glaring injustice. It would be an injustice to my own self and, more importantly, to the man who taught me the meaning of submission. Because from now on, it's about living up to his directives. Of being a Muslim (the one who submits) the way he had been.
He was not born into a believing family. The call to prayer was not sounded in his ears when he was born. His first words were not the name of God. HE found his way to his Lord. And that is what mesmerizes me about this man. He never played the "That's not fair! Nobody ever told me!" card. He never tried to simply "fit in" with the idolators of his time only to save himself. He never worshipped "stars" (go ahead, give them names: Proxima Centauri, Michael Jackson, Kobe Bryant, Eminem, Miley Cyrus and a whole galaxy more) only to appear "cool." He was thirteen. Societal pressure was immense. Top that off with crazy stars-and-moon-worshipping peer pressure!
Yet, he did not buckle.
And that is why he inspires me even today.
And that is why, celebrating this Festival of Sacrifice, I think of the 86 year old man who agreed to sacrifice his miracle baby as the loftiest expression of whole-hearted submission.
The man was Ibrahim Alayhissalam.
إِذْ قَالَ لَهُ رَبُّهُ أَسْلِمْ [When his Lord asked to him, "Submit"]
قَالَ أَسْلَمْتُ لِرَبِّ الْعَالَمِينَ [He said "I have submitted [in Islam] to the Lord of the worlds."]
[2:131]
