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The Letter
FROM KAYSERI TO BAGHDAD, FEBRUARY 1243
Bismillahirrahmanirrahim,
My dear brother Baba Zaman,
May the peace and blessings of God be upon you.
It has been a long time since we have last seen one another, and I hope my letter finds you in
good spirits. I have heard so many wonderful things about the lodge you built on the outskirts of
Baghdad, teaching dervishes the wisdom and love of God. I am writing this letter in
confidentiality to share with you something that has been preoccupying my mind. Allow me to
start from the beginning.
As you know, the late Sultan Aladdin Keykubad was a remarkable man who excelled in
leadership in difficult times. It had been his dream to build a city where poets, artisans, and
philosophers could live and work in peace. A dream many called impossible given the chaos and
hostility in the world, especially with the Crusaders and Mongols attacking from both sides. We
have seen it all. Christians killing Muslims, Christians killing Christians, Muslims killing
Christians, Muslims killing Muslims. Warring religions, sects, tribes, even brothers. But
Keykubad was a determined leader. He chose the city of Konya—the first place to emerge after
the great flood—to realize his big dream.
Now, in Konya there lives a scholar you may or may not have heard of. His name is Mawlana
Jalal ad-Din but he often goes by the name Rumi. I have had the pleasure of meeting him, and
not only that, of studying with him, first as his teacher, then, upon his father’s death, as his
mentor, and, after years, as his student. Yes, my friend, I became a student of my student. So
talented and judicious was he, after a point I had nothing else to teach him and started to learn
from him instead. His father was a brilliant scholar, too. But Rumi has a quality that very few
scholars ever have: the ability to dig deep below the husk of religion and pull out from its core
the gem that is universal and eternal.
I want you to know that these are not solely my personal thoughts. When Rumi met the great
mystic, druggist, and perfumist Fariduddin Attar as a young man, Attar said of him, “This boy
will open a gate in the heart of love and throw a flame into the hearts of all mystic lovers.”
Likewise when Ibn Arabi, the distinguished philosopher, writer, and mystic, saw the young Rumi
walking behind his father one day, he exclaimed, “Glory be to God, an ocean is walking behind a
lake!”
As young as the age of twenty-four, Rumi became a spiritual leader. Today, thirteen years later,
the residents of Konya look up to him as a role model, and every Friday people from all over the
region flock to the city to listen to his sermons. He has excelled at law, philosophy, theology,
astronomy, history, chemistry, and algebra. Already he is said to have ten thousand disciples. His
followers hang upon his every word and see him as a great enlightener who will generate a
significant positive change in the history of Islam, if not in the history of the world.
But to me Rumi has always been like a son. I promised his late father that I would always keep
an eye on him. And now that I am an old man who is nearing his final days, I want to make sure
he is in the right company.
You see, as remarkable and successful as he no doubt is, Rumi himself has several times
confided in me that he feels inwardly dissatisfied. There is something missing in his life—an
emptiness that neither his family nor his disciples can fill. Once I told him, though he was
anything but raw, he wasn’t burned either. His cup was full to the brim, and yet he needed to
have the door to his soul opened so that the waters of love could flow in and out. When he asked
me how this could be done, I told him he needed a companion, a friend of the path, and reminded
him that the Qur’an says, “Believers are each other’s mirrors.”
Had the subject not come up again, I might have forgotten about it completely, but on the day I
left Konya, Rumi came to me to ask my opinion on a recurrent dream that had been bothering
him. He told me that in his dream he was searching for someone in a big, bustling city in a land
far away. Words in Arabic. Delightful sunsets. Mulberry trees and silkworms waiting patiently in
secretive cocoons for their moment to arrive. Then he saw himself in the courtyard of his house,
sitting by the well with a lantern in his hand, weeping.
At the outset I had no idea what the fragments in his dreams indicated. Nothing seemed familiar.
But then one day, after I had received a silk scarf as a gift, the answer came to me and the riddle
was solved. I remembered how you were fond of silk and silkworms. I recalled the wonderful
things I had heard about your
tariqa
. And it dawned upon me that the place Rumi saw in his
dreams was none other than your dervish lodge. In short, my brother, I can’t help wondering
whether Rumi’s companion lives under your roof. Hence the reason I write this letter.
I don’t know if there is such a person in your lodge. But if there is, I leave it in your hands to
inform him about the destiny that awaits him. If you and I can play even a minute role in helping
two rivers meet and flow into the ocean of Divine Love as one single watercourse, if we can help
two good friends of God to meet, I will count myself blessed.
There is, however, one thing you need to take into consideration. Rumi might be an influential
man adored and respected by many, but that doesn’t mean he does not have critics. He does.
Furthermore, such a flowing-together might generate discontent and opposition and cause
rivalries beyond our comprehension. His fondness of his companion might also cause problems
in his family and inner circle. The person who is openly loved by someone who is admired by so
many people is bound to draw the envy, if not the hatred, of others.
All of this might put the companion of Rumi in unpredictable danger. In other words, my
brother, the person you send to Konya might never make it back. Therefore, before reaching a
decision as to how to reveal this letter to Rumi’s companion, I ask you to give the matter
considerable thought.
I am sorry to put you in a difficult position, but as we both know, God never burdens us with
more than we can bear. I look forward to your answer and trust that whatever the outcome, you
will take the right steps in the right direction.
May the light of faith never cease to shine upon you and your dervishes,
Master Seyyid Burhaneddin
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