“It is I who have created all! I am
the source of everything in creation.” Upon hearing these ecstatic
declarations, an angry mob of fanatic Baluchi soldiers
buried the old woman alive. Over ten years later, when some
of these same soldiers happened to be in Poona, to their
utter amazement they saw the same old woman, Hazrat Babajan,
giving her blessing to a group of devotees. Realizing their
terrible mistake, the soldiers approached Babajan and begged
for her forgiveness, placing their heads at her feet in
reverence. Babajan’s nature was regal. It angered her if anyone
addressed her as “Mother.” The old woman would vehemently
protest, “Do not call me ‘Mother,’ you fool. I am not a
woman, I am a man!” For after attaining the highest
spiritual state possible for a human being, the state of a
Qutub, or a Perfect Master, Prakruti became subservient to
her. Thus this woman, known as Hazrat Babajan, became a
Perfect Man. HAZRAT BABAJAN’S given name was Gool Rukh. The girl was
born to a royal Muslim family of Baluchistan in northern
India between 1790 and 1800. The girl’s name truly befitted
her; Gool Rukh means “like a rose” or “with cheeks like
roses.” Her physical appearance was beautiful, and her inner
spirit was like a rose whose fragrance and beauty never
faded. Gool Rukh retained this delicate beauty throughout
her life, and as Babajan, people were attracted to her
wherever she went. Gool Rukh was raised as a rich, noble princess; no
material expense was spared in giving her the training and
education appropriate to her royal position. The girl was
bright and intelligent, and as a child learned the whole
Koran by heart, becoming known as a Hafiz-e-Koran at a young
age. She also became fluent in several languages, including
Arabic, Persian, Pashtu, Urdu and even English. Spiritually inclined from childhood, Gool Rukh spent much
of her time in solitude reciting the prayers she learned
from the Koran, or in silent meditation. When her childhood
companions came to her house to play, they were disappointed
to find that she preferred a quiet room to their games and
they sorely missed her. As the girl grew into a young woman
her spiritual inclinations increased, and Gool Rukh spent
more and more time alone. Her physical beauty also increased
and seeing her was such a pleasure that people remarked that
Gool Rukh’s husband would be a lucky man indeed. When Gool
Rukh matured to a marriageable age, her parents broached the
topic, but were astonished at her staunch refusal to marry.
For a Pathan princess to remain single was unheard of –
especially one as lovely as she was. The young woman’s
parents then tried to force her into wedlock, not knowing
she had already chosen her Beloved – God Himself. The
maiden had fallen in love with the One who had captured her
heart long, long ago. No prince or handsome groom could take
this One’s place. Gool Rukh’s heart was intoxicated in
divine rapture, and she wept in divine love to become united
with her Beloved. ESCAPE FROM BALUCHISTAN As the months passed, her parents became even more
insistent and made plans to celebrate her wedding on a
certain date to a certain prince. Gool Rukh was informed
that she had no choice; all arrangements had been finalized.
Although she loved her parents, their plans were unbearable
to her. Her longing to find her true Beloved overcame all
obstacles and hardships, and she escaped from home and
Baluchistan – never to be found by her parents. Gool Rukh journeyed to the northeast, first to Peshawar
and then to Rawalpindi. For a young maiden of eighteen years
to run away from home and travel alone across the
mountainous regions of India was an incredible undertaking.
But Beloved God was watching over her, so on the rough
mountain roads she was neither recognized nor captured.
While travelling, the young maiden wore the traditional
Muslim veil – but how long could her Beloved keep his
loved one veiled? The Beloved was starting the necessary
preparations to remove the veil of duality and transform her
into the All-Existing One. Gool Rukh’s heart was burning with the fire of divine
love, suffering the terrible pangs of separation from God,
and the state of fiery restlessness made her oblivious to
hunger, thirst and sleep. The young princess had now become
homeless in this world. Day and night she roamed the streets
of Rawalpindi absorbed in divine madness for Beloved God. A
wayfarer now, this constant restlessness was her only rest.
Who knows how many lifetimes of severe penance and
austerities had created this spiritual longing in her? It is
said that she had been the famous Rabia Al-Adawiya of Basra,
Iraq, in a previous incarnation – the woman saint who
was exceptional in her beauty and grace – but Gool Rukh
was destined for that which is greater than sainthood.
People saw what appeared to be a madwoman wandering the
streets and alleyways, but her only wish was to gaze upon
the Beloved’s face and her heart would cry out, “Come my
Beloved to meet me! Come soon or I shall die!” QUTUB MAULA SHAH Years passed like this, but Gool Rukh’s tears of longing
never stopped; the divine madness had become a divine
intoxication which would always give her more tears. It was
only after tears had broken her heart that Gool Rukh met a
Hindu Sadguru (his name is not recorded) whose destiny was
to guide her perfectly. Under this Sadguru’s guidance she
climbed a mountain in the wilderness and lived in a secluded
cave. For a year and a half she remained in the mountainous
regions of what is now Pakistan, undergoing rigorous
spiritual austerity. The Sadguru beckoned her to go. She then left this region
and journeyed on foot into the Punjab of India. The flames
of separation were now consuming Gool Rukh, and her heart
cried out, “Come oh Beloved, come! I am going. I am gone! I
cannot wait!” Except for the pink cheeks of rose, the
princess was unrecognizable after almost twenty years of
austerity. Gool Rukh was thirty-seven years old when she was
completely ready to die the final death. Not even a
sanskaric speck of worldly attachment was left to prevent
her from finally departing. The Beloved, too, was anxiously
waiting to embrace her, then to absorb her. IN MULTAN, she met a Mohammedan Qutub, known as Maula
Shah, whose divine grace made Gool Rukh disappear forever,
allowing the Beloved to unite with her soul. Gool Rukh died
the final spiritual death; she became God-Realized and
nothing remained but God. Her soul cried out in
all-consuming bliss, “I alone am. There is no one besides
me. I am God! – Anal Haq!” The illusion of the universe
faded away before her eyes as she became the Creator. Time, too, disappeared. But Gool Rukh was not destined to
escape Prakruti, although she had temporarily lost all
consciousness of the universe and herself. In her state of
majzoobiyat, she was aware of being God-Conscious, but
unconscious of creation and her body and mind. The goal,
“Anal Haq!,” had been achieved. But Prakruti knew that this
woman, who had become God-Conscious, could not remain in
this state of divine absorption indefinitely. This woman,
now spiritually perfect, had to know and control illusion as
illusion, in order to play the supremely magnificent role
for which she alone was destined – to summon the
Awakener to earth to unveil the formlessness of God. MECCA & MEDINA From India, in her God-Realized state, Gool Rukh now in
her late thirties, journeyed back to the northern regions,
drawn again to Rawalpindi to her previous Hindu Master. The
Hindus called her a “Brahmi-bhoot” – she was aware of
being God but was unconscious of herself and the external
world. The goal had been achieved but the master’s
consciousness to lead others to the goal was not perfected
in her. In her perfect bliss, she alone existed. Gool Rukh
had become perfect, One with God, but had no consciousness
of the illusory existence of Prakruti in Infinite Existence.
The female majzoob was God-Conscious but felt no sanskaric
consciousness with the cosmic illusion. In this state of
majzoobiyat, there is no existence of duality or manyness;
the divine “I” or “Ego” alone is. Gool Rukh had become a
perfect majzoob of the seventh plane – God unto
herself. She had no awareness that the whole creation was
hidden like a shadow in the light of her Godhood. After several years, with the help of her Hindu Master,
Gool Rukh regained consciousness of the universe, of
duality, and was transformed into a Perfect Master. Along
with her divine consciousness of the Unlimited Ocean of
Reality, she began seeing every drop as a drop and was
empowered to turn each into the Ocean Itself. UPON BECOMING ONE of the five Perfect Masters on earth,
she left Rawalpindi and embarked on several long journeys
through the Middle Eastern countries– Syria, Lebanon,
Iraq and others. It is said that she traveled to Mecca
disguised as a man, by way of Afghanistan, Iran, Turkey and
doubling back into Arabia. At the Kaaba in Mecca, she
offered the customary Mohammedan prayers five times a day,
always sitting at one selected spot. While in Mecca, she
would often gather food for the poor, and personally nursed
pilgrims who had fallen ill. She also spent long hours
gathering fodder for abandoned cattle. From Mecca, Gool Rukh journeyed to the tomb of the
Prophet Muhammad at Medina, where she again adopted the same
routine, offering prayers and caring for her fellow
pilgrims. Leaving Arabia, she wandered overland to Baghdad,
and from Iraq back to the Punjab. In India, she traveled
south to Nasik and established herself in Panchvati, an area
known by Hindus to be sanctified by Lord Ram. To the local
people, her spiritual “manliness” was apparent. The power of
her glance overshadowed her feminine body and attire. From
Nasik, Gool Rukh went further south to Bombay, where she
stayed for several months. After finishing her spiritual
work there, she returned to the Punjab and spent several
years wandering throughout northern India. GOOL RUKH IS MURDERED During this period, while in Rawalpindi she was in a
glorious spiritually intoxicated state of ecstasy and
declared in the presence of a group of Mohammedans that she
had divine authority. “It is I who created the universe! I
am the creator of everything!” Such wild declarations caused
a group of Baluchi soldiers to become furious fanatics. The
soldiers had no idea that she whom they considered insane
was actually conscious of being God. They attacked her and
held her by force while some dug a pit. Then they buried her
alive. These soldiers were extremely proud of themselves, for
they considered her utterances blasphemy against holy Islam.
By killing this madwoman they believed they would be
spiritually rewarded; they had safeguarded Islam’s sacred
truth. Having saved their Mohammedan religion from her
blasphemy, these fanatics left her grave, reveling in their
wicked deed. The soldiers had carved a special niche for
themselves in Paradise by killing this kafir – infidel
or heretic. In spite of being left to die in a nameless
grave, Gool Rukh did not die. It is not known how she
survived this ordeal, but around 1900 she managed to return
safely to Bombay, over a thousand miles south, where she
lived on the sidewalk of a street called Chuna Bhatti near
Sion, Bombay. When these same soldiers saw Babajan alive in Poona years
later, however, their pride and ill-formed conceptions were
completely shattered. Then they understood that it was not
Babajan who was the unbeliever, but they themselves. They
were overcome with repentance for their horrible deed and
fell at her feet seeking forgiveness. Some of these same
soldiers became her devotees and served as bodyguards.
Gradually, Gool Rukh’s fame spread and many believed her to
be a Qutub. The Mohammedans began referring to her as
Hazrat, meaning Your Highness, and began worshiping her as a
person who was One with God – Babajan. Babajan was seen
in Bombay again around 1901. She wandered particularly about
the district known as Pydhonie. Occasionally she would meet
with the saint Maulana Saheb of Bandra, and with saint Abdul
Rehman of Dongri. It was glorious to see how happy the
ancient woman was in their company, and she would lovingly
address them as her children. These two saints became part
of her circle of disciples and later she was to bestow
God-Realization upon both of them; in fact, Abdul Rehman
became a Qutub by her grace. VOYAGE TO ARABIA IN APRIL 1903, Babajan sailed from Bombay on the ship
S.S. Hyderi on her second pilgrimage to Mecca. Although
every moment Babajan was absorbed in her blissful state,
aboard ship she acted quite normal. She would openly
converse with the other passengers, reciting couplets from
the Persian poets Hafiz and Rumi and expound in simple terms
about the deep mysteries of the Absolute. All were attracted
to the old woman, now well over one hundred years old,
including the crew, with whom she spoke in English. One unusual incident occurred during this voyage. It
started raining heavily and a terrible storm arose. All were
terrified and people panicked, convinced the ship would
sink. Babajan appeared on the deck unmindful of the danger.
In an unusually loud voice, she shouted to one of the
passengers named Nooma Pankhawala, “Wrap a kerchief around
your throat to form a bag and approach every passenger
– including the children and Europeans – and
collect one paisa from each. Then have them beseech God with
this prayer, saying, ‘O God! Save our ship from this storm.
On reaching Medina, in the name of your Beloved Prophet, we
will offer food to the poor.'” Immediately, the man, Nooma,
collected one paisa (penny) from each person and all
fervently repeated what Babajan had commanded. Gradually the
storm subsided and miraculously they escaped what appeared
to be certain death. Upon arriving in Mecca, word of the miraculous rescue
spread and a great multitude gathered to be personally
blessed by Babajan. At the Kaaba, Babajan assumed the role
of an ordinary pilgrim, performing prayers five times a day
at the shrine, but after a few days she journeyed north to
Medina. There in the name of Muhammad, the Prophet of the
All-Merciful, she distributed grain to the poor. About 1904,
Babajan returned to Bombay and soon afterward proceeded to
Ajmer in northern India to pay homage at the tomb of the
Sufi Qutub-e-Irshad, Mu’inuddin Chishti, who established
Islam in India. From Ajmer she returned to Bombay and then
soon after traveled west to Poona. AJMER & POONA When she first lived in Poona, Babajan would not remain
in any fixed place. She would wander in the Cantonment area
or roam about the city and frequent even the filthy slums.
Although her clothes were ragged and soiled, her beauty and
the glow of her face attracted many people to her. She had
been a princess; now her true majesty was unmistakable
– it was that of an emperor. After a while, Babajan was never found alone, but always
surrounded by a crowd. Her physical needs were practically
nil and she seldom ate. She was fond of tea, however, and
her followers would bring cup after cup for her, which she
would offer as prasad. If someone happened to bring flowers,
she would abuse the person for wasting money, criticizing,
“Why didn’t you spend your money wisely on something like
sweets or tea which all can enjoy? What good are these
flowers?” If Babajan happened to look at someone who was passing
by, the person would stand transfixed, gazing at her divine
face. Restaurant owners and fruit vendors would beg her to
visit, and offer her whatever she wanted. If Babajan
happened to comply, they would consider themselves fortunate
in God’s eyes. When Babajan went to the Poona Cantonment area, she
frequently visited the house of a Muslim named Shaikh Imam,
a watchmaker. Seeing her ragged clothes, the Shaikh’s mother
wished to bathe and dress Babajan in new clothes, but she
always refused. One day, however, Babajan agreed, and with
the utmost difficulty and patience, the Shaikh’s mother
gently bathed her old body and attired her in a new clean
robe and undergarments especially stitched for her. This was
the last bath Babajan was to have for as long as she lived.
But despite this, her body was always fragrant. It was free
from the impurities of the world, as if it were always
bathed in the wine of love that flowed from her intoxicated
lips and eyes. Having no permanent place to stay in Poona, Babajan would
rest alongside any street at night. Once she stayed near the
Muslim shrine of Wakadia Bagh and from there went to sit for
some time near another Muslim shrine Panch Pir at Dighi.
There were many ant colonies near Panch Pir’s shrine, and
the ants would swarm over Babajan, biting her and causing
large welts on her body, yet she remained quietly seated as
if nothing was happening. CHAR BAWDI One day a man named Kasam V. Rafai went to Dighi, and
upon seeing Babajan covered with ants, tears ran down his
cheeks. Kasam, with Babajan’s permission, attempted to
remove all the ants, but he was not successful. Somehow he
persuaded Babajan to come to his house where, with much
difficulty, he removed hundreds of the tiny insects –
one by one. Throughout this painful ordeal, Babajan barely
indicated any discomfort. After temporarily staying at several different places
throughout the city of Poona, Babajan took up residence
under a neem tree near Bukhari Shah’s mosque in Rasta Peth.
(The mosque was next door to the home of a devotee named
Sardar Raste.) Larger crowds began to congregate there and
Babajan was hampered by the limited space around her. Her
devoted followers implored her to change her seat but
Babajan sternly replied, “One devil is here and unless and
until I get rid of him, it is not possible for me to move an
inch.” Opposite her chosen site was a large banyan tree and when
the municipality chopped down the tree to expand the road,
Babajan suddenly decided to move. For two weeks she was seen
near a deserted tomb in the Swar Gate locality, and from
there she shifted to the area called Char Bawdi, meaning
Four Wells, on Malcolm Tank Road, where she sat beneath a
neem tree. This spot proved to be her final site, where she
remained for many years until the ancient woman discarded
her form. When Babajan first moved to Char Bawdi, there was just a
dirt road infested with hordes of mosquitoes; plague germs
were even suspected there. During the day the area was
desolate and deserted, but at night it sprang to life with
thieves and the city’s most dangerous criminals who met
there. In Char Bawdi, Babajan remained seated under the neem
tree – a rock of absolute Godhood in the shifting dust
of pitiful ignorance moving about her. After months of
exposure to nature’s elements, she grudgingly allowed her
devotees to build a shelter of gunny sacks above her. Here
she stayed throughout all seasons – alleviating
humanity’s suffering by allowing anyone to come to her
– to sip the wine of her continual presence. Several
years later, there was a marvelous change in the locality.
Large modern buildings were constructed, tea shops and
restaurants appeared and electricity was brought to the
homes in the area. Due to the establishment of Babajan’s
seat under the neem tree, Four Wells became a charming area
in which to live and raise a family. NEEM TREE COURT NO ONE can escape the light of illumination when one
nears its source. Even when veiled, one feels the effect of
this light; its flame burns away the veil. Such was the
light of Babajan – in her and around her. The Court of
Babajan was on the street. Qawaalis (Persian and Urdu
devotional songs) were sung before her, crowds came and
bowed to her as an emperor, the fragrance of flowers wafted
on all sides, the sweet burning of incense purified the air.
Those who received her darshan and were blessed by her
thanked God for their rare good fortune. On one occasion in 1919, Babajan forewarned the large
group gathered around her, “All should leave immediately for
your homes. Go!” Her wishes were respected but no one
understood why she was so insistent on sending them away.
Shortly thereafter, however, a tornado with heavy rains
swept through Poona, causing terrible damage throughout the
city. Babajan’s devotees begged her to come to their homes
for shelter, but she refused to move from under the tree and
sent them away. Although she saw to the safety of others,
she herself withstood the rigors of the furious storm. Gradually the ancient woman’s fame spread and Muslims,
Hindus and Zoroastrians from different places came for her
darshan. Char Bawdi became a holy place of pilgrimage and
Babajan poured wine unto the sincere. After meeting the old
holy lady, a person’s heart was content and grateful. Day
after day the number of devotees increased and Babajan was
worshiped and revered by thousands throughout India. The British military authorities were annoyed at finding
the road near Babajan blocked with traffic and surging
crowds each day. The authorities were helpless, however, to
do anything about it, because they knew that if Babajan was
forcibly removed, there would be an uproar which would not
easily subside. It became apparent that a strong, permanent
shelter needed to be erected for the old woman. Initial
funds were provided by the British military, but when the
new shelter was finished, Babajan obstinately refused to
shift, since it had been constructed a few feet away from
her original seat. So the structure was extended at
additional cost to the city authorities to cover her seat
under the neem tree, but again she refused to sit under it.
When her devotees pleaded with her, at last she consented,
muttering her bitter complaints that it was not quite
right. EMPEROR & FAKIR Babajan’s nature was majestic. She was an emperor in a
fakir’s rags. Although between 120 and 130 years old,
Babajan’s wrinkled face was still like a blossoming rose,
and the expression in her brown-blue eyes would draw anyone
to look at her more closely. It is said that her gaze had
driven some mad – mad for God! She was somewhat stooped
and short in height, but her gait was of one intoxicated.
Her skin was white, her wrinkles were deep, as if carved,
her crown of soft hair was pure white and curls fell at her
shoulders. Her voice was uncommonly sweet and pleasing to
the ear. She did not beg, although she lived as a simple
fakir; she possessed only what she wore, but her simplicity
held invaluable and untold treasure. Seated in the street,
she had become like dust; no one knew that she had been
raised as a princess and had renounced her royal heritage.
Her renunciation showed that by her life of utter purity she
had gained priceless divine wealth. Inside her was hidden
everything. It was this divine inheritance – Qutubiyat,
Perfect Mastery – that she consecrated to the
world. Whether in winter or summer, Babajan would dress in loose
white cotton pants with a long white tunic. A shawl always
lay across her shoulders, and besides these humble garments,
she wore no other protection against the elements. Her head
was always bare and her hair was never washed, combed or
oiled. When she walked down the streets, her stride was
swift like that of a young girl’s. While she listened to
devotional music, her body would rock to the rhythm of its
melody. Babajan’s physical condition changed frequently. One
day she would have a high fever and the next, without taking
any medication, she would be fine. She would address everyone, whether young or old, man or
woman, as “child” or “baba.” If any person called her “Mai”
(Mother), she would grimace and rebuke them, “I am a man,
not a woman.” This strange declaration of hers was faithful
to the words of the Prophet Muhammad, who said, “A lover of
the world is a woman, a lover of Paradise is a eunuch, and a
lover of God is a man.” People would, therefore,
affectionately call her “Amma Saheb,” meaning Mother and Sir
at the same time. “AMMA SAHEB” MIRACLES were associated with Babajan. She was a
physician in her own unusual manner. If someone sick
approached her for relief, she would utter, “This child is
suffering due to pills.” Pills really meant that the person
suffered from the sanskaras of his or her actions. Babajan
would take hold of the painful part of the person’s body and
would mysteriously call to an imaginary soul. She would then
shake the afflicted part two or three times and tell the
cause – the sanskaras – to go. This method of
treatment inevitably cured the sufferer of his or her
complaint. One day a Zoroastrian child who had completely
lost his sight was brought to Babajan. She took the child in
her arms, mumbled some incantation and then blew her breath
upon the child’s eyes. Immediately, the child regained his
vision and jumped out of her lap joyfully crying, “I can
see! I can see!” Babajan lived as a poor, homeless fakir on the street,
but out of reverence, her devotees would bring her expensive
cloth or jewelry as gifts. Babajan was indifferent toward
such material offerings but thieves would slyly snatch the
cloth or jewelry away; some would even steal from her while
she watched. Babajan never tried to stop them. Once Babajan
was seemingly sleeping under her tree covered by a fine
shawl. A thief sneaked up and, seeing the shawl, was tempted
to steal it. But as a corner of the shawl was under
Babajan’s body, to pull it out was risky. The thief was
wondering how to manage it when at that moment Babajan
turned over. Taking advantage of her changed position, the
thief grabbed the shawl and ran away. In this way Babajan
helped the thief, who was never caught, fulfill his
desire. On another occasion, a devotee from Bombay brought
Babajan two expensive gold bangles and after bowing to her
put them on her wrist. The man told her that through her
past blessing some worldly desire of his had been fulfilled,
and as a token of appreciation he had brought the bangles
for her. The man had no idea of her indifference to them.
One night soon after, a robber crept up behind Babajan and
roughly forced the bangles off, causing her wrist to bleed.
The robber attempted a speedy escape, but people nearby
witnessing this incident shouted for help. Hearing their
cries, a policeman came and inquired about the uproar. But
what did Babajan do? The old woman startled the crowd
gathered by raising a stick and exclaiming, “Arrest those
people who are shouting. It is they who are disturbing me.
Take them away.” PERFECT MASTER’S WAYS Babajan was seldom seen eating. A man was appointed as
her mujawar, whose duty it was to look after her personal
needs and serve her. He was a good-humored person, and
whenever he would ask Babajan to eat, he would jokingly say,
“Amma Saheb, the jodna (patch on a cloth) is ready now.”
This referred to Babajan’s constant protests that eating was
like patching a torn cloth – meaning that ingesting
food was similar to patching this cloth of a body to
preserve it. Babajan would constantly mutter seemingly incoherent
phrases such as, “Vermin are troubling me incessantly. I
brush them away but they gather again.” She would then
vigorously brush her body as if removing dust or
cobwebs. Perfect Masters, such as Babajan, have their own inner
way of working. For example, one night, in the town of
Talegaon about twenty miles from Poona, a play was being
staged in a local theater. There was a large crowd and the
theater was packed to capacity. Seating was sold out and the
management locked the doors to prevent people from entering.
During the play a fire broke out and the audience panicked,
since the doors were locked. Simultaneously in Poona,
Babajan was observed to be behaving quite strangely. She
began restlessly pacing back and forth quite excitedly and
angrily shouted, “Fire! Fire! The doors are locked and
people are going to burn. You damn fire! Extinguish!” The
people around her could not understand what was happening.
But in Talegaon, as the people there later related, suddenly
the doors of the theater flew open and the panicked crowd
rushed out, averting a horrible tragedy. The Perfect Masters’ ways are unique as well as curious;
the boundlessness of their spiritual work is outside the
limits of rational human understanding. One example of this
is the following incident. Although Babajan had an aversion
to presents of jewelry, she kept tight, gaudy rings on her
fingers which she would never remove. One ring was so tight
that her finger began to swell and a deep wound developed.
Maggots crawled in and out of the wound. When the worms
would fall off, Babajan would pick them up and placing them
back on the wound utter, “My children, feed and be at ease.”
Naturally, people tried to take her to a doctor, but she
always refused, not even agreeing to let a doctor come to
her to treat the infection, and consequently, gangrene set
in, the finger wasted away and fell off. The wound healed on
her hand, but seeing her condition, the ancient woman’s
devotees would shed tears and she would scold them saying,
“Why do you weep? I enjoy the suffering.” BABAJAN & TAJUDDIN BABA Babajan was generous toward the ailing and destitute. If
a hungry man came to her, she would hand him her own food;
in winter if a shivering man approached her, she would give
her shawl to him. But once an exception was observed in her
generosity. It was bitterly cold one night and an old man,
shaking pitiably, came to her. He had a severe cold and high
fever and prayed to Babajan to cure him by her nazar –
gaze. Babajan, however, became furious and angrily snatched
away the thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders which was
his sole scanty protection against the cold. After this,
Babajan ignored him and the old man quietly sat down to
spend the bitter night beside her. However, by morning he
was feeling unusually strong and looked healthy, and happily
left fully recovered. Babajan would usually speak in Pashtu or Persian and
frequently utter the names of the Persian poets Khwaja
Shamsuddin Muhammad Hafiz-e Shirazi and Amir Khushru. She
would often quote these couplets: and thousands of wise men, Only God understands His own way of working!” “Wonderful is Your creation, O God! Wonderful is Your game! You poured jasmine oil on the head of a shrew!” Sometimes she mentioned different saints or masters and
would remark particularly about Tajuddin Baba, “Taj is my
Khalifa – Supreme Ruler or Successor… . What Taj
gives he gets from me.” On August 17th, 1925, at midnight,
Babajan suddenly exclaimed, “My poor fakir Taj has gone.” No
one could understand what she meant, but the next morning
when the newspapers carried the story of Tajuddin Baba’s
demise in Nagpur, people grasped the significance of her
utterance. Babajan resided continuously on the streets of
Poona for almost twenty-six years, during which time
thousands of hearts were “wounded” by the dagger of her
glance. Around her was an unseen fire, where all kinds of
impressions hovered and burned. BABAJAN’S BELOVED SON IN MAY 1913, her flame also kissed the Light of the Age,
Merwan Sheriar Irani, whom Babajan always called, “My
beloved son.” To unveil Merwan was her mission; it was for
her “beloved son” that Babajan had traveled to Poona from
the Punjab so many years before. Her seat under the neem
tree was just a few streets away from his home. Often she
would see him pass by, walking with his friends; but she
waited many years before she embraced him. People would see
her weeping, and when they inquired why, she would reply, “I
weep out of love for my son.” This statement was astonishing
because it was inconceivable for this old woman fakir to
have given birth to a child. With tears in her intoxicating eyes, she would utter,
“One day my son will come… He will come and shake the
world!” No one had any idea what her words meant. Babajan’s physical presence on earth lasted between 130
to 141 years. On September 18th, 1931, one of Babajan’s
fingers was operated on at Sassoon Hospital, but afterward
the ancient woman did not appear to be recovering, and a few
days before she dropped her body, Babajan muttered, “It is
time . . . time for me to leave now. The work is over … I
must close the shop.” One of her devotees pleaded, “Do not say such things
Babajan. We need you with us.” With a quizzical gaze she replied in cryptic fashion,
“Nobody, nobody wants my wares. Nobody can afford the price.
I have turned my goods over to the Proprietor.” On September 21st, 1931, at 4:27 in the afternoon, Hazrat
Babajan dropped her body. People were speechless when they
learned that this ancient woman had died. Tears flowed
throughout Poona, gloom hung over the city as if clouds had
become her shawl. Thousands of people joined the funeral
procession for her last journey through the streets of
Poona. Babajan was buried under the same neem tree where she
sat for so many years and people still come to her tomb
every day. Although Babajan, the Rose Cheeks of Beloved God, is
sleeping in her tomb, her devotees and lovers know that she
is always awake in their hearts. O Babajan! Our loving and full-hearted homage to you. Your kiss awakened the Awakener and gave him bliss. You unveiled the Formless One. Further Reading:
I have turned my goods over to the
Proprietor.”
