My friend is gone
The line attributed to Rumi after his preceptor’s union with the divine echoed my sentiments as I was left shattered, having lost a great friend and mentor to the drowning incident in the Gantmullah, LJHP Canal tragedy in Baramulla.
I met Mehnaz nine years ago at a model school. He was a savant in computers who performed his professional duties with finesse, a computer mastermind whose wizardry motivated many students of information practices and technology to look up to him for pushing the envelope. His pedagogical techniques were influential in the sense that every student who attended his lessons would remain glued to the screen while he would exhibit his artistry on his interactive board in the Information and Communication Technology lab.
Initially our association was professional, but with the passage of time I found this person, six years younger than me, sprinkling my spiritually barren self with elixir. Under the influence of his company, I realized there was more to Mehnaz than being a computer teacher. Mehnaz was like radiance to my otherwise spiritual blindness. The man with pious speech and sacred glow to his visage stood out in the crowd, often cloaked in the garments that exuded piety. It was he who introduced me to the concept of marifah (gnosis or inner knowledge of Allah) ; he dwelt at length on the Maqamat (stations) in Tasawuf (mysticism). Pertinent to mention, his approach was anything but dogmatic. He would often talk about the purification of the soul before what he called, “Death has a date with us, the sooner we cleanse ourselves from the worldly impurities the better it is.” There was this transcendental side to his personality which created ripples wherever he spoke. Notwithstanding his exceptional simplicity, austere habits, taciturn nature, abstemiousness, those who knew him closely would never bracket him into a stereotypical case of religiousity.
His life was a tribute to the belief that one could be spiritual but that should not divorce one from exploring life, the pleasure of walking up the hill or down the slope to feel the verve of ordinariness. He often went hiking and exploring places unexplored and took pleasure in swimming. The closer I got to him, the fonder I became; there were deeper layers to his humane character. He was unassumingly helping people, in his own ingenious ways, forgotten by society. For a man so reserved in his demeanor, his warmth would embalm the coldest of souls. He would tacitly register his disapproval while we washed someone’s dirty linen in public. But boy, when he rose to speaking on matters pertaining to the Quran and Hadith, his eloquence captivated. For a man with humble means he was a firm believer in God’s ways and aspired to perform pilgrimage at an early age, got his prayers answered. He went on becoming Haj trainer, offering his services to guide others for performing the annual pilgrimage. The sessions he had with pilgrims offered an insight into the kind of person he was.
Mehnaz returned one more time from Hajj purified of all worldly imperfections. The saintly man returned with holy water zamzam and promised to purify all his friends with sacred waters. Fate had other ideas in store. On his return he had premonitions. Deja vu of the graves calling. Nobody knew before cleansing us he would take the last dip in the Jhelum waters at Gantmullah, laying down his life to save two young boys who had already shown their poise in memorization of the Quran - two of his kin, who slipped into the canal. Before burial one could see the saintly radiance on his face as if he had just performed his ablution.
As goes the belief, Allah’s will prevails; neither the mentor nor his two mentees could be saved. Mehnaz united with divine on 14th July, not before purging himself of all the worldly sins, attaining salvation; but keeping us waiting forever for zumzum. My friend is gone.
Altaf Ahmad Khan, MERC Kashmir University Alumnus
