It was night when Khizr turned up. Now the night is
over, as daybreak appears in the very title of the next poem: ‘The
Dawn of Islam’. Has the prophecy of Khizr been fulfilled and
a world been reborn?
‘The Dawn of Islam’ seems to be suggesting that. The
poem appears like a gigantic parliament house in the Garden. The
parliament house is dedicated to spiritual democracy and you are
presiding over the current session jointly with Mustafa Kemal Pasha.
You are entitled to hold this position regardless of your religion:
your success in arriving here by following the principle of non-contradiction
has qualified you.
The structure of the parliament house comprises of
nine stanzas, as if each couplet of the ‘Indian Anthem’
has been expanded into a complete stanza and is not limited to India
The dimming of the stars is foretelling a bright
morning as lifeblood starts coursing again in the dead veins of
the East. The phoenix has risen. The prophecy fulfilled itself.
It’s the same day, but a new morning.
Some invisibles have become visible: valor can be
seen directly instead of having to be discerned through actions.
The morning breeze is carrying away the scent of
the rose without having to pluck the flower, since the newly attained
insight is capable of seeing the invisibles.
“You are the hand and the voice of the Eternal
God, O negligent one!” says Iqbal. “Acquire certainty,
for you have given away to doubt.”
In the early days of Islam, it appeared as if a
lion had leapt out of the desert to overthrow the tyrannies of
Caesar and Chosroes. Now it may be seen that it wasn’t a
beast but a composite of principles: (a) the strength of Ali;
(b) the faqr or the chosen poverty of Abu Dhar, a companion of
the Prophet; and (c) the sincerity of Salman the Persian.
This is the thing that was mentioned to the Brotherhood
of the Tavern in ‘March 1907’. Asians, enslaved for
centuries by succession of local and foreign tyrants, are now
trying to catch a glimpse of the Turks who have succeeded where
even the more advanced Germans had failed.
Faith, action and an all-conquering love have become
useable in this world. They replace weapons.
Eagles fall down from the sky. Stars drowned in
a pool of blood are rising. Adept divers lie drowned in watery
graves while the weakest swimmers emerge like pearls from the
depths. Alchemists are eating dust while those who prostrated
on bare ground have found the Philosopher’s Stone.
Arriving later than the rest, you have brought the
vital message. You have brought life to the Garden.
Humanity lies fragmented. Greed has done that.
“Come, someone has arrived to buy the poor
soul,” says Iqbal. “A caravan has arrived upon us
after such a long time.”
Unmistakably, the “poor soul” is a
reference to Joseph. You are the one who has arrived to buy him
and Iqbal means that you have now reached the spot in the Garden
where Joseph was kept.