Selections From the Diaries of Doctor Saeed Ahmad

January 7, 1945 — Madanapalli (Madras)¹

O Most Generous Lord—Helper of the humble, True Comforter of the grief-stricken.

ھُوَ مَعَکُمْ اَیْنَ مَا کُنْتُمْ ہ

And He is with you wherever you are.
(Holy Quran—57:4)

Have mercy on my condition. No one knows the state of my heart but You. Forgive my sins. Ease my difficulties. Turn my hardships into ease. And grant me an immense reward in return for these trials. Amen, O Most Merciful of the merciful.

In the evening, a measure of solace descended upon my heart. During the sunset prayer, my mind turned to this thought: some special wisdom and mercy of God has brought me here. At once, another thought followed—that this is not a punishment, but rather the herald of something better; and that the Generous Lord is able, in either case, to do as He wills: to send me back with honor, or to make every path easy for the completion of what is to be completed. There are many signs—there surely are—that His support is in view. He who has always been gracious to this poor servant will, Insha’Allah, not abandon me now either.

لَمْ اَكُنْۢ بِدُعَآىِٕكَ رَبِّ شَقِیًّا

And I have never been unsuccessful in my prayer to Thee, my Lord.
(Holy Quran—19:4)

¹ (Doctor Saeed Ahmad went to the Madanapalli Sanatorium for medical training. During the journey, he became severely ill and anxious. So he resolved to return.)

January 8, 1945

Not for a single moment did sleep come in the night. I dozed off—if I did, I cannot even recall it. In that time, in a dream, I saw my brother Muhammad Ishaq²—happy, young, and in good health. What I thought in the night, what conversations the heart held with itself—I do not remember it all, nor can I write it down. But after considering every aspect with a cool mind, I made a decision: returning is the right course, and staying here is—one hundred percent—dangerous. For this, God granted guidance, and I am grateful to Him; and starting early in the morning, I began to act upon it.

² (Muhammad Ishaq was a cousin of Doctor Saeed Ahmad.)

January 12, 1945 — During The Journey Back from Madras

It is now 1:45. Friday has begun. I beg mercy from God. After the evening meal, I lay above until then. From time to time I continued in supplication and whispered prayer. I intend, henceforth, to recite blessings upon the Prophet (durood) in the manner used within the ritual prayer. I also intend to recite [Surah] Al Fatihah eleven times daily, and to recite the two protective surahs (al-Muawwidhatayn) with durood at night. On Friday evening I have resolved to set aside some time, with strict regularity, purely for God.

Morning of January 13, 1945

A blessed morning dawned. The pulse has returned to balance. Thanks be to God—what can be done by this helpless man, and what more by one like me, who is the very portrait of heedlessness and forgetfulness? O God, every particle of me gives thanks to You. Accept my gratitude, and grant me the ability to remember You.

January 16, 1945

In the morning we reached Lahore Station. Abdullah, Abdur-Rahman, Ahmad Sadiq, and Chaudhry Fazl-e-Haq were there. At night the train departed for Taxila. On 17 January 1945, I reached Debgaran.

January 18, 1945

Stayed in the village, and spent a long while meeting with [my] father. I trimmed his beard and attended to him. That day, Khan Tilhala sent a small consignment of maize and some lentils. His illness was mentioned, and [my] father said, “Is there no time to go and see him?” I replied, “Not now.” I said [that] I would take leave soon and come to see him—indeed I even estimated the date, around the 5th to the 7th of February. Then he said, “If the sunshine is conducive [to traveling], I, too, will go.”

January 19, 1945

Arrived in Dadar before the Friday prayer.

January 20, 1945

I did [medical] rounds, and worked until noon.

January 21, 22, 23, 24—Because of a cold and cough, I could not go to the hospital. On the 21st, [daughters] Zubaida and Ayesha went to Debgaran, and on the 23rd, they returned and brought news of my father’s illness. On the 24th, by the hand of Karamatullah, I sent a letter to Debgaran. The reply from [wife] Zainab [Saeed] came on the 25th: the illness is severe—come urgently. On the 26th (Friday), I sent Muhammad Din to bring news. Abdur Rahman Baig also came. The report arrived: he is ill.

On the 26th, my condition improved somewhat. On the 27th, after submitting a request for weekend leave, I went to Debgaran, and reached the village around five o’clock. Above Merah, I met Abdul Hayee, son of Hafiz Sahib—he said he was going to send me a telegram. When I reached home, I found my father very sick, unable to speak. “Peace be upon you… well… O God…”—he could not manage more than those words.

Then the 28th, 29th, and 30th were the hardest days of trial. On Tuesday the 30th, at four o’clock in the afternoon, he [my father] went to meet his Lord.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah we belong, and to Him is our return.

Alhumdulillah, at my urging, my household bore this with patience and restraint…

On the morning of the 31st, there was a strange quality in the moonlight; in the sky; and in the earth. When I went out to instruct that slabs be brought for the grave—how difficult the task was. With what strain did those words leave my tongue; what was it that lodged in my throat. I saw, that dawn, some glimpse of God’s help and mercy. The same Most Generous Lord was the spring from which my strength flowed in the several harsh days after the 30th—days of grief, sorrow, toil, and heavy occupation. To this day, I do not understand how energy came into me; so weak as I am that—in the grip of exhaustion, sleeplessness, and calamity—my health remained intact.

At midday on the 31st, I bathed my father’s body. Mubarak Abdullah, Muhammad Din, Safdar of Kullowal, and Sayyed Abdullah assisted. Abdul Hayee, son of Hafiz Sahib, also did some work outside the enclosure, and Abdul Ghafoor did some light tasks. We shrouded him [my father’s body], and placed the bier in the courtyard. How radiant and luminous his face was—its fame spread among men and women, and for days afterward people kept speaking of it. Guests came in great numbers. After the Asr prayer the bier was lifted. Everyone joined the funeral, and by four o’clock he was lowered into the grave. Kala (son of Ahmad Ji, buried in Qadian) and Gul Hasan (son of Ameerullah) lowered the body into the earth. A thought arose in my heart: “May God make them both among the righteous.” We finished around a quarter to five. Most guests took their leave.

Pilgrimage Journey, 1947

The numerous diary entries that follow next are from the Hajj which Doctor Saeed Ahmad undertook in 1947, a tumultuous year, one marked by massive upheaval in the Indian subcontinent on a grand scale.

October 1, 1947 — Journey as far as Lahore – A Scene After the Partition of the Subcontinent

Before entering Lahore, for ten miles, the road was lined on both sides with continuous refugee camps. Men, livestock, carts, children, and [their] belongings lay scattered across the roadway. Only a narrow strip remained in the middle, just enough for a car or lorry to pass [through.] Here and there, bread was being baked. The refugees—spent, crushed to the ground—lay beneath the “roof” of the open sky. The lorries we met were packed inside and on top; even on the roofs, people stood, while within, they were crammed like cargo. When a train came into view, the crowd inside it—beyond imagining, and on the roofs, too—masses of people sat. The sun and the heated roof—mercy! Women, children, the sick, the disabled—everyone in that same state. Whoever found a space was fortunate. The stations were overflowing. What the eyes witnessed cannot be conveyed by description; and even in the eyes of a hard heart, moistness rises. Near Muridke, we also saw a Sikh camp—there too, misery and distress.

October 2, 1947

We went to Muslim Town to meet Hazrat Ameer [Maulana Muhammad Ali]. We ate the midday meal there and rested as well. Hazrat Ameer looked pale; he was deeply grief-stricken by the nation’s suffering. He recounted stories of that suffering—the callousness of officials and leaders, their selfishness and greed—and he wept again and again. Seeing his sorrow softened our own hearts. We also met Begum Sahibah. The Dalhousie bungalow was burned down, and it was with great difficulty that Hazrat Ameer-e-Qaum escaped with his life and returned here.

October 3, 1947 — Departure for Karachi

At eight o’clock, Mumtaz, son of Ghulam Rabbani Khan Sahib, brought a jeep and a trailer, and we reached the station. Because we were in the company of Khwaja Sahib (Khwaja Nazir Ahmad, son of Khwaja Kamal-ud-Din), we found much comfort on the train. They had brought ample food, which sufficed us morning and evening. The moment the train arrived, the platform filled; then the roofs, too, began to fill; and within minutes, it looked like a beehive. The sight was unbearable.

Moved by the nation’s affliction, I brought women and children into my compartment as well. A Pathan ticket-checker—a resident of Mardan—entered; perhaps there was no severely hard-hearted and ill-omened man than him. After some argument and anger, he began to shove them out. Khwaja Sahib’s temper flared, and Mumtaz stood up too, and we threw the man out. There was some dispute. In the end, though, we prevailed. Those people remained with us until Khanewal and Multan. That was the extent of our means. God is All-Encompassing, All-Knowing; our nation is in desperate need of His Mercy at this hour.

October 8, 1947 — Karachi

[Daughter] Ayesha [Baig] has had my luggage packed with great care. Razia (wife of Madad Ali) has placed labels. It has taken a long while for everything to be made ready. At half past twelve, we set off in horse-carts. Last evening, a letter came from Zubaida to Ayesha, and from Muhammad Ahmad to [Naseer Ahmad] Faruqui Sahib, saying that today they would be coming by the Karachi Mail [train] to meet me—they were under the impression that I would be departing on October 11. God did not intend that I should meet my dear child; so the meeting did not happen. They remained fixed on the old “Islamic ship” program; here, the plan changed, and after reaching Karachi, I could not even write to inform them, though there was time. I had also asked Mirza Abdur Rahman to telephone; he too could not do it. Even the Karachi Mail did not arrive on time—it was more than five hours late, though it was supposed to arrive at five.

Before the Ship’s Departure

The ship is preparing to sail. One gangway has already been raised. From the wharf, a voice reached my ears: “Call Doctor Saeed Ahmad Khan.” I looked—Mirza Abdur Rahman and Ayesha were standing there. From afar they were sending greetings. Lal Shah Sahib Bukhari was seated on our deck; on seeing Mirza Abdur Rahman he called out, and they came up. I went down the gangway that was still in place, and we met close. My heart found some reassurance.

Yet the thought of Zubaida—that she is arriving in Karachi even now while the ship is leaving—will grieve her terribly; she will likely weep. Tears ought to come to me as well. I met Bukhari Sahib for the first time, though I had long heard his name. He is disciplined and principled. May God make all responsible people in Pakistan disciplined and bound by principle.

October 10, 1947

On board there is a gentleman from Madinah, a friend of Pir Sahib Golra, who even came to Karachi to bid him farewell. This Madani gentleman has been ill since last night with a severe fever—complaining of septic tonsils—and is being treated with Sulphathizol. Lal Husain of Chakwal also sought medical advice. My acquaintance with ship’s officers and passengers is expanding—which is itself a cause of unrest. Begum Ghulam Rabbani Khan, who is like my sister, is unwell: pain in the liver and indigestion.

October 10, 1947 — Friday

The Friday sermon was broadcast by loudspeaker by a young Sindhi man, Shah Sahib, known as the Ameer of Hajj. He recited many Quranic verses, but the sermon’s substance was the same clerical homily—there was not even a mention of the catastrophe raging across the country. Generally—even aboard the ship—there is a despairing, disheartening indifference among people toward the calamities that have befallen us; and the negligence of certain eminent men in this matter, and their attitude, is deeply crushing.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

Some have fallen into the delusion that the saint of Ajmer, Khwaja Sahib, appears in dreams to frighten the Deputy Commissioner there, and that Hindu crowds see armies in white descending from the hills and running away.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

Others rest their hopes on the belief that Hindu princely states will rebel against the Government of India.

October 15, 1947

Since last night, I had resolved that I would go to Maulvi Ismail Sahib and write notes on the rites and the prescribed supplications. At dawn, at seven, the Maulvi Sahib himself came—he even had a paper in his pocket with the prayers written on it. So this task was completed most excellently within an hour, and I was granted openness of the heart regarding the pillars and details of Hajj. All praise belongs to God for that.

Some people have been in ihram since yesterday. We too have had our hair trimmed, and begun the preparations. They say tomorrow at ten at night we will pass the miqat of Yalamlam. So tomorrow evening, Insha’Allah, we, too, will enrobe in an ihram and become as those wrapped in a shroud. Blessed is the one granted such a destiny.

October 17, 1947 — Departure from Jeddah

The necessary luggage was placed in the car—a splendid new Chevrolet. The four of us rode in it. The road from Jeddah to Makkah is excellent. Within minutes, we reached the first stop, called Umm Salamah; the second was Bahrah; and the third was Shamimiyyah. This is the location of Hudaybiyyah of the Holy Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him). On the left is a small mosque; it is said to have been built at the spot where the Pledge of Rizwan took place. A mile beyond is Mahakams, where small fountains have been constructed on both sides of the road (we did not see them at night). Brother Ghaznavi recited this prayer:

اَللَّھُمَّ ھٰذَا حَرَمُکَ وَمَاْ مَنُکَ مُحَرَّمٌ لِّحِمَی اللْبَشْرِیَّ۔۔حَرَّمْنِیْ عَلَی النَّارِ وَ اٰمِنِّیْ عَذَابَکَ یَوْمَ تَبْعَثُ عِبَادَکَ۔

O God, this is Your Sanctuary and Your secure refuge…
Make me forbidden to the Fire, and grant me safety from Your punishment on the Day You raise Your servants.

Entering this land, one feels ashamed of oneself—that our impure being is not worthy. Yet You Yourself [O Allah] have declared:

وَسِعَ كُلَّ شَیْءٍ

My Mercy encompasses all things.

Have mercy on me. Makkah is now near.

Brother Ghaznavi had arranged with the drivers that we would enter Makkah by the route by which the Holy Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) used to enter—through al-Mala. The drivers do not bring anyone from that direction; there is no motor road, and we had to walk nearly a mile. That we were granted even this following of the Prophet’s Sunnah is itself a special favor. Praise be to God.

October 18, 1947

Before dawn, we went to the Sacred Mosque. We secured a place near the Black Stone. For the first time, I heard the Quranic recitation in prayer. In the first rakah, the imam recited “Glorify the name of your Lord, the Most High” and in the second, “By the morning light.” He recites in a remarkable manner.

Before the Fajr prayer, an Egyptian scholar gave a beautiful address and restrained the people from pushing and jostling at the Black Stone. The name of the preacher—imam of the sanctuary—is Abu’l-Shaykh Abd-uz-Zahir; he is Egyptian. After Fajr, we sat for a while in Hatim, then returned home.

October 20, 1947

After finishing the Isha prayer, many names appeared—people who had come to meet; most were seeking treatment.

Several acquaintances of Brother Ghaznavi came. The imam of the Prophet’s Mosque in Madinah came; he suffers from an ailment (…). He is an elder with a beautiful and sacred countenance. He even requested a surgery. Brother Ghaznavi says the reciter of the Quran who used to recite on Berlin radio during the war is the imam’s younger brother.

Abd-ul-Hamid Sahib—another friend who speaks excellent Arabic—is Punjabi. In the evening, they took us to the house of Sayyed Husain-ud-Din Sahib, a Delhi merchant who has settled in Makkah and manages a business here. For the journey to Arafat, he offered his new car. After Asr, the Crown Prince Saud performed tawaf and sai; the mataf was cleared. The King himself did not come.

October 21, 1947

After sunrise—while I was performing tawaf on Zubaida’s behalf, and the fifth circuit was underway—the police again cleared the mataf. After an hour, Prince Saud (the Crown Prince) arrived and performed the ceremony of washing the Kabah. From our lodging, everything was visible, except the interior of the Kabah.

October 22, 1947

Every day, around the Black Stone: fighting, frenzy of love-struck devotees, the police struggling, blows being taken, and the devotees trying—unsuccessfully—to cling on with cheerful persistence—an astonishing spectacle, especially during Maghrib, Isha, and Fajr. People are ignorant, and the sanctuary police are harsh. Many have crushed their own feelings. Someone or the other behaves even more harshly toward his fellow pilgrims than the police do. This morning, a Pathan displayed shocking bad manners—inna lillah. Yet some people appear tender-hearted and soft. Egyptian women are utterly fearless and perform tawaf shoulder-to-shoulder with men.

October 23, 1947

Today is the day of Urrafah. The tahajjud and Fajr prayers are completed; now—this magnificent day. Again and again, I am astonished: Who brought one as weak and helpless as I? And how? Hundreds of lorries and cars race along the paved road, cramming pilgrims in and bringing them. Thousands have already arrived. Everywhere the cries of “Labbayk!” rise. All are clothed in one garment—even workers, police, soldiers—everyone [enrobed] in ihram. This scene cannot be described [with mere words.]

We set off by lorry for Masjid Namrah. Because of some traffic violation [committed] by the driver, a policeman seized him, and took him away. We were getting late, so we went on foot. We had walked about a furlong [a unit of length, equal to 220 yards, or 660 feet], when another lorry came, and we rode it until we reached the mosque. On burning sand, under punishing sunlight, the sermon was delivered, and the prayers were combined and shortened. Over the loudspeaker, the Chief Justice of Judges, Hasan bin Abdullah, recited a sermon consisting of the rites of Hajj. The sweetness we tasted in that four-rakah prayer among this congregation of love-maddened souls has no equal. Then we returned to the tent by lorry.

From this time until sunset is the time of acceptance of prayer. My mind was restless, seeking solitude; and in agitation I stood here and there in the tent. I recited blessings, [Surahs] Al Fatihah, Al Ikhlas; la hawla; and istighfar,

رَبَّنَا لَا تُؤَاخِذْنَاۤ ۔ الخ، لَا اِلٰہَ اِلَّاﷲُ وَحْدَہٗ لَاشَرِیْکَ لَہٗٗ وَلَہُ الْحَمْدُ یُحْیٖ وَ یُمِیْتُ وَھُوَ عَلٰی کُلِّ شَیْءٍ قَدِیْر

“Our Lord, do not take us to task…” till the end, “There is no god but Allah, the One, without a partner. To Him belongs all praise. He gives life and causes death, and He has Power over all things.

—[reciting them] a hundred times, even while lying down. Then I wished to pray, to sit outside in the shade of the tent, but the place felt unclean. I went a little further and saw an empty tent, with two Bedouin laborers sitting at its edge. In that tent I spread my prayer rug and took refuge under the shade. There I prayed as much as I could; I remembered all beloved ones—elders, friends, acquaintances—living and dead; I included my benefactors as well as those who had shown kindness.

By chance, a small booklet of a comprehensive and lengthy supplication for Urrafah came into my hands; I read it all. Less than an hour remained. I returned to our tent, and asked Brother Ghaznavi to send someone to take me to Jabal al-Rahmah (the Mount of Mercy). Maulvi Musa Khan Sahib also prepared, and we found a bedouin guide. With what fervor—within minutes we arrived. Clambering over rocks, we reached some height, and that hill of mercy was packed with people. From every direction came the sounds of prayers, of whispered entreaties, and of weeping. From there, the whole camp of Arafat could be seen. The sun was setting. A few precious moments were granted—moments that, to me, seemed equal to a lifetime of worship. As the sun disappeared behind the mountain, the chain of supplications of this embodiment of this wholly dependent and helpless servant did not come to an end.

October 24, 1947

In Brother Ghaznavi’s company, and along with Sayyed Muin-ud-Din, we went to Makkah. Then Jabal al-Nur came into view. Where Makkah’s habitation begins, and outside the city, is the King’s palace; across the road is the Crown Prince’s residence, and beside it a mosque. For tawaf al-ifadah, we entered again through Bab al-Salam. Today the Kabah—draped in a new kiswa—looked like a newly-wedded bride. There is a strange beauty and majesty in this black mantle.

October 26, 1947

Even great men of wealth and means are enduring hardship; we are in great comfort. I could not rest through the day; my bronchitis persists, but praise be to God that neither a single rite of Hajj nor any necessary duty has been suspended. And not even the slightest helplessness has arisen.

October 26, 1947

Zaheer Niaz—a Pakistani poet—inscribed the following poem in the diary of Doctor Saeed Ahmad, and along with that, he affixed his signature.

بسم اﷲ الرحمن الرحیم

In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful.

Occasion: Hajj — October 1947, Makkah al-Mukarramah, at Mina
In the Presence of the Emperor of the Two Worlds ﷺ

Today I come to You—an absconding criminal;
I have squandered the golden hours of my life

I am not worthy of pardon—yet even so, O Presence;
I have brought within my heart a whole world of hopes

Though in heedlessness, the wealth of faith and world was lost;
Yet I have saved one pain for You, and brought it still

When was I granted the chance to stand at Your door?
I have come, leaning on the support of Your mercy

In both worlds no refuge can be found except Yours;
Stumbling from every side, I have come

Whatever I am, however I am—O Mercy to all worlds;
Preserve my honor: I come homeless, forlorn

When friends ask after my state, Zaheer will tell them:
The stains of sin upon my heart—I have brought them to be washed away.

— Zaheer Niaz (Sharqpur Kalan, District Shaikhupura, Punjab, Pakistan)
12 Dhul-Hijjah, Mina

[The original poem, which is in Urdu, is presented below]

شہنشاہِ کونینﷺ کے حضور میں

آج اک بھاگا ہوا مجرم تیرا آیا ہوں میں

عمر کے اوقاتِ زرّیں کو گنوا آیا ہوں میں

قابلِ بخشش نہیں ہوں اس پہ بھی لیکن حضورؐ

دل میں اُمیدوں کی اک دنیا بسا لایا ہوں میں

گرچہ غفلت میں متاعِ دین و دنیا لٹ گئی

دل میں تھا اک درد تیرا وہ بچا لایا ہوں میں

حاضری دیتا تیرے در پہ کب توفیق تھی

تیری رحمت کے سہارے پر چلا آیا ہوں میں

دو جہاں میں مل نہیں سکتی اماں تیرے سوا

ہر طرف سے ٹھوکریں کھاتا ہوا آیا ہوں میں

کچھ ہُوں کیسا بھی ہُوں یا رحمۃ العالمین

لاج رکھ لو بے دیار و بے نوا آیا ہوں میں

حال جب احباب پوچھیں تو ظہیرؔ اُن سے کہوں

دل پہ داغِ معصیت تھے جو دُھلا لایا ہوں میں

ظہیر نیاز۔

شرق پور کلاں ۔ ضلع شیخوپورہ۔پنجاب پاکستان

۱۲ ذوالحج۔ منٰی

October 27, 1947

Half an hour before Fajr, I awoke and went to the sanctuary. Among the unpleasant things: the struggle and fighting to kiss the Black Stone; then, at every prayer, the beatings [take place] to clear space near the Black Stone for soldiers to pray. The imam has barely formed the word “as-salamu…” to end the prayer, when some men abandon the prayer and shoot forward like a bullet toward the Black Stone; the soldiers then conclude [their prayers] and begin pushing and striking [the people.] In tawaf, the guides shout the prescribed prayers and shove people as they go.

Yet there are good things, too. The sanctuary reverberates with the sound of Amen; no one resists. Those who raise their hands and those who do not; those who fold hands on the chest and those who do not fold them at all—stand together. After the obligatory prayers, raising the hands for supplication—something so insisted upon among us that it becomes a major objection raised against Ahmadis—has no strictness here. The imam who usually leads appears [to be of the] Hanafi [dispensation.] Here there is a panel of ten or twelve imams.

All around the sanctuary, rows face the Kabah in every direction. Prayer may be performed at any time; there is no strict observance of “forbidden times” as elsewhere. Only during Hajj is it permitted for people to pass in front of those praying.

November 1, 1947

In the evening, Brother Ghaznavi arranged for a motorcar to be brought, and we went to Muqim, where I enrobed myself in an ihram for the umrah. In Muqim there stands a dilapidated mosque, and a whole host of beggars is usually seated there. After offering the evening prayer, I made the intention for ihram. I performed the umrah on behalf of my late mother.

November 4, 1947

I performed the Farewell Circumambulation. Immediately after the Asr prayer, I combined the Zuhr prayer with the Asr prayer. I cast my last gaze upon the Kabah. Bearing upon my heart the wound of separation [from it], we exited through the Gate of Farewell.

November 14, 1947

I packed and made all things ready. Very early in the morning, the motorcar arrived. About two or two and a half hours before noon—having finished my tasks—I went to the Prophet’s Mosque. After performing voluntary prayers, I presented myself at the Blessed Tomb. It was a strange hour, and the scene of parting was looming. Such tenderness of heart was granted to me as I had never before experienced. A neighboring Indian gentleman had kept a place for me in the row. Returning, I sat down and completed a full reading of the Holy Quran—of which two sections had till this time remained unfinished. This time, the sermon could not be heard; the old state of affairs remained unchanged. Immediately after the Friday congregational prayer, we returned to the house. The Prophet’s Mosque is among the most beautifully adorned edifices in the world. Its outward, ornamental loveliness is a thing to be beheld. As for its inward beauty, every Muslim holds that in faith. On returning home, we waited an hour and a quarter for the driver, and also had our meal. Then, at half past eight (which was 4:30 by our reckoning), we set out; and after further delay at the city gate, at nine o’clock we took our leave of the blessed town of Madinah.

A Few Old Notes That Came to Hand

The respected Yaqub Muhammad Ayyub Sahib first came from Suriname to Pakistan in June 1969, visiting Lahore, Murree, and Abbottabad. Fazil Ramadan, who was already in Lahore, accompanied him.
In the mosque of Dar-us-Saeed, Abbottabad, the Annual Gathering was held on Friday, August 22, 1969. Its interesting report may be seen in the newspaper Paigham-e-Sulh dated September 3, 1969. In that same issue are printed my welcoming address and Professor Khalil-ur-Rahman Sahib’s speech as well. Aziz-ur-Rahman Badshah’s speech is printed in the September and November 1969 issues. In the September 17, 1969 issue is my annual-gathering address at Abbottabad: “The Importance of Prayer.”
When God wishes to help us,
He turns our longing toward humble pleading.
— Rumi
(That is: when God intends to guide us, He inclines our nature toward our humbly calling upon Him.)
من نَیَم جان بتواند جان دہد
آں چہ در ذہنت نیاید آں دہد
[I am dead—He can give life.
He can grant what never even enters your mind.]
Spending in the way of God; and steadfastness in the face of difficulties—these are the two great secrets of success.
My father once sent an admonitory verse in a letter after describing a man’s cautionary condition:
پند گیر از مصائب دیگراں
تا نہ گیرند دیگراں بتُو پند
[Take counsel from others’ afflictions;
Lest tomorrow, others take counsel from yours.]
A prayer for my late mother:
اَلَّھُمَّ اغْفِرْلَھَا وَارْحَمْھَا وَ اَدْخِلْھَا فِیْ عِبَادِکَ الصَّالِحِیْنَ۔ وَافُعَ دَرَجَاتِھَا وَاَتْمِمْ لَھَا
نُورَھَا وَارْفَعَھَا مَعَیَّتِھَا وَ مُعِیْتَ عِبَادَکَ الصَّالِحِیْنَ فِیْ جَنّٰتِ النَّعِیْم۔
[O Allah, forgive her and have mercy on her, and admit her among Your righteous servants. Raise her in rank, complete her [spiritual] light, and raise her in the company of Your righteous servants in the Gardens of Blessings.]
The more one attains nearness to God, the more one partakes of the fruits of answered prayer.
اذا سالک عبادی انی ھم المیعاد من کان بعید۔
[When My servants ask you about Me, I am near.]
In other words, [Allah tells us] How can I hear the prayer of the one who is far? The farther one is [from God], the greater the distance between God and the acceptance of his supplication. Otherwise,
ھوالعلیم السر و اخفٰی
[He is the Knower of the secret, and what is hidden deeper still.]
A hadith says: Through voluntary acts, one attains nearness to Me [Allah.] These “voluntary” acts are not only extra prayers; they exist alongside every action.
شاید وہ مِل ہی جائیں، وہ شاید نہ مل سکیں
ہر گام کیفیت یہ بیم و رجا کی ہے
مانا کہ اُس نے ہم کو برا بھی نہیں کہا
لیکن یہ خامشی بھی تو صورت سزا کی ہے
[Perhaps we will meet—perhaps we will not;
Each step is this: suspended between fear and hope
Granted, He did not call me bad—
Yet, this silence, too, can be a form of punishment.]
خوشا سرفرازانِ کوتاہ دست
بزرگان خورد و بلندانِ پست
ہمہ نام دارانِ گم کردہ نام
ہمہ کام کارانِ نادیدہ کام
ہمہ بختیارانِ بے تخت و تاج
چو یوسف بزنداں و لیکن عزیز
نہ در دست چیزے نہ محتاج چیز
— Khwaja Kirmani
Blessed are the lowly-handed who are nonetheless honored;
The seemingly small who are, in truth, possessors of greatness
The nameless who are the truly renowned;
The fulfilled whose wishes seem never to be fulfilled
The kings without throne or crown;
Like Joseph in prison, yet noble—
With nothing in their hands, yet in need of nothing.
(Meaning: How fortunate are those whose reach seems limited but who are dignified; those outwardly small, yet inwardly great; those outwardly unknown yet truly the ones with lasting name; those who appear deprived, yet are fulfilled; those who are sovereign without crowns; those imprisoned like Joseph, yet exalted; who possess nothing, yet lack nothing.)
سہل است ترکِ ہر دو جہاں گر رضائے تو آید بدست
اے پنہ و کہف و مامنم
[Easy is the abandonment of both worlds if Your pleasure is gained—
O my Shelter, my Sanctuary, my Refuge.]
Do not grudge old age; many are denied that privilege.
Old age for the unlearned is winter; but for the learned, it is harvest time.
On the day death comes from before and behind;
There is no doubt it grants not even a breath of reprieve
No help reaches anybody—from anyone—in that moment;
All cravings and desires are ruined.
A Chinese proverb:
The strength of a horse is known by the distance it travels, and the heart of a man is known by the passage of time.

August 24, 1974

At 6:30, we left for Islamabad in the company of Abdulla, Anjam, mother [Zainab Saeed] of Muhammad Saeed, and Mian Mumtaz Ahmad Faruqui. We stayed at the residence of Khalid Faruqui [son of Mian Mumtaz Ahmad.] Mian Mumtaz Ahmad lives with his son. Begum Khalid Faruqui displayed exemplary kindness—she has been providing every comfort. In the evening, Zafar Faruqui [older brother of Khalid Faruqui, both being the sons of Mumtaz Ahmad Faruqui, the older of Dr. Basharat Ahmad’s two sons] and his wife and children also came.

August 29, 1974

At 9:00 a.m., after five days of Khalid Faruqui and his wife Shaukat Faruqui’s extremely comfortable, respectful, gracious, and pure hospitality—and after spending a truly excellent time—we departed. My heartfelt prayer is for them. Allahumma Amen.

August 30, 1974

After the Fajr prayer, Major Latif Sahib took the religious pledge. He fulfilled an old intention of his. May Allah make this a means of goodness, blessing, and nearness to Him—for me and for him.

August 31, 1974 (Kakul)

In the evening, the Chief Justice of the Frontier (Sarhad), Safdar Shah, came. He listened with deep interest to the proceedings before the Assembly. His English wife and children were also with him. After understanding our beliefs and our true position, they were deeply saddened—and they complained that we did not “project” our position.

The fact that our position was not properly clarified in the Assembly—indeed, that it became confused because of certain statements [made] by Maulvi Abdul Mannan Sahib—is a calamity. For example, leaving ambiguous the reason for the split between the Qadiani and Lahori groups, etc.

September 29, 1975 — Return from London

A taxi came at 12:30. The [taxi] fare had been fixed at 60 pence. Ross Mahmood had already left in the morning. Hamid [Rahman], Razia, and Hafiz Sher Muhammad Sahib came. Hamid had to go straight from the airport to Bradford. Because there was a lot of luggage, we had to carry a great deal of weight. In an hour and a half, we reached Heathrow Airport.

Hamid is going to Bradford this evening; tomorrow morning, he will go to Cranfield Institute. That Hamid’s plan aligned with my convenience as well is among the special signs and favors of Allah. Alhumdulillah. He also helped greatly at the airport.

October 27, 1975 (Lahore)

In yesterday’s organizational meeting, one member caused great hurt. After a long time, the hostility toward Dar-us-Salam and several other hatreds appeared openly—an unveiled picture of deep-seated rancor. The people of my household are somewhat distressed by the establishment of Dar-us-Salam.

Before sleeping at night, when I recited the Quran, this verse came in my reading:

وَ اللّٰهُ يَدْعُوْۤا اِلٰى دَارِ السَّلٰمِ ۖ وَ يَهْدِيْ مَنْ يَّشَآءُ اِلٰى صِرَاطٍ مُّسْتَقِيْمٍ
And Allah calls to the Home of Peace, and guides whom He wills to a straight path. (Holy Quran—10:25)

In a deeply personal and spiritual way, my heart found solace in this understanding. Alhumdulillah—Allah calls toward Dar-us-Salam, and guidance is in His hand alone. Verses 61 to 65 of Surah Yunus were especially reassuring.

March 14, 1976 — Karachi

I have come with the intention of meeting members of the Karachi chapter of the Ahmadiyya Movement. Pasha [Abdul Karim Saeed, son of Doctor Saeed Ahmad], with wife and child, departed this morning at 7:00 a.m. by PIA [Pakistan International Airlines] for England. They arrived from Lahore yesterday at 12:00.

Because of the restriction placed on doctors on traveling abroad, there was worry—made even worse by a fresh ordinance. But when I went to Islamabad at the end of February to meet senior officials, that very day the government withdrew that special ordinance, and things became easier.

Allah has placed an extraordinary compassion in the heart of Mian Nasir Ahmad Faruqui Sahib for Pasha, and he also honors me far beyond what I deserve.

فَجَزَآءٌ اللہُ

May Allah reward him.

He himself offered that if anything tried to obstruct Pasha’s departure, he would help remove it.

This morning, when Ayesha, I, and Pasha, Sabiha, and Mujahid reached the airport in Colonel Waheed Niazi’s large vehicle to see them off, we found FSF officers present and waiting. From 3:30 until 6:45, whatever unfolded for us was a demonstration of Allah’s directing power. I performed the Fajr prayer in the office of the FSF’s DSP, and remembering Allah’s favors, my heart filled with tenderness. If I describe the details, it will become long; the rest is between my heart and my Most Generous Lord.

نعم المولٰی و نعم النصیر

He is the best Protector and the best Helper.

August 7, 1976

This time, most of July also passed in Dar-us-Salam. Allah granted [me] strength to endure the heat; not once did I let a complaint come to my tongue. The mother [Zainab Saeed] of Muhammad Saeed bore the heat happily and is still doing so.

On 25 July 1976, I reached Quetta by air. As usual, arrangements for comfort were provided at Abdulla’s house. Still, for the first two days there was homesickness. Prime Minister Bhutto is on a tour of Ziarat, etc. Abdulla is extremely busy; many officials are present—General Jilani, the Prime Minister’s doctor, Mahboob, etc.—and Abdul Hayee [Saeed] has also come because of his minister.

August 15, 1976

In the evening, Shaukat and I went to Abdulla’s home. We took out and gave him the verses 45–48 of Surah Al Hajj, and we discussed their theme in connection with the stormy floods of these days. Abdulla said he would send these verses and their message by letter to the PM and MS as well. Then we talked about our condition in this homeland, and about migration.

September 2, 1976 — London

Pasha brought the car of his fellow doctor, Dr. Patel. First day driving in London: a borrowed car, nighttime, drizzle turning into heavy rain, unfamiliar roads—so we faced a difficult new journey and one of travel’s hardest problems. But Allah’s trust remained with us. After a few wrong turns, we neared our destination, but we mistakenly passed it after the Dartford exit. A night patrol police car followed us; after questioning, the officer was satisfied; he then returned and guided us to the correct route. Finally, at 4:30 a.m., we reached home.

From the newspaper, Pasha said dawn breaks at 4:45. Poor Sabiha—who is also expecting a child on 27 October—endured this test patiently, for my sake. After arriving, she warmed food, we ate, performed the Fajr prayer in congregation with Pasha, and slept. (Note: Owais Ahmad Saeed was born on 24 October, 1976.)

September 3, 1976

After writing these three or four pages at night, I looked at the time: 12:45 a.m. I should sleep now, but before sleeping—how can we ungrateful, weak people ever fulfill the right of thanking Allah, the Owner of boundless powers, who by His special grace brought me alive and safe to this stage of the journey?

الحمدللہ۔ ثم الحمدللہ رب العالمین۔ رب المستضعفین۔

Alhumdulillah. Then—again—alhumdulillah, Lord of all the worlds, Lord of the oppressed and the downtrodden.

September 4, 1976

Hamid and Munira came as guests in their new car. Ersalan (age three) has grown quite big and speaks like a grownup. Because of Hamid and Munira, life has returned to the [congregational] prayers; both are fasting—alhumdulillah.

September 8, 1976

In the morning, when I woke, only half an hour remained until dawn. I could only pray two rakahs of nafl and witr. For the first time, Pasha joined the Fajr prayer. The back pain from a fall in recent days had worsened; now it has improved. The remaining prayers, we pray together; Sabiha, too, joins. At prayer time, Mujahid sits quietly in her lap, or lies nearby.

He is extremely fond of TV—keeps it on all the time. He is now about two and a quarter years old. Though speech-wise he is behind for his age, he is very intelligent, very possessive, and cheerful. He feels no shyness with anyone; whoever he meets, he laughs abundantly and speaks fluently in his special language—which few can understand—without hesitation.

September 11, 1976

Pasha again joined the Fajr prayer. In the qawmah (standing after ruku), I recited supplications. Even a little nafl prayer brought solace, and I was enabled to pray. With a long Fajr prayer, congregation, and supplications in qawmah, the loss was further made up.

رَبَّنَا تَقَبَّلْ مِنَّا ۖ اِنَّكَ اَنْتَ السَّمِيْعُ الْعَلِيْمُ
Our Lord, accept from us; surely You are the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing.
(Holy Quran—2:127)

O Allah, completely cleanse our lives of frivolities, and protect our limited time from getting squandered away.

September 20, 1976

In the morning prayer, Pasha and Hamid joined. In the final qawmah, supplications were also recited. What passed over the heart while praying in the company of pious youth—only He knows. He is the All-Knowing, All-Seeing, the Most Generous Lord of the worlds—and my only refuge and support. May He accept; perhaps in this way, what is broken may be repaired.

September 22, 1976

At 4:00 a.m., my eyes opened. Immediately, the thought arose: I should at least keep one fast. The thought grew stronger. After four rakahs, the intention became firm. Going down to the kitchen, and after much searching, I found two pieces of bread, some butter and jam. I had already had some grapefruit juice; there was also a glass of milk in the bottle. My suhoor was done. I also took one Disprin [aspirin] tablet.

Near 9:00, I told Sabiha not to publicize my fasting—Pasha will argue. In yesterday’s letters, it was mentioned that Pasha’s mother [Zainab Saeed], despite her ill health, heat, and very unfavorable conditions, insists on fasting as usual. One day, she had a severe bout of illness, yet she did not break the fast.

At this moment, I remembered my own mother’s voluntary fasting during the Ayyam al-Baez in Peshawar while she was ill—despite my trying hard, even forcefully, to stop her from continuing her fast. That same evening, right after iftar, she vomited blood and returned her soul to the Creator.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

(Syed Asadullah Shah Sahib, in 1947, when he visited her [my mother’s] grave—she had passed away in February 1929—he saw in a spiritual unveiling her rank among the highest of the righteous; later, in another inspiration or dream, it was shown or told that my mother’s heavenly name is “Mehtab Bibi.”)

اَلَّھُمَّ اغْفِرْلَھَا وَارْحَمْھَا وَ اَدْخِلْھَا فِیْ عِبَادِکَ الصَّالِحِیْنَ۔ وَافُعَ دَرَجَاتِھَا وَاَتْمِمْ لَھَا نُورَھَا وَارْفَعَھَا مَعَیَّتِھَا وَ مُعِیْتَ عِبَادَکَ الصَّالِحِیْنَ فِیْ جَنّٰتِ النَّعِیْم۔ آمین۔

O Allah, forgive her and have mercy upon her; admit her among Your righteous servants. Exalt her in rank, perfect her light for her, and raise her in her station—among the company of Your righteous servants—in the Gardens of Belessings. Amen.

October 4, 1976 (Returning After a Meeting at the Ahmadiyya House)

It was 11:00 p.m. We went to drop Aziz Ahmad Sahib at his hotel. He and I sat in Ross Mahmood’s car. In Pasha’s car, Shahid Aziz sat—he had to be dropped off at the station. Without mentioning it, Ross headed toward Paddington Railway Station, though we were supposed to first drop off Aziz Ahmad Sahib at the hotel. Pasha, poor fellow, doesn’t know London’s inner routes; he simply followed. We reached the station correctly.

On the return, right in the heart of London, Pasha lost his way—before our eyes, he ended up on the wrong road, and we could do nothing. Worry began. After a discouraging search, I said: “It’s midnight, the city of London—thousands of cars and dozens of turns. Now, apart from Allah’s Hand of Power, nothing can remove Pasha’s plight: he won’t be able to find the way home, and what will happen to him tonight.” He doesn’t even have a proper driver’s license. Police cars at every step. A hopeless situation.

I said: “Take Aziz Ahmad Sahib to the hotel; don’t trouble him further.” He, too, was extremely worried; Ross was also despairing. Like one in distress, I began pleading to Allah in my heart, reciting whatever prayers and istighfar came to mind. After leaving Aziz Ahmad Sahib, I said: “Go straight to Dartford home and keep reciting istighfar on the way. Only a miracle can remove this grief. Allah is the Most Merciful.” I comforted Ross.

Then I remembered: if a Bedouin has only one camel and it is lost in the desert, and he returns home hopeless—then sees that camel tied inside his home—what would his joy be like? O Allah, could it be so for us?

I kept pleading as much as I could. I kept thinking: what will pass over poor Sabiha when she hears this? Mujahid will be asleep or awake calling “Abu, Abu”—what will happen to them?

Around 1:00 a.m., we reached home. Sabiha opened the door, and her first words were: “Pasha called from somewhere around the Kitchener area saying he found the way and would reach home within an hour and a half.”

O Allah—how can I thank You? It truly became the “Bedouin and camel” situation. After prayer, I offered a voluntary prayer in gratitude. Around 2:00 a.m., Pasha arrived. I embraced him and wept; it affected him deeply too. Losing the way in central London at midnight, then reaching home in two hours—without knowing routes or landmarks, without map-reading practice, without a companion, without a proper license—this is nothing less than a miracle. The more I reflect, the more my heart prostrates before Allah for this special favor. O Allah, in what language can I thank You?

سُبْحَانَ اﷲِ وَ بِحَمْدِہٖ سُبْحَانَ اﷲِ الْعَظِیْم

Glory be to my Lord, the Most High; glory be to my Lord, the Great.

Pasha reached home and went straight to the hospital—he was worried about a patient.

October 12, 1976

In the mail: a letter from the Secretary; a letter from Fiji’s Deen Sahib—somewhat harsh, asking why we did not correspond with Canada. Also: his brother-in-law has died in Trinidad; his wife Pearl has gone there. Hafiz Sher Muhammad Sahib remains ill with diabetes—may Allah have mercy.

Abdulla’s first letter arrived during the journey. Safia sent a comforting letter, saying that their Bubbo Ji [Zainab Saeed] has sent word that I should work calmly and return, and not worry about their grief. For the first time, a letter came that gave heartfelt comfort—these people too are beginning to think as I do.

O Allah—at my age, and in my state of health—these journeys were undertaken solely for Your pleasure and approval. O Allah, I do not possess that reassurance about my inner state for which I have searched all my life. O Allah, have mercy on my condition, lest my deeds become confused and misguided. Let me not commit such an error that, instead of pleasing You, I incur Your displeasure.

In Master Abdur-Ra’uf’s letter, there was mention of Pīr Muazzam Shah’s cautionary tale, his lingering illness and his regret-ridden death. That man—and his son-in-law, Abdul-Qayyum—went to extremes in causing Ahmadis grief. Qayyum Shah died some months ago of throat cancer. May Allah have mercy upon us.

October 15, 1976

In the evening, Ahmī [Tariq Ahmad Shaukat] brought news that he has received word of a job from France. For now, he must undergo training in America, on an annual salary of fourteen thousand dollars; afterwards, they will send him wherever the company’s work requires. Allah has repaid the injustice of the oppressive Saudi government.

At night, I attended to the remaining preparations for travel. May Allah make easy for me the journeys I have in mind ahead, and place blessing in them.

بِسْمِ اﷲِ تَوَکَّلْتُ عَلَی اﷲِ وَ لَا حَوْلَ وَ لَا قُوَّتِ اِلَّا بِاﷲ۔

In the name of Allah; I place my trust in Allah; there is no power and no strength except through Allah.

October 20, 1976 — Suriname

At Abdu Sahib’s place I managed scarcely half an hour’s rest before we set off for the next stage. At the time of Asr, I delivered a talk in a hall to the right of the road, fairly large in size. The attendance was not great. It was an open invitation, yet not many non-Ahmadis came. In any case, purely by the grace of Allah, the address went ahead in a manner that was satisfying; and afterwards, the answers to one or two people’s questions were also good.

The call for evening prayer was made, and for Maghrib, we went across the road to the mosque in front of us. The congregation was just then gathering; everyone prayed behind the imam. Here they all pray together, and there is no quarrel or contention. After Maghrib, we reached the next settlement, which is nearby.

Friday, November 5, 1976 — Trinidad

A meal at the home of a friend named Farooq. Yasin and Mrs. Aziz Ahmad were also with us. Aziz Ahmad Sahib himself drove the Mercedes. We reached the mosque at a quarter to one; precisely at one, the sermon began. Yusuf—the father of Zareena—was present as well. Rahman Ali also came with us.

After the prayer, they asked me to record some Quranic recitation [in my voice.] I recited the final section of al Imran. Allah placed a particular anguish and tenderness in the heart, and blessed it with effect. Afterwards, Mrs. Aziz Ahmad said, “I had no idea you recited the Quran so beautifully.” Kedar (the mosque’s imam) said, “Today a treasure has been gathered before me.”

In this beautiful mosque and its pure atmosphere, I took great delight. And when, before the two rakahs of prayer, I offered voluntary nafl, after many days I was granted a truly fine prayer.

We returned to Farooq’s home, and about three-quarters of an hour later, we returned again to the house (Aziz Ahmad Sahib’s residence). Farooq’s child—four or five years old—has become exceedingly attached to me: again and again he comes and clings to me, climbs into my lap, and shows affection in all kinds of ways. For all these kindnesses of his, I give thanks to Allah.

Around five o’clock, we reached home. I had thought I would sleep early at night. Some luggage had already been packed; a little work remained. Today, Salima (Aziz Ahmad Sahib’s daughter), her husband, and their children are also here. They have prepared a lavish dinner as a farewell dinner. This household, in any case, is an embodiment of love and hospitality. They wish to lavish their everything on me.

Aziz Ahmad Sahib possesses a remarkable nobility. He is thinking through every difficulty that might arise for me in the journey to America, and devising remedies. He ordered a coat for me, saying it will be cold. Ismail Ali Sahib from Guyana is traveling with me; I should return it by his hand.

He has given me a Parker ballpoint pen, saying, “You don’t have one; on the journey, you must fill in [travel] forms.” I had asked for a Quran to use; he had given me Maulvi Ameer Ali Sahib’s used Quran, with his notes in it. When I returned it, he said, “That is his keepsake—I cannot give it away. But I will give you another; you do not have one.” And he told his wife to bring it; she brought a new, deluxe-bound final edition of Maulvi Muhammad Ali’s translation of the Quran.

He said, “You have dollars?” I replied, “I do,” and he fell silent; but his wife, insisting repeatedly, brought me one hundred dollars and placed them in my hand.

A balance of one hundred and fifteen pounds was still owed by them in the accounts of the Anjuman; he gave it to me in the form of travelers’ cheques. Insha’Allah, I will deposit it into the Anjuman’s account, in the Woking [mission] account. [The word “Anjuman” is a reference to the “Ahmadiyya Anjuman Ishaat-e-Islam”, i.e. the Ahmadiyya Movement, whose headquarters are based in Lahore, Pakistan.]

Salima’s children brought an album with four photographs already mounted, and said, “The rest you should add yourself, and we will send more as well.”

For these people’s devotion and love, I can only pray [for them] to Allah [to reward them.]

London — November 11, 1976

The incident concerning Ikram [Saeed][son of Doctor Saeed Ahmad]

An incident involving Ikram, which occurred in Karachi [Pakistan] as he was departing for Fort Benning [Georgia, USA], should be recorded—because at such moments, one’s faith in the existence of Allah is strengthened. And after this incident, Ikram benefited in this manner during his stay in Chicago, when we spoke by phone: how a former bosom friend—now a sworn enemy—made a move intended to ruin his [Ikram’s] life, and how, at the final moment, a Powerful Hand [the Divine Hand] pulverized that impure plan into dust.

Ikram, on (date …), having been selected for an eight-month course in Fort Benning, Georgia, USA, arrived in Karachi from Lahore. There was a long time before the departure of his connecting flight. He had a great deal of luggage. Setting aside the less necessary items, he went to the home of Ayesha Rahman Baig. He had left his belongings at the PIA [Pakistan International Airlines] Midway Hotel—leaving them unpacked—and had locked the room and gone.

While he was at Ayesha Rahman Baig’s, a telephone call rang: someone stated a name and said he was coming to meet him, and that Ikram should wait there. Ikram says only one person—his former friend, [and] now enemy—had the number of Baig Sahib’s telephone. In any case, when Ikram returned, the hotel porter told him that his friend had come, taken the key, waited in his room for a time, and then left.

Ikram gathered his things. But he says that before going down to leave for the flight, he remembered his mother’s counsel: to recite the last two surahs of the Quran at least once every day. He thought he should begin this practice even before the journey. Since he had not memorized those surahs, he opened the Quran; it felt oddly heavy, and he was surprised. Looking carefully and examining it, he saw that inside the Quran’s cover a flat object had been placed, wrapped in newspaper. It was a slab of charas (cannabis resin). The shock that passed through him [his whole being] in that moment can [only] be imagined.

He took the Quran and came downstairs and handed that slab of charas to the same porter, saying, “What is this—what has happened behind my back?” And because time was short, he proceeded inside.

After his baggage had been weighed and he had gone in, two officers (police) approached: “We must inspect your luggage. You have a bag—what is in it?” He named all the items—including the Quran. They said, “Show us that.” Finding nothing, they were astonished. Ikram narrated the entire incident exactly as it occurred; they apologized and said they had received a report.

Now consider: what a moment it is to fall in prostration, in gratitude, before Allah—Most Merciful of those who show mercy. I have given thanks many times. Now, once again, on this occasion, I offer two rakahs of thanksgiving.

November 18, 1976

My health is not very good as I write these words at a quarter to five. It has grown dark. All day, there has been no cough. At home, Sabiḥa and Pasha are caring for me in every way. Now that the day of departure draws near, their affection has increased even more (though even before, too, there was no lack of it). I, too, already feel a tinge of sadness in my heart at the thought of parting from them. Often, my prayers for them rise more strongly.

Even so, home is one’s own home; apart from one’s parents, nothing is quite the same. May Allah never put us—me, and the mothers of my children—into that trial. Those poor women are more sensitive than I.

اَللّٰھُمَّ اَرْحَمْ عَلَیْنَا۔

O Allah, have mercy upon us.

August 20, 1977 — Journey to England

My airline ticket and many other travel arrangements were handled by a young PIA officer, Tariq, who is a close friend of Ikram; he arranged all sorts of facilities. In this matter I did not have to take even a single step. The hotel stay in Rawalpindi, the return ticket via Germany, the Netherlands, and so on—he managed everything without my exertion. This was the first sign of Allah’s special support.

When I reached Lahore Airport, Sadiq Noor—the son of Saleh Noor Sahib—was already waiting. He took my passport, carried my luggage himself, completed all the formalities, and then, with my ticket in hand, traveled with me to Rawalpindi. This was the second instance.

Saeed, Sabiḥa, and Arjumand were standing ahead. Saeed had arrived from Abbottabad a little earlier, then remained with me the whole day. Shaukat and Asma were also in Rawalpindi; they are staying at Saeeda’s home. In the hospital, Major Saeed-ud-Din—the son of Muhammad Din—was lying injured in CMH [Combined Military Hospital] due to a motor accident; we visited him, and then went to see Shaukat and Asma.

When we reached the hotel, Fakhr-ud-Din Sahib’s elder son—he does transport work for the hotel—was standing, waiting for us. A message came from Fakhr-ud-Din Sahib: that I should, at least for the obligatory part, lead the Isha prayer in Masjid Ahmadiyya (Mubarak). After a long time, I was granted this prayer in the Rawalpindi mosque.

August 22, 1977

At four o’clock, it was time for Fajr. A hotel employee took me to the hotel mosque. The basement was oppressively hot, and an extremely filthy environment moreover: a small, dirty room, intensely hot, without ventilation; a foul floor, with mats even filthier, spread upon it. A few worn, grimy caps of rough material; and in front, a painted “mihrab” [niche], merely there as a token. I felt deep constriction, and I wanted to weep for the condition of the Muslims (connected with these hotels). In any case, I prayed; then the car arrived, and we set off for the airport.

At seven o’clock, the plane departed. The excellent seat Tariq Bukhari had led me to expect proved to be an illusion. There was no cooperation from the staff. In any case, I kept reciting istighfar, Surah Yasīn, and prayers such as:

اَللّٰھُمَّ لَا مَانِعَ لِمَااَعْطَیْتَ وَ لَا مُعْطِیَ لِمَا مَنَعْتَ وَ لَا یَنْفَعُ ذَالْجَدِّ مِنْکَ الْجَدُّ

O Allah: none can withhold what You grant; none can grant what You withhold; and the rank or wealth of any person is of no avail against You.

And so on. Content with the narrow seat I received, I sat calmly, with gratitude and peace. Allah has many wisdoms in this.

ھُوَ اَعْلَمُ وَ نَحْنُ لَا اَعْلَمُ۔

He knows best, and we do not know.

August 27, 1977 — England

A call came from Mian Fazl-e-Ahmad Sahib, saying that we should meet and discuss tomorrow’s meeting. He said he would have Ross arrange transport and determine the meeting place. He promised, but could not do anything until noon. Then Mian Sahib called again: Fateh Muhammad Aziz Sahib was sitting in Saadat Ahmad’s office, which is in Hyatt Market, near Piccadilly Circus. He was going there, and that I, too, should take a taxi and arrive there.

Rain was falling. Sabiḥa hurriedly warmed soup and the like, and instead of calling a taxi, phoned Pasha at the hospital, asking him to take me there himself. I overheard this, and said, “I will go by taxi.” It turned out there was not much money on hand either; and the bank was already closed. In any case, I had two pounds; she had three. I thought it would suffice.

Just then, Pasha arrived; he had arranged coverage [of patients] with another doctor, and said he would take me himself. He asked Saadat Ahmad on the phone for directions, and we reached the motor garage. The rain grew heavier. We got into the car and started it (the car belongs to Madad Ali Sahib). At that moment, Sabiḥa came running: Saadat Sahib had phoned—saying they themselves were coming here. Mian Sahib had, in one breath, instructed that I must reach there, and had even said, “Money must be spent.”

Yet, taking it as Allah’s work, both my son and I had gotten ready—but Allah, in His wisdom, chose not to put us to this test. By His decree, He impressed upon their hearts the thought that we did not know the way; that if we searched for directions, it would take too long; so they themselves came.

سُبْحَانَ اﷲِ وَ بِحَمْدِہٖ سُبْحَانَ اﷲِ الْعَظِیْم

Glory be to my Lord, the Most High, glory be to my Lord, the Great.

September 12, 1977

The journey back from Manchester to London was restful and pleasant. In five hours, I reached Victoria Coach Station, and from there, with a little searching, found the Tube station easily. From there I reached Charing Cross without a mistake, and from there, after a minor error, found the railway station; immediately, I found a fast train, and in forty minutes—just after eight—I reached Dartford.

I waited a long time for a taxi. Then I decided I would walk. The bag was quite heavy. I slung it over my shoulder and walked on, remembering Allah. We had come on foot as well; Razia was with me then. We had taken a direct route, and I took the same. But instead of turning right at the correct point, I went ahead. When I turned, I had come out far beyond. Two men were standing. I asked the way to West Hill. One said, “Go back, then take the next turn up the slope.” I asked, “How far is it?” He said, “It will take a quarter of an hour.” The second man said, “Get in the car—I will drop you.”

Within minutes, he dropped us near the hospital. I thanked Allah. For as long as I walked on foot, bearing that load, I kept reciting various prayers. My heart was filled with an extraordinary, jubilant state. The darkness of night; a strange city where only a few people were on the road at that hour; and the thought that all of this was purely for Allah’s pleasure—He who knows intentions and designs, and Who sees deeds—was producing within me a condition from which I had no desire to emerge, and I felt no fatigue.

In any case, I had resolved that I would not mention at home the last few hundred steps of the journey—after getting out of the car, thanking that kind-hearted Englishman, and finishing the remaining distance. But Pasha questioned me in such a way that I could not keep the secret. He sat for a while with his head lowered, a little hurt. May Allah grant him great reward. He cares for me in every way.

Reflections On Receiving a Long, Painful Letter

In one sense, it is good: the facade of honoring me, of appreciation and esteem—one which for a long time lay upon their faces—they have cast it off. This, too, is in the way of Allah.

I have no intention, on my part, of fleeing and abandoning the Ahmadiyya Movement in this crisis. I will still strive further to hold fast to the hem of loyalty. Yet my heartfelt, humble plea before Allah is this: as long as, in His sight, my effort is accepted and pleasing, may He continue to grant me patience and steadfastness. But if, at this time or at any time hereafter, my separating and withdrawing is, in His sight, the preferred course—and if there is goodness for me in it—then may He Himself place me upon the path of my good, and grant that I may be relieved of this responsibility with honor.

اَللّٰھُمَّ اَنْتَ تَعْلَمُ وَ لَا اَعْلَمُ وَاَنْتَ تَقْدِرُ وَ لَا اَقْدِرُ

O Allah, You know and I do not know; You have power and I do not have power.

September 21, 1977

In the post, there was an Eid card from Nazir-ul-Islam, with a note as well: he would comply, he wrote—and that my presence in Lahore was being felt as urgently needed. In Muhammad Ahmad’s letter, it was stated that Masud Akhtar’s passport was still not ready. From Zubaida, I learned something of Zahid’s condition; she wrote that he was well enough.

Raja Afzal’s letter seemed to have been written through tears. At the end, he concluded with these verses of Hazrat Mirza Sahib:

فکروں سے دل حزیں ہے جاں درد سے قریں ہے

جو صبر کی تھی طاقت وہ مجھ میں اب نہیں ہے

ہر غم سے دُور رکھنا تُو ربِ عالمیں ہے

یہ روز کر مبارک سُبْحَانَ مَنْ یَّرَانِیْ

Worries make my heart sorrowful; my soul is wedded to pain;
The strength I had for patience—now it is no longer in me
Keep me far from every grief; You are the Lord of all the worlds;
Make this day blessed, again and again: Blessed is He Who Watches over me.

Raja Sahib also mentioned something of the scene at the time of my departure. My heart overflowed [with emotion.]

And Maulvi Abdur Ra’uf Sahib wrote that at the Eid prayer in Dar-us-Salam, between three hundred and three hundred and fifty people were present, women included. Fifteen hundred rupees were collected in fitrana and other contributions. At the Ahmadiyya Buildings [venue for the Eid prayer] as well, two hundred men came, and five hundred rupees were collected.

September 22, 1977

When I woke up, I felt somewhat better. At 11:30, I left the house, and by train arrived two minutes before 12:30. Fateh Muhammad Aziz had already arrived. A few minutes later, Faiz Khan arrived and said that the appointment with the solicitor was for 3:30; he himself first had some work in the market.

We passed by the famous landmarks of central London—London Museum, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, the Houses of Parliament, the House of Lords, 10 Downing Street, Big Ben, and the like. Then we went by Harley Street, and finally reached West Croydon. Aziz Sahib had a desire to see a court while a case was being heard. Faiz Khan took us into a courtroom; people there recognized him—the office staff, the guards, and others. We arrived at a moment when the jury and the judge were about to return; it must have been around half past two. The atmosphere in the court was solemn and dignified. Only a handful of people were present. The judge entered; the usher had already opened the door. The usher announced, and everyone stood. Then the jury—some ten or twelve men and women—filed in.

After watching the proceedings and meeting the solicitor, at 6:30 Faiz Khan dropped us at Waterloo Station, and we went our separate ways. I was to go by train, and Aziz Sahib by the Underground. I had not eaten before leaving. Faiz had, it seems, kept two apples for himself in the car; he gave one to me, and the other to Aziz Sahib. After that, he went and bought something like nargisi kofta from a shop—ate one himself and offered one each to us. That frozen food, taken straight from a refrigerator, we ate in the moving car, and our stomachs were filled. He had also brought sweet cookies, and offered those, too. His kindness and hospitality have now increased greatly. With Allah there is a great reward. Both husband and wife are working hard—for us, and for the Ahmadiyya Movement as well.

May Allah render their efforts fruitful, and our endeavors too, and grant us the joy—once again—of seeing the London Mission established firmly upon proper foundations.

وَّ مَا ذٰلِكَ عَلَی اللّٰهِ بِعَزِیْزٍ

And that is not difficult for Allah.
(Holy Quran—14:20)

September 30, 1977

Over the phone, and in a gentle tone, Fateh Muhammad Aziz Sahib complained of one gentleman’s indifference and aloofness—indeed, he laid the blame upon himself, and included me as well: that since we are villagers, our inborn and basic upbringing makes us mindful of friends’ feelings. What my heart has already come to, dealing with the cold shoulder shown by our friends [members of the Ahmadiyya Movement], only my heart knows. I wanted to weep. Still, I said: these are constraints. Whatever goodness, whatever companionship anyone offers us in the way of faith—however little—should be counted as a gain. In any case, through the conversation, perhaps both our hearts grew somewhat lighter. He is now anxious to return soon; there are court cases and such awaiting him.

October 30, 1977

(Written in England, in a state of distress over false propaganda against the new missionaries—Nazir-ul-Islam Sahib and Masud Akhtar Sahib—and against Doctor Saeed Ahmad.)

O Allah! All this is happening, and I am Your weak, unaware servant. And these two new men—my dear ones—are not evil people. I am sitting in this car, on a dark road in the blackness of night, in utter silence. O Allah, if this condition of mine is a means of Your pleasure, then I have no complaint. If You are not pleased with me, and if in some aspect of mine there is self-deception—then even so, it is only by coming into Your refuge that I can be saved. Otherwise, what will become of me?

Then my heart began to get a little aggrieved again at Ross’s negligence; I sought forgiveness for him, and resolved to cleanse my heart toward him. Then it occurred to me: I had been reciting istighfar a great deal, yet it had left no mark upon the heart. I remembered that on the train—or at some time in the day—I had begun to read the Quran, and had read only a section and a half of Surah Ya-Sin before my heart had wandered elsewhere. Very well—let me read Surah Ya-Sin.

And when I began to read with attention, my heart started to melt in a different way. Earlier, too, I had shed tears over my condition; but there, as I recited, the heart softened in another color altogether. As soon as the final verses of Surah Ya-Sin came—when I reached [the words]

فَسُبْحٰنَ الَّذِیْ

So, glorified is He

—the sound of Razia’s voice reached my ears; and as the last words [the following]

اِلَیْهِ تُرْجَعُوْنَ

To Him you will be returned

left my tongue, that apologetic mother and son were getting into the car. The cloud over my heart had already emptied its rain; there was not even a hair’s breadth of resentment in me at their delay. I thanked Allah.

October 30, 1977

At 3:30 in the morning, my eyes opened. For the first time since returning from America, I was granted a full tahajjud prayer, though I could not attend to it with full concentration. Still—what was granted was a gain. If Allah, in the end, has Mercy: I have waited a lifetime for His Mercy—that I might be released from the tug-of-war between the self and Satan; that, before death, I might gain certainty of His complete pleasure; that He might grant full acceptance to my humble striving; and not leave me to fail in my purpose.

And that purpose is this: that the Ahmadiyya Anjuman Ishaat-e-Islam, Lahore should become wholly [spiritually] alive again; that those who scheme to break it, and those who prophesy its death, should not succeed in their plans, nor ever behold the fulfilment of their desires. Grant us, from the unseen, such people as can lift this burden. Outward circumstances, from every side, are discouraging; many have already grown despondent. And some self-interested people cling to it only for their own ends. May Allah set aright our conditions.

November 5, 1977

Dr. Ferrant is coming for lunch. I combined the Zuhr and Asr prayers. The doctor and his wife arrived at 1:30 (formerly 2:30) and stayed until 4:00. They are the most refined people. I have known the doctor since last year, when he examined me for [assessing my] health, and we also spoke about matters of religion. This time again the same subject came under discussion. With keen interest, they listened to what was said about Islam.

During the conversation, Sabiha mentioned the burning of my house. Then there was a long discussion about persecutions in the name of religion. We spoke of persecutions against Christians in the Middle Ages; and of the persecutions inflicted upon the mujaddids [reformers] in Islam; and then of the mujaddid of the present age. They are people of a good nature, and were deeply affected. Sabiha had cooked very well. They were impressed by the children too. Dr. Ferrant is especially pleased with Pasha, and his opinion also carries weight in connection with Pasha’s promotion the day after tomorrow. This is by Allah’s grace.

November 6, 1977

Today, severe problems stand before me—concerning whether to remain here longer, and concerning a visit to the Netherlands. No sound counsel that brings peace of heart has yet been found. And now only four days remain. Should I go to the Netherlands? Go straight on from here? How long should I stay there? Or return—and then go after Eid?

On the one hand: my health; the weight of my luggage; the cold; the state of my clothing; the presence in the Netherlands—under a plan—of supporters of the opposing group; my loneliness. On the other hand: the Ahmadiyya Movement’s needs back home; the sick at home; their feelings, and their justified resentments and complaints toward me; the burden upon my spirit of so long a stay here; the weight of the kindness I receive at Pasha’s home.

All these are things that make me restless. And yet there is an impulse that keeps me moving forward. Above all these, my anxiety is over the outcome of my own efforts, and of myself. There is only Allah as support. To Him I rise and submit: O Allah, grant me the ability to make a prayer that is accepted. I offered two rakahs and prayed.

November 10, 1977 — Departure for the Netherlands

Around 12:30, we reached the railway station by taxi. Then by Tube, from Waterloo to Tooting. From Tooting Broadway, I phoned “Ahmadiyya House” (Faiz Khan had arrived), and he came and took us, and the luggage was set down.

Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam gave me his overcoat. I myself had felt this lack: the jacket-like anorak was not suitable; it looked odd. Likely, everyone else felt the same; that is why the doctor offered the overcoat. I gave him my jacket. Allah, by that quiet Power with which He turns hearts, bestows even these small conveniences upon me—showing grace to an atom. He continues, of His own accord, to fulfil needs. Alhumdulillah.

November 23, 1977

After the Fajr prayer, I prepared, on cassette, the [recording of the] last para of the Holy Quran—whose measured recitation I already had recorded—with the intention of sending it to a young missionary in Guyana, Wazir Muhammad. Pasha helped, and I sent it via Safurah. An old request, and a promise of mine, was fulfilled. Alhumdulillah. In Lahore, it had seemed difficult; here I would tell Pasha again and again, yet no occasion arose. Today, at last, by summoning courage myself, a burden was lifted from my heart.

One should make promises only after reflection. But once one has made them, it is fitting to fulfil them at any cost. May Allah continue to grant me understanding and righteousness.

Now my stay here has grown so long that it goes against [poet] Sadi’s counsel of prudence and wisdom: “In the service of men, be a nimble companion—not a burden upon the spirit.” (Gulistan)

May Allah grant my Pasha so immense a reward that it begins to feel as though the recompense for his sacrifice has come in overflowing measure. Serving one’s parents is, in the spirit of the Quran, a lofty thing; but this is also a matter of faith. Pasha’s arrival and presence—precisely at this time—appears among those causes by which my journey was made possible. If, with Allah, this effort of mine is accepted, then it is His favor to one so small as I. Otherwise, I remain in dread: if the result of my efforts does not emerge as desired—as the outward difficulties threaten [and portend] at every moment—how grievous a thing that could be. May Allah protect us.

When all outward means have entirely fallen away, the Hand of Allah’s power can still set right what has gone wrong. In such adverse conditions, what have we—helpless ones [that we are]—besides weeping and supplicating before Allah? O Allah, never let me despair of Your court—for in Your Book, despair is called disbelief:

إِنَّهُۥ لَا يَا۟يْـَٔسُ مِن رَّوْحِ ٱللَّهِ إِلَّا ٱلْقَوْمُ ٱلْكَـٰفِرُونَ

Surely none despairs of Allah’s mercy except the disbelieving.
(Holy Quran—12:87)

اَللّٰھُمَّ لَا تَجْعَلْنَا مِنْ ھُمْ۔ آمین۔

O Allah, do not make us of those people. Amen.

July 16, 1978 — October 21, 1978

For the first time since 1974, I reached Abbottabad on July 16, 1978, with the intention of staying two months. I took up residence in the remaining empty portion of our house, adjacent to the mosque.

On August 2, 1978, the tragedy of Rahman Sahib—the principal of Abbottabad Public School—occurred in Lahore. We came to Lahore, stayed for six days, and then returned (I and Muhammad Saeed’s mother, Zainab Saeed). The first fast was on August 7. I was granted the blessing of fasting during Ramadan. There was physical weakness, but on the basis of the Quranic verse

وَ اَنْ تَصُوْمُوْا خَیْرٌ لَّكُمْ

And that you fast is better for you

as well as a writing of Hazrat Mirza Sahib, I kept the fasts nonetheless. All praise be to Allah.

On September 21, I performed Friday prayer in Peshawar, and on September 22, I reached Lahore. Muhammad Saeed’s mother [Zainab Saeed] came later, after October 19. The Anjuman had decided in early September and expressed the wish that I undertake an overseas trip. In early October, I developed an influenza like illness, one which dragged on; weakness grew considerable. Still, I held on to the intention of traveling.

I wrote that the return ticket be sent to Pasha. There was some delay in this, but it came at last. The State Bank demanded an NOC [No Objection Certificate]—required of doctors. My dear Muhammad Ahmad ran about to arrange it, and at last, all stages were completed. In this running about, my health continued to worsen; yet I remained firm upon what I had decided. On October 21, 1978, I left Lahore at 11:15 during the daytime, on PIA Flight 303, and reached Karachi at one o’clock.

October 26, 1978 — Joyce Green Hospital, Dartford (England)

At night again, the room grew too warm; when I awoke, I felt hot. Around 2:45, my sleep broke completely. I prayed four rakahs of tahajjud; I became tired. I prayed witr lying down, and for about half an hour, my eyes closed again. At six, I woke up for Fajr. Pasha joined; Mujahid also accompanied. I recited:

رَبِّ اجْعَلْنِیْ مُقِیْمَ الصَّلٰوةِ وَ مِنْ ذُرِّیَّتِیْ ۖۗ رَبَّنَا وَ تَقَبَّلْ دُعَآءِ

My Lord, make me one who establishes prayer—and from my descendants as well; our Lord, accept my supplication. (Holy Quran—14:40)

I bathed early in the morning. After breakfast, I went outside the house for the first time. The weather is heavily overcast. I walked about half a mile on the roads and returned. What a great difference there is between health and illness. There was slight fatigue, but it had a pleasant effect on my spirit. O Allah—I thank You.

November 19, 1978

In the morning prayer today, with Pasha present, a tenderness came over me. Among my children, Pasha and Abdulla have been granted special opportunities to serve me—or us—in a service that lays in the path of faith. Their wives, too, have shown generous forbearance.

وَ اَنْ تَصُوْمُوْا خَیْرٌ لَّكُمْ

And Allah does not let the reward of the believers go to waste.
(Holy Quran—3:171)

After prayer, my heart was in a state of [emotional] overwhelm. I began, involuntarily, to recite aloud:

رَبَّنَا وَ اجْعَلْنَا مُسْلِمَیْنِ لَكَ وَ مِنْ ذُرِّیَّتِنَاۤ اُمَّةً مُّسْلِمَةً لَّكَ ۪ وَ اَرِنَا مَنَاسِكَنَا وَ تُبْ عَلَیْنَا ۚ اِنَّكَ اَنْتَ التَّوَّابُ الرَّحِیْمُ

Our Lord, make us submissive to You—and from our offspring a community submissive to You; and show us our rites, and turn to us in mercy; surely You are the Oft-Returning, the Merciful. (Holy Quran—2:128)

The tenderness increased; and we both raised our hands and prayed silently—mostly for my children, and somewhat for the difficulties that have come before me. In tahajjud today, the verse also came:

اَمَّنْ یُّجِیْبُ الْمُضْطَرَّ اِذَا دَعَاهُ وَ یَكْشِفُ السُّوْٓءَ وَ یَجْعَلُكُمْ خُلَفَآءَ الْاَرْضِ ؕ

Who answers the distressed one when he calls upon Him, and removes the evil, and makes you inheritors of the earth? (Holy Quran—27:62)

O Allah, I truly am distressed—at least this is what I feel. Deal with me, too, with the very tenderness promised in this verse.

December 1, 1978 — the Netherlands: the Trial of Travel, and Endurance

After seeing us off, Pasha and Masud [Akhtar] departed with Ross [Magenty.] When we went inside, our flight was delayed by an hour. Instead of 5:30, it left at 6:30—which was 7:30 according to the local time in the Netherlands—and we reached Amsterdam at 8:30 according to the local time.

At the aerodrome were Noor Sardar, Jaggoe Sahib, Fazil Ramzan, Zamarud, Muhammad Din, Shakur Husaini and his wife, Jaggoe Sahib’s wife, and two or three other women, and some young men as well. After the customary photographs and garlands, we were housed as guests in Fazil Ramzan’s apartment above the Anjuman’s mosque.

A strange tangle of feelings and thoughts rose in my heart. There was a kind of coldness in the air. Noor Sardar and his wife, and Abdush Shakur and his wife, also came along. We all ate; then they left.

They gave us a room with two beds joined together. There was no arrangement for heating inside. They handed us a bottle of hot water. Seeing only one blanket each, I was alarmed; and when I hinted, softly, in fear of the cold, they brought one more blanket each. The bathroom and lavatory were right in front, but no one told us where the light switch was. They wished us good night and left.

Now, Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam and I were not only left astonished, but grew silent. The doctor broke the silence and began to voice his anxieties. They themselves sleep in warm rooms above. I put on every warm garment I had, except the coat, yet the cold persisted. In the middle, Ramzan Sahib came and said, “Keep the door open.” Perhaps a faint trace of warmth might have come from the other room (the drawing room). Sleep was, at any rate, out of the question. I kept remembering Allah and reciting prayers for patience and steadfastness.

At first I thought about taking Ativan, but I did not have the strength even to rise; and then a kind of distaste came over me—this weakness is not right. Trust in Allah. And inwardly, I kept receiving some strengthening from the thought of Allah. When fear of falling ill came, I tried to push it away. Just as drowsiness began to overcome me, someone pressed the water plug in the bathroom opposite, and the harsh sound and gurgling water startled me. In any case, because of cold and weakness, the need to urinate came again and again. At least three times I went in and came back. The switch was unknown; I went, leaving the door open.

When sleep came again, Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam—now in deep sleep—began to snore, and any hope of sleep for me ended. I rose and, wrapped in a blanket, sat and began to pray—amid weakness, a feverish sensation, and the discomfort of coldness. I did what I could; yet prayer in such a state did not bring peace, because intrusive thoughts and reckonings kept circling in my mind. After that, I lay down and prayed some more. Morning was still far. Again, I began falling asleep—and again, the snoring. At last, I rose for the dawn prayer.

Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam, too, rose; and when we began the prayer, I heard someone approaching. I thought it was Fazil. When I turned my salutation, it was Zamarud—who had joined in the second rakah. She asked about tea; we said yes.

I told Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam: do not complain of the cold or hardship to them—neither in words nor by hint; and neither by any outward act. It is well I said it, for he admitted he had been about to broach that subject. I said: “Allah Himself will devise a way. And I too have thought of something.” My own thinking was not particularly good—but what Allah did the next day, what can I write of it? O Allah, how Merciful You are to Your helpless servants: upon such a small trial, such grace for [showing] patience. Only the heart can feel it. How shall I give You thanks?

December 2, 1978

After prayer and tea, Zamarud said, “Rest on the couch in the drawing room—there is a heater there.” I counted it a blessing. She brought a blanket, and spread it on the sofa; something to cover myself, and a pillow too. It was not quite long enough, but what was there was a gain.

When I lay down at ease, a small parrot in a cage in the room began its bright babble and whistling—tightening the soul again. O Allah, this is yet another test. Sleep did not come, but [at least] the cold receded. The house remained quiet until 10:30. During that interval, I took care of necessities, but there was no arrangement for bathing. No one even mentioned it; and in the cold bathroom, it would not have been wise. I abandoned the plan.

Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam came in, wearing a suit; in it, he felt comparatively less cold. Alhumdulillah; and little sleep suffices for him. In any case, throughout the day, I took whatever measures I could undertake—by clothing—to keep my body warm. I became a reasonably sound man again. I reconsidered the heart’s plans—go to Abdur-Razzaq Sahib’s home; cut the program short by a day; and so on. It became clear: in the future, I will sleep in the drawing room at night; Dr. Nazir-ul-Islam is content inside. As for the parrot, I will ask the family to keep it elsewhere at night—and we will manage, Insha’Allah.

After that, the day began in peace. Headache had been present since morning; I took two paracetamol tablets [i.e. acetaminophen tablets, a common OTC medication used to relieve pain]. When it returned, Zamarud brought me one HPC, and in the evening, I took one more paracetamol. I behaved like a good guest. The atmosphere of the home grew a little warmer.

How conditions change a man. In such circumstances, my prayer is only this: may Allah conceal faults, and grant us—despite everything—patience and dignity.

August 10, 1979 — Abbottabad

From an informed source in Lahore, word came that [son, Muhammad] Saeed’s promotion had not been recommended by the initial (regional) board. But by Allah’s ordering of hearts, the higher board was granted the ability to do justice.

Earlier, in connection with the forms, Saeed had shown an example of faith-imbued courage, and matters had even approached a court-martial; Allah Himself had averted that danger. Now this was a second kindness. In the path of Ahmadiyyat, these trials have become a part of our lives.

رَبَّنَاۤ اَفْرِغْ عَلَیْنَا صَبْرًا وَّ ثَبِّتْ اَقْدَامَنَا

Our Lord, pour upon us patience, and make firm our feet.
(Holy Quran—2:250)

August 11, 1979

A few days ago—whether I heard certain words in a dream, or whether, in that half-waking state, a thought passed through me—I had the sense that the time of my death is no longer far away. This morning, before two o’clock—that’s when I usually wake—I was on the very brink of waking from sleep when this condition came upon me: as if my death were already approaching. And I understood that I would be buried in Debgaran, in our beloved family and Ahmadiyya Movement graveyard—the one I have long desired: that I should be laid to rest beside my grandfather, on the eastern side, in the single plot that has remained empty for years, between his grave and that of my grandmother.

I was thinking through every aspect of burial and funeral rites, and yet there was no trace in my heart of anxiety, or sorrow, or any unpleasant shadow at all. That thought remained with me—until, with that very thought, I awoke fully; and it stayed with me as a gentle, pleasant influence. Indeed, there was a kind of quiet satisfaction in the heart.

Then, in prayer, I was given the opportunity for beseeching [Allah.] In connection with this dream, I prayed to Allah: that I still need respite enough to see [my] Ahmadiyya Movement in a condition better than its present one—more stable, more firmly established. And that, according to my earlier longing, and in accordance with the vision and disclosure granted to Hazrat Sayyed Asadullah Shah Sahib, there remain yet some years of life that were shown to me—may there be no reduction in them. And in those remaining years, may all my wishes be fulfilled—those concerning [my] Ahmadiyya Movement, and those concerning my loved ones; may my good intentions come to fulfillment; and may I not depart this world with the grief of failure or frustration in my heart. And may I be granted the nafs al-muṭma’innah—the soul that is at peace.

یٰۤاَیَّتُهَا النَّفْسُ الْمُطْمَىِٕنَّةُۗۖ۝ ارْجِعِیْۤ اِلٰی رَبِّكِ رَاضِیَةً مَّرْضِیَّةًۚ۝ فَادْخُلِیْ فِیْ عِبٰدِیْۙ۝ وَ ادْخُلِیْ جَنَّتِیْ۠۝

O soul that art at rest—
Return to thy Lord, well-pleased, well-pleasing,
So enter among My servants,
And enter My Garden!
(Holy Quran—89:27–30)

Amen—then again, amen, O Lord of all the worlds.

August 24, 1979 — Jumuat al-Wida, Dar-us-Saeed, Abbottabad

Twenty-five or thirty men, and ten or twelve women, came for the prayer: Abdul Ghafoor, Abdur Rahman, Salih Muhammad, Malik Faiz Alam, Badr Zaman—from Debgaran; Master Abdur-Ra’uf—from Daata; Bashir and my family; Ahmad Sadiq; the Professor Sahib [Professor Khalil-ur-Rahman] and their families.

August 25, 1979

Alhumdulillah. Eid arrived—and what a mighty kindness from Allah: thirty fasts, and thirty nights, unbroken—eleven rakahs of tahajjud each night—granted purely by His mercy, and my health remained intact. I was granted the opportunity to pray for each member of the Ahmadiyya Movement, whoever could be remembered—those who have passed away and those still living—present in Pakistan, and in every country of the world wherever they dwell; and, in short, for the Ahmadiyya Movement itself; for my relatives; and for those who had asked for prayers, or conveyed such a request, whose list I had kept. May Allah accept. Amen.

Only a few people came to exchange Eid greetings—of which there is no regret. Since arriving, I myself have not gone to meet anyone, except three or four [individuals.] No longing arose in me to do so. I met two or three only because condolences were due. As for those with some personal purpose—locally and from outside—they continued to come intermittently, purely in connection with illness: on average, two or three a day.

November 10, 1979 — Mexico

They took me to the market. Abdulla and Anjam had decided that they must buy a travel suitcase for me. On my journey from England, I had already thought to myself that if I could, I would buy a more suitable suitcase once I was in Mexico. It is one of the marvels of Divine ordering that, merely by seeing my old suitcase at the airport, the same impulse rose in their hearts, too.

Abdulla wanted an expensive leather suitcase; I was looking at cheaper ones. In the end, Abdulla’s view prevailed. In short, we chose a Samsonite suitcase with two wheels underneath; and a hand-bag of the same material costing more than five hundred pesos. The total came to fifteen hundred pesos, with a ten percent discount on account of Abdulla’s “diplomat” status. A peso equals fifty paisas in our currency.

My heart, however, remained under a certain weight. Two days later, on the morning of departure, when I rose for the pre-dawn prayer, I resolved not to take the hand-bag; everything fit into the suitcase. With me, there was only Pasha’s light brief-bag; I placed the papers in that. The burden felt lighter. This costly bag could be returned to the store. When Abdulla and Anjam came, I apologized and raised the matter of returning it. They fell silent. They want to give me everything. All three children [of theirs] are [much] the same [in this regard.]

They began to offer me a box of handkerchiefs. I took two; at Anjam’s insistence, I took one more. Bina, Yahya, and Muhammad Ali each, in turn, pressed me—and I accepted from them all. They are very fine handkerchiefs, which someone had gifted them.

After shopping, they drove me through the markets. Great buildings, broad roads, hundreds of statues, gardens—and in them birthday parties [taking place]—places of recreation and all its paraphernalia. A vast city—old Mexico. It is a nation [that is both] alert and industrious, filled with the spirit of patriotism.

On Friday evening (at night), I also saw the children’s school. Strange conditions, I witnessed. Where are we?—and where is the world? For us, all of this is sheer wonder.

February 21, 1980 — Lahore

The Secretary’s office in Dar-us-Salam—amid many difficulties and an atmosphere heavy with doubts—is being moved from the Ahmadiyya Buildings. Some of the items have begun to arrive.

March 1, 1980

The first day of the Anjuman’s office in Dar-us-Salam. Azam Alvi Sahib, the head clerk, and two clerks reported for duty.

March 4, 1980

After Maghrib prayer a man came—Rab Nawaz: a schoolteacher, a student, with a Master’s [degree] in Education—taking a taxi from the University Campus. After the prayer, he asked in astonishment: “We pray the same prayer as Muslims—so why are we called unbelievers?” A fascinating conversation continued for an hour. He is from Banda Kaleem, in the Khanpur area. At the same time Gul Hasan—of the Cambalpur area—came to see Hafiz Abdur-Ra’uf. He is an imam in the Ghee Mill Mosque, on the outskirts of Murree.

November 6, 1980

The fourteenth Hijri century is ending—and the fifteenth begins in this fashion?

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

June 6, 1981 — The Netherlands

Rafiq (my host) has bought me a notebook. Yesterday, he had ordered one; it was too large. Besides this, I had mentioned that he might inquire about the price of a mini cassette recorder. That was two days ago. Today, he placed before me a Sony mini recorder—excellent—costing around two hundred dollars. He did not allow even the question of payment to arise. I had thought of some ordinary device that I would buy myself. In any case: a remarkable gift, and a remarkable incident.

I pray for his recompense and leave the matter with Allah. If, by asking him only to inquire about the price, I had in some subtle way “hinted” at a desire—then may Allah forgive me. When my mind turns to the verse,

وَ اِنْ تُبْدُوْا مَا فِیْۤ اَنْفُسِكُمْ اَوْ تُخْفُوْهُ یُحَاسِبْكُمْ بِهِ اللّٰهُ ؕ

Whether you disclose what is within yourselves or conceal it, Allah will call you to account for it. (Holy Quran—2:284)

the heart feels a sting.

It is a strange cassette recorder. May Allah grant me the opportunity to use it in the service of faith, and place within it His blessing and His pleasure.

June 12, 1981 — Berlin, Germany

(Friday.) I delivered the sermon after reciting the following passage, and so forth:

لِلّٰهِ مَا فِی السَّمٰوٰتِ وَ مَا فِی الْاَرْضِ ؕ وَ اِنْ تُبْدُوْا مَا فِیْۤ اَنْفُسِكُمْ اَوْ تُخْفُوْهُ یُحَاسِبْكُمْ بِهِ اللّٰهُ ؕ

To Allah belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is in the earth… and whether you disclose what is within yourselves or conceal it, Allah will call you to account for it… (Holy Quran—2:284–286)

I found Allah’s Mercy enfolding me. How shall I give thanks?

Rafiq Abdur Razzaq has given me the precious Sony Mini Recorder. A marvelously small device. I recorded the sermon; no one even realized it was being recorded. The sermon podium is excellent—remarkably well made. I placed the Quran and the recorder upon it. When the sermon ended, I slipped it into my pocket. Back in the room, I listened a little: superb recording—better than a large recorder. May Allah reward Rafiq, and continue to grant me the ability to use this device for the service of faith and the pleasure of the Lord.

After the prayer, as we returned, suddenly a call came from “Gulloo.” He said he was calling from Hanover [Germany.] He was coming to Berlin to meet me—illegally—and the police had detained him there. After three hours of questioning, they warned him that if he attempted such a thing again, he would be sent back to Pakistan. He expressed extreme sincerity. I said: “Take membership in the mosque here, and give a monthly contribution into the Anjuman’s account.” He accepted with great joy. I asked, “How much will you donate each month?” He said, “Would one hundred marks be enough?” I was pleasantly astonished by his generosity. I said, “Give less—but give regularly.” He replied, “Whatever one gives to the mosque is too little.”

In any case, he asked me to send full details in writing; so now I will write a letter. Then he said that he would call again tomorrow, and try to meet me at the Frankfurt Airport. I said, “Then do not break the law again.” He said, “I will certainly try. I yearn greatly to present myself at your feet.” Then he spoke of domestic matters as well.

Two members have been added; the third member I have in mind is Lutf-ul-Mannan, son of Mirza Latif. I phoned, but there was no reply from the number.

June 24, 1981 — England

We reached Dartford again. Zubaida [daughter] went to the bank to close the account and bring the money in pounds; and I went in to see Dr. Ferrant at West Hill Hospital. Contrary to my instruction, they went quickly to the bank and I had to wait a long time—an ordeal for patience. In any case, I sat in the waiting hall among the sick, and an hour later they arrived.

Dr. Ferrant had just gone to Joyce Green Hospital. We gathered resolve and went there; after some searching, we met him in Ward A10. He was exceedingly pleased. He served tea and asked after Pasha. Zubaida, Tariq, and Faiz were in the car; he met them, too. And I felt content that I had once more seen a kind friend—though the outward link through Pasha had already ended.

Ferrant is a good man. At both West Hill and Joyce Green, I saw the buildings; for two continuous years, I had had the chance to come and stay there. Those places to which I was accustomed—Muhammad Ahmad’s memory haunted me when I came here. In these very places, his feet also trod in the last days of his life.

اَللَّھُمَّ الغْفِرْهُ وَارْحَمْہُ وَادْخِلْہُ فِیْ عِبَادِکَ الصّٰلِحِیْن۔

O Allah, forgive him; have mercy upon him; and admit him among Your righteous servants.

July 3, 1981 — Washington, D.C.

Since last night, my heart has yearned that tomorrow morning—Friday, the first day of fasting—I should fast. But I could not summon the courage for an eighteen-hour fast. Zubaida forbade it strongly. Fear of my health worsening, and the ruling (permission) that a traveler may omit the fast, also stood in the way. So I fell silent, bearing an unease within.

Fasting is a strange blessing; to be deprived of it is a grief. How shall one count Allah’s favors, and how shall one give thanks? In previous years, He showed great kindness to me in this matter. May He now have mercy upon my deprivation, and not leave me deprived of Ramadan’s blessings.

اِنَّہٗٗ ذَوْالفَضْلِ الْعَظِیْمِ۔

Truly He is the Lord of immense grace.

I performed the bath for Friday prayer. [Grandsons] Shahid and Tariq had gone somewhere, and had not been able to tell me where Friday prayer would be held. At 1:30 p.m., I began the Friday prayer with Zubaida. I was delivering the sermon when the children arrived; I included them, too, and gave a brief admonition. May Allah accept, and make it effective. Thus our little congregation gathered, and I gave thanks to Allah. There is no hunger, and there is no fast—yet strange feelings circle within the heart.

July 4, 1981

Sandy (Sandra) [wife of Shahid Ahmad, grandson of Doctor Saeed Ahmad] approached me and, in a voice full of feeling, said: “You are leaving tomorrow,” and uttered a few words of heartfelt regret. In response, similar feelings rose in me. I showed her affection, and said something about her good nature; she became tearful. By nature, temperament, and practice, I have found her good in the past week—very sincere, loving, and service-minded. She loves her husband deeply, and their life is very pleasant. Yet, in matters of religion, she seems firmly settled in her own views, and I did not directly invite her to Islam.

Shahid [Ahmad] prayed the Friday congregational prayer with me. He keeps his fasts diligently. He is a very noble, upright young man. May Allah, by His mercy, turn his attention toward steadfastness in all religious duties. And these days, I have prayed several times—with a pained heart—for this girl’s [Sandy’s] acceptance of Islam.

Before leaving, when my heart had grown very full of affection for Shahid—under the effect of how much he served me and cared for me, and my heart had softened greatly—I also advised him directly, and reminded him of Hazrat Maulana Muhammad Ali Sahib, the greatest personality of the present age. Guidance rests in Allah’s hand. May Allah have mercy upon them.

July 13, 1981 — Los Angeles, USA

I remained at home all day, and rested. After Zuhr, I slept well. I still wished to keep sleeping, when Zahida woke me up: we must go to Disneyland, and we will eat dinner there as well.

After a journey of an hour to an hour and a quarter, we arrived. Disneyland is a dreamland. Thousands come to see it day and night—open from nine in the morning until midnight. Ayesha was fasting; she broke her fast in the car, and prayed the evening congregational prayer in the car as well. It was a joy.

They showed a kind of illuminated parade that turned the whole place into a fairyland. A crowd of human beings—people of every age. Every so often, my mind would drift to the verse:

اَلَّذِیْنَ ضَلَّ سَعْیُهُمْ فِی الْحَیٰوةِ الدُّنْیَا وَ هُمْ یَحْسَبُوْنَ اَنَّهُمْ یُحْسِنُوْنَ صُنْعًا

Those whose striving in the life of this world has come to ruin, while they think they are doing excellent work. (Holy Quran—18:104)

—and I would try to recite istighfar seventy times.

There are interesting things for every age, and every kind of person was present. The world, in self-control and civility, seemed to move at a run: in three hours, I did not see one person collide with another. People eat and drink constantly, yet nowhere does one see even a scrap of paper or a cigarette butt lying about. Beautiful bins stand everywhere along the roads, with the word “Push” written on a part of them; people neatly place every useless thing into them.

At every step, one sees the worldly wisdom, craftsmanship, love of country, and sense of national greatness of the American people—so much so that they seem intoxicated with it. We saw much on Disneyland’s train, boat, gondola, and so on; to recount it is unnecessary.

In any case, when we returned home after one o’clock, I stood up to perform the Isha prayer. I could scarcely manage two shortened obligatory rakahs; sleepiness pressed so heavily upon me that one might apply the phrase

وَ اَنْتُمْ سُکٰرٰی

“while you are intoxicated”

to my state. I slept, and at five in the morning my eyes opened. Then I prayed witr, and I prayed Fajr with Ayesha. Ayesha said, “A long-held desire has been fulfilled by coming here: in Ramadan, I have been granted congregational Fajr prayers.” I thanked Allah. I felt that perhaps Allah had accepted my istighfar: My heart did not feel darkened by the idle talk of the previous night, and fine inward states were being granted.

July 19, 1981 — San Francisco

(On receiving news of the death of Mrs. Begum Sahibah, wife of Ghulam Rabbani Khan Sahib—reflections.)

Amina [granddaughter] phoned from Philadelphia and gave the news of her grandmother’s death (Bahuteyji). She passed away a week ago. From Shaukat’s letter, I had already gathered that her condition was very critical.

كُلُّ مَنْ عَلَیْهَا فَانٍ

Every soul upon the earth shall perish.

She was a woman of excellent character, high resolve, and sound judgment. Since our families became related, there has never been any bad incident or unpleasantness between her and us.

When, in October 1947, we were granted the pilgrimage to Hajj, she too was with me—along with Khan Bahadur Sahib. Those nearly two months were among the most blessed and pleasant journeys of life, in which we were given friendship. She was very fond of Shaukat Mahmood [son-in-law] and Asma [daughter] and their children; and in the long period of her final illness—amid intense heat and difficulty—it was Shaukat and Asma who were given the full opportunity to serve her.

اَلَّھُمَّ اغْفِرْلَھَا وَارْحَمْھَا وَ اَدْخِلْھَا فِیْ عِبَادِکَ الصَّالِحِیْنَ۔ اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

O Allah, forgive her; have mercy upon her; and admit her among Your righteous servants—To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

A condolence telegram was sent, and letters were written—for Shaukat, Mumtaz, Bashir, Asma, Mahmooda, and Saeeda.

August 7, 1981 — Mexico

Friday. Anjam brought a new shalwar kameez, sewn and ready, made of very expensive cloth. She told the story: one of the children’s teachers had asked, for a play, to borrow a Pakistani outfit; they had sent one of Abdulla’s sets, along with a waistcoat, sandals, and cap. When returning it, the teacher praised it greatly, and Abdulla gave him the shalwar kameez—which was old. Abdulla had later put this new suit into a box, intending to give it to him, but delays kept happening, and it was never given.

When Abdulla learned that my suitcase had been lost, he said: “This will be for you.” When I returned after bathing, a thick sweater had also been placed there; later, Bina brought a pair of socks in the same color. When I began looking for my own socks, I learned they had been washed and were still wet.

My life is filled with the stories of Allah’s quiet arrangements—how my Benefactor Lord continues to plan for me. After bathing, when I put on those clothes and lay in a warm bed, my heart was overcome with tenderness at the thought of Allah’s favors. I had the opportunity to praise Allah—and to pray. At that time, I prayed much for Khan Gul’s health. Nothing is difficult for Allah. May Allah grant him healing.

August 12, 1981

Today’s plan had been settled: after Zuhr, to sit with Abdulla and talk. It ran late, but after 5:30 we found an hour or two, and spoke of domestic and personal matters—village life, Abbottabad, Sindh, Lahore; difficulties both personal and connected to the Anjuman; the matters of dear children. Alhumdulillah: by His mercies, we did not become despondent at any stage, in any matter.

We had already spoken before of Abdulla’s own future and plans. His intentions are blessed in every color, and the dominant feature is Allah’s pleasure and his trust in Him. The purpose of our talk was simply to state one another’s problems and bring some solace to the heart. The rest is in Allah’s hand; He alone is the One in whom trust is possible. We human beings are helpless in every aspect—and I, in every aspect, am a very weak man indeed. In such conversations, there is also the chance to understand one another.

August 13, 1981

To receive Abdulla and Yahya, Muhammad Ali, Zubaida, and Tariq, we reached the airport at eight; and around ten, we brought them home safely and had breakfast. The morning had offered little rest. After a short rest, I came downstairs and was granted the solitary Zuhr and Asr prayers.

Zubaida has brought valuable and excellent gifts for everyone. The manner in which those gifts were received was itself an example of the family’s refined character—truly worth seeing. My soul found ease. The hearts of those who brought the gifts blossomed too. In my children, I frequently find such examples of good character, and I feel: among the things of this world, what treasure could be more precious for me than this?

Whenever glimpses of this feeling arise regarding one’s children—as they often do—my heart overflows with gratitude before Allah, under the influence of His favor; and every particle of my body seems to feel that influence. O Allah, include me among those servants of Yours of whom You have said:

اِنَّهٗ كَانَ عَبْدًا شَكُوْرًا اور شَاكِرًا لِّاَنْعُمِهٖ

“He was a grateful servant” and “Thankful for His blessings.”
(Holy Quran—17:3 and 16:121)

And include all my children and my children’s children among Your righteous servants—and do not deprive them, alongside worldly gifts, of the gifts of the spirit.

August 16, 1981

The special thing today is this: Yahya, by Allah’s grace, and he prays regularly; and I said he should lead. I performed the Zuhr and Asr prayers behind him, and Maghrib and Isha—combined with delay—in his leadership as well, all of us behind him. He led beautifully: bowing and prostration, standing and sitting—each was excellent. The heart found rest.

I remembered an incident from my own life: when I passed the eighth class and was in the ninth, my elders appointed me imam for the prayers—and this blessing remained with me all my life. If Allah grants acceptance, it is not far from His favors. During this prayer, when Yahya rose from bowing into the standing pause, Zubaida even took a photograph.

August 17, 1981

Among my belongings there lay a letter in an envelope. I opened it: it was Bina’s letter, expressing extraordinary love. She wrote that out of modesty she cannot say such things aloud, but through a letter she wishes to express that she loves me very much, and—so she wrote—no one could have a grandfather better or greater than I. She also asked for prayers.

In a few simple sentences, my granddaughter expressed the thoughts of her heart; they sank into mine and stirred me to prayer. These children may indeed have inherited much by lineage—but their upbringing also shows itself in their thoughts, words, and actions: it becomes a means of soothing the heart. And from the heart flow prayers for them.

August 27, 1981 — Heathrow Airport, England

Aziz Ahmad Sahib and Begum Akhtar Aziz had come to see me. They met me with great affection; and because the American trip had been successful, they were lavishing their praise upon me—both were very happy, and overflowing with heartfelt sincerity. We went up to the lounge and sat or stood there.

For as long as Aziz Ahmad Sahib remained, he kept blessing me with prayers, and used such words for me that I was drenched with shame. O Allah, the opinion my London friends have of me—make me worthy of it. And many in the Ahmadiyya Movement have extraordinary expectations of me—fulfil them. I am not worthy; but Your power and Your mercy have no limit. You are undoubtedly able to do this.

O my Powerful One—Forgiving, Overlooking, Most Merciful of the merciful, Living and Self-subsisting Lord—do not lift me from this world in failure and frustration. Show me, surely, the spectacle of this Ahmadiyya Movement’s second revival. Amen.

Saadat Ahmad—who also seemed affected—promised me that he would do his utmost to find a good building. I said: “In place of one house, it seems you have built a mansion-like house in London; another palace is being prepared in Dar-us-Salam. Now, for the centre of God’s faith and for His house, make the same effort in the city of London.” At that moment, my words seemed to strike him deeply. I said: “Write to your uncle (Aba Ji): ask him to show me kindness and cooperate sincerely.”

In any case, this time at Heathrow Airport—together with Mahmood Husain Shah, [Muhammad] Anwar, and Arjumand Bano—was a kind of spiritual refreshment granted for an hour.

August 27, 1981 — On the Airplane

My seat truly was quite poor. As soon as I sat down, a steward said he would change it: there would be plenty of empty seats; for now, I should sit in my assigned seat. Nearby to the left, there was a row of four-and-four seats. Two people at the front had spoken to the steward and taken seats there. My heart grew a little displeased, and I began reciting istighfar. I kept watching them.

The seat beside me was empty, but in the third seat there was a young man for whom one or two stewards were making a lot of fuss. After a while, a steward called him and took him away. I thought he would not return; I was glad that now, [being able to spread myself] across three seats, I would be comfortable. I began to prepare, quietly, to “take possession.” But a few minutes later he came back—and I felt a pang of disappointment. I kept reciting istighfar, and felt shame in my heart: why do I not trust Allah? This lack of reliance [on Allah] is deeply lamentable.

Hazrat Maulana Nur-ud-Din’s Mirqat al-Yaqīn [a semi autobiography] often comes before my eyes. O Generous Lord: Your dealings with this helpless one are wondrous indeed—yet why does fear keep getting the better of me? And why do I not have perfect reliance on that Being? And then, as though an answer comes from Allah Himself: your faith is weak; your trust is frail—because of your own faults. So again I seek abundant forgiveness from the Merciful and Generous. O Allah, have mercy.

I was in these thoughts when I arrived in Frankfurt. The plane was to stop there, and the crew would change. When the plane stood, I looked to the left: the third row from the front was completely empty. I went to the nearby steward and said, “You promised you would change my seat. May I sit there?” He said, “Go ahead.” At once, I lifted my briefcase, took the blanket I had already secured, and went and sat in seat number two. When the plane began to move again, it became certain that no one else would come, so I took the fourth seat as well. Then I prayed the Isha prayer with great calm. After that I lay down. That “bed” was longer even than my height. I began reciting verses.

August 28, 1981 — Karachi

Umar Farooq dropped me at Abdul Hayee’s house. I met Abdul Hayee, Atiyyah, Humayun, and Salimah. The children were delighted. Abdul Hayee has been quite unwell: his blood pressure suddenly shot up; he has been under mental strain. Only two or four days ago the murderer of “Baba” was finally hanged. [Affectionately known as “Baba”, Muzaffar Saeed was Abdul Hayee Saeed’s son, and Doctor Saeed Ahmad’s grandson.]

A day or two before the execution, the murderer’s father telephoned Abdul Hayee and said, “You had said you would forgive—so why did you not?” Then the man’s wife and sons began to wail and plead and say various things, and it affected Abdul Hayee’s health very badly. A deputy or assistant of his was present nearby in the hospital; he took the phone, gave them an appropriate reply himself, and ended the call.

August 31, 1981

I awoke before the Fajr prayer, and was able to offer some prayer. During the journey, I remembered the kindnesses and gracious care I had received from certain people, and was granted the chance to pray for them. May Allah accept.

Zafar Abdullah; Noman Ilahi [Malik]; Abdullah Jan; Rafiq Abdur-Razzaq of the Netherlands and his family; Razia Khala; Masud Akhtar; Abdus Sattar; the family in London; Yasin Sahu Khan and his wife and children; [Muhammad] Anwar; [Arjumand] Bano; my own children and descendants whom I met in far-off lands; Jamila Khan; Zahid [Aziz]; Shahid [Aziz]; Aziz Ahmad; Akhtar Aziz—and countless others whose words and deeds I have seen and heard in love.

May Allah continue to grant me the ability to pray for all of them—and grant acceptance as well.

September 30, 1981 — Abbottabad

The plan was to depart on 2 October 1981. I am now reconsidering, because a notice has arrived that Major Durrani will vacate the house on 3 October. At eight in the morning, Pasha is to take charge from MES; perhaps it would be better if this were done in my presence.

Tomorrow, 1 October 1981, there is an invitation in Bhogarmang from the Governor—General Fazl Haq. Pasha and I have received invitations as well (from Riaz Khan, son of the late Khudadad Khan). It was also necessary to offer condolences to the latter; he was not present. I met only his mother. This, too, may be deliberated upon.

اَلّٰھُمَّ فُزْنِیْ وَ اخْتُرْنِیْ

O Allah—grant me success, and choose me.

Begum Mahmooda Salim and Begum Zari Sarfraz Khan came to visit. In the small room, there were two charpoys [light bedsteads], a settee, and a carpet; the room was clean. We all sat there. Suitable hospitality was offered. A measure of reassurance was gained.

October 1, 1981

We set out for Bhogarmang. Dr. Ghulam Nabi and Dr. Jamil-ur-Rahman (a surgeon, resident of Srikot) went with us. Riaz Khan, son of Khudadad Khan, had arranged a luncheon and a gathering for the Governor of the Frontier Province, General Fazl Haq Sahib. We had been invited.

My going, by Divine disposition, led to strange circumstances. People from the region and the district had come—some eight hundred to a thousand. Dozens met me with devotion. Many ill-wishers were present as well. They seated me on one of the sofas upon the stage; Pasha was seated nearby, in the second row.

A minister, Raja George Sikandar Zaman, arrived. He embraced me with great enthusiasm. By coincidence Ayub Khan of Alai was seated beside me—the same person whose mention is quite prominent in my notebook under the events of 11 June 1974. Raja Sahib had him move to the next seat and wished to sit near me.

Then the Governor arrived. He shook hands with everyone—and embraced me, with particular warmth, and remained standing to converse. He embraced no one else besides me. A speech was delivered—bold and plainspoken.

After lunch, as we were leaving, he took several turns, coming around to meet me again, saying, “I wish to meet the doctor.” Such things hold no importance for me; but the visitors—most of whom are [among] those who live and die for such displays—witnessed it all.

The entire Dadar Sanatorium staff had come. Abdullah the sweeper and the speech-impaired washerman also met me. The speech-impaired man’s eyes lit up. On the return journey, we went inside the sanatorium as well, and also to my old spot beneath the thatched shelter. The shelter is gone now, but the “Sirran” [the stream], still flows as it did.

Dr. Jamil was visiting this area for the first time; he was deeply moved, and on the way back, he kept expressing his thoughts and feelings. As we were leaving the thatched place, Gul Zaman and his wife arrived too. She began to weep, and insisted we come to their home. They have built a bungalow now, which I have not seen. Their sons are prosperous, with children of their own. I am told Yusuf’s son will become a doctor this year; he has even won a medal in anatomy. There was a time when Yusuf was a firm Ahmadi, and for the sake of Ahmadiyyat refused a marriage. Then the season of trials drew near, and it became difficult to endure. Allah has shown these people much favor. Yunus has gone to Saudi Arabia, into a house of wealth. Such is the majesty of God.

October 1, 1981 — Reflection

وَ مَنْ اَظْلَمُ مِمَّنْ مَّنَعَ مَسٰجِدَ اللّٰهِ اَنْ یُّذْكَرَ فِیْهَا اسْمُهٗ وَ سَعٰی فِیْ خَرَابِهَا ؕ اُولٰٓىِٕكَ مَا كَانَ لَهُمْ اَنْ یَّدْخُلُوْهَاۤ اِلَّا خَآىِٕفِیْنَ ؕ۬ لَهُمْ فِی الدُّنْیَا خِزْیٌ وَّ لَهُمْ فِی الْاٰخِرَةِ عَذَابٌ عَظِیْمٌ

And who is more unjust than one who bars Allah’s mosques, that His name be remembered in them, and strives for their ruin? Such people should not enter them except in fear. For them is disgrace in this world; and for them in the Hereafter is a great punishment. (Holy Quran—2:114)

The prohibition of Hajj upon Ahmadis cannot last forever. This immense injustice will, in the end, come to an end. There is no place for despair.

اِنَّمَاۤ اَشْكُوْا بَثِّیْ وَ حُزْنِیْۤ اِلَی اللّٰهِ۔

I only complain of my anguish and my grief to Allah.
(Holy Quran—12:86)

Hajj is among the pillars of Islam. To feel hurt at a forced prohibition is natural. The love of Hajj and of the House of Allah—the longing to behold it—must never be allowed to grow faint in hearts. The love of that sacred place, and a living interest in Hajj, must be preserved.

Those who performed Hajj this time are said to number two million. May Allah open paths for us [Ahmadis] as well.

Just as in former days, money was set aside or saved for Hajj, we, too, should continue that practice. If, even after a lifetime of waiting, the opportunity never comes, then this accumulated sum should be spent in Allah’s way, upon some religious purpose.

The incident of Hayat Gul, the cobbler of Debgaran: he lived in the time of Hazrat Mirza Sahib and was granted the honor of going to Qadian. (There is a charming anecdote from that journey: At the moment of buying the ticket, he told my father to not to hand over at once that which is demanded, but to begin bargaining from a distance, so that a lawful price might be settled.) This man had saved six hundred rupees—penny by penny—for Hajj. When, during the First World War, Hajj was suspended, in 1916 he gave that amount to the Anjuman as a donation toward the English exegesis of the Quran. The late Ameer Hazrat made special mention of it in his Annual Gathering address.

July 21, 1982 — Abbottabad

At the time of Asr, Mansur Ahmad came with Khadija, Naseera, Tanvir, Akram, and Ersalan. Their desire to celebrate Eid with us is worthy of appreciation; it brought me great happiness. Tanvir was fasting; the other adults acted upon the ruling for travelers. Tanvir arrived quite spent—journey and intense heat. May Allah accept it.

About an hour before iftar, I was granted both the opportunity and the ability to pray. Throughout Ramadan, I had not found so much time with such tenderness of heart. In any case, profound thanks to Allah. Many prayers were offered; may Allah accept them all.

Today at noon, I completed [a full reading of] the Quran, which I had begun on the first of Ramadan; and I was granted the blessing of reading from the muṣḥaf of Hazrat Mirza Sahib (peace be upon him)—a copy upon which, Allah knows best how many times, Hazrat Mirza Sahib recited, marking the commands and prohibitions in red, and making other marks at particular passages. I transferred all these markings to my own ḥama’il, and in places copied Hazrat Mirza Sahib’s notes written in Arabic. Several pages of the muṣḥaf were torn; I repaired them as well, applying cellophane tape along the tears. During the hours of recitation, a strange joy kept rising in my mind. It is a great blessing granted to this humble one by wondrous paths. Alhumdulillah.

July 24, 1982

In Ikram’s new Suzuki, in his company, I went to Debgaran for a few hours. In the graveyard of the elders I found deep solace. I offered condolences to some, and visited the sick. On the way back, we went to Mansehra, to the home of the late Babu Muhammad Din.

Because of the Anjuman’s weakened condition, a weight remains upon the heart. At night, a state of muḍṭarr—helpless desperation—descended upon me. Some hopes were attached to Wajid Sahib, yet the thought kept returning: let there be no shirk [associating others with God]; trust must be on Allah alone. In any case, there was ample opportunity for prayer.

Wajid Sahib, too, is hesitant due to his health; his family opposes him as well. No one appears in the Ahmadiyya Movement who can properly fulfil the weighty duties of General Secretary. Mirza Masud Baig wishes to retire, and his health does demand it.

July 25, 1982

Colonel Latif came with his wife. Shortly afterwards, Captain Wajid Sahib arrived from Nowshera. I could not speak with Latif Sahib on any particular matter; the three of us spoke of matters of shared interest.

Wajid Sahib wishes to come, yet is also somewhat hesitant—perhaps due to health and other reasons. Everything rests in Allah’s hands; only Allah knows the future. There is no recourse except prayer. Both guests departed one after the other. Pasha took Wajid Sahib’s ECG and studied it.

August 26, 1982 — London

(On a person’s falsehood, soon exposed.)

I felt great sorrow at his falsehood, and I remembered my late father’s saying: that Allah conceals all sins—except lies. He [father] used to recount many examples.

September 10, 1982 — The Hague, The Netherlands

Early in the morning, I bathed under a warm shower and then rested for about an hour. I had finished dressing, when Mrs. Razzaq happened to come upstairs. At once she went down, returned with a light pair of green socks, and compelled me to put them on—because the socks I had been wearing did not match the color of my suit at all.

She is a remarkable woman: she cannot speak a single word of any language besides [the] Dutch [language], yet by gestures she understands a great deal.

Then we went for the Friday [congregational] prayer; the mosque was full of worshippers—thirty to forty people. My intention had been to preach on [the subject of] “Prayer” itself. I carried my earlier notes as an aid, but it felt as though my mind held not a single thought. I sought help from Allah alone.

And what can I say of the favors of that Great Benefactor—who made words flow from the tongue of this utterly insignificant one—words that put life into my spirit, and held the listeners’ attention so that not for an instant did it slacken. A small Quran and a slip of notes were in my hand, but during the sermon, Allah made me completely independent of any need to refer to them.

Fazil Ramadan had told me yesterday, that here there is fierce controversy about supplication after the formal prayer; and that a group which considers it absolutely unlawful is prepared to leave the Ahmadiyya Movement. He said that group is the majority today.

Based on what Allah placed in my heart, after the obligatory prayer, I turned to face the worshippers and said: “I will supplicate now. But one thing is necessary: gather your hearts, and understand that you stand in the court of a Sovereign—the Sovereign of all sovereigns. He sees and hears. And you are asking of Him what I am about to lay before His presence. You, too, raise your hands.”

I recited, one by one, certain Quranic supplications that seemed fitting in that moment, and repeated their meanings in Urdu. When the prayer ended, I said: “You may offer the Sunnah prayers; in a few minutes I will speak about supplication after prayer.” A few people—perhaps four—rose and left, one by one. I assumed they had duties to attend. Later I was told: these people consider prayer after the formal ṣalat a sin; and because I had supplicated, they left, and did not wish to listen to what I had announced.

In a brief address, I explained: the hadith do not establish that the Holy Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) supplicated after every prayer as a fixed formality, in the manner of today’s ritualized invocations. Yet, raising one’s hands in supplication on particular occasions is established—such as the prayer for rain. And if someone, observing the proper courtesies of prayer, supplicates attentively—alone or collectively—there is no harm in it whatsoever. In Lahore, in Dar-us-Salam, we often do so, and often Allah has accepted our prayers as well. In Makkah during Hajj, no such fixed prayer is made; in Madinah, I did not see it being done either. The prayer itself is, from beginning to end, supplication; the prostration is the best moment; it may be in any language. It is not right to quarrel over such matters. Most people were reassured and became pleased.

September 10, 1982 — London

After the meal, I said, “Come—let us sit. So many days have passed, and we have not once been able to sit and speak of home. Now only a handful of days remain.” May Allah grant [Arjumand] Bano a great reward. Allah has placed many virtues in her: patience, forbearance, the ability to meet people with love, and a spirit of service; for these reasons He has granted her much honor among people.

At night, in the gathering, I offered some counsel as well. There was also a piece of exquisite calligraphy—unmatched—presented as an Eid gift for the mosque, given by an English girl, Miss Ani. It contained the verse:

اَقِمِ الصَّلٰوةَ لِدُلُوْكِ الشَّمْسِ اِلٰی غَسَقِ الَّیْلِ وَ قُرْاٰنَ الْفَجْرِ ؕ اِنَّ قُرْاٰنَ الْفَجْرِ كَانَ مَشْهُوْدًا

Establish the prayer from the declining of the sun until the darkness of night—and the recitation at dawn; surely the recitation at dawn is witnessed
(Holy Quran—7:78)

All praised it greatly—especially [Muhammad] Anwar. Then I said, “See how beautiful this piece is. Yet, attention to what is written here surpasses attention to its beauty: it also commands tahajjud.” Anwar promised he would begin. I said, “Start tonight—two rakahs will do. Then it will become a habit, and the sweetness and effect of tahajjud will itself draw you onward. We have alarm clocks.” Near eleven o’clock, we turned in for the night.

September 30, 1982

In the morning, a sound reached my ear—a long siren, but strangely pleasant—coming from some far direction. My eyes opened. It was 4:05. I thanked Allah that more than an hour remained until Fajr.

As I was praying, I sensed from a rustle that [Muhammad] Anwar, too, had woken—and that the promise of tahajjud had been fulfilled. Then he gave the call to prayer, and the three of us offered the Fajr prayer together.

June 12, 1983 — Abbottabad

1st of Ramadan — Journey from Lahore to Rawalpindi by railcar

Najib Sadiq came to the station. He took us to Islamabad, to a newly rented house. At five in the evening, we set out for Abbottabad in his car (Arjumand’s). With us we brought the son of Abdul Aziz Sahib Jahangiri, so that on the return journey, he would accompany us for the night-time travel. Both of them were fasting.

Because I was traveling, I was not fasting. Muhammad Nawaz, the driver, had come with me from Lahore; he drove the car; he, too, was not fasting. At the time of iftar, we reached Dar-us-Saeed. After iftar, Najib and his companions returned to Islamabad. From the heart, prayers flowed for Najib, his brothers, sisters, and mother:

جَزَاھُمُ اﷲُ وَ اَحْسَنُ الْجَزَاء

May Allah reward them with the best of recompense.

Pasha, Sabiha, and the children met me with love and joy.

August 11, 1983

It is the final day of the training course. The exam is at 4:30. A farewell party. Only Naseer Ahmad Faruqui, Mansur Ahmad, and Chaudhry Riaz came. Speeches were delivered; at the end, I offered my remarks as counsel: act together with knowledge; cultivate the habit of prayer; form exemplary character; be a role model; foster the spirit of serving the faith.

Prizes: First prize to Abdul Aziz son of the late Babu Muhammad Din, and Jamil-ur-Rahman son of Mubarak Ahmad of Rawalpindi. Second prize to students from the college in Bannu. Third prize to the child of Abdul Aziz Kachi, and to the sons of Professor Aziz Ahmad and Maulvi Shafqat Rasul. Shield, the Bannu chapter [of the Ahmadiyya Movement].

August 23, 1983

After the Maghrib prayer, news came by telephone from Lahore of Iftikhar Ahmad’s death.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

Pasha’s mother [Zainab Saeed] displayed intense grief.

When Pasha returned from work at 8:30, by mutual counsel we decided to leave for Lahore by car at two in the night, at sehri. The journey brought no unusual fatigue or hardship.

In Lahore the heat was severe. People were gathering for the funeral and condolences. Anwar Ahmad arrived from Karachi at 10:30. Then, immediately, the funeral took place and burial was completed. Ikram, Nasir, Pasha, Arjumand, Najib, and all local relatives were present. Muhammad Saeed and Suraiyya arrived from Quetta after the burial. In the evening, from Debgaran, Bibi Sahibah, Mubarak Abdullah, Abdus Salam and his mother, and from Rawalpindi, Mubarak’s daughters—all arrived.

[The mother of the deceased Iftikhar Ahmad] Ruqaiya—the very picture of patience—was facing this calamity, heavy with grief.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

August 25, 1983

All day, people remained occupied with mourning rites. I sat in the office for two or three hours; meetings with members continued throughout. The heat is intense, but the air-conditioner in the room is a mercy.

Early in the morning, a printed pamphlet—written by Malik Ilahi Bakhsh—arrived from Rawalpindi and was sent to me at the office. By now, three painful pamphlets have already been published against my person; this fourth is unbearably wounding.

اُفَوِّضُ اَمْرِیْۤ اِلَی اللّٰهِ ؕ

I entrust my affair to Allah.
(Holy Quran—40:44)

And:

اللَّهُمَّ إلَيْكَ أَشْكُو ضَعْفَ قُوَّتِي، وَقِلَّةَ حِيلَتِي، وَهَوَانِي عَلَى النَّاسِ، يَا أَرْحَمَ الرَّاحِمِينَ۔

O Allah, to You I complain of my weakness, my lack of means, and my humiliation before people—O Most Merciful of the merciful. (The supplication of Ta’if.)

On Pasha’s advice, I began taking a Feldene capsule for pain; there was relief. I was granted the ability to lead all five prayers in congregation at the mosque. In one or two prayers, I offered collective supplications. After Fajr, and during the congregational prayers, certain sprititual states were granted.

In the completion of the house, Ihsan-ul-Haq Sahib is showing great kindness; it is near completion.

October 31, 1983

I awoke with thoughts crowding the mind. An hour later, the alarm clock began to ring; an hour still remained before Fajr. I rose with lethargy and weakness; after a short while, some resolve returned. Trusting in Allah, I went to prayer—and was repaid: after the prayer, a notable cheerfulness came over me.

In the recitation sequence, by a happy coincidence, I recited the last three sections of Surah Al Anbiya in the two rakahs of Fajr. Allah granted a particular state; signs of its effect were visible among the congregation, too.

Afterwards, Master Abdul Hafiz Butt Sahib recited a Punjabi couplet—about Heer and Ranjha—and commented on the quality of the prayer. I asked the meaning of “tari kyon,” and he said, “Why did she become regretful?”—that is, once a bond is made, the question of regret at later hardships falls away. I do not recall the second line. Yet in accordance with my own inward state, it moved me as well.

(Note: this couplet is not from Waris Shah’s “Heer Ranjha”; it may belong to another Punjabi poet.)

While gathered for the Zuhr prayer, I told friends that my health demanded that for a few days I pray at home; perhaps my condition will stabilize with rest.

وَ عَلَی اللّٰهِ فَلْیَتَوَكَّلِ الْمُتَوَكِّلُوْنَ۔

And upon Allah let the trusting place their trust.
(Holy Quran—14:12)

November 1, 1983

Toward evening, my condition worsened again, and the temperature was near 99°F. I prayed at home. The night brought some restlessness; in the morning, I experienced sweating.

November 5, 1983

A great deal of foreign mail has arrived. Letters from London are encouraging. The long-awaited writing—about the “Dar-us-Salam” building in Wembley—for which I have waited six months, has now been sent by Jamila [Khan.] It is a blessing: it safeguards many of the Anjuman’s rights. This was Naveed Alam’s proposal. Either upon repayment of the bank loan, or perhaps even sooner, registration directly in the Anjuman’s name may become possible, Insha’Allah.

December 10, 1983 (Saturday) — Abbottabad

Over the past two or three months, from time to time, I have seen certain things—dreams and the like—that genuinely stirred anxiety in me. I neither wrote them down nor mentioned them to anyone. For nearly one and a half to two months, my health declined; then it began to improve. For a week now, I have been in Abbottabad, at my home, with Pasha. Pasha’s mother [Zainab Saeed] is also with us. Since coming here, I have felt better still. I intend, in two or three days, to return to Lahore. Only twelve days remain until the Annual Convention.

In the day-before-yesterday’s newspaper Muslim, I read a report: tomorrow, 11 December 1983, scholars of every school and various spiritual leaders are holding a convention at Mochi Darwaza, Lahore, to revive again the “Protection of Finality of Prophethood” movement. Maulana Khan Muhammad—who had been president of that movement—has convened the convention because, in his view, “new dangers” have now arisen from “Qadianism,” and measures should be taken to counter it, and so on.

For two days, there has been unease.

December 20, 1983 — Lahore — Beginning of the Annual Convention

My son Abdulla [Saeed] arrived safely in the evening with his wife Anjam and my granddaughter Farrukh (Bina) Saeed. The house became lively, and the heart found peace. Alhumdulillah.

Pasha arrived with his family—he left his wife and children at Model Town (74-K) and stayed here himself. Ikram is in Debgaran and cannot come; there is no one else there to bear responsibility for the security of belongings and the like. It made me sad. Nasir, too, could not come from Quetta; he was not granted leave. Muhammad Saeed has arrived, however, and Sabiha and the girls have come as well. She is staying with her mother, while Muhammad Saeed is here with us.

Allah has placed blessing in it: suitable arrangements for everyone’s lodging have been made smoothly. Alhumdulillah.

March 29, 1984 — Debgaran

To Debgaran with Muhammad Saeed and family; [and] by car to Mansehra. At eleven o’clock, with Ikram, in his Suzuki.

March 30, 1984

Friday prayer at Mubarak Abdullah’s house in Debgaran: the household—young and old, fourteen in all—joined. After Friday prayer Muhammad Saeed returned. A formal meal was served by Bubbo Ji [wife, Zainab Saeed.]

March 31, April 1, April 12, and Until after Zuhr on April 13 — Stay in Debgaran

Every day, there was rain—sometimes light, sometimes heavy. Despite the absence of proper lodging and other comforts, my heart remained at peace. Even amid tiring conditions, there was a sense of rest. As usual, (the name is in code) behaved in the manner compelled by [her] temperament; yet moments of excellence and heartfelt ease also came.

Because of the lack of proper arrangements and the bad weather, the prayers were not as they ought to be. Ikram is carrying a heavy responsibility with youthful courage. He joined partially in the prayers. May Allah soon grant us the ability to build the proposed mosque, and may its blessings continue forever.

Foreign Travel — Early Note, July 1984

(Verses from the opening of “Barahīn-e-Ahmadiyya,” Part I, by Hazrat Mirza Sahib)

O my Lord—by the company of the prophets;
Whom You sent with overflowing grace
Grant me true knowledge, as You granted my heart;
Grant me the wine, since You granted the cup.

O my Lord—by the name of Mustafa;
Whose Helper You have been in every place:
Take my hand in gentleness and mercy;
In my matters, be my Friend and my Helper.

I lean upon Your power—though I am—
Like dust; indeed, less than dust.

July 16, 1984 — Wembley, England

Today, I telephoned several people, among them Dr. Abdul Aziz Sahib, who is staying a hundred miles from here in Leicester with his daughter Asifa. He himself could not come to the phone; I spoke with Asifa. She said he remembers me greatly, and that on Sunday, he will undergo prostate surgery.

My heart filled with pain, and I resolved that it is very necessary to go and see him—though it is not easy for me. The thought returned again and again, and I remembered an incident from my own illness: how long I had waited for a friend to come, and he did not come—and how that sadness and disappointment remain with me to this day. Yet, through the night, I could not reach a decision.

July 17, 1984

We slept late at night. In the morning, however, I awoke on time and was able to offer the prayer. Then I took a half-hour walk with Ihsan [Ihsan-ul-Haq.]

As soon as I awoke, my resolve became firm: I must go to Leicester. This evening, Ihsan is leaving for Spain. I mentioned the Leicester plan to Muhammad Anwar; the poor fellow immediately got ready.

I myself had petrol put in the car; I filled the tank (12 gallons) and felt reassured. After a two-hour journey, we reached Leicester at noon.

Doctor Sahib [Dr. Abdul Aziz] is in considerable discomfort, but his weakness is far less than it was when he came from Lahore in April. In any case, he was pleased to see me. The surgery, too, is minor: the surgeon has in mind some procedure to lessen an obstruction in the urethra. May Allah—the True Healer—grant him healing and remove the pain.

We ate around 1:30. It was said that it was only after many days, and for the first time, that Doctor Sahib came downstairs and ate at the table with us. Then he became tired and went away. We combined the Zuhr and Asr prayers. Doctor Sahib’s son-in-law, Salah-ud-Din, had taken leave from work and came specially because of me.

After prayer, we took Doctor Sahib’s leave. After about half an hour’s rest, we set off again; the return journey took exactly two hours. There was some fatigue, but my heart felt immense satisfaction.

July 18, 1984

As in the routine of the past few days, I went out for a walk. Ihsan was not present today. Muhammad Anwar offered to come along, but yesterday he had a headache, and had also traveled; I thought it best that he rest, since he usually does not go for a walk in the mornings.

I went toward the market. I had business at Allied Bank today, so I looked for it in the bazaar and found it. Then I returned; the time on my watch was 3:47. In the market, I kept looking at shoes in shop windows and reading the prices—I had been thinking of buying a pair. In this idle business, I wasted even more time.

When, from Harley Street, I wished to turn onto my straight road, I made a mistake—most likely I set off in the opposite direction.

(After writing about the details of the stages and difficulties he passed through in losing the way, Doctor Saeed Ahmad noted as follows.)

By Allah’s mercy and grace alone, I reached Dar-us-Salam, safe and sound. I looked at the clock: it was 6:08. When I had left the house it had been 3:47—two and a half hours had passed.

Arjumand’s mother was present and was doing some work; as soon as I arrived she asked me (something), but I had already decided I would not recount the details of my story. I took off my jacket and said, “While passing through a narrow place on the way, a sticky stain—like some filthy oily substance—has gotten on it. Please clean it.” After showing a little concern, she did not ask for more detail. I thanked Allah.

Then she brought tea and such, and served it to me in the room. At my request, she laid out clothes and warmed the water. After about half an hour’s rest, I took a hot bath, changed clothes, lay down, and intended to rest until nine o’clock. Allah showed mercy: the soreness and fatigue lifted, and a strange calm settled in my temperament.

Throughout this entire incident, by Allah’s grace, I did not feel any unusual panic. Only now and then the thought came: what if the heart should fail? Apart from my breathing becoming rapid two or four times while climbing uphill, and a sense of fatigue at certain moments, no trouble arose. Whenever, during the ordeal, I felt that way, I would stop, or find a spot and sit for a few moments. From time to time, I would also recite:

اِیَّاكَ نَعْبُدُ وَ اِیَّاكَ نَسْتَعِیْنُؕ۝ اِهْدِنَا الصِّرَاطَ الْمُسْتَقِیْمَۙ۝

Thee do we serve and Thee do we beseech for help. Guide us on the right path.
(Holy Quran—1:5-6)

Allah’s special mercy—and the trust in Him that He granted—remained with me.

How can I thank Allah now? O Allah—You are the One Who grants even the ability to be thankful. I am helpless, weak, and Your servant who quickly becomes heedless; do overlook and forgive all my faults. You are the Most Forgiving, the Most Merciful. I am now old, yet I have never despaired of Your threshold (until now I had not truly felt my old age). My condition remained fine throughout the day; and after this morning’s event, the day passed with joy, filled with the thought of Allah’s mercy.

July 22, 1984 — Journey to the West Indies

(In Miami; staying at the home of Zahid Jalil Sahib, together with Mian Fazl-e-Ahmad Sahib and his wife.)

Zahid Jalil Sahib was present at the airport. His wife Ruby met us with great sincerity. They brought us to their very beautiful home and showed hospitality. When I lay down at night, it was already one o’clock.

They have set aside a small room in the house specifically for [the offering of] prayers. He is a devout man. I was told the time for Fajr prayer was 4:00. My eyes opened at five minutes to four.

In the final moments of sleep—I had entered a half-wakeful state at that time—I was speaking something in English. The last words were strange; on waking up, I wrote them down immediately. At that moment, besides myself, the addressees before me were only a few other people—most likely my fellow travelers. The words were:

These are the Ahmadis whose names will be written in golden letters and are inscribed in the hearts of pious people.

While saying these words, my mind went to the present sufferings—and to the fact that people are saying: “Give up the name Ahmadi.” While saying those words, I felt a strange kind of spiritual joy and contentment in my heart. Alhumdulillah.

When I stepped outside for ablution, the prayer room—it adjoins my room—was open and lit. Jalil Sahib was seated, reciting the Quran from a stand; a prayer mat was laid out, and on it was fixed a qibla-compass (the sort people bring from Makkah).

After making an ablution, I knocked at Mian Sahib’s door; both husband and wife came for prayer. We had to wait a little. Then we were granted congregational prayer.

In the first rakah, I recited two sections from Surah Al Baqarah, Ayat al-Kursi, and the passage after it,

والا اَلَمْ تَرَ اِلَی الَّذِیْ حَآجَّ اِبْرٰهٖمَ فِیْ رَبِّهٖۤ

Hast thou not thought of him who disputed with Abraham about his Lord.
(Holy Quran—2:258)

In the second rakah, I recited the final section of Surah Aal’e Imran. In the prayer, Allah granted special attentiveness. May Allah also grant acceptance and effect.

August 4, 1984 — Miami

(On the return from the West Indies.)

The next leg of travel began. We reached Miami around two o’clock. Because of a misunderstanding, Farida came, searched for us, and left again. She became worried, and we, too, had to bear the trouble of waiting.

We succeeded in phoning, and Tahir Ahmad (Farida’s husband) arrived about 15 minutes later, and [then] we reached their home.

In a beautiful, refined part of the city, and located at the edge of the bay, their apartment is on the 22nd floor. Below, in front, is the sea and dense trees; buildings stretch far—the scene is like a sample of paradise. It is quite comfortable and furnished with excellent things. Their household life is very pleasant and pure.

Farida fulfilled the rights of service and love very well. Nadine [Farida’s daughter] has now begun speaking complete sentences. Masha’Allah.

August 18, 1984 — Houston — A Prayer After Learning Bitter Truths About Zahid’s Life

In any case, it would be a great favor from Allah if He removes Zahid from that state—the state that has long filled my heart and Zahid’s mother’s heart with grief.

May Allah have mercy on us and on Zahid, and grant him a wholesome life. May He accept, in our favor, the prayer:

رَبَّنَا وَ اجْعَلْنَا مُسْلِمَیْنِ لَكَ وَ مِنْ ذُرِّیَّتِنَاۤ اُمَّةً مُّسْلِمَةً لَّكَ

Our Lord, make us both submissive to You, and from our offspring a community submissive to You.

In our lives, a heavy calamity has recently occurred. Its detailed account is recorded here. O Allah—keep us and our children and our descendants, generation after generation, always moving on the paths of Your pleasure, and protect us from every misguidance.

August 9, 1984 — Houston, at the Home of Abdulla Saeed

It was not a time for voluntary prayers; I offered two rakahs of Sunnah a little long and prayed—especially for Khalid; for Ikram; for Pasha; for Zahid; for the household here, and for others [whose names] I do not now recall. But the most necessary prayer is always for the Ahmadiyya Movement.

Amid these storms, may Allah bring our boat to an excellent shore in His protection. A weak, helpless servant like me has been appointed as the chief helmsman of this boat; whenever the thought enters my heart, tears fill my eyes.

I seated all those present and spoke of the Anjuman’s difficulties, and urged them again toward [making] monthly contributions, and toward signing the religious pledge forms afresh with a written commitment. There was silence. Abdur Rahman Baig asked a few questions. All seemed somewhat affected. Anjam remained tearful much of the time.

I recounted the incident of the mosque’s Kalima in Abbottabad, and gave Pasha’s poem to Yahya to recite. All listened in silence. A voice came—probably Abdur-Rahman Baig’s: “It’s a fine poem.” Then the gathering dispersed.

Today, Yahya and Muhammad Ali were admitted to a new school. May Allah grant them splendid success. Muhammad Ali is determined to become a surgeon—and, four years from now, to enter the Olympics; and then, eight years from now, to compete in diving. Insha’Allah.

After the meal, Zahid sat with me in my room for an hour or an hour and a half; we spoke pleasantly. I also told him some family matters—especially about his [mother] Bubbo Ji, Ikram, and Dar-us-Salam. Allah showed favor; this meeting will, Insha’Allah, also benefit him.

He shared information about medical practice here—hospitals and the ways doctors earn. May Allah guide him to a useful and purposeful medical specialty, grant him the most successful life, and instead of the present household situation, grant him a righteous life-partner who will be a blessing for his religious life.

Zahid signed the religious pledge form and said: “I’m writing the minimum amount of contribution for now, but if circumstances improve, I will try to give more.”

August 11, 1984

In the evening, Abdulla and Anjam went to buy groceries, and they brought with them in the car an Ethiopian refugee named Ahmad, [who is] disabled in both legs. He lives some twelve or fifteen miles from their home.

A woman had mentioned to Anjam that he [Ahmad] is deserving of help—and, due to a dream, Anjam took Ahmad as its interpretation, and made sympathy and assistance for him her cause. He has been here seven months and is learning how to become a cobbler. He can speak a little English.

He [Ahmad] prayed with us, ate, watched TV for a long time, and then at midnight, they went to drop him home. I, too, went along. On the way back home, the road was closed, and we had to go from the other side. The twelve-to-fifteen-mile journey became double or triple. Abdulla had little sense of the route. We reached home at 1:15 a.m.

This journey was purely fi sabilillah. May Allah accept Abdulla and Anjam’s good deeds, overlook their shortcomings, improve their financial and economic circumstances, guide and keep them on the paths of closeness to Him, grant them ease, accept and fulfil their intentions regarding the service of faith and the Quran, protect their children in every way from every sorrow and calamity, and make them devout, righteous Ahmadi Muslims and servants of the faith.

This is a heavy trial for them. May Allah grant them steadfastness. Amen.

August 15, 1984

After prayer, for about an hour, there was necessary discussion of family matters with Anjam; may Allah make it a means of comfort for her. Many faith-inspiring matters were also spoken of: Abdulla’s illness and healing, and Allah’s wisdom in bringing us here to Houston. The illness and sorrowful end of Anjam’s brother also came up.

The signs of Allah’s governance and the practical proofs of His existence appear day after day in human lives—but most eyes cannot see them. From my childhood onward, certain incidents happened to me, and examples of Divine support also came before me.

Then I rested for an hour. Now, along with preparing for travel, it remains for me to say a few things to this small family for the goodness of their ultimate end.

August 20, 1984 — San Francisco

I slept for four or five hours at night. In the morning, one minute before the alarm was set to ring, I turned on the light, looked at the clock—and exactly forty seconds later, the alarm rang.

This matter, from Allah, has been with me for a long time: Allah has shaped the mind in such a way that when one intends to wake at a certain time, an inner resolve forms right around that moment—and often at the very minute itself—that now one should rise; and the clock confirms that exact, intended time. This occurs to others as well. A long time ago, Reader’s Digest even published an article about this [exact] phenomenon.

This, too, is among Allah’s favors upon me: He has granted an “builtin clock” within the brain.

فَبِاَیِّ اٰلَآءِ رَبِّكُمَا تُكَذِّبٰنِ
Which, then, of the bounties of your Lord will you then deny?

لَیْسَ بِشَئٍی فِیْ انعمک ربنا تکذب و لک الحمد

None of Your blessings, our Lord, can be denied, and to You belongs all praise.

September 2, 1984

In the morning prayer, I recited the three sections just before the end of Surah Al Anbiya—passages that always jolt the heart. Today, Allah granted, in full measure, profound attentiveness and impact (upon my heart; as for others’ hearts, Allah knows). From His presence, it is sometimes granted—and today, I felt unusual contentment.

In the last two prostrations—which became quite long—the heart softened like wax; and when I rose and sat for the final sitting, I felt drops of tears flowing through my beard. A state of joy came over the heart, one in which the world and all within it seemed utterly insignificant by comparison.

O Lord—it is Your favor.

In the congregation today, all the regular daily worshippers were present in full number: Dr. Muhammad Ahmad, Zafar, Masud [Akhtar], [Abdus] Sattar, Malik Ijaz Ilahi, and members of Abdulla’s family. In life, such days come only by fortune—days that are “historic.”

September 3, 1984

Today, [Yasin] Sahu Khan’s family is returning to Vancouver. They came to see us around nine o’clock. Samina Khan brought, as a valuable gift for Anjam, cloth for an outfit. This woman is the embodiment of love, sincerity, and devotion. The children are very well-mannered, and the husband is a living image of decency.

When she departed, when she met me, she began to weep. May Allah grant them blessed fortunes.

September 3, 1984 — Shopping

We went far out to a shopping centre, where Anjam wanted to buy some things for the children. We walked around a lot; she bought only one jacket for Yahya.

In truth, current financial circumstances prevent shopping with ease. Yet, in spending in Allah’s way, the hearts of these husband and wife remain open.

Five gold bangles and eight hundred dollars; five hundred dollars toward the handover of the London mosque; two (hundred) dollars for San Francisco hospitality and expenses; and one hundred dollars for the South Africa case—giving all this is not a small thing, given their present circumstances. May Allah grant them expansion in provision.

September 6, 1984 — Washington, D.C.

I prayed the congregational prayers with Shahid [Ahmad.] Great attentiveness was granted [to me.] The child [Shahid Ahmad’s son] was amazed—it was the first time he had seen such a scene. He made odd movements: at first, he was somewhat afraid, then grew more familiar and came onto the prayer mat beside us, then went away again. Yet, the focus of prayer, by Allah’s grace, remained steady.

It was one of those sublime prayers that one sometimes receives. This child is from the progeny of my beloved guide and benefactor, [Maulana] Muhammad Ali the Great. May Allah make him an excellent successor of this great person.

September 13, 1984 — London

At Heathrow, after some minor difficulty and delay, I was relieved. Because my luggage was heavy, there was also considerable trouble. Outside, Muhammad Anwar was standing. With him were Basharat Ahmad Ali from Suriname and his brother-in-law Shakur Husaini. They had come to London for sightseeing, and had stayed an extra day only to wait for me. They were staying with their families at Dar-us-Salam, Wembley, and they departed later that same evening.

On reaching Dar-us-Salam, I found rest. However, my valuable bag—containing quite a lot of items—which I had left here when going onward on the next trip, has gone missing. In it were some winter things, especially a Kashmiri shawl gifted by Kashmiri friends at the 1982 Annual Convention—worth mentioning. It has likely been stolen.

In their hearts, the household surely must be worried, but out of embarrassment they have not even spoken to me of it. Alhumdulillah: my heart did not feel the loss. Everything belongs to Him; and there is still so much [remaining.] If His mercy and grace remain with me, that is great wealth:

نِعْمَ الْمَوْلٰی وَ نِعْمَ النَّصِیْرُ

Best is the Protector, and Best is the Helper.

I was tired; sleep had not been sufficient. In any case, Alhumdulillah: my condition stabilized. The night passed well.

October 3, 1984

A friend [member of the Ahmadiyya Movement], this time, has taken the matter of hurting me to its extreme. Yet praise be to Allah: He has still granted me patience. What estimate they hold of themselves—Allah knows best. I only pray that they are excused; may Allah forgive them. They regard the grief and sorrow their behaviour brings to others’ hearts as a virtue. In any case, Allah knows best. I entrust the matter to Him, and seek from Him forgiveness for my weaknesses and sins. Allah is Most Forgiving, Most Merciful.

January 4, 1985

Today, for forty days, I began after the congregational Fajr prayer the qunut supplication for protection from external and internal afflictions.

January 6, 1985

A letter from the Karachi Postal Department: nearly 250 of our parcels—religious books—have been held by Customs and the case has been sent to Islamabad for decision. If no reply comes, the parcels will be returned.

January 31, 1985

At nine at night Pasha phoned with the news of his becoming an Associate Professor. Alhumdulillah.

February 6–8, 1985

At night, I experienced dizziness; the next morning, it was quite severe. Trusting in Allah, I attempted to lead the Fajr prayer and the qunut supplications. Allah showed special mercy. On returning, my attention went to the tablet Stemetil; the trouble was relieved, though weakness remained throughout the day.

There was concern about tomorrow morning’s sermon. Dr. Asghar Hamid Sahib had excused himself due to illness. The next morning, the Fajr prayer was excellent. Then I asked Qazi Abdul Ahad Sahib to deliver the sermon; he, too, mentioned his illness, but then agreed. I kept my sermon prepared regardless—and Allah displayed a wondrous Mercy: I was enabled to deliver a 35-minute, deeply satisfying sermon on the verse:

قُلْ اِنْ كُنْتُمْ تُحِبُّوْنَ اللّٰهَ فَاتَّبِعُوْنِیْ یُحْبِبْكُمُ اللّٰهُ وَ یَغْفِرْ لَكُمْ ذُنُوْبَكُمْ ؕ وَ اللّٰهُ غَفُوْرٌ رَّحِیْمٌ

Say: If you love Allah, follow me: Allah will love you, and grant you protection from your sins. And Allah is Forgiving, Merciful. (Holy Quran—3:31)

Alhumdulillah.

February 11, 1985

In the [daily] newspaper Jang, Hanif Ramay has published a courageous article against the erasure of the Kalima that is being carried out in Ahmadi mosques. Some Ahmadis were arrested for wearing badges of the Kalima-Tayyibah. Articles by former judge Shaukat Ali and other elders supporting Ramay have also been published. Some opposing statements by the clerics have appeared—highly unreasonable and filled with accusations.

February 12, 1985

The forty days of qunut after congregational Fajr prayer concluded today with the Fajr prayer.

February 25, 1985

Non-party National Assembly elections were held. When the full results became clear, several important things emerged:

Jamaat-e-Islami suffered a severe defeat. From Karachi, not even a single leader (or member) was elected. From the whole country they won seven; two face serious cases. Raja Zafar-ul-Haq—guilty of the worst insult to the Appointed One—met a humiliating defeat. Likewise, the fiercely hostile Ghulam Dastgir, the labor Minister, was defeated, and a case was also brought against him. All but three ministers and members of the Shura were defeated.

March 7, 1985

A letter from Abdulla [Saeed] reached me today; a detailed report is enclosed. He is courageous, trusting, hopeful, and resolute. May Allah have mercy.

March 29, 1985 — Peshawar

I delivered a sermon on the theme:

اَوْفُوْ بِعَهْدِی اُوْفِ بِعَهْدِکُم

Fulfill My covenant; I will fulfil your covenant.

Alhumdulillah—He granted me the ability. The heart found reassurance; the effect is with Allah.

I became quite tired; lately, fatigue comes quickly, and is felt afterwards. After prayer, I sat (on a chair) and shared conditions with friends [members of the Ahmadiyya Movement], calling them to greater effort and readiness in this time of trials.

I had begun to speak about an internal, newly-arisen anxiety—laying the groundwork—when four Qadiani individuals arrived, including the leader Abdul Basit, the lawyer from Mansehra (Jahangiri). I abandoned the intention of speaking on that topic, taking this unexpected interruption as based on Divine wisdom. Instead, I spoke about the Ahmadiyya Movement’s present and planned programs.

Some friends [members of the Ahmadiyya Movement] asked sound questions—especially Sardar Ali Khan—whose answers were not without benefit, and could encourage saddened and broken-hearted friends. It also served as a reply to the propaganda of those four Qadiani individuals who boast excessively of their numbers, organization, and resources, and regard us as a contemptible and hateful community. May Allah have mercy on all—because all of us are in need of His special Mercy.

In the evening, we reached [the town of] Safed Dheri. Sardar Ali Khan had arranged the meal; Abdul-Bari Khan (a lawyer) also came, apologizing for his absence at Friday prayer. The conversation was in Pashto; all were Pashtuns. I was tired, but it was an interesting gathering; the fatigue was not strongly felt. In the present political conditions, we discussed at length our circumstances, anxieties, and the excesses, falsehoods, and effects upon the public of the opponents of truth. Several anecdotes—born of those opponents’ bigotry and foolishness—were also entertaining.

March 31, 1985 — Rawalpindi

After Maghrib, Rabbani Sahib came to see me; for two hours, there was a very pleasant and pure sitting. He promised to take greater interest in Ahmadiyya Movement matters, and expressed the resolve to build a house on his plot in Dar-us-Salam and to live there after retirement.

At night, we watched TV for a long time—after ages this “luxury” occurred—and sitting late with Saeed and Sabiha gave a sense of holiday after a very long time. I slept at 11:30 p.m., and woke at 4:30, which is when the alarm rang.

April 8, 1985 — Lahore

Naseer Ahmad Faruqui gave a lesson. Alhumdulillah: his health can now bear this much work. He reads out the lesson notes from his notebook, which he has already written. May Allah provide the means for printing and publishing his lessons.

April 23, 1985

We reached Ahmadiyya Buildings and offered the Maghrib prayer—after a long time—in Jamia Ahmadiyya [a mosque.] Before the prayer, we went to the former central office, where the initial sorting for binding of Bayan-ul-Quran—which has now been printed amid hardships—was underway. Nasir Ahmad, Ghafoor Ahmad, Fazl-ur-Rahman, and Chaudhry Sardar Ali (administrator of Ahmadiyya Buildings) were present. The binding of the English translation of the Quran is also near completion.

Before the prayer, there were about a dozen worshippers. My going there had been known beforehand. The old prayers of the Ahmadiyya Buildings mosque, and old personalities, came to mind:

تِلْكَ الْاَیَّامُ نُدَاوِلُهَا بَیْنَ النَّاسِ ۚ

And We bring these days to men by turns.
(Holy Quran—3:140)

Because of [traffic] congestion on Brandreth Road, reaching Ahmadiyya Buildings by car—or by any means—has become an uphill task. On the way back it rained; the weather became somewhat cool.

May 26, 1985 — Debgaran

In the new Suzuki, we reached Debgaran—located at a distance of 4 km—directly in one hour and fifteen minutes.

Seeing the new house, I thanked Allah. Some outline of Ikram’s back-breaking labor became visible. Much remains, but much of the exterior work is complete. The mosque room has been made very suitable; the floor has been laid. Zuhr prayer—the first prayer there—was offered in congregation with Ikram; then Asr as well. I thanked Allah and plaintively prayed.

May Allah one day fill this House of God with worshippers, protect it through [His] angels, keep it established forever, and continue to send comfort upon our sorrowful hearts.

In the evening, we returned to Abbottabad at the time of iftar. Ikram’s solitude is a cause of worry. Yunus—Rahmat Bibi’s grandson—who had long been employed at a reasonable wage merely as a companion, has now also resigned and is leaving. And Allah is the best Guardian.

Ikram Saeed — Another Note

Ikram’s life is less for himself and more for others. He is a servant of friends, relatives, the poor, and children alike. He is a devoted child to his mother. He has no love for money whatsoever, and has no cash on hand; saving is rare, except as Allah wills. He lives simply.

During his posting in Lahore, he served us in every way—never withholding financial or physical sacrifice. He stayed with us.

In early 1983, for my under-construction house in Dar-us-Salam, he again strove that it might become fit for guests by the Annual Convention; on that occasion Ikram gave 15,000 rupees—an amount I consider a debt upon myself, although he calls it service. When the house was completed and rented out, in October 1983 I repaid Ikram the 15,000 rupees by cheque (signed April 18, 1984).

In 1984, in Debgaran, the extreme desolation of our houses and continuing encroachments upon the agricultural property were evident. Ikram accepted this challenge. He had retired from the army and was preparing to go abroad. He lives a rural life of solitude and bachelorhood, establishing an example of courage, patience, and steadfastness.

وَاﷲُ خَیْرُٗ حَافِظاً

May Allah be his Helper and Supporter.

May 27, 1985 — Abbottabad

Good news — “Basharat”

Last night, Allah granted a son to Sabiha, the righteous wife of my son Muhammad Saeed. At nine in the morning, [Muhammad] Saeed phoned from Rawalpindi and asked me to propose a name. In my heart, the name Basharat Saeed kept coming again and again. May Allah bless him.

After two daughters—Haleemah and Aaminah, whose ages are about 8 and 6 years—the wishes and prayers of many in the family have been accepted.

June 11, 1985

A strange coincidence: 11 June 1974, too, was a Tuesday.

At 4:30 in the morning, my eyes opened. I was granted the ability to pray, with ample time, and I was also granted the ability to fast.

In the Fajr prayer, I felt signs of special mercy. When I finished and returned, I remembered that today is 11 June, and the day of 1974 came back: in this very house where we are staying now, a “minor doomsday” had passed over us. Allah’s favors began to return to mind one by one.

By coincidence, yesterday, Bashir Ahmad Soz—who has come here to escape Lahore’s [oppressive] heat—was speaking with me on this very subject. May Allah make this day blessed for us. How can we thank Allah for that extraordinary help?

O Beneficent Lord: we are in need today as well of Your help and protection. We have no deeds in our possession that make us worthy of gratitude for Your boundless mercies; yet our hopes in You are the same as they have always been, and we remain as needy as we have always been. Have mercy upon us even now, and make our end good.

یَا مَنْ لَا تَرَاہُ الْعَیُوْنُ، وَلَا تُخَالِطْہُ الظُّنُوْنُ، وَلَا یَصِفُہُ الْوَاصِفُوْنَ، اِجْعَلْ خَیْرَ عُمْرِیْ اٰخِرَہٗ وَ خَیْرَ عَمَلِیْ خَوَاتِیْمَہٗ وَ خَیْرَ اَیَّامِیْ یَوْمَ اَلْقَاکَ فِیْہِ یَا وَلِیَّ الْاِسْلَامِ وَ اَھْلِہٖٖٖ ثَبِّتْنیْ بِہٖٖ حَتّٰی اَلْقَاکَ

O You whom no eyes can behold, whom no conjectures can encompass, whom no describer can truly describe—make the best of my life be its closing years, the best of my deeds be its final moments, and the best of my days the day on which I meet You. O Guardian of Islam and its people, make me steadfast through it, until I meet You.

June 13, 1985

In my own car, accompanied by Ikram, we reached Rawalpindi around eleven. Mansur, Khadija, and Akram have come, on their way to depart for America. Ikram bought door fittings for the Debgaran house. I was granted the ability to fast.

I saw, for the first time, the newborn infant Basharat Ahmad Saeed. He was born on May 26. Weight 6.50 pounds; complexion fair; hair blackish-brown; nose is prominent, like [my son Muhammad] Saeed’s; eyes somewhat large. A very handsome child, Masha’Allah. May Allah make him the fulfillment of an old dream of mine—according to Khalil Bhaji’s narration—in which I was holding a newborn and saying: “He will become a man who will bring about a reformation.” And if so, it will be an honor for our family. [The reference “Khalil Bhaji” is to Professor Khalil-ur-Rahman.]

The name was greatly liked, because he is the grandson of Hamidah [Rahman]—the daughter of the late Dr. Basharat Ahmad. O Allah my… (left incomplete).

The western window on the qibla side of the mosque at Dar-us-Saeed has made the state precarious; with significant expense, the danger may be averted. In these days, while reciting Surah At Tawbah—verses 108 and 109—a renewed passion arose in the heart that saving the mosque is essential. My heart trembled. Allah has Power over all things. May He overlook our weaknesses, make easy for us the path to solving this difficulty, and show us the right way.

October 29, 1986

Yesterday, a letter came from Brigadier Abdul Latif Sahib in Quetta, in reply to my letter: he will not take payment for the two carpets he has sent. One is a gift from his wife Munawwar, and the other from himself, for the mosque (the room set aside for worship). For this same purpose, I had earlier ordered a carpet through him; its estimated price was 1,200 rupees. He had not taken payment for that one either—on the same pretext. But because it was small, it was not spread in the mosque, and I sent him measurements; and I kept that carpet for personal use.

Today, I have sent a cheque of 1,200 rupees as its price, with a letter and thanks (signature dated April 30, 1986). With some reluctance, he accepted it, and I felt at peace.

June 17, 1986

I stayed two days in Rawalpindi at Muhammad Saeed’s house. These were very tranquil hours, and I began to feel an unusual improvement in health. No fatigue was felt.

On 19 June, Friday, at dawn, Muhammad Saeed brought me in his car to Dar-us-Saeed. Near Havelian, the car had a minor accident: a truck hit it. All was well, though. The truck driver paid a penalty of 1,000 rupees—enough, it should be, for repairs.

A Note Titled “Important Events”

The extremely difficult December 1987, and—despite dangers and misgivings—a remarkably successful Annual Convention.

My health was quite weak. No special preparation of speeches could be done. Yet purely by Allah’s special grace, over the three days of the Annual Convention, I remained able to lead the Fajr prayer, deliver the opening address on the 25th, the speech and appeal on the 26th, and the closing address on the 27th—about 45 minutes—and then to lead the combined supplication.

The Friday sermon, by his own wish, was delivered by Naseer Ahmad Faruqui. Given his long and severe illnesses and resultant disabilities, it was an extraordinarily effective and truth-filled sermon—nothing short of a miracle.

Attendance was no less than previous years. Contributions exceeded six hundred thousand rupees. That is the bounty of Allah. After the Convention, several gatherings—with friends [members of the Ahmadiyya Movement] who had arrived from America—were held. And a number of proposals for large-scale religious propagation work outside Pakistan were approved.

The Canadian lady Samina Sahu Khan played a noteworthy role. Hafiz Sher Muhammad Sahib and Masud Akhtar narrated interesting and faith-enhancing events about the South Africa case. The hearing will resume on February 23.

January 25, 1988

Nasir Ahmad Saeed again suffered severe abdominal pain; it had occurred in December. At the CMH [Combined Military Hospital] Rawalpindi, on January 25, 1988, General Mahmood-ul-Hassan performed the surgery.

Fifteen or sixteen years earlier, there had been a surgery for severe obstructive jaundice; as a consequence of that, trouble had been recurring. The intestinal surgery that General Shaukat had done now again required a similar surgery. The gall bladder was fine; it did not have to be removed. A bypass for bile drainage was made.

March 24, 1988

At ten in the evening, Munnoo [Muhammad Shaukat, grandson of Doctor Saeed Ahmad] phoned from Houston with news of Abdulla’s extreme weakness.

March 25, 1988

At eight in the morning, Munnoo gave alarming news: the breathing became irregular, then stopped. For two days, the doctor has placed him [Abdulla Saeed, son of Doctor Saeed Ahmad] on a respirator so that the antifungal medicine can continue to be given; then…?

اِنَّ ذٰلِكَ لَمُحْیِ الْمَوْتٰى ۚ وَ هُوَ عَلٰى كُلِّ شَیْءٍ قَدِیْرٌ
Surely He is the One who brings the dead to life, and He is Powerful over all things. (Holy Quran—30:50)

March 26, 1988

I recalled, from boyhood days, a Farsi stanza whose last couplet Hazrat Maulana Muhammad Ali (may Allah have mercy on him) had recorded in the Bayan-ul-Quran commentary:

One day, within the bath, there came to me
A perfumed bit of clay, most fragrantly.
I said, “Art thou musk, or ambergris divine,
That by thy sweetness thou hast made me thine?”

It answered, “Once a worthless clod was I,
Yet long beside the rose I chanced to lie.
The grace of that fair friend wrought change in me—
Else dust I was, and dust again should be.”
— Sadi’s Gulistan.

April 1, 1988

A funeral in-absentia for Abdulla was held in the Dar-us-Salam mosque. The mosque was filled. The Friday sermon was delivered by Naseer Ahmad Faruqui; Pasha led the Friday congregational prayer; I led the funeral prayer. Afterward, I gave a brief address.

People offering condolences were countless. At 5:30 p.m., General Zia-ul-Haq and the Governor of Punjab, Sajjad Hussain Qureshi, also came. The condolence gatherings continued until late night, and then continued for the next several days.

April 10, 1988

At ten in the morning, a devastating catastrophe occurred in the Rawalpindi–Islamabad area: a fire in the Ojri Camp depot of rockets, bombs, and missiles led to thousands of deaths across an eight-to-ten-mile area. Buildings were destroyed. Minister Khaqan Abbasi was also killed.

July 11, 1988

Lala Faiz Alam—my maternal cousin—passed away at the age of one hundred or [even] greater. His funeral will be today at 4:00 p.m.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

Wednesday, August 17, 1988

In the evening, news came: General Zia-ul-Haq, the Chief of Army Staff General Akhtar Abdur-Rahman, other generals and brigadiers—including our dear brother Brigadier Abdul Latif—and the American ambassador and other staff, thirty in total, were killed when the aircraft exploded in mid-air. The plane exploded minutes after departing from Bahawalpur airport. Nobody survived.

Brigadier Abdul Latif’s body reached Dar-us-Salam the next day, Thursday, 18 August, at 5:00 p.m. At 5:30 p.m., the funeral was offered on the lawn in front of the mosque. Everyone participated—more than a hundred military officers, and some residents of the village Jivan Hana among them; a total perhaps seven to eight hundred.

Afterwards, he was buried in the Dar-us-Salam cemetery with full military honors. His wife and children arrived from Rawalpindi around three o’clock under military arrangements, and showed exemplary patience. The only son, Usman—who has passed matric this year—is, for his age, unusually mature, patient, and strong-minded. The wife and daughters, too, are, Masha’Allah, very steadfast.

اِنَّا لِلّٰهِ وَ اِنَّاۤ اِلَیْهِ رٰجِعُوْنَ

To Allah do we belong, and to Him is our return.

September 4 – September 13, 1988 (Family Visits)

On September 4, Latif’s brother Abdus Sattar, his wife Shaheen, and his sisters Safia, Zakiyyah, and Qudsiyyah came from America to Rawalpindi—along with Latif’s daughter Faiqah. All except Faiqah came to Lahore on September 8, then after the Friday congregational prayer, went to Okara, returned to Rawalpindi on September 13, and then—two days later—they are going to depart for America.

October 4, 1988

Suddenly, a thought arose in the heart during Maghrib and Isha: to leave Lahore for a few days. The checkup on the pacemaker [that had been implanted in my chest] had also become important; it was to be done in Rawalpindi by Dr. Nuri. In short, I firmly decided on going to Rawalpindi, Abbottabad, and Debgaran.

October 17, 1988

I arrived by plane in first class at 3:50 p.m. By Divine arrangement, Nasir [Ahmad] Saeed had unexpectedly come home on leave from the Kashmir border precisely in these days—an ease for me. Travel had a disagreeable effect on my condition.

For most of the day on October 18, too, I was not feeling too well. I rested throughout the day. At 5 p.m., I had an appointment with Dr. Nuri, who treated me with great kindness. A man from CMH [Combined Military Hospital] brought a device to test the pacemaker [that had been implanted in my chest.] The pacemaker did not appear on the ECG device. The pulse was somewhat fast, but Dr. Nuri said it was not a major matter: the heart is working on its own, and the pacemaker’s life is long. He considered this a good sign. He confirmed the medicines I take; advised vitamins, and gave further guidance.

After the appointment with the doctor, we went to the home of the martyred Brigadier [Abdul] Latif and spent two or three hours with his wife and children.

October 19, 1988

In Rawalpindi, at Nasir Saeed’s house in Rawalpindi

The heat, personal circumstances, illness of Abdulla’s mother [Umm-e-Kulsoom Saeed], the Anjuman’s circumstances, Mansur Ahmad’s long leave to America—from August 1 to November 1—issues faced in Lahore, mental fatigue, and other duties in the homeland after a yearlong absence.

Closing Note

Some important entries from the 1990 diary have already been incorporated above in the context of events. After this—because of his weak health—Doctor Saeed Ahmad stopped his practice of regularly recording events and his impressions.

Completion of compiling this biography, Hayat-e-Saeed
July 15, 2014 (Ramadan 17), Calgary, Canada
— Safia Saeed, biographer

Chapter Twenty Eight

Selections From the Diaries of Doctor Saeed Ahmad

January 7, 1945 — Madanapalli (Madras)¹

January 8, 1945

January 12, 1945 — During The Journey Back from Madras

Morning of January 13, 1945

January 16, 1945

January 18, 1945

January 19, 1945

January 20, 1945

Pilgrimage Journey, 1947

October 1, 1947 — Journey as far as Lahore – A Scene After the Partition of the Subcontinent

October 2, 1947

October 3, 1947 — Departure for Karachi

October 8, 1947 — Karachi

Before the Ship’s Departure

October 10, 1947

October 10, 1947 — Friday

October 15, 1947

October 17, 1947 — Departure from Jeddah

October 18, 1947

October 20, 1947

October 21, 1947

October 22, 1947

October 23, 1947

October 24, 1947

October 26, 1947

October 26, 1947

October 27, 1947

November 1, 1947

November 4, 1947

November 14, 1947

A Few Old Notes That Came to Hand

August 24, 1974

August 29, 1974

August 30, 1974

August 31, 1974 (Kakul)

September 29, 1975 — Return from London

October 27, 1975 (Lahore)

March 14, 1976 — Karachi

August 7, 1976

August 15, 1976

September 2, 1976 — London

September 3, 1976

September 4, 1976

September 8, 1976

September 11, 1976

September 20, 1976

September 22, 1976

October 4, 1976 (Returning After a Meeting at the Ahmadiyya House)

October 12, 1976

October 20, 1976 — Suriname

Friday, November 5, 1976 — Trinidad

London — November 11, 1976

November 18, 1976

August 20, 1977 — Journey to England

August 22, 1977

August 27, 1977 — England

September 12, 1977

Reflections On Receiving a Long, Painful Letter

September 21, 1977

September 22, 1977

September 30, 1977

October 30, 1977

October 30, 1977

November 5, 1977

November 6, 1977

November 10, 1977 — Departure for the Netherlands

November 23, 1977

July 16, 1978 — October 21, 1978

October 26, 1978 — Joyce Green Hospital, Dartford (England)

November 19, 1978

December 1, 1978 — the Netherlands: the Trial of Travel, and Endurance

December 2, 1978

August 10, 1979 — Abbottabad

August 11, 1979

August 24, 1979 — Jumuat al-Wida, Dar-us-Saeed, Abbottabad

August 25, 1979

November 10, 1979 — Mexico

February 21, 1980 — Lahore