Ahamad Ilyaas Vilayathullah


The Arabian Moon And The Indian King - Poem by Ahamad Ilyaas Vilayathullah

The Moon split into two halves
at Mina, near Makkah, in Arabia.

Its one half on one side of the mountain
and the other half on the other side,
the prophet pointing his finger
to the sky of Mina, and
the disbelieving Makkans watching.

It lasted long enough
for all there to see.

Many ending their day's sojourn
in the desert rushed to the antique city,
with eyebrows raised and foreheads stretched,
to ask what the miracle
they had seen in the sky was!

That it was a divine sign shown
By Muhammad, the final messenger
of Allah to mankind, convinced
all who had witnessed it with
their naked eyes.

But the disbelieving Makkans,
who had persisted in their demand
for divine proof for his prophecy,
refused to believe and yelled:
'The same old magic played again! '

Muhammad's warning
that not just the moon,
but the whole cosmos will
fall asunder likewise soon,
for the final hour is so near,
went unheeded.

And once again it proved true
that you can't make see the truth
those inwardly blind,
and that god almighty will guide
to light only those who yearn
inwardly for hugging the truth,
the ones with the urge to know
what the mystery of this
astounding universe was!

For Cheraman, the Indian king
of Malabar, a land lying
far from Arabia, across the sea,
witnessed the lunar miracle,
sauntering on his palace rooftop.

Guided by the prophecies
about Kalki in the Vedas,
Cheraman was long waiting
for the final avatar of god
to appear in the desert,
for his prophesied arrival
was quite due!

Found matching every bit with
the signs of the long-awaited avatar,
Muhammad, the divine messenger
of the Arabian desert, proved true
to Cheraman's truth-seeking heart!

Bequeathing the stately powers and tasks
to those close of kin, Cheraman set sail
with the Arab traders from the desert
come to his shore, eager to hug
the pristine faith and vow allegiance
to the lord of the worlds
and his trusted messenger.

A jar of pickled ginger he gifted
To his Arabian guru, the seal, and the final
of all Messengers to mankind
from the benevolent lord.

The ginger he shared with all
his companions there and in return
gave the Perumal Cheraman
a new name more royal, Tajuddeen,
the crown of faith, a name to
be remembered in history.

Tajuddeen so much craved
the remainder of his life to spend
in the company of his new guru
as his ardent disciple and sincere comrade.

But the time at odds, the messenger those days
let none such linger in Makkah,
a city hostile to its benefactor, and unsafe
for all those who followed him.

And besides, Tajuddeen now, like Abu Dharr,
the chieftain of the Ghifar tribe, had
to take the message of the messenger
to his people in darkness across the sea,
and await a time to join the messenger
as when he moves to a place of safety
that his lord guides him to.

Tears in eyes, yet with a heart satiated
with the most illuminating of all faiths,
Tajuddeen, the Perumal of the Malabar of yore,
trod his way back to the Indian shore
of the Arabian sea.

And as is in the adage,
man proposes and god disposes,
his destiny inevitable overtook him
before he reached his destination,
the land of fruits and nuts.

Fell ill and breathed his last on his way,
The Indian king crowned with the pristine faith,
rests in his tomb at Salalah in Oman,
on the Arabian shore of the sea.

Thanked be fortune, he was one
fully submitted to the creator,
the only lord of the worlds,
and the very first from the Indian shore!

Malik Bin Dinar, a trusted follower of the faith,
with letters from the king's very hands,
proceeded to the Malabar coast,
with zealous comrades, eager
to accomplish the royal mission
of the deceased king, to invite his people,
with respect due and words polite,
to the truth their king had discovered.

The coast of Malabar accorded
their king's emissaries a hearty welcome
and honored them past all limiting terms
and helped them build many a mosque
along the coastline for worship
of the only lord of the universe!

Many overjoyed to hug the faith
of the king's lifetime's search
and many helped them take
their path to the crystal clear life,
and none shouted 'No! '

Thank god, we the descendants of Tajuddeen,
The first follower of the final messenger
From this shore of the Arabian sea,
have seen many a king and many a queen,
many a dynasty of noble rulers,
dispensing justice to the people here
in the name of the almighty lord.

Tajuddeen's descendants are counted
in millions today, yet they say
there is no proof in history
for this Indian king's voyage
to the Arabian shore for witnessing
the truth of Allah's messenger!

Who could have protected history at a time
when the struggle was to protect one's head?

How much of your history is founded on proofs,
Oh ye makers of history?

And how much of truths
have ye included in your history?

And how much are you good at piecing facts
together into history to make it pass?

You cannot deny the splitting of the moon
the divine sign, like the disbelieving Makkans.

You cannot ask whether there had ever been
any follower for the messenger of Allah,
this shore of the Arabian sea.

Time will soon prove to you
that there are more things in history
that you history makers let go under cover
than those that you let come on surface!

***


Poet's Notes about The Poem

A poem inspired by a variety of factors such as ayahs 1-3 in surah Al Qamar (54: 1-3) in the Quran, mention in ahadeeth of an Indian king visiting the prophet at Makkah, the legendary story of Cheraman Perumal in Tuhfatul Mujahideen by Sheikh Zainuddeen Makhdum, the south Indian folklores, and some other historical sources as well as the expression of doubt about it by certain recent historians.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 22, 2013


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