Page 118 - The Book of Rumi

The Basket Weaver

here was once a Sufi shaykh who had no arms, yet he managed to weave
Tbaskets for a living. He never shared his secret with anyone and generally
remained aloof from people. He lived on his own, up in the mountains that
loomed over the town. One day, as he was busily weaving a new basket—with
both arms and hands intact—a man stumbled into his hut.
“Have you lost your mind?” the Sufi rebuked the intruder. “Why did you
rush into my home like a madman? Who gave you permission to enter?”
“Forgive me, master, I was overawed and lost control!” replied the young
seeker, obviously distressed that he had unsettled the old man.
The old basket weaver smiled gently and told him: “Now that you’ve seen
my secret, promise me that until I die you’ll never divulge it to anyone, be it
friend or foe.”
As he uttered these words, he noticed a group of people hunched out-
side the window of his hut. They had heard him ask the young novice to
keep his secret, and they had seen him weaving his basket using his own arms
and hands. He knew that his secret was out but could not understand the
reason for this intrusion into his quiet and devoted life. Trusting in God and
His wisdom, the old man continued with his weaving, ignoring the intruders
whenever they happened to walk by. His prayers for an explanation were soon
answered through a revelation:
“As you quietly carried on with your work, a group of untrusting towns-
folk circulated rumors that you are a liar and impostor. I did not wish them to
be considered infi dels and be accused of questioning God’s miracles. There-
fore, I made them privy to your secret. I wished them to see with their own
eyes the miracle that you can weave with both hands, so that they always trust
and believe in God and be spared from eternal ignorance.”
Relieved that he was safe in his solitude, the old master continued weav-
ing his baskets until the day he died.

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