Page 161 - The Book of Rumi

the while. “Under my shirt, lives God!” Bayazid shouted. “Why do you search
for him on the earth or even in the sky?”
The devotees found themselves at an impasse; they didn’t want to stab
their shaykh, yet they didn’t want to disobey him either. Eventually, one by
one, they pounced on Bayazid and began to thrust their daggers toward his
body. One murid aimed for his throat to shut him up, while another went for
his heart, and yet another plunged his dagger toward Bayazid’s side, trying to
make sure that the man was as good as dead.
However, an odd sort of miracle occurred. With each forward thrust, the
knife inexplicably spun around and stabbed the devotee instead of Bayazid.
Each attempted blow at the master became an even more severe wound suf-
fered by the murid wielding the knife, and in a few short minutes corpses piled
around the room. There were a few men present who, despite their master’s
earlier order, had not had the heart to stab him. They stood by in a state of
utter bewilderment, their tongues tied, watching the massacre! Their faith and
trust in their shaykh, and perhaps the softness of their hearts, were what saved
them.
From that day on, people from faraway lands would come to sit at the
foot of Bayazid, to be in the presence of God.

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