بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ
فَبِمَا رَحْمَةٍۢ مِّنَ ٱللَّهِ لِنتَ لَهُمْ ۖ
وَلَوْ كُنتَ فَظًّا غَلِيظَ ٱلْقَلْبِ لَٱنفَضُّوا۟ مِنْ حَوْلِكَ
Wa law kunta faẓẓan ghalīẓa al-qalbi lanfaḍḍū min ḥawlik.
“By a mercy from Allah, you were gentle with them. And had you been harsh and hard-hearted, they would have dispersed from around you.”
Sūrat Āl ʿImrān 3:159
This verse makes me reflect every time.
Allah is speaking to the Prophet ﷺ.
The one whose truth was pure. The one whose mission was revelation. The one whose character was the Qur’an walking among people.
Yet Allah tells him that if he had been harsh, hard-hearted, severe, and rough in comportment, people would have scattered from around him.
So what about us?
What happens when our truth is mixed with ego? What happens when our religious language is correct, but our face is hard? What happens when our advice is sound, but our tone humiliates? What happens when our daʿwah becomes a display of ourselves rather than a mercy from Allah?
Sometimes people do not turn away from Islam because they have seen Islam. Sometimes they turn away because they have seen us.
And they thought we were Islam.
The Sound and the Truth
There is a story in Mawlānā Rūmī’s Mathnawī, in Book Five, about a muezzin with an ugly voice.
The story is often told in different ways. In some fuller Urdu-Persian retellings, the muezzin joins a caravan going toward the Kaʿbah, and the caravan stops one night in a non-Muslim region. In the core Persian text, Mawlānā begins more directly: a muezzin with a very bad voice calls the prayer in kāferestān, the land of unbelievers.
A small caution is needed here.
The word kāferestān in could be the historical region called Kāfiristān, associated with present-day Nuristan and its surrounding valleys. Probably in Mawlānā’s story, the word functions first as a spiritual and social setting: a place outside the Muslim community, a threshold of religious otherness.
The real map of the story is not only geography. It is the heart.
And on that map, the muezzin does something terrible. He calls to the truth in a way that makes the truth sound ugly.
The adhān is true. But his voice becomes a veil.
The message is beautiful. But the carrier becomes repellent.
This is the danger.
Not that the truth loses its truth. But that our presentation of truth becomes a highway robber on the path to truth.
Mawlānā’s Lines
The original Persian lines are:
یک مؤذن داشت بس آواز بد
در میان کافرستان بانگ زد
Yak muʾadhdhin dāsht bas āvāz-e bad
Dar miyān-e kāferestān bāng zad
There was a muezzin with a very ugly voice;
he gave the call in the midst of kāferestān.
چند گفتندش مگو بانگ نماز
که شود جنگ و عداوتها دراز
Chand goftandash: magū bāng-e namāz
Ke shavad jang o ʿadāvat-hā dirāz
They repeatedly told him: Do not give the call to prayer,
for war and enmity may become prolonged.
او ستیزه کرد و پس بیاحتراز
گفت در کافرستان بانگ نماز
Ū setīze kard o pas bī-iḥtirāz
Goft dar kāferestān bāng-e namāz
But he argued stubbornly and, without caution,
gave the call to prayer in kāferestān.
خلق خایف شد ز فتنهٔ عامهای
خود بیامد کافری با جامهای
Khalq khāyif shod ze fitna-ye ʿāmma-ī
Khod biyāmad kāferī bā jāma-ī
The people became afraid of a general turmoil;
but a non-Muslim man himself came, carrying a robe.
شمع و حلوا با چنان جامهٔ لطیف
هدیه آورد و بیامد چون الیف
Shamʿ o ḥalvā bā chunān jāma-ye laṭīf
Hadiye āvard o biyāmad chun alīf
He brought a candle, halwa, and such a fine robe as gifts,
and came like a familiar friend.
پرس پرسان کاین مؤذن کو؟ کجاست؟
که صلا و بانگ او راحتفزاست
Pors-porsān: ka-īn muʾadhdhin kū? kujāst?
Ke ṣalā o bāng-e ū rāḥat-fazāst
He came asking: Where is this muezzin? Where is he?
For his call and voice have increased my comfort.
هین چه راحت بود زان آواز زشت
گفت که آوازش فتاد اندر کنشت
Hīn che rāḥat būd z-ān āvāz-e zesht?
Goft: ke āvāzash fetād andar kenesht
“What comfort could there be from that ugly voice?”
He said: His voice fell into the house of worship.
دختری دارم لطیف و بس سنی
آرزو میبود او را مؤمنی
Dokhtarī dāram laṭīf o bas sanī
Ārezū mībūd ū rā muʾminī
I have a graceful and noble daughter;
she had a longing for faith, for becoming a believer.
هیچ این سودا نمیرفت از سرش
پندها میداد چندین کافرش
Hīch īn sowdā namīraft az sarash
Pand-hā mīdād chandīn kāferash
This desire would not leave her head;
many of her own people kept advising her.
در دل او مهر ایمان رسته بود
همچو مجمر بود این غم من چو عود
Dar del-e ū mehr-e īmān rosta būd
Hamchu mejmar būd īn gham, man chu ʿūd
The love of faith had grown in her heart;
this grief was like a brazier, and I was like incense wood.
در عذاب و درد و اشکنجه بدم
که بجنبد سلسلهٔ او دم به دم
Dar ʿadhāb o dard o eshkanje bodam
Ke bejonbad silsila-ye ū dam be dam
I was in torment, pain, and anguish,
as her chain of inclination moved moment by moment.
هیچ چاره میندانستم در آن
تا فرو خواند این مؤذن آن اذان
Hīch chāra mēnadānestam dar ān
Tā forū khwānd īn muʾadhdhin ān adhān
I knew no remedy for this,
until this muezzin recited that adhān.
گفت دختر چیست این مکروه بانگ
که به گوشم آمد این دو چار دانگ
Goft dokhtar: chīst īn makrūh bāng
Ke be gūsham āmad īn do-chār dāng?
The daughter said: What is this hateful sound,
these few harsh notes that have reached my ears?
من همه عمر این چنین آواز زشت
هیچ نشنیدم درین دیر و کنشت
Man hama ʿumr īn chunīn āvāz-e zesht
Hīch nashnīdam dar īn deyr o kenesht
In all my life I have never heard such an ugly voice
in this monastery or house of worship.
خواهرش گفتا که این بانگ اذان
هست اعلام و شعار مؤمنان
Khāharash goftā ke īn bāng-e adhān
Hast eʿlām o shiʿār-e muʾminān
Her sister said: This is the call of adhān;
it is the proclamation and sign of the believers.
باورش نامد بپرسید از دگر
آن دگر هم گفت آری ای پدر
Bāvarash nāmad, beporsīd az degar
Ān degar ham goft: ārī, ey pedar
She did not believe it, so she asked another;
the other also said: Yes, indeed.
چون یقین گشتش رخ او زرد شد
از مسلمانی دل او سرد شد
Chun yaqīn gashtash, rokh-e ū zard shod
Az musulmānī del-e ū sard shod
When she became certain, her face turned pale;
her heart grew cold toward Islam.
باز رستم من ز تشویش و عذاب
دوش خوش خفتم در آن بیخوف خواب
Bāz rastam man ze tashvīsh o ʿadhāb
Dūsh khwush khaftam dar ān bī-khawf khwāb
I was freed again from anxiety and torment;
last night I slept sweetly, free of fear.
راحتم این بود از آواز او
هدیه آوردم به شکر آن مرد کو
Rāḥatam īn būd az āvāz-e ū
Hadiye āvardam be shokr; ān mard kū?
This was the comfort I received from his voice;
I have brought gifts in thanks—where is that man?
چون بدیدش گفت این هدیه پذیر
که مرا گشتی مجیر و دستگیر
Chun bedīḍash goft: īn hadiye pazīr
Ke marā gashtī mojīr o dastgīr
When he saw him, he said: Accept this gift,
for you became my protector and helper.
آنچ کردی با من از احسان و بر
بندهٔ تو گشتهام من مستمر
Ānche kardī bā man az iḥsān o birr
Banda-ye to gashta-am man mostamir
For the kindness and goodness you did to me,
I have become your servant continually.
گر به مال و ملک و ثروت فردمی
من دهانت را پر از زر کردمی
Gar be māl o molk o servat fardamī
Man dahānat rā por az zar kardamī
If I were unmatched in wealth, kingdom, and riches,
I would fill your mouth with gold.
هست ایمان شما زرق و مجاز
راهزن همچون که آن بانگ نماز
Hast īmān-e shomā zarq o majāz
Rāh-zan hamchun ke ān bāng-e namāz
Your faith is display and semblance;
it becomes a highway robber, like that call to prayer.
The Terrible Line
The terrible line is not that the adhān was false.
The adhān was true.
The terrible line is that a true call became, through its carrier, a cause of distance.
از مسلمانی دل او سرد شد
Her heart grew cold toward Islam. This line worries me.
Not every person who leaves, hesitates, withdraws, or becomes cold has necessarily rejected truth in its essence. Sometimes the heart was moving toward faith, but it met a harsh face. Sometimes a child was moving toward prayer, but prayer was presented through anger. Sometimes a young person was moving toward the Qur’an, but the Qur’an was used to shame him. Sometimes a seeker was moving toward Islam, but Islam reached her through arrogance, mockery, self-righteousness, or a lack of mercy.
The problem was not the adhān. The problem was how it was delivered and also the voice.
And perhaps this is why the Qur’anic anchor is so powerful. Allah does not only teach us what to say. Allah teaches us what kind of person must carry what is said.
The truth has its own beauty.
But the carrier of truth must not deform it.
The Other Version in Saʿdī
There is also a related but different anecdote in Saʿdī’s Gulistān, in the chapter on the benefits of silence.
Saʿdī tells of a bad-voiced caller in the mosque of Sinjār. He used to call voluntarily, but with a manner that made listeners feel aversion. The patron of the mosque, being just and good-natured, did not want to wound his heart directly. So he said, in effect: this mosque already has old muezzins, and I give each of them five dinars; I will give you ten dinars if you go somewhere else.
The man went.
After some time, he returned and complained that the patron had wronged him. “You drove me out for ten dinars,” he said, “but where I have gone, they are offering me twenty dinars to go somewhere else, and I am not accepting!”
The patron laughed and said: “Be careful. Do not accept, for they may become pleased with fifty.”
Then Saʿdī says:
به تیشه کس نخراشد ز رویِ خارا گِل
چنان که بانگِ درشت تو میخراشد دل
Be tīshe kas nakharāshad ze rū-ye khārā gil
Chunān ke bāng-e dorosht-e to mīkharāshad del
No one scrapes clay from the face of hard rock with an axe
as your harsh voice scrapes the heart.
Saʿdī’s version is smaller, sharper, and more humorous.
Rūmī’s version is more devastating.
In Saʿdī, the bad voice hurts people.
In Rūmī, the bad voice turns a heart away from Islam.
The Hidden Daʿwah of Behaviour
We often imagine daʿwah as speech.
A lecture. A reminder. A post. A sermon. A correction. A proof.
But behaviour is also daʿwah.
Tone is daʿwah. Patience is daʿwah. Cleanliness is daʿwah. Listening is daʿwah. Fairness is daʿwah. Apologising is daʿwah.
Not humiliating people is daʿwah.
How we treat the weak is daʿwah. How we speak when we are angry is daʿwah. How we behave when no one can benefit us is daʿwah.
A person may never attend our lesson. But he may see how we treat a waiter.
A child may forget the exact words of our advice. But she may remember whether our correction felt like mercy or contempt.
A student may not remember the worksheet on akhlāq. But he will remember whether the teacher of akhlāq had akhlāq.
This is the hidden curriculum of religion.
We may teach Islam in the textbook and contradict it in the corridor. We may teach mercy in class and humiliate children in discipline. We may teach the Prophet ﷺ in assembly and forget his gentleness when we are interrupted. We may teach tawḥīd with our tongues and teach ego with our behaviour.
That is the danger.
Not that Islam is weak. But that our presentation of the lived Islam is ugly.
When Correctness Is Not Enough
Sometimes we comfort ourselves by saying:
But what I said was true.
Perhaps.
But was it placed with wisdom?
Was it carried with mercy? Was it spoken at the right time? Was it spoken for Allah, or for the nafs? Was the other person invited, or defeated? Was the truth made luminous, or used as a weapon?
The Qur’an does not command us only to invite.
It commands us:
ٱدْعُ إِلَىٰ سَبِيلِ رَبِّكَ بِٱلْحِكْمَةِ
وَٱلْمَوْعِظَةِ ٱلْحَسَنَةِ
Udʿu ilā sabīli Rabbika bil-ḥikmah
wal-mawʿiẓati al-ḥasanah
Invite to the way of your Lord with wisdom
and beautiful exhortation.
Sūrat al-Naḥl 16:125
Not every correct sentence is wise.
Not every reminder is beautiful.
Not every defence of religion serves religion.
Sometimes a bad defence damages the truth more effectively than a direct attack.
If you want to ruin a beautiful thing, do not always attack it from outside.
Sometimes it is enough to represent it badly from inside.
The Muezzin in the Mirror
The easiest reading of Rūmī’s story is to laugh at the muezzin.
The harder reading is to see him.
The hardest reading is to see ourselves in him.
Where has my voice become ugly?
Not only the physical voice.
The voice of my behaviour. The voice of my parenting. The voice of my teaching. The voice of my leadership.
The voice of my correction. The voice of my religious certainty. The voice of my anger when I think I am defending Allah.
Is my Islam opening doors? Or closing them? Is my presence making faith more imaginable?
Or less?
When people leave my company, do they feel the fragrance of Islam, or only the pressure of my ego? This is not a call to dilute truth. It is a call to stop deforming it.
Truth does not need our harshness to become strong.
Truth needs our surrender.
Iḥsān as the Fragrance of Truth
Iḥsān is not decoration.
It is not a soft add-on after Islam and īmān. It is the beauty by which truth becomes livable. It is to worship Allah as though we see Him, and if we do not see Him, to know that He sees us.
A person aware of being seen by Allah cannot afford to be ugly in the name of Allah. A teacher aware of being seen by Allah cannot humiliate a child and call it tarbiyah. A parent aware of being seen by Allah cannot crush a soul and call it discipline. A leader aware of being seen by Allah cannot use religion to preserve image. A daʿī aware of being seen by Allah cannot make the path to Allah repellent through arrogance.
Iḥsān means that the truth should not only be correct in our mouths.
It should become beautiful in our conduct. It should be visible in the way we carry ourselves. It should soften the face. It should discipline the tongue. It should purify the intention. It should make our knowledge useful, not merely impressive.
It should make our religion a mercy, not a performance.
In a School
A school should not only ask:
How much Qur’an has the child memorized?
It should ask:
How much Qur’an has become visible in the child’s life?
Can the child tell the truth? Can the child apologise? Can the child wait? Can the child serve? Can the child speak without mocking? Can the child be corrected without collapsing? Can the child correct another without humiliating? Can the child see the weak? Can the child use knowledge without becoming proud?
And the school must ask the same of itself.
Can the school correct without cruelty? Can the school uphold standards without contempt? Can the school teach prayer without making prayer feel like punishment? Can the school teach adab with adab?
A school that teaches Islam badly may produce students who know religious words but are cold toward religion.
This is a serious matter.
Because the child is not a container for information. The child is an amanah.
And an amanah must not be called to Allah with an ugly voice.
In an Adult
This is not only for children. Adults also carry an adhān.
Every day, something in us calls people toward or away from what we claim to believe.
Our spouse hears it. Our children hear it. Our students hear it. Our colleagues hear it. Our neighbours hear it.
The person of another faith hears it. The person who has been wounded by religion hears it. The person who is quietly thinking of returning to Allah hears it.
A cold word may close a door we never knew was open. A gentle word may open a door we never knew was closed.
So we must become careful.
Not weak.
Careful.
Not vague.
Merciful.
Not silent before falsehood.
But beautiful in the service of truth.
Closing Reflection
Perhaps the question is not only:
Am I calling to the truth?
It is:
What does the truth sound like when it passes through me?
Does it sound like mercy? Does it sound like humility? Does it sound like the Prophet ﷺ?
Or does it sound like my anger, my insecurity, my need to win, my desire to appear religious?
The adhān is beautiful. But the muezzin must also be trained.
The Qur’an is light. But the carrier must not become a veil.
Islam is truth. But our behaviour may either witness to it or turn people away from it.
Ya Allah, do not let our words outrun our deeds.
Do not let our voice become ugly while Your truth remains beautiful. Do not let our knowledge become a veil. Do not let our correction become cruelty. Do not let our daʿwah become display.
Make us people whose presence opens doors. Make our Islam iḥsān.
Not noise, but fragrance. Not harshness, but mercy.
Not performance, but truth.
Not ego, but surrender.
Make us callers whose lives call before their tongues call.
Āmīn.
Source Note
This is an adab story from Mawlānā Rūmī’s Mathnawī, not a ḥadīth. The core Persian text is in Book V, Section 143 on Ganjoor, where the story is titled as the account of the ugly-voiced muezzin who called the prayer in kāferestān and received gifts from a non-Muslim man; the key lines include the daughter’s longing for faith, her reaction to the sound, and the line that her heart grew cold toward Islam.
The fuller Urdu-Persian retelling on Tazkia includes the caravan toward the Kaʿbah, the halt in kāferestān, the warnings not to call the prayer there, and the arrival of the gift-giver.
Saʿdī’s related but different version is in the Gulistān, Chapter 4, Hikāyat 13. It concerns a bad-voiced caller in the mosque of Sinjār and does not include the daughter turning away from Islam; that element belongs to Rūmī’s story.
I used Sūrat Āl ʿImrān 3:159 as the main Qur’anic anchor because it directly links harshness and hard-heartedness with people dispersing from even the Prophet ﷺ; Sūrat al-Naḥl 16:125 supports the call to wisdom and beautiful exhortation.
I also kept the draft close to your existing blog rhythm: Qur’anic opening, transliteration, translation, short reflective sections, and a closing duʿā. Your academic writing on iḥsān also shaped the emphasis on Divine Presence, character, applying the Qur’an in life, and “spreading its fragrance.”
