بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ
Wa in min shay’in illā ʿindanā khazā’inuhu
wa mā nunazziluhū illā biqadarin maʿlūm.
“There is not any means whose reserves
We do not hold, only bringing it forth in precise measure.”
Sūrat al-Ḥijr 15:21
In the life of Baba Farīd Ganj-i-Shakar, there is a beautiful story about a pomegranate.
When Farīd was still young, Shaikh Jalāluddīn Tabrīzī passed through the town. He asked whether there was anyone there who lived in remembrance of Allah. The people told him about a young man, a qāḍī’s son, who was often absorbed in prayer.
So the Shaikh went to see him.
On the way, he received a pomegranate. He brought it to Farīd as a gift. But Farīd was fasting. So he did not eat.
This itself is a lesson.
Not every gift must be taken immediately. Not every opening must be rushed. Not every desire must be answered because it is available.
The pomegranate was there. The hunger was there. The saint was there. But the fast was also there. And adab was there.
So Farīd continued fasting while the rest shared the pomegranate among themselves. After the Shaikh left, one seed of the pomegranate was found. Only one. At ifṭār, Farīd ate that seed. And with that seed, a light opened in his heart.
For years, Farīd wondered what might have happened if he had eaten the entire pomegranate. Perhaps, he thought, the blessing would have been greater. Perhaps the opening would have been wider. Perhaps the heart would have received more.
This is how the human being thinks. We think more always means more. But the path to Allah is not governed by our arithmetic.
His master, Khwāja Quṭbuddīn Bakhtiyār Kākī gauged this insightfully and comforted him.
The barakah was not in the whole pomegranate. The barakah was in that one seed. And that one seed had reached him.
SubḥānAllah.
This is why Sūrat al-Ḥijr is such a beautiful anchor for this story. Allah says that the treasures of everything are with Him, and He sends them down in a known measure.
Known to whom? Known to Allah.
Not always known to us.
We may look at our life and think, “Why only this much?” Why only this opening? Why only this opportunity? Why only this child? Why only this school? Why only this amount of rizq? Why only this little strength left in the body? Why only this small chance?
But perhaps what reached us was not little.
Perhaps it was measured. Perhaps the mercy was not missing. Perhaps it was hidden in the measure itself. The nafs wants the whole pomegranate. The heart trained by Allah learns to receive the seed.
We may want more knowledge so people admire us. More spiritual experience so we feel special. More recognition so our work feels seen. More signs so our uncertainty becomes comfortable.
But maʿrifah is not something we seize. It is something Allah gives.
Do not despise what Allah sends. Do not measure divine mercy only by size. Do not think the gift has missed you because it did not arrive as the whole fruit. Sometimes the whole pomegranate is only the covering.
The real gift is one seed.
And when that seed is written for you, Allah will make it reach your mouth at the right time.
May Allah make us people of adab.
May He protect us from the greed that disguises itself as spiritual hunger.
May He give us what is good for us, in the measure that is good for us, at the time that is good for us.
And may He make one small seed enough to open the heart.
Āmīn.
Another narration of the same incident
بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ
Wa yuṭʿimūna al-ṭaʿāma ʿalā ḥubbihī
miskīnan wa yatīman wa asīrā.
Innamā nuṭʿimukum li-wajhi Allāh;
lā nurīdu minkum jazā’an wa lā shukūrā.
“And they give food—despite their desire for it—to the poor, the orphan, and the captive, saying, ‘We feed you only for the sake of Allah, seeking neither reward nor thanks from you.’”
Sūrat al-Insān 76:8–9
Baba Farīd was fasting.vHis stomach was empty. His heart was turned towards Allah.
A pomegranate had been given to him. It was not an ordinary gift. It had come through the hand of a saint. He was told that this will grant him the gift of maʿrifah that he was so eagerly waiting for. It was something he could have kept for himself. It was something he could have waited to eat at ifṭār. And perhaps no one would have blamed him. He was opening the pomegranate up, removing seed by seed, while doing dhikr (remembrance of Allah) until all of it was peeled, and the seeds were in a plate, ready to be eaten. He would break his fast with them. The pomegranate of maʿrifah. Given to him by a saint. It was his.
But then someone came at the door and asked for food in the name of Allah. Baba Farid had nothing in his home except this pomegranate.
Because there are moments when Allah tests not what we say we believe, but what we are willing to release.
It is easy to speak of generosity when the table is full. It is easy to speak of trust when the cupboard is not empty. It is easy to speak of sacrifice when the thing being asked from us is not the thing we were waiting for. But what happens when the only thing in our hand is asked from us? What happens when the gift we were keeping becomes someone else’s need?
What happens when “for the sake of Allah” knocks at the door while we are still hungry and only possess something that we love dearly?
Farīd gave the pomegranate away.
All of it.
He did not give what was left over. He did not give what he disliked. He did not give what was safe to lose. He gave the thing he was waiting to eat. The one thing he was told would grant him the maʿrifah.
This is why Sūrat al-Insān is such a fitting anchor.
Allah praises those who feed others while they themselves love the food, need the food, desire the food.
This is one of the highest forms of freedom.
Then he cleaned up. The plate. The skin. The small remains of what had once been placed before him.And there, stuck to the skin, hidden where it could easily have been missed, was one seed.
Only one.
He took that one seed and opened his fast with it.
And Allah placed the gift in that seed. The gift was not lost because he gave. The gift was protected because he gave.
The mercy of Allah does not become smaller when we are generous. Our portion does not disappear because we fed someone else. What is written for us will come to us.
Even if it is hidden in the skin. Even if it remains after everything has been given away. Even if it looks like the last thing left.
This is a lesson many of us need.
We are afraid to give. Afraid to lose. Afraid to be used. Afraid that if we share, there will not be enough. Afraid that if we help someone else, our own door will close.
But Allah is Generous. Allah is not limited. Allah is not dependent on the pomegranate.
He can place maʿrifah in one seed. He can place rizq in one meeting. He can place healing in one duʿā. He can place protection in one act of service. He can place the future of a child in one teacher’s kindness. He can place the salvation of a person in one moment of sincerity.
The world teaches us to hold tightly. Allah teaches us to hold with trust. The world says, “Keep it. You may need it.” Allah says, “Give for My sake, and I know what you have given.”
This does not mean we become careless. It does not mean we fail in responsibility. It does not mean we give what belongs to someone else.
But it does mean that when Allah opens a door of generosity, we should not close it out of fear.
There are things we lose by keeping. And there are things we keep by giving.
Farīd gave away the fruit. Allah left him the seed. And in that one seed was the opening.
This is the secret.
The one who gives for Allah does not become empty. He becomes a place where Allah’s mercy can pass through.
May Allah make us people who give without humiliating others.
May He make us people who serve without needing praise.
May He protect us from fear disguised as caution.
May He place barakah in what remains with us, and acceptance in what leaves our hands.
May He make us generous with food, with time, with attention, with knowledge, with forgiveness, and with love.
And may He place our hidden opening in the one seed we never expected.
Āmīn.
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