Rabe’a al-Adawiya

by Farid al-Din Attar

Rabe’a bint Esma’il al-‘Adawiya, born in humble

circumstances and sold into slavery as a child,

later settled in Basra where she attained great

fame as a saint and a preacher and was highly

esteemed by many of her pious contemporaries.

The date of her death is given variously as 135

(752) and 185 (801). To her, a lifelong celibate, is

attributed a large share in the introduction into

Islamic mysticism of the theme of Divine love.

Her tomb used to be pointed out near Jerusalem.

Rabe’a, her birth and early life

If anyone says, “Why have you included Rabe’a in the

rank of men?” my answer is, that the Prophet himself

said, “God does not regard your outward forms.” The

root of the matter is not form, but intention, as the

Prophet said, “Mankind will be raised up according to

their intentions.” Moreover, if it is proper to derive

two-thirds of our religion from A’esha, surely it is permissible

to take religious instruction from a handmaid

of A’esha. When a woman becomes a “man” in the

path of God, she is a man and one cannot any more call

her a woman.

The night when Rabe’a came to earth, there was

nothing whatsoever in her father’s house; for her father

lived in very poor circumstances. He did not possess

even one drop of oil to anoint her navel; there was no

lamp, and not a rag to swaddle her in. He already had

three daughters, and Rabe’a was his fourth; that is why

she was called by that name.

“Go to neighbour So-and-so and beg for a drop of

oil, so that I can light the lamp,” his wife said to him.

Now the man had entered into a covenant that he

would never ask any mortal for anything. So he went

out and just laid his hand on the neighbour’s door, and

returned.

“They will not open the door,” he reported.

The poor woman wept bitterly. In that anxious state

the man placed his head on his knees and went to sleep.

He dreamed that he saw the Prophet.

“Be not sorrowful,” the Prophet bade him. “The

girl child who has just come to earth is a queen

among women, who shall be the intercessor for seventy

thousand of my community Tomorrow,” the

Prophet continued, “go to Isa-e Zadan the governor

of Basra. Write on a piece of paper to the following

effect. ‘Every night you send upon me a hundred

blessings, an on Friday night four hundred. Last night

was Friday night, and you forgot me. In expiation for

that, give this man four hundred dinars lawfully

acquired.'”

Rabe’a’s father on awaking burst into tears. He rose

up and wrote as the Prophet had bidden him, and sent

the message to the governor by the hand of a chamberlain.

“Give two thousand dinars to the poor,” the governor

commanded when he saw the missive, “as a

thanksgiving for the Master remembering me. Give

four hundred dinars also to the shaikh, and tell him, ‘I

wish you to come to me so that I may see you. But I do

not hold it proper for a man like you to come to me. I

would rather come and rub my beard in you threshold.

However, I adjure you by God, whatever you may

need, pray let me know.'”

The man took the gold and purchased all that was

necessary

When Rabe’a had become a little older, and her

mother and father were dead, a famine came upon

Basra, and her sisters were scattered. Rabe’a ventured

out and was seen by a wicked man who seized her and

then sold her for six dirhams. He purchaser put her to

hard labour.

One day she was passing along the road when a

stranger approached. Rabe’a fled. As she ran, she fell

headlong and her hand was dislocated.

“Lord God,” she cried, bowing her face to the ground,

“I am a stranger, orphaned of mother and father, a helprabe

less prisoner fallen into captivity, my hand broken. Yet

for all this I do not grieve; all I need is Thy good pleasure,

to know whether Thou art well-pleased or no.”

“Do not grieve,” she heard a voice say. “Tomorrow

a station shall be thine such that the cherubim in heaven

will envy thee.”

So Rabe’a returned to her master’s house. By day she

continually fasted and served God, and by night she

worshipped standing until day. One night her master

awoke from sleep and, looking through the window of

his apartment, saw Rabe’a bowing prostrate and praying.

“O God, Thou knowest that the desire of my heart

is in conformity with Thy command, and that the light

of my eye is in serving Thy court. If the affair lay with

me, I would not rest one hour from serving Thee, but

Thou Thyself hast set me under the hand of a creature.”

Such was her litany. Her master perceived a lantern

suspended without any chain above her head, the light

whereof filled the whole house. Seeing this, he was

afraid. Rising up he returned to his bedroom and sat

pondering till dawn. When day broke he summoned

Rabe’a, was gentle with her and set her free.

“Give me permission to depart,” Rabe’a said.

He gave her leave, and she left the house and went

into the desert. From the desert she proceeded to a hermitage

where she served God for a while. Then she

determined to perform the pilgrimage, and set her face

towards the desert. She bound her bundle on an ass. In

the heart of the desert the ass died.

“Let us carry your load,” the men in the party said.

“You go on,” she replied. “I have not come putting

my trust in you.”

So the men departed, and Rabe’a remained alone.

“O God,” she cried, lifting her head, “do kings so

treat a woman who is a stranger and powerless? Thou

hast invited me unto Thy house, then in the midst of

the way Thou hast suffered my ass to die, leaving me

alone in the desert.”

Hardly had she completed this orison when her ass

stirred and rose up. Rabe’a placed her load on its back,

and continued on her way. (The narrator of this story

reports that some while afterwards he saw that little

donkey being sold in the market.) She travelled on

through the desert for some days, then she halted.

“O God,” she cried, “my heart is weary. Whither am

I going? I a lump of clay, and Thy house a stone! I need

Thee here.”

God spoke unmediated in her heart.

“Rabe’a, thou art faring in the life-blood of eighteen

thousand worlds. Hast thou not seen how Moses

prayed for the vision of Me? And I cast a few motes of

revelation upon the mountain, and the mountain shivered

into forty pieces. Be content here with My name!”

Anecdotes of Rabe’a

One night Rabe’a was praying in the hermitage when

she was overcome by weariness and fell asleep. So

deeply was she absorbed that, when a reed from the

reed-mat she was lying on broke in her eye so that the

blood flowed, she was quite unaware of the fact.

A thief entered and seized her chaddur. He then

made to leave, but the way was barred to him. He

dropped the chaddur and departed, finding the way

now open. He seized the chaddur again and returned to

discover the way blocked. Once more he dropped the

chaddur. This he repeated seven times over; then he

heard a voice proceeding from a corner of the hermitage.

“Man, do not put yourself to such pains. It is so

many years now that she has committed herself to Us.

The Devil himself has not the boldness to slink round

her. How should a thief have the boldness to slink

round her chaddur? Be gone, scoundrel! Do not put

yourself to such pains. If one friend has fallen asleep,

one Friend is awake and keeping watch.”

Two notables of the Faith came to visit Rabe’a, and

both were hungry.

“It may be that she will give us food,” they said to

each other. “Her food is bound to come from a lawful

source.”

When they sat down there was a napkin with two

loaves laid before them. They were well content. A beggar

arrived just then, and Rabe’a gave him the two

loaves. The two men of religion were much upset, but

said nothing. After a while a maidservant entered with

a handful of warm bread.

“My mistress sent these,” she explained.

Rabe’a counted the loaves. There were eighteen.

“Perhaps it was not this that she sent me,” Rabe’a

remarked.

For all that the maidservant assured her, it profited

nothing. So she took back the loaves and carried them

away. Now it so happened that she had taken two of

the loaves for herself. She asked her mistress, and she

added the two to the pile and returned with them.

Rabe’a counted again, and found there were twenty

loaves. She now accepted them.

“This is what your mistress sent me,” she said.

She set the loaves before the two men and they ate,

marveling.

“What is the secret behind this?” they asked her.

“We had an appetite for your own bread, but you took

it away from us and gave it to the beggar. Then you

said that the eighteen loaves did not belong to you.

When they were twenty, you accepted them.”

“I knew when you arrived that you were hungry,”

Rabe’a replied. “I said to myself, How can I offer two

loaves to two such notables? So when the beggar came

to the door I gave them to him and said to Almighty

God, ‘O God, Thou hast said that Thou repayest tenfold,

and this I firmly believed. Now I have given two

loaves to please Thee, so that Thou mayest give twenty

in return for them.’ When eighteen were brought me,

I knew that either there had been some misappropriation,

or that they were not meant for me.”

One day Rabe’a’s servant girl was making an onion

stew; for it was some days since they had cooked any

food. Finding that she needed some onions, she said,

“I will ask of next door.”

“Forty years now,” Rabe’a replied, “I have had a

covenant with Almighty God not to ask for aught of

any but He. Nevermind the onions.”

Immediately a bird swooped down from the air with

peeled onions in its beak and dropped them into the

pan.

“I am not sure this is not a trick,” Rabe’a commented.

And she left the onion pulp alone, and ate nothing

but bread.

Rabe’a had gone one day into the mountains. She

was soon surrounded by a flock of deer and mountain

goats, ibexes and wild asses which stared at her and

made to approach her. Suddenly Hasan of Basra came

on the scene and, seeing Rabe’a, moved in her direction.

As soon as the animals sighted Hasan, they made

off all together, so that Rabe’a remained alone. This

dismayed Hasan.

“Why did they run away from me, and associated so

tamely with you?” he asked Rabe’a.

“What have you eaten today?” Rabe’a countered.

“A little onion pulp.”

“You eat their fat,” Rabe’a remarked. “Why then

should they not flee from you?”

Once Rabe’a passed by Hasan’s house. Hasan had

his head out of the window and was weeping, and his

tears fell on Rabe’a’s dress. Looking up, she thought

at first that it was rain; then, realizing that it was

Hasan’s tears, she turned to him and addressed him.

“Master, this weeping is a sign of spiritual languor.

Guard your tears, so that there may surge within

you such a sea that, seeking the heart therein, you

shall not find it save in the keeping of a King

Omnipotent’.”

These words distressed Hasan, but he kept his peace.

Then one day he saw Rabe’a when she was near a lake.

Throwing his prayer rug on the surface of the water, he

called,

“Rabe’a, come! Let us pray two rak’as here!”

“Hasan,” Rabe’a replied, “when you are showing

off your spiritual goods in this worldly market, it

should be things that your fellow-men are incapable of

displaying.”

And she flung her prayer rug into the air, and flew up

on it.

“Come up here, Hasan, where people can see us!”

she cried.

Hasan, who had not attained that station, said nothing.

Rabe’a sought to console him.

“Hasan,” she said, “what you did fishes also do, and

what I did flies also do. The real business is outside

both these tricks. One must apply one’s self to the real

business.”

One night Hasan with two or three friends went to

visit Rabe’a. Rabe’a had no lantern. Their hearts

yearned for light.

Rabe’a blew on her hunger, and that night till dawn

her finger shone like a lantern, and they sat in its radiance.

If anyone says, “How could this be?” I answer, “The

same as Moses’ hand.” If it is objected, “But Moses

was a prophet,” I reply, “Whoever follows in the footsteps

of the Prophet can possess a grain of prophethood,

as the Prophet says, ‘Whoever rejects a farthing’s

worth of unlawful things has attained a degree of

prophethood.’ He also said, ‘A true dream is one-fortieth

part of prophethood.’ “

Once Rabe’a sent Hasan three things—a piece of

wax, a needle, and a hair.

“Be like wax,” she said. “Illumine the world, and

yourself burn. Be like a needle, always be working

naked. When you have done these two things, a thousand

years will be for you as a hair.”

“Do you desire for us to get married?” Hasan asked

Rabe’a.

“The tie of marriage applies to those who have

being,” Rabe’a replied. “Here being has disappeared,

for I have become naughted to self and exist only

through Him. I belong wholly to Him. I live in the

shadow of His control. You must ask my hand of Him,

not of me.”

“How did you find this secret, Rabe’a?” Hasan

asked.

“I lost all ‘found’ things in Him,” Rabe’a answered.

“How do you know Him?” Hasan enquired.

“You know the ‘how’; I know the ‘howless’,” Rabe’a

said.

Once Rabe’a saw a man with a bandage tied round

his head.

“Why have you tied the bandage?” she asked

“Because my head aches,” the man replied.

“How old are you?” she demanded.

“Thirty,” he replied.

“Have you been in pain and anguish the greater part

of your life?” she enquired.

“No,” the man answered.

“For thirty years you have enjoyed good health,” she

remarked, “and you never tied about you the bandage

of thankfulness. Now because of this one night that

you have a headache you tie the bandage of complaint!”

Once Rabe’a gave four silver dirhams to a man.

“Buy me a blanket,” she said, “for I am naked.”

The man departed. Presently he returned.

“Mistress,” he said, “what colour shall I buy?”

“How did ‘colour’ come into the business?” Rabe’a

demanded. “Give me back the money.”

And she took the dirhams and flung them into the

Tigris.

One spring day Rabe’a entered her apartment and

put out her head.

“Mistress,” her servant said, “come out and see

what the Maker has wrought.”

“Do you rather come in,” Rabe’a replied, “and see

the Maker. The contemplation of the Maker pre-occupies

me, so that I do not care to look upon what He has

made.”

A party visited her, and saw her tearing a morsel of

meat with her teeth.

“Do you not have a knife to cut up the meat?” they

asked.

“I have never kept a knife in my house for fear of

being cut off,” she replied.

Once Rabe’a fasted for a whole week, neither eating

nor sleeping. All night she was occupied with praying.

Her hunger passed all bounds. A visitor entered her

house bringing a bowl of food. Rabe’a accepted it and

went to fetch a lamp. She returned to find that the cat

had spilled the bowl.

“I will go and fetch a jug, and break my fast,” she

said.

By the time she had brought the jug, the lamp had

gone out. She aimed to drink the water in the dark, but

the jug slipped from her hand and was broken. She

uttered lamentation and sighed so ardently that there

was fear that half of the house would be consumed

with fire.

“O God,” she cried, “what is this that Thou art

doing with Thy helpless servant?”

“Have a care,” a voice came to her ears, “lest thou

desire Me to bestow on thee all worldly blessings, but

eradicate from thy heart the care for Me. Care for Me

and worldly blessings can never be associated together

in a single heart. Rabe’a, thou desirest one thing, and I

desire another; My desire and thy desire can never be

joined in one heart.”

“When I heard this admonition,” Rabe’a related, “I

so cut off my heart from the world and curtailed my

desires that whenever I have prayed during the last thirty

years, I have assumed it to be my last prayer.”

A party of men once visited her to put her to the test,

desiring to catch her out in an unguarded utterance.

“All the virtues have been scattered upon the heads

of men,” they said. “The crown of prophethood has

been placed on men’s heads. The belt of nobility has

been fastened around men’s waists. No woman has

ever been a prophet.”

“All that is true,” Rabe’a replied. “But egoism and

self-worship and ‘I am your Lord, the Most High’ have

never sprung from a woman’s breast. No woman has

ever been a hermaphrodite. All these things have been

the specialty of men.”

Once Rabe’a fell grievously sick. She was asked what

the cause might be.

“I gazed upon Paradise,” she replied, “and my Lord

disciplined me.”

Then Hasan of Basra went to visit her.

“I saw one of the notables of Basra standing at the

door of Rabe’a’s hermitage offering her a purse of gold

and weeping,” he reported. “I said, ‘Sir, why are you

weeping?’ ‘On account of this saintly woman of the

age,’ he replied. ‘For if the blessing of her presence

departs from among mankind, mankind will surely

perish. I brought something for her tending,’ he added,

‘and I am afraid that she will not accept it. Do you

intercede with her to take it.’ “

So Hasan entered and spoke. Rabe’a glanced up at

him and said,

“He provides for those who insult Him, and shall He

not provide for those who love Him? Ever since I knew

Him, I have turned my back upon His creatures. I

know not whether any man’s property is lawful or not;

how then can I take it? I stitched together by the light

of a worldly lamp a shirt which I had torn. For a while

my heart was obstructed, until I remembered. Then I

tore the shirt in the place where I had stitched it, and

my heart became dilated. Ask the gentleman pray not

to keep my heart obstructed.”

Abd al-Wahed-e Amer relates as follows.

I went with Sofyan-e Thauri to visit Rabe’a when she

was sick, but out of awe for her I could not begin to

address her.

“You say something,” I said to Sofyan.

“If you will say a prayer,” Sofyan said to Rabe’a,

“your pain will be eased.”

“Do you not know who has willed that I should suffer?

Was it not God?” Rabe’a demanded.

“Yes,” Sofyan agreed.

“How is it that you know that,” Rabe’a went on,

“and yet you bid me to request from Him the contrary

of His will? It is not right to oppose one’s

Friend.”

“What thing do you desire, Rabe’a?” Sofyan asked.

“Sofyan, you are a learned man. Why do you speak

like that? ‘What thing do you desire?’ By the glory of

God,” Rabe’a asseverated, “for twelve years now I

have been desiring fresh dates. You know that in Basra

dates are of no consequence. Yet till now I have not

eaten any; for I am His servant, and what business has

a servant to desire? If I wish, and my Lord does not

wish, this would be infidelity. You must want only

what He wishes, to be a true servant of God. If God

himself gives, that is a different matter.”

Sofyan was reduced to silence. Then he said,

“Since one cannot speak about your situation, do

you say something about mine.”

“You are a good man, but for the fact you love the

world,” Rabe’a replied. “You love reciting Traditions.”

This she said, implying that that was a high position.

“Lord God,” cried Sofyan, deeply moved, “be content

with me!”

“Are you not ashamed,” broke in Rabe’a, “to seek

the contentment of One with whom you yourself are

not content?”

Malek-e Dinar relates as follows.

I went to visit Rabe’a, and saw her with a broken

pitcher out of which she drank and made her ritual

ablutions, an old reed-mat, and a brick which she occasionally

used as a pillow. I was grieved.

“I have rich friends,” I told her. “If you wish, I will

get something from them for you.”

“Malek, you have committed a grievous error,” she

answered. “Is not my Provider and theirs one and the

same?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“And has the Provider of the poor forgotten the poor

on account of their poverty? And does He remember

the rich because of their riches?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Then,” she went on, “since He knows my estate,

how should I remind Him? Such is His will, and I too

wish as He wills.”

One day Hasan of Basra, Malek-e Dinar and Shaqiqe

Balkhi went to visit Rabe’a on her sickbed.

“He is not truthful in his claim,” Hasan began

“who does not bear with fortitude the lash of his

Lord.”

“These words stink of egoism,” Rabe’a commented.

“He is not truthful in his claim,” Shaqiq tried, “who

is not grateful for the lash of his Lord.”

“We need something better than that,” Rabe’a

observed.

“He is not truthful in his claim,” Malek-e Dinar

offered, “who does not take delight in the lash of his

Lord.”

“We need something better than that,” Rabe’a

repeated.

“Then you say,” they urged.

“He is not truthful in his claim,” Rabe’a pronounced,

“who does not forget the lash in contemplation

of his Master.”

A leading scholar of Basra visited Rabe’a on her

sickbed. Sitting beside her pillow, he reviled the world.

“You love the world very dearly,” Rabe’a commented.

“If you did not love the world, you would not make

mention of it so much. It is always the purchaser who

disparages the wares If you were done with the world,

you would not mention it either for good or evil. As it

is, you keep mentioning it because as the proverb says,

whoever loves a thing mentions it frequently.”

When the time came that Rabe’a should die, those

attending her deathbed left the room and closed the

door. Then a voice was heard saying, O soul at peace,

return unto thy Lord, well-pleased! A time passed and

no sound came from the room, so they opened the door

and found that she had given up the ghost After her

death she was seen in a dream. She was asked “How

did you fare with Monkar and Nakir?” She replied

“Those youths came to me and said, ‘Who is thy

Lord?’ I answered, ‘Return and say to God, with so

many thousand thousand creatures Thou didst not forget

one feeble old woman. I, who have only Thee in the

whole world, I shall never, forget Thee, that Thou

shouldst sent one to ask me, Who is thy, God?'”

Prayers of Rabe’a

O God, whatsoever Thou hast apportioned to me of

worldly, things, do Thou give that to Thy enemies; and

whatsoever, Thou hast apportioned to me in the world

to come, give that to Thy friends; for Thou sufficest

me.

O God, if I worship Thee for fear of Hell, burn me

in Hell and if I worship Thee in hope of Paradise,

exclude me from Paradise; but if I worship Thee for

Thy own sake, grudge me not Thy everlasting beauty.

O God, my whole occupation and all my desire in

this world of all worldly things, is to remember Thee,

and in the world to come, of all things of the world to

come, is to meet Thee. This is on my side, as I have

stated; now do Thou whatsoever Thou wilt.

Source : Sufism.ir