A drink of tea

This story might be a bit long...but it's worth the read!!

An elderly lady who was conscientious and sincere in her faith accidentally met a Sufi one day. He detected in her heart a knot of anxiety. He pressed her gently and almost against her will she found herself telling of a problem she had with her son to which she had not been able to find a solution.

'My son is a good hearted and quite intelligent person' she said, close to tears, 'but he is leading a dissolute life taking wine and the company of loose women and gambling. I have talked to him but he has taken it into his head that when he has sown his wild oats and had his fill of the pleasures of this world, then he will turn to sincere repentance, and he believes that his sins will be forgiven and turned to goodness. He even quotes scripture to support his case. I cannot persuade him of his foolishness even though he holds me in respect and tries to hide his philandering from me'.

The Sufi pondered a moment and in warm and reassuring tones said, 'On account of your good nature and the saving grace that your son continues to respect you I will see what can be done to help his case'. I am making a camp by the stream yonder - when your son returns, send him to me to bring me some tea leaves - and now do not worry anymore'.

In due time the son returned home, still warm from the embraces of a sweetheart and a little drunk. His mother asked him to take the gift of tea leaves to the old man he would find at the nearby stream. He complied and soon arrived at the place where the sufi was sitting. The man had lit a fire, and, suspended on some sticks, he had hung a metal pot in which water was nearly boiling. The young man paused to watch the behaviour of the Sufi - as soon as the water was on the point of boiling the dervish would pour some of the water on to the fire - which hissed and crackled, in the way of fire meeting its old enemy water, and then died down. The man then allowed the fire to continue until the water began to heat again. He then repeated the behaviour and the fire died down even further. He repeated this several times. The young man coughed and the sufi turned his head.


'Ah!' he said feigning surprise, 'you have brought the tea leaves - good! Sit down and we will have a drink of tea a soon as the water is boiled'.

The young man sat down and the sufi again repeated the same behaviour - this time the fire was nearly extinguished totally and only a small flame remained. 'Sir! 'said the young man, 'this behaviour is very strange, and if it was not for your grey hair I would call it foolish. How will you make the water boil when you keep putting the fire out with the water - if you are not careful you will put it out altogether and then how will you relight it or make your tea, you will have neither water nor fire. Even if you do not put it out altogether how will you ever make the water boil by this method'.

The mystic looked intently at the young man for a moment. 'You regard this behaviour as foolish' he said sharply, 'yet how is it that you keep putting out the fire of repentance with the water of your lust for the pleasures of this world. Know that repentance is a fierce fire that can cook a man's soul till God gives him Mercy - but if you keep putting out that fire you will not receive the cooking that is required - then how will the Mercy descend. Indeed if you persist too far the potential for that fire to remain alight at all may one day disappear altogether'. As he spoke the small remaining flames of the fire spluttered and died.

The young man was aghast and sought for the match box nearby which proved to be empty. The realisation of the foolishness of his behaviour flooded through him, and he cast himself at the feet of that wise man and vowed to reform his life which now appeared to him as hollow and useless as the trunk of a dead tree. He begged to become his humble disciple from thereon in.


The mystic smiled and accepted the youth's heartfelt request. 'Very good' he said, 'then let us now have our tea'. 'But how is this possible, the fire is out and the matches are gone' spluttered the youth. 'Do not ask the Sheykh how', the master said, and smiled as the flame appeared to rekindle itself and began to dance merrily until the steam from the water began to ascend heavenward. 'Know', he said quietly as he put the tea leaves into the pot, 'that the master is not subject to the metaphors he uses, but until you attain that mastery do not cease to learn from every thing you see and hear - regard all as the signs of God'.