Chapter 22 – In the Presence of a Sufi Sheikh

Compared to Ethiopia and Djibouti, Sudan was relatively peaceful. The country had already endured a two-decade-long civil war, that finally concluded with the signing of a peace treaty in 1972. When Mahārāja and Ajāmila arrived in Khartoum, the first thing that stood out was the striking absence of a heavy military presence on every street corner. Most of the Hindu community were located in the twin cities of Khartoum and Omdurman, so they would visit them in the morning and hold programs at night. Despite the overwhelming Islamic presence in Sudan, Mahārāja noted that the locals were very friendly. Inspired by their warmth, he rented a bullock cart and ventured into Muslim neighbourhoods performing kīrtana – he played the harmonium while Ajāmila accompanied him on the mṛdaṅga. The residents of Khartoum had never seen anything like it before – two khawaja (white men) sitting on a bullock cart and singing songs. Curious onlookers gathered to watch the spectacle. Even though they didn’t understand the words being sung, they clapped and smiled, captivated by the chanting of the mahā-mantra.

When they were not making life-members or riding through the streets on their bullock cart, Mahārāja and Ajāmila would sit under the shade of a palm tree on the banks of the Nile, doing kīrtana or quietly chanting japa. Every morning, as Mahārāja and Ajāmila chanted, they observed a large boat docking nearby, unloading hundreds of passengers. One day, as the people disembarked, a young man from the crowd walked directly toward Mahārāja. Stopping in front of him, he smiled and said, “As-salāmu’alaykum” (peace be upon you). Introducing himself as a banker from Omdurman, he spoke in perfect English, “I can tell by your dress that you are not Muslims, What religion are you?”
Mahārāja replied, “We are followers of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, a great 15th Century teacher from India, and disciples of A.C. Bhaktivedānta Swami Prabhupāda.”
The man was surprised, “India? You are a long way from India, my friend. What brings you to Sudan?”
Mahārāja explained to him that they were visiting Indians in the city to get donations for their preaching activities. The banker was visibly impressed. As their conversation turned to philosophy, the topic of vegetarianism came up. The young banker shook his head, “If I became vegetarian, I would become weak and skinny!”
Jokingly, Mahārāja replied, “Oh, so you’re saying I’m weak?”
“No, no” laughed the banker, “But I am saying that I’m much stronger than you!”
“No chance!”
The banker suddenly stood up, took off his jacket, and smiling, he rolled up his shirt sleeve.
“Oh,” said Mahārāja, “Arm wrestling?”
“Yes – arm-wrestling!” replied the banker.
Resting their elbows on the ground, Ajāmila positioned the two men, and they began grappling, each trying to overpower the other. As they struggled, a small crowd of Sudanese men gathered around, laughing and encouraging their countryman to defeat the strange-looking foreigner. After nearly five minutes of intense arm-wrestling, Mahārāja, drenched in sweat, finally admitted defeat. The small crowd erupted in laughter, clapping and congratulating the banker for his victory, patting him on the back in delight.
“See?” said the banker as he put his jacket back on, “I won because Allah is on my side!”
“No” said Mahārāja, rubbing his hand, “You won because you’re a meat-head!”
There was a sudden silence.
The banker paused, slightly frowning. “A ‘meat-head’? What do you mean?”
Mahārāja, sensing that he may have insulted the young man, explained, “You are what you eat. If you consume strong animals, you inherit some of their strength, but you also face the reaction for taking life unnecessarily. We focus on spiritual strength, which comes from God, from Allah. We don’t kill other creatures to satisfy our desires.”
The banker listened thoughtfully, then, after a brief silence, he said, “Would you like to come and meet my teacher? He’s a well-known leader of the Sufi order and lives nearby.”
Mahārāja agreed, and soon he and Ajāmila were following the young banker into town, harmonium and mṛdaṅga in tow.

On the way, the banker told them more about his mentor, Sheikh Muhammad Uthman al-Mirghani, who was the head of the Khatmiyya Sufi order in Sudan. Not only was he an important spiritual leader, but also a key political figure in the country. As direct descendants of the Prophet Muhammad, the al-Mirghani family held a position of immense respect and reverence in Sudan. The banker also explained something about Sufism. Unlike the two main branches of Islam, Sunni and Shia, the Sufis are more mystical in their approach to faith, and often express this through music and poetry. While Sunni and Shia Islam focus more on external observances such as law and theology, Sufism focuses on developing a deeper connection with Allah through the purification of the soul. In Sudan alone, there are about forty different schools of Sufism, of which the Khatmiyya school is the most prominent.

(Sufis in Sudan)

After some time, they arrived at a large, whitewashed building with arched windows and a central courtyard. Upon entering, Mahārāja noticed two guards stationed at the door. They were dressed in traditional white gowns and turbans, with scimitars hanging from their belts. Had it not been for the AK-47s in their hands, they might have stepped straight out of The Arabian Nights. They clearly knew the banker well, as they greeted him with smiles and spoke to him in a relaxed, informal manner. Mahārāja noticed how their attention shifted to him and Ajāmila, the two oddly dressed foreigners. The guards looked them over curiously, and the banker said something in Arabic that made the two guards laugh. From his physical gestures, Mahārāja could tell that the banker was recounting how he had just defeated the tall foreigner in arm-wrestling. Eventually, the two guards opened the doors and respectfully beckoned the three of them inside.

They found themselves in a large, bare hall where groups of young Sudanese men were sitting cross-legged on the floor, deeply immersed in the Qur’an and enthusiastically debating the finer points of Sufi theology. The loud recitations and animated chatter came to a sudden halt as all eyes shifted toward the two saffron-clad brahmacārīs, who stood out like two drops of orange juice in a sea of traditional white robes. The silence that followed was almost deafening and was only broken when the banker was greeted by the Sheikh’s secretary, who promptly ushered them into the Sheikh’s presence.

The Sheikh’s quarters were quite simple. The floor was decorated with a huge, brightly coloured carpet, and large cushions were scattered about for seating. Framed Arabic verses from the Qur’an, embellished in gold and green, adorned the walls. In the midst of this sat six or seven elderly Sudanese men, all dressed in traditional white gowns, and at the far end of the room, seated on a large cushion, was Sheikh Muhammad Uthman al-Mirghani himself – a man in his 30s with a benign and approachable demeanour. He, too, wore a simple white gown and turban. As the guests entered, the Sheikh greeted them warmly with a smile, saying, “As-salāmu’alaykum” and requested them to sit down. The banker approached the Sheikh, bowed low, and kissed his hand in a gesture of respect. He then introduced his guests, and as he again recounted the story of how he had just defeated Mahārāja in arm-wrestling, the Sheikh and his entourage laughed.

(Sheikh Muhammad Uthman al-Mirghani in his later years)

Narasiṅgha Mahārāja: I had to pinch myself – this was like a scene from one of those old Sinbad movies I saw as a kid! He asked us about the mṛdaṅga and harmonium and I explained that we use them to chant the Names of God and we did a short kīrtana for him. The Sufis are the only Muslims who are into music, and while we were chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa, his eyes were closed and he was rocking his head to and fro.

After the kīrtana ended, the banker leaned over to the Sheikh and shared what Mahārāja had said about vegetarianism. The Sheikh listened intently, then spoke a few words in Arabic, which seemed to leave the young man visibly stunned.
“What did he say?” Mahārāja asked, curious about the exchange.
The banker hesitated before replying, “I told him what you said about vegetarianism, and his response surprised me!”
“Why?” Mahārāja pressed. “What did he say?
“He said, ‘Actually, he is right. Being vegetarian is the better path.’”
Encouraged by the Sheikh’s agreement, Mahārāja ventured, “May I ask the Sheikh a question?”
“Of course,” the banker replied, albeit warily.
“If vegetarianism is better, then… is the Sheikh a vegetarian?”
Nervously the banker relayed the question in Arabic. The Sheikh slowly spoke again, shaking his head as he did so.
“What did he say?” Mahārāja asked eagerly.
With a sheepish grin, the banker translated, “He said, ‘No, he isn’t. That is very advanced!’”
Feeling a little bold, Mahārāja looked directly at the Sheikh, “But sir, you’re supposed to be the leader of the Sufis!”
Hearing this, the banker eyes bulged.
The Sheikh looked quizzically at the young man – “Mādhā qāla huwa? (what did he say?)
Shooting Mahārāja a panicked look, he dutifully conveyed the remark. The Sheikh, unfazed by the audacity, chuckled and responded with calm dignity.
“The Sheikh says, ‘Yes, he is the leader of the Sufis, but even so, vegetarianism is very, very high.’”
Before Mahārāja could press further, the now-flustered banker hastily stood up, offering profuse thanks to the Sheikh. With beads of sweat forming on his brow, he practically herded Mahārāja and Ajāmila out of the room, muttering apologies all the way.

******

Some mornings, Mahārāja and Ajāmila would take a japa walk just outside Khartoum, near a village next to a railroad track. On the first two mornings, they noticed a policeman in his compound, observing them curiously. By the third morning, the policeman left his post, walked over to them, and invited them to his home.

Swami Narasiṅgha: The story ended up in the World Saṅkirtana Newsletter – he invited us back to his house and we preached to him. He became so convinced that he wanted to shave up immediately! Actually, looking back at it now, I think he was half-mad. Anyhow, I ended up giving him a Bhagavad-gītā and some japa beads and I taught him how to chant Hare Kṛṣṇa. He’s sitting there, chanting on the beads and I’m watching him, showing him which fingers to use – then half way through, he tells me that if the government finds out that he’d converted from Islam, we’d all be executed!

Meanwhile, despite being removed from all management responsibilities, Cyavana Swami was still creating trouble in Nairobi. On November 14th, Prabhupāda wrote to Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa Swami:

My Dear Pusta Krishna Swami:

Please accept my blessings. I have today sent you one telegram reading as follows: IMMEDIATELY GO NAIROBI TO TAKE CHARGE INSTRUCTIONS MAILED NAIROBI—A.C. BHAKTIVEDANTA SWAMI.

One telephone call has come from Dinnath that Sharma the president has left Africa because of fighting with Cyavana Swami. When I was in Nairobi I took away from Cyavana all managerial duties. There were so many complaints against him from our men and from outsiders. He could not manage nor could he collect. I had wanted that Sharma and Shakti Mati manage themselves without any interference.

Now I want you to manage things there. The management was not being done properly when I was there. The accounts were not being kept properly, and they were spending everything. Please rectify the situation. Cyavana Swami should go to Europe for preaching and travelling. Caitya-guru das may be sent here to India for starting our Kuruksetra Project.

I hope this meets you in good health.

Your ever well wisher,

A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami

However, by the time Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa received Prabhupāda’s letter, it was already too late. In a sudden and inexplicable move, Cyavana had decided to leave Kenya, taking Nirāghadeva with him on an unplanned mission to preach in Ethiopia. Being in Khartoum, Mahārāja was unaware of these developments and was soon to be taken by surprise.