Most interesting book & well worthy of study,
no matter whether you believe it or not.
William Burchell Bashyr Pickard B.A. (Cantab),
L.D.(London), an author of wide repute whose pen-production include Layla and Majnun, The
Adventures of Alcassim, and A New
World, tells his tale of his quest for Islam after suffering sever injuries
in WWI.
“Every child is born with a disposition towards the natural religion of
obedience (i.e. Islam); it is the parents who make him a Jew, A Christian or a
Magian.“(Saheeh Al-Bukhari).
Having been born in Islam, it
was a good many years before I realized this fact.
At school and college I was
occupied, perhaps too intensely, with the affairs and demands of the passing
moment. I do not consider my career of those days brilliant, but it was
progressive. Amid Christian surroundings I was taught the good life, and
the thought of God and of worship and of righteousness was pleasant to
me. If I worshipped anything, it was nobility and courage. Coming
down from Cambridge, I went to Central Africa, having obtained an appointment
in the administration of the Uganda Protectorate. There I had an
interesting and exciting existence beyond what, from England, I had ever
dreamt, and was compelled by circumstances, to live amongst the black
brotherhood of humanity, to whom I may say I became endearingly attached by
reasons of their simple joyous outlook upon life. The East had always
attracted me. At Cambridge, I read the Arabian
Nights. Alone in Africa I read the Arabian
Nights, and the wild roaming existence I passed in the Uganda Protectorate
did not make the East less dear to me.
Then upon, my placid life broke
in the First World War. I hastened homewards to Europe. My health
broke down. Recovering, I applied for a commission in the Army, but on
health grounds this was denied to me. I therefore cut losses and enlisted
in the Yeomanry, managing somehow or other to pass the doctors and, to my
relief, donned uniform as a trooper. Serving then in France on the
Western Front, I took part in the battle of the Somme in 1917, where I was
wounded and made prisoner of war. I traveled through Belgium to Germany
where I was lodged in hospital. In Germany, I saw much of the sufferings
of stricken humanity, especially Russians decimated by dysentery. I came
to the outskirts of starvation. My wound (shattered right arm) did not
heal quickly and I was useless to the Germans. I was therefore sent to
Switzerland for hospital treatment and operation. I well remember how
dear, even in those days, was the thought of the Quran to me. In Germany,
I had written home for a copy of Sale’s Quran to be sent out to me. In
later years, I learnt that this had been sent but it never reached me. In
Switzerland, after [the] operation of [my] arm and leg, my health
recovered. I was able to go out and about. I purchased a copy of
Savary’s French translation of the Quran (this today is one of my dearest
possessions). Therein, I delighted with a great delight. It was as
if a ray of eternal truth shone down with blessedness upon me. My right
hand still being useless, I practiced writing the Quran with my left
hand. My attachment to the Quran is further evidenced when I say that one
of the most vivid and cherished recollections I had of the Arabian Nights was
that of the youth discovered alive alone in the city of the dead, seated
reading the Quran, oblivious to his surroundings. In those days in
Switzerland, I was veritably resigne a la volonte de Dieu (Muslim).
After the signing of the Armistice, I returned to London in December 1918, and
some two or three years later, in 1921, I took up a course of literary study at
London University. One of the subjects I chose was Arabic, lectures in
which I attended at King’s College. Here it was that one day my professor
in Arabic (the late Mr. Belshah of Iraq) in the course of our study of Arabic
mentioned the Quran. “Whether you believe in it or not,“ he said, “you
will find it a most interesting book and well worthy of study.“ “Oh, but I do
believe in it,“ was my reply. This remark surprised and greatly
interested my teacher in Arabic, who after a little talk invited me to
accompany him to the London Prayer House at Notting Hill Gate. After
that, I attended the Prayer House frequently and came to know more of the
practice of Islam, until, on New Year’s day, 1922, I openly joined the Muslim
community.
That is more than quarter of a
century ago. Since then I have lived a Muslim life in theory and practice
to the extent of my ability. The power and wisdom and mercy of God are
boundless. The fields of knowledge stretch out ever before us beyond the
horizon. In our pilgrimage through life, I feel assured that the only
befitting garment we can wear is submission, and upon our heads the headgear of
praise, and in our hearts love of the One Supreme. “Wal-Hamdu lil’ Lahi
Rabbi ‘l-’Alameen (Praise be to God, the Lord of all the worlds.”
.
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