THINKING BEYOND OURSELVES

Galileo (1564-1642) could only peer at the moon’s visible face through his humble telescope. In contemporary times, aided by spacecraft cameras, humanity now glimpses the moon’s hidden side. This basic example underscores the substantial chasm in scientific understanding spanning the past and the present.

However, the price of accessing modern insights is markedly steep. On October 10, 1980, the world witnessed the installation of the most extensive telescope in New Mexico, incurring a staggering cost of $78 million. The American spacecraft Voyager, reaching Saturn in December 1980, commanded a hefty price tag of $340 million. CERN, the European particle physics facility, finalized its construction in 1981, aiming to dissect protons and transmute matter. The financial outlay for this institution amounted to $120 million. Presently, this establishment plans the inception of a grander research apparatus, estimated at $550 million. In the United States, a proton research machine came into being, amounting to $275 million, and so forth.

The mounting fascination of individuals with particle physics manifests in the exponential growth of participation. In the 1927 physics conference, a mere 32 scientists participated, whereas in the 1980 conference, the number soared to 800 participants. The American Physical Society’s membership, which was a mere 1300 in 1920, surged to an astonishing 30,000 members by 1980.

Contemporary research endeavours, predominantly in astronomy and particle physics, incubate results over protracted durations, often spanning 50 years or beyond. Comprehending the depreciation of capital allocated to these non-profit ventures, it is evident that a hundred-dollar investment’s value would dwindle to a single dollar half a century later.

These contemporary pursuits gravitate toward astronomy and particle physics. Their fruits of inquiry manifest tardily, taking about five decades to crystallize. Accounting for the diminishing monetary worth of investments in these explorations (which accrue no interest), the span of fifty years sees a hundred dollars devalue to a solitary dollar. Many express reservations regarding such projects, citing excessive expenditure on what appears to be futile undertakings. Addressing this sentiment, American scholar Roger Penrose articulates:

“Do economists not share with us the thrill that accompanies each piece of understanding? Do they not care to know where we came from, how we are constituted, or why we are here? Do they not have a drive to understand, quite independent of economic gain? Do they not appreciate the beauty in ideas? A civilization that stopped inquiring about other things as well. A lot else might then die besides particle physics.” (Sunday Weekly, Nov. 30, 1980)

This citation unveils the imperative of comprehending the verities of existence. Even those who abstain from dissecting the cosmos through the lens of divinity yearn to unearth bedrocks upon which to ground their understanding and cosmic comprehension. The undeniable fact remains that the presence of beings akin to humans, nestled within both the visible expanse and the uncharted realms of the universe, presents such awe-inspiring marvels that contemplation becomes irresistible. No other pursuits, even substantial material leaps, can supplant this persistent inquiry.

Within the vast expanse of the universe, human beings grapple with their existence within an infinity of galaxies—approximately 200 billion in number. Each galaxy houses an incalculable multitude of colossal stars, and the interstellar distances are so vast that they equate to the expansive seas, with ships isolated from one another. The expanse of stars scattered throughout this immense cosmos is so staggering that uttering their single-word names ceaselessly would demand 300 billion years to exhaust them. (Plain Truth, January 1981)

In this unimaginably vast cosmos, humankind emerges as an infinitesimal entity. Even within the cosmic atlas, human presence appears tinier than those minuscule islands omitted from conventional world maps due to their diminutiveness. Despite this insignificance, humanity is traversing the universe’s distances, spanning from subatomic realms to galactic systems. Possessing a mind capable of glimpsing both past and future, humans are driven to fathom the raison d’être behind these occurrences. These questions loom over contemplative individuals, propelling them towards the truth. Yet, humanity’s dilemma lies in the fact that, apart from revelations received by prophets, telescopic observations and laboratory experiments remain the sole avenues for seeking answers to these queries.

In a universe teeming with worlds that the mere act of naming would consume over three billion years, how can humanity unearth the truth it seeks within the span of its fifty or a hundred years of life? The stark verity emerges that only the Creator possesses the power to unveil this enigma, an illumination conveyed through the conduit of prophets.

Albert Einstein (1879-1955) unveiled the theory of space and time, attaining a remarkable notoriety. Some argue that Einstein’s scientific worth transcended the acclaim he garnered. An elucidation is put forth: Einstein’s inquiries were tethered to the universe’s eternal truths, and one who ventures to peer into these cosmic verities assumes distinct significance in society’s eyes. A visionary scribed:

“Whoever finds that which enables us to obtain a deeper glimpse into the eternal secrets of nature has been given great grace. That was the grace of Albert Einstein’s unique greatness—to try to find such thoughts.” (The Hindustan Times, March 15, 1981)

The yearning to fathom the universe’s timeless truths is so deeply ingrained in human nature that it defies detachment. Since antiquity, humanity has yearned for these age-old enigmas,  which consistently remain out of reach. If one cannot access these truths through personal endeavour, limitations prove insurmountable barriers. An inquiry arises: Why, despite prophets unveiling these timeless secrets throughout history, do humans remain resistant to embracing the prophets’ revelations?

The crux lies in the prophet’s response, replete with the concepts of reward and retribution, Heaven and Hell. The prophet calls for relinquishing self-directed lives and embracing a more constrained existence on earth. This conditionality renders humanity averse to adopting the prophet’s proclamation. They relentlessly seek solutions to uncover nature’s mysteries—responses without constriction. Future contemplation seems undesirable. Nameless spiritual entities’ answers find acceptance by countless individuals, yet the prophets’ revelations are met with dissatisfaction. This arises from the spiritual entities’ responses merely gratifying the spiritual facet, devoid of room for spiritual discipline. Conversely, prophets’ revelations engender relinquishing personal freedom, enveloping individuals in perpetual contemplation of the afterlife.

Success lies in alignment with truth, not evasion from it. If the truth indeed resonates with the prophets’ guidance, seeking an alternative verity proves a futile endeavour. Who can conjure existence from non-existence?

People who seek answers outside of religion look for solid foundations to understand the universe. The existence of human-like beings in both known and unknown parts of the cosmos is so remarkable that it demands reflection.

Success lies in alignment with truth, not evasion from it. If the truth indeed resonates with the prophets’ guidance, seeking an alternative verity proves a futile endeavour.

Belief in God runs in our blood. Every man and woman is a born believer. Especially in times of helplessness and in crisis, we discover that there is a Supreme Being.

When tragedy strikes, even the clearest, most innocent heart stumbles into questions bigger than itself. One of my nieces—only ten—lost her father in a sudden accident during a sandstorm in Dubai. He had been driving when the storm overtook him, and he did not return. In the small room where the family gathered, the child’s voice broke the silence: “Where is God? Why didn’t He save my father?” It was a cry from pain, not rebellion; yet in her sorrow she turned away, seeing only loss and not the hidden weave of human choice, consequence, and divine wisdom. Many of us—children and adults alike—experience the same turn: grief becomes a complaint against the One who gave us life, when it could have become a door back to Him.

Why does the heart move this way? Because most of us are bound—softly, sweetly, and almost completely—by our worldly ties. We pray, we bow, we keep our religious routines, yet our inner gaze often remains fixed on family, business, possessions, and plans. Worship drifts into formality; our gestures continue while our longing dozes. But God did not create emotions—love, care, devotion, attachment—merely so we could spend them on one another. God placed these feelings within us so we might learn how to direct them toward Him. Parental love, sibling affection, the bond of marriage and friendship—these are reflections of a greater light, shadows cast by the higher love we were meant to cultivate for our Creator.

Every emotion we taste here is given in a kind of seed form. A child’s clinging trust, a spouse’s faithful companionship, a friend’s steady loyalty—each is a training ground for the heart. They grow naturally when applied to people, but they attain their fullness only when turned towards God. When we mistake the means for the end, we treat temporary relations as if they were eternal. We must, of course, serve our families with tenderness and responsibility; this is part of our moral duty. But the essence of love—its deepest centre and highest purpose—belongs to God alone.

Loss   brings  this  truth  near.  Death, separation, disappointment—none of these shocks are meant to push us away from God. They are reminders of the world’s changing nature. Every human bond, no matter how cherished, is bound to loosen one day—by distance, by time, by death. Only God remains. If we allow grief to harden us, the heart shrinks around its wound. If we allow grief to deepen us, the heart wakes to reality: all that is finite passes; the Infinite endures. When this understanding settles within us, our attachment to God becomes quiet and secure. We discover in Him the one companionship that holds steady in this life and the next.

This is a truth affirmed across paths of faith, each in its own language. The Quran reminds us that everything perishes except God. The Gospel teaches us to love the Lord with all the heart, soul, and mind. The bhakti tradition places devotion to the Divine above all else. The message converges: give God the centre. Yet we often do the opposite—we pour the best of our love into what will not last and offer God only forms and words. But love was not created to end in what is temporary; it was given so that, through it, we might taste the fragrance of eternity.

Think of our emotions as sacred seeds. They are not meant to die in the soil of worldly ties; they are meant to grow into a tree rooted in the living presence of God. Let us support and care for our families with generosity and patience, for this is a trust we will be asked about. But let the strongest devotion—the love that defines who we are—be reserved for the One who never leaves us. Losses, heartbreaks, and sudden shocks need not weaken faith; they can refine it. They whisper that the world is passing, while God is abiding. If we nurture this awareness, we come to know, with a certainty that steadies the soul, that God alone is our enduring companion—now, and forever. 

(This article is written by Prof Farida Khanam.)

God did not create emotions—love, care, devotion, attachment—merely so we could spend them on one another. God placed these feelings within us so we might learn how to direct them toward Him.

According to a narration attributed to Aisha, Prophet Muhammad said: ‘The best among you are those who are best to their families, and I am the best among you to my family.’ (Sunan at-Tirmidhi)

Families are fundamental units of society, collectively shaping its fabric. If families are in good order, society will follow suit. Conversely, if families sink into a low moral state, society cannot prosper. Every person is born into a family, where he experiences his first lessons about home, family, and society. Therefore, to improve society, we must improve the quality of family members.

There are two forms of education: formal and informal. Formal education equips individuals with skills for employment, whereas informal education focuses on fostering better individuals for society. Schools and colleges represent formal educational institutions, while families are informal educational establishments.

Everyone experiences both positive and negative aspects. In a family, however, all these experiences remain confined within the boundaries of the home. Within the house, individuals, regardless of gender, learn the importance of alleviating the distress of family members and wholeheartedly acknowledging the benefits bestowed upon them.

Those who receive such upbringing within their homes will likely exhibit similar societal behaviour. They will actively promote goodness, overlook unfavourable situations, and sincerely appreciate positive attributes in others. These individuals exemplify the highest moral character and contribute to the betterment of society.

Families and homes are schools of informal education. Preparing the next generation is a mother’s responsibility. The human generation is like a flowing river, where the water is continually replaced. In human beings, too, the new replaces the old. And a mother plays a crucial role in preparing this new generation. The responsibility of supplying good human beings to every generation devolves upon her. If a mother understands her responsibility and prepares herself to fulfil this role, she can play a pivotal role in not only shaping the lives of her children on spiritual lines but, in turn, she will be able to shape society on positive lines.

Women play a pivotal role in shaping the character of individuals in a family. If mothers can develop goodness and high moral character in their children, they can contribute to the construction of a positive and congenial contribution to society. It is indeed true: better home, better society.

A woman approached Prophet Muhammad and asked, ‘O Messenger of God, men seem to have more opportunities to earn rewards in the Hereafter. What about us women?’

The Prophet responded, ‘Convey this to the women you meet: Living with your husband righteously and obediently is equivalent to all the virtuous deeds performed by men.’ (Musnad Al-Bazzar)

In modern times, home management is considered inferior to work outside the house. From the above Hadith, we can see that Islam gives the same honour to both, as both are equally important.

The home serves as a natural training ground for individuals. If one displays good character within the limited circle of the house, one can exhibit good character within the wider circle of society. 

The upbringing within the home is of utmost importance. The Prophet said, “The best among you is the one who is best to his family members.” (Sunan Ibn Majah) This implies that someone who treats his family members well will also excel in interactions with others outside the family. The home serves as a natural training ground for individuals.

Interactions within the home occur within a confined sphere, whereas in society, interactions occur on a broader scale. Therefore, displaying good character within the limited circle of the house will translate into exhibiting good character within the wider circle of society. Good training within the home enables individuals to become better human beings in a broader context.

There is a story of a family from Hyderabad. It was a religious family in the traditional sense. However, religion was not the topic of discussion in their home. All of their discussions centred around complaints, as is the case in most homes. Then, a senior religious cleric advised the head of the family to initiate the process of home-schooling in his family so that the complaining mindset could be changed on positive lines. 

Homeschooling is the practice of educating children at home on informal lines. I advised him to learn English with his wife and children and read books on positive thinking. They assiduously followed this method. He described his situation to me over the phone a few days later. He said everyone’s life in his house had become meaningful.

Everyone in the family, parents and children, was beginning to understand their role. This was not the case before. He shared an experience in this regard, saying he wanted to read an Urdu book in English, so he asked his children to translate it. The subject of the book was God’s creation plan.

The children translated the book with total devotion and earnestness. This is how the father got the English translation, and the children learned about God’s creation plan. His wife said she had not encountered any home where children understood their role. She also said parents complain that their children do not listen to them. But with this new beginning, a new trend helped their children understand their positive role.

Now, the atmosphere of negative talk and complaining in their house has become a thing of the past. Instead, topics related to positive thinking and God-realization are being discussed. Thus, the atmosphere of the home has changed completely. The children have adjusted to the new environment. In this way, their knowledge increases, and they develop constructive and positive thinking. This exemplifies an extension of this verse of the Quran: “Set aside for your people some houses in the city and turn them into places of worship, and be constant in prayer!” (10: 87)

Families and homes are schools of informal education. Preparing the next generation is a mother’s responsibility. The human generation is like a flowing river, where the water is continually replaced.

It is God who sends down water from the sky (QURAN 16:65)

Ram Kapoor (b. 1973) is an Indian television actor about whom The Delhi Times published an interview on March 29, 2015. In the interview he says, “After 20 years of smoking I quit it overnight. From 40 cigarettes to zero, only because my daughter said to me, ‘Dada, you want to die. You want to leave me.’ It has been one year, three months since I stopped smoking.”

Ram Kapoor was addicted to smoking and under normal circumstances it was not possible for him to overcome his addiction. But one sentence from his beloved daughter had shaken him and a strong will power emerged in him. And when there is strong will power, nothing can stand before it, neither habit nor addiction nor anything else.

Often people say that they cannot give up a habit. For example, they say, I cannot stop being angry, or I cannot prevent myself from becoming tense, or I cannot stop hating others, or I cannot agree to humble myself before another, and so on.

All this is not because it is impossible for the person in question to do these things. The real reason is that he is not serious about developing strong will power. If he developed strong will power, he would be able to give up any habit in the same way in which Mr Kapoor overcame his desire to smoke.

There are two kinds of strong will power—emotion-based and reason-based. There are many people who are motivated by an emotional moment and so abandon their habit. But it is better to abandon something on the basis of reason: a person should think and apply reason to his behaviour, then give up his habit as the result of a well-considered decision.

For example, people often develop complaints about others and go on living in the complaint culture. The habit of complaining is an issue of reason and not of emotion. That is, if a person just thinks about it, he will realize that to go on complaining means being a bad member of society. A good member is one who wishes others well. This kind of thinking is possible through rational analysis. If a person thinks in this manner, he will surely develop strong will power and instantly abandon the complaint culture.

A person said that he used to constantly feel angry with others. One day he thought that although he was the one who was angry with others, but it was actually he alone who paid the price for this because he constantly lived in a state of tension and stress. When he realized this, he instantly took the decision to change his attitude and stop being angry.

It is commonly seen that people easily develop strong will power for their own personal interests, but where it concerns another’s interests, they do not do so. Such a person lives by double standards. If he uses his reason and recognizes this as a weakness, then surely he will develop strong will power and will abandon his wrong habit.

Often, after marriage, rifts arise between husband and wife, and their married life becomes filled with bitterness. If both were to reflect, they would realize that before marriage, they lived happily because they were surrounded by their own family members, with whom they shared natural blood ties. After marriage, however, such ties do not exist with one another. Once they acknowledge this reality, they can consciously summon the willpower to correct their behaviour, nurture mutual understanding, and thereby create a harmonious and happy married life.

Develop strong will power and you will certainly be able to move mountains.

There are two kinds of strong will power—emotion-based and reason-based. There are many people who are motivated by an emotional moment and so abandon their habit. But it is better to abandon something on the basis of reason.

The Prophet of Islam observed: “Look only to those who are less privileged than you; do not look to those who are more privileged than you, because in this way you will not undervalue God’s blessings upon you.” (Musnad Ahmad)

This Hadith is explained by another Hadith. “The Prophet said that God will accept him as His thankful and patient servant who possesses two particular qualities. One is the capacity, in the matters of this world, to look to those who are inferior to him and then be thankful to God for the blessings that God has given him. The other is the capacity, in matters of religion, to look to those who are superior to him and then to follow them. A person who looks at people less devout than himself in religion but compares himself with those richer or higher in status in worldly matters becomes unhappy with what he lacks. Such a person will not be truly grateful for what he has. Nor will he remain patient in the eyes of God.” (Sunan al-Tirmidhi)

Gratitude is the greatest form of worship. What is most required of a person is that he should discover God as the greatest Benefactor. Then his heart and mind should be filled with the awareness of God’s blessings. He must recognize God as a Being, who is raining down His countless blessings upon him. This consciousness should be so strong that in no way should the feelings of gratefulness to God be absent from his heart.

But this is no simple matter. To keep oneself brimming with feelings of thankfulness, it is essential that a person’s consciousness should be fully alive. He should take special care to perpetuate his gratefulness. He should not give any place in his heart to such sentiments as may be harmful to his feeling of thanksgiving. He may tolerate anything except the erosion of feelings of thankfulness. 

It is natural that in the present world it happens inevitably that there are people who are not equal in everything. As such, a person feels that in material matters, some have less and some have more. But if a person compares himself with someone who has apparently more than him, he will develop an inferiority complex and his feeling of thankfulness will get eroded. Therefore one should not compare himself or herself with those who are apparently, materially, better placed than him or her. What a person should do rather is compare himself with those who are materially less well off than he is. In this way, his feeling of thanksgiving will remain alive. His heart will never be bereft of the awareness of God’s blessings. 

In the present world it is inevitable that there should be inequality. Some have more and some have less, some are left behind, some forge ahead, and some have more power while some are weak. All these differences are due to the exigencies of people being put to the test. The process of testing requires that a person should be faced with different kinds of circumstances, but without allowing himself to be influenced by those circumstances, he should keep the consciousness of his faith alive.

In spite of adverse circumstances, his feeling of thankfulness should not be lessened. He should pass through untoward situations without losing the virtue of acknowledgement. This should be so, even when he is having such experiences as produce negative feelings. He should even then keep himself thinking positively. Thanksgiving is a human being’s most precious offering to his Lord. Wise is he who does not allow his feelings of thankfulness to be eroded even in the most unfavourable of situations.

To keep oneself brimming with feelings of thankfulness, it is essential that a person’s consciousness should be fully alive. He should take special care to perpetuate his gratefulness.

Janab Abdus-Samad is a senior and one of the earliest readers of Maulana Wahiduddin Khan’s works. Based in Pune, Maharashtra, he has tirelessly dedicated his life towards introducing the peaceful message of Islam as interpreted by Maulana. Maulana Inayath Umri interviewed him to bring to the fore his journey of spiritual enlightenment.

Please introduce yourself briefly to our readers. Also, tell us when and how you became associated with Maulana Wahiduddin Khan.

My name is Abdus-Samad. I am 87 years old and I belong to Pune. My association with Maulana Wahiduddin Khan goes back to the very beginning, and over time this bond only grew stronger. I studied his teachings and mission closely, and what began as admiration slowly turned into a lifelong commitment of the heart. I met people through him, I met ideas through him, and I met myself through his guidance.

Where were you born, and where did you study?

I was born in Nandura, a small town in the Buldhana district of Maharashtra. In 1962, I moved to Pune for work. As far as formal education is concerned, I never attended a school. My schooling was the world itself. I learned by asking questions, by listening, by observing, and I still follow the same approach. There is a little memory I cherish: I worked for a person who appointed a tutor to teach him Urdu. The tutor would come at mealtime, and I would quietly sit nearby and memorize what was taught. One day the tutor noticed and was impressed by my memory. He offered to teach me as well. That was how my education truly began—on a simple floor during meal breaks, with a heart hungry for words. To this day, I consider myself a student and I hope to remain one till my last breath.

When and how did you first meet Maulana?

I first met Maulana in May 1971, when he came to Pune as the editor of the Al-Jamiyat Weekly. I was already a reader of that weekly and eager to meet the mind behind those pages. He stayed for three days at the Tablighi Markaz, Chand Tara Masjid, and I stayed with him throughout those three days—listening more than speaking, absorbing his manner and his message. Those were days when an ordinary room could feel like a university because of the presence of one teacher whose sincerity lit up the space.

When did Maulana first visit Pune in connection with the Al-Risala Mission?

For the first time in 1982, our Pune team invited Maulana for a three-day programme. There were no mobile phones or video recorders then, so we do not have footage to show, only memories that live with us. We arranged programmes at different venues—sometimes in mosques, sometimes in institutions. We were fewer in number and lighter in resources, but our eagerness was strong, and his words found a way into hearts without the help of technology.

Why did Maulana visit Pune so frequently?

Maulana visited Pune more than nine times. Several organizations invited him. Once, a Marwari family organized a Shanti Yatra, a Peace March, and they invited Maulana to join. What touched us most was his simplicity. No matter how grand the hotel booking, he preferred to stay with us. He would go to the conference halls for the programmes and return to our homes for the rest of the time. That was the greatest lesson: leaders can teach from a stage, but they train by sharing their time. If he had not given us his time, we would not have received that training, nor understood the mission, nor become a part of it from the inside.

Can you share a memorable incident from your meetings with Maulana that you will never forget?

Once we went to receive him at the airport. He was carrying many books and needed to pass through security, but we were not being allowed inside. I told the security guard, “Our Dharma Guru is coming.” The moment he heard “Dharma Guru,” he let us in. It was a small moment, but it taught me something big: if you speak to people in a language that resonates with them, hearts open and pathways appear. Words are not just sounds; they are bridges. Opportunity belongs to those who know how to create it with wisdom and respect.

How did you stay in constant contact with Maulana—letters, phone calls, or meetings?

Besides personal meetings, we had a living correspondence. I have more than a hundred letters from him. Whenever I wrote, he replied. We spoke on the phone at times. But more than any of this, his books were my primary means of connection. In those pages, I could hear his voice even when he was far away. Books have a way of turning absence into presence.

What did you learn from your personal interactions with Maulana?

Every moment was a lesson. Even in private, he would share wisdom—about the greatness of God, about the purity of monotheism, about the discipline of thought and the humility of spirit. In 1996, he visited my new house. We prayed Asr there. After the prayer, he turned to me and said, “Mr Samad, you did not receive this house because some elder or Maulana visited here. You got this house purely as God’s blessing. So always learn to be thankful to Him.” Those words struck deep. They were a gentle reminder to keep the heart anchored in gratitude, not superstition; in the Giver, not in occasions.

How did you serve under the Al-Risala Mission?

In the beginning, I would carry several copies of Al-Risala monthly (Urdu version of Spirit of Islam) in a bag and distribute them wherever I went. If I met someone in a mosque, I would hand them a copy. It was simple work, but it felt like planting seeds. Some seeds sprouted quickly, some took time, and some are still growing in ways I may never see.

In what fields did you contribute?

We translated nearly twelve of Maulana’s books into Marathi. The Secret of Successful Family Life and The Prophet for All Humanity were among them. For a large book like God Arises, we divided the work into segments rather than doing a full translation at once. And the Marathi translation of the Quran is now published. To see these ideas in Marathi, reaching homes and hearts in my own region, has been a quiet joy—like watching light find new windows.

What do you consider to be the essence of Maulana’s mission?

In his own words: Monotheism and Peace. He dedicated his life to these two truths. Whether speaking to Muslims or to fellow countrymen of other faiths, he returned to the same core: the oneness of God and the path of peace. In Pune, we tried to carry that message to educated circles—meeting professors and giving them books, sharing articles with newspaper editors, and keeping the tone dignified and dialogical. He believed that peace is not a slogan; it is a discipline of mind and a culture of engagement.

In your opinion, what is the greatest distinction of the Al-Risala Mission?

Maulana grasped the modern age early and guided us accordingly. His writings did not speak in an old tone to a new world; they spoke to the conscience of the present. Another remarkable quality was his ability to draw wisdom from ordinary events—turning daily happenings into moral insight. The sayings of wisdom on the front page of Al-Risala were often brief, but they guided daily life like a compass. In truth, his entire body of work helps a reader approach the Quran and Hadith with a mind awakened to the realities of today.

What message would you like to give to the younger generation so that they may understand this mission correctly and take it forward?

People grow through knowledge and experience together. I learned by seeking out those who were ahead of me—sometimes in books, sometimes in living rooms, sometimes in letters. Age should not be measured only in years; measure it in depth. If the young want to gain knowledge through observation and experience, let them make a habit of studying Maulana’s books. Read, reflect, converse, and then put what you learn into gentle action. If you carry monotheism in your heart and peace in your conduct, you will not only understand the mission—you will become part of its living continuation.

On 14 September 2025, I brought home a flagship smartphone. It is among the company’s finest creations—sleek, powerful, almost audacious in its ambition. The lenses are extraordinarily sharp, the memory generous, the processing effortless. Even the cooling chambers feel as if they have been engineered with a watchmaker’s care, keeping the device composed while it rushes through a thousand tasks. Calls sound clean; every feature feels thoughtfully refined. A piece of glass and metal, yet strangely alive with intelligence.

Sitting with this new device in my hand, I found myself thinking about the story of the mobile phone itself—how, in so short a time, it has travelled from smart to smarter, and still presses forward. Then another thought rose: this principle of “ever-more” is not limited to phones. It runs like a current through human history, from the needle to nuclear power, from simple tools to spacefaring technology. In every field, we push, we refine, we add. Humanity pays a price for each improvement—time, money, effort, discipline—and then enjoys the fruit. The rule seems constant: the higher the price, the more elevated the result; the more earnest the striving, the finer the refinement.

As I turned these ideas over, verses of the Quran returned to me with a fresh gleam: “And there is even more with Us.” (50: 35) It is as if God is reminding us that the story of addition does not end in this world. If the pattern of life on earth is “smart” to “smarter”, then the pattern of the next life is “finite” to “limitless”. There is another world—Jannat al-Naim, Jannat al-Khuld, Jannat al-Aliyah—where additions do not taper off, where increase is not exhausted, where fulfilment does not grow stale. Our caravan is being guided towards that world of eternal expansion, and the promise “And there is even more with Us” is not a poetic flourish but a reality waiting just beyond the horizon of time.

Consider our fascination with zoom: we lift a camera and draw the distant close, sometimes joking that we can “zoom to the moon.” Today our tools bring far-off wonders near. Tomorrow, in Paradise, the addition will not be in the gadget but in the soul itself. Capacities that are now outside us will be placed within us; horizons that feel unreachable will be brought into intimate reach. The Quran voices this hope with a tenderness both stirring and exact: “Those who do good works shall have a good reward and more besides.” (10: 26) “good reward and more besides”: a promise that material delights will be perfected, yes, but also that spiritual vision, love, and nearness will be opened to an extent our present words cannot fathom.

The world teaches us a clear lesson: premium features come at a premium price. We accept this without protest in our technology and our comforts. Why, then, do we hesitate when the same law appears in the spiritual realm? Paradise has a price—not of coins, but of character; not of currency, but of commitment. The Prophet Muhammad said, “Be aware! The merchandise of God is costly. Be aware! The merchandise of God is Paradise.” (Jami‘ al-Tirmidhi) Costly, not because God is distant, but because He invites us to rise—above whim to will, above distraction to remembrance, above the fleeting to the eternal.

Paradise is the world of additions. Knowledge will widen without edge; life will lengthen without weariness; culture will blossom without decay. It is the journey from the narrow corridor of time into the vast gardens of forever. Our desires, which here outstrip our means, will there find a home large enough to hold them without disappointment. The Quran calls us, with both command and consolation, to a Garden “for a Paradise as vast as the heavens and the earth” (3: 133). A vastness that refuses to be measured, a generosity that refuses to be counted.

And yet, there is a tender caution: do not mistake the road for the destination. The flagship smartphone, for all its wonder, is still a signpost, not a home. The delight we feel at a smoother interface or a crisper image is real, but it is a borrowed joy—an arrow pointing towards a greater happiness. In this world, each upgrade grants us a taste, a fragrance, a hint. It trains our hearts to recognize the pattern of addition, so that when God speaks of “more”, our hearts know what to expect, even if our minds cannot map it.

What, then, is the price we must pay? Not an austerity that hates the world, but a discipline that orders it. Not the denial of blessings, but gratitude for them. Not withdrawal from responsibility, but the purification of intention within it. To spend honestly, to speak truthfully, to forgive quickly, to give quietly, to remember God often, to keep prayer like a pulse—these are the coins of the soul. Each act plants a seed for that other country where additions never end.

Sometimes, holding a new device, we feel a small thrill of arrival. We have, for a moment, the latest, the best. But arrival in this world is always temporary. Another model is already knocking. Paradise is different. There, arrival is truly arrival. There, the human story finds its home, and the heart’s restless desire for “better” is met by God’s own “even more”.

So let us not be shy of the law that governs both technology and eternity: to receive what is higher, become what is higher. The hand that upgrades phones can also upgrade the self—one intention at a time, one prayer at a time, one act of mercy at a time. In a world obsessed with additions, let us be among those who add what matters most: goodness, humility, gratitude, peace.

O God, You who have filled this world with signs of progress and glimpses of what lies beyond, make us worthy travellers to Your Paradise of Increase. Enlarge our capacities, refine our intentions, and grant us, by Your grace, the honour of beholding You.

(This article is written by Maulana Iqbal Umri, Tamil Nadu.) 

Let us not be shy of the law that governs both technology and eternity: to receive what is higher, become what is higher. The hand that upgrades phones can also upgrade the self—one intention at a time, one prayer at a time, one act of mercy at a time.

 It was May 7, 2012. After a foreign tour, I landed at Delhi airport and used a wheelchair. At the exit, my companion offered some money to the young attendant manoeuvring the chair. He refused with a shy firmness: “Don’t give me money—give me your Ashirwad. I’m appearing for an examination; please pray that I pass.” I placed my hand on his head and prayed for him.

What that airport boy said was anything but simple. It revealed a creative, self-respecting mindset: to choose effort over easy money; to prefer the path of becoming a self-made person rather than relying on a favour. In that moment, he chose growth over gratuity.

When you decide to stand on your own feet, you begin tapping your own potential. Every human being is born with tremendous capacity, but potential unfolds only through sustained hard work. The soundest policy for anyone seeking success is to strive to discover and develop what lies within, rather than to depend on advantages from elsewhere.

People often remark, with a hint of envy, that someone was “born with a silver spoon in his mouth.” This is a mistaken ideal. Fortunate is the one born with an incentive spoon—the spur of necessity. If you grow up with hardship, it activates you; it lights the will to work. If you grow up in excess comfort, it dulls motivation. Self-motivation invariably outstrips external support.

Every favour is limited by nature; none has an unlimited scope. But when you commit to unfolding your own potential, you set out on a journey without a ceiling. A favour might offer temporary relief; only hard work leads to durable achievement. All super-achievement in history has sprung from effort, not favour.

It has been rightly said: It is not ease but effort, not facility but difficulty, that makes men. Facility can look attractive, but in terms of results, difficulty is better. Choosing effort strengthens the body, sharpens the mind, and ennobles the character.

Living on favours makes one a taker in society; living by hard work makes one a giver. And the giver is invariably better than the taker. What you earn by dint of effort brings with it something priceless—confidence. Hard work and confidence travel together, and confidence leads to peace of mind. There is no gift greater for the soul than a settled, peaceful heart.

A man came to the Prophet of Islam and said, “I am a pauper. Give me some money for my livelihood.” The Prophet replied that this would not be good for him, and taught him a formula for dignity: “The upper hand is better than the lower hand.” He then gave the man a few silver coins and advised: “Go to the forest, cut wood, sell it, and earn your livelihood. Meet me again in two months.” The man accepted this counsel, worked with his hands, and returned after two months saying, “I am happy with my work. I have decided not to ask anything of anyone.” He had exchanged dependency for dignity.

By hard work you can earn money; with money you cannot buy the habit of hard work. This is the best formula for life: do not seek favours from others—rely on your own efforts. In that reliance lies creativity, confidence, peace of mind, and the quiet nobility of the upper hand.

Living on favours makes one a taker in society; living by hard work makes one a giver. And the giver is invariably better than the taker. What you earn by dint of effort brings with it something priceless—confidence.

The Wise criticize without quarrelling.

Recently, US President Donald Trump unveiled a detailed plan for Gaza. It called for an immediate ceasefire, hostage exchanges, and a staged Israeli withdrawal, while placing Gaza under temporary international supervision with promises of large-scale humanitarian aid and economic development. Though ambitious, such frameworks often struggle because they overlook deeper moral and psychological roots. Maulana Wahiduddin Khan, in his Ten-Point peace formula offered a realistic, transformative path forward.

At the heart of this proposal is the principle of Hudaybiyyah, drawn from Prophet Muhammad’s treaty with the Makkans in seventh century. The lesson is clear: pursue peace even when it requires compromise, because it opens possibilities later. Rather than insisting that every demand be met first, the priority must be to stop bloodshed and build conditions where opportunity can flourish.

The Quran commands believers to adopt peaceful reconciliation (4: 128). Violence has dominated the region for over six decades, yet it has brought neither justice nor progress. True change will come only through nonviolent engagement. The Quran also teaches that hostility can turn into friendship when evil is repelled with good (41: 34). This means choosing patience, dialogue, and generosity instead of revenge.

The formula emphasises that peace must precede justice. Justice cannot thrive in an atmosphere of rage and retaliation. Peace, even if incomplete, provides the stability needed for progress through political, legal, and diplomatic means. Without peace, the call for justice remains trapped in cycles of conflict.

Another key principle is to remain result-oriented rather than emotional. The Prophet described a true believer as one who abandons actions that bring no benefit. Decades of violent resistance have yielded little. It is now essential to focus on practical methods that deliver real improvement rather than symbolic gestures of defiance.

A vital component is the rejection of violence against innocents, including suicide bombings. The Quran declares that killing a single innocent person is like killing all of humanity (5: 32). Such acts, far from achieving any moral or political goal, violate core principles and remove blessing from any cause they claim to serve. 

Instead of hostility, the proposal calls for building common ground through cooperation. Historically, Muslims and Jews lived and worked together in fields such as science, medicine, and trade. In modern times, there are many shared arenas—education, technology, agriculture—where collaboration could yield mutual benefit. Rekindling this cooperative spirit could transform the Holy Land into a model of shared prosperity.

The formula also recognizes that today’s world operates through democracy and power sharing. Exclusive control by one side is unrealistic. The Quran offers the example of Prophet Joseph (12: 55), who served honourably in a non-Muslim government. By participating in inclusive systems, communities can help shape their destinies within plural frameworks.

Finally, the vision stresses self-reform and abandonment of blame. The Quran (42: 30) teaches that misfortunes often arise from one’s own actions. This means moving from a mindset of victimhood to one of responsibility, focusing on education, development, and opportunity rather than constant protest.

The essence of this message is simple yet transformative: ignore problems, avail opportunities. Peace is not the end goal; it is the beginning. Peace enables healing and truly durable solutions. Once peace is achieved, justice can follow, cooperation can grow, and the Holy Land can again become a centre of learning, spirituality, and coexistence.

(The writer, Dr. Saniyasnain Khan, is trustee, Centre for Peace and Spirituality International, New Delhi.)

Justice cannot thrive in an atmosphere of rage and retaliation. Peace, even if incomplete, provides the stability needed for progress through political, legal, and diplomatic means. Without peace, the call for justice remains trapped in cycles of conflict.

Every chapter in the Quran except one begins with the words: Bismillāhir-Rahmānir-Rahīm. What is the significance of these words?