The Prophet (ﷺ) then looked at Zaid. “You asked her if I would reject her,” he said. “Tell me, Zaid. If a drowning man calls out to you in a broken language, do you teach him phonetics? Or do you throw him the rope?”
Zaid saw a caravan approaching. It was not the caravan of generals or judges. It was a caravan of the broken: the lepers, the madmen, the orphans, the repentant thieves. And at the head of this caravan, walking barefoot, was Amma Jaan. Her tattered sackcloth was now a cloak of Noor (light). Her wrinkled face glowed like the full moon. meera waliyo ke imam naat
He was walking slowly, tenderly, holding Amma Jaan’s hand. The Prophet (ﷺ) turned to the assembled masses—the kings, the scholars, the wealthy—and said, “These are My people. These are the Meera Wali (the insane lovers). They did not know grammar, but they knew My name. They could not recite the Qur’an, but they wept when it was recited. Their hearts were broken for Me, and I am the One who mends the broken hearts.” The Prophet (ﷺ) then looked at Zaid
Amma Jaan could not read. The elegant Arabic script of the Qur’an was a mystery to her eyes, and she had never performed the intricate rituals of the scholars. Her prayer mat was a torn piece of sackcloth, and her rosary was a string of dried plum pits. The mullahs of the grand Badshahi Mosque looked down at her with disdain. If a drowning man calls out to you
He was standing on the plains of Hashr, the Day of Judgment. The sun was merciless. The scholars were holding their heavy ink pots and scrolls, their faces pale with the terror of their own deeds. Kings were weeping as their crowns melted.
“Amma Jaan,” Zaid wept, falling at her feet. “Teach me. Teach me how to love like that. My knowledge has made my heart a stone. Teach me the way of the Meera Wali .”