A Journey of Fellowship and Scholarship
The food was diverse, and each dish was enjoyable in its own right—crispy samosas, delicate kebabs, and parniyaan, which some call Syrian and others Indian, soft and tender breads, various types of chutneys, each with its unique flavor. The presentation was simple and elegant, with more skill than artifice. One could sit and eat with satisfaction while also enjoying the atmosphere, as if time was passing slowly.
Upon leaving, we tried to absorb the beauty of Mumbai’s sea. Everywhere, there was such charm that similes, metaphors, and allegories all seemed to pale. The verses of Shibli came to mind:
“The soul-refreshing breeze here is intoxicating
Why would there be concern for wine and goblets here?
Where is this delight, this greenery, this scene, this garden?
If you remember Lucknow, why would you?”
Those who believe in the Houris and the palaces, and the Salsabil and Tasneem, sometimes catch a faint glimpse of it here; and those who do not, wish to spend every moment here in “witness, poetry, wine, and sugar.” Our argument is that even tourists from Europe and America forget their homeland in Mumbai, and seeing some claimants of piety, one might suspect “With us, he drank wine and prayed with the ascetic.”
After a while, we returned to our room. I tried hard to do some work, but weakness and fatigue left me helpless. Alas, the helplessness of man! When he is in ecstasy and intoxicated with pleasure, at that very moment, he is also confined by his limitations. Light becomes darkness for him, and the dawn becomes a dark night.
In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful
In the Village of the Godly Scholar, Who Attained the Pinnacle of Transmission with Precision
7/4/2026
On the morning of Tuesday, the seventh of April, 2026, Zaid and I set out in the car of our refined and courteous brother, Saud Azmi Nadwi, aiming to visit the village of the godly scholar, the transmitter of hadith, Sheikh Fazl Rahman Kunj Muradabadi.
The morning was serene and clear, as if the breeze carried a quiet, inaudible conversation, and the light spread gently over the earth, neither disturbing the still nor unsettling the restful. The car moved along the road in silence, broken only by the whisper of the wheels on the ground or a soft conversation between me and my companion, which would soon fade, as if we preferred silence to listen to something within ourselves.
This journey was not merely a transition from one place to another, nor a visit to a remote village that people might pass by without notice; rather, it was, in the depths of our souls, a journey to a bygone era, to the legacy of those who lived for knowledge, shunning all else, and dedicated themselves to it with the resolve of one who knows his purpose and does not turn away from it.
As we progressed along the road, I felt increasingly distanced from the noise of the present, drawing closer to that past which remains alive in the traces of its people, as if the earth we traveled upon had preserved their footsteps, and the air that passed over us still carried something of their breaths.
Zaid was mostly silent, gazing far into the distance, as if tracing these same thoughts, or perhaps envisioning in his mind the image of the scholar whose village we were approaching. Our companion, the refined and courteous brother, drove the car with calm and confidence, as if he was familiar with this road, neither turning from it nor hastening to reach his destination.
Thus we proceeded, unhurried and unburdened, until it seemed to me that the road itself had become the goal, and that this journey—with its silence and contemplation—was part of what we sought, not merely a means to what we would see later.
We visited “Mullawan,” the village where Maulana Fazl Rahman was born in the year 208, and where he received his initial education, studying under Maulana Noor bin Anwar Ansari of Lucknow and others of knowledge. He then traveled to Delhi with Sheikh Hassan Ali Lucknawi, the hadith scholar, where he met a group of eminent scholars, including Shah Abdul Aziz bin Waliullah Dehlawi, Sheikh Ghulam Ali, Sheikh Muhammad Afaq, and others, from whom he learned, listened, and benefited.
He received the hadith of the first chain and the hadith of love from Sheikh Abdul Aziz, and heard from him a portion of Sahih Bukhari, then returned to his hometown, where he stayed for a while.
Abu Khair Al-Attar mentioned in “An-Nafh Al-Miski”: “He then attended the sessions of the scholar and hadith expert Sheikh Abdul Aziz, who had lost his sight, and was informed by those around him. He first recited to him the hadith of the first chain, and the translator requested permission to dictate some commentary on the hadith, which was granted. He dictated to him from the knowledge Allah had bestowed upon him, and Sheikh Abdul Aziz loved him, saying: ‘If I were not weak, I would have taught you, but I have entrusted you…’”
Al-Attar noted that he studied for a month under Shah Ishaq, and when he intended to leave Delhi, he sought permission from Shah Abdul Aziz, who granted it verbally.
He then returned to his hometown, Mullawan, where he stayed for some time. We visited the site of his house and the graves of his parents, prayed for them, and met some of his descendants from his first wife. We marveled at how this remote village produced such a distinguished scholar.
The place had a solemn tranquility, neither the emptiness of a deserted place nor the clamor of a bustling city, but something in between, evoking a gentle awe and a subtle sense of comfort. We stood at the site of the house, where no walls spoke and no doors opened, yet an enduring presence was unmistakable, as if the earth had retained the secret of its inhabitant, and time had not dared to erase all that was here.
We then approached the graves of his parents, recited Al-Fatiha, and offered prayers that flowed naturally, as if this place had a rightful claim to our supplication, and as if the prayer itself gained sincerity when uttered in such a setting. Shortly thereafter, we met some of his descendants from his first wife, who spoke to us with remnants of the past, a sense of pride, and a simplicity that required no pretense.
I listened to them, surveying this quiet village, and marveled, unable to cease my wonder, how such a rich intellectual life emerged from this isolation, and how such a great soul, which filled the horizons with knowledge and remembrance, grew in this distant land. Was it a secret of the earth? Or a grace from the heavens? Or is it that which is beyond question: that Allah chooses for some of His servants what He wills?
We then headed to “Kunj Muradabad,” four miles from Mullawan, a short distance in space, but in my mind, it stretched across time, as if we were transitioning from one phase of the man’s life to another. He moved there after the death of his first wife, as if life intended for him to begin a new chapter, marrying again to a woman from there, and settled in that place.
As he aged, he chose seclusion, but it was not a seclusion of withdrawal or isolation; rather, it was a seclusion that people sought, not fled from. They came to him like the thirsty to water, never tiring of learning from him or being near him. Thus, that small town became a center of scholarly radiance, and he became a singular figure in the Indian lands, to whom journeys were made and by whom gatherings were remembered.
What provokes thought and invites reflection is the remarkable acceptance bestowed upon him, as if hearts were united for him, and souls agreed on loving him, granting him a level of acceptance rarely given.
His life then proceeded to its end, and he passed away, may Allah have mercy on him, on the eighth of Rabi’ al-Awwal, 1313 AH, in Kunj Muradabad, and was buried in the Murad Khan cemetery.
We sat with some of his descendants in the mosque adjacent to his grave, where the gathering was calm, as if the place itself imposed a tranquility that required no effort. We observed restoration and construction work on the grave’s structure, which evoked two contrasting feelings: one of gratitude that people still remember, care, and preserve; and another that time, no matter how people try to resist it, continues on its path, neither stopping nor waiting.
Thus we left that place, our souls filled with something indescribable, yet felt, as if we had not merely visited a place, but touched a part of a life story, and grasped a shadow of a life.
Among his notable companions were: Allama Abdul Hayy Hasani, Muhammad Ali Monakiri, Amir Habib Rahman Khan Sherwani, Badr Ali Shah, Ahmad Attar Makki, Abdul Rahman Amrohi, Muhammad Yasin Barelwi, Ashraf Ali Thanwi, Mufti Abdul Latif Sanbhali, and Muhammad Abdul Baqi Ayyubi Lucknawi.
Allama Abdul Hayy Hasani said: “He was the greatest and most knowledgeable of those I have seen in the guidance of the Prophet (peace be upon him), his demeanor, and his conduct, not deviating in any matter with chastity, contentment, independence, generosity, and asceticism. He did not hoard wealth, nor feared poverty. He would receive thousands of coins and distribute them among people that very day, not spending a night with a dirham or dinar in his house. He did not care for fine clothing or food, nor did he wear the attire of the jurists, such as the turban and the cloak, let alone enlarging the turban or lengthening the sleeves. He feared no one in speaking the truth and uttering the word of truth, even if it was a tyrant. He attained leadership in knowledge, practice, asceticism, piety, courage, generosity, grandeur, and awe, enjoining good and forbidding evil, with good intentions, sincerity, supplication to Allah Almighty, constant vigilance of Him, and good manners, benefiting and being kind to people. If I swore between the corner and the station that I had not seen in the world anyone more generous than him, more detached from the dinar and dirham, or more obedient to the Book and the Sunnah, I would not be false. I have not seen anyone more knowledgeable of the Book of Allah and the Sunnah of His Messenger (peace be upon him) than him.”
He was of medium height, fair-skinned, with a large head, a short beard, leading people in prayer in the mosque, residing in a room in its courtyard, assisting his companions in fulfilling their needs, and dressed like ordinary people. He taught the Holy Quran and the noble hadith before noon, after noon, and after Asr most of the time.
Allama Abdul Hayy Hasani also said: “As for his revelations and miracles, do not ask about them, for they have reached the level of tawatur (mass transmission), and I have not found among the past saints anyone like him except Sheikh Abdul Qadir Jilani, may Allah be pleased with him.”
Abu Khair Al-Attar said: “Every believer who is certain and every disbeliever who denies, every supporter and opponent, acknowledged his sainthood.”
I narrate from him through the following chains:
(H) I narrate from Allama Muhammad Abdul Rashid Naumani, from Muhammad Yasin Barelwi, from him.
(H) I narrate from Abdul Rahman Al-Kattani, from Abu Khair Ahmad bin Uthman Al-Attar Al-Hindi, from him.
(H) I narrate from Abdul Fattah Rawah, Abdul Qadir bin Karam Allah Al-Bukhari, Al-Mulla Al-Ahsai, Muhammad Al-Tayyib Al-Kattani, and Sheikh Muhammad Al-Rabi Al-Hasani Al-Nadwi, all from Muhammad Abdul Baqi Al-Ayyubi, from him.
(H) I narrate from Allama Ubaidullah Amritsari, from Hakim Al-Ummah Ashraf Ali Thanwi, from him.
(H) I narrate from Muhammad Yahya Al-Nadwi, from Mufti Abdul Latif Al-Rahmani, from him.
