C
HAPTER14
Ahmad Mustafa Sarmouni
Ahmad Mustafa the Smith was a man whose age could have been anything over eighty but with a physique of a man of fifty. His face was lined but in repose, and his untroubled gaze gave hint of inner peace. He greeted me gravely in good English though he spoke slowly, measuring his words before he spoke.
Did I, he asked, understand what had motivated my search?
I replied that I was beginning to. At first it had been a search for certain men, but now it was a search for a teaching to fulfil an inner need.
He nodded gravely. ‘To follow the teaching of a man is permissible only if it leads to the linking up with the main stream of a valid, developing tradition. Short of this it becomes a cult of personality, and one whose developmental possibilities are severely limited by the achievements of the man one is following.
‘Gurdjieff, who stayed in this very house, taught that there existed progress through new thought and action. Since he was himself limited, he could only teach within his limitations and his mandate. Coupled with the time, you can see that his phase of teaching falls very short of anything complete.
‘The man who accepted Gurdjieff into the teaching was my own master the Sheikh ul Mashaikh. The Sheikh had chosen him to test out certain of the reactions in the West to the introduction of Sufi thought that had been taking place over the centuries. Gurdjieff reported back regularly on the experiments that he was set to perform. Even before his death the phase was over, yet some still drag out what they consider to be the teaching even though they know little of the technique and even less the aim. Even if that phase were still valid, they would be incapable of action. Time and again their right and fitness to teach have been denied. It is not for us to issue a public disclaimer denying association with them, though they speak mysteriously of “centres” and “contacts”
and “monasteries” and what have you. Those who follow and accept
this circus are satisfied with its character and the promise that it is supposed to hold.’
As he paused I questioned, ‘But, sir, is it not somewhat unfair to those who have reposed their trust in the teaching?’
He gestured irritably. ‘Not so, for the real teaching has ever been available and there for them to find. If they find an echo in the spurious caperings they indulge in, then that is their level. Those not dazzled by the outward show of mystery and exclusiveness and the claim to direct connection with us have always found a way to make contact with the true teaching. A person can always find us—witness yourself—but as to whether he is accepted or not is another question. Do not talk in terms of fair and unfair. You do not know; you are conditioned and subjective.
You are not real. You pride yourself on freedom of choice.
‘Let me tell you that this very freedom is one of the factors that most confuse and undermine you. It gives you full play for your neuroses, your surface reactions and your aberrations. What you should aim for is freedom from choice! Faced with two possibilities, you spend time and effort to decide which to accept. You review the whole spectrum of political, emotional, social, physical, psychological and physiological conditioning before coming up with the answer which, more often than not, does not even satisfy you then. Do you know, can you comprehend, what freedom it gives you if you have no choice? Do you know what it means to be able to choose so swiftly and surely that to all intents and purposes you have no choice? The choice that you make, your decision, is based on such positive knowledge that the second alternative may as well not exist.
‘You will study this book, which is in English,’ he went on. ‘Some of it will be familiar to you. Do not be surprised, for Gurdjieff drew from it deeply. When the time is right I will send you onwards. You will give as your motive for travel archaeological study, and mention to none your connection with the tradition, save to those who make you this sign or use the password which will be given to you. Have nothing to do with the political currents that ebb and flow in Peshawar. You are a man of letters with no political involvements.’
I remained in Peshawar for a month. During that time I read and re-read The Walled Garden of Truth of Hakim Sanai. It was a revelation. There it was, chapter and verse, the basis of Gurdjieff’s writings. If I had needed any other proof, this was it.
One evening the summons came. ‘Take the mail bus to Jelalabad.
Stay at the hotel and await instructions. Your guide will greet you with…’
I hardly noticed the dust, the shaking and the discomfort of the journey, so intent was I on preparing myself for the experience I hoped for.