Following interview of Haiderbhai Kohdawala, Calcutta, by Mudar Patherya:

THIS HAPPENED in the late Nineties. I would walk 20 steps aney mara muscles stiff thayi jayi, requiring me to rest. Within six months, the degeneration had spread to my hand muscles. I would hold a glass and it would slip and break; I would take a ‘nivaala’ aney jaman giri jayi. I switched six doctors in the hope that with advanced medical science to support them, at least one of them would be able to fix the problem. But the reality was that from mobility I was progressively bedridden. Completely. Bed pan and everything. And only at 35.

Pachi ek neurosurgeon suggested the name of specialist called Dr Chatterjee. On his recommendation, I was admitted to the CMRI hospital in Kolkata. The hospital’s diagnosis: polynyosites. As part of a test, needles were inserted into my body and rotated. The test confirmed the disease in which the voluntary muscles are affected first, the involuntary muscles thereafter and then followed by the vital organs. As a result, the doctors shook their heads and confessed that I was building towards an imminent heart attack. Based on this prognosis, I was administered steroids. My last chance.

The steroids had little effect. Even as I had earlier been able to lift my legs and hands, my muscles had now stopped functioning completely. The doctor shook his head. I could see myself wasting away in some hospital room. Wanting to live but waiting to die.

That is when I felt that I needed to make a personal arzi to the Dai of the day. One had been brought up on stories of what he had done for others; I was only 25 with two children. I needed to appeal to him to save me. Last chance.

There was no way I could go to Huzurala so I placed his photograph on my chest. I entreated: ‘Maula! Mara kaya gunaah chhey jena sabab aa bimari aavi chhey? Maula! Mara nana farzando nu su thaase? Why do I have to suffer like this? For what sins am I being punished? Tamne mane jawaab aapwoj padse!’

I kept ‘talking’ to him. Once. Twice. Half a dozen times. A dozen times.  Thereafter I fell asleep on my hospital bed late in the night in Kolkata.

Thereafter, this is what I saw. A ‘presence’ in the room. Huzurala himself.

Maula mara qadam na nazdeek khada chhey. Maula mane ek kaagal aapo aney farmayu ke aama je likhu chhey yeh padho. I read: ‘Ehde nas-siraat al mustaqeem’. Aqa Maula yeh farmayu ke kagal phiraao. When I did I found Aqa Maula’s mohor. I rubbed it on my lips and forehead. Suddenly mein ekdum bed par uchhlo – a few inches off the bed - aney mari aankh khuli gayi!

I turned around to see Huzurala sitting in the visitors’ chair in my room; the vision gradually faded.

After this powerful ‘encounter’, my first reaction was to offer a sajda in gratitude. Mein uthi ne sajdo bajaayo ane ghano royo. Wept and wept. Completely therapeutic. That is when I realized that something unusual had not only happened but was still happening … aa sajda na baad pehli cheez je maara zehen ma aavi ke aa sajdo mein kai tarah si bajaayo. I mean, for the last number of months I had been completely immobilised!

That was the turning point of my life. Thereafter, the improvement was rapid. The doctor was more amazed than I was. For someone who had not seen Huzurala and for someone who hypothetically trusted medicine over miracle, he simply said ‘Your guruji saved you!’

I am in my mid-forties today and for someone who could not lift a finger at one time, I lift 15 kgs thaals single-handedly as a part of my niyaaz e Husain khidmat in Calcutta today!

Only Aqa Maula did it.

Copy ends