It was a moonless night, and the streets of the village were wrapped in shadows. The air was cool, and the silence was profound—only the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional bark of a stray dog broke the stillness. Bayazid Bastami, the revered Sufi master, walked alone, lost in deep meditation. His steps were steady, his mind detached from the world around him.
Out of the darkness, a figure emerged—a young man, his face contorted with anger and pain. Without a moment’s hesitation, he raised his hand and struck Bayazid across the face. The sound of the slap echoed through the quiet street, jolting a few passersby from their evening routines. Gasps of shock filled the air.
"Do you realize what you've done?" a bystander exclaimed. "That is Bayazid, one of the greatest saints of our time!"
The young man's face drained of colour as the realization struck him. Guilt flooded his heart. He had attacked not an enemy, but a revered master. That night, sleep eluded him. The weight of his mistake pressed heavily on his chest.
At the first light of dawn, he hurried to Bayazid’s house, a modest dwelling that carried the fragrance of peace and simplicity. He found the master seated in silent contemplation, his presence radiating a calmness that felt almost otherworldly. The youth hesitated at the doorway, his shame keeping his feet rooted to the ground. Finally, he gathered his courage and stepped forward.
"Master," he said, his voice trembling, "forgive me. In the darkness, I mistook you for someone who wronged me. Long ago, I lent a man twenty dinars, and he vanished without repaying me. When I saw you in the night, I thought you were him. My anger blinded me. I— I am deeply ashamed."
Bayazid opened his eyes and gazed at the young man with a kindness that melted the boy’s defences. Without a trace of resentment, he asked, "How much did you lend him?"
"Twenty dinars," the youth repeated, his eyes lowered.
Bayazid reached into his robe, pulled out twenty dinars, and placed them in the young man’s hands. His voice was gentle, yet it carried an ocean of wisdom.
"My friend," he said, "do not burden your heart with guilt. This did not come from you—it came from a place where errors cannot reach."
The young man stood frozen, his mind struggling to comprehend the depth of the master’s grace. His heart swelled with something he had never felt before—a love so vast, so unconditional, that it left him breathless. Tears welled in his eyes. In that moment, he understood what true generosity was, what true forgiveness meant.
He had come seeking absolution. Instead, he found himself transformed.
