Ilerliyoruz ve develerin her adimi bizi bir adim daha yaklastiriyor yolumuzun sonuna. Gunesin altinda kavrulan steplerde gunlerdir yol aliyoruz; yildizlarin altinda uyuyoruz, gecleri; ve fecrin serinliginde uyanip yeniden yollara dusuyoruz. Ve ben, hergun biraz daha yaklasiyorum yolumun sonuna.
Benim baska bir yolum olmadi ki zaten; nice yillar farketmedim bunu, ama her seferinde Mekke nihai menzilim oldu benim. Daha bunun zihnen farkina varmadan cok zaman once, o, ta icinden kudretli bir sesle beni cagiriyordu: "Benim ulkem ote dunya oldugu kadar bu dunyadir da; benim ulkem insanlardan ruhunuda istiyor, bedenini de, insanin dusundugu, duydugu, yaptigi her seyi kucakliyor; duasini oldugu kadar dunya telasini, siyasi aksiyonunu oldugu kadar ev hayatini; benim ulkemin ucu bucagi yoktur." Yillar sonra bu icsel cagriyi anladigim zaman artik nereye ait oldugumu biliyordum: Islam kardesliginin beni dogdugum gunden beri beklemekte oldugunu artik biliyordum, onunla kucaklasmaya hazirdim. Ilk gencligimin ulkusu, belli bir yorungeye bagli olmak, bir kardesler toplulugunun parcasi olmak arzusu gerceklesmisti.
Gariptir ki- gerci islamiyet`in neyi temsil ettigi dusunuldugu taktirde bunun o kadar garip olmadigi gorulecektir- bir Musluman olarak Muslumanlar arasinda tattigim ilk sey boyle bir kardeslik oldu...
1927 de Ocak ayinin ilk gunlerinde bir kere daha, ama bu sefer Elsa(ilk esi) ve onun ogluyla beraber Ortadogu`ya yola ciktik. Daha o gunden bunun donusu olmayan bir yolculuk oldugunu hissediyordum.
Gokle denizin parildayan ufuk cemberine dogru gunlerce yol aldikAkdeniz`de; bazen uzak sahiller selamliyordu bizi, bazende yakinlardan kayarak gecen gemilerin hulyali dumanlari. Avrupa artik otelerde kalmis unutulmuslugun sisleri arasinda gomulmustu hemen hemen.
Cogu zaman guvertedeki kamaramizin rahatligini terkeder, dizi dizi demir kanapelerin siralandigi ucuncu mevkinin yoksul yolculari arasina inerdim. Gemi Uzak Dogu`ya gittigi icin ucuncu mevki yolcularinin cogunlugunu uzun yillar cetin sartlar altinda Avrupa`da calistiktan sonra ulkelerine donen Cinli isciler ve zanaatkarlar olusturuyordu. Bunun disinda Marsilya`dan gemiye binen kucuk bir Yemenli Arap grubu vardi. Onlar da memleketlerine donuyorlardi. Bati limanlarinin gurultusu, kokusu hala cevrelerinde dolasiyordu; esmer elleriyle Ingiliz, Amerikan ya da Hollanda gemilerinin ocaklarina komur attiklari gunlerin aksam yorgunlugunu yasiyorlar hala. Tuhaf ecnebi sehirlerinden ve oralarda yasanan hayatin tuhafligindan sozediyorlardi hala; New York, Buenos Aires, Hamburg...Bir gun, ansizin, uzaklarda parildayan mechulun ayrintisina kapilmislar ve Aden limaninda bir gemiye komurcu ya da cimaci olarak yazilmislardi; tanidik bildik dunyadan ayrilip, varacaklari dunyanin akilalmaz harikalari arasinda kendi kendilerin de otesine ulasacaklarini sanmislardi. Fakat gemi Aden`e varir varmaz hayatlarinin bu cagi kayip bir zaman olarak gecmise gomulecekti. Avrupai sapkalarini bir sarik ya da kufiye ile degistirecekler; ve o zaman dunya sadece bir hatira olarak kalacak ve her biri Yemen`de kendi evine, kendi koyune donecekti. Acaba yola ciktiklari gunku insanlar olarak mi; Bati bu insanlarin ruhlarini da ele gecirmis miydi? Yoksa sadece duygularini mi oksamisti?
Bu insanlarin problemi, benim zihnimde daha derin bir probleme donusuyordu.
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Mekke`ye Giden Yol
Muhammed Esed
Insan yayinlar, 13.Baski (Sayfa 447/448) 12.Bolum,Yolun Sonu 2
Not: Yazida Turkce karakterleri kullanamadigim icin ozur dilerim.
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We ride, and every step of the dromedaries brings us nearer to the end of our road. We ride for days throught the sunlit steppe; we sleep at night under the stars and awake in the coolness of dawn; and slowly I approach the end of the road.
There has never been any other road for me; although I did not know it for many years, Mecca has always been my goal. It called to me, long before my mind become aware of it, with a powerful voice: `My Kingdom is in this world as well as in the world to come: My Kinngdom waits for man`s body as well as for his soul and extends over all that he thinks and feels and does-his commerce as well as his prayer, his bedchamber as well as his politics; My Kingdom knows neither end nor limits.` And when, over a number of years, all this became clear to me, I knew where I belonged: I knew that the brotherhood of Islam had been waiting for me ever since I was born; and I embraced Islam. The desire of my arly youth, to belong to a definite orbit of ideas, to be part of a community of brethern, had at last been fulfilled.
Strangely enough- but perhaps not so strange if one considers what Islam stands for- my very first experience as a Muslim among Muslim was one of brotherhood...
In the first days of January 1927, I set out again, this time accompanied by Elsa and her son, for the Middle East; and this time, I sensed, it would be for good.
For days we voyaged through the Mediterranean, through a shimmering circle of sea and sky, sometimes greeted by distance coasts and by the smoke of ships that glided past. Europe had disappeared far behind us and was almost forgotten.
I often went down from the comfort of our cabin deck into the stale steerage with its tiered rows of iron bunks. Since the boat was going to the Far East, the majority of the steerage passengers were Chinese, small craftsmen and traders returning to the Middle Kingdom after years of hard labour in Europe. Besides these, there was a small group of Arabs from Yemen who had come on board at Marseilles. They also were returning home. The noises and smells of Western ports were still about them; they were still living in the afterglow of the days when their brown hand had shoveled coal in the stoke holds of English, American or Dutch steamers; they were still speaking of strange foreign cities: New York, Buenos Aires, Hamburg. Once, caught by a sudden longing for the shining unknown, they had let themselves be hired in the port of Aden as stokers and coal trimmers; they had gone out of their familiar world and thought that they were growing beyond themselves in the embrace of the world`s incomprehensible strangeness: but soon the boat would reach Aden and those times would recede into the past. They would exchange the Western hat for a turban or a kufiyya, retain the yesterday only as a memory and, each man for himself, return to their village homes in Yemen. Would they return the same men as they had set out- or as changed men? Had the West caught their souls- or only brushed their senses?
The problem of these men deepened in my mind into a problem of wider import.
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The Road To Mecca
Muhammad Asad
Fons Vitae (Pages 346/347), End Of The Road 2
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