On July 5th, 1882, in Baroda, India, a child named Inayat was born into one of the most musical families in the country. Inayat"s grandfather, Maula Bakhsh, known as the "Beethoven of India", had become a master of the music of both North and South India, a feat hitherto considered impossible, and had then, at the invitation of the Maharaja Khanda Rao, settled in Baroda where he founded "Gayanshala" , the first musical academy of its kind in India. Maula Bakhsh drew about him many people of culture and refinement. Among his students and associates was Rahmat Khan, who came from a family of musicians, poets and mystics. Rahmat married Khatidja, the second daughter of Maula Bakhsh, and their first child was Inayat.
Each time that one of us was born, our Father's first tender approach to the new-born baby was to call it Pir-Zade or Murshid- Zade, meaning son of Pir or son of Murshid. The daughters were called Pir-Zadi or Murshid-Zadi, meaning daughter of Pir or daughter of Murshid. Later, when we were older, our Father often asked us, "Have you really behaved today as a Pir-Zade or as a Murshid-Zade? Have you really thought of the responsibility which you have as a son or daughter of Murshid?
... and she was known as “Ameena Begum”, and Lo! A most trustworthy queen of an “inner call” she was. Her light blue eyes opened to twilight in Albuquerque, New Mexico, on the 8th of May, 1892, and her name was “Ora-Ray” and Lo! An “aura of rays” she was. Bright sunny days had threaded away alike seventeen beads of fairy-tale years, when suddenly those very same shores of her own motherland had stayed for ever ayond; whilst her golden curls became cradled by the winds, as she sailed over the ocean toward the Goal of her life, her “Daya”, her “All”. Four little Angels, answering the appeal of her fairy-like dream, were henceforth to be treasured as precious jewels in the “Abode of Prayer”, where the King of her heart would sing:
Murshid's Majestic personality
Murshid was also like a Father to some of his disciples. To others, he was the “Murshid”, the Spiritual Guide. But all, whether consciously or unconsciously, responded to the “Breath of the Message”, as symbolized by Murshid's sublime radiance. His approach was with a smile. His words communicated happiness. His piercing glance was like a torch in the darkness. His loving presence was ever-uplifting. Murshid used to say, "I don't want to ever see my mureeds having a long face." In fact, it really was impossible for anyone to have a long face in Murshid's presence for longer than a few moments. Murshid would always turn an imaginary tragedy into a comedy, but he also saw the tragic side of an apparent comedy. One could best illustrate Murshid's loving personality as being a living example of tremendous intensity in all aspects of human expression, of Nobility and Majesty. Murshid often went for short walks around the block, dressed very characteristically in a long black cloak, and with a kingly topi on his head. He also carried a walking stick with a very beautiful silver handle, and his black shoes were always spotlessly polished.
One day our Father decide to go to Paris without being accompanied by any of the secretaries or Sufi guests, as was usually the case, and I felt terribly uneasy at the thought of my Father going all alone through the crowds and the terrible traffic in that large city; where he would have to change from one bus to another, and from one metro stop to another, before getting anywhere, besides the great handicap of not being able to speak French, other than just very few words. So, after lots of pleading, as young children can so very well do - my argument being that I could protect him from getting lost - my Father finally agreed to take me with him, and of course I was jumping up and down with joy.
Each day, the children were given a particular subject of concentration, such as for instance, Patience, Tolerance, Forgiveness, Kindness, Politeness, Nobility, Humility... And in the evenings, we came to our Father, telling him whether or not we had really truly concentrated on the chosen subject. One day, the subject of concentration was "Courage". In the evening of that same day, a dinner party had been arranged on which occasion special guests had been invited; this being of course a big problem for my poor Mother, specially on some very hot days, during the Summer School in Sureness. In those days, running water from the tap came out almost as warm as the sun outside. Besides, there was no such thing as a refrigerator, and consequently cool drinks could just not possibly be served.
As young children, we never heard western instruments, because in those days there were no radios in the home, and even gramophones were most exceptionally rare items. But our Father did instruct us in the science of Indian music, and he also made us sing the various ragas, together with the beating of the Talas, while accompanying us on the piano. Our Father also taught us western scales, besides the basis principles of music in general.