Old Age: Consoling Hopes

In that letter, Abdurrahman wrote with great earnestness and sincerity that he had grown weary of worldly pleasures, and that his greatest desire was to be with me and serve me in my old age, just as I had cared for him in his youth. He also wished to assist me with his gifted pen in the true work of my life: spreading the mysteries of the Qur’an. He even wrote:

“Send me twenty or thirty treatises from the Risale-i Nur. I shall copy, and have others copy, twenty or thirty copies of each.”

That letter gave me renewed strength and hope in this world. Having found such a courageous, gifted, and exceptionally intelligent student, who would serve me with greater devotion and sincerity than a son of my own, I forgot my painful captivity, loneliness, exile, and old age.

Before writing that letter, a copy of the Tenth Word, concerning belief in the Hereafter, had come into his hands.

It was as though that treatise had become a healing balm for him, curing the spiritual wounds he had suffered over the preceding six or seven years. He wrote to me with such strong and radiant īmān that it was as though he were awaiting his death.

But alas, just when I thought that, through Abdurrahman, I might once again experience a happy period of worldly life, news of his death suddenly reached me.

That news shook me so profoundly that even now, five years later, I still feel its effects. The sorrow, sense of separation, and grief it brought me surpassed many times over the suffering caused by the painful captivity, loneliness, exile, old age, and illness I was then enduring.

I said to myself that with Abdurrahman's death, the other half of my personal world had died—a world whose first half had already departed with the death of my mother. My bond with the world was completely severed.

For had he remained in this world, he would have been a powerful support to me in my service of the Qur’an, a true and sincere successor, a source of consolation, and a devoted companion in this earthly life. He would also have been my most intelligent student, my confidant, and the most trustworthy guardian of the Risale-i Nur.

From a human point of view, such a loss is extraordinarily painful for someone like me; it burns within the heart. Although outwardly I tried to remain steadfast, a fierce storm raged within my soul. Had the consolation arising from the light of the Qur’an not brought me relief from time to time, it would have been impossible for me to bear it.

During those days, I wandered alone through the valleys and mountains of Barla. In those deserted places, I would often sit immersed in sorrowful reflections. As the happy moments of earlier times, which I had shared with devoted students such as Abdurrahman, passed before my mind's eye like scenes from a film, the sensitivity brought about by old age and exile overwhelmed my strength to resist.