Jamol Kamol
National Poet of Uzbekistan
The Throne of Imam Bukhari’s Devoted Followers and the Story of Imam-al-Bukhari
From The “Anvarmirzo’s Stories” Collection
With grateful hearts, we hold so dear,
A thousand gifts from days of old.
In Bukhara stands a throne so near,
A tale of honor yet untold.
It came from Hazrat Imam’s grace,
Abu Hafs Kabir, wise and grand.
A platform sacred, blessed the place,
Where knowledge grew across the land.
One day upon that lofty seat,
The students came, their minds so keen.
Imam observed their eyes so sweet,
And searched their souls for what they mean.
In one young child, he saw a flame –
A glow that shone with truth and light.
He softly called the boy by name,
And sensed in him a spirit bright.
He said: “O Ismail, my son,
Go ask your folks when they will leave.
For Mecca’s Hajj has now begun,
And news from them we shall receive.”
The child ran off and soon returned,
With breathless words both swift and true:
“They said the time is yours to turn—
They’ll go whenever ordered by you.”
“Your mother and your uncle too,”
The Imam said, “are on this quest.
So you shall journey with their crew,
And seek the path that’s truly blessed.”
“My child, I see within your soul
A gift of wisdom, deep and rare.
You’re honest, humble, strong and whole,
With truth to guide you everywhere.”
“To Mecca go, seek sacred lore,
The hadiths pure of Prophet’s voice.
Preserve them all, then learn much more,
Let every heart in that rejoice.”
“Your work shall rise above the rest,
A book unmatched in word and deed.
No higher honor, no greater quest,
Than this – to serve the people’s need.”
“These sayings hold eternal light,
In every line, there dwells a guide.
Their meanings banish endless night,
And lead the hearts where truth may bide.”
Thus spoke the master, wise and strong,
To young Ismail, calm and mild.
A message clear, a purpose long –
A leader shaping up a child.
The caravan then made its way,
Across the desert, bold and slow.
Through cities old, both bright and grey,
It moved where ancient winds did blow.
In each new town, the young boy found
A master of the sacred word.
He kissed their steps, upon the ground,
And listened closely to what he heard.
The road was hard, the nights were deep,
But on they pressed with steadfast will.
They reached the place where angels weep –
To Mecca’s heart, serene and still.
Ismail stood at Kaaba’s door,
And offered Hajj with heart and soul.
Then sought to learn the hadiths’ lore,
And made this quest his lifelong goal.
He studied hard, completed all
That scholars taught in every land.
He answered knowledge’s noble call,
With pen and prayer in steady hand.
From Damascus to Baghdad’s gate,
He traveled far with patient care.
Collected sayings, small and great,
Each sacred truth beyond compare.
He gathered thousands, hand by hand,
Then chose the strongest, pure and wise.
And wrote “Sahih” – a work so grand –
A book of truth beneath the skies.
He brought it home to Bukhara,
And placed it on that honored place.
He read Quran with heart aglow,
And offered it with love and grace.
He said: “My teacher, here I bring
The work you once inspired in me.
I caught the Prophet’s sacred wing—
And set it free for all to see.”
Within each hadith lies a light,
A path of peace, a guide so strong.
Without it, men may lose their sight,
And blindly walk the path of wrong.
He kissed the throne with gentle grace,
Then pressed the book against his brow.
The “Sahih” soared from that one place,
To guide the world then and now.
Till end of time, his name shall rise,
A Sultan of Hadith acclaimed.
The world shall echo with the cries—
Of Bukhari’s glory, praised and named.
O reader, take this story’s breath,
And walk the path where masters teach.
From loyal student until death,
The stars of wisdom you shall reach.
So fly, devoted, bold and high,
Illuminate with learning’s flame.
Let truth and service fill the sky,
And bring your people lasting fame.
In Bukhara there lies a site,
Where whispers live from long ago.
Of teacher, student, sacred light—
A bond that made the spirit grow.
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Prepared by A’zam Obid
