. His mother used to
send him regularly to the mosque to read the Koran with a mullah. When
he reached the chapter "Luqman," he read the verse, "Show thy gratitude
in serving Me, and show thy gratitude to thy parents in serving them."
He asked his teacher the meaning of the verse, and had no sooner heard
it explained than he immediately ran home. When she saw him, his mother
said, "Why have you come home so early, my child? Have they sent you for
the fees?" "Mother," answered Bayezid, "I have just read the verse in
which the Lord commands me to serve Him, and to serve thee; but, as I
cannot serve in two places at once, I have come to propose to you that
you should ask the Lord to give me to you in order that I may serve you,
or that you should yourself give me to the Lord that I may serve Him."
"Since that is the case," said his mother, "I give you up to the Lord,
and renounce all my rights over you." Accordingly, a few years
afterwards, Bayazid left his native village Bastam, and for thirty years
lived as a bare-footed ascetic in the deserts of Syria. Once during
this time Bayazid came home and listened at the door of his mother's
house before going in. He heard her saying in prayer, "May God bless my
poor exile, may the hearts of the pious be rejoiced by him and accord
him grace." Bayazid, hearing these words, wept, and knocked at the door.
"Who is there?" she asked. "Thy exile," he answered. No sooner had she
opened the door than, embracing Bayazid, she said to him, weeping, "O my
son, separated from thee as I have been, my eyes have lost the power to
see, and my back is bent," and they both mingled their tears together.

Some time after Bayazid said to a friend, "What I ought to have known
most clearly is just what I have only learnt when too late--to serve my
mother. That which I sought in devoting myself to so many religious
exercises, in putting myself at the service of others, and in exiling
myself far from my kindred and my country, see, how I have discovered
it. One night when my mother asked for water, as there was none in the
pitcher, I went to the canal to draw some. It was a winter night, and
the frost was very sharp. While I had gone for the water, my mother had
fallen asleep again. I stood waiting with the full pitcher in my hand
till she should awake. When she did so, she asked for water, but when I
wished to give it her, I found that the water was frozen, and the handle
of the jug stuck fast to my hand.