repeating the same words. Thereupon I cried, “I have been awakened, I have been awakened! A warner has come to me. By Allah, I shall never disobey Allah again so long as He preserves me.”

I went back to my family, released my horse, then made my way to some shepherds of my father. I took a woollen cloak, handed them my own clothes, and set out for Iraq. I worked there for a few days, but no income I earned there proved wholly lawful for me. I was therefore told, “You should go to Syria …,” whereupon he related the story (1) of the pomegranate orchard.

The servant said to him, “You eat our fruit and yet you cannot tell the sweet from the sour?”

I replied, “By Allah, I have never tasted it.”

He exclaimed, “Could you possibly be Ibrāhīm ibn Adham?”

He walked off, but the next morning he described me in the mosque, and some people recognised me. The servant returned with a throng (2) of people. I hid behind the trees as they came in, mingled with the crowd, and slipped away (3).

I have recorded the accounts of Ibrāhīm in my History in greater detail than I have given here, as well as those found in History of Damascus (4) and in al-Ḥilya (5), in the writings of Ibn Jawṣā, in the reports transmitted by Ibn al-Lattī, and elsewhere.

Al-Dāraquṭnī declared him trustworthy.

He died in 162 AH, and his grave is one that people visit.

I assigned him a biography in History of Damascus that fills thirty-three folios.