He burst into laughter and kept laughing for a while. He took off his glasses, wiped his eyes with a tissue, and, still chuckling, replied, “Buddy, the way you just called me ‘Maulvi Sahib,’ I am truly enjoying it. Let me relish this moment.” He laughed again, then finally calmed down and said, “Singing gave me fame, respect, and wealth. But what it did not give me was peace. I found peace when I became a Maulvi Sahib, and once I attained it, I realized that peace is the greatest blessing in the world. Even fame, respect, and wealth combined cannot match it.”
He laughed again and continued, “I always dreamed of performing at Wembley. I wanted my tent to be in the centre, with other singers, musicians, and actors around me. In 1992, I went to Wembley, and Amitabh Bachchan’s tent stood in the middle. People were kissing his hands, adoring him, and trampling over each other to take pictures with him. When I witnessed this level of admiration, a thought struck me—could I ever reach this status? Would I ever receive such devotion from people? Perhaps it was a moment of divine acceptance.
Allah answered my prayer, and the day came when my tent was placed precisely where Amitabh Bachchan once spent his nights. That day, young boys and girls were falling over each other to take pictures with me. I was overjoyed; my heart was filled with an indescribable euphoria. For days, I lived in that ecstasy. But then…”
He fell silent. He seemed lost in thought for a long time. Then he looked up at me and said, “But then, a new feeling replaced that euphoria. I realized that my success had earned me respect, but it had deprived me of peace. And I also realized that peace is far greater than respect, and I needed to move toward this greater thing.”
I listened quietly as he continued, “I kept singing even after that. People swayed to my songs, they adored me. Dil Dil Pakistan and Sanwali Saloni became my identity. Wherever I went, people requested me to sing Sanwali Saloni, and I would hum a few lines before moving on. But alongside respect, I had begun searching for peace. Then, Allah showered His mercy upon me, and I found this blessing too.”
He fell silent again. I asked, “How did you come under the influence of the Tablighi Jamaat and Maulana Tariq Jamil?” He burst into laughter and said, “Every Pakistani encounters a doctor, the police, and the Tablighi Jamaat at least once in their life. Most people spend a few days with them and return to their usual lives. But a small number become chronic patients, habitual criminals, or lifelong Maulvis. I, too, met Maulana Tariq Jamil through a friend—and got trapped.”
I asked, “How did you get trapped?”
Laughing, he replied, “That man gave me a love I had never received from anyone before. That love became an addiction, and I fell deeper and deeper into it. I began studying religion. Initially, it was just a pastime, but before I knew it, I had become a proper Maulvi Sahib.”
I asked him, “You are an intelligent man. Why didn’t you escape in between?”
He laughed again and said, “I did try once. I quit singing, but then a terrifying thought struck me—Junaid Jamshed, how will you survive? You don’t know anything besides singing! Singing was my life. I felt that if I let go of it, I would lose my very existence. So, I shaved my beard and returned to my world. But within days, I realized my mistake. I concluded—I had to choose between peace and fame, wealth, and respect.
A battle raged within me. But then, Allah’s mercy lifted the fog of my doubts, and I returned to the path where I truly belonged. I joined the Tablighi Jamaat.”
I asked, “But was it easy to let go of fame, respect, and wealth?”
He replied with an intensity that shook me, “It was challenging! Singing was my only source of income. I was addicted to fame. My fans, photos, autographs—they were my life. My songs were my identity. Without that identity, I was nothing. Without singing, I couldn’t survive financially, socially, or mentally. But then, I made a deal—I sacrificed all three of my assets in the name of Allah.
I abandoned respect, fame, and livelihood and dedicated myself to His path.”
He fell silent. I asked, “Why? Why did you do this?”
He replied, “I was essentially testing Allah’s law. I had read somewhere that when a person makes a deal with Allah and sacrifices their dearest possessions in His name, He never lets them down. Allah rewards them far beyond their expectations. I decided to test this promise of Allah. I gave up everything for Him. And my brother, Javed, believe me, Allah multiplied my blessings seventy times over.
I sacrificed millions in the path of Allah, and He granted me wealth in the billions. I never even planned to start a clothing business, yet look—today, ‘Junaid Jamshed’ is the most prominent Pakistani clothing brand. I was famous as a rock star—now, by Allah’s grace, I am renowned worldwide for reciting Na’ats and remembering Allah.
People once honoured me for Dil Dil Pakistan. Still, now they kiss my hands for Ilahi Teri Chokhat Par Sawali Ban Ke Aya Hun. Once, I danced on stage wearing jeans, and respectable families kept their daughters away from me. But today, I sit on the pulpit of the Prophet ï·º, wearing a turban, and people request that I pray for their children.
Tell me honestly, is this not seventy times greater than what I sacrificed?”
He fell silent.
At that time, I was more lost, more cynical, and more dishonest than I am today. So, I mocked him. I said, “If you manage to escape those Maulvis who are after your neck—those who see you as a blasphemer, those who accuse you of disrespecting Hazrat Aisha (RA)—then I will answer your question.”
He laughed, too.
But then, on December 7, when I heard the news of Junaid Jamshed’s plane crash and when I saw the entire nation mourning his loss, I was forced to believe his words.
In this country, thousands of scholars, politicians, bureaucrats, Sufis, actors, singers, and billionaire businesspeople have died. Their funerals were held in mosques. But Junaid Jamshed’s funeral was held in a stadium, attended by hundreds of thousands. As far as the eye could see, there were heads and raised hands in prayer. Before his burial, the Air Force gave him a guard of honour. His body was wrapped in the Pakistani flag and transported from Islamabad to Karachi in a C-130 aircraft.
Has any other singer ever received such an honour? No.
Legends like Mehdi Hassan and Noor Jehan will never be born again, and the world will never see the likes of Ustad Amanat Ali Khan, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Aziz Mian Qawwal, or the Sabri Brothers. We all know how they passed away and how their funerals were conducted.
But the honour that Allah granted to Junaid Jamshed—a former pop singer—is known to the entire world.
