There was a preacher who, whenever he mounted a pulpit, forthwith would offer up a prayer for highwaymen.
“Lord,” he would cry, lifting up his hands, “visit with compassion the wicked, those who do corruption, the insolent sinners, all who make mock of the righteous, all who are infidels at heart, all who dwell in convents.”
Not one prayer he would say for the pure; his prayers were only for the depraved. Such conduct is certainly unusual, people protested. “It is hardly generous to pray for erring men.”
“Such are the sorts of men from whom I have derived most good,” he answered. “That is why I have singled them out for my prayers. They have wrought such depravity, oppression, injustice that they have violently flung me out of evil into good. Every time I turned my face towards this lower world, they would receive me with cuffs and blows; so I would take refuge from their buffering in the other side. It was wolves who brought me back always to the right road. Since they contrived the means of my salvation, it is incumbent on me, my clever friends, to pray for them.”
Every enemy you have is in reality your cure, your sovereign alchemy, your benefactor, your well-wisher.
(Jalal-ud-Din Rumi . A thirteenth century mystic poet and a great storyteller)
parveentalpur 