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After the release of "Tillerman," Stevens went from touring America as an opening act for bands like King Crimson and Seatrain to putting on his own wild shows, with magicians, tigers, dancers and backup vocalists. He guested on ABC's "In Concert" program. There was no doubt in anyone's mind: He was now a superstar.

But Stevens was still plumbing the depths of his soul, seeking identity and purpose. "I really had a difficult time because I was getting rich and famous, and at the same time, I was sincerely searching for the truth," he wrote, adding recently that he "found that my songs were asking questions. But I was averse to religious dogma ... I wanted a more spiritual way of finding what's right and wrong."

His next album, "Teaser and the Firecat, was equally successful and led to a children's book and a short film as well. Today, Stevens considers a song on that 1971 album to be emblematic of his search at the time. While many would consider "Peace Train" primarily an anti-war anthem, Stevens sees more to it. "In 'Peace Train,' I never said where the train was going," he said. "I didn't know. The train was a symbol, rolling on the edge of darkness."

His cool credentials were cemented that year when several of his songs were featured in Hal Ashby's "Harold and Maude," one of the signal cult hits of the era.

Around that time, the singer, still in his early 20s, had another pivotal "near death" experience, which he recently recounted on public radio to San Francisco's "KQED Forum" radio interviewer Michael Krasny. Swimming alone in Malibu, Calif., Stevens got pulled out to sea by a strong Pacific Ocean riptide.

"I felt as if I had no power," he said. "After I was swimming for about half an hour, I couldn't get back to shore. At that point, quite simply, there was no one to help me. As they say, you'll never find an atheist on a sinking ship. I called out. I said, 'Oh God, if you save me, I'll work for you.' And at that moment a wave, however big it was, came from behind me and pushed me forward and suddenly I had all the energy I needed. I was back on land and safe.

"Some people would say, well, it was a coincidence," he allowed. "But for me it was life and death. It was a miracle."

Increasingly religious but still "too attached to the world" to withdraw from society to become a Buddhist monk, Stevens says he tried "Zen and I Ching, numerology, tarot cards and astrology." He even picked up his old Christian Bible, but still didn't find what he was looking for. His records, however, continued to sell phenomenally: "Catch Bull at Four" (1972), "Foreigner" (1973) and "Buddha and the Chocolate Box" (194) were all major hits.

Then, he experienced what he considers his next "miracle," something that would irrevocably change his life and legacy.

Stevens' brother David visited Jerusalem and, keenly aware of his brother's spiritual search, brought him a translation of the Koran. The singer, who said he'd been "trained to walk by that shelf in spiritual bookstores," read hungrily about Islam and finally felt he'd found what he'd been searching for. The Koran was, he said, "a guidance that would explain everything to me -- who I was; what was the purpose of life; what was the reality and what would be the reality; and where I came from -- I realized that this was the true religion."

Studying Islam, he continued to release albums -- "Numbers"  in 1975, "Izitso" in 1977 -- but aside from the predictable popularity of his greatest-hits set, his fan base was weakening.

In December 1977, at a London mosque, Stevens officially converted to Islam and took a name more suited to his new religious life: Yusuf Islam. Soon after the 1978 release of his last album as Cat Stevens, "Back to Earth," Islam retired from the pop world, got married and absorbed himself in the study and practice of his new religion.

Islam's decision to leave the music world was, he now stresses, his own:

I didn't read anything in the Koran against singing, but the Koran forbade a lot of things, like fornication and drinking. I thought, "The music business is full of that." It's very difficult to be a good Muslim when you're in that kind of world.

Although his imam, or Muslim spiritual leader, advised him to continue to record albums but stop giving live performances, believed to sometimes work fans into a lather teetering on idolatry, the singer felt he had too many doubts and decided to bow out. "To be honest, I was too interested in learning for myself, at that time, what I had to do," he says. "That's why I disappeared."

Virtually out of public view throughout most of the '80s, Islam settled into London's Muslim community with his wife and five children (four daughters and one son, Mohammed), devoting himself in particular to Islamic education. (His old record company, A&M, released another greatest hits album, "Footsteps in the Dark," in 1984, including tracks the singer had recorded for "Harold and Maude.") He reemerged abruptly in late 1988, when he made the startling announcement that he supported Ayatollah Khomeini's fatwa against "Satanic Verses" author Salman Rushdie. He was again in the headlines, but this time, media opinion was decidedly not in his favor.

The flames of controversy roared within the music world and without. People were outraged. In the United States, artists stopped covering his songs, his albums were burned in giant bonfires and radio stations refused to play his music. One New York station launched a particularly ingenious form of protest: Trade in your old Cat Stevens records; get a free copy of Rushdie's book.

In the midst of the maelstrom, Islam issued a press release on his own behalf:

Under Islamic Law, the ruling regarding blasphemy is quite clear; the person found guilty of it must be put to death. Only under certain circumstances can repentance be accepted ... In response to a question, I simply stated the Islamic ruling on the Rushdie affair. Suddenly, my picture was splashed on the front of newspapers all over the world next to the headline: "Kill Rushdie says Cat Stevens."

Islam maintained -- and still maintains -- that he never called for anyone "to break the law or take it into his own hands," and that his only crime was honesty. He does, however, find the book blasphemous and supports its ban.

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