I know it's a bit heavy-handed as a metaphor, but it was fun to write.

Darkness Rising

The shadow of the Beast fell across the Earth, a tangible gloom that sucked out all light and life, leaving souls dangling from it, withered and twisted. The Beast surveyed his Kingdom and was satiated, his job complete; the cold, lonely void of its existence now shared by all the Sons of Adam. His skin flickered and winked with a myriad neon lights, an otherwordly glow that bathed all before him with darkness and blotted out the stars from above. Words formed from the lights: 'Sony,' 'Pepsi', 'Nike' - Short. Empty. Meaningless.

Like a coat of dazzling armour, other images, square like the scales of a reptile, bristled on his hide, raining down a swirling cacophony of insanity upon the docile crowd in front of him. Images revealing men, women, children and animals performing nonsensical acts while ghostly, unseen laughter, rigid and drained of emotion, applauded them; images of groups of men chasing a leather sphere around a field, while the onlookers cheered, tears in their eyes; images of people shooting at one another, of explosions, of strange creatures not seen on Earth, of blood being shed, crimson droplets of life spraying into the air as though worthless.

He grinned and black smoke, acidic and noxious, poured forth from his decayed mouth; thick tendrils of liquid blackness that spread into the air, curling around the clouds and turning their sweet water sour, eating into the roots of trees and leaving their leaves stained brown like the teeth of a tobacco chewer. He gazed at his audience; happiness welling in his chest like a spring as he noticed their blank expressions, the grins etched onto their faces, the dull sheen to their eyes. Dead. They were dead, despite their beating hearts, their regular breaths. What amused him was the fact that he'd enthralled even those people that were meant to be saviours - those people with their turbans and beards; their scarves and long dresses. Yes, even those people were laughing along with the others, cheering along with the others, staring blankly at the spilt blood with all the others.

Wait. Something had caught the Beast's eye. A star twinkling out from the throng, a beam of unwavering of light that wasn't laughing, cheering or even staring blankly. He was simply smiling; a genuine, sincere smile that gave his face a coat of faint radiance. He sat cross-legged, his palms pressed together as he rested his bearded chin on the tips of his fingers, his lips moving in whispered breaths.

The Beast spoke, and his voice was a melody of song, the croon of the sensuous teenage girl mixing with the innocent charm of a group of young men, all singing about a love that they'd never experience in their lives, all captivating their listeners. Other voices joined with theirs, the harsh, bitter barks of people wrapped in violence, a mind-numbing rhythmic thump thump thump bouncing along with their words. The Beast said: "Why aren't you following the others?"

The Human looked up, surprise touching his features as though he'd noticed the Beast for the very first time. "O Mankind, worship your Lord who created you and those who went before you in order that you might receive taqwa."

The Beast hissed, his yellow eyes narrowing to glowing slits. A troublemaker. "No," he barked. "This is all there is. This is all you can become. There is no need for anything else."

The human cocked his head to one side, amused. "Verily, I am about to place a Khilafah on Earth."

"Impossible!" the Beast growled. "You're worthless, weak. You could never represent the Lord of the Worlds. You could never represent His Rahma, His Glory - you're not fit for that role. It's a dream, a passing fancy, it could never be a reality. You could never reach such heights."

"We have ennobled the Children of Adam..."

"No!"

"...and then brought him to the lowest of the low."

"Yes!" a satisfied smirk spread across the Beast's face. "I'm glad you see that." He beckoned with his hand, the wires that made up his veins pulsing with crackling blue light. "Come - join the others. I will grant you security. I am all there is - what I offer you will bring you happiness."

"In the Remembrance of Allah do hearts find satisfaction."

"Temporarily!" The Beast gave an exasperated snort. "What I bring lasts a lifetime!"

"...the hereafter is better and more enduring."

The Beast's singsong voice shot up an octave. "Forget about it. You'll never reach it. You don't have the strength to fight yourselves. I just whisper with my voice and you're under my spell. Not one of you has ever become the Khilafah of Allah; not one of you has reached your potential; not one of you has ever defeated yourselves to such an extent that you finally grasped the whole reason of your creation."

"And you have in the Messenger of Allah a perfect example for one who seeks Allah."

"No!" He pointed at the other would-be-saviours. "They all failed. They weren't steadfast. They had no patience. All I did was allure them, and they chased me greedily. They knew only I could fulfil their hopes."

"Had only the people of the cities believed and had taqwa, We would have opened up for them blessings from the heaven and Earth."

"There is only misery and darkness from both" the Beast spat.

"Allah is the light of the Heavens and the Earth..."

As though fuelled by anger, the Beast grew in size, his form filling the horizon. "Look on me and fear. I touch your hearts everyday. I whisper to you - listen to this, it relaxes you, yes, there's nothing wrong. Watch that, yes, you know where the limits are, you know when to stop. Talk to her, yes, maybe you'll marry, it's all legal. I whisper to you and you listen! I make you happy! There is no God!"

"Except Allah" the human said, still smiling.

"I make you happy!"

"In the Remembrance of Allah do hearts find -"

"No!" the Beast snarled. "You can't sustain it. You can't fight. You reach one height, then I drag you back down - and you come willingly!"

"And cause me to reach the righteous."

"You're satisfied with a little flicker of light in your heart. You don't know how to nurture it, how to make it grow. You think you touch a wave of light and you've reached the end. You think that's enough. Then you go back to your old lives as though nothing had changed. You can't do it. No one will help you do it."

"Allah does not change a people until they change what is within their own selves."

"I despise you. I despise you because you never even try to reach the potential you were created for. I despise you because you listen to me so easily."

"O Sons of Adam, did I not tell you not to listen to Shaitan? He is your enemy manifest!"

"Then don't listen to me. Listen to your own soul...your very soul craves the delights that I offer. You obey it without a second thought."

"Have you not seen the one that takes his desire as a god?"

The Beast reached out a clawed hand, blue sparks sizzling from his skin. "Then leave my presence.You cannot escape me."

"And whoever has taqwa, We will make for him a way out and provide for him from where he was not expecting."

"You don't really believe that. If you did, you wouldn't be filled with grief and anxiety; you wouldn't search out my delights in order to forget about the pain in your lives."

"Surely Allah is with those who have taqwa and beautify with excellence."

"I will hate you and afflict your kind till the end of time. And you will come to me, smiling and happy. All of you!"

The Beast's fingers curled around the Human. Still, he didn't flinch, this last truly alive member of his race. "There is none worthy of worship except Allah." He looked up, his face set firm. "You're nothing. You're a little speck in His Creation. I am the Khilafah of Allah and I banish you from my heart and mind with the words...I seek refuge in Allah from shaitan, the accursed."

Screaming, the Beast dropped the Human, and stepped back, his body fading, the sky clearing of his pollution. A few of the others blinked, their gazes broken from his diminishing form.

"I seek refuge in Allah from shaitan, the accursed."

One by one, the images and lights spread across the Beast's skin shattered, the power in those simple words driving his touch away from the Sons of Adam. The singsong voice faded, the smoke dissipated, and slowly, slowly, slowly, the Beast began to dissolve, the chains that tethered the souls of humanity to him snapping one by one.

The Human watched on impassively. "And We saved those who believed in Us and had been people of taqwa." The Beast collapsed in on itself, as though the air was being sucked out of his body, until he withered away into a puff of black smoke. "Whoever obeys Allah and His Messenger and knowingly has taqwa of Allah, they are the victors."

Still smiling, the Human turned away, not pausing to see the confused faces of the others, blinking as the sun dared to peek out from the melting darkness, spreading its warmth and life over the land, comforting the abused plants and bringing joy to the burdened clouds. He paused, a sudden thought springing up in his heart, and turned back. "Help one another with righteousness and taqwa, and don't help one another in wrong-doing and aggression." Another thought came to him, and his lips mouthed the words: "Do you command people to righteousness and forget yourselves?"

The people turned to him as one, puzzled and afraid. "What does it mean? What were we meant to be?"

"Verily, I am about to place a Khilafah on Earth."

"To do what?"

"I have not created jinns and mankind save to worship Me"

"But how?"

"O you who believe! Turn to Allah together with sincerity in order for you to have success."

"What is success?"

"That is the Garden which We give to whoever of Our servants had taqwa."

"And now?"

"Surely for the people of taqwa is a beautiful end."

"But we've slipped so many times."

"Do not despair of the mercy of Allah. He forgives sins over and over."

"You sound so certain. How do you know? We listen to the arguments and they sound so empty.We've been lied to before. We want to experience it. We want to be more than what we are now. How can we know if He's near? Do we ever feel it?"

The Human laughed, spreading his arms wide open in a gesture of welcome. "Surely," he said, partly in answer to their queries. "Surely Allah is with the excellent ones!"

I'm a little partial to the heroic, noble dialogue of 19th century literature, so I've tried to apply it to one of my characters in this story.

The people engaged in murabata were actual figures from medieval Islam, though I doubt my portrayal of one would match up to the reality.

The Rememberer finally gets a name in this one ;).

The Rememberer and the Mujahid

The Rememberer watched the flickering flames dance in front of him, the waves of blue and yellow licking the air and making it shimmer. Leaves burned from within the campfire as he gazed into it, noticing one that curled slowly like a child shifting in her sleep. The leaf turned black, molten orange fissures tearing through its skin, then withered away into red-hot ash. Dimly he was aware of the warmth of the blaze softly caressing his skin, but inside he felt drained, empty, as though his soul had been torn from him like cotton wool dragged from a thorny branch. He wasn't quite sure why he felt this way, though. He closed his eyes and saw a blood red imprint of the fire flutter under his eyelids.

They had come out, the three of them, to the forest at the edges of the city this night to relax and soothe their mind of worries. In the distance, the flickering lights of the city danced in the dark. Ahead of them, a mountain rose like a stern, silent sentinel, from the side of which a waterfall tumbled down into a river. He listened to the hum and buzz of the river, the steady roar of the waterfall droning on in the distance, like the march of a thousand drummers. The water sloshed lazily closer to shore, the pungent scent of the river floating over towards them. Crickets chirped, a rhythmic chorus of sighs pulsing like the beat of a heart. Glowing insects glided erratically around his face, considered him for a moment, then flew away, searching for something more interesting to feed on.

Moonlight pooled around the form of a nearby man, and the Rememberer saw his friend Ismael approach, his arms laded with fruits, his round face red with exertion.

"Eat," Ismael said, motioning to the pile of sweet smelling fruits. "Abdullah ibn Abdullah Abu Abdullah." He chuckled. "That's a lot of Abdullah's in your family, you know."

The Remember smiled, picked up an apple, pondered over it for an instant, then took a bite, the sharp juices rolling around his mouth. "Well, we're all slaves of Allah anyway, aren't we?"

"Indeed, this is so, ikhwan," another voice said. "And, at the same time, it is not so."

They both turned to the sound of the new voice. Clad in black and framed by the moonlight, the tall, thin man knelt beside them, his armour clinking softly with every motion. Sparkling eyes shone out from under his hood, and his posture and movements were graceful, confident and relaxed. Serenity rolled out from him in waves, and it was hard for the others not to be affected by it. It was something Abdullah couldn't describe, but he was always struck with awe when in this man's presence. This was Zain, a Mujahid engaged in murabata - volunteer fighters that kept lonely vigils at the borders of Dar al Islam, waging war against enemies within their souls and enemies from outside, spending time immersed in dhikr, study and honing their craft with swords and bows. He had been assigned to them to protect them this far from the city.

Zain took in a deep breath. "Such beauty," he said, his eyes tracing their surroundings, before coming to rest on the two of them. "You should treasure these memories. You cannot know the power of Allah cloistered in your little houses, such as you live now. Here...out here...this is where hearts connect with nature; this is where the trees, the birds, the tiniest of insects remember their Lord. And this is something your ruh will recognise. We all breathe together, in ibadah. It's our own arrogance that makes us believe that only we are the slaves of Allah."

The warrior's words sank deep, and Abdullah looked around, a new appreciation for his environment growing in his heart. In the distance, through the lines of twisted, moss covered trees, he could still make out the faint outlines of the waterfall, the moon’s glistening light glossing over the foam with a silvery hue. The light couldn’t quite catch the river itself, though, and it ebbed and flowed in a black, syrupy mass. He let his eyes return to the waterfall, seeing the spray sparkle; incandescent droplets that flickered, then died. "Well, it certainly is beautiful," he murmured.

Suddenly, Zain's face grew pensive and his voice dropped. "And yet there are shadows gathering."

As if on cue, a piercing scream tore through the air, making Ismael and Abdullah jump. They scrambled to their feet in panic, lunging clumsily for the curved daggers that hung from their belts. Zain rose slowly, blinking as he cocked his head from one side to the other.

"Where did that...?" Ismael began, breathing heavily.

Zain snapped his fingers and motioned to the north. "This way," he said. "Make haste, ikhwan."

How exactly the Mujahid had pinpointed the source of the noise, Abdullah couldn't quite tell. He followed, his heart thumping, as Zain sprang off, drawing his sword with a metallic sigh, the light catching off the polished steel in a flash. They ploughed through the forest, the leaves and branches scratching at their faces, the scent of dew overpowering. Still they followed, this time ducking the branches and feeling the grass, then the crumbling soil, crunch under their boots. Sometimes a stem, sticky with sap, would become caught in Abdullah's tunic, stretch, bend, then snap backwards, caressing him harshly and reddening his skin. Finally they emerged into a clearing, the sky like a canopy above their heads, pierced with the twinkle of a million stars.

It only a took a moment to digest the sight in front of them. A Muslim cowered on the ground, trickles of blood on his face as another man, clearly one of the People of the Book judging from his attire, towered over him, a blade ready to strike the killing blow. Swiftly, in one liquid smooth motion, Zain reached back, pulled out his short bow, locked in an arrow, aimed and released. The spinning metal tip tore through the air, then struck the raised sword in a shower of sparks.

In an instant, Ismael and Abdullah were upon the Dhimmi, their fists flying, their lips uttering curses. The other Muslim shuffled away on his knees, gasping. "Save me, brothers!" he choked. "This madman wants to kill me!"

Ismael's face curled in anger as he raised his dagger. "I'll teach you," he spat. "How dare you attack one of my brothers like this?"

"Hold." Zain's voice rang out and, despite its quiet tone, the underlying hint of command making them all pause.

"Why?" Ismael said. "We all saw what was going to happen!"

"Hold, I say," the Mujahid said, walking forwards, the twigs and dried leaves snapping under his boots. He motioned at the Dhimmi with his sword. "What say you?"

The Dhimmi looked at the four of them, fear in his widened eyes, as he gulped down in panic. His blade lay forgotten beside him. "This...this man...he came into my land...not far from here...demanding he take my livestock." He paused to catch his breath. "He said that there was nothing I could do to stop him. Everyday he came...pestering, bullying...I just...I just got sick of it."

"Lies," Ismael said, sniffing. "Likely you wanted his property and wanted to kill him to possess it."

Zain fixed Ismael with a hard stare and he fell into silence. "This is not the speech of a Believer." He turned to the other Muslim. "Akhi, swear by Allah that the Dhimmi is lying, and we will support you, both in this world and the next."

Silence greeted him.

"Akhi?"

A muscle twitched in the Muslim's cheek as his forehead creased in a frown. "It is as he said."

A gasp escaped from Ismael's lips, but Zain simply lowered his sword, his face unmoved. "We will not support injustice over justice, no matter who is the perpetrator. 'Help your brother when he is oppressed and is oppressing'...this is a matter for the Qadi's. I will escort you both back to the city. Prepare yourselves."

With that, he walked away, his lips moving with silent words, his head bowed. Abdullah watched him go, still not able to digest exactly what had happened here. "Where are you going?" he asked.

The Mujahid paused, then looked up, regret in his eyes. "To pray salat-al-tawba."

Confusion whirled in Abdullah's mind. "But...why?"

"Because," Zain replied slowly. "Just like with the two of you, the thought entered my heart that I should just slay the Dhimmi for daring to strike a Muslim, regardless of the true nature of the situation." He turned away. "It was an unjust thought."

And before the Rememberer could say anything else, the Mujahid had gone, swallowed by the shadows.

She has another beloved

His eyes opened slowly as the clammy voice rolled around his head, ponderously fading into a dissonant echo. The night was still and cool, a comfortable shelter from agonising thoughts. Moonlight, pale and broken, illuminated the corners of the room, making his chambers seem like a hazy dream. His soft bedding tugged at him, inviting him to return to his slumber, as did the hypnotic drumming of the rain against his window. His eyelids faded under the heavy weight of his weary fatigue.

And then he snapped awake as he realised the empty space beside him: a warm, vacant spot mimicking the void in his heart. His wife wasn't there anymore. She had another beloved. A jolt of pain pierced his soul, making it all the more real, and he felt he would collapse from the leaden weight that pressed down on him at that very instant.

They'd only been married a few weeks, and everyday he had slept, her face the last image in his mind, and every morning he had woken in time for the dawn prayer to see her sleeping softly beside him once again. He hadn't even suspected a thing. Rolling onto his back, he blinked the gummy film away from his eyes and pondered where in the city she could be. There were many places in this city for those seeking an escape from an unhappy life: it was a place where all extremes could be tasted, both of the body and the soul.

His lip quivered as he tried to push away the unwanted thoughts. What had he done wrong?

He rose, wrapping himself in a cloak, the tapping of the rain echoing around the room. It felt somehow reassuring, like a ghostly memory from childhood detailing happier, warmer times. His feet softly padded against the cold floor as he made his way from the bedchamber, pausing only to light a torch, the oil making his nose wrinkle, the resultant glow creeping its way around the walls in a slow, shy path.

His eyes paused on her table before he left, a twinge spiking in his heart as he remembered how he had caught a glimpse of her open diary, where he had found the haunting words that were now burned into his memory: At nights, I spend time with my true beloved

He closed the door behind him, the latch catching with a soft click. A flicker of movement stole his gaze, and he frowned, noticing light seeping out from beneath the crack in a nearby room. He found it puzzling - neither of them had ever used that particular room, and it had been reserved as a storage area or a spare whenever they had guests.

His fingers curled into a fist - what if they had intruders? He grit his teeth and cursed himself for being a fool - he had kept no weapons in the house; so engrossed had he been in his newly married life. Closing his eyes, he let out a sharp breath as he considered that it would soon to be his newly separated life.

He gently pushed at the door, and his eyes widened as the scene within revealed itself.

Sitting on a small prayer mat as she made sajdah and ruku, his wife prayed, her eyes closed, a nearby lamp bathing her face in light. His heart caught in his throat, and a chill washed over him as he realised that even without the lamp, his wife's face would still have glowed. Her lips muttered whispered prayers, his presence not even noticed.

Or so he thought.

Turning her head from right to left to end the prayer, her lids opened, and her liquid brown eyes fixed him with an amused stare. A small smile ghosted across her lips.

"But..." he gaped.

"Ssshhh," she breathed. "Don't you see?" Her voice was soft and light. "Had He not loved me more than He loved you, He would not have let me stand here in prayer, while He let you dream your life away in sleep."

Not sure whether she was chiding him or guiding him, all he could blurt out was: "Can I join you?"

Her smile grew wider, and she reached out for the lamp, adjusting its position. As the light spread across the floor like a fire gobbling all in its path, he noticed something that had not caught his attention before. Spread beside her, empty and bare, was another prayer mat.

"But, of course!" she exclaimed, humour tinkling in her voice, honey coating her words. "I've been waiting for you! I've been waiting for you for all this time!"

JazakhAllah khayr for everyone's kind comments. :)

Although I don't like to give out personal info about myself, I would like to say that, contrary to popular belief, I am *not* a sister! I know us brothers have problems using an iron or a saucepan or a vacuum cleaner, but some of us do know how to use a pen...or a keyboard in this case. ;)

It's all good, alhamdulilah...once again, jazakhAllah to everyone who commented. :)

Now how do I turn on this iron?

The Rememberer - Part 2

Sunset was fast approaching, and the sky was stained blood-red as the Rememberer came to a halt in front of a cracked, wooden door, above which there hung a rusted sign in the shape of a horseshoe, creaking as it was gently pushed by the breeze. It had rained during the day, the air feeling renewed, as though it had been washed clean, and the tangy scent of wet earth drifted upto him as mud splattered under his shoes.

Thoughts whirled around his head, the cares and concerns of living in the world coating his soul with grime. The euphoria of the morning had now left him, and in its place the tight pang of hunger bit him, almost making him double over. His mind drifted to his wife and child, and he wondered from where he was going to find for them their next meal. He felt his face droop in dismay, but he steeled himself.

Deep within his soul, ancient whispers struggled to be heard, voices without words, but still somehow meaningful. He paid them no heed. Or so he thought.

For now he had an errand to run, and he pushed open the door to the blacksmiths and entered. The warmth hit him like a shimmering wave, instantly coating him in sweat and washing over his wet body, bringing blood back to his skin. All around him came the sound of frenetic activity, the lighthearted insults between the workers mixing with the steady ringing of metal clanking against metal. Glowing orange rods, liquid metal that was being hammered hypnotically into shape, peeked out from here and there, their freshly burnt stench almost suffocating. Showers of molten sparks flew spinning through the air, their burning light dazzling.

Quickly he passed his order to the Forgemaster and waited, his eyes surveying the scene. Without knowing it, his sight came to rest upon a small table set away from the main area, upon which there lay a loaf of freshly baked bread, golden brown at the bottom and crispy at the top.

Instantly the whispers came back, and still he ignored them, making his thoughts focus on other things, convincing himself that he wasn't affected. And yet, he found himself walking slowly towards the table, the other workers oblvious to his actions.

Now the whispers became words which he half-heard, pretending that he couldn't. What harm would it be to take this loaf and feed his hungry family? Who would even notice? Who would care?

His eyes darted left and right, and he saw that no-one was watching him, no-one was even near. The creamy scent of the fresh dough wafted up to him and, in that instant, the whispers became a clawed hand curling around his heart, the icy touch of temptation becoming far too strong.

He was meant to take this. It was a gift. He was guided here to do this.

He hesitated as the whispers prodded him, begged him, pleaded with him. So strong. The feeling was so strong. Still, he wavered, his heart pounding in his chest, beating in time with the clank of the hammers.

Suddenly, someone - in a lapse of concentration or in a rare slip - ploughed his hammer down into the soft metal a little too hard and a plume of sparks fountained into the air, hung there frozen for an instant, then rained down in glowing flecks of ash that singed into the Rememberer's clothes.

Holding up his hand to protect himself, the Remember felt the sparks burn into his skin, making him flinch. Instantly his mouth went dry. Was this a small taste of what the Fire would be like? How much hotter would it be there? How much more intense?

Dizzy, a bead of sweat rolling slowly down his forehead, the Rememberer spun on his heels away from the bread, salty tears stinging his eyes. Aa'udhubillah!

And hovering somewhere above his right shoulder, an unseen angel wrote the following words onto his scroll: A victory in the battleground of Jihad an Nafs.

The Rememberer

The sun crept higher in the sky, warming the narrow, cobbled pathways of the city. Already the suq was a hub of activity;its streets carpeted with items from many far flung lands - sweetmeats coated in shifting colours and jewels glittering from the shadows, as though the stars themselves had fell twinkling to the earth. Voices rang out, tearing through the buzzing chatter, tempting people to buy while eyes flashed from beneath veils, never lingering, shyly and swiftly averting.

Wisps of smoke curled into the air, the sign of myriad cooking fires roasting fresh meat. The burnt tang of sizzling lamb made mouths water and the heady perfume mixed with the stench of rotted fruit, forgotten vegetables, expensive incense and deep decay to form an unholy odour. Water trickled down from the rooftops, tiny droplets that glistened in the sunlight, before drumming down onto the ground below.

Bubbles of humanity darted to and fro, egos wrapped in their own concerns, the frantic anxieties of the heedless.

In one small, unnoticed corner lay a house, broken and empty, save for one man, sitting in a featureless, unremarkable room. Sunlight flitted in through the windows, catching particles of dust as they swam lazily through the air.

He didn't notice this. Nor did he really notice the cold, hard, yet smooth beads that rolled under his fingers. In fact, the Rememberer didn't notice anything from the outside world as his measured, rhythmic breathing pushed out the same words over and over: Laa ilaaha illAllaaaah....Laa ilaaha illAllaaaah

All in all, a very mundane scene...

...except that in the unseen world things were stirring.

The void in the Rememberer's heart dissipated, a sweetness blossoming, then bubbling within. Laa ilaaha illAllaaah....Laa ilaaha illAllaaaaah... With each word, the waves of bliss frothed and trembled, desperate for release. Like the collapse of dam, it suddenly burst out, a column of pure noor that vibrated through his soul, then poured out, a lighthouse in amongst the gloomy dark.

The pillar of light shot upwards, past the hustle and the bustle of the city, past the birds and the clouds, piercing through the thin membrane of the universe, entering into an altogether different realm, then sweeping past the Bait al Ma'mur where seventy thousand angels slowly circled, their wings also dripping with noor.

Some of them paused, watching the column solidify, knowing what was to come next. They smiled.

Finally, the pillar of light came to rest where time and space no longer existed. The angels huddled and listened, waiting with baited breath for this now long-familiar conversation. The pillar shook.

"Stop shaking."

"No."

"Why?"

The angels tensed, knowing that this was more for their benefit than anything else as the Questioner knew very well the answer without ever having to ask it.

"I won't stop shaking until the one who said these words is forgiven!"

A pause. Would things be different this time? Would there be one terrible moment where history would not repeat?

"Stop shaking...and bear witness that I have forgiven the reciter out of My Generosity and Mercy!"

Satisfied, the pillar of light shattered into a million crystal shards and the angels soared, praising the Rabb...

....whilst back in the dunya, the Rememberer let out a deep breath, his morning dhikr done. His cheeks flushed red and his eyes sparkled as his ruh felt strangely light and his heart glowed with joy.

He had a feeling that today was going to be a very good day, insha'Allah.

(partly based on a hadith that tells us that the recitation of 'la ilaaha illallah' makes a pillar of light tremble in the presence of the Arsh until Allah forgives the reciter. It must also be remembered that Allah is independent of time and space and thus is not located in a direction i.e 'above')

It's 11pm and I have three pieces of work to be submitted to my boss in the morning. And guess what? I haven't even begun them.

Feel...so...sleepy...

Panting, out of breath, yet another slip on the path, yet another blot on the record. The result is instantaneous: Darkness dawns, poison seeping through the heart, the Earth narrows and the ruh withers in pain.

Stained with evil.

Astaghfirullah!

A shift, like the hungry gasp of a drowning man unexpectedely freed from his watery prison.

Astaghfirullah!

A tidal wave of pure Light washes through the heart; cleansing, purifying, illuminating. The darkness crumbles, the burden lifts and the ruh sighs with relief.

Astaghfirullah!

Like a lump of blackened coal cracked open, the heart is freed once more, revealing the diamond inside; glittering and sparkling, renewed and strengthened, ready to turn back to the Rabb yet again.

Torches flickered in the windows, ghostly flames that cast watery light. Snowflakes fluttered, spinning on the crest of the wind, before softly landing on the ground. Deep below, beneath the puffy blanket of snow, beneath the ice-cold marble, a soul stirred, sniffling.

Her hair lay wrapped, honeycomb-like, within her tattered scarf, and within her sleep-heavy eyes swam sadness. A clink. A tiny shift of movement. With great effort she raised her head, not letting the pain that shot through her neck bother her.

The night sky was bejewelled with stars. She paused, pondering.

"All I want..." she gasped, gagged, and then fell to her knees. Gritting her teeth, she flung her head back, fire now burning in her eyes. "All I want is to be close to You." She coughed, her throat tightening. "Forgive me. La ilaha illAllah...Glory to You, verily, I was one of the wrongdoers!"

Then the Angel of Death touched her, her wordly body sagged, then crumbled, and her soul flew upwards and onwards to Eternity, wrapped tightly in the love that she had sought all her life, but had never realised, until this very moment, where it was.

The winds of fate blew the glittering, yet bruised soul up and over the soft, sandy deserts; pushed it through the crumbling, sunset-red mountains, then brought it to rest on the smooth, marble floor that reflected the noor that clung to the air of this blessed city.

The soul, accompanied by a fellow traveller, entered the towering shape of the masjid, letting themselves be swallowed by the murmuring crowd as they sighed in silent praise of the Lord of the Worlds. The scent of perfume hung in the air, wrapping itself around the myriad forest of marble pillars, as the duo made their forward, inching closer, ever closer...

Tears flowed easily here, and hearts surged, mimicking the throng of people that pushed onwards toward that blessed spot. They crept onwards, the hustle and the bustle of the crowd forgotton, the golden frames of the doors reflecting in their eyes like pools of flame.

Shuffling step by step, nudge by nudge, the soft carpet tickling their toes, the sheer beauty of the place filling their eyes, until finally...

They were there...standing where he lay.

As salaam alayka Ya Rasulullah! As salaam alayka Ya Abu Bakr as Siddique! As salaam alayka Ya Umar ibn al Khattab!

Time froze, hearts locked and souls surged as everything melted away for the briefest of moments. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over and they found themselves outside in the sun again, dazed, blinking, the noor drenched landscape forming in their vision once more.

Welcome to Madinah!