Chapter Four

The morning sun, burning blood red, peeked up from the horizon, splitting the night sky and chasing the shadows away. It cast its wan light over the prison and then, seemingly for a single heartbeat, the sun froze, catching a lone figure, clad in black, but now outlined with a crimson glow, as he stood on a high wall, his breath escaping in a wisp of steam. I watched him for a moment through the thin window, perplexed, then turned away as myself and Musa were unceremoniously pushed along the corridor towards the main chamber where the Governor waited. Abdul-Malik was his name, a representative of the Khalif.

A cloak of darkness tarred my heart, chafing my soul from within. I felt restless, anxious, not just from what was happening, not just from Aisha's departure, but from...something I couldn't quite place. The world seemed dim, despite the torches hanging on the wall, crackling as they dripped with melted wax. Everything seemed disjointed...unreal.

"You need to do some dhikr," Musa piped up from beside me, not looking in the least bit afraid. His words opened up a pit deep in my soul, a gaping hunger that begged for satiation. He was right. I needed to do some dhikr, needed to feel the cool breath of rahma that would still the unrest inside.

"Food for the ruh, it is," he continued. "Your soul will die without it."

I didn't really need his dire predictions, the itch within my heart being a more powerful reminder than his sermons. I had remembered, too, exactly what I'd wanted to do before we'd been interrupted. I'd wanted to take the tariq. I'd wanted to join the ranks of the seekers searching for the only thing that was worth searching. I wanted Allah.

My mind drifted back to my very first encounter with Musa. He'd not been a muqaddam then, and I was nothing but a child, and not a very well-behaved one at that. Son of slaves that had been beaten to death by a ruthless owner, I'd drifted from town to town, city to city, a tight knot of anger blistering my heart, feeling hard done by that my parents' murderer had not been brought to justice by the virtue of the fact that the fat oaf had paid off the authorities. At least, as I'd come to realise later, paid off those within the authorities whose qibla was the coin and for whom dancing girls were their dhikr.

The irony of my current situation hit home. Me, the former scavenger and thief, put into prison because I'd taken a street urchin to task. A grim smile spread across my face.

That day, from all those years back, I'd earned myself a satisfactory meal, darting from stall to stall, deftly swiping an apple here, a cut of lamb there and a roll of bread here. Pleased with my find, I left the town, climbing up the mountains nearby finding a rocky cavern and sitting back as the soothing sound of trickling water tinkled in the background.

From my regular vantage point high above the town I could see for miles; the never-ending carpet of green grass, the traders that made their way down winding paths, the wispy smoke that floated above the town at daytime, and the sparkling lanterns that shone during the night. It was relaxing, and the fact that the people and buildings looked so small from up there made my problems seem to shrink as well, dulling the throb of pain in my soul for just a while. Little wonder then that I ended up living so high as an adult. I'd always wanted to be king of all I surveyed.

I had decided that day to go exploring, to see what lay beyond the mountain. I climbed, struggling as I did so, setting free a rain of rocks from under my feet, and scraping my skin against the jagged surface. Reaching the summit, I had stopped suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath as I viewed the vista that lay ahead of me. Shimmering crystal blue as the sun beat down upon it, and tipped with a halo of sparkling haze through which birds were soaring, there lay, at the foot of the mountain, a large lake, its waves lapping the shore lazily. Bizarrely, the first thought that had entered my mind had been: So there is beauty in the world.

There was opportunity, too, as sitting by the lake, content and oblivious, there sat a man, turbaned and robed. I didn't care as to what and why he was there. My heart registered only one thing: money.

Slowly at first, and then quickly picking up speed, I softly made my way down, my eyes funneling in on the bag that lay by his side. Quick scenarios sped through my mind's eyes, and I knew that, judging from the man's appearance, I'd be able to scoop up the bag and run, my lithe form being far too speedy for an old fool like him.

My thumping heart felt enlarged, reaching into my throat, and my breath was shallow, ragged. I cursed them both. They were too loud. They'd draw attention. A tremor of anticipation washed over me as I reached the bottom, cold sweat prickling my skin. He hadn't seen me yet.

My mouth watered as I considered my prize. Food at the least, expensive trinkets for his wife at the best. Both were acceptable. Both would give this day the perfect seal.

Coiling all my energy into my limbs, my eyes narrowing, I waited, waited. The world fell away; all that existed was me, this man, and his bag...and...now.

The man turned away, his attention on something else, and I sprang forward, pushing with my whole being. The landscape bounced in my eyes as the bag grew bigger and bigger in my vision. Closer, closer...my hand reached out, the tips of my fingers brushing against the fabric...

He was too fast. Like a liquid blur he spun around, snatching his bag out of harm's way. I tried to follow, but my momentum was too great, and with a yelp, my ankle twisted under me. My arms flapped uselessly as I fell, the sky above whirling dizzyingly.

I plunged into the lake with an almighty splash, the shock of icy cold water jolting my mind. It stung my eyes and nose, wrapping around my face in a suffocating grasp. Death, I had thought, had come for me then.

And then I felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around me and tug, pulling me free. Black spots exploded in my vision as I gasped for breath, the soil under my wet hands turning to mud as I clutched at it, so thankful I was to be alive.

"You seem to have slipped," the man said dryly.

I glanced up at him, fearful of what was to come. I knew from experience that my misdemeanors, whenever they'd been thwarted, always resulted in pain. It was puzzling to me, then, that all I saw was a serene face smiling down on me. It had to be a trick. "I'm sorry, sir, truly I'm sorry...I didn't see where I was going, so stupid of me."

My eyes flicked to his bag. He caught the gesture and my heart froze. But all he did, to my amazement, was to grin even wider. "Fear Allah."

Anger erupted inside. "Why?" I spat. "I'm going to the Fire anyway."

He paused, his eyes turning inward as though pondering, then said, "Love Allah."

I opened my mouth to speak, then realised I had nothing to say. I hadn't expected that. I could tell, from his demeanor and attire, that he was some sort of religious preacher. Again, my anger boiled. No one had cared about righteousness when they'd considered my case. "Are you going to tell me to pray and be a good little boy?" A pause. "Because I'd rather you throw me to the Qadis than do that. I'd rather take their lashes than your hypocrisy."

The man's eyebrows arced. "You're very well-spoken for a young boy, you know?" His eyes twinkled. "You must have been educated well."

I was, my parents desperate for me to learn something useful and using most of their money to help me achieve that, but I wasn't going to tell him that. I turned away with a shrug. "Let me go."

He sighed. "You seem troubled," he called. "I think you need to pray."

My momentary relief that the old fool wasn't going to turn me in vanished, and the corner of my mouth curled into a scowl. I looked at him over the top of my shoulder. "Because Allah commands it?" I sneered. "Because He commands us to pray, to fast to jump when He says jump?"

"No," the man said, leaning forward, his eyes growing wide. "Because you need to. Because so far in your short life, you've been searching for something...something to aim for. You need to test yourself. You set yourself challenges every day. And, yet, each aim you achieve leaves you empty." His pupils seemed to widen for a heartbeat. "What you've been truly searching for, what you've been truly craving is Allah. He's your goal like an island in the distance, the one you couldn't quite see because you'd focused your eyes on the fish in the sea instead. He's your goal, and you can ride an ocean of bliss to reach him."

I turned away quickly, snorting with disgust. The fool now wanted to help me. The man was mad! Disappointment sunk my heart - how had I been thwarted by someone so simple? "Leave me be," I said. "And you don't know anything about my life."

"Let me make you a deal," he said quickly. "You can have my bag."

I stopped, glancing back warily. There was another pause, and I could hear the hypnotic sigh of the waves rolling against the shore. Perhaps I could use his stupidity to my advantage after all. "Go on."

"You can have my bag," he continued, pulling himself to his feet. "If you just say something for me." He walked towards me, his tall frame seemingly blocking out the sun. As he reached me, he placed his hand on my chest. It trembled in time to the beating of my heart. "Say La ilaaha ilAllah."

Almost as a reflex I repeated the words after him, the words rolling around my tongue, familiar, and yet, on that day, very different.

"Keep saying it." I did, completely forgetting myself, and so did he, our voices joined, ringing in the air. But that didn't matter. Before that day, they had been nothing but words, my mark of distinction that differentiated me from the Dhimmis. But that day...something unlocked within my heart. I felt a surge from the very core of my soul, melting the pain inside, soothing my ever-present rage like a fire extinguished by snow, and then it flowed through my whole body, this emotion, this light, this...love. Like a balm to my heart, I finally felt like the person I had truly meant to be. It was intoxicating.

His hand left my chest and I looked up at him, blinking. Now the whole world was a haze of light, and I noticed things that I hadn't before - the sun caressing my face, the playful buzz of the insects hovering in the air, the heady scent of the newly blooming flowers. Everything felt right.

"Now," he said. "Do you want to pray and fast?"

My answer was instantaneous. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I love Him!" And even I was surprised at the words. I hadn't even realised, until they had escaped from my lips just then, that that was what I had been experiencing.

He lifted his bag. "Do you still want this?"

My eyes fell to the said item and it looked dull, rotted, and dirty. I shook my head.

A small smile grew across his face as he held out his hand. "My name," he said, "is Musa."

The memory faded and I found myself still surrounded by guards and Musa at my side. We stopped in front of two intricately carved oak doors, glistening with polish. The guard rapped on the wood; once, twice, thrice.

"Enter," a voice echoed from within.

I looked at Musa. "What do we do?"

He smiled. "Trust in your Beloved," he said, as though reading my mind once more. "Trust in Allah."

"Have you seen the one
Who takes his ego for his god?"

Have you seen how his
Heart burns with love
For everything except
Him, over and above?

Have you seen him
When he stands for salah?
His mind awhirl
Filled with ghaflah

Have you seen
How he gives fatwa from his own nafs?
Despising the ulema
For they make his life too tough

Have you seen how quickly
He turns on the music and TV
Not really caring
About the corruption he sets free?

Have you seen how quickly
He falls in love
Twisting the Qur'an and sunnah
To believe that she was sent from above?

Have you seen him preach
about Islam; it's beautiful, you see
While he lives his life
Like a Western wannabe?

No, it's not enough
To just pray and fast
To impress the people
With your knowledge vast

No, it's not enough
To be religious for a week
Then to turn on your heels
Your iman meek

For if you believe that Allah is Real
And Jannah is Real
And Jahannam is Real
Then there can be only one goal
For your life's toil
There can only be one outcome
Only one path to step upon

That is: You love what Allah loves
You hate what Allah hates
You think like the Mesenger thought
You behave like the Messenger behaved
For without the above
Your deeds are like dust
Be like the Messenger
And set your soul free
For everything else
is hypocrisy

"Have you seen the one
Who takes his ego for his god?"



NOTES: Using 'over' and 'above' in relation to Allah is metaphorical as Allah is independent of time and space.
'Ghaflah' is heedlessness.