Archive for the ‘The Stories’ Category

Unspoken Shahadah

January 27, 2008

Everything passed before my eyes so slowly and yet I could not react with any rapidity, could not take advantage of how things were unfolding. It was like a nightmare. It was a nightmare—being kidnapped from a public parking lot like in all those episodes of forensic shows. An arm wrapped around my waist like a vice. A dull, burning ache of what I could only assume was a stab wound, shock making the details of the situation hard to discern. The knife pressed under my jaw, drawing tiny rivulets of blood, preventing me from crying for help.

There was nothing to cling to as I was pulled away from my car, away from my screaming son who sat helpless in his seat, unable to save his mother, the person he was attached to the most. His devastation was my pain, one that ached more than any physical injury. I didn’t want him to see this, didn’t want the last memory of his mother to be something so wretched. There were a lot of things I didn’t want then.

As I was being dragged into the assaulter’s car my death became much more of a reality. I always tried to cling to hope, tried to keep the faith but it dwindled once I was shoved inside the vehicle that reeked of stale cigarettes. Law enforcement officials always said that the most important rule to surviving an attack was to never get inside the car. It was like signing your death certificate in blood. And there I was, inside the car.

What happened next was a blur. The slowed time failing me as I could only make out a flurry of arm gestures before I was punched in the side of the head. There was no occasion for thoughts, only reactions, blows raining upon my boney arms held up in self-defense. My temple tingled as I was struck again and again before my vision finally tunneled to black.

When I regained consciousness the car was inching to a stop. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I could feel piano wire wrapped tightly around my neck, rubbing the skin raw. It made breathing difficult and speaking impossible. I couldn’t whisper the shahadah like I had always planned to. No repeating it over and over in English and in Arabic just to be safe.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be able to declare my deen and my nabi to Izra’il the angel of death—if I would be silent then too. I couldn’t help but wonder, why me, why now until I resigned myself to my fate, knowing that it was already written.

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Do You Forget Shahrzad Someday Forever?

January 14, 2008

droppingMy heart was beating fast. Yet I was feeling light and joyful. Something in me was flying, but my body laying on the bed. I think something in me was going to be separated from “me”. I think I was going to be divided into pieces. When a green light embraced me, hold me tight, I think I was getting away from what I was.. I think I was going to die.

It took time that I considered on where I am and what i am going through. It was not an event that I experience every now and then. A unique one, maybe no way to come back and experience it again.

After awhile, I was next to bed, could see me laying down, without any motion. My eyes closed. My right wrist in nurse’s hand, she was worriedly trying to make beats stable. A warm red blood was coming out the nose. I could see the person on the bed who had admitted to be “me” was getting more sallowish.

The Doctor was talking to nurse: “Her heart is still beating. Yet her body is cold.

Nobody could notice that I am not that person on the bed. I was in the room, standing with all the staff there. Watching their acts. Trying to get what’s happening. At the moment i was talking to “me”: “So you’re dying? So that’s death?”

I remembered my beloved at once. If really I’m going to die, so I can not see him for last look? So Will I be just an unsuccessful martyr of love in this world?

Does he feel me now when am going to get away?

Why nobody told me at least 12 hours before I die? I had many jobs to do so. My parents, my friends and my beloved. Before I meet them once again in the hereafter, I needed to tell my last words to them.

But no way. I was going to die..

Did i do what i wanted to do? Was i good human being for the world? Could i reach the humanity? Was i good slave for my God?

My document would be closed eternally in this world. Like thousand millions people who had died before me in the history of humankind. And now nobody remembers them.

I could not be a prophet, a great scientist, a unique poet or an excellent person who has taken whole wisdom of life and beyond.

In my short life, I could be a Shahrzad. A simple story-teller. Who really tried her best to make a change. Even if little one, with short and unadorned influence. She was trying sincerely to educate her soul and her mind. She was trying to be honest and real friend.

She was trying to distribute big love of almaighty into hearts. She was trying to know her God.

Now I was watching her. She was going to die in this world, for a rebirth in the hereafter. She was joining all people who had passed away before her.

The time was going to pass. After awhile i was watching nothing. I could feel a strong headache. Openning my eyes, I looked at the doctor who was smiling with happiness. Everything was done now? I had came back to body of Shahrzad on the bed.

They could bring me back into life. I was alive once again as Shahrzad. Now once again she was breathing in the air of the mortal world. She was going back to the history. To be there, She was allowed to make more memories.

Could be Shahrzad dies really. Could be she gets separated from this world. Could be she leaves you all forever.

She is just a drop of an ocean. She will join the ocean someday. She will be solved in a big blue spirit.

People say that Shahrzad is kind of person they remember her face after long time. They say even if they see her once, they never forget her sincere eyes, her smiley face and her calmness.

Could be that someday somebody in this world remember her for her sincere eyes once again? Could be after years, she be still in minds for what she was? Could be after long time people still visit her blog? Could be people remember her for her stories? Could be her beloves have her memories in their mind?

If she be disappeared from your life, do you forget Shahrzad someday forever?

Source: Shahrazad

The Boy’s Salah

October 9, 2007

He remembered his grandmother’s warning about praying on time: “My son, you shouldn’t leave prayer to this late time”. His grandmother’s age was 70 but whenever she heard the adhan, she got up like an arrow and performed salah. He however could never win over his ego to get up and pray. Whatever he did, his salah was always the last to be offered and he prayed it quickly to get it in on time.

Thinking of this, he got up and realized that there were only 15 minutes left before Salat-ul Isha. He quickly made wudhu and performed Salat-ul Maghrib.
While making tasbeeh, he again remembered his grandmother and was embarrassed by how he had prayed. His grandmother prayed with such tranquillity and
peace. He began making dua and went down to make sajdah and stayed like that for a while. He had been at school all day and was tired, so tired.
He awoke abruptly to the sound of noise and shouting. He was sweating profusely. He looked around. It was very crowded. Every direction he looked in was filled with
people. Some stood frozen looking around, some were running left and right and some were on their knees with their heads in their hands just waiting. Pure fear and apprehension filled him as he realized where he was. His heart was about to burst.

It was the Day of Judgement.

When he was alive, he had heard many things about the questioning on the Day of Judgement, but that seemed so long ago. Could this be something his mind made up?
No, the wait and the fear were so great that he could not have imagined this. The interrogation was still going on. He began moving frantically from people to people to ask if his name had been called.

No one could answer him. All of a sudden his name was called and the crowd split into two and made a passageway for him. Two people grabbed his arms and led him forward. He walked with unknowing eyes through the crowd. The angels brought him to the centre and left him there. His head was bent down and his whole life was passing in front of his eyes like a movie.

He opened his eyes but saw only another world. The people were all helping others. He saw his father running from one lecture to the other, spending his wealth in the way of Islam. His mother invited guests to their house and one table was being set while the other was being cleared. He pleaded his case, “I too was always on this path. I helped others. I spread the word of Allah. I performed my salah. I fasted in the month of Ramadan. Whatever Allah ordered us to do, I did. Whatever he ordered us not to do, I did not.” He began to cry and think about how much he loved Allah. He knew that whatever he had done in life would be less than what Allah deserved and his only protector was Allah. He was sweating like never before and was shaking all over. His eyes were fixed on the scale, waiting for the final decision.
At last, the decision was made.
The two angels with sheets of paper in their hands turned to the crowd.
His legs felt like they were going to collapse.
He closed his eyes as they began to read the names of those people who were to enter Jahannam.

His name was read first.
He fell on his knees and yelled that this couldn’t be, “How could I go to
Jahannam? I served others all my life; I spread the word of Allah to others”.

His eyes had become blurry and he was shaking with sweat.
The two angels took him by the arms. As his feet dragged, they went through the crowd and advanced toward the blazing flames of Jahannam.
He was yelling and wondered if there was any person who was going to help him. He was yelling of all the good deeds he had done, how he had helped his father, his fasts,
prayers, the Qur’an that he read, he was asking if any of them would help him.
The Jahannam angels continued to drag him. They had gotten closer to the
Hellfire. He looked back and these were his last pleas.

Had not Rasulullah [saw] said, “How clean would a person be who bathes in a river five times a day, so too does the Salah performed five times cleanse someone of their sins”? He began yelling, “My prayers? My prayers? My prayers.” The two angels did
not stop, and they came to the edge of the abyss of Jahannam.
The flames of the fire were burning his face. He looked back one last time, but his eyes were dry of hope and he had nothing left in him.
One of the angels pushed him in. He found himself in the air and falling towards the flames.

He had just fallen five or six feet when a hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.
He lifted his head and saw an old man with a long white beard.
He wiped some dust off himself and asked him, “Who are you?” The old man replied, “I am your prayers”.
“Why are you so late! I was almost in the Fire! You rescued me at the last minute before I fell in”.
The old man smiled and shook his head, “You always performed me at the last minute, did you forget?”

At that instant, he blinked and lifted his head from sajdah. He was in a sweat. He listened to the voices coming from outside. He heard the adhan for Salat-ul Isha.
He got up quickly and went to perform wudhu.

Taken from Qisas.com

An Oppressor’s Death

October 9, 2007

During the reign of Jamal Abdul Nasir, Hamza al-Basyounee tortured many Muslims in prison. He wickedly scoffed, “Where is your Lord so that I can put him in steel?” Far above Allah is from what the oppressors say! A truck smashed into Hamza’s car killing him, and appropriately, the truck was transporting rods of steel. One rod of steel entered his body from the top of his head until it made its way down to his bowels. The rescue team was unable to extract him from the car except in pieces.

And he and his host were arrogant in the land, without right,– and they thought that they would never return to Us. (Qur’an 28:39)

And they said: “Who is mightier than us in strength?” See they not that Allah, Who created them, was mightier in strength than them. (Qur’an 41:15)

–Taken from “Don’t be Sad” by Aaidh ibn Abdullah al-Qarni

A Mother’s love

October 9, 2007

“Listen boy, if you bring the heart of your mother to me, I’ll give you money, jewels, and gems.
When the boy heard this, he thought this was a good deal. He took a dagger to his mother, and he stabbed her in her chest. He pulled the heart out, and with it started running towards the man. He ran fast due to his nervousness, that he tripped and the heart fell out of his hand. It became dusty from the ground. The bloody heart called him and said,
“O my beloved son, are you hurt?”
The boy thought it was the wrath of Allah upon him. He picked up the heart and started washing it and cried. He took out his dagger, ready to kill himself for what he did, when the heart of the mother said,
“Do not kill yourself, for you will kill your mother’s heart twice.”