When we Hold On

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 92

Through our giants in history, the stories of the courageous men of the past which shaped me into the person I’d become since I’d started treading on a better path, if there’s one thing I learnt, it’s that we should never let ourselves sink into the pits of hopelessness.

A Muslim should not sit and accept defeat, as long as we have a Rabb who is the source of hope. Like the lion of Allah, Hadhrat Hamzah RA, we put on our best shield of imaan, and build our faith to fight the odds.

The thing is, we must always have faith. When we ask Allah Ta’ala for aid, know that He will send it, one way or the other.

And yes, I know it was ironic, because right then,  things weren’t looking good.

I had been fooled. Duped, in every possible way. Broken-hearted, in a way that felt like the organ in my chest was shattered.

Now, there was one more emotion I was dealing. I was so, so angry.

Rabia had overstepped. She had gone all out, broken rules, crossed boundaries too. She had befriended a man, and not just any man. Someone who I was sure had done this, had gotten close to her, just to make my life miserable.

And I knew how Faadil worked. Behind the scenes, in a way that could never be tracked, but he always worked with intent. And now, finally, it all made sense.

I knew what he was upset about. It had evaded me all this time… as I lived in the blissful ignorance that I was the only guy Mohsina had ever been committed enough to decide to marry. I knew that his coming to see her on our Nikah day was his sick way of trying to win the ‘prized goods’ back. I mean, there was no other reason.

After all, that’s all she was to him. Someone who would have pushed him to be better, earn better, and motivated for his position, who he could have kept as some kind of trophy.

Mohsina was determined and brilliant in her job, and he knew that her being able to back him was a sure way of moving even further up the corporate ladder, despite his lack of morals. I knew that the rejection that he’d probably suffered, whether her motivation was Zaid or not, probably hurt him deeper than he’d let on. Faadil didn’t take losing well, and experiencing that loss was something that he just could not digest.

I didn’t need Rabia to reply to me when I asked her if she’d seen Mohsina while I was away. I wanted her to be the one to show some remorse at least.

She looked me in the face and said that some things need to take its course. I didn’t know what she had told Faadil, but I knew that the fact that Faadil and her were speaking was right. I had given her a while to think about it, while I left for the ijtima, spent some time with Maulana Umar and came back with a clear head, knowing that I couldnt just let things hang in the air.

I knew what I needed to do. Maulana had encouraged me to try and patch things up, but the betrayal I still felt was unparalleled, and that’s why it took me so long.

Yes, it would take time to make things right, but the least I could do was speak to her in the meantime.

I needed to talk to my wife. She knew more than I did about what Rabia and Faadil actually were speaking about.

And so, knowing I had left it way too long, I decided to do it.

Despite all that was going on, standing under the threshold of the door of the flat I had shared with my wife, I was expecting to see Mos looking normal and unfazed when I knocked on the door.

Perhaps she would be standing there with a scowl on her face, spitting fire as she usually would, or just shooting daggers at me while offering the silent treatment… but nothing could prepared me for the guilt that hit like a punch in my stomach when I looked at my wife properly after all this time.

Yes, I had seen her on Eid day in passing when she came to leave Zaid, but now that I really looked at her, her face devoid of make up and her hair in a simple plait, I was literally taken aback.

Though still beautiful to me, Mos looked exhausted, and very un-Mohsina like. It wasn’t my guilt for not letting her explain, as I covertly scanned my wife’s form, her weight loss was evidently visible, that got me.

How was it even normal for people to visibly show weight loss in a month? And yea, I knew it was Ramadhaan, but how bad a toll did the last month take on her for that to happen? I won’t lie, I still blamed Mos for part of this mess.. but now that the blinding anger had worn off, and I realised that I may have also been wrong in what I had said, I could see the situation more rationally.

The thing is, as humans, we are very quick to hold others accountable, forgetting that we too are humans. People hurt us, even more so people we love, and even those of us with a forgiving nature have our limits. I never thought I’d ever be one of those people who could harbour a grudge, but here I was, standing at the door of my wife’s house, realising, that in nursing my grudge, I’d done an equal injustice to my wife leaving her to bear a burden alone that evidently wore even my unbeatable wife down.

I watched as my wife’s eyes widened, and then she closed the door. And then, with bated breath, I waited while I heard her unlatching the door, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. I could barely believe that I was actually holding my breath, after the way I had stormed out of our home those weeks ago.

She pulled the door open again and instantly moved further away, like she didn’t want to even stand in close proximity to me. Can’t say I blamed her. The words I said to her made me feel sick to my stomach.

“Let’s talk in the lounge.”

Her voice was cold and flat, and I went ahead of her to enter our open plan living area, looking around for any signs of what she had been up to these past weeks.

And what I saw, was a sure sign that Mohsina was very possibly mourning in her own way. She probably wasn’t even aware of it, but her new disregard for things to be on tip top condition was clearly evident.

Curtains were drawn, blankets were strewn over the couch, and in the middle of the coffee table was the only evidence of  life, with multiple coffee mugs and popcorn bowls.

I knew I was being nosy and presumptuous, but my heart was already feeling like there was a huge void in it, since I knew nothing about her life anymore.

It was so unlike Mohsina, who always made sure she was tidy to a fault, and accessorised with the latest trends because that’s what she did,

I suppose it came with her passion for Instagram. The nature of social media was to get people on trends, and she had always lived for that. These platforms shape us in more ways than we know, and sometimes we’re not even aware of the worldly obsessed messages they were sending us.

To be so simplistic and unbothered was extremely welcomed to me, but under the circumstances, it also made me a bit worried.

Even her dressing had become simpler. No fusses and frills. Plain and simple, with no brands.

It was as if something within her had been altered.

I didn’t have want to make any assumptions but it definitely made me think… How true was it that when the valuable things in life are threatened, then everything else in life loses value? How much is everything else worth when we don’t have peace?

All the fancy cushions, trendy curtains, ornamental pieces and matching throws, meant nothing now that Mohsina had been thrown into a corner where no one was really there for her.

And the Hadith this world is like a woman who is extremely attractive but has no morals or ethics whatsoever, came to mind. It bluffs people with its lister and leads people toward destruction.

It was narrated that Isa AS saw a very old and ugly woman who was full of makeup and jewelry.  He asked her: ‘How many times were you married?’

She replied ‘So many times that I can’t even remember.’

Isa AS said ‘What happened to your husbands, did they die or were you divorced?’

She replied ‘No, I killed them all.’

Isa AS stated ‘How unfortunate your current husband is, for he lives with you and is not cautious that you will do the same to him. (Fadhaail Sadaqaat)

This world. An empty promise, a great lie.

We think that the world can make us happy but when our world is rocked, we see the truth in what really matters.

I turned around as I reached the couch, watching her as she kept a careful distance behind me until I sat down, and then walked to the opposite side of the room, and perched herself on the barstool near the kitchen nook.

“How are you?”

It was all I could say to her, while she watched me back, a stoic expression on her face as she shrugged.

I waited a few minutes, for a response that never came.

“Can you talk to me, please?” I demanded, feeling edgy at how this whole day was turning out. “At least look at me.”

First Rabia and her tantrum about how I needed to be more of a man and stand up to my wife, just because she was feeling insecure about her lies, then the realisation that maybe Mohsina was right about Rabia and I needed to fix things.. and now the hard reality that it may all be harder than I thought.

“How do you think I am, Hamza?” The expression on her face was hard to decipher. A mixture of yearning, sadness, and anger. “Where’s my baby?”

If the guilt was packing a punch before this, now it was like a twisting a knife into my gut.

“I left him with my parents, so we could sort out this mess.”

The amount of responsiveness I was receiving was like I was talking to a wall.

I still couldn’t believe that we were at this place where we didn’t know how to be near each other without feeling angry.

Well, that’s what it looked like.

“I’ll bring him over as soon as we done talking if you want,” I added to soften her up, calming down and taking in a deep breath. “I’ll even grant you those overnight stays you wanted. I just want to talk.”

Her posture was firm and erect, as she sat in the stool, her hands placed on her lap.

“Wow, thanks, Hamzah, that’s so generous,” she said sarcastically, her gaze not wavering from me. “But I don’t see what there is to talk about a marriage that you only contracted out of a sense of duty anyway. Let’s face it, honey… We tried it out, realised we were a mistake, now you can rid yourself of me and my baggage.”

Her voice was dripping with venom, and I sucked my breath in because I knew that she was using my own words against me, and it sucked.

One time. The one time I’d let myself slip, I said something that broke us.

She had warned me. Told me I can’t take back the words, but I didn’t care.

I had messed up. Badly.

I remember hearing a lecture once where the shaykh said Shaytaan will use our good deeds to draw us to bad. Its such a strange statement, but then he went on to explain, the spouse who is tolerant to their respective other, or the daughter-in-law who tactfully deals with a critical mother-in-law, or a mother-in-law who patiently deals with a lazy daughter-in-law… all these people are following a path of goodness and gaining reward.

However, often, a day comes when something pushes you over your precipice, and in a moment of anger, you throw back your patience into that person’s face, or you express favour over them for you tolerance, or some words of gossip about how they’ve wronged you and how much you endure slips out and you badmouth the person… all those days and days of goodness and rewards can be wiped out by few moments of carelessness. This is Shaytaans ploy.

And damn, it was working well.

In anger, I had said things I never meant, but that’s the thing, we never do mean it. But words, once heard, cannot be erased, backspaced or deleted.

There’s a Ḥadīth Rabia had painted in really beautiful calligraphy before her first marriage, that truly deserved to be be written in gold, deserves to be written in gold.

Rasulullah ﷺ said, “Whoever stayed quiet, is saved.”

I wished that I had saved it myself as a daily reminder.

I got up, she following me with her eyes as I moved forward to a seat closer to her, because besides wanting to, it was ridiculous having a serious conversation from the opposite side of the room.

Immediately, her blank, flippant facade faded.

Instead, her entire expression morphed into some kind of aversive reaction.

“Just stay there, please,” she muttered, her voice sounding strained. “Don’t come closer to me.”

Really? Now she was going to punish me. Great.

“We’re still married Mos. Stop acting like we’re boardroom associates,” I rubbed my jaw in frustration, knowing that I’d hit a nerve with her by mentioning her second favourite place to be. At work. “If we’re going to solve anything, we need to have complete honesty, and we need to talk.”

“Fine,” she shot back, obviously not impressed by my references. “You want honesty? The truth is, I can’t stand you sitting nearer to me, because these past few weeks have seriously accelerated my anxiety level, and every time you come close to me, I can feel it shoot up even higher. Like literally. Right in my throat.”

“So now you’re using your anxiety levels as a hiding place?” I was holding back the urge to raise my voice, but I had forgotten how utterly frustrated an argument with my wife could make me. Mohsina had a way of pressing my most unfounded buttons.

“I’m serious, Hamzah,” she retorted, covering her mouth with her hand, almost as if that would shield her from me. “When you’re too close to me, I start feeling physically sick.. almost nauseous. Please. Just. Stop fighting with me on this.”

“Wha- Mos, what on earth are you even saying?”

No response. I moved to the chair closest to her and sat down. And much to my dismay, Mos jumped up and started walking away.

Feeling ridiculous, like some kind of puppy, I followed.

“Mos, can you be reasonable please?”

“STOP FOLLOWING ME.”

She wasn’t yelling, but she wasn’t far from it.

But my patience was dwindling. I had come here with a serious goal in mind. I didn’t expect to find the same grovelling Mohsina who I shut the door on, but this level of snubbing was just unreasonable.

We needed to talk.

I increased the lengths of my strides to catch up with her and grabbed her arm, just before she entered the bedroom.

“Let me go, Hamzah. Please, ” she begged, but I couldn’t.

“Mos, just listen, please.”

I was becoming desperate. The same way thaf she had become the day I had left her.

And while I was thinking of how ironic it was, nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared me for the succeeding response, as I spun her around to face me, and she immediately pushed me backwards with such a force that I was a little disoriented.

One minute I was speaking, hoping she could see sense and treat me like a human at least, and the very next, I was looking at my wife burst into tears, hold her mouth as she had done those weeks before, storm to her bedroom and lock the door, while I stood in shock in the passageway, wondering what on earth that was all about.

And that’s when I saw the trail of something that resembled… vomit on the floor.

“Mohsina,” I called, my voice a little less aggressive now because seeing her like this, unwell and in tears, was something I couldn’t take.

I could hear her coughing, gagging, and after some silence, soft sobs could heard from behind the door. I wanted to break that door down, take her in my arms, and tell her that I never wanted her to hurt again.

But I couldn’t. Not when I was the source of all her pain.

So instead, I grabbed some paper towels, cleaned up what I could and asked her if she wanted me to help her out.

There was still no reply.

“Mohsina,” I almost whispered, my head against the door when everything had become a little quieter. “Please. Open the door.”

”No.”

Her response was unwavering, despite her probable state.

“I’ll do anything,” I begged, my voice even more gentle. “I just need to talk.”

”Take off your kurta if you want me to come out of here.”

Her voice was stiff and completely formal, despite the connotation of the statement. I felt my ears redden slightly because I really didn’t expect that.

“Mohsina, I-” I started, but she didn’t let me finish.

“And your t-shirt,” her voice cut out again. “Actually, just have a shower. I’ll pass you some clothes. I can’t take that… whatever you’re wearing. That Oud scent you like so much.”

Now, it made sense.

Well, kind of. But it never bothered her before.

“I’m taking you to the doctor early tomorrow,” I said, not believing that she was unwell for so long and she actually never did a thing about it.

”You’re not,” she said, still from behind the door. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s only when I’m around you that I feel like this. Now are you going to scrub off that stench or not?”

She said it like I was stinking.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. At least Mohsina and her attitude was still intact.

”I will, but I want some time with you,” I said strategically. “And I am taking you to the doctor in the morning. Or I’ll call Nani and tell her exactly what’s going on with you. Including the Netflix.”

It was no secret. My wife had her weaknesses. Now and then, when I’d check her phone, I would see the app there. We all have our things that we do. We have to make tawbah, and ask for a way to pull ourselves out of our sins before then take over our hearts.

I could feel her shifting around behind the door, before she settled down again.

I figured that she was probably sitting against it.

And there was nothing else I could do besides slide down with my own back to the door as well, wishing I could see her face as I spoke.

“Rabia and I had a fight,” I said quietly, knowing that she could hear me, and needing to let her know why I was here. “A big one. She is speaking to Faadil. I don’t believe that they are just friends who met randomly and neither do I believe that she never shared things about you with him. I think she’s been very open with him for reasons unknown to me and you know how that makes me angry. I don’t trust him one bit. I don’t trust anything he says. I’m hoping you don’t either.”

There was silence from the other side of the door, but I knew she was listening because of the slight shuffling I could hear.

I wanted an answer but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it. Maybe I didn’t deserve it.

”I feel like I don’t know who to trust,” I said, hanging my head and closing my eyes. “Every way I turn, there’s been some kind of obstacle. I do know that I owe you an apology for not believing you. I have to be honest. I was shocked and upset, but I know that I crossed a line.”

”Hamzah,” her voice sounded strained. “You don’t owe me anything. I understand that you were just doing what you needed to do, because Liyaket and you were best friends, I understand that you felt indebted to him because Zaid is his child and I was part of the package-“

”Mohsina.”

My voice dipped low as I warned her, hoping she would stop saying all those things that I had said to make me feel like we were nothing.

The thing is, she didn’t understand. We were anything but nothing. We were everything. But so much had happened and now the lines were just so blurry.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

It was all she said, and I didn’t know what else to tell her. My heart was aching for her, with her, but I couldn’t tell her everything on my mind because her and Faadil still happened and I still felt that betrayal. It was just that, right then, knowing that she was here with me now, and not with him… I didn’t feel it so much.

“Go and shower,” her voice said through the door. “I’m going to the lounge. I’ll leave your clothes on the bed. We can talk after.”

Her voice had lost its fire, and I got up slowly, peeling off my kurta and hanging it up in the front while I made my way to the bathroom.

I wasn’t sure what was up with Mohsina, but I made up my mind that I was going to get to the bottom of this. She wasn’t the type who was supposed to be so cut up and broken over a situation. Mohsina was an army. She was strong and feisty. Fierce and determined.

I missed that part of her.

I changed quickly, eager to get back to her and continue our conversation. Coming back to the lounge, I was surprised to see two toasted sandwiches on a plate, waiting for me.

A peace offering? I hoped so.

Maybe not the best outcome here. But it was progress. It was most certainly progress.

I had returned from the ijtima trip that same day, but was forced to storm off the table and come here when Rabia’s comments had become too much for me. In short, I was starving.

I took a seat and watched my wife come closer, half expecting her to retreat, but was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t.

“Cheese and tomato,” she said as she poured us both a glass of water, and I recited Bismillah before taking a sip. “Simple, but my new fave.”

I smiled as I tucked in, enjoying the chillies she had put into it as I ate, stealing glances at her as she nibbled on half a slice.

Something was definitely amiss, and I needed to get to the bottom of it, but I had full faith that it was still going to be okay.

“Sometimes the simple things are the best,” I commented, thinking of how we sometimes aim for big gestures and expensive gifts when peace was priceless. I watched her as she frowned slightly, almost as if she wanted to ask something, but decided to be quiet again.

For a moment, as we sat there, it felt as if no one could touch us. I didn’t want to think of what happened or what was to come. I just wanted to be there, with her, and enjoy the moment.

I didn’t know what was going to happen after.

“We have a lot to talk about,” I said, watching as a strand of hair fell over her face, and I was tempted to reach out and tuck it away. But I didn’t. “Can I bring Zaid tomorrow? He can be here for the night. I’m just hesitant to leave here until we talk this through.”

It was true. I felt that if I had to leave for Zaid, this entire thing would just get postponed. Something would happen that would prevent us from figuring things out. We needed to talk about what happened between us. About how she felt. About whether there was ever a possibility of us reconciling. About what we needed to do from here.

Even if it took the whole night.

Mohsina looked at me, and nodded slowly. She looked slightly deflated, but at least she wasn’t putting a fight up about this.

I already had the plan in my mind. I was going to somehow get us to have a normal grown up conversation. Figure out some things at least.

I was already planning to talk, stay there till the morning, even if it was on the couch, and then take her to the doctor to figure out exactly what was going on with her.

Tomorrow seemed worlds away. As much I wanted to speak about anything and everything, I knew that if we had to start arguing, I would have to leave, and that was the last thing I wanted.

I couldn’t even think about aborting this mission without feeling like scum.

From the blurry lines… now, everything was suddenly looking so much clearer. And maybe I was being overly optimistic, but I was quite certain that tomorrow everything would make sense. That the hope I had invested in us was not completely unfounded.

I reached out as Mohsina watched me, touching the top of her hand with mine, watching her look at me, as if she was startled.

Hold on, my eyes were telling hers.

I don’t know how to, hers were saying back.

Hope.

I didn’t have to say it. My eyes were full of it.

A beautiful analogy.

H.O.P.E.

Hold on.

Pain ends.

And it did end. Well, at least for now, it did. I held on to a sliver of hope, and my heart was already so much fuller.

Nothing was certain in this life, but all I knew was that for tonight, the pain had dulled, and it was going to be okay.

Tomorrow would be another day, and I was just ‘hoping’ that we would have enough hope to pull us through.

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Advertisement

Sins That Leave Scars

Bismihi Ta’ala

Khawlah

“You know,” Aadam said, watching me from the corner of his eye. “You never told me the story of Prophet Aadam…”

I gave my husband a tiny smile as we sat side by side, acquainted very well by now with his cunning ways to convince me to do something. My favorite kids had heard their uncle and were sitting on the rug expectantly. It was very evidently time for bed, and not just for the boys. Aadam was stretching his tired muscles as he yawned, leaning back against the couch with a small smile playing on his lips.

”I practically know that story by-heart…” I moaned, remembering the days when Danyaal used to make me read it, sometimes five times in one sitting.

”Just one time more time, yeah?” Aadam grinned. “For old times sake?”

The night had been fun, with popcorn and board games, but it had been a busy day. The last of the term, with way too many eventful happenings…

I knew exactly what Aadam was trying to do. He was trying to get me to be more involved with the kids, so I could forget the reality that I had just discovered. It was easier said than done…

”Please Khawlah-“ Danyaal started, packing away the blocks.

”Aunty Khawlah,” Aadam cut in smoothly, with one raised eyebrow. “That’s my wife you’re talking to.”

A huge grin crept on Danyaal’s face as he looked at us. He was such a wonderful child, that I couldn’t help but just adore him. Rubeena was so lucky to have been blessed with such a star… He barely fussed about anything, and he truly was one of those rare kids that shone out from the rest. He had even started Hifdh classes this term, and I was so, so proud of him.

And though Aadam was trying to teach his nephew a little thing called respect, I could imagine that if Foi Nani had witnessed this, she would have been horrified. For her, Aunties were ‘Foys and Kalas’. There was no way you could get away with the modern-day substitutes.

Aadam’s family, on the other hand, were not even remotely cultural. They used no Indian or other terms to address their elders. I mean, the kids called their granny Nona. It was too… English…

Fancy, Foi Nani would have said. I missed her. I wished she could have met Aadam.

“Aunty Khawlah,” Danyaal said, looking up at me with a tired smile. “Please can we have the story of Prophet Aadam (AS). We haven’t heard it in ages. And then.. we promise to sleep.”

“Hey,” Aadam said, narrowing his eyes threateningly. “Are you’ll trying to negotiate the sleep-time routine?”

I smiled. Of course they were.

”We promise,” Dayyaan said, sticking out his pinkie finger for Aadam to shake, and  nodding solemnly. His hair was falling over his eyes as he shook, and I stuck out my hand to brush it away.

Zia was mumbling something incoherently, as he lay on the carpet, fiddling with two blocks that he was holding, barely even aware of what he was doing awake.

They were all such characters, and yet,  were all so unbelievably connected to my heart…

”One story, and you’ll better sleep,” Aadam was warning them, as he leaned forward. “Else the bedtime monster is coming to catch you’ll.. and it’s not going to be fun..”

”Don’t scare them,” I rebuked him gently. But they were far from afraid. They knew their uncle too well…

As Aadam leaned forward to crawl onto the rug, his infamous tickle monster being the highlight of their before-bedtime routine. They were in stitches as they giggled away, loving the mixture of pure happy time and drunken tiredness. I loved to watch them. It almost cheered me up completely. Almost.

I watched my playful husband with his nephews as he eventually read them their story, knowing that I wasn’t in the mood to do it. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed someone else reading, though, that night. I was in my element as I listened to his easy voice, closing my eyes as the words glided into each other, almost in a calming rhythm. Aadam really did sound like a poet… His voice was gentle, yet firm, and I knew that if given the choice I would sit there and listen for hours.

Since I was so crazy about reading myself, I had a hunch that his calm mannerism was enough to put the boys into the most peaceful frame of mind. It helped him to put them to bed, and as he read their Kalimahs and Duaas for them softly, when we emerged from the room a few minutes later, they were already hopelessly knocked out.

I grasped Aadam’s hand gently as we retired the balcony bench, hoping to enjoy the city lights and the warmth of the early Autumn night. At night, the city lights were so vivid, that staring into them sometimes made me feel like I was in some sort of daze. It was stunning.

“Give me a smile, beautiful,” Aadam said softly, swinging his arm around me as my body involuntarily stiffened.

I physically slumped my shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension I was feeling, but Aadam wasn’t buying it. He pulled his arm away and leaned forward to look me in the eye, his dark lashes now even more noticeable in the dim light, as he frowned.

“Are you still thinking about Hannah?”

I breathed in momentarily as I closed my eyes, almost wishing that today wasn’t real. Hannah. She was so much on my mind… and I didn’t even know how to get it to stop.

Aadam sighed, as he looked away.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, swallowing worriedly as he placed his hand over mine. “After all this time… coming here and then giving you her sad story…”

I knew what he meant, but for some weird reason, I felt responsible for her. We had spent a good amount of our childhood under the same roof… in the same space… within the same boundaries. With the same crazy mother-figure. Only, she had it a little worse, because there was no getting rid of your real mother…

Aadam was waiting outside when I arrived, and as soon as I saw him, I could see a mixture of relief and worry in his eyes.

And of course, as I locked eyes with this girl that had been my sworn nemesis for almost a decade, I couldn’t help but feel a little obliged to give her a hearing.

”I came to talk,” Hannah said. “I remember Rubeena showing me once where her brother lived… and I took a chance by coming here. I wanted to try and fix some of it.. I know I used your name and I made your life a bit miserable…”

”A bit?” I said incredulously. I was a bit shocked that she was so… open.

“Okay, a lot.”

Responsibility was a hard pill to swallow, but I was honestly a little wary of her. I wasn’t sure what her intentions were, as she sat on Aadam’s couch and watched me with that unreadable expression she had often wore.

“Why did you do it?” I asked her. I was hoping to break that wall that she had built around her. I was hoping to see some sense in her madness.

”Does it really matter?” she said, looking at me with a frown.

“It does,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her expression still emotionless. “That house. Your father. It was nice, okay? Everything felt so much better. I wasn’t sure what it is about you, Khawlah, but everyone just seems to like you without you even trying. I always felt it was so unfair.”

What did you even say to that? When someone openly confesses that they were obsessed with making your life a misery? 

She sighed, and I looked over at Aadam who was sitting down at the corner couch behind us, head down and listening intently without a word. He had refused to let me talk to her alone. I could tell that he didn’t trust her,

“Anway, I’m here because I need help,” she said, looking a little unsure of herself now, for the first time I could ever recall. “My mother doesn’t really care. All she cares about is making other people’s lives a misery, as you know. You’re married and you can help me to get headway with re-adoption.. And I know I don’t deserve it but I mean it when I say that I don’t have much time left. I’m trying to change. In rehab we did a lot of tests and stuff… turned out I contracted HIV somewhere along the way…”

She said it with a nonchalant shrug, and as I met her gaze, I felt like I was in limbo. My heart kind of seized in my chest as I realized what a huge mess Hannah had got herself into.

“Binge parties,” she said, looking a tad bit ashamed as I gaped at her. “No-one really cares whose needle they using. You get so caught up in the high…”

And although she tried to portray that she didn’t care, when I glimpsed at her.. at her frame that was so delicate and her sunken cheeks that seemed to have no life in them… within the hollows of her eyes I could see something that I never saw in Hannah before. Something that she was trying so hard to hide, but was desperately failing to.

Fear. It was so ironic, because it was the one thing that had given her courage to come out here today. Fear was the fall that was lifting her back up… and somehow, that fear was bringing her closer to a reality that she had never known before…

Fear. Fear can cripple us. When we give precedence to bounties, things and people who take over our heart, the fear of losing it consumes us. Soon, what was once a gift becomes a weapon of torture and a prison of our own making. We wish to become free… And at times, in His infinite mercy, Allah frees us…by taking it away. By taking away a gift that we had taken as a right.
As a result of it being taken, we turn to Allah wholeheartedly. In that desperation and need, we ask, we beg, we pray. Through the loss, we reach a level of sincerity and humility and dependence on Him which we would otherwise not reach—had it not been taken from us. Through the loss, our hearts turn entirely to face Him.

Through the fear of loss… sometimes we gain so much more.

Hannah was afraid. So afraid of losing everything, including her life.

And as she spoke, I was visibly taken aback by her words. And then of course, I couldn’t help but think when asked for help with it… after all this time… why did she even want her daughter back? If she wasn’t well, was she even capable of looking after her… and for how long?

And as I sat with my husband that night, I tried to make sense of the things that had evaded me. How do people even end up so… lost? It just seemed so brutal…

“People survive for quite a while on ARV’s,” he said seriously. “Like for years…”

”Really?” I said, feeling a bit better. “So she’s not going to die like right now?”

Aadam smiled.

“Only Allah knows,” he said realistically. “But with the medical technology these days… if it’s HIV, she’s still got a chance of living normally…”

My heart was still pounding in my chest. It was like all hope had evaded me today.

Somehow, she had ended up with a raw deal when it came to a role model, but didn’t she make a choice? So many sins… leaving so many scars…

I thought about Mama… about my own mother. About how her love had exceeded every mark. Though I had known her for such a short time of my lifetime, like a fleeting moment of wonder, her compassion and sincerity in whatever she had conveyed to me in that time was unforgettable.

And then, as Khalid crossed my mind.. I couldn’t help but wonder what would have become of me if I had no friends back then to keep me grounded. What I would have done without that beautiful and rare love had moulded me into someone who could see the beauty in everything my Creator had blessed me with, instead of dwelling on the loss.

And then there was Nusaybah. How amazing was it that she had come into my life from nowhere, breaking down those barriers that I had built and helping me to glimpse the magic of rainbows and laughter, that I had closed my heart off to, all that time…

And now, I looked at Aadam, as he gazed at me as if I was the only person in his world. His love had come like a hurricane… with such ferocity that had lifted me to the most amazing heights, opening my heart, not just to a love I never felt before, but to a world of goodness and gratitude and amazement that I would be forever in awe of…

And of course, I could never forget, the One Constant. No matter what. No matter who. He was always there. He remained. He had got me through it all, through every person that He had placed along my path. I could almost still hear Mama’s voice saying it.

When they slept, He was awake. When they broke, He carried you. When no one else was there, He was. He remained. He always remains. Remember that always, Khawlah. Remember that. Remember Who you owe everything to. 

Gratitude is King. Always was and always will be.

“It’s amazing,” Aadam voice said, breaking into my thoughts as he watched me. “Where I came from… and how much I have… and I keep thinking that we’re okay for now, but I’ve seen people losing their Imaan in front of me, Khawlah. And to them they may believe that they found something better, but to me… They’ve lost everything that matters. Sins are something like quick sand… And once you get stuck, it’s so hard to pull away. How are we even deserving of being saved from that kind of life? Somehow.. I managed to scrape through, yeah? And I cant even be grateful enough…”

”I know,” I said quietly,  leaning back against Aadams outstretched arm, as I thought about what he just said. “I know I shouldn’t be judging her… but I just can’t understand one thing… How did she just let her baby go.. and continue with that life? Having a kid should have put a lot into perspective for her.”

Aadam shrugged.

“When people have issues, they don’t really think at all,” he said. “Maybe she was trying to do the right thing?”

”Maybe,” I murmured. “It’s just so irresponsible. People do that stuff all the time… and an innocent child gets involved. Drugging, partying, irresponsible behavior… and they fall pregnant and give their kids away or have abortions because they can’t handle it… It’s brutal..”

Aadam shifted as I looked up at him. His expression had altered and I could see feel his body tense up next to me as he looked ahead.

“Some people don’t have a choice in the matter,” he said, a flicker of something unrecognisable in his eyes.

“I think most people do,” I argued pointedly. “Having kids… well, it doesn’t happen by itself! You make a choice and you deal with the consequences. If you are grown up enough to do it, you have to man up and face it! There’s not much else to it.”

”Khawlah,” he said, swallowing as he looked at me, albeit nervously, as he got up. “I get your point… but it’s not always black and white…”

”Please Aadam,” I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him. “What would you do? Like really? Would you ever just throw your child away?! ”

Of course, it was a rhetorical question, but he looked at me steadily as I asked it, almost like he was thinking about what to say. He clasped his hands together nervously, tentatively sitting down on the single seater opposite me, and met my unwavering gaze.

“Hypothetically?” he said softly, and I narrowed my eyes at him slightly. “Or for real?”

“What?!” I said, completely confused.

“You really want to know, Khawlah?” he almost whispered, searching my eyes fervently. “And you wont get angry?”

“You’re kidding, right?” I breathed, my voice shaky, as he looked back at me.

I didn’t doubt that Aadam had a past. When I first saw him, in all his teenage glory, I could see just what type of guy he was. That was why I probably wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole. He was different back then, and I probably wasn’t the first girl that had ever caught his eye..

Aadam’s face remained expressionless. My heart pounded in my chest as he gazed back at me.

“There was one particular girl,” he started, and I sat at the edge of my seat with bated breath. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know this, but there was no going back now. He had already spoken too much. “ I knew her for a few years. Pretty well. We were… well…”

“Oh,” I said, swallowing hard at the revelation. I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what he meant.

And that’s when he said it. That’s when he broke to me the news that broke my world.

For the second time that day, I felt like my heart had just seized in my chest. Literally. I honestly felt like I could not breathe. I couldn’t even speak.

His chest heaved slightly as he said it, and my own words had caught indefinitely in my parched throat. He slumped over in relief, as if a weight had been lifted off his burdened shoulders… and now, transferred directly onto mine…

How could he be so selfish?

“I can see it’s a shock,” he murmured, reaching out for my hand from where he sat. “I’m sorry, gorgeous…”

I pulled away at his touch. I mean, really? He tells me something that will crumble my world, and then he expects everything to be okay? 

“A shock?” I said, breathing in with much effort. “You think it’s a shock? Aadam, do you have any idea what this means?”

Aadam looked up, his eyes ridden with guilt. Guilt and absolute regret. Here I was, all this time, thinking Aadam was being considerate by giving me time to adjust to married life… when in reality, he was holding back for his own selfish reasons… Because he couldn’t stomach his own sins. Sins that had left scars so deep, that their effects had shot even to the depths of my own heart…

“I know,” he said softly, his entire frame looking defeated as he stared back at me in desperation. “And I should have explained this a long time ago… I was scared..”

My heart was feeling like it was being torn apart. Bit by bit. Piece by piece….

“A girlfriend, I expected,” I said, my voice steady as I spoke. “Maybe even more than one… But this, Aadam…This is not a small thing. It’s not about liking cheese on my burger, or whether I prefer hot chocolate with milk… or even about sugar in my coffee…”

”I’m sorry, Khawlah,” he said again.

”These are big things,” I continued, my voice getting a little louder as I pointed at him accusingly. “Things you tell people when they marry you..! It’s things you tell people when you fall in love with them and give them your everything… These are things that you say when you’re sitting together and getting to know each other.. things you say before they become a huge issue… like what’s happening right now!”

”Khawlah, please, you’re not being reasonable. All this is in the past-“ he started, edging towards me.

”I need to go,” I said angrily, grabbing my bag and getting up. “Please call Ahmed to fetch me. I’ll wait downstairs.”

“You can’t wait downstairs alone. It’s not safe.”

“I’ll wait inside,” I said stubbornly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Khawlah, I can’t let you leave like this,” he begged. “You’re upset. Please, love… Don’t go…”

“Please understand. I need to be alone,” I said softly, my eyes pleading with his in mutual desperation.

It was a rare moment when we both just stood there, staring at each other, for the first time ever… with nothing else at all left to say…

And to respect my wishes, as he always did, Aadam stood there in forced silence, with a bleeding heart as he watched me walk away. My own insides felt like a series of daggers had penetrated their fore, as I tried to figure out why this terrible pain was one like I’ve never experienced before.

Unreasonable? No. I wasn’t being unreasonable. I was being realistic.

Yes, some things were not always black and white. Good people do bad things. Mistakes happen. People mess up. Everyone has their own battles, and this was just one of mine.

Tears stung my eyes as I practically floated down the stairs, silently praying fervently, aching for my Lord to get me through this one unscathed.

Unscathed.

Unscarred. 

I gave my heart away,

In Your way, Allah,

I beseech Your Aid for one last battle,

Oh, Healer of Hearts… 

---

 

Dear Readers,

A bit of a longer post because I’m writing next week so will be a bit crazy. Please do remember me and all those who are writing in Duaas…

Love to hear from the readers . 

Much Love,

A xx

 

As per the previous post, we are now on the Sunnah of Drinking Water 

1. The Sunnah of drinking water states that blowing on hot water or exhaling into a water glass can spread bacteria into the water. Therefore, it’s important that you move the glass of water away from your mouth after taking a sip so that you can avoid breathing onto thewater. Recite “Alhamdulillah” after drinking water.

 

FB: The Journeying Muslimah

Ig: thejourneyingmuslimah 

#revivetheSunnahofDrinkingWater 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

When Sins are ‘Little’…

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zuleikha

Every person has a story to tell. And every soul is entitled to their own secret. Some people have those perfect ‘love’ stories that the romantics will go crazy about … and some people have morbid tragedies that can even sway the critics.

You see, I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that not everyone has their very own happily ever after. Some stories are just that. Stories. Not everyone marries Mr Perfect and rides into the sunset. I’ve heard many a couple agree that nothing about marriage is forever happy. There are moments of bliss, to be sure, and lengthy spans of satisfied companionship… Yet these come at no small effort, and the girl who reads such fiction dreaming her troubles will end when she is whisked away into the sunset… needs a rational woman to set her straight. Oh, and a reality check.

Yes, people fall in love and go on to live pretty great lives. But there are people who fall in love, and live miserable lives trying to figure out how they ever fell out of it.

And then there are people like me. They are paddling along on this somewhat turbulent route, trying to just find that one thing that gives them peace. Through a little bit of sin, a little bit of falling… and then a dash of desire and aspiration… She doesn’t wait around for a prince to charge in and slay the dragon. Maybe she saves herself and in the end, rides off into her own beautiful sunset.

And that’s the place where her Allah fits right in. That’s where she finds her peace, within the sanctity of her Lord. Her refuge was right there, where there was no storm… And it took me a while to figure it out, but sometimes we have to go right back to the beginning to figure out the end. At what point did everything go so off… and at which point did it come together again.

The thing was, in what I remembered as my beginning, all I knew was that I was blown away. At that time… way back when… during my teenage delusion, I was taken in by a a ‘little bit of sin’ with a guy who promised me the world and more.

I was a 17 year old school student. He was 21 year old heartthrob. Sought after, painstakingly rich and strikingly handsome. Even if I didn’t want to know him… there was always a murmur through the crowd when he made an appearance.

And I’m not telling you this so you can envy me. Really. There’s nothing enviable about my story. I’m telling you this so you can know… when I met Jameel… I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into. Many teenage girls don’t have the foresight to see that a crowd-stopping boyfriend doesn’t always make an amazing husband.

Yes, of course he had caught my eye. There was barely a girl who didn’t know who he was. I was also warned to steer clear because he didn’t have the best of reputations. He had left a string of broken hearts behind him as he worked his way through most girls in the higher grade. He had been in the same school three years before and there was no mystery about him when his name was mentioned….

But being fickle girls, his notoriety didn’t stop any of the girls from wanting to be one of his conquests. I supposed every girl who caught his eye believed that she would be the one to change him. And every woman who ever thought they could change a man usually ended up with a real sore reality check… as well as a broken heart.

And then of course, one day, his flashy red BMW stopped next to me, as I walked the two kilometer distance back home. His window rolled down and I could barely breathe as he offered me that dazzling smile, as I stood there, thinking why on earth this guy had his eye on me.

And as I watched him watching me, I couldn’t think of anyone else who remotely resembled him. He was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways. On the surface he was a bad boy, the talk of the town… but somehow there was a mysterious and compassionate side of him that he never failed to surprise me with.

And yes, I didn’t see sense at first. Besides knowing that it was against every principle I had ever had, every belief I had been taught… my first boyfriend was the one that I broke all the rules for. I would sneak out to meet him. I would stay out till late to be with him. I would lie to go out with him. It was wrong on every level. Small sins became bigger ones.

And yes, it wasn’t only because I found him unusually enchanting. His overprotective nature was intense. The fact that he would never tolerate a guy looking at me at school was somewhat alluring.

But then, as happens, I came to see another side of him… that bordered on obsession. When I entered the small teaching centre the following year, that my father had eventually allowed me to attend, I couldn’t stand him following me everywhere… that’s when I knew that it wasn’t healthy. I needed some space. I needed to breathe. I tried to get out of his clutches. I had to do what was best for myself.

But let me tell you something. When you’re young, impressionable and are looking for comfort in the wrong places… you make uneducated choices. You think that little sins are small things. They’re not. You just don’t see the reality of a situation until you get really caught up.

Pulling away was like trying to cut a metal chain. In that time, when I had been forced to let Foi Nani source a proposal for me just so I could call it quits on Jameel… I was bordering on desperation.

Yousuf was the grandson of Foi Nani’s friend and a promising prospect. Really promising. I had a feeling that Foi Nani knew about Jameel too and didn’t like the idea of him. And it had been going so well… until Aunty Nas had very conveniently intruded to kill every chance that ever existed for a different kind of life. A normal life. A life that wasn’t going to feel like I was in a prison.

And I’m sure Jameel had got wind of Yousuf coming home. He had waited outside campus for me every day that week after the proposal had come home. I tried to avoid him. He had promised me that he’d changed, but I just found his persistence scary..

After the scene with Aunty Nas, Yousuf’s family they had come to know about Jameel. They were wary but there was still hope… until things started compounding on me… and I felt suffocated.

Of course I still had doubts about Jameel, but I suppose that’s what happens when you are in over your heard. When you get involved in something Haraam, and it goes terribly wrong.

What I figured out after was that when Jameel said that Abba didn’t go missing by chance… was that he knew exactly who was responsible for it.

Aunty Nas had owed people money. Lots of money. The plain fact was that we didn’t have the money. It was a war of its own that was going on… and when Jameel had come back into the picture with a promise to make it all go away, I couldn’t resist. Deep down, I really did feel something for this crazily obsessed guy. Despite his never leaving me alone… I knew that if I just gave into him, everything would be okay.

To many girls though, they would have thought that I married the perfect guy. The teenage dream. The guy that every girl wants.

But it never felt like that. There was too much going on at the time to feel at peace and in love. Yes, there were moments of amazement and hope, but there were also moments of unexplainable torment. Somehow, even when you make a Haraam thing Halaal, you still end up paying for the sins you did before. There was never complete ease in our marriage.

And of course, in retrospect, all I could see here was Aunty Nas and her constant effort in controlling our family, even long after she was gone. It was like she could not stand to see us happy. Her entire existence was focused on making sure everyone of us was miserable… and I could clearly see her work still going on.

So when Khawlah called me, all cut up about a story with a theme that sounded heartbreakingly familiar, I knew that this work was not just the work of regular gossip aunties of our town. There was something sinister about this story. Something that spelled trouble, and of course, had an ulterior motive.

It was a feeling of mixed emotion. And yes, I had found my path in life. Finally, I had got to that place that I wanted to… but it didn’t mean that everything in the past would just disappear. I knew that there would many things that would set me back.

“Did you hear that Hannah is out of rehab?”

I shot Jameel a glance as he said that, using the sports towel to wipe his forehead as he watched me. Of course, he had come back from cycling where he had probably seen someone he knew…

Where Hannah was, Aunty Nas was never far. The two of them were cut of the same cloth.

“Who told you that?”

”A little bird,” Jameel said, trying to sound mysterious.

”Did you speak to Shabeer?” I asked, unable to contain myself.

Jameel pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.

“I suppose I did,” he said. I didn’t like the fact that he was meeting Shabeer so often.

As long as Jameel steered clear of his shady past, I was happy. The minute it came up again… I felt threatened.

And yes, even though things had gotten better… we still had work to do on our marriage. It was a few weeks ago when things had come into perspective for us, once again. When I had come to assess where we really stood.

It was when I had finally decide to take that step and wear the niqaab… for Jameel… it was a huge blow. He couldn’t understand why I would ever want to be so hectic…

“What is this?” He had said angrily, pulling it off my face. “We don’t wear these things.”

I looked at him defiantly as he scowled. He was upset.

“I’m changing my life,” I said to him softly,  hoping he would understand. “I want your support but I don’t depend on it. I have Allah.. but I would really love you to do this with me too…”

”Shit, Leikha,” he said in irritation, running his neat fingers over his stubble. “I’m trying man. I’m just not ready for all this crap. First the hijaab and the taaleem and all this… I can’t do it all… I’m not saying no, but slow down man.”

Was it really too much too soon? But why couldn’t he just see the things the way I did? Why couldn’t he just see the beauty it had brought and embrace it all? Why did he want to hold off?

I shrugged as he looked at me. What did I tell him?

Show him, something within me was saying. Show him what this life is about… Don’t push him. 

”Think about it,” I said softly, stepping back as I watched him. “You don’t  have to change overnight… but I need you with me. I want you to be a part of this. If you can’t be… then you can go on. Live the life you want. Do what you like. But I can’t be here.”

I swallowed as I remembered Jameels words, once upon a time when he threatened to kill me if I ever left. Today, I was giving him the choice. He either took my path, or we had to make a better decision for both of our sanity. The painful truth was that I truly did love him.

I looked at my husbands handsome face, now riddled with worry. He had made it clear that he would not know what to do without me. I didn’t want him to be reliant on me. I wanted him to find a source of Greater Peace. I wanted him to truly find Allah. I was doing this for both of us.

He was shaking his head, and I could see regret filling his eyes as he met mine.

“I’m so sorry, Leikha,” He said softly, coming towards me and grasping me by the shoulders. “You know that wasn’t me talking, don’t you? I was so off-track. I’m so sorry I put you through hell, babe… it’s just… I don’t know how to deal with this. How will we go out? How will we visit my family when you are so… hectic… we’ll be so awkward…”

”Let’s take it as it comes, okay?” I said softly to him as he bit his lip, both of us watching Muhammed chattering to himself in the feeding chair as he ate his strawberries.

He was blissfully aware of the dynamics that had existed between us, and I was so grateful that Jameel had changed his evil ways. He had taken up healthier hobbies, like sports and cycling… but I needed him to understand that there was more…

And of course, it had been a tiny hurdle compared to others, but with heartfelt Duaas, my husband had accepted my change in his own way.

Now as I looked at him, being sober for months, I couldn’t help but see what a completely different and amazing person he could be. Yes, if anyone ever told you otherwise, always believe that bad marriages can go good. I had living proof.

And he had assured me that there was nothing to worry about, but deep in my heart, I knew that there was another problem of my past that needed to be addressed. A problem that had to do with Shabeer, Hannah and Aunty Nas. Someone was causing conflict and I knew that it was going to ruin us as a family.

When I went to my fathers house later that evening, it was no surprise to see Ahmed looking like he’d been knocked over by a bus. I had already suspected that Khawlah’s mother-in-law’s theories were not completely off-track.

It was just as well that Khawlah wasn’t at home. Ahmed looked up at me with a frown as I entered his room. I’m sure if he could have growled at me, he would have too.

I remembered Mamas words about my brother. Unlike Yunus, who was always soft and obliging… Ahmed had a hard streak about him that I just couldn’t crack.

And okay, I know we all get caught up in a little bit of sin from time to time. But how much is too much? When does an innocent conversation become something more? When does a simple glance become a lustful gaze?

I know that Ahmed probably didn’t mean for it to get this far.  How anyone had found out about this aspect of his work was probably the doing of Aunty Nas. Ahmed knew people. People who weren’t always up to good. He knew them because he used to hang out with them when he was younger.

His earning cash every now and then was because he mediated between Mafia and regular people who owed them money… making deals and trying to get people out of debts. It was a good intention… but a really dangerous job too. Although he said he knew the guys for years and they would never hurt him… what I knew about Mafia was that they could turn at anytime.  According to what Khawlah had suggested, Rubeena had called him to ask him for some guy’s number to sort out some debts that he knew back in the day.

It had to do with her husband who owed some money, and she was trying to resolve things before they got out of control. What they didn’t realize was that things were already way out of control..

What I wasn’t sure of was whether Ahmed would open up to me to tell me the truth. Khawlah was devastated. I tried to make her see sense, but she was a adamant that Ahmed knew exactly what he was going when he communicated with Rubeena. She was insistent that he would have known better. She was right, of course, but as I looked at my brother… I found it hard to understand what he was really thinking.

A pretty woman like her and a young promising guy like him… was there really no room for Shaytaan to come in between? Of course… it was all just theories but there was always an opportunity.

Oh, the pain and conflict that a little bit of sin could cause… I was physically aching to get to the bottom of this…

”Ahmed,” I said to him, hoping he would soften up as I sat at the edge of his bed. “Can we talk?”

---

 

Sunnah of honoring guests:

Abu Shuraih Khuwailid bin Amr Al-Khuza`i RA reported: I heard Messenger of Allah (sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam) saying, “He who believes in Allah and the Last Day, should accommodate his guest according to his right.” He was asked: “What is his right, O Messenger of Allah?” He (sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam) replied: “It is (to accommodate him) for a day and a night, and hospitality extends for three days, and what is beyond that is charity.”
(Bukhari and Muslim)

FB: The Journeying Muslimah

Ig: thejourneyingmuslimah 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

When things are not Pretty…

---

Bismihi Ta’ala

Rubeena

There’s a great lesson that I once learnt from a pressure cooker. Yes, from a pressure cooker. And no, I have not lost my mind.

Because sometimes, you just don’t know the reality. You are blissfully unaware of the facts. I know they say you must listen to your gut and all that sentimental hogwash… but something told me that I had to open that pot, no matter what, because it was time to eat. And damn, I was hungry.

I was persistent. I battled with its stubbornness, pushing and pulling the lid… despite protests from my friend who was there… until bam… it exploded all over the stove. My face was a few centimeters away, but my hands got the brunt of it. They burned persistently for hours. It was far from pretty, but I didn’t believe it would happen until I saw it.

Sometimes you have to let go and focus on the facts. You have listen when people advise you. You have to do what’s the right thing, under the circumstance, no matter what your sometimes unruly mind (or rumbling gut) may tell you…

And leave aside the pressure cooker… which I’ll come back to later… but the thing is, you never really know the day when your whole world’s going to get turned upside down, do you? I mean, no-one really anticipates it. I don’t think anyone ever plans it.

I mean, no one really says; “Well, today, I’m going to completely botch up the normality of my world, just because it looks like fun…”

I mean, really.

And I know that I don’t have the best of reputations when it comes to getting my act together, but give me some credit okay?

I had strongly come to believe that whatever good you ever have an inclination to do, the best thing you could ever do for yourself is to do it right then and there. Don’t wait for Ramadhaan, to start wearing the hijab. Don’t wait for when you get old, to start praying. Don’t wait for your heart to become so burdened… that you fear your repentance will never be accepted.

Abu Hurayrah (radi Allahu anhu) reported that the Messenger of Allah (sal Allahu alaihi wa sallam) said, “Hasten to do good deeds before you are overtaken by one of the seven afflictions.” Then (giving a warning) he said, “Are you waiting for such poverty which will make you unmindful of devotion; or prosperity which will make you corrupt, or disease as will disable you, or such senility as will make you mentally unstable, or sudden death, or Ad-Dajjal who is the worst expected absent, or the Hour, and the Hour will be most grievous and most bitter.”

And yes, I had tried. I had really tried so hard to keep it together. For my kids… for my family… even for myself. But the thing is, sins… well, they’re something like quicksand. They have a tendency to make you think you’re on top of things when in reality, you’re sinking.

And boy, we were sinking. We were nearly underground.

“Hey hey hey, Assalamualaikum!” Adam’s voice boomed from outside. The boys had already smelt him. “Where are our little aliens tonight? Have they finally come back down to earth?”

I could hear a series of giggles and whispers as little footsteps made their way down the passage. The kids were ecstatic. It had been while since they spent time with Adam and they had missed him.

My mothers face scrunched up momentarily before she tossed her head back indifferently. I didn’t ask her what was wrong, as I exited the kitchen. I knew there was no point.

Besides, I had told myself that I was going to try and be a better person. Especially to my mother. No more rolling eyes (directly) at her. No more mocking her holier than thou attitude. No more looking down on her. Instead I was going to try and gently be the better and more refined person… and see where it gets me. I wasn’t sure how far I was going to get but hey, a girl could try right?

“Hey Ruby, Salaams,” Adam looked up at me as he emptied a hoard full of chocolates from his pocket. “How’s everything going?”

It was a normal day. It was a simple question too.

But for me, a normal day was one with regular inconveniences. The traffic to school was as crappy as always, Zia had been as sick as a dog while he brought up in the back seat (all over my new branded sports hijab) and Zaydaan had thrown a complete hissy fit in the middle of the service station convenience store (over a drink with a name that he couldn’t even pronounce). A completely normal day, by the standards of any mother.

And so when I got home and saw Shabeer already making himself comfortable on the reclining couch… I wasn’t sure what snapped in me.

All I could think of was some really uncensored words.

And in true ruffled-up-my-feathers female style, I said nothing as I started to (very noisily) unpack my grocery packet. Bottles were clanging and cupboards were banging. I knew if I raised it up one more notch, it couldn’t do much harm, but as I heard Shabeer clearing his throat in the passage to announce his arrival, I already knew that I had gotten the desired effect.

“Err, Ruby?” His voice said, a little hesitantly as he entered the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

”Yes,” I barked.

Bang went the spice drawer.

”Are you sure?” He asked, frowning as he came closer, taking the empty packets and stuffing them under the sink.

Clank went the chilli sauce on the counter.

I said nothing as I continued with my task.

“Okay what the hell?” He said, looking defeated as he shook his head at me. “Have you lost your marbles?”

”I’m applying for Hajj,” I said suddenly, looking him in the eye for a minute, taking him in. He was all pooped out from a semi-busy day at work and I could see he was a little stressed. I knew he had all these debts he was trying to sort out and he had blamed them on Hannah. I didn’t care because I knew that he was lying. I had checked up on many of his personal files in the last few weeks, and I had clear insight on what was going on. I had even contacted someone to figure it all out. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea but it put everything into a much better perspective for me.

Money. Women. Vices. Sins. I was just so sick of hearing about it, whether it was from the nosy neighbour or the woman at the gym. The gambling and the drink that I smelt on Shabeer at least three nights every week.

I had had it. Literally. I didn’t want to live this life anymore. Sooner or later it was going to take its toll. All that money… so much of it yet all so devoid of any goodness.. I couldn’t use it to nourish my kids anymore. I couldn’t use it to live a regular life. We had to change. All this Haraam was taking its toll.

The thing is, when my kids were younger, I could easily pull the wool over their eyes and act like everything was peachy. Now that my kids were bigger, how was I going to explain to them why their father was so evasive? Now that Danyaal was eight, who was going to take him to mosque? Who was going to explain to him everything about growing up and living as a proper Muslim male, when his father was completely devoid of every aspect of it.

“Really?” Shabeer said, raising his eyebrows at me. “For when?”

“Whenever it comes through,” I said casually. “I’ve already put our names down.”

Shabeer smirked.

“Is someone giving you all these ideas,?” He asked mockingly, and I could see he wanted to laugh. “I’m not ready to go all holy yet, please Ruby. Hajj is for fifty plus. Give me a break… I’m still young.”

”Look at you!” I retorted, wondering if he glanced in the mirror lately. “You look like you’re nearly 90 years old! Who knows how much longer you’re going to live?”

I didn’t care that Shabeer’s ego was visibly wounded by my statement. The way I saw it, all it would take was one overdose and he was probably going to collapse.

With all the silly young women he usually ran  after, he probably didn’t realize just how crappy he really looked. I also knew that he was hiding something from me. I had dug onto some of his recent shenanigans and realized that he had clearly not learned his lesson. Another woman. Another Nikah. The chase was never enough for Shabeer. This was, for me, the last straw. He was either going to change, the way I wanted or he needed to leave. There was no other way.

And of course, it became a fully blown argument with ugly words and accusations. I told him exactly what I thought of him and he called me, to put it lightly, a stuck up pain in the behind. I didn’t care what he was on about. He told me no-one will want to marry me now, with four kids. He tried to convince me that I was lucky to have him.

All I knew at that point was that if he wasn’t going to change, I didn’t want him. So when Aadam asked me how I was…. well, what more could I do but shrug. No use burdening him with all my sorry stories.

I smiled at Khawlah as she offered me a half wave.

How had everything been going? Besides being a little over ambitious in the eating department, slacking on the training and dwelling in the misery of probably being alone forever, I’d been been doing good. I could already feel the kilos loading on.. but you know what? I didn’t care. I liked being chubby.

“Where’s mum?” He said, squeezing my shoulder as he offered a small hug. “Did she cook up a storm?”

I tried really hard not to roll my eyes. See, I really was trying.

”Shes made that Mesh Om Ali thing for dessert,” I said, keeping a straight face. “She said she’s the only one who hasn’t tried it yet because her family never comes to visit her. She’s feeling like the unloved mother so I’m just warning you…”

”She’ll snap out of it when she sees me,” Adam said, winking at me confidently as he walked to the kitchen. I didn’t follow him because besides not wanting to get in my mothers way… I really didn’t want to answer the one question she had been raving about since I arrived.

“Where is Shabeer?”

And honestly, I had no idea why she was so on about him. Every previous time when he hadn’t come, I had told her the tale about him being busy with work and she had accepted it. It was just that today… well, today, she knew something was up. How she knew, I had no idea, but I could tell that she wanted to hear it from me.

I sighed. The other thing she couldn’t stop talking about was how she couldn’t believe that Adam had replaced us. I had kind of blanked out after that.

The kids were busy outside, and since my mum had refused any help in the kitchen, Khawlah had gone to join them. My mother was acting all hard to get as Adam tried to strike up a conversation, which was just a tad bit unusual.

It went something like this.

“How was your week, mum?”

Mum: Sulky face.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Mum: Shrugs shoulders.

”Am I still your favorite or have I been demoted?”

Mum: Stony glare.

Now if I was him, I would have clean given up by now. But I knew that Adam couldn’t stand when anyone was upset with him. A weakness, yet a strength that he possessed since he was a kid.

“Okay mum,  I’m sorry,” he finally said. “Please tell me what I can do to make you smile.”

I wished he wasn’t such a suck up.

“You worry about making everyone else happy but you forget about your own mother!” My mother snapped, and I couldn’t help but widen my eyes with the viciousness of the onslaught.

Adam was, to put it lightly, taken aback.

”I heard about how you go to that lady’s house every day. She’s not even related to you! What kind of son are you?!”

I had to hand it to my brother. He remained composed.

“I didn’t know that it upset you so much,” he said quietly. “Those people lost their son. They don’t have family here. I keep imagining if it was you… and you lost me… I wouldn’t have wanted you to hurt alone…”

I closed my eyes momentarily as my mother turned to Adam, expecting the worst.

“I wouldn’t make it everyone else’s problem,” she retorted acidly, the entire crux of what Adam was trying to say completely going over her head.

What she didn’t know at that stage was that she was going to eat her very own words sooner than she thought.

“No-one is making it my problem,” Adam said softly. “They’re really nice people. Aunty Radiyyah barely speaks to me but she always makes us comfortable with her hospitality. I’ve become really close to her husband and I just wanted to be there for him… I didn’t mean to hurt you, mum. You know I love you. You’ll always be my fave.”

And of course, like a sucker, my mother scoffed and wiped away her fake tears, because Adam was just so good at breaking her firewall. The two of them were murmuring to each other as I left the kitchen in semi-disgust, actually quite shocked that I could never swindle my mother like that.

And of course, now that the awkwardness was over, I was quite looking forward to my mother’s supper. My father was chattering away to Khawlah and Danyaal about some higher grade Du’aa I never heard of that you need to read if you forget to make your first dua… as they sat and as I began to tuck in, I really did not expect any more drama.

Despite my marriage very possibly crumbling, I was feeling completely at ease. Knowing that Shabeer was going to be out of my life was actually kind of comforting, and as I savoured my first mouth full of my mother’s butter chicken, her next words were enough to make my taste buds completely numb.

“Where did you say Shabeer was again?”

All I could taste now was chalk. The mention of Shabeer nowadays usually did make me lose my appetite. I just wasn’t ready to tell my mother the truth as yet.

“He’s not coming,” I said flatly. “He’s busy.”

”But I especially called him!” She said, annoyed that I wasn’t giving her a proper answer. “Why didn’t he come?”

“Because I told him not to,” I said simply, and I could feel all eyes on me. I swallowed my chalk roti and took a sip of powdery Appletiser.

“Why would you do that?” My mother asked, appalled as she looked at me. “He’s always welcome here!”

“Not when I’m here,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her and sitting back.

I couldn’t eat. My mothers questions were becoming too intense. I didn’t want to tell her like this but she was really pushing me to. My father was wisely trying to distract her but she was having none of it.

She was going on about how hard it was to get her family together, and the one time she does, I had to go and spoil it by opening my big mouth. I didn’t want to tell her that no-one really missed Shabeer anyway. Her words were just kind of going around in circles as she went on and on, and even though I was trying really hard to block it out, I felt like I was being hounded by the mini-demons in my head who gave me no relief whatsoever, no matter how good I was being.

The voices were kind of compounding on me, and even when I started humming to myself in the hope of ignoring it, they just seemed to get louder, louder and louder… and as my mother praised Shabeer and basically knackered everyone else who wasn’t him… I had to call it quits on my better conscience. The evil was definitely triumphing the good here and I could not even resist.

I just could not take it anymore. I felt like that bursting pressure cooker. I completely snapped.

”He’s never coming back!” I shouted, the entire table silencing immediately as I said it. And yeah, how crazy was it that now everyone was looking at me like I had gone bonkers?

“But why?” My mother said weakly, and I could almost see her bottom lip sticking out. How typical it was that she would make it all about her?

”I’ve asked him for a divorce,” I said, knowing that this was going to cause a commotion. And yes, I knew that this was no surprise to anyone, despite how my mothers lip was trembling.

What I didn’t anticipate was what happened next.

My mothers eyes narrowed as she shifted her gaze around the table almost in disorientation. At first I thought it was just shock, but as she finally let it settle on Khawlah…. I knew this was no coincidence.

It wasn’t even that she had just lost her cool, as she stared at my sister-in-law. As her eyes promptly narrowed and she glared at her… I couldn’t help but cringe as she pointed a completely unnecessary accusing finger. My mother knew more than she was letting on and this was definitely not going to be pretty…

”You!” She exploded, and my heart literally shuddered as she shrieked. Khawlah obviously knew nothing about what she was on about.

Unfortunately, I was the only one that did…

“This is all your fault!”

---

Apologies for the late post 🌸 

Just a reminder of Jumuah Sunnah… I think it’s an awesome idea to set a goal for Durood every Friday. (Usually 1000+) 

Don’t forget Surah Kahaf, Friday ghusl and lots and lots of special duaas for the Ummah. Make intention for Sunnah and we will get double reward InshaAllah! 

#revivetheSunnahofJumuah

FB/IG: thejourneyingmuslimah

#revivetheSunnahof Sleepingearly

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq

#missionsunnahrevival 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#revivetheSunnahofeating

Twitter @ajourneyjournal

Out of Darkness

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Waseem: The finer things of life...

There are two beautiful things that remain with you after this life has taken it’s course.
To say it more effectively, till Jannah, we are given the privilege of carrying two things of this world, and treasuring it with us.

But the most amazing thing about these two concepts, is that they are intrinsically related. The one, most definitely, is dependant on the other. Without the one, the other could never be completely in tact.

And the way I see it, it’s either all or nothing. There was no middle line. If you were compromising on one, the other will definitely take the toll.

That’s why it is said that there is nothing better in this world than a pious spouse. For a man, a pious wife effortlessly brings these two ideals together, from this temporary world into our final abode. Imaan and Nikah are combined to give us that one way ticket straight into the garden of Paradise.

And that was why, when my elder brother’s marriage starting really crumbling, I couldn’t ever understand how anyone could ever underestimate the sanctity of Nikah. It was completely beyond me that anyone could ever disregard it’s importance. How my own brother, who I had once admired for landing someone way beyond his expectations, could ever kill the entire meaning of commitment, as I knew it.

I honestly did not get it.

For a few days or weeks of ‘temporary satisfaction’, he had just thrown away what was probably supposed to be the best thing in his life.

I just knew that I wasn’t ready to face him. I knew that I couldn’t trust myself to speak to him without it getting extremely heated.

And of course, I knew about temptation. I knew that a woman on the prowl could have easily got him doubting his own loyalty. I knew that he had his excuses, and that he had been going through a rough patch in his marriage. I also knew that Aasiya might have not been the easiest woman to live with.

But like Mo, I too had said the words that bound me till Jannah and eternity. I knew that ‘Qabiltun Nikahaha linafsi bi dhalik’ didn’t only just make you a married man with status and responsibility, but it also meant that you are wholly committing yourself to accepting the obligations as a husband. It meant that you are certain that you, and no-one else, can carry out whatever you need to do to keep your wife safe and happy and under your refuge.

I just couldn’t understand how everyone didn’t see it the same way.

“Waseem,” my mother’s voice shouted from outside the room door. “Muhammed Zaheer is here.”

I opened my one eye, seeing Zaynah waking up from her side of the bed. She was usually up and about way before me on a Sunday morning, so I got slightly worried at her lethargy this morning.

She sat on the side of the bed, looking slightly worn out.

“Are you okay, love?” I mumbled to her, as I slowly lifted my head to watch her.

She looked at me with tired eyes and a tiny smile. She still looked like my gorgeous wife, of course, but something about her wasn’t the same. She looked… Worn. Weary. Maybe she needed a break.

“Didn’t you hear your mother?” she whispered as she pulled on her gown. “Muhammed is here. You can’t be rude. You need to get up.”

My mother was the only one who called Mo by his full name. A double-barrelled name was always a schlep, and so when Mo was in his teens he had ditched his second name, just keeping the first, to make his life easier.

“Don’t mention him to me,” I scoffed. “I can’t even look at him… What must I go out for?”

Zaynah didn’t say anything. She just stepped into the bathroom without another word. I waited patiently for her to come out, wanting to talk to her.

“Zaynah. Don’t go,” I pleaded sulkily, sitting up to watch my wife getting ready to leave the room. “Chill. Take it easy. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m just feeling a bit odd for the past few days,” she said, looking at me with a confused  frown. “I don’t know what it is. But Mummy will need help… She invited Ziyaad and Farah for lunch today.”

She pulled on her Abaya, and glanced in the mirror to pin her scarf.

For once, I couldn’t help but think how difficult living here must be for her. I felt bad that she could barely step out of the room without being fully covered. There was never any privacy here with my brothers always around.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” I suggested, getting a bit worried. She even looked like she had lost weight, and it wasn’t like Zaynah needed to.

“I have stuff to do, Waseem,” she said, sounding tired.

I knew that. I just didn’t understand why Zaynah had to always go the ten extra miles for everyone else. She was always busy. She took on too much of responsibility, and I could see my brothers taking advantage.

Now that Aasiya was gone, I knew that Mo came here for at least two meals every day, and that Ziyaad was always expecting the fridges to be full of his favourite dishes. I noticed that he seemed to particularly enjoy my wife’s food, and being Zee, he didn’t feel awkward to make requests. I knew I was being moody and petty, but it made me just a little bit frustrated.

I made a mental note to ask her if she wanted to go to her uncle’s place two hours away for a short break next week. I would miss her, but maybe she just needed some time away from everything that was going on here. Helping with Dad also wasn’t that easy, though she never complained.

“C’mon Wassi,” Zaynah said, now putting her hands on her hips and grinning, despite everything she was going through.  “Stop being so sulky. You need a jelly baby?”

I looked back at her and I couldn’t help but smile back. She  was a beam of sunshine amidst the darkness I was feeling.

She had already started her jelly baby operation at this hour, and it always humoured me.

“Okay,” I said, jumping off the bed and taking up her offer on the jelly babies. “But don’t force me to talk to that scum-”

“Waseem!” she said, looking just slightly angry. “Don’t. He might have messed up but you still can’t judge him.”

I sighed, pulling in my kurtah.

“He just makes me feel…”

I trailed off and shrugged, as Zaynah left the room.

Disgusted. Enraged. Disturbed.

I had been fighting with controlling the emotions every time he came home, just so I could appear civil for my mother’s sake. And so that there would be no physical exchanges due to our difference.

Mothers were mothers. She was, of course, angry when Mo told her about Aasiya leaving, but she still worried. I knew she probably phoned him to check if he had eaten, and she probably still felt sorry for the idiot, regardless of how messed up he was.

I took the spiral staircase to the dining room, immediately hearing my eldest brother’s morbid voice as he spoke to my mother.

“I’m trying, Ma,” he was saying as I walked into the room. “But you know Aasiya. She won’t talk. She’s still upset. What more can I do?”

I wanted to klap him. What more can he do?

Now, after he probably broke her to pieces, he wanted to patch everything up as if it never happened? Completely typical male chauvinist behaviour.

I shook my head, moving on to the kitchen before they saw me.

Zaynah was already downstairs, busy at the oven.

“Did you talk to him?” She asked softly, glancing at me as she placed a tray down.

“Him and Mum were talking,” I said morbidly. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

Zaynah shook her head at me and half smiled. She knew that I was avoiding him, and though of course, she wasn’t in favour of what he had done, Zaynah always had hope. She had this insane idea that everyone in this world is still looking to find themselves. For her, no one is as bad as they seem.

Zaynah started to say something else, but stopped suddenly as Mo stepped in. She quickly put down her pardah and left the room, and I knew that it was one situation that I couldn’t avoid him.

It looked like he was waiting for an opportunity to talk to me, and I shifted uncomfortably on the stool, not really knowing what to say.

He too looked uncomfortable as he leaned against the cabinet, crossing his legs in front of him, and I studied him momentarily.

Guess jeans. Hugo Boss shirt. Versace sunglasses.

Mo’s life was on another level entirely, and, wife or no wife, he was still living it.

Given, he was looking a bit down, but I wasn’t sure when he would ever touch-down with the reality that all that crap was just an illusion. I thought that now, of all times, he would get some kind of wake up call. I just hoped that the girl that had messed things up hadn’t appeared in the picture again.

“Waseem,” he said, breaking the ice, and trying to start a conversation.

“Zaheer,” I said looking up at him, raising my eyebrows.

He frowned at me, looking annoyed.

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Boss,” I said, my voice getting slightly louder. “Why do you think? You don’t even deserve the name you have. You’re the only one in this family named after the Best of Mankind (SAW), and nothing about you even depicts the Sunnah. It’s sad, boet. Sad.”

Mo said nothing back. I mean, what could he say?

It was the first time we were actually having a one-on-one conversation like this, and I had to let him know exactly what I thought of him, even if I felt slightly bad about it. Anger was slowly dissipating, and I felt myself calm down again.

“How could you, bru?” I said now, shaking my head at him.

I wanted to ask him what kind of man does something like that, but I knew I would probably just add more guilt to his already disturbed conscience. I wanted to ask him what was so bad about his marriage that he let another chic come in the way, but I didn’t want to go down that avenue unless he volunteered the information.

“Things were tough,” he said simply, not meeting my eye. “She made the move, and it was a weak moment. You won’t understand.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, immediately seeing red. I understood. I understood very well.

“So tough that you’ll couldn’t get help and sort it out?!” I bellowed. “So tough that you had to resort to Haraam?!

I must have been shouting a bit too loudly, because I could see Mo looking beyond me, as if someone came in. I immediately shifted my focus away from Mo, and looked back.

Zaynah stood there, looking just slightly uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to my slightly erratic and bed-tempered behaviour. I had never really shown her that side of me, until now.

“Waseem,” Zaynah said softly, and I could see that she was waiting for my response. She was probably just waiting for me to calm down.

I nodded at her, waiting for her to continue. I was still raging inside.

“Ziyaad is here, love,” she said, even more softly, that I had to strain my ears to hear her.

I looked back at her, still a bit confused.

“It’s time for reading,” she finished off, and I could see a book in her hand.

Calmness descended almost immediately. In my state of mind, it was quite something.

A pious wife. SubhaanAllah.

I was probably going to blow my top with Mo, but she knew exactly when to step in and what to do. Any other woman coming into a family like mine, where darkness was literally consuming us, would probably feel awkward to bring in weekly Taaleem as a routine.

Not Zaynah. Besides her own daily kitaab reading, at every lunch or family supper, she would never hesitate to fill our table with the words of Allah and his Nabi (SAW). And what better light can be as a guidance for us, other than the noor of His (SAW) words.

It really was the most peaceful and calming time in our house, when all the gloom and doom of our sins seemed to lift, and tranquillity just seemed to shower over us. And yes, it may sound fairytale-like, but even Mo and I put our differences aside for that time, because it just had that kind of effect.

The thing was, before the Sahabah had become who they were, Radhiallahu Anhum wah Radhu anh (Allah is pleased with them and they with Him) it was these gatherings of Dhikr that made them the greatest people of Imaan. It was through effort, constant dhikr and through the love and barakah of the words of our Nabi (SAW).

And of course, I couldn’t fully digest this. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. As I sat there, looking at my family, I was amazed that I could actually see this today. A day where we would be gathered for something that wasn’t going to benefit us materialistically. The day where we would actually put everything aside, for a few minutes, for the sake of Allah.

And I could sense that maybe Mo didn’t want to be here, and maybe Ziyaad’s wife found it a bit strange, but the fact was that, against the odds, they were here, and it was an opportunity that I we couldn’t let go off.

Only Dad was missing, but I knew that Zaynah went in now and then to share something with him, and surprisingly, since he was completely besotted with Zaynah, he just listened with no arguments.

I opened to the marker of the Kitaab that Zaynah had placed, looking at the Hadith briefly before saying it aloud.

You could trust Zaynah to choose something that we needed to hear, because she, of all people, knew exactly what it was.

The narration was an amazing one about Musaa (AS). It was one that inspired hope and love, and made me look beyond everything I had seen all this time. I knew that was exactly what Zaynah had intended.

On one particular account, the paternal cousin of Musaa (AS), Qaaroon, had called him to preach to the people, of course, with an ulterior motive in mind. As Musaa (AS) started preaching, among other verses, he then came to a verse about adultery, and the people then accused him there of. A woman who was paid to slander his name came forward.

They asked her what she had to say about Musaa (AS). Musaa (AS) then asked her to speak on oath.

She replied, “Since you have asked me to speak on oath, the truth of the matter is that they promised to give me such and such amount as a reward and induced me to accuse you in public. You are quite innocent of the crime.”

He immediately fell prostrate to Allah (SWT), Who had cleared his name. Upon Sujood, Revelation came from Allah (SWT).

“O Musaa, do not weep. We give you power over the earth in order that you may punish these people as you like. Command and it shall obey you!” 

And though he was a Nabi, one who was placed among the cream of the crop of creation, he was hurt and wanted these people, who had continuously humiliated him, to be destroyed.

Musaa (AS) raised up his head and commanded the earth to swallow them up. When they were sunk into the earth up to their ankles, they began to implore Musaa (AS) in humility to grant them pardon, but he commanded the earth to swallow them further, and they were swallowed up to their necks. They cried louder and importuned him to forgive their sins, but Musaa (AS) again ordered the earth to swallow them and so each one of the slandered was swallowed up by the earth.

But that wasn’t the entire point of the narration. The crux of it was what our Allah had said, in response to this.

The revelation then came from Allah Ta’ala to Musaa (AS).

“The people were beseeching you for pardon and crying unto you in humility.

By My Honour, had they cried unto Me and begged My pardon, I would have accepted their prayer”. 

SubhaanAllah. My heart literally ached in my chest, and I looked up at Zaynah, already seeing tears in her eyes. I knew her heart must have been crying too. And why shouldn’t it?

It even stirred something deep within the depths of my soul.

That is our Allah. That is Him. That is our Merciful Creator. And that was true love.

After every sin and every wrong that we do, He never turns us away. Even after the worst of Baatil, His mercy never wavers. It never depletes.

I closed the book, remembering the countless Ahadith I had read, when it was the darkest days of my doom, and I had been immersed in despair. I would look for anything to hold onto, or anything just to give me that slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, I could actually be forgiven.

I had forgotten how deep I was buried, when my life was so misguided. I had forgotten where I had come from before I found Zaynah. I had forgotten that no matter what we do, as Insaan, Allah’s ability to forgive is never nullified.

In a Hadith-e-Qudsi, Allah the Exalted says:

“O son of Adam, if you call upon me and place your hope in me, I will forgive you without any reservation. O son of Adam, if you have sins piling up to the clouds and then ask for my forgiveness, I will forgive you without any reservation. O son of Adam, if you come to me with enough sins to fill the earth and you meet me without associating a partner with me, I will come to you with enough forgiveness to fill the earth.” (Sunan At-Tirmidhi)

A pious wife. She knew just what to make out of the situation, and she knew how to set things back in order. Just like the darkness had been lifted out of our lives with her presence, the house I grew up in was being illuminated with the light of the efforts she was making.

I looked up, noticing my family exceptionally quiet, moving my eyes to Mo, who I was actually hesitant to look at all this time. The guy’s eyes were downcast, and though I couldn’t read his expression, I knew that some reflection might be under way. I knew that deep down, some stirrings were well on their way.

Maybe I had been too harsh, but I wasn’t sure if he felt remorse. If he truly did regret. But even me, as I judged him, remembered that  sometimes, out of overwhelming fear of the consequence of our sins, we forget Allah’s mercy.

Mo wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t even as bad as I had been. He had just made a mistake. He had just messed up. And maybe he just needed to be shown an escape from what he had done. Maybe he just needed to know that there was a way out of the darkness.

You see, the thing is, we all make mistakes. Prophet Adam (AS) made a mistake. And so did Iblees. Both were Aabids… They both worshipped Allah. But the distinct difference between the two, was simple, yet revolutionary.

Tawbah. It was the remedy for the the disease. The antidote for the poison. The cure for the cancer.

Every moment is a priceless opportunity to press that refresh button, and come back to Allah. To start over. To not only polish the heart to it’s original condition, but actually purify it in a way that makes you focus your life and heart on Him. To have the potential to be even richer than if you’d never fallen at all.

That was Tawbah. And this process of Tawbah, of turning back to Allah and seeking His forgiveness, is not only one of the most liberating Ibadah, but is also something that Allah loves excessively. He loves to forgive.

In fact, it is this act alone, which distinguished Prophet Adam (AS) from Shaytaan. It is by this act, that a man who committed 99 murders was completely forgiven. And it is by this act alone, that some’s hearts will actually be cleansed to such an extent, that they might actually become worthy of that place that every heart yearns for…

Paradise.

---

Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

It was narrated from Anas raḍyAllāhu ‘anhu (may Allāh be pleased with him): “The Prophet ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wa sallam (peace and blessings of Allāh be upon him) prohibited that a man should drink while standing.” (Qatadah said) So it was said: “And eating?” He (Anas) said: “That is worse.” [Tirmidhi]

We will be doing more eating and drinking Sunnahs Insha Allah.

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

Tweet: @ajourneyjournal