Zayd ibn Thabit (may Allaah be pleased with him) related that he heard the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) say:
Whoever makes this world his main concern, Allaah will scatter his affairs and place poverty between his eyes, and he will not acquire anything of this world except what was already written for him. But whoever makes the Hereafter his main goal, Allaah will gather his affairs, place richness in his heart and the world will come to him conquered and submissive.
–Ibn Majah; Saheeh according to Sheikh Al-Albaani
***
Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) affirmed: The deed dearest to Allaah is Salaah at their earliest fixed times.
–Sahih Bukhari
***
Black ants were scurrying in a straight line, their backs laden with scrumptious tid bits. They moved in a collective manner. Their entire focus directed towards reaching their ant hole with their load still intact.
Occasionally, a few ants seemed to drop their burden, unable to bear the weight. The rest of the ants continued while the ones who dropped their burden stopped and took their time in gathering their load. Later, they squeezed into the line with a little extra effort.
There was an undeniable co-ordination among those little creatures as they went about their routine, struggling a little too hard for their size.
Manha silently watched their movements across her coffee table. She watched as they staggered with difficulty but kept moving despite all the hardships they faced. Her eyes took it all with envy. She was sprawled over the sofa from where she had been observing the tiny food collectors for the past few minutes now; and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, she felt like messing around with them. She shifted a little, reached out, and placed the pad of her fore finger on their path, bringing them to an abrupt halt.
The ants grew alarmed at once and dissipated haphazardly. They ran without a sense of direction, utterly confused about having their path blocked. The tension in their world was no doubt palpable. Manha can feel it too. She could see how they paused in the midst of their run, appearing as though they were asking others amongst them as to what was going on. However, as time passed with their confusion conquered and an enroute found, they began to form a steady line again, appearing determined to complete the tasks assigned to them.
Manha marvelled at how quickly they had found a solution, and how much devoted they were to their bit of annoyance crecrepteping into her at the same time. She felt something stir inside her. She frowned.
Why couldn’t everyone be that way?
Her chest rose and fell in a sigh.
Human beings often went about with their lives just the way those ants went about with their burdens—staggering with heavy burdens and a defined destination. They often stuttered on their way, they often stopped to meet people. Their paths were occasionally lined with trials, and they braved that too—moved on, even. However, if something happened for them to drop their load by mistake, unlike the ants who made it a point of collecting it back, they ran, forgetting the purpose of their creation. Their goal of reaching the end wasn’t in the forefront anymore. Their innate sense of differentiating the right from the wrong also got blurred in the process. They forgot their Maker. They forgot their promise to Him. Their love for Him got adulterated. Worldly life seemed more attractive.
Was it so difficult in being the supreme creations of Allaah that people forget the original purpose they were created for?
Manha continued watching the ants.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the complexities of life. She knew them insideout and out. She knew that in this messed up world that she was living in, she was blessed to have a mind that thought the way it did, clarity that didn’t get corrupted, feelings that were right in their place, and blessings she knew most were not granted; and yet, she desired something a little more in the life she was currently living.
She desired serenity.
Her gaze strayed towards the room where her mother and little brother were preparing to go meet some mystic. She had prayed her fajr, but they had not even made wudu yet.
Manha bit her lower lip, heaviness settling in her chest. Her family wasn’t of the practicing kind—never had been.
Of course they prayed most of the prayers, fasted, and gave zakah, but they didn’t pray five times a day. They most definitely didn’t cover up in front of whom they had to cover up. They had adopted a lot of Indian rituals that went against the fundamental teachings of Islaam. They had even gone as far as setting intermediaries between their Lord and themselves. Why need a man to talk to Him when He claims to love us all? Why need a middle person when He says He listens to all those who call out to Him? Did that not mean doubting His love? Doubting His words?
She had tried explaining the misguided notions they held dear, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. She had not succeeded in making them understand that no human knew what was to happen in future and was doing nothing but deceiving them for money for all that he claimed he knew. Celebrations and practices that had no place in Islaam also started taking roots in her family, refusing staunchly to be uprooted.
The order of her mother’s priorities—Manha felt that they, too, were wrong. She wanted her mother to love the Lord and His Prophet more than her relatives.
“You mean to say I have to abandon my people completely?” Her mother had bursted out one day.
“It’s not like that, Ma.” Manha had clarified. “Of course, it is important to maintain ties—very important in fact—but not at the cost of displeasing our Maker. He should always be number One on our priority list. His likes and dislikes have to be considered before anything else, because where would we end up, Ma, if we spend our entire lives trying to fit in the crowd and pleasing our relatives without considering what He wants from us? Won’t our good deeds be landing in leaky buckets? I am not telling you to shun your relatives. I am only telling you to shun these meaningless rituals that directly go against our faith. We would not be able to bear with it if He ends up being angry with us.”
“Allaah is Ar-Raheem, The Most -Merciful. If what we do is good, He is going to accept it. If not, He would disregard it. Either way, I don’t think it’s going to harm me.” Her mother had so easily dismissed.
She had wanted to grab her hair in frustration then and every other time she confronted her. Her family’s basics were heavily influenced by the culture of their country leaving her heartbroken and dissatisfied every time she tried to voice the truth. There was a feeling of floating on a plank in the vast ocean with no surety to reach the shore.
It was in times such as these where envy filled her beyond comparison. She thought of all the revert stories she had heard and read, feeling a kind of longing fill up her aching chest.
Manha had a theory that the reverts had more taqwah than the people who had been following Islaam for generations together. They had felt Allaah’s power, had enquired it all, had felt and seen the signs before they embraced Islaam out of their own will, hadn’t they? They did not blindly do what they had seen their ancestors do like most traditional Muslims. It was not monkey see, monkey do like some ignorant believers. They loved Him the way He deserved to be loved, feared Him when they did wrong, and had endless hope in His mercy. They were conscious of Him. They had firm conviction that He would not do them wrong.
Manha marveled at the bond they had developed with their Rabb in such a short duration when most people born as Muslims shunned their faith, throwing it out for momentary bliss. Why couldn’t her family be practicing too? Was desiring to have a family who understood her and understood their faith too much to ask? Why was she born in a family who couldn’t fill up the void in her heart?
While she was busy reflecting about her life, her phone buzzed. She deliberatively ignored it concentrating on the movements of the ants and comparing them to humans.
When the buzzing didn’t seem to cease even after a couple of seconds, she checked the phone only to find that her friends were bantering on their WhatsApp group.
Eshaal: Salaam guys. Awake?
Zahra: How many times do I have to remind you Eshaal?
Eshaal: ???
Zahra: To greet properly!
Eshaal: I know. I know. Greeting ‘salaam’ earns me 10 hasanas. ‘Assalamu alaikum’ earns me 20 hasanas and ‘Assalaamu alaikum warahmathullahi wabarakatahu’ earns me 30 hasanas but babes I’m so lazy to type it all 😜
Zahra: You can type this whole explanation but not one proper greeting urgh! 😤
Eshaal: OK OK. Assalaamu alaikum warahmathullahi wabarakathahu. Happy?
Zahra: Wa alaikum assalaam warahmathullahi wabarakathahu. Very! Earn all the deeds you can Eshaal, better safe than sorry.
Eshaal: Phew! I just prevented a third World War! 😇🎉🎊🎈
Rida: Ya Allaah! My phone wouldn’t stop dinging when I was in my sujood. Why are you chatting right after fajr?
Eshaal: If it affects you so badly my dear, why did you switch on the net in the first place?
Zahra: Her phone, her net, her greeting, her bill. Do you have any problem Eshaal?
Eshaal: Hey, I was supporting you. Bad girl. Shoot you!
Zahra: Oh yeah?
Eshaal: Yeah *picks up the gun*
Eshaal: On second thought, no *leaves it back*
Zahra: That is better ☺
Eshaal: Oh, Madam, if you die, who would return the books you had borrowed from me? You also owe me two, you remember?
Zahra: It is pointless chatting with you Eshaal. You always win at the end🙄
Eshaal: I know! 😁 I’m awesome 😎
Zahra: 🙄🙄🙄
Manha smiled at the group chat, feeling her dismal attitude dissolving for a moment when she received another message from Rida in private.
Rida: Why does your silence seem abnormal to me? Everything alright?
Manha couldn’t bring herself to reply, so she just stared at the screen. How could she tell her the root cause of her gloomy mood? Although her friends had a hint of what was going on in her life and in her home, she wasn’t really comfortable about discussing it all with them. Everyone had problems in their lives, and she didn’t want to be insensitive by venting her feelings. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she could freely talk about the faults of her family, no matter how distant they were from the deen.
Rida: It is what I think it is, isn’t it?
There was something about her friends that always set her at ease. They could understand her without the use of words. They always knew what they had to say. Manha’s heartbeat picked up pace.
Manha: Yes.
Rida: Tried doing something about it now?
Manha: I know what would happen, and I don’t want a repeat.
Rida: Sometimes it is better to clear out things than to moan about it later on. Try dudette.
Manha: Okay.
She placed her phone on the coffee table and reluctantly slogged towards her mother’s room.
Standing in the hallway, Manha peeked in. Her mother was seated amidst utensils and foodpackets, apparently packing food for the poor who were found seated outside the shrine she was to visit that day. “Ma.” She breathed. “Ma, it is time for fajr.”
Her mother looked up before promptly looking down. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Aren’t you praying?”
There was silence for a few moments. “Ma?”
“Who would pack this then?”
“I’d do it, Ma. Please just pray.”
Her mother waved her off, continuing to make parcels of kichidi, roti, and dal. “But you aren’t coming with us. Why even pack?”
“Ma, I just don’t believe in these mystics you visit. I’ve never held anything against the poor.”
“But the poor people I am packing all these for believe in him.”
Despite herself, she let out a laugh. “How is that going to change the compassion I have for them?”
“But we people believing in him changes your relationship with us, doesn’t it?” Her mother managed to squeeze in a jab.
“Ma!” she implored. “It changes nothing in the way I love or respect you. I only stay away from baseless things and hope you’d stay away from it too.”
Her mother stayed silent.
“Ma, in a few minutes, fajr time will be up.”
Her mother clicked her tongue. “Why are you irritating me, Manha?”
“Because I care, Ma. Please.” Manha held her breath, not wanting to face rejection this time. Things had already been bad enough at home. “Okay. Let’s talk it out for your clarity. You are going and paying your respects to this mystic of yours. Believing it would make things easier for us, isn’t it?”
Her mother groaned. “I do it so that He prays to Allaah to make things easier for all of us, including our ancestors and descendants. I am asking no one but Allaah, alright? I am only asking it through the mystic.”
Horrified, Manha widened her eyes. “A dead man, Ma? Seriously?”
Her reply was a dirty glare.
“Ma, seriously? You’d go tell a dead man to stand in between Allaah and you? How could he help, Ma, when he could not even hear you? For us to ask for help to someone, three conditions should be met: they should be alive, they should be able to hear us, and they should be in a position to help us. In your case, that dead mystic does not satisfy even one condition—far from it actually. At least if he had been alive, he could have prayed for us, maybe; but now when he is gone and turned into dust, there is no way he would be able to help you out or even hear you.”
Her mother started to mutter under her breath. Manha hugged her from behind in an impulsive move. “Ma, I promise we would all be very happy if we forge a relationship with Allaah ourselves instead of looking for help from others to let our words reach Him. Just pray now, Ma, and ask Him yourself. He’d listen, I’m sure. For all you know, if you start to pray at the right time and in the right manner, you might become more special to Him than any person you go to for help. Please.” She was pleading by the end.
Her mother appeared to pause for a moment to think and then huffing, headed to the bathroom. “Pack all those food packets,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to make wudu for prayer.”
Manha’s insides tingled. She was well aware that her mother would still be going with the rest of the relatives to meet those assumed righteous people, but at least she was praying. At least she was praying today. Other changes can, by Allaah’s will, slowly be brought in, in her house. She had faith.
Tears of joy clouded her vision. She blinked them back. Whether it was the setting or the climate or her mother’s acceptance, she couldn’t tell; but there was an over whelming urge to hug someone, and so she did just that.
Climbing onto the bed, she jumped at the form sleeping on it, trying to wake him up.
Her brother screeched when she jumped on him, trying to free himself of her hold. “Diii, leave me alone. Leave me. I said leave me.”
Manha’s mother’s voice reached her ears from the bathroom. “What is going on there?”
“Nothing, Ma!” Manha yelled back. “We are just bonding.”
“Didi, is this how you bond with me?” Her brother struggled and wriggled against her. “Let go of me.”
“Wakey wakey, bro. Time for salaah. I’m not letting you go until you wake up.” She pulled off his cover.
Her brother looked at her with half open eyes. “Di,” he said groggily. “Let me sleep. Go away.”
“I’m not going to take no for an answer, Nubaid.” She hugged him tighter.
“What has gotten into you?”
Manha grinned. “Nothing. I’m just being my usual bright self. Why don’t you humour me now and get up for salaah?”
“I don’t want to.”
“What would you say when you’re questioned about each salaah that you missed, Nubaid? Tell them you were taking a nap and were very busy?”
Her brother pushed his head further into the pillow in response.
She tapped him gently. “Look, I understand you want to sleep. You can sleep after you pray, too, but this time once lost can’t be gotten back again. Once gone, it’s gone forever.”
She was, again, ignored.
“Salaah has its own sweetness, Nubaid. You’ve got to taste it to understand why I’m trying so hard to get your lazy self to pray. Try it this once. If not, what would you answer when you are asked about it, huh? Can you think of an answer?”
“Okay, fine.” He groaned. “Speaking about my accountability early in the morning scares me.” He staggered in his sleep towards the bathroom, looking like a clown who had just come back after performing his tricks, his hair pointing in all directions. “It’s totally unfair. You’ve put gruesome images in my mind early in the morning.”
Minutes later, as Manha gazed at her family praying, she felt a strange kind of happiness erupt in her. All her anxiousness were gone. Of course, one had to try out things. There was no use moaning without effort. Ties, especially those of blood, were not meant to be easy or perfect. They were meant to be worked upon. They were meant to be dealt with patience, kindness, and understanding.
Smiling at how the day had begun, she texted Rida.
Manha: Jazakillah khair, buddy. Things did happen after all 😄
The reply came within a minute.
Rida: Allaah says that He would help you whichever way you choose to go be it good or bad. You get to choose the direction. Take care 🙂
Manha understood the unsaid words lingering in the air. What Rida had meant was: “take care of your family while they are still with you.”
Guilt washed over her after that. She thought of all that she had been bestowed with. On the same world she lived in, there were scores of Muslim brothers and sisters suffering—some due to poverty, some due to the society, some due to the hate they face, some in the clutches of war which is called Islaamic but has not even one Islaamic principle embedded in it, and some, well, simply because they believed in the One. When compared to them all, she was undoubtedly blessed in more ways than she can count. She had plenty of gifts from the One above.
Silently, a promise was made to herself to work on them.
Her eyes lifted from her phone. The scene of her family praying caused her lips to curve into a smile. It instilled new hopes in Manha, making her believe that she could bring in the change she wanted. The beliefs she already had were ignited, automatically diminishing the darkness that had been looming around her. She had her Lord to back her up. Yes, she most definitely did! Somehow, the end of the tunnel didn’t seem far away now that she had started on it.
***
Glossary
Salaah : The muslim manner of praying.
Fajr : Prayer before sunrise.
Zakat : Alms which have to be given yearly (Generally 2.5% of a person's wealth. It differs for each form of wealth like cattle, jewels, etc).
Jannah : Paradise.
Taqwah: Being conscious of Allah's pleasure and wrath.
Didi : An Urdu/Hindi word for elder sister.
Yaar : Urdu/Hindi equivalent word for buddy.
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