Narrated Abu Hurairah (may Allaah be pleased with him): A man asked, “O Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) there is a woman who prays, gives charity and fasts a great deal, but she harms her neighbours with her speech.” He (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said,” She will go to hellfire.” The man said,” O Messenger of Allaah, there is another woman who is well known for how little she fasts and prays, but she gives charity from the dried yoghurt she makes and she does not harm her neighbours. He (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said, “She will go to Paradise.”

–Ahmad & Ibn Hibban; classed as saheeh by Sheikh al-Albaani

*         *         *

It was a warm, pleasant day; and the sun shone brightly. Its rays streaked through the windows and past the curtains, lighting up the room and dancing upon its contents. The yellow attractive curtains flapped about merrily in the gentle breeze. When it parted, one could see the fluffy white clouds that lay scattered in the light blue sky, serving as perfect adornments to its background. The trees, too, for their part, joined the act, rustling their leaves and showering flowers on the passersby.

It was a happy morning, or so it seemed for contrary to the fine weather outside, the air inside the center sizzled with anxiety mixed with shocked stupor for obvious reasons. The cat that had been forcefully trapped inside the bag for so long was finally let out. Not only had it leapt outside and broke things in its wake, but it had also caused the air to close in on them and pressure to descend.

It was only minutes earlier that the students had bustled out of the center in a hurry after the classes ended. Barely a few minutes had passed since the center turned empty, but no one would be able to believe that taking into account how deadly silent the place was—almost as if it were deserted for eons outright.

The four friends sat on their chairs in their usual place unmovingly. With mouths open and eyes either widened or screwed shut, they sat frozen.

Faraway, they could hear the stray dogs barking. A sparrow seated itself comfortably on one of their windowsills and chirped. The clock that they hung in the room ticked louder by the second. The four, however, stayed mum.

Manha had broken the news of her engagement moments before, and they were all stunned to silence—blinking and unmoving. Never in the years that they had known each other were they this awfully quiet. Never. Even during the announcement of their results or the issuance of their degrees, there had always been comments and snide jokes. Today, however, the silence was so dreadful—almost terrorising.

Finally deciding that she could take it no more, Eshaal spoke, intent on finding out if they were being played. The ruse, she had decided, cannot last for long.

“You have gotten ready for marriage. You are getting engaged tomorrow, and you are informing us now! Are you kidding me?”

Manha tucked her hair behind her ears, gathering the courage to blurt out the other things she had been keeping from them for more than three weeks—three weeks since she was apprised of the direction her life was heading. “I’m not joking.”

She took in the surprised faces of her friends again. Eshaal was staring at her, mouth agape. Rida was scowling. Even the usually silent, inexpressive Zahra had furrowed her brows and widened her eyes.

Pursing her lips, Manha took a deep breath. “Guys, I’m not lying or joking. I’m telling the truth. I, myself, got to know about it just three weeks ago. I needed time to digest the info before telling you people.”

“You kept it from us that you’re getting proposals for marriage and meeting people?”

“Well . . .” she dragged. “Not really.”

“Does it mean that it was all decided and just thrusted upon you? You were not asked?”

 Manha bit her lip and bobbed her head reluctantly. “Yep.”

“Wait! So you’re telling us you’re getting married to this guy you know nothing about, have not even met before, and have no idea what sort of a person he is?” shot a bewildered Eshaal. “After all the talk about women’s rights in Islaam, of all the things she enjoys, you let this happen to you?”

“Calm down. I had no other choice.”

Eshaal sprang up from her chair. “You expect us to calm down after dropping a bomb that you weren’t even consulted about your own wedding? What on earth is wrong with you?”

Manha bristled at once. “I want to act like a mature woman for once. Do you have any problem with it?”

“Yes,” affirmed Rida. “You should have told us earlier. We could have done something about it. We could have helped you out. W-we could have turned into detectives—rummaged the net, found out a flaw, a secret, a scandal. Something. Anything. Anything but let you become the scapegoat.”

Laughing without any humour, Manha shook her head. “Eshaal would have only used words while you would have boiled with anger. Zahra would have vainly tried controlling you both, and I . . .” she sighed the sigh of a trapped soul, “I would have sat crying. This is what would have happened had I told you earlier—utter chaos; but, now, I’m pretty much used to the idea of what my parents have decided for me, and I’m going to go with the flow. Besides, even if we found out anything about the guy, nothing would have changed. The wedding arrangements would have still proceeded. I know what kind my people are. I know where their priorities lie.”

“Listen to yourself. You don’t sound like the girl we know.” Eshaal sounded disheartened.

“Just because the people around you understand the rules we are to follow, doesn’t mean that everyone else understand the rules too, Eshaal. Do you think I would have let it go so easily? Would not have put up a fight? Accepted defeat without the least bit of effort?

“My parents are determined to pack me off before my father loses his job.” Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Her body gave a shudder. It stung that she had become nothing but a filial duty to her parents, something that had to be duly discharged; and, while the idea of marriage itself wasn’t repulsive, Manha was disappointed that her parents hadn’t asked her for her opinion. They hadn’t even informed her when the proposal had come. Nothing except the basic details were revealed to her later. They had not even tried finding out about his religious views. Manha was well aware that, for her people, praying five times a day meant that the person was practicing—no matter what other bad habits he may be a slave of. It honestly scared her. What if he turned out to be someone who visited shrines or believed in the concept of an intermediary between himself and the One above? What if he was someone who partook in activities pertaining to bidah, or worse, shirk?

When she had suggested letting things proceed its way and waiting for a time they weren’t financially pressed, her mother remarked that no one would want a girl once she crossed four-and-twenty and that it practically meant being left on the shelf. Where is the world heading to?

After trying all the excuses she could come up with and after trying to coax and cajole them in vain, Manha finally accepted their decision. Maybe this was what had been written in her destiny. Maybe this guy was who she had been praying for. Maybe the only way he was going to enter her life was in a dramatic fashion—a speed breaker in the middle of nowhere to shake her awake before her life gained momentum again. Maybe, just maybe, she could actually find her soulmate in him—the one with whom she could live her happily-ever-after.

That, in itself, brought out a problem for Manha for she wasn’t of those who had their heads in the clouds. She was not an ordinary girl; and, unlike any ordinary girl, she didn’t want a happily-ever-after.  All she wanted was an ever-after in Jannah!

Her needs were simple. She knew she wanted a companion—a sturdy companion who would help her connect with her Lord. A companion who would correct her when she was wrong. A companion with whom she can depend on. A companion she can trust to come looking for her in the next world. She just wasn’t sure what she was doing now though.

“I admit I’m scared.” Manha chewed on her bottom lip. “Actually, scratch that, I’m terrified.”

They all looked at her, surprised at her confession. This was unlike the girl they knew.

“But,” she continued, “they are my parents; and, whatever they do for me, whatever they decide for me would be for my good. Maybe there’d come a time in my life when I’d actually look back at this freaking-out-show of mine and laugh out aloud, In sha’ Allaah!

“Just think about it, guys. All this is only because I know the rights Islaam grant me, and I’m upset they aren’t letting me exercise it, right? What if I had been ignorant? I wouldn’t have thrown a tantrum then. I would have silently accepted whatever came my way.”

“But that’s the difference,” Eshaal retorted in a meek manner, “the difference between one who knows and one who doesn’t.”

“Look, I really want your support now, not your advice. I already feel pressured, and your acceptance matters. Please, guys.”

“We are not advising you, Manha. You’ve got more brains than us for that anyway. We are just a little upset that you are being pushed into something such as this. It’s your life after all. You get to choose. We are unhappy about you sacrificing your happiness and lowering your standards,” interjected Rida.

“If the only way to make the ones around me happy is by setting fire to my dreams, then so be it. I’ve already made peace with my decision. Please don’t make me feel more miserable about it.”

Guilt slithered into the hearts of the three friends. They were supposed to be helping her out, not pelting her with their opinions. By expressing their distaste, they were only complicating things even more for their poor friend. She was getting married next month, for Allaah’s sake. She needed their support. They acceded without another word.

Eshaal pressed her hands while Rida side-hugged her. “If he does anything that hurts you even remotely, you tell us, okay? We could always hire the hit-and-run people,” Zahra claimed, surprising them all.

Manha allowed herself to smile. “This sort of threat coming from you? I feel very assured of my safety, Zahra.”

Zahra gestured towards Eshaal with a tired expression. “What can I do? Ms. Hyperactive is rubbing off on me.” She feigned disgust.

“Hey!” Eshaal hit Zahra on her arm, making her yelp.

“Dude! You have logs in the place of hands. It hurts! Ow!”

It was then that they heard the unmistakable sound of the thumping of cane, making them freeze in their places for the second time that day.

“Mrs. Braganza,” they all chorused as the lady came into sight. They were on their feet with their back straight in no time.

A frown gracing her face, the lady thumped her way in. “It has begun again,” was her opening sentence.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly has begun again, Mrs. Braganza?” Eshaal questioned with a childlike expression.

“Ya students,” she grunted. “They’ve started troubling me again.”

“Let me guess. It’s the doorbell incident, right?” Rida jumped. “I know the two girls who do it. Don’t worry, I’d make sure they learn their lesson.”

Mrs. Braganza blinked. “Doorbell? Doorbell incident?” She flipped her white, almost son-papdi–like hair. “Doorbell pranks are what I used to do as a kid. Ya kids are much more advanced. From ventriloquism to fake love letters—they’ve tried it all on me, ya know.” She thumped her cane to emphasize her point.

The four of them nodded vigorously.

“What do ya mean by nodding your head like Noddy? Ya know of it, and ya didn’t do anything to correct them. Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!”

“No. No, Mrs. Braganza. We meant that we don’t know anything about it. Pakka promise,” Eshaal rushed to answer.

“Humph, whatever! All this has been down since I installed the surveillance camera last month,” she gloated with pride. “Brand new model in the market. Pretty costly. A hundred-and-eighty degree coverage.”

“If that’s been installed then what’s the problem, Mrs. Braganza?”

“That is the problem! Didn’t ya parents teach ya not to interrupt a respectable old lady while she is speaking?”

They were quick to whisper their apologies, and she proceeded to tell them her tale. “My surveillance camera is the problem. It is hanging upside down, not covering my house but your entrance! Is it why I spent my money? To watch over your place? Ya kids are a nuisance! I want the girls who did it, and I want them now.” She stomped her cane.

The four fought the urge to smile. This old woman was a neighbour who lived right next door. She was very old—old enough to be their grandmother; and no matter how rude she was to them due to their difference in faith, they could never find it in themselves to hate her or even dislike her for that matter.

She was bitter, yes. The frown lines on her face spoke of smiles that never graced her face. Her temper and stubborn attitude spoke of her desolateness. They knew she was sad and upset; and, if what they knew of her was true, she was upset and broken at having lost her family—her husband and her only son in some incident more than three decades ago.  Years of loneliness had given her the image of an angry, complaining old woman. Knowing that her broken heart was the reason for her crude behaviour, they didn’t mind her rudeness in the least.

“Mrs. Braganza, please have a seat. You are perspiring.”

“I will turn on the air-conditioning.”

“I’d go get you water.”

“Do you need anything else?”

The old woman looked at them skeptically but still chose to sit down. “Ya all are buttering me up.”

“No, no, Mrs. Braganza. “

“Actually, we want to talk to you.”

“About?” A glare was directed at them as if they had asked her for her bank locker code.

Manha signalled the rest to keep quiet. “I promise you we are not lying. We’ve been here since seven in the morning, and we are pretty sure that our students didn’t do anything. We would have heard them or seen them had they tried harming your camera.”

“Do ya think I broke my camera then?” she cried.

“No. Not at all, Mrs. Braganza. It could have been anything—the squirrel, the crow. Anything. It could have happened by itself too. The wind has been particularly strong today.”

The lady arose from her seat and headed towards the door. “I’m calling the technician today. If I ever find out that ya students did it, ya’ll will be finding another place for ya center by the end of the month.”

The thumping of the cane died down along with her exit.

They sighed with relief. “What a masterpiece, yaar. I wasn’t even this afraid during my first day at school.” Eshaal giggled.

“Neither was I,” admitted Manha. “This reminds me of our regular trips to the department staff room. We sure received a good amount of scolding from all our teachers.” They laughed, recollecting the punishments they had received on behalf of their batch. Being badge holders had never worked in their favour.

“Assuming you won’t turn up this weekend, I can take up your shift for you,” Rida offered belatedly.

“I can’t believe you are getting married before me,” Eshaal added. “I seriously thought I’d be the first amongst us.”

“Don’t be so eager, Eshaal. Let Tanvir enjoy his last few weeks of freedom.”

Eshaal frowned. “Why? Because he is getting married?”

“Nope, because he is getting married to you!”

They all snickered while Eshaal reddened in embarrassment. “I’m not that bad, alright?”

“Whatever suits you, pretty lady. Manha! You tell us. Who is your guy, and what does he do?”

*         *           *

 Once she was satisfied with the way her wardrobe looked, Rida strode towards her mobile. Mehrin’s number was dialled, and her phone was brought to her ears. Her mind did the math of when she had to get ready and leave. A few minutes passed with no response, causing Rida to throw her head back and huff. They were to leave for a fair in a few minutes.

Ever since their encounter in the park that day and the easy conversation that flowed between them, something had clicked. Enjoying the bond that was starting to form, they had fallen into a routine of going out once every week. They figured it could help them unwind and spend some quality time together. They visited places, shared stuff, and spoke about everything under the sun. It was almost as if they fit together—like they belonged. With their quirks and all, it felt as if they had found the sibling that destiny had in store for them all along; but now, as Rida rang her up the third time and still received no answer, she felt panic rising in her chest. Whatever the matter, Mehrin had never been late in answering her call.

Rida started to pace around her room. Pick up. Pick up, dude.

When Mehrin didn’t answer after the fifth try, Rida fetched her keys decidedly.

Her abaya was already over her head, and she was wriggling her hands out of it when her phone rang. Mehrin! Alhamdulillaah!

She swiped her screen to answer. “Why didn’t you pick up? Do you know how worried I was? I thought—I . . .” She sunk on her bed.

“Chill, di. I’m alright. I, um . . . I actually forgot about our plan. I’m out with my friends. I’m sorry.”

Rida rubbed her mouth in contemplation. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yep, I am. Why are you asking that?”

Rida shook her head. Then realising that she was on the phone, she spoke. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Er, di . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. See you soon. Assalaamu alaikum.” She cut the call.

Something didn’t seem right. Rida frowned, looking at her mobile.

I hope she doesn’t get into trouble. I really, really hope. Something feels wrong. Very wrong. Ya Allaah! What could it be?

It was her sisterly intuition that was at work, but was it right? Or was it wrong? Were things really not alright?

****