"And they give food, inspite of their love for it(or for the love of Him), to the Miskîn(the needy), the orphan, and the captive-"

(Surah Al Insân, 76:8)

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ARKAAN'S POV

Hearty.

Bleak.

Fulfilling.

Alone, but with Him.

My whole life, I've experienced only four Ramadans.

Hearty, - was how I would describe the Ramadan I had as a child, growing up the normal way, with my Baba and Ummi.

Every Ramadan was like a festival for us, a time for eating and being together as a family.

And even though we were poor, Baba always made sure our Ramadan was filled with bouts of joy and laughter, and plenty more than on our usual days. I was encouraged every one of the 30 days by Baba and Ummi, to fast for half a day. I always yearned for the time of Iftari even with that half-a-day fasting, and even more ..for Eid. Because when night came around, we sat together at Iftar, and Baba would grin playfully at Ummi, she half-frowning and half-red by his playfulness, he would tousle my hair with a smile and put the biggest piece of meat on my plate, congratulating me for trying my best. Then on Eid, he would carry me on his shoulders, and we'd roam the Dreamland Complex in the East District on a joy-filled spree, with his savings for the year.

At that time, I realized one thing ..I was the happiest child in the world with my parents around. The concept of being happy to me, - was having Baba and Ummi by my side.

Then he left.

Bleak. The only word that comes to mind for the two years after that.
I experienced a whole new side of Ramadan - the most empty and meaningless one could experience in their life.

It does exist.

For there are Muslims on the streets. Those without homes. There are Muslims who have no choice but to starve. Ramadan has no meaning to them, except a name to a month of their usual everyday routine. Nobody has to encourage them to fast. They fast always, even if they don't want to.

Perhaps, that's why Baba was always eager to pay Zakatul-Fitr, before he took me out. He'd tousle the hair of the poor children when he went with me to give to them the charity. And I would stand at the side, sulking.

'What are you sulking at?'Baba would say, a frown on his face at my childishness, but his playful grin ever present within his eyes,'You've a home, and a Baba..'

I didn't understand what those words meant, until I had only a home(if I could call it that..), no Baba.

Even Ummi was not available for me when I needed her. Blankly she stared, as I craved her care.

Bleak. Without the warmth and cheer of both my parents, the cold nights at Tâ Hâ seeped into my bony self. With barely enough food for us both to go by, I was literally forced to fast like the children I had seen past, whether I wanted to or not. The constant growls from my stomach reminded me of my loss, a joyless empty home.. I couldn't cry.

What was joy?

What was sorrow?

They were all the same to me. Seeing mother's emotionless eyes, becoming an adult at the age of seven, somehow, I became numb to all the pain in my aching heart, and the sorrow.

If I cried, I'd never be able to bring myself back again, much less mother. If I broke and sat like her, by the corner, near the hearth, ..we would both end up dying from hunger, starvation.

I wouldn't cry.

Her tears were enough, for us both.

When your heart fills up with pain till it aches, and the only outlet becomes tears to find yourself again, but you must not cry, perhaps ..then you would know.

Tears are a luxury not many can afford.

Fulfilling: I met Ustadh the night at the glade.

My Allah sent him for my hidâyat, and made him the medium through which I'd be rescued, from the dark abyss where my soul had been wearing off. A moment later, and I would be forever lost to the dark. As-Saabiqûn. My hope and my path.

Forever grateful.. My heart still hums ..for that night.

I spent only that one year's Ramadan with Ustadh Inaayat, but it was the most fulfilling one ever, because, I felt the true spirit of fasting - patience, it increases one's love for Allah. I fasted wholly and happily. My days were spent in learning Qur'an. My nights, spent in telling mum about my lessons and reciting my new Hifdh to her.

She never did show any signs of having heard me. But it was okay. I still had a mum.

The fourth Ramadan was at grandfather's. And though it was always lonely, I never despaired. For I had my Qur'an audios with me to learn. I had my Allah with me, always.

...

It was one of those fulfilling Ramadan nights when I saw him. A cold Ramadan evening.

That day had been spent in one of the sittings of Tafseer Ustadh would hold at 'Asr in Masjidur Rahmân, as was my usual since that Ramadan started. The noon, was in our Qur'an sessions.

I would sit at the back after 'Asr, oblivious to many, happily listening with wonder as Ustadh expounded upon the verses of the Book of Allah, my heart growing with enlightenment and Imaan.

When it was almost Maghrib, the musallis would bring various foods and delicacies to break the fast with, and share in the masjid. Ustadh particularly, was treated specially and would be given much by every capable person around. Little did they know that all the food was being transferred to the little pauper no one else looked to.

Ustadh only took from gifts, never Sadaqah. Even though he took no payment for his halaqah lessons, he always had some money from the work he did over the weekends and saved for the weekdays. It must have been blessed, for he never complained.

Ustadh would have me go around the neighbourhood and market area after the Maghrib Salah, to distribute some of this food to the poor, against the knowledge of the givers, but before, he would save some for me and my Ummi.

The foods I got to take back home ranged from a pack of dates to loafs of bread with honey. But that evening especially, was really blessed. Ustadh saved for me a sumptuous meal to take home - A Whole Grilled Chicken.

Ustadh said I had earned it for memorizing the whole Surah Al Mujadilah, an assignment he gave me during one of our lessons. It was particularly his treat this time, from his savings. To me, it showed how much he appreciated my hardwork.

'Take it home and share with your mother, yaa walad'.

I couldn't reject, could I? I was beside myself with joy!

Why wouldn't I be? For that year's whole Ramadan, there was never a day without an Iftar on the table at home for both me and Ummi. Baba had been gone for almost two years. And during that time, we never had the privilege of full meals, in and out of Ramadan.

I happily made my way over to mother in the Mt. Shirah landmass neighbourhood, with chicken in bag. I remember sauntering all the way back home with a happy smile on my face, joy in heart, and a hum on my tongue.

Little did I know the disappointment that awaited.

"Ummi I'm home!"I called out, all but throwing my almost worn-out footwear by the dusty rack, and skipping into the hall, where mother sat still, frozen upon father's favourite sofa.

"Guess what we had today at Qur'an session Ummi."I placed the package carefully on the table before her and knelt down, touching her forehead with the back of my hand to check if she was having a fever. In this chilly weather, I could never be too sure.

"Ustadh taught me the rulings of Tafkhîm wa Tarqîq."I said, looking into her eyes with euphoria brimming my heart.

"Did you know that the letter 'Lãm' is always pronounced with the law of Tarqîq except the 'Lãm' which appears in the name 'Allah'..?"I asked her, though I knew she would not respond.

"If the Lãm in 'Allah' is preceded by a letter with fatha or domma, it'll be pronounced with Tafkhîm.
However if a letter, which is given kasra precedes the Lãm, it would be pronounced with Tarqîq.

So the name 'Allah' is an exception with the Lãm rules, Ummi."I chimed happily, my eyes fixated intensely on her blank ones, reflections of one another, yet a stark contrast of the emotions playing within, ..and the lack thereof.

"The name 'Allah' has got two Lãms, Ummi, ..all for itself."I smiled faintly at her. To me it was something amazing. Something I felt amazed about. And I wanted her to feel it too.

Nothing radiated back.

I left my hand there, staying lovingly over her forehead for a while, before touching my own, to check for a difference in temperature.

Having confirmed she was alright, I adjusted the woolen blanket I had kept around her to keep her warm in the night. The nights were colder here in Tâ Hâ at Ramadan, and I feared sometimes that Ustadh would take me on lessons pass sunset. He did so, sometimes.

My eyes softened, when I saw her fixed gaze staring blankly at me, even as I passed the cloak over her shoulder.

"Did you know that there's not an Ayah in Surah Al Mujadilah without the name 'Allah' in it, yaa Ummi?"I said, as if to make up for the silence.

"Surah Al Mujadilah means - The woman who disputes.. She who complained to Allah.

Ustadh told me about the story of the woman who complained to Allah, Khaulah bint Tha'labah(R.A.). She came to the Prophet sallallahu alayhi wasSalaam, complaining about her husband.

The Prophet adviced her to be patient as her husband was old..

Khaulah said by Allah she did not leave him till Qur'an ayãt were revealed concerning her."I pursed my lips softly, looking at her. Perhaps I should recite my Hifz to her, I thought. If only she were present, she would have being extremely happily hearing me recite. I knew it, for she taught me some basic principles about Deen when she was well. I began,

"A'uudhu billahi minashShaytanir Rajîm

BismillahirRahmãnirRahim..

Qad samiAllahu qawlallatii tujaadiluka fee zawjihaa wa tashtakii
Ilallah

Wallahu yasma'u tahaawurakumaa..

Inallaha Samî'umBasîr.."

I leaned my face against hers, placing my cheeks next to hers, staring where she was staring even as I recited. In a sideways hug, my arms around her shoulders, I recited and recited. If only she could hear me, I knew she'd be very happy.

Ustadh Inaayat had made me to memorize that Surah before teaching the rules of Tafkhîm and Tarqîq. When he finally mentioned the spectacular case of the Lãm in 'Allah', he told me to recite Surah Al Mujadilah. It had every verse in it containing the sacred name 'Allah'. As I recited, Ustadh would correct me, demonstrating the law of the two Lãms on every 'Allah' I came across in each verse.

It was a form of practice for me. I'd never forget that lesson. I came to realize why Ustadh had particularly wanted me to memorize the Surah first. It was for this.

He sometimes made me memorize Suwar I hadn't yet reached, or their ayãt. So even though my Hifz was only Juz Amma, I knew a couple of Suwar and groups of random ayãt in other parts of the Qur'an. Those random Suwar and ayãt were always for the purpose of teaching some rule or the other of Tajwîd of Qur'an.

For example, this Surah helped me practice perfectly the rules of Tafkhîm and Tarqîq on Lãm in the word 'Allah'.

Even as I continued reciting, I reached the end of the verse that meant:

Have you not considered that Allah knows what is in the heavens and what is on the earth?

There is in no private conversation of three, but that He is the fourth of them, nor are there five but that He is the sixth of them - and no less than that and no more except that He is with them[in knowledge] wherever they are.

Then He will inform them of what they did, on the Day of Resurrection. Indeed Allah is, of all things, Knowing.

(Surah Al-Mujadilah 58:7)

"Ummi, Did you know that there's not an Ayah in Surah Al Mujadilah without the name 'Allah' in it.."I softly asked once again, looking straight into her unfocused eyes, hoping to catch a spark of life.

"And did you know that Al Mujadilah means 'The woman who disputes, She who complained to Allah'..?"My voice became coarse with hurt and disappointment, seeing how she blankly looked at me, her son.

"She implored her 'Allah', Ummi. It is as though every ayah there contains the word 'Allah' as a form of imploration, a calling to Him.

And He heard her.."My voice came out as a whisper, partly croaking. I felt warm streaks flowing down my cheeks. Tears. Since I met Ustadh, my heart had turned soft, had turned human..tears now flow.

"Umar, radiyallahu anhu said '..don't you know that this is Khaulah, to whose words Allah listened from above the seven heavens?

Be like Khaulah, Ummi. Be like Khaulah.

Let Allah listen to you complain about father from above seven heavens.. Tell Allah to bring him back wherever he is.."Lone tears wet her cloak.

I roughly brush away my tears, and softly laugh, though broken.

"I shouldn't be crying so, when Ustadh has given us a whole chicken for Iftar today, Ummi."I try to sound cheery.

"Get well soon Ummi, there's a lot you're missing out on. There's a lot to tell you."

I give her a peck on the forehead.

Turning around to pick the package I had brought from Ustadh from the table, I freeze in shock. There was no package whatsoever on the table. No chicken.

"Eh- I'm sure I left chicken here."I said as I turned all around, searching for a lost whole grilled chicken. I pause for a moment. I stand in place, wondering where the chicken could have gone to. My empty stomach which I had broken the fast with water, growled with hunger.

I look at mother, and frustration stole through my heart, blanketing it in despair. I could go hungry for the rest of the night. But what about mother. Her parched lips, sallow face and receding cheek bones scream at me in protest. Even though for the past days we had had at least a meal a day, mother always managed to eat only so little. It was mind-wrecking, but I couldn't do anything about it. As long as she took the food little by little, at least she could keep on surviving.

At that moment while I was standing there in frustration and despair, wondering what to do for the night meal we had mysteriously lost that day, a knock came on the door.
I froze in position once again.

For a long time now, nobody had ever knocked on our door, much less visited us, or even -Who was it..!?

I check quietly at the louvres, opening the curtains to peek a little. My eyes widen at who I see standing by the door.

I quickly open it.

•••

Some minutes prior..

The little jinn sat upon the terrace of the building, his legs dangling off. He watched the boy enter quickly past the threshold of the house and smirked-he had not used the 'Basmallah' and the 'Salaam', in his haste. Not that it'd stop him anyway, but the shayaateen could easily get inside.

He leaned against one window, listening to the one-sided conversation."Oh! How sentimental!"He thought, wiping fake tears from his eyes. When he was sure the boy was lost in his own conversation with his non-responsive mother, he glided into the room(not that he would see him anyway, but how would he explain the disappearing chicken), and whisked the package away...

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So lemme know, which of the four types of Ramadan mentioned by Arkaan above did you have?

Two more Crescents coming later today, to complete - The Orphan chapters.

Watch out for it!!!