Chapter 26

Ramadan drew near, and hearts swelled in anticipation.

Excitement and preparations for the blessed month enveloped everything in their caress; from piles of tafsir books on the desks in preparation of Daur-e-Quran in Walid's halaqah, lists of Ramadan goals that adorned Mahrosh' diaries, to the decorative iftar menu decided and pasted on the kitchen wall by Aleena.

On the twenty-ninth night of Shaban, Mahrosh insisted on climbing up to the roof of the house. It had rained that afternoon and Walid pointed out the cloudy sky, but no clouds were thick enough to stop an eager seeker searching for the crescent. 

Her eyes squinted, Mahrosh searched the skies for any sign of the guest they awaited. But she could hardly even see the stars through the gray clouds. "We're just not looking hard enough, Walid —" she refused to give up. "You're taller. Do you see it?"

"I don't think I can get closer to the skies no matter how tall I am, habibti." Walid had to grab her arm whenever she moved too close to the ends of the roof, his gaze searching for the crescent. 

"But at least a little closer than me," Mahrosh mumbled. The clouds grew thicker, but she did not leave. "Are you sure you don't you see the moon?"

"Mhmm. Not the one in the skies, at least."

Mahrosh' gaze flickered to his face and she found him looking at her. Heat crept up to her cheeks and she was quick to look away, grateful for the darkness of the sky that kept her face hidden. Before she could come up with a reply, a distant roll of thunder filled up the skies and a flash of lightning illuminated the streets. 

"It's going to rain. C'mon," Walid reached for her hand, "News of the moon sighting will be broadcasted on the radio. Let's go inside."

Mahrosh looked dismally up at the clouds. "Just one more minute —"

"Mahrosh, Walid!" Aleena shouted from downstairs. "Ramadan Mubarak! The moon has been sighted! They just announced it on the radio!"

The glee rose in the air just as the downpair began. In her excitement, Mahrosh almost lost her footing on the ladder, her heart lurching till Walid grabbed her arm and steadied her. "Careful-" Her eyes shone so brightly when they met his, and  he could not hold back his chuckle, watching as she rushed to hear the news.

"Ramadan Mubarak ka chand nazar aa chuka hai. Hindustan mein kal se Ramadan ke maheenai ki shuruwat ho gi —"  the rain intercepting with the signal caused the voice of the reporter to break, but the news had been delivered.

Ramadan has come! A collective echo rang within the streets, Ramadan has come and the gates of heaven opened and the gates of hell closed, and the devils are chained. 

Ramadan has come for those of faith — those who long for the nights of qiyam, the time spent with the Quran, and the opportunity to gain reward in the generous month. For those whose tongues acquaint themselves with tasbih as well as they are acquainted to breathing; and whose legs do not tire of the length of their qiyam-ul-layl for it is when their Rabb is nearest to them and they simply carry too much in their hearts; so their sujood becomes their therapy and their home.

Walid had carefully planned his days and all that he hoped to achieve. He would sit with the people in his circle and collectively go through the Quran in the mornings, being a regular at the masjid, and his nights were filled with little sleep and more ibadah.

Mahrosh had never been a planner, but she was determined not to waste her time. She set certain goals and she tried to achieve them,  jumping from her recitation of the Quran — to learning as much as she could through books, taking opportunities of making iftar and serving her family as acts of worship. And in the nights, she would try to avail tahajjud and make dua.

But Ramadan does not just come for those with a ready iman.

Ramadan has come for those who struggle — for those who long for a steady faith but their steps waver a little too much, and their candle flickers every now and then.

"I am so behind, Mahrosh!" Aleena counted the juz she should have already recited, her eyes squeezing shut in dismay as her head hit the back of her chair.

Hands cupped her face, and her eyes blinked open, meeting Mahrosh' glimmering orbs. "This is your first time having covered this much, right?"

Aleena nodded slowly, the guilt in her heart strong. "And you're attending Walid's halaqah too. Your journey is entirely your own, Aleena! We may be able to do just a little but let's make sure we do it only for His sake — His mercy could form mountains out of mere coins."

Aleena's heart calmed, and she let the pleasure of her Rabb weigh heavier than the pressure of her self-created time tables; not only did she find more khushoo in her ibadah, but she found she was able to meet the deadlines with much more ease.

Aleena noticed how Mahrosh seemed to have vowed to kindle smiles.

After her father's death, melancholy had wrapped around the house like a blanket. It brought with it silence and estrangement; even between those who were supposed to be the closest. But how stark the comparison between the darkness of the days before Mahrosh moved in, to the laughter and light that filled it now! There was never a dull moment; amidst laughter, compulsory daily hugs, and clumsiness that led to rush and laughter in suhoor or iftar; either through the dough Mahrosh forgot to cover and was all destroyed by a cat, or by a single ingredient gone wrong and an iftar turned uneatable.

And like Mahrosh held onto joy and laughter, she held onto something else too — a single response to almost anything Aleena said to her that the latter could not understand.

'Make dua.'

This advice is perhaps too overused for it to have any form of impact on the listener; except a mere nod of agreement. A, yes I have heard this before but what after that? Dua and then-?

"Something has happened to me, Mahru — my brush simply does not move the way I want it to, and the colors never turn out the way they do in my head." Aleena said to her one day, putting down her brush in defeat. "I really didn't think shifting art styles would prove to be so difficult."

Mahrosh' gaze flickered to the canvas. A few seconds passed in silence before her usual response; well-meant but perhaps misunderstood. "Make dua that calligraphy becomes easier for you and you are able to use it in the path of Allah, Aleena. It is such a beautiful form of art and you seem to love it so much."

"Make dua for my painting?" Aleena chuckled, "Don't you think there are other important things I need to be making dua for?"

Mahrosh' brows drew together. A few seconds trickled by before she said, "What do you make dua for, Aleena?"

Aleena's head tilted. "Jannah," she counted on her fingers, "Ease in this life and the next. I make dua for Walid's mission, for the ummah, that our home is protected and kept safe from danger. "

"What about duas for yourself?"

"I pray for forgiveness, for a stronger iman... and ease in both worlds," Aleena shrugged. Most of her duas were simply out of memory, she realized; something she quickly whispered and was over with, "I think, Mahru, I'm learning to be at peace with my decree and whatever He has written for me so there is not much that I want."

Mahrosh was silent for a few seconds, but her eyes depicted a galaxy of thoughts she wished to convey. "Aleena," she moved closer to her, "Allah wants you to ask Him. Doesn't He say Himself; When my servant asks you concerning Me, indeed I am near. I listen to the supplication of my servant when he calls on Me. It is beautiful to be at peace with our decree, but the One who has written our decree is also Al-Mujeeb; the One who is shy of returning His servant empty handed when they raise their hands and make dua. That is our Rabb! It is worship within itself to make dua to Him — for when we raise our hands to Him, and only Him, we are firm upon our shahada; only He can give, and aren't we always in need, Aleena? In need of forgiveness, for purity, in need of Rahma from our Rabb. He wants us to ask, so He comes down to the lowest heaven in the last third of the night and says, 'Who is it that would ask so I may give Him?' "

The galaxies within Mahrosh' eyes aligned. Aleena felt her heart become full — admitting to whatever was being said, and yet... there remained a thorn within her heart.

But Mahrosh was just as well acquainted with the thorn, and she understood it without Aleena having said a word. 

"We think, Aleena, that we are not worthy. That it is the righteous ones whose duas get accepted, that with what face will we raise our hands to our Rabb when we carry the burden of our imperfections? The burden of our sins? Oh, but habibti, were we somehow worthy of the blessing of faith? Of the blessing of a beating heart? Of a beautiful family and a home? And yet, Al-Wahhab blessed us with them, did He not? Do not look at the seeker when he comes seeking; but the One he asks. Allah. The One in Whose Hands lies the dominion of the heavens of the earth — who says Be and it is. He is Ar-Rahman, and Al-Wahhab; the bestower of gifts."

Aleena's eyes glazed with the tears of an ab'd having failed in recognizing her Rabb as He ought to be recognized. Her own faults had curtained her from seeing the Rahma of her Rabb.

"Then I pray, Mahrosh," Aleena whispered, linking her fingers with Mahrosh', "That Allah makes me an amazing painter, and you an amazing writer, and that we use our skills for His sake. And that He strengthens our friendship, and makes us neighbors in Jannah — where we race Ayisha R.A and listen to all of her stories directly from her!"

Mahrosh laughed out of utter glee, her cheeks flushing. "And may He allow us to sit within gatherings of the Rasool and the sahabas! That we carry the flag of dawah; and if we are unworthy of it — may He make us worthy. And, and — may Allah make me a better cook and less clumsy."

Aleena laughed. "Ameen!"

Their joy was uncontainable but amidst their laughter and wild duas, Mahrosh squeezed Aleena's hand. "Allah is Al-Kareem, Lina. He is able to do all things — ask Him for that which you might think impossible; because nothing is impossible for Him. Be wild in your duas, even if you think you're being unrealistic."

Time stood still as in a small corner of Aleena's heart, a dua was formed. One that she would confess only to her Rabb for it was a desire she kept hidden from everyone else — she feared that she would be laughed at and told to be realistic. But those walls of toughness she built for the world shattered in front of her Rabb.

Be wild in your duas, even if you think you're being unrealistic.

So Aleena tried. She asked Allah for a spouse; even after having accepted verbally that no one would marry someone like her.

Ramadan comes for all; the sinners, the saints, the faithful and the faltering ones.

And sometimes, it comes for those who are in the dark. Who wander, and are lost. Whose hearts are empty and helpless — and whose eyes crave for a sign of light.

Sometimes, Ramadan comes for those who do not know of its virtues.

Rahul sat outside Walid's halaqas, hearing the Quran being recited inside and its translation being explained. He would listen; his legs folded and his head resting against the wall — he would listen till his heart would pound profusely. Till his soul would thrash against the limits of his being; Will you not believe?

Rahul listened, his chin resting on his knees.

One story in particular hit a chord within his heart. He would stare at the statues in his house and he would imagine the statues Ibrahim A.S broke and he stood firm against his father and his entire community. It was true he was never religious and had never regarded these as anything more than culture — but he now felt an unexplainable abhorrence towards them.

يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلنَّاسُ ضُرِبَ مَثَلٌۭ فَٱسْتَمِعُوا۟ لَهُۥٓ ۚ إِنَّ ٱلَّذِينَ تَدْعُونَ مِن دُونِ ٱللَّهِ لَن يَخْلُقُوا۟ ذُبَابًۭا وَلَوِ ٱجْتَمَعُوا۟ لَهُۥ ۖ وَإِن يَسْلُبْهُمُ ٱلذُّبَابُ شَيْـًۭٔا لَّا يَسْتَنقِذُوهُ مِنْهُ ۚ ضَعُفَ ٱلطَّالِبُ وَٱلْمَطْلُوبُ ٧٣

O humanity! A lesson is set forth, so listen to it ˹carefully˺: those ˹idols˺ you invoke besides Allah can never create ˹so much as˺ a fly, even if they ˹all˺ were to come together for that. And if a fly were to snatch anything away from them, they cannot ˹even˺ retrieve it from the fly. How powerless are those who invoke and those invoked!

He would walk under the starlit sky and watch the moon. He would think of Prophet Ibrahim and his search for God. And his rough palms would fist by his sides, his nails digging into his skin.

Rahul had always felt the Bhagwan his family worshiped was biased against him — that he was of those who get nothing in life; not the looks, not the money, no success or loving family.

But Walid spoke so differently when he talked about Allah. He said that the very beat of our heart was a gift from God, and so were our virtues. He said these things didn't matter; looks, money, status. That these were all simply means to get closer to the One who had created us — that the purpose of life was not what the world had made it to be. And success was not what the world had defined.

"How can a man be successful if he lived this life and failed to recognize his very Creator? The One who controls the beating of his heart? And the only thing he thinks he has gained is wealth, but when he dies, he leaves it all behind for someone else to use, returning to His Rabb bare-handed. Wallahi, he has failed. And how terrible that failure; how wretched the loss of Paradise. And in gain of what? This dunya that is full of thorns and lasts mere years?

Some days, Rahul fasted secretly. Somehow, he was always awake when the distant fajr adhan was called out — and when he saw Walid, and Shayan, and the rest, the contentment upon their faces and the joy that was shared in their iftars, he felt an ache to experience some of it.

"What is the greatest blessing of all? The blessing of iman. Of hidaya. That He allows for our hearts to soften and recognise Him. That we live for the purpose for which we were created."

The days of Ramadan passed like the flipping pages of a diary.

Rahul lost count; but he knew it was the final ten days because of the motivated discussions of a Laylat-ul-Qadr — the night of power that he knew little about. He sat outside the halaqah room, like always, when someone stepped in front of him.

"Rahul bhai?"

Rahul was quick to straighten up, his gaze flickering to a familiar boy. He had not realized that Shayan knew he was here, and he fought a wave of embarrassment. "Jee?"

Shayan shifted on his feet, a hint of a reddish hue on his face. For a second, he remained still and then, wordlessly, he extended a hand.

Rahil stared at the hand. It was a simple gesture, but a lump came up to his throat and his eyes glazed. 

He wondered if Shayan felt the tremor in his hands as he led him inside, or if Walid saw the tear that escaped his eyes when someone shifted to offer him space to sit.

Men don't cry, Rahul had learned and yet — in that very gathering, when he saw the eyes of men shed tears in awe and fear of their Creator, his shame over his emotions dissolved. In that gathering, he felt his heart beat in unison to several others as Walid read from the Quran.

نَحْنُ خَلَقْنَـٰكُمْ فَلَوْلَا تُصَدِّقُونَ ٥٧

It is We who created you. Will you not then believe? [56:57]

If he thought he had seen sufficient men cry, Rahul was mistaken. Later that night, he saw more tears — and these, from his best friend; beside whom he declared the shahada and entered the fold of Islam.

25th Ramadan ; the day Rahul became Muslim.

Ramadan comes for all; and it comes to train. But then it ends. And perhaps that is when the real test begins —

And these tests come to those whose faith appears unwavering; and those who are firm. And sometimes, even the brightest of lights and dearest of laughers are dimmed — for insaan was indeed created imperfect and meant to be tested. Indeed, Allah tests those He loves. 

Assalamoalaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh!

Ramadan came and left; and perhaps I'm only trying to hold on a little longer for I simply cannot express how much I miss the Ramadan nights and the fasting days. May Allah accept from us all, ameen. What was this ramadan about for you? Do share in the comments <3

Also: RAHUL BECAME MUSLIM! I have so so much love for reverts. I hope my boy remains steadfast (sometimes I forget I'm the writer here) 

And the little bit about dua between Aleena and Mahrosh was dedicated to each and every single one of you. Even if Ramadan has ended, whip out your dua lists and remember - be wild in your duas even if you think you're being unrealistic. Make duas that give you butterflies and duas that make your heart race. Pray for yourself, your families, and for the ummah (and maybe add a tiny dua for me as well? :p)

this chapter being extra long is eidi from me :P (and  I'm pretty sure you are all used to the cliffhanger endings by now so I don't have to apologise hehehe)