I'm here again.
Getting consistent right? *does the victory dance*. I came across this story on
Instagram and I thought to share it with you guys. I was very inspired and
touched and I learnt some important things which I hope you all would get too.
The story goes thus:
.
- -A Man Named Rashed
(Extremely Heart-Softening! )- -
.
This is a true story
about a man named Rashed.
He tells his story as
follows…
I was not more than
thirty years old when my wife
gave birth to my first
child. I still remember that
night.
I had stayed out all
night long with my friends, as
was my habit. It was a
night filled with useless
talk, and worse, with
backbiting, gossiping, and
making fun of people.
I was mostly the one who
made people laugh; I
would mock others and my
friends would laugh
and laugh. I remember on that
night that I’d made
them laugh a lot. I had an
amazing ability to
imitate others – I could change
the sound of my voice
until I sounded exactly like
the person I was
mocking. No one was safe from
my biting mockery,
even my friends; some people
started avoiding me
just to be safe from my
tongue. I remember on
that night, I had made fun
of a blind man who I’d
seen begging in the market.
What was worse, I had
put my foot out in front
him – he tripped and
fell, and started turning his
head around, not
knowing what to say.
I went back to my
house, late as usual, and I
found my wife waiting
for me. She was in a terrible
state, and said in a
quivering voice, “Rashed…
where were you?”
“Where would I be, on
Mars?” I said sarcastically,
“With my friends of
course.”
She was visibly
exhausted, and holding back tears,
she said, “Rashed, I’m
so tired. It seems the baby
is going to come
soon.” A silent tear fell on her
cheek.
I felt that I had
neglected my wife. I should have
taken care of her and
not stayed out so much all
those nights…
especially since she was in her ninth
month. I quickly took
her to the hospital; she went
into the delivery
room, and suffered through long
hours of pain.
I waited patiently for
her to give birth… but her
delivery was
difficult, and I waited a long time until
I got tired. So I went
home and left my phone
number with the
hospital so they could call with
the good news. An hour
later, they called me to
congratulate me on the
birth of Salem. I went to
the hospital
immediately. As soon as they saw me,
they asked me to go
see the doctor who had
overlooked my wife’s
delivery.
“What doctor?” I cried
out, “I just want to see my
son Salem!”
“First go see the
doctor,” they said.
I went to the doctor,
and she started talking to me
about trials, and
about being satisfied with Allah’s
decree. Then she said,
“Your son has a serious
deformity in his eyes,
and it seems that he has no
vision.” I lowered my
head while I fought back
tears… I remembered
that blind man begging in the
market who I’d tripped
and made others laugh at.
Subhan Allah, you get
what you give! I stayed
brooding quietly for a
while… I didn’t know what to
say. Then I remembered
by wife and son. I thanked
the doctor for her
kindness, and went to go see my
wife. My wife wasn’t
sad. She believed in the
decree of Allah… she
was content… How often had
she advised me to stop
mocking people! “Don’t
backbite people,” she
always used to repeat… We
left the hospital, and
Salem came with us.
In reality, I didn’t
pay much attention to him. I
pretended that he
wasn’t in the house with us.
When he started crying
loudly, I’d escape to the
living room to sleep
there. My wife took good care
of him, and loved him
a lot. As for myself, I didn’t
hate him, but I couldn’t
love him either.
Salem grew. He started
to crawl, and had a
strange way of
crawling. When he was almost one
year old, he started
trying to walk, and we
discovered that he was
crippled. I felt like he was
an even greater burden
on me. After him, my wife
gave birth to Umar and
Khaled. The years passed,
and Salem grew, and
his brothers grew. I never
liked to sit at home,
I was always out with my
friends… in reality, I
was like a plaything at their
disposal [entertaining
them whenever they
wanted].
My wife never gave up
on my reform. She always
made du’aa for my
guidance. She never got angry
with my reckless
behavior, but she would get really
sad if she saw me
neglecting Salem and paying
attention to the rest
of his brothers. Salem grew,
and my worries grew
with him. I didn’t mind when
my wife asked to
enroll him in a special school for
the handicapped.
I didn’t really feel
the passing of the years. My
days were all the
same. Work and sleep and food
and staying out with
friends. One Friday, I woke up
at 11 am. This was
early for me. I was invited to a
gathering, so I got
dressed and perfumed, and was
about to go out. I
passed by our living room, and
was startled by the
sight of Salem – he was
sobbing! This was the
first time I had noticed
Salem crying since he
was a baby. Ten years had
passed, and I hadn’t
paid attention to him. I tried
to ignore him now, but
I couldn’t take it… I heard
him calling out to his
mother while I was in the
room. I turned towards
him, and went closer.
“Salem! Why are you
crying?” I asked.
When he heard my
voice, he stopped crying. Then
when he realized how
close I was, he started
feeling around him
with his small hands. What was
wrong with him? I
discovered that he was trying to
move away from me! It
was as if he was saying,
“Now, you’ve decided
to notice me? Where have
you been for the last
ten years?” I followed him…
he had gone into his
room. At first, he refused to
tell me why he’d been
crying. I tried to be gentle
with him… Salem
started to tell me why he’d been
crying, while I listened
and trembled.
Do you know what the
reason was?! His brother
Umar, the one who used
to take him to the masjid,
was late. And because
it was Jumu’ah prayer,
Salem was afraid he
wouldn’t find a place in the
first row. He called
out to Umar… and he called out
to his mother… but
nobody answered, so he cried.
I sat there looking at
the tears flowing from his
blind eyes. I couldn’t
bear the rest of his words. I
put my hand over his
mouth and said, “Is this why
you were crying,
Salem!”
“Yes,” he said.
I forgot about my
friends, I forgot about the
gathering, and I said,
“Don’t be sad, Salem. Do you
know who’s going to
take you to the masjid
today?”
“Umar, of course,” he
said, “… but he’s always
late.”
“No,” I said, “I’m
going to take you.”
Salem was shocked… he
couldn’t believe it. He
thought I was mocking
him. His tears came and he
started crying. I
wiped his tears with my hand and
then took hold of his
hand. I wanted to take him to
the masjid by car. He
refused and said, “The
masjid is near… I want
to walk there.” Yes, by
Allah, he said this to
me.
I couldn’t remember
when the last time I had
entered the masjid
was, but it was the first time I
felt fear and regret
for what I’d neglected in the
long years that had
passed. The masjid was filled
with worshippers, but
I still found a place for
Salem in the first
row. We listened to the Jumu’ah
khutbah together, and
he prayed next to me. But
really, I was the one
praying next to him.
After the prayer,
Salem asked me for a musHaf. I
was surprised! How was
he going to read when he
was blind? I almost
ignored his request, but I
decided to humor him
out of fear of hurting his
feelings. I passed him
a musHaf. He asked me to
open the musHaf to
Surat al-Kahf. I started
flipping through the
pages and looking through the
index until I found
it. He took the musHaf from me,
put it in front of
him, and started reading the
Surah… with his eyes
closed… ya Allah! He had the
whole Surah memorized.
I was ashamed of
myself. I picked up a musHaf… I
felt my limbs tremble…
I read and I read. I asked
Allah to forgive me
and to guide me. I couldn’t
take it… I started
crying like a child. There were
still some people in
the masjid praying sunnah… I
was embarrassed by
their presence, so I tried to
hold my tears. My
crying turned into whimpering
and long, sobbing
breaths. The only thing I felt
was a small hand
reaching out to my face, and
then wiping the tears
away. It was Salem! I pulled
him to my chest… I
looked at him. I said to
myself… you’re not the
blind one, but I am, for
having drifted after
immoral people who were
pulling me to
hellfire. We went back home. My wife
was extremely worried
about Salem, but her worry
turned into tears [of
joy] when she found out I had
prayed Jumu’ah with
Salem.
From that day on, I
never missed the
congregational prayer
in the masjid. I left my bad
friends… and I made
righteous friends among
people I met at the
masjid. I tasted the sweetness
of iman with them. I
learned things from them that
distracted me from
this world. I never missed out
on gatherings of remembrance
[halaqas], or on the
witr prayer. I recited
the entire Qur’an, several
times, in one month. I
moistened my tongue with
the remembrance of
Allah, that He might forgive
my backbiting and
mocking of the people. I felt
closer to my family.
The looks of fear and pity that
had occupied my wife’s
eyes disappeared. A smile
now never parted from
the face of my son Salem.
Anyone who saw him
would have felt that he
owned the world and
everything in it. I praised and
thanked Allah a lot
for His blessings.
One day, my righteous
friends decided to go to a
far away location for
da’wah. I hesitated about
going. I prayed
istikharah, and consulted with my
wife. I thought she
would refuse… but the opposite
happened! She was
extremely happy, and even
encouraged me… because
in the past, she had seen
me traveling without
consulting her, for the
purpose of sin and
evil. I went to Salem, and told
him I would be
traveling. With tears, he wrapped
me up in his small
arms…
I was away from home
for three and a half
months. In that
period, whenever I got a chance, I
called my wife and
talked to my children. I missed
them so much… and oh,
how I missed Salem! I
wanted to hear his
voice… he was the only one
who hadn’t talked to
me since I’d traveled. He was
either at school or at
the masjid whenever I called
them.
Whenever I would tell
my wife how much I missed
him, she would laugh
happily, joyfully, except for
the last time I called
her. I didn’t hear her
expected laugh. Her
voice changed. I said to her,
“Give my salam to
Salem,” and she said,
“Insha’Allah,” and was
quiet.
At last, I went back
home. I knocked on the door. I
hoped that it was
Salem who would open up for
me, but was surprised
to find my son Khaled, who
was not more than four
years old. I picked him up
in my arms while he
squealed, “Baba! Baba!” I
don’t know why my
heart tensed when I entered
the house.
I sought refuge in
Allah from the accursed
shaytan… I approached
my wife… her face was
different. As if she
was pretending to be happy. I
inspected her closely
then said, “What’s wrong
with you?” “Nothing,”
she said. Suddenly, I
remembered Salem.
“Where’s Salem?” I asked. She
lowered her head. She
didn’t answer. Hot tears fell
on her cheeks.
“Salem! Where’s
Salem?” I cried out.
At that moment, I only
heard the sound of my son
Khaled talking in his
own way, saying, “Baba…
Thalem went to
pawadise… with Allah…”
My wife couldn’t take
it. She broke down crying.
She almost fell to the
floor, and left the room.
Later, I found out
that Salem had contracted a
fever two weeks before
I’d returned, so my wife
took him to the
hospital… the fever got more and
more severe, and
didn’t leave him… until his soul
left his body…
And if this earth
closes in on you in spite of its
vastness, and your
soul closes is on you because
of what it’s carrying…
call out, “Oh Allah!” If
solutions run out, and
paths are constricted, and
ropes are cut off, and
your hopes are no more…
call out, “Oh Allah.”
Allah wished to guide Salem’s
father on the hands of
Salem, before Salem’s
death. How merciful is
Allah!
Courtesy :
@muslimspouses on Instagram
I sincerely hope you
have learnt a thing or two from this story. Irrespective of your religion, I
think the main intent of the story is to enjoin us to as much as possible
reduce or stop the vices we engage in and create a very strong relationship
with our God. We should also try as possible not to mock others or feel we are
above them because of an obvious deformity. I tagged it obvious deformity
because I believe we all have deformities and some of us might think ourselves lucky
because our deformities are hidden. It should then not be an avenue to make
others feel less of themselves because they don't have particular abilities we
take for granted. This is a reminder to everyone, myself inclusive that we
should be more mindful of how we talk and act around others. Think, Reflect,
Act.
I'll be back. BOS
