Leilah Usman awaits an acceptance from a university abroad so she can leave the country she never loved when she stumbles upon an ancient diary. Through the eyes of Mahrosh Irfan, she finds herself in a world so completely different from hers.
One w...
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
The room was crowded and packed; the four walls had once been too large but the front door was left open now to fit everyone. Walid had not yet begun speaking, as the lighthearted chatter of the seekers of knowledge (as Walid liked to call them) filled the room.
Amidst the shared reflections that kindled faith in the hearts of those that had gathered, a hand raised.
Walid's gaze fell upon a teenager; his forehead creased and his eyes a dwelling of grief. "I- I had a question," Ali cleared his throat.
Walid's gentle nod encouraged him to go on.
"How come it is the Muslims who are suffering all over the globe, Walid bhai?" He paused for breath, "I mean, yes, we may have faults, but at least we are on haqq. We worship Allah, we don't do shirk. We were the ones who spread Islam throughout the globe — we were the ones who eradicated slavery. We carried the message from Arabia to all ends of the globe; all for the sake of Allah. And yet... we are the ones who are suffering the most now, whereas the Jews and the Christians are those with power and success. They disobey Allah the most, they spread the most anarchy, then how come, Walid bhai?"
Walid observed Ali. "Have you read shikwa and jawab-e-shikwa by Iqbal, Ali?"
Ali shook his head.
Walid picked up his qulyat, "A few years ago, Iqbal wrote a poem by the name of Shikwa*; where he penned a complaint to Allah. Your question reminded me of it; I'll read out a few stanzas to you."
The sound of the flipping pages filled the room till Walid had found what he was looking for.
"اے خدا! شکوۂ اربابِ وفا بھی سُن لے خوگرِ حمد سے تھوڑا سا گِله بھی سُن لے Oh Allah! Listen too to the complaints of your followers, From those accustomed to only your praise, please listen to a small complaint!
ہم سے پہلے تھا عجب تیرے جہان کا منظر کہیں مسجود تھے پتّھر،کہیں معبود شجر
Before we came, how strange the sight of your world was to us, In some places, stones were worshiped, while in other places, trees were made gods,
پر ترے نام پہ تلوار اُٹھائی کس نے بات جو بگڑی ہوئی تھی،وہ بنائی کس نے But who was it that raised their swords to fight in your name? That which had become corrupted, who was it that set it right?
نقش توحید کاہر دِل پہ بٹھایا ہم نے زیرِ خنجر بھی یہ پیغام سُنایا ہم نے The imprint of Tauheed, we seated in every heart, Even under the blades of daggers we preached this message!
