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...
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For two weeks; amidst the rush of the wedding guests and all of the dawats they were invited to, the halaqah had to be put on hold.
But when the buzz began to fade, Walid was quick to restart, only this time — Mahrosh was a part of it from the beginning to the end. She was no longer just a listener, instead she would help him him with his notes and write down the quotes from his talks on pieces of paper that Shayan would later distribute amongst the attendees.
Walid had once been alone in his dream; till Allah had blessed him with a spouse who did not just become a part of his life, but of his dream as well, owning it as hers. And while he may have been at the front of the battle, Mahrosh' support had become his backbone.
The halaqah began with words of congratulations for Walid (and Mahrosh, although none but Walid and Shayan knew she was there), and catching up on each other, before Walid brought up a topic he felt was the need of the hour.
"Of the fitnas that have harmed us significantly, is that of nationalism."
There was a murmur of confusion amongst the men. One's love for their home country was something so natural – love for the mitti that had witnessed their birth and would hold their graves after their death, as well as the graves of their forefathers. It was this mitti wherein grew the crops that had fed them; wherein lay the memories of their entire lives.
"If you think nationalism is love for one's homeland, then please correct yourselves," Walid smiled, as if having read their minds, "Even the sahabas missed Makkah after migration. That is a very human emotion. Then what is nationalism? It is a concept brought in by the west – a theory that confines your identity to your 'nation', and wherein all of your loyalty lies with your nation. You will hear it often, glorification of dying for this mitti, of honoring the name of your country – and our love for our homeland gets us mixed up with this idea of nationalism.
Because when we adopt such a notion, we forget that our real identity lies within an ummah. It lies within the shahada on the tips of our tongues – whether we are Indian, Arab, English or Chinese. Muslims were an ummah once, but now we have given that up and instead labelled ourselves as Indians, Arabs, Turkish, Afghan — and then, we wonder why we have fallen so. Iqbal talks about this in his poem; Wataniyat.
ان تازہ خداؤں میں بڑا سب سے وطن ہے
جو پیرہن اس کا ہے وہ مذہب کا کفن ہے
Country, is the biggest among these new gods!
What is its shirt is the shroud of Deen (Religion)
