Assalamu Alaikum Warahmatu Allahi Wa Barakatul,
Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim,
Make dua for all the Ummah, insha'allah.
Mohammad Alshareef translated the following story from the book "Azzaman
Alqaadim" and gave it as his final speech at the MYNA East Zone conference.
It is a very moving story which had the entire audience in tears.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
She's My Sister
A true story translated by Muhammad Alshareef
Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't
stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always
vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing,
prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from
dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.
As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I
treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place
became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend
to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and
laziness characterized my Salah.
One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching.
The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my
blanket.
Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything
Noorah?" I said.
With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray
Fajr!"
Agh...there's still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!
With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always
like that, even
before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan can
you come sit beside me."
I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and
sincerity. "Yes, Noorah?"
"Please sit here."
"OK, I"m sitting. What's on your mind?"
With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:
"Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings
on Resurrection Day"
She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"
"Of course I do."
"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do,
regardless of how small or large?"
"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I've got a long life waiting
for me."
"Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at
Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so
and
so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure
of when you shall die."
The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark
and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now.
Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the
summer break."
Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long
trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are
in Allah's hands and we all belong to Him."
My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.
I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my
father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to
outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it
that she could sense the truth.
"What are you thinking about
Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I
am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick.
And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty?
Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently.
"There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to
live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:
"Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have
triumphed."
I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah
guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.
Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up
at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?
Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to
the hospital ... Inna
lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.
There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would
spend the summer at home.
After an eternity...
It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. "Yes. You
can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense
something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it
so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that
would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of
our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made dua'a
for her Noorah.
We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.
One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third^Òs
eyes were iced, you couldn^Òt tell if he was alive or dead.
We
skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.
The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her." As we walked down the
aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She
reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah^Òs condition had gotten better than
what it was in the morning.
"Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time." This was the intensive care
unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white
robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two
minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.
"You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too
long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."
"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"
We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing
fine."
"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."
I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away.
"Sorry ... did I hurt you?"
"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words
One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)
{waltafatul saaqu bil saaq}
"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very
soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my
suitcase."
A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she
joined me. The room blurred away and left us ^Ö two sisters - to cry
together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister^Òs palm which I held
with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never
cried like that before.
At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the
sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A
cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices
from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point
... Noorah had died!
I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what
they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry
anymore.
Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to
say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.
I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed
that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)" and I knew
too well the truth of the next verse: "The drive on that day we be to your
Lord (Allah)!"
I tiptoed into her
prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors,
I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah
was my twin sister.
I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy
days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many
tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability.
May Allah save us all.
Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah,
have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer
mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would
hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her
husband.
I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I
prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to
Allah to keep her
firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.
At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died?
Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over
again.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...
The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this
time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped
the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was
my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It
had been her last Fajr.
Now and insha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I
do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count
on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?
Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim,
Make dua for all the Ummah, insha'allah.
Mohammad Alshareef translated the following story from the book "Azzaman
Alqaadim" and gave it as his final speech at the MYNA East Zone conference.
It is a very moving story which had the entire audience in tears.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
She's My Sister
A true story translated by Muhammad Alshareef
Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't
stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always
vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing,
prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from
dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.
As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I
treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place
became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend
to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and
laziness characterized my Salah.
One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching.
The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my
blanket.
Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything
Noorah?" I said.
With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray
Fajr!"
Agh...there's still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!
With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always
like that, even
before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan can
you come sit beside me."
I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and
sincerity. "Yes, Noorah?"
"Please sit here."
"OK, I"m sitting. What's on your mind?"
With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:
"Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings
on Resurrection Day"
She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"
"Of course I do."
"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do,
regardless of how small or large?"
"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I've got a long life waiting
for me."
"Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at
Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so
and
so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure
of when you shall die."
The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark
and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now.
Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the
summer break."
Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long
trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are
in Allah's hands and we all belong to Him."
My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.
I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my
father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to
outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it
that she could sense the truth.
"What are you thinking about
Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I
am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick.
And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty?
Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently.
"There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to
live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:
"Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have
triumphed."
I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah
guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.
Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up
at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?
Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to
the hospital ... Inna
lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.
There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would
spend the summer at home.
After an eternity...
It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. "Yes. You
can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense
something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it
so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that
would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of
our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made dua'a
for her Noorah.
We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.
One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third^Òs
eyes were iced, you couldn^Òt tell if he was alive or dead.
We
skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.
The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her." As we walked down the
aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She
reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah^Òs condition had gotten better than
what it was in the morning.
"Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time." This was the intensive care
unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white
robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two
minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.
"You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too
long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."
"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"
We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing
fine."
"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."
I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away.
"Sorry ... did I hurt you?"
"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words
One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)
{waltafatul saaqu bil saaq}
"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very
soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my
suitcase."
A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she
joined me. The room blurred away and left us ^Ö two sisters - to cry
together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister^Òs palm which I held
with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never
cried like that before.
At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the
sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A
cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices
from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point
... Noorah had died!
I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what
they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry
anymore.
Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to
say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.
I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed
that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)" and I knew
too well the truth of the next verse: "The drive on that day we be to your
Lord (Allah)!"
I tiptoed into her
prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors,
I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah
was my twin sister.
I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy
days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many
tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability.
May Allah save us all.
Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah,
have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer
mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would
hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her
husband.
I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I
prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to
Allah to keep her
firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.
At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died?
Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over
again.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...
The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this
time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped
the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was
my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It
had been her last Fajr.
Now and insha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I
do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count
on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?
