LI Story-Writing Contest '08 - The Stories
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Another story:
The man threw his cloak over himself as he exited the Masjid. He lowered his head so that his turban overshadowed his tear-streaked face.
“The eyes shed tears and the heart feels pain, but we utter only what pleases our Lord.”
He quickly caught a glimpse of the small number of people rushing out of the Masjid; totally unaware, totally unmoved. One such person glanced back at him, then turned back to his companion.
“I wonder how a man of his greatness is connected to this unknown man,” one said to the other.
“Little do they know...” the man whispered, his tears pouring down profusely now. He closed his eyes, as his mind wandered back in time – wandered back to the beginning.
Taa’ib walked through the bustling marketplace. It was the largest in all of Basra, which made it perfect for his line of profession. His slight of hand, and cunning made it unlikely that he would ever be caught. What prize shall I claim today, Taa’ib thought to himself, a leer plastered on his face. He saw a man dressed in simple yet fine garments speaking to a silk merchant. Taa’ib stopped beside him, pretending to examine one of the garments.
“I must rush to Baghdad before the day is out, I have to present these precious gems to someone important there.” The man said, with pressing urgency.
“Okay, but be careful. This city is cursed with many bandits, and you will be an easy target if you are travelling alone. You there, how can I help you?”
“I was looking for a particular garment for my mother, but I just remembered that I don’t have enough money.”
“Then stop occupying my space, you worthless peasant!” The merchant grunted with anger. Taa’ib noticed the man look at him with sympathy, and turn away from the merchant in disgust. Taa’ib walked away, unaffected by the man’s words. What need was there for worthless pick pocketing today? He had just secured a gem.
Taa’ib rushed through the back alleyways, his face gleaming with joy. Surely he will be pleased with me, he beamed. He approached the small mud building, and found him standing ominously outside. Beads of sweat started to appear on Taa’ib’s forehead, as the apprehension built up within him.
“You’re late.” Haarith said, his voice as icy as death itself.
“I’ve brought you something that will make you very pleased.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
Taa’ib relayed what he had heard in the silk market.
“...We know where he is likely to leave from, so if we ambush him and take his belongings, then the gems will be ours,” smiled Taa’ib. He analysed Haarith’s face for a reaction. Haarith looked at the ground, apparently contemplating the information he had just received.
“Come here,” he replied, coolly.
Taa’ib slowly walked towards him. He must be unconvinced, he thought sullenly. Then, Haarith raised his hand, and patted him on his head. Taa’ib winced, expecting something else entirely.
“You have done well,” he smiled.
Taa’ib was happy to receive his approval. After all, although they had no blood relation, Haarith was all the family that he had.
The sky was tinted a crimson red, as the sunset fell upon Basra. It’s Maghrib, Taa’ib realised, as the iqaamah sounded in the distance. Where is he, thought Taa’ib, frantically. He could see Haarith was getting impatient. As the minutes snailed by, Taa’ib started to dread that they had missed the man. Then suddenly, a figure appeared in the distance, riding upon a horse, enshrouded in simple garments. It’s him, Taa’ib thought, relief flowing through his veins.
“Hide behind that sand dune. I shall wait for him over there. Only reveal yourself if need be.”
Taa’ib nodded obediently. The man approached, closer, and closer, until he reached that fatal point...
Haarith pounced from behind the date tree, and stood before the man, a dagger in one hand.
“Hand over your belongings,” he retorted, threateningly. Both the man and his horse came to a sudden halt, yet he said nothing, did nothing. Taa’ib noticed how strikingly handsome his horse looked; entirely black, except for a snow-white patch on its forehead. It made the rider seem like a valiant warrior preparing to set off to battle, yet his contemplative poise made him seem mysterious.
“Didn’t you hear me? Surrender your belongings, or surrender your life,” hissed Haarith, impatient, yet starting to appear nervous now. Taa’ib started to feel the excitement build up. No matter what Taa’ib expected to hear, he was not prepared for the man’s answer, and how it would rock his world.
“Fear Allah! Life and Death does not belong to a creation, rather it belongs to the Lord of all things created. I do not fear death, though I hope that I was from amongst the intelligent, those that the Messenger, peace and blessings be upon him, described.”
“Oh... and who are the intelligent?” He scoffed, almost toying with him, with this question.
“Those who remember death the most, and are most prepared for what comes after it. These are the intelligent ones. And by the one in whose Hand is my soul! The only way you will attain that which I hold is by prying it from my cold lifeless hands,” said the man, calmly, like the eye of a storm.
Haarith grinned in amusement.
“You fool. If you had an ounce of so-called intelligence you wouldn’t have wasted your life over material possessions.” He leaped towards the man, his dagger held high. It seemed as if the man did not have any weaponry with him. He tried to back away with his horse, but Haarith was unexpectedly swift. He was wounded. Haarith had struck him in his neck, with a blow so fierce that it knocked him off his horse. The rapid succession of events frightened the horse, causing it to trample its own master, and flee from the scene. The man lay paralysed, his blood staining the scorching sand. Then suddenly, he heard an unidentifiable sound. He raised his head - his vision blurred - to an unexpected sight.
There was another figure next to his assailant. The figure was holding a long object, the man realised, as what little light it reflected shone in to his eyes. It was the boy from the market, he realised. Was that a sword he held between his frail arms?
“Ah! Taa’ib! You wretched fool!” Haarith screeched. He fell down to his knees, almost repentantly. His mouth let ragged gasps escape, as he placed his hand upon his chest. Haarith lifted his hand, finding that it had been painted scarlet, with his own blood.
“As long as I live, you cannot lay another finger upon this man!” Taa’ib bellowed, tears trickling down his cheeks.
Then just as swiftly as Haarith’s knees gave way, he fell flat on his face, breathing his last.
Taa’ib turned to the man now, and ran towards him. He opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. The man was still breathing, he realised, but barely.
“Boy...” he croaked. Taa’ib listened attentively.
“Did you work for this man?” he asked. Taa’ib nodded, his eyes filled with tears, then lowered his head. His heart was completely filled with grief. Haarith was like his father, his brother, his friend and teacher. How could I betray him like this?
“Take this advice from me, young man. I advise you as our predecessor, Ibn Mas’ood, may Allah be pleased with him, advised; be the springs of knowledge, the lamps of guidance, bound to your homes, lights of the night, refreshers of the hearts, best of clothes, known in the heavens, unknown to those on earth. I have one thing that I ask from you, though I hate to ask of others. Take the item in my bag to Abu al-Khayr, in Baghdad. My father intended that it benefit the people.”
Taa’ib was totally baffled. What did any of this mean? However, there was to be no clarification. Taa’ib trembled as he realised the man had finally stopped breathing. The sun had set completely now, and the darkness seemed to engulf him. Taa’ib felt the panic overtake him, as he realised he was completely alone now. A million thoughts assailed his mind, yet Taa’ib knew he had to focus.
His quivering hand reached for the man’s possessions, now lying scattered haphazardly, reflecting the chaotic events that had just occurred. He searched for the gems. Nothing. What is this?! He searched again, lifting some battered-looking pieces of paper, bundled together with a single piece of string. Nothing. The corner of his eye caught something written on one of the pieces of paper. He quickly skimmed through some of the pages, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, it dawned upon him.
Abu al-Khayr al-Baghdadi examined the fatigued boy before him, his garments torn and worn, his hair dishevelled. He could barely believe what he was hearing, yet he sat silently, listening.
“... and that is when I made my oath. I did not know how I would reach Baghdad, but Allah facilitated a way for me, walhamdulillah. After walking some distance I found his horse. It was a little startled, but I managed to calm it down. I rode for some time, and it was not long before a sand storm began. But I did not rest; I could not rest, while my oath was unfulfilled! After the sandstorm ceased, I faced one more obstacle. Ironically, I encountered some thieves, laying in wait for travellers and caravans, a short distance before I reached Baghdad. They asked me to give up my only possession, not even asking what it was. I unsheathed my sword, and said to them, ‘This sword is stained with the blood of my friend, only because of that which you desire. If you wish to claim it, your swords must be stained with mine!’ Allah bestowed me with strength, and I was able to overcome them all. When I finally reached Baghdad, I asked about you. It turns out that you were easy to find, being one of the most knowledgeable men in all of Baghdad. I see now why he wanted you to have this.” Taa’ib continued to look at the floor, even in silence.
Abu al-Khayr looked at Taa’ib, partially in awe, partially in sorrow. He noticed that his lips were dry and cracked. Now he realised why he looked as he did. He had been through much.
“Why did you not wait for the sandstorm to stop, before coming to Baghdad?”
“I witnessed two people die, and both died because of me. I made an oath to Allah; that I would give you this, and I would not waste a single moment in doing so. Who knew when the angel of death would come for me? Now that I have told you this story, you must swear to never repeat it to anyone as long as I live. Assalamu ‘Alaykum, O’ Shaykh.” Taa’ib uttered, his voice starting to crack from thirst.
Abu al-Khayr responded appropriately, as Taa’ib left his humble abode. He glanced at what lay in his lap. Indeed, it was a precious gem. He turned the pages, contemplating upon every word. A book of a Scholar, filled with heart-softening narrations, ahadeeth and ayaat, Abu al-Khayr sat in awe.
Abu al-Khayr recalled what he had heard, only a few days ago, and the tragic events that soon followed. He walked away from the Masjid, considering the number of people at the janaazah prayer. Only forty, Abu al-Khayr thought. The world is ignorant of this young man’s deeds, but those in the heaven know.
[FONT="]Only Forty[/FONT]
The man threw his cloak over himself as he exited the Masjid. He lowered his head so that his turban overshadowed his tear-streaked face.
“The eyes shed tears and the heart feels pain, but we utter only what pleases our Lord.”
He quickly caught a glimpse of the small number of people rushing out of the Masjid; totally unaware, totally unmoved. One such person glanced back at him, then turned back to his companion.
“I wonder how a man of his greatness is connected to this unknown man,” one said to the other.
“Little do they know...” the man whispered, his tears pouring down profusely now. He closed his eyes, as his mind wandered back in time – wandered back to the beginning.
***
Taa’ib walked through the bustling marketplace. It was the largest in all of Basra, which made it perfect for his line of profession. His slight of hand, and cunning made it unlikely that he would ever be caught. What prize shall I claim today, Taa’ib thought to himself, a leer plastered on his face. He saw a man dressed in simple yet fine garments speaking to a silk merchant. Taa’ib stopped beside him, pretending to examine one of the garments.
“I must rush to Baghdad before the day is out, I have to present these precious gems to someone important there.” The man said, with pressing urgency.
“Okay, but be careful. This city is cursed with many bandits, and you will be an easy target if you are travelling alone. You there, how can I help you?”
“I was looking for a particular garment for my mother, but I just remembered that I don’t have enough money.”
“Then stop occupying my space, you worthless peasant!” The merchant grunted with anger. Taa’ib noticed the man look at him with sympathy, and turn away from the merchant in disgust. Taa’ib walked away, unaffected by the man’s words. What need was there for worthless pick pocketing today? He had just secured a gem.
Taa’ib rushed through the back alleyways, his face gleaming with joy. Surely he will be pleased with me, he beamed. He approached the small mud building, and found him standing ominously outside. Beads of sweat started to appear on Taa’ib’s forehead, as the apprehension built up within him.
“You’re late.” Haarith said, his voice as icy as death itself.
“I’ve brought you something that will make you very pleased.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
Taa’ib relayed what he had heard in the silk market.
“...We know where he is likely to leave from, so if we ambush him and take his belongings, then the gems will be ours,” smiled Taa’ib. He analysed Haarith’s face for a reaction. Haarith looked at the ground, apparently contemplating the information he had just received.
“Come here,” he replied, coolly.
Taa’ib slowly walked towards him. He must be unconvinced, he thought sullenly. Then, Haarith raised his hand, and patted him on his head. Taa’ib winced, expecting something else entirely.
“You have done well,” he smiled.
Taa’ib was happy to receive his approval. After all, although they had no blood relation, Haarith was all the family that he had.
***
The sky was tinted a crimson red, as the sunset fell upon Basra. It’s Maghrib, Taa’ib realised, as the iqaamah sounded in the distance. Where is he, thought Taa’ib, frantically. He could see Haarith was getting impatient. As the minutes snailed by, Taa’ib started to dread that they had missed the man. Then suddenly, a figure appeared in the distance, riding upon a horse, enshrouded in simple garments. It’s him, Taa’ib thought, relief flowing through his veins.
“Hide behind that sand dune. I shall wait for him over there. Only reveal yourself if need be.”
Taa’ib nodded obediently. The man approached, closer, and closer, until he reached that fatal point...
Haarith pounced from behind the date tree, and stood before the man, a dagger in one hand.
“Hand over your belongings,” he retorted, threateningly. Both the man and his horse came to a sudden halt, yet he said nothing, did nothing. Taa’ib noticed how strikingly handsome his horse looked; entirely black, except for a snow-white patch on its forehead. It made the rider seem like a valiant warrior preparing to set off to battle, yet his contemplative poise made him seem mysterious.
“Didn’t you hear me? Surrender your belongings, or surrender your life,” hissed Haarith, impatient, yet starting to appear nervous now. Taa’ib started to feel the excitement build up. No matter what Taa’ib expected to hear, he was not prepared for the man’s answer, and how it would rock his world.
“Fear Allah! Life and Death does not belong to a creation, rather it belongs to the Lord of all things created. I do not fear death, though I hope that I was from amongst the intelligent, those that the Messenger, peace and blessings be upon him, described.”
“Oh... and who are the intelligent?” He scoffed, almost toying with him, with this question.
“Those who remember death the most, and are most prepared for what comes after it. These are the intelligent ones. And by the one in whose Hand is my soul! The only way you will attain that which I hold is by prying it from my cold lifeless hands,” said the man, calmly, like the eye of a storm.
Haarith grinned in amusement.
“You fool. If you had an ounce of so-called intelligence you wouldn’t have wasted your life over material possessions.” He leaped towards the man, his dagger held high. It seemed as if the man did not have any weaponry with him. He tried to back away with his horse, but Haarith was unexpectedly swift. He was wounded. Haarith had struck him in his neck, with a blow so fierce that it knocked him off his horse. The rapid succession of events frightened the horse, causing it to trample its own master, and flee from the scene. The man lay paralysed, his blood staining the scorching sand. Then suddenly, he heard an unidentifiable sound. He raised his head - his vision blurred - to an unexpected sight.
There was another figure next to his assailant. The figure was holding a long object, the man realised, as what little light it reflected shone in to his eyes. It was the boy from the market, he realised. Was that a sword he held between his frail arms?
“Ah! Taa’ib! You wretched fool!” Haarith screeched. He fell down to his knees, almost repentantly. His mouth let ragged gasps escape, as he placed his hand upon his chest. Haarith lifted his hand, finding that it had been painted scarlet, with his own blood.
“As long as I live, you cannot lay another finger upon this man!” Taa’ib bellowed, tears trickling down his cheeks.
Then just as swiftly as Haarith’s knees gave way, he fell flat on his face, breathing his last.
Taa’ib turned to the man now, and ran towards him. He opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. The man was still breathing, he realised, but barely.
“Boy...” he croaked. Taa’ib listened attentively.
“Did you work for this man?” he asked. Taa’ib nodded, his eyes filled with tears, then lowered his head. His heart was completely filled with grief. Haarith was like his father, his brother, his friend and teacher. How could I betray him like this?
“Take this advice from me, young man. I advise you as our predecessor, Ibn Mas’ood, may Allah be pleased with him, advised; be the springs of knowledge, the lamps of guidance, bound to your homes, lights of the night, refreshers of the hearts, best of clothes, known in the heavens, unknown to those on earth. I have one thing that I ask from you, though I hate to ask of others. Take the item in my bag to Abu al-Khayr, in Baghdad. My father intended that it benefit the people.”
Taa’ib was totally baffled. What did any of this mean? However, there was to be no clarification. Taa’ib trembled as he realised the man had finally stopped breathing. The sun had set completely now, and the darkness seemed to engulf him. Taa’ib felt the panic overtake him, as he realised he was completely alone now. A million thoughts assailed his mind, yet Taa’ib knew he had to focus.
His quivering hand reached for the man’s possessions, now lying scattered haphazardly, reflecting the chaotic events that had just occurred. He searched for the gems. Nothing. What is this?! He searched again, lifting some battered-looking pieces of paper, bundled together with a single piece of string. Nothing. The corner of his eye caught something written on one of the pieces of paper. He quickly skimmed through some of the pages, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, it dawned upon him.
***
Abu al-Khayr al-Baghdadi examined the fatigued boy before him, his garments torn and worn, his hair dishevelled. He could barely believe what he was hearing, yet he sat silently, listening.
“... and that is when I made my oath. I did not know how I would reach Baghdad, but Allah facilitated a way for me, walhamdulillah. After walking some distance I found his horse. It was a little startled, but I managed to calm it down. I rode for some time, and it was not long before a sand storm began. But I did not rest; I could not rest, while my oath was unfulfilled! After the sandstorm ceased, I faced one more obstacle. Ironically, I encountered some thieves, laying in wait for travellers and caravans, a short distance before I reached Baghdad. They asked me to give up my only possession, not even asking what it was. I unsheathed my sword, and said to them, ‘This sword is stained with the blood of my friend, only because of that which you desire. If you wish to claim it, your swords must be stained with mine!’ Allah bestowed me with strength, and I was able to overcome them all. When I finally reached Baghdad, I asked about you. It turns out that you were easy to find, being one of the most knowledgeable men in all of Baghdad. I see now why he wanted you to have this.” Taa’ib continued to look at the floor, even in silence.
Abu al-Khayr looked at Taa’ib, partially in awe, partially in sorrow. He noticed that his lips were dry and cracked. Now he realised why he looked as he did. He had been through much.
“Why did you not wait for the sandstorm to stop, before coming to Baghdad?”
“I witnessed two people die, and both died because of me. I made an oath to Allah; that I would give you this, and I would not waste a single moment in doing so. Who knew when the angel of death would come for me? Now that I have told you this story, you must swear to never repeat it to anyone as long as I live. Assalamu ‘Alaykum, O’ Shaykh.” Taa’ib uttered, his voice starting to crack from thirst.
Abu al-Khayr responded appropriately, as Taa’ib left his humble abode. He glanced at what lay in his lap. Indeed, it was a precious gem. He turned the pages, contemplating upon every word. A book of a Scholar, filled with heart-softening narrations, ahadeeth and ayaat, Abu al-Khayr sat in awe.
***
Abu al-Khayr recalled what he had heard, only a few days ago, and the tragic events that soon followed. He walked away from the Masjid, considering the number of people at the janaazah prayer. Only forty, Abu al-Khayr thought. The world is ignorant of this young man’s deeds, but those in the heaven know.
“...one of you behaves like the people of Hell-fire until there is but an arm's length between him and it, and that which has been written over takes him and so he behaves like the people of Paradise and thus he enters it.”
[Hadeeth – Agreed upon]
Last edited:
Muezzin
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Well, I've edited three of the stories to fix the spacing problems.
Readers, let Amatul Wadud or myself know if any still need fixing.
EDIT: Also added a poll.
Last edited:
MinAhlilHadeeth
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:salamext:
I only have one story left to read. Can we vote for more than one? So far I have three that I'd like to vote for.
Also, when will the judges post their decision?
I only have one story left to read. Can we vote for more than one? So far I have three that I'd like to vote for.
Also, when will the judges post their decision?
MinAhlilHadeeth
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:salamext:
Can there be a rule about contestants not being allowed to vote for their own entry?
Can there be a rule about contestants not being allowed to vote for their own entry?
Na7lah
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did you read all of them? i cnt pick between the three that i read :blind:
Güven
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oh:
~Taalibah~
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Wonderful stories, people really great, Masha'Allah.
I'll think about which i must vote for as i have 3 favorites!
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