XXX

Months passed before the harrowing experiences at the hospital began to fade from his memory. In the middle of the night, Ahmad Khalil would suddenly awaken stiff with terror after dreaming that he had just fallen out of the narrow bed with the nurses standing over him and shouting at him. In the darkness, he anxiously reached for Asma. She awoke briefly and caressed his cheek before she drew herself very close against him and when he felt her so near, he was reassured that it was all over and he was home again.

Although Ahmad Khalil took the medicine the doctors at the hospital had prescribed for him, his fits of coughing grew worse and the fever almost continuous.

No longer strong enough to do any work, he spent the interminable days at home, watching Asma go silently about her household tasks, the warmth of her presence, his only comfort. During the winter months, if he was feeling somewhat better, he would squat against the wall in the courtyard outside, enjoying the bright sunshine, needle and thread in hand, absorbed in mending and patching his clothes. Although Asma would do this for him, now that he had no other work, he preferred to do it for himself.

276 Then a letter from his son arrived: “…… Father, three months ago, Rafiq and I decided to quit our jobs in the Coca-Cola factory. We are now working for the American oil company in Dhahran. We found factory work intolerably monotonous with little chance for future promotion. In the oil business, I know lies a great future ahead for both of us ………… “. More letters from Ismail followed with glowing accounts of all the pleasures he had discovered in Dhahran; the joys of exuberant youth, of eating abundant and delicious food, of meeting beautiful women, of long leisurely afternoons bathing in the sea at the beach, of listening to the latest songs over his gramophone, of taking photos of his friends with his camera and the delightful entertainment on television.

Still another letter from Ismail came, describing a violent quarrel with Rafiq who had found his collection of pictures of film actresses and furiously ripped them to pieces.

Although he could ill-afford such an expensive luxury, Abd ur-Rahman had bought a television set for his children would not leave him in peace until they had one. He, along with Ahmad Khalil’s other friends and neighbours, continually complained to him that since television had come to Arabia, their children had grown uncontrollable in their zeal to imitate all the latest fads and fashions, manners, modes and habits they watched on the screen and Ahmad Khalil knew of all the mechanical weapons in the possession of the enemy, which made them feel so defenseless and helpless, this 277 was the most effective in its destructiveness, invading and intruding into the most private precincts of every home.

Change, which had previously trickled in slowly and gradually from the outside, was greatly quickened and accelerated after the introduction of television. The ruling elite was ashamed of the old and was determined to transform the country into a show-place of the new, so much so that plans were already underway to construct in Medina an elaborate sports stadium in order to encourage love for athletics and games among the youth.

They developed a passion for tearing down old buildings, even those still in fair condition, in order to widen and straighten the streets and make way for ones in conformity to the fashionable foreign styles. Foreign goods of every variety invaded the shops in the bazaars whetting the appetite of the people to enjoy more and more conveniences, comforts, amenities and luxuries.

And then came the fatal blow. In a masterplan to modernize and beautify the city, many of the older residential districts were scheduled to be razed. The first victim of this urban renewal programme was the Immigrant Quarter for the Government had long been ashamed of this most shabby and dilapidated of all the districts in the city. To them it was an eye-sore. To Ahmad Khalil this had been his second home for more than twenty-five years. Here lived all his neighbours and close friends, now soon destined to be dispersed.

278 Word reached him that the entire quarter would be torn down within the next year. All the buildings on his street were confiscated to make way in the near future for a large parking lot for cars and trucks. To Ahmad Khalil, it was a total loss for since his room was rented, compensation could only be paid to the owner of the property. He wondered what he could do and where else to go?

The month of Ramadan arrived and Ahmad Khalil almost completely forgot about Ismail when his adopted son came home for the holidays. It thrilled Ahmad Khalil to look upon him. He was twenty years old now and he had grown so tall and straight with a gentle manner and a quiet dignity. In his letters to Ahmad Khalil, his professor of theology praised him as the most hard-working student in his class. But the joy and enthusiasm he had experienced in Cairo as a boy were gone. His face was sombre and sad.

“Father, you cannot imagine the terror in Cairo under President Gamal Abdul Nasser where nobody is safe from the spies and secret police. It is growing worse and worse. I could not write you about this because all out-going letters are censored. Most of my friends belonged to al-Ikhwan al-Muslimun. Whenever we had time to spare, we used to gather all the poor children in the neighbourhood to teach them Quran and feed them what we could. My friends were so dear to me that I wanted to join them. I promised that I would be 279 happy to share all they must suffer but they pleaded with me to return home at once and never try to meet with them again. Since then, almost all of them have been arrested by the police, tortured and imprisoned for no crime.

I do not know where the others have gone.

Oh Father! Don’t force me to go back!”

But Ahmad Khalil would not yield. “You need not fear them, my son.

They dare not touch al-Azhar.

You must complete your studies there.” Not a month had passed after Abd ar-Raziq returned to the university when he wrote his father by dictating the letter to a friend:

“The new Rector of the University has passed an ordinance forbidding the students to wear their robes and turbans and ordering us all to shave off our beards. We were warned that any student who refused to wear the regulation foreign dress would be expelled. All the other students were glad to comply. Only I refused.

Now I am the object of constant ridicule. All my classmates tease me and call me a reactionary fanatic. Life has become unbearable except for my teachers who sympathize with me but are helpless against the Government decree. Al-Azhar has changed so much, I scarcely recognize it as the same university-mosque where I was admitted seven years ago. Nothing here has remained unaltered and all the changes are for the worse.

I try to keep patience but cannot stand this much longer……..”

Ahmad Khalil’s face winced with anguish as he slowly folded the letter and carefully put it aside. But now he knew there was a new Islamic university which had been recently established by the King 280 supported by some eminent scholars right here in Medina.

It had

been highly praised and recommended. If only he could be transferred here, he no longer would have to go so far from home to study. He felt much better after he had decided to go and speak with the Rector, Shaikh Abdul Aziz bin Baz of the plight in which his adopted son now found himself, plead on his behalf and then write a letter about this to Abd ar-Raziq.

Ahmad Khalil visited the new Islamic University in Medina and was very favourably impressed. He spoke to Shaikh Abdul Aziz bin Baz who was moved by his story and promised to take special personal interest in Abd ar-Raziq once his records from al-Azhar had been received.

After he had posted the letter and looked forward to a prompt reply, his face brightened with hope.

The high point of his days was now the daily visits of his friends, Abd ur-Rahman and Inamullah. He was so happy to see them, he forgot all about his illness. He never complained about his illness to them. There was too much else of far greater interest to talk of. He spoke to them about Abd ar-Raziq, about his visit to the Islamic University of Medina, about Shaikh Abdul Aziz bin Baz who despite his blindness, was an eminent scholar and also an exceptionally kind and gentle 281 man. And not long afterwards, Inamullah brought him the daily newspaper with great black bordered headlines.

President Gamal Abdel Nasser had suddenly died of heart-attack. The tyrant, whose hands were stained with so much innocent blood, was dead at last! Perhaps the new ruler would be less harsh and there would be hope for Egypt, the Egyptians and the revival of al-Ikhwan al-Muslimun!

He was heartened by more good news from the daily papers. Plans for the demolishing of the Immigrant Quarters had suddenly been shelved, for the time-being, and work on the proposed parking-lot would not begin for at least another year. Meanwhile Ahmad Khalil and his neighbours in the house were granted extended permission to stay on.

Abd ur-Rahman and Inamullah continued to visit him each day.

“I have something very special to show you”, said Abd ur-Rahman. He held out a small book beautifully bound in green leather for Ahmad Khalil to admire. “I almost forgot that you could not know Persian or Urdu, much less be able to read it, but here is some of the most inspiring poetry I have ever come across. My eldest son in Pakistan sent this book to me from Lahore as a gift. I could

not wait to share it with you … “ Abd ur-Rahman

began to recite aloud the passages from the Asrar-i-Khudi and although Ahmad Khalil could 282 not understand a word of the Persian, the cadence of the language cast a spell over him.

Abruptly Abd ur-Rahman stopped and once more turned to his friend.

“Now I will try to translate the poem into Arabic for you. You will find some of the symbolism strange and unfamiliar to the poetic style to which you are accustomed but the message is clear. You must also forgive me because I cannot do justice to the beauty and power of the original……”

“Never mind. Please go on”, urged Ahmad Khalil eagerly.

“…… The meaning of Islam is: Renounce what shall pass away!

When Abraham escaped from the bondage of the sun, moon and stars that set, He sat unhurt in the midst of the flames………………….. Do not seek the glow of love from the knowledge of today. Do not seek the nature of Truth from this infidel’s cup! Long have I been running to and fro Learning the secrets of the New Knowledge. Its gardeners have put me to the trial And made me intimate with their roses, Roses! Tulips! Rather that warn one not to smell them! Like paper roses, a mirage of perfume. Since this garden ceased to enthrall me I have nested on the Paradisal tree.

Modern knowledge is the greatest blind…… It is ever engaged in joyless search……….. Its nights are not loud with passionate prayer……….. Idol-worshipping, idol-selling, idol-making, Shackled in the prison of phenomena, 283 It has not overleaped the limits of the sensible, It has fallen down in crossing the bridge of life, It has laid the knife to its own throat.

Oh Muslims! Thou hast misjudged thine own cypress And deemed true the cypresses of others! Thou hast emptied thyself of Self And given thine heart to the music of others! Oh thou who beggest morsels from others’ tables Wilt thou seek thine own kind in another’s shop 1 We who keep the gate of the citadel of Islam Have become unbelievers.

The ancient Saki’s bowl is shattered, The wine-party of the Hijaz is broken up.

The Ka’aba is filled with our idols.

Infidelity knocks at the door of our Islam. Oh trustee of the wisdom of the Quran, Seek once more thy lost unity! Oh if thy Islam be strong, thou art impregnable! We have honour from “There is no god but Allah!” The Takbir was our gift to the world.

We are the protectors of the universe. We are the heirs of Moses and Aaron, The Muslim’s being is one of the signs of God. In the Muslim’s heart is the home of Muhammad, His dwelling place a sanctuary for the Ka’aba itself. We who know not the boundaries of country, We belong to the Hijaz, China and Persia; We are all under the spell of the Cup-Bearer from Mecca, Who burnt clean away the distinctions of lineage. The Muslim’s being is where he manifests his glory. I sowed mine eye in the field of Love And reaped a harvest of vision.

The soil of Medina is sweeter than both worlds. Oh happy the City where dwells the Beloved!

284 Oh that I be granted in Hijaz to die A Muslim, stranger to all else but God.

“Who is the author of this marvellous work? I do not believe I have ever heard of this poet before. He must have lived long ago for today such writing as this is rarely to be found.”

“No, Ahmad Khalil. And that is the marvel. He lived in our times. His name was Allama Muhammad Iqbal. He spent most of his life in Lahore and died only thirty-five years ago!”

“Then he was from India, and that is why I know nothing of him. He was not an Arab. He was born far from the land of the Holy Prophet. He did not speak or write in Arabic yet he loved and understood Islam better than any Arab I know of today. He was able to express in a foreign language far superior to any recent Arab poet what it means to be a Muslim.”

Ahmad Khalil then turned to his other friend. “Inamullah, would you like to go out for a walk?”

“But you are not well enough”, he insisted.

“I feel so much stronger now. I have not been out for such a long time.”

Abdur-Rahman turned to Inamullah. “Yes, let us go out together. The fresh air will do him good.”

Hand in hand they walked through the quiet narrow streets and instead of tiring, Ahmad Khalil felt stronger with every step he took. How well he knew every street and every house. In these very 285 streets the Holy Prophet had walked and in these same houses lived those who had befriended him in exile. This was soon scheduled to be demolished. And Ahmad Khalil looked about him as if he were seeing all he loved for the last time.

The three men walked hand in hand in silence until they wandered into the Jannat ul-Baqi. Here was the resting place of some of the most revered Companions of the Holy Prophet and of the martyrs who had been slain in the earliest battles to establish the supremacy of the Faith. A century before, shocked by the excessive reverence people were displaying at the tombs and fearing that they might come to be objects of worship, the Wahabi reformers had destroyed the tomb-stones so now they lay in ruins and the cemetery looked like a deserted field of rubble, though all the graves were still clearly marked. To Ahmad Khalil this was not a place of gloom or sadness for he had come here to greet the friends he had known all his life. Soon he would join them and be with them forever. And suddenly he thought he saw the Prophet in his last illness, supported by Abu Bakr, his head bound up in a cloth, to relieve the pain from the fever, saluting each grave.

“Peace be upon you, Oh people of the graves! May Allah forgive us and you. You have passed on before us and we are following you!”

XXXI

When Ahmad Khalil saw his son’s handwriting on the envelope, that the postman had just delivered 286 he ripped it open with trembling fingers. For a long moment he clasped the letter to his breast as if he feared to look at it. His adopted son, his cousin, his uncle and his two closest friends surrounded him taut with suspense. Unable to endure it any longer, Rashid put a powerful black hand on his cousin’s shoulder, and shook him gently.

“Ahmad Khalil, what does your son write?” Slowly Ahmad Khalil unfolded the letter and began to read it aloud in a halting voice.

“……… Father, not long ago I was promoted to be an assistant to the Chief Accountant in the Aramco Oil Company with top salary and I have been given special permission to reside in the American quarter of Dhahran. Now it is the month of Ramadan and I am on vacation, I am coming home to tell you such wonderful news, it will change your entire life. I should be arriving almost as soon after this letter reaches you …………… “ Mansur gazed at his nephew stupified. “But-but, I cannot believe it! Ismail has been away without one visit home for all these years. But perhaps it is for the best for he could have no home here now the city authorities have notified us that the demolishment of our quarter will soon take place and have given us only three more days to move out ……… “ “You must not worry”, Ahmad Khalil assured him, trying to conceal the awful fears, anxieties and sadness that plagued him.

“Inamullah and his son, Karim have promised us that we can stay with them until we can find another place to live ……… “

287 Just then he was overcome with a fit of coughing. He clung to Abd ar Raziq and Abd ar Raziq embraced him tightly. “Oh Father! No matter what happens, I am here. I will not leave you again. I am never returning to Cairo. It is full of evil and corruption and the reformers in their zeal have irreparably destroyed the Islamic character of al-Azhar. Since women have been admitted to classes, they walk about al-Azhar with uncovered heads, heavy make-up on their faces, bare arms and skirts above the knees. Gone is all its former international reputation and fame.

“Yes my son, I know. I carefully studied all your letters. After what has happened in Egypt, I am not surprised”.

“But Father, do know that my application to the Islamic University here in Medina has been accepted and I have already been admitted there on scholarship as a student? Classes will begin after this month of Ramadan. Karim takes me there everyday to meet the teachers and students from every country of the world from the West as well as the East-and we go to the library where my friends will read aloud to me. How much better than al-Azhar!”

“How can you be sure it will be better? Suppose Medina University is destined for the same fate”?

“Nothing is sure, Father. Only Allah knows what will become of the university when Shaikh 288 Abdul Aziz bin Baz is dismissed and replaced by another rector inferior to him. But this is all I can do ……… “

Gently Abd ar Raziq helped Ahmad Khalil as he lay down on his mat on the floor and groped for a quilt to cover him. As the sun began to set, they sat in silence, awaiting the blast of the cannon to announce the breaking of the fast.

Ahmad Khalil reached for Abd ar-Raziq’s hand. “This will be the most sacred night of the whole year-the twenty-seventh of Ramadan. Recite the Surah about the night when the Quran was first revealed”.

“But”, he objected, “you yourself know it by heart”.

“It would make me happy to hear you recite because you do it so well”.

And they sat in rapt attention while Abd ar-Raziq chanted in his deep resonant voice:

“……… Lo, We revealed it on the Night of Majesty. Ah who shall convey unto thee (O Muhammad) what the Night of Majesty is!