“There are seven whom Allah will shade with His shade on the day when there might be no shade besides His: the simply ruler; a younger man who grows up worshipping his Lord; a person whose coronary heart is hooked up to the mosque; two males who love each other for the sake of Allaah and meet and half on that foundation; a person who is known as by a lady of rank and sweetness and says ‘I worry Allaah’; a person who provides in charity and conceals it to such an extent that his left hand doesn’t know what his proper hand provides; and a person who remembers Allaah when he’s alone, and his eyes replenish.”
— The Prophet
(Al-Bukhaari, no. 620; Muslim, no. 1712; and others)
***
[This Islamic short story has been adapted from The Brothers Grimm’s “Little Briar Rose.”]
A Lovely Starting
The land the place the Silk Highway unfold was being torn aside.
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Soviets shut the doorways of mosques and madrasas. They drove out imams and academics with beards rising on their chins and duppis resting on their heads. They declared conflict on the lengthy paranja gown and the flowing chachvan veil.
They knew no mercy.
One man and girl in Shahrixon begged for mercy from their Lord. They rushed to Pansod masjidi, swallowing their worry and elevating their palms. With no baby that they might educate, their Islam would die with them.
That evening, the lady dreamt {that a} voice stated to her: “Your du’a has been accepted. A daughter shall be born to you in a yr.”
The daddy and mom rejoiced. All traces of apprehension left them, and when the woman was born in Muharram, they thought-about it a brand new, stunning starting.
The daddy determined to host a beneficiant feast—each for his daughter’s aqiqah and on the day of ‘Ashura. All had been invited; his household, companions, and neighbors. He additionally reached out to clever girls from the group—twelve of them, despite the fact that there have been 13—in order that his daughter would possibly know her future kholas and obtain their blessings. Apart from, they had been going to go once more to Pansod masjidi out of gratitude for Allah . The checklist of friends needed to be smaller than it normally was, for worry of being found.
As quietly as they might, the congregation crammed the empty masjidi. All traces of apprehension left them. They ate as moonlight glittered on their golden plates of rice plov dripping with oil, wrapped manty filled with beef and onions and samsa set to burst with potatoes and greens. Their palms handed round mutton shashlyk skewers after they weren’t diving into bowls of steamy laghman noodles, hearty mashurda soup, and cooling salads.
A few of the folks saved watch, however even they started to loosen up because the merriment went on. There was a tranquility within the air that none might clarify. In the event that they had been caught, they’d merely say that their homes weren’t sufficiently big for the joyous event. And the revolutionaries from earlier than had met right here—maybe the non secular would even be spared.
After they had been completed, the kid acquired plentiful prayers:
“Might Allah grant her advantage!”
“Might Allah grant her magnificence!”
“Might Allah grant her wealth!”
On and on they went, making du’a for the woman as they’d for their very own kids. Practically half an hour handed, and it was solely the eleventh clever girl’s flip. Then a shrill voice rang all through the musalla.
“Might Allah grant her dying!”
It was the thirteenth clever girl, snubbed by the dearth of invitation, and livid that the group would take such a danger. Enraged, she continued.
“You endanger our well-being like this?! How dare you?! When the Soviets will arrest and execute our males in the event that they catch you! Might Allah grant her dying at fifteen—the age all of us be taught to weave on our spindles—let her prick her finger on it, and bleed to dying!”
Everybody was shocked into silence, save for the twelfth clever girl, who opened her palms as quickly because the thirteenth had slammed the door.
“Ya Allah,” she implored. “Let the woman as an alternative fall into sleep. Simply as you probably did for the Folks of the Cave, shield her from the fitna throughout us. It is just a minor dying, for such a mere baby. Our Lord. We solely meant to assemble in Your own home, to have a good time Your generosity, on a day that You freed Nuh, ‘alayhi al-salam, and Musa, ‘alayhi al-salam. Protect her Islam, and that of her mother and father, and those that assist elevate her. Ameen.”
The Curse Of The Mil
The social gathering shortly dispersed. Anxious that the thirteenth clever girl’s du’a may be accepted, the daddy requested all the ladies locally to burn their spindles. Understanding his fear, they obeyed his command with out hesitation.
But the thirteenth clever girl’s different prediction got here true. The Soviets referred to as it the “Nice Purge” of “public enemies.” In actuality, it was a bloodbath of intellectuals and innocents. Among the many slain had been Abdulhamid Sulaymon oʻgʻli Yunusov, the person who translated Shakespeare’s works into Uzbek, and Muhammadsharif Soʻfizoda, often known as O‘zbekiston xalq shoiri—the Folks’s poet of Uzbekistan.
There have been many different martyrs, whose graves—and names—we nonetheless have no idea.
The woman grew as much as pray for all of them, and for the others resisting the trial throughout them. Fortunately, the du’as of the opposite clever girls had manifested within the younger woman. She was virtuous and exquisite, and her household had amassed wealth regardless of all circumstances. They had been so rich, actually, that they had been usually gone to commerce with these outdoors of Shahrixon. As accountable and mature as their daughter was, they trusted her to deal with herself.
They started to loosen up, as they did so a few years in the past. On her fifteenth birthday, her mother and father allowed her to stay alone to spend the day as she happy.
As all younger girls are, she was curious, and wished to set foot within a masjidi simply as soon as. The clever girls had advised her tales about how, lengthy earlier than the merciless atheism of the Soviet Union, they used to go to the masjidi usually. Wistfully, they’d advised her how serene it was to learn Qur’an there, and pray as if one was breaking the floor of a tumultuous sea.
She needed to attempt it. Simply as soon as.
After her aqiqah, nobody else had stepped into Pansod masjidi. It was clearly deserted. The Soviets had pushed folks out of buildings, and now, had been too busy arresting them. Nobody would ever suspect to seek out her there!
She wished to stare longer on the ayaat adorning the partitions, and painted flowers that danced round them. And the vaulted muqarnas within the columns! She imagined the artisans from Kokand and the opposite craftsmen taking the bees’ honeycombs as inspiration. Every part was so ornate and exquisite. It was a disgrace that it had gone to waste.
As soon as inside, even with all of it lined in mud, the younger woman marveled on the masjidi and its hooked up areas: the khanqah, a lodge for the religious, and the musalla, the expansive prayer corridor that appeared to have room for everybody. And the dome above her head… She sighed in awe. Who would need to shut this down? Certainly, solely somebody with evil of their coronary heart.
Ksh-ksh-ksh-ksh-ksh—
A wierd sound echoed within the empty masjid, an unfamiliar noise. It seemed like one thing clicking and readjusting, but it surely didn’t seem threatening. Intrigued, she tiptoed throughout the masjidi, attempting to trace down the supply of the sound. The khanqah. Somebody should nonetheless be right here!
Cushions had been littered all through the khanqah, however there was nobody seated on them. As a substitute, within the middle of the room was an outdated woman engaged on an odd machine. The machine regarded like picket branches tied collectively by threads of their very own, gears and knobs chatting away. A ravishing silk fabric was in its grasp.
Like those her mother and father and kholas made, way back! This woman should have recognized them! It had gotten harmful, they stated, as somebody might prick their finger and—
“It’s impolite to stare,” the outdated girl stated merely.
The woman gasped. “Assalomu alaykum, khola!” she greeted earnestly. “I—subhan’Allah, I’ve solely heard tales about silk. Is that how it’s made?” the woman requested, breathlessly.
“Sure,” the outdated girl replied. “We name this a mil.”
A spindle.
The phrase was overseas to her. “What does that imply? What does it do?”
“Why not assist me and discover out?” The outdated girl made approach for her new visitor. Surprisingly, the woman felt as if the mil had been beckoning her too. Silk was in every part stunning. Hijabs. Prayer mats. Wall tapestries. What a present it could be, to take what got here from a worm and put it on a wall!
With out one other thought, the younger woman set her hand upon the mil. No sooner had it touched the spindle that her finger was pricked, and her physique fell to the cushions.
A sleeping magnificence was all that remained. The outdated girl disappeared.
Little Bayramgul
The group spent all the day searching for her. Regardless of the panic, their horror subsided as they stepped into the masjidi. They yawned, and slowed their steps, and finally laid down on the carpet. Some snored, and others had been silent, however all remained asleep.
A large bramble of thorns sprouted throughout the masjidi. The Soviets didn’t dare to the touch them. Anybody who did turned lodged of their grasp. Regardless of the rumors that there have been folks taking refuge inside, nobody was courageous sufficient to hunt them out, be it for rescue or for arrest.
The Uzbeks referred to the younger girl as “Little Bayramgul.” Bayrum was “festive,” as a result of she had gone lacking on her birthday, and gul, a rose. She had been stunning and her absence was felt all all through their group.
On and on Little Bayramgul slept. Some even stated that she may need died, however nobody was courageous sufficient to enter the masjidi and verify. All got here to know her legend, together with a younger man who rode into Shahrixon from distant.
“Watch out for getting too shut, teen!” an outdated man warned him. “Do you not know the story of Little Bayramgul?!”
“In fact I do,” the younger man responded, dismounting his horse. “My grandfather advised me the story. That’s the reason I’m right here.”
The elder sighed. “As a result of she is gorgeous?”
The youth raised his eyebrows. “No. As a result of it’s improper. Our sister sleeps inside a masjidi—an deserted one, no much less—and these Soviets might tear it aside at any minute.”
“All who’ve tried to method it have died.”
“All of us shall die.”
“See these bones on the bottom? These thorns hate intruders.”
“I’m not afraid, and I’m not an intruder. Maybe the home of Allah solely opens itself to its friends, and never its enemies.”
“You communicate of Allah , son…” The hand of the outdated man reached for an invisible beard. As soon as, way back, he could have been capable of thread his fingers by it. “Is that this not an indication that Allah
is maintaining them secure? The Nice Purge was solely a yr in the past. Who is aware of what they may do subsequent? Oh…”
“Precisely, hoja. My brothers and sisters are trapped in there!” The younger man’s earnestness shone by his face. “And I ought to set them free. They should be amongst us once more. earlier than one thing else occurs.”
“You’d deliver them out once more? Why? It’s so quickly…”
“These Soviets who tried to go in are lengthy gone, in addition to those that may need gone after their comrades. They care extra for folks now, not buildings. We’ve got saved the story of Little Bayramgul. It’s time to save her as effectively.”
“Youth is wasted on the younger,” the outdated man sighed, and at last relented. He had not the power to chase after the younger man anyway.
The younger man didn’t run in direction of the thorns. As a substitute, he walked cautiously in direction of them, and far to his shock, the thorny bushes started to bloom. Roses of all colours welcomed him, parting a path for him to enter the masjidi. He regarded behind him in wonderment. The thorns had returned behind him, defending him from anybody who would possibly attempt to go after him.
Even the outdated man was shocked. “ What are you standing there for?! Go on! And say the du’a, will you?!”
Regardless of his nervousness, a smile broke out on the younger man’s face. “Allahumma inni as’aluka min rahmatik.” Oh Allah, I ask out of your mercy.
PC: Tolga Ahmetler (unsplash)
His footsteps had been soundless, although little puffs of mud rose from the bottom with each step. Mild streamed in from the home windows, and but, everybody within the masjidi was nonetheless dreaming. Of what, he didn’t know.
He knelt by the menfolk and tried to wake them. They remained nonetheless regardless of his mild urging. So he must discover her first… judging by the legend, she ought to be straightforward to identify.
His coronary heart broke as he explored the masjidi. It was tidy, but it surely was not cleaned. The reminiscence of his footprints remained on the carpet. Untouched Qur’ans remained upright on the cabinets.
Extra painful than the mud and unopened masaahif was the silence. A masjidi ought to by no means be this empty.
He left the khanqah for final, dreading what he would possibly discover there. His academics from madrasa had advised him how they used to spend their time in retreats of dhikr and qira’a. It was a time that he wished he might have been part of.
The younger man swallowed. He hoped that his academics had been nonetheless secure, in his personal hometown. Part of him wished that they, too, had merely fallen asleep.
His ideas scattered the second his eyes fell upon Little Bayramgul. Stretched out on the middle of the khanqah ground, subsequent to the harmful spindle, the younger girl lay nonetheless. She was simply as everybody had stated—stunning, and strikingly so.
Instantly, he regarded away. How was he alleged to wake her? Out of the blue, his earlier change with the outdated man appeared hypocritical of him. He was very afraid!
“I… Ya Allah. Make this straightforward.”
The younger man had no thought what to do. He couldn’t contact her, simply as he couldn’t contact the twelve clever girls scattered all through the musalla. His voice was ineffective, simply because it had been together with her father and his kin.
Maybe he wanted to take care of the mil, since that was the reason for the difficulty? He might destroy it!
He approached the spinning machine, inspecting it with a cautious eye. It was largely sound—save for a drop of blood that marked the place Little Bayramgul had pricked her finger. With a certain hand, he swiped his sword by the construction. Once more, and once more, he hacked on the machine till the threads fell aside and the beams break up open. Lastly, the spindle collapsed with a loud crash.
The younger woman stirred.
He swallowed. “Bayramgul?”
“Mmm…” She shook her head and yawned. “What’s that?”
“What they name you.”
“Name me? Who is that they? And who’re you? And the place am I?”
He knelt on the bottom, not sure of the way to clarify the thriller of her sudden sleep and the contagion that had unfold across the masjidi. He was at a loss for what to do. “Please, don’t be afraid. You might be within the masjidi nonetheless. Keep in mind your fifteenth birthday—”
“What’s going on in right here?!” a low voice boomed.
Oh no. The daddy.
“We heard a loud crash!” a high-pitched voice. Eleven extra voices rose from across the masjidi.
“And the woman’s voice!”
“And a man’s voice!”
“My daughter! My daughter!”
“Is she right here?!”
“I knew it! I knew that my du’a could be accepted!”
The room turned very full, in a short time. Conserving his head and voice low, the younger man suggested, “Everybody, please… we’re in a masjidi.”
“Qalam Qilichdan Qudratli”
The younger hero’s clarification to the village folks was slightly temporary, however the time it took for him to say it was not. Among the many ruckus of Bayramgul’s household chimed within the outdated man from outdoors. The thorns had wilted and he, too, had a transparent path to hitch the remainder of the congregation. Lots of the clever girls acknowledged him and believed his testimony. The Pasod household was thrilled. They embraced one another, praising Allah for maintaining them secure and that they’d discovered their younger woman as soon as extra.
Bayramgul was happy together with her new identify, and indebted to her savior for braving the duty round him. She urged her household to host him for dinner. To which he responded, “So long as it is not going to invite the dangerous du’a of the thirteenth clever girl!”
Everybody erupted in laughter. The masjidi felt totally different—as if, now, it was outdated from use by the congregation. The clever girls left to make preparations, with Bayramgul’s mother and father trailing behind her as they too made their approach dwelling.
The younger woman was quiet, attempting to stretch out her previous couple of moments within the masjidi. She had no thought when she would return, and she or he felt so remorseful that for on a regular basis she had spent there, she had been asleep. On the very least, she wished to hope salah there. But it surely simply wouldn’t do, after years of sleep…
Her savior appeared much more troubled. As they walked nearer to the exit, he lingered behind, gazing on the partitions and murmuring below his breath. “What a disgrace,” Bayramgul managed to catch.
The pen is mightier than the sword. [PC: Maryam B (unsplash)]
Casting a look on the younger man, Bayramgul sighed.“I don’t even know your identify,” she stated sadly. “However because you gave me a nickname, I shall offer you one too. Botir!”
He smiled shyly. “‘Courageous.’ Thanks.”
“You might be welcome, Botir. You might be additionally very silent.”
Botir’s expression was considered one of undefined ache.
Bayramgul sniffed, attempting to consider what extra to say. “Is it my household? You wouldn’t have to fret about them anymore. I do know we gave you fairly the beginning.”
“I’m not apprehensive about them,” he confessed. “I’m apprehensive in regards to the masjidi.”
“Folks will go to it once more. I’m certain of it. We had been saved in it for thus lengthy… and also you got here in. All these thorns you advised me about… it was an indication!”
“Possibly so. However others could not see it that approach.”
“We will make them see it that approach.”
“I hope my nice work on the spindle didn’t offer you any concepts…”
She laughed. “No, no. What’s it they are saying? Qаlаm qiliсhdаn qudrаtli. The pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Certainly,” he stated. He drew out a pen from his rucksack and checked out it thoughtfully. “Certainly it’s.”
–
A message was discovered on the internal wall of Pasod masjidi that referred to as for the folks to avoid wasting the mosque from destruction. That message was copied and transferred to the Shahrixon Museum. Allah is aware of finest who wrote it.
The Finish
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