Start With The Self.

Salam

there are some similarities to the above post - 'The King and the Beggar'......here have a read...

A dervish was once sitting alone, meditating in a patch of desert. A ruler passed by. The dervish, being free from the cares of this world, neither lifted his head nor paid any attention. The ruler, with the violent pride of power, was furious and said: "These dervishes in their patched cloaks are no better than animals!"
His minister scolded the dervish and said: "The great ruler of all the world passed by and you did not stand and bow: why were you so rude?"

The dervish replied: "Tell your king to expect those people to bow who hope for some reward from him. Tell him that rulers are there to protect their people. The people were not created just to obey rulers. The ruler is the watchman of the poor, though he has greater wealth and glory. The sheep are not made for the shepherd, rather the shepherd is there to serve the sheep. Look around you: today you see one man carefree and successful, the other struggling sore-hearted to survive. Wait a day or two, and see how the earth devours the brain once troubled with so many foolish thoughts! When the irresistible decrees of Fate are issued, neither the king nor the slave will remain. Open up the tomb and search these dusty bones: can you tell which was the rich man or which was the pauper?"

The ruler was struck by the words of the dervish. He said: "Ask me a favor!"
The dervish replied: "I would ask you to never disturb me again."
The king begged: "Give me a word of advice!"
The dervish replied: "Now that wealth is in your hands, realize before it is too late, that this wealth and this power pass from hand to hand."

The moral of the story....Have a good weekend to one and all!

Sallaams just had this poem mailed to me, dont know the writer but its a good read:

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Hell Is Real I went into my classroom, Ready for another year at school, Just wanted to hang and be cool. I had on new clothes, New sneaks on my feet, I was there for class on time, Went to the back and took my seat. Yeah, I'm moving up, I'm already grown, Soon I'll be graduating, And out on my own.
I talked to some of my friends,
We were all having fun,
Said some things I shouldn't have said,
Did stuff I shouldn't have done.
I knew I was different,
I felt God touch my heart,
I knew I should set a standard,
But then I'd be set apart.
Walking to the bus,
I was not looking for strength,
I heard the car tires screeching,
But now it's too late.
I'm standing in this room,
And I can see the heavenly gate,
Oh no! I never prayed,
I thought I had time to get it straight.
An angel walked to me,
He had a book in his hand,
I knew it was the Book of Life,
When would this dream end?
I told him my name,
And he began to look, then he looked at me sadly and said,
Your name is not in this book.
No, I can't be dead!
He closed the book and turned away,
He whispered-You cannot proceed ahead.
No...no this can't be real,
Angel, you can't turn me away,
Let me talk to God,
Maybe he'll let me stay.
He led me to the gate,
Allah came to me,
He did not let me in but said,
Beloved what is your need?
Allah, I cried, please,
Don't cast me away from you,
Tears ran down my face as he said,
You knew what you needed to do.
Lord, please I'm young,
I never thought I would die,
I thought I'd have plenty of time,
Death caught me by surprise.
Lord, I went to mosque,
Please Allah, I believe,
He said you would not accept me,
My love you would not receive.
Lord, there were too many hypocrites,
they weren't being true,
He took a step back and asked,
What does that have to do with you?
Lord, my family claimed to be saved,
they weren't real, you
know
I fell to my knees crying to him,
Lord, I planned to be real tomorrow,
I couldn't make Him understand,
I had never--felt such sorrow.
Then it hit me hard, I said,
Lord, where will I go?
He looked into my eyes and said,
My child you already know.
Please Allah, I begged,
The place is so hot,
He whispered, DEPART FROM ME, I KNOW YOU NOT.
Lord, you're supposed to love,
How can you send me to damnation?
He replied, with your mouth you said you loved me,
But each day you rejected my salvation.
With that in an instant,
Day turned into night,
I never knew such torture could be,
Now too late, I know the Quran is right.
If I can tell you anything,
Hell has no age,
It is a place of torture,
Separated from God and full of rage.
You know, I thought it was funny - a joke,
But this one thing is true,
If you never accept Allah
HELL IS WAITING FOR YOU!
So please, ask Him into your heart.

One day a father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the firm purpose of showing his son how poor people can be. They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.


On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?" "It was great, Dad." "Did you see how poor people can be ?" the father asked. "Oh Yes" said the son. "So what did you learn from the trip?" asked the father.


The son answered, "I saw that we have one dog and they had four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end. We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night. Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.


We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. We have servants who serve us, but they serve others. We buy our food, but they grow theirs. We have walls around our property to protect us; they have friends to protect them."


With this the boy's father was speechless. Then his son added, "Thanks dad for showing me how poor we are

here is a very emotional story

My Teacher - Mrs. Maryam........


Her name was Mrs. Maryam. As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie.


Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Taahir Sulayman.


Mrs. Maryam had watched Taahir the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Taahir could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Maryam would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.


At the school where Mrs. Maryam taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Taahir's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Taahir's first grade teacher wrote, "Taahir is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to be around."


His second grade teacher wrote, "Taahir is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."
His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."
Taahir's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Taahir is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."
By now, Mrs. Maryam realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Eid presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Taahir's.


His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Maryam took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume.
But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Taahir Sulayman stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Maryam, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."
After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.
Mrs. Maryam paid particular attention to Taahir. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Taahir had become one of smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Taahir became one of her "teacher's pets."
A year later, she found a note under her door, from Taahir, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Six years went by before she got another note from Taahir. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.


Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Maryam that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.


Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer -- the letter was signed, Taahir F. Sulayman, MD.
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Taahir said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Maryam might agree to sit in, as his "mother" at the wedding .


Of course, Mrs. Maryam did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Taahir remembered his mother wearing on their last Eid together. They hugged each other, and Dr. Taahir whispered in Mrs. Maryam's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Maryam for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
Mrs. Maryam, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said,"Taahir,you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't really know how to teach until I met you."
Please remember that wherever you go, and whatever you do, you will have the opportunity to touch and/or change a person's outlook.


Please try to do it in a positive way. Our Teachers, Friends, Family, parents, spouses and our children are there, to lift us to our feet when our feet have trouble,remembering how to crawl. Make a positive step and assist someone to take the first steps.

By Author Unknown

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been an Ice cream Parlor where she had gone as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I smiled and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.


People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said,
but
they will always remember how you made them feel.

Author Unknown.



One day Mr. Ahmed was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Ahmed and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr.Ahmed. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas ... sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger all de' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize Pebble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is bluish and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not zackley ... but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Ahmed."

Mrs. Ahmed, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. My husband just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red pebbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green pebble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr.Ahmed had died knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs.Ahmed, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Ahmed. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the Pebbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things My husband 'traded' them. Now, at last, when he could not change his mind about color or size ... they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, My husband would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Beneath the hand rested three, well polished red pebbles.

Once upon a time in a land far away, a man, set off on a journey to a village many miles from his home. He left in search of a particular Shaykh renowned for his wisdom.

Upon reaching the village, he was told that the Shaykh lived on a nearby mountainside. Although darkness was falling, he set off up the mountain towards a bright light, certain that it was there he would find the Shaykh.

When he reached the source of the light he was surprised to find nothing but an oil-lamp with moths fluttering around it. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he noticed a dim glow a short way off. Walking over to it, he discovered the Shaykh reading by the light of a candle.

He greeted the Shaykh and then asked, "Why are you sitting here in the near-darkness when there is a much brighter light over there?"

"As you can see, the bright light is a distraction for the moths, it leaves me in peace to study and worship by the light of my candle," replied the Sufi.

Something to ponder.

The above story is something I read, the candle and the lamp in the story is a metaphor, the moths are the people, the lamp is like the duniyah that keeps them distracted. The Light of a candle surrounded by darkness is symbolic of the light of deen sought by the seeker in his spiritual, journey.


May Allah protect us all from the distraction of the dhuniyah ameen.

By Doctor Karamo Muhammad Sonko(from Ghana)
This is a story of four little birds: the one that died and the three that didn’t but could have.


*********
Last evening, as we got out of the car, having just driven into my compound, I heard a flutter of wings. "Are these birds fighting? " I asked.
"Your garden has become a bird sanctuary," said my sister, "and your birds are always fighting over territory."
But then the flutter continued, with feathers falling all over. I looked and I could see one of the pillars of my house and the great green leaves of the creeping plant that crawls all over it. From the increasing intensity of the flutter and falling of feathers I suspected something worse than a struggle for territorial integrity and independence. "Hurry!" I urged my driver. "There seems to be a bird in trouble!"


Evans, my driver, jumped like a leopard, and forced his hand into the leaves. Out it came, with a dark blue bird which dropped on the floor. There was blood coming through the bird’s beak and only the feathers moved in the gentle evening wind as it lay dead on the tiles. It appeared to have fallen from the nest into an entanglement of leaves, shoots and wood. Its security became the insecurity and its protectors became the killers. As I looked at the poor bird, I realized that there is no shortage of channels of exit from this world for life.


Surprisingly, I was struck with a very strong sense of sadness. I used to be a hunter in my village and I have shot and trapped many an animal, including birds in my very young days. Why then should the death of one little bird, for reasons that have nothing to do with me, bother me? Twenty five years ago, as the hunter boy, I might have considered myself lucky (if the bird had died as halal) and gone for a barbecue with my village friends. After all, Evans, a non-Muslim, seemed to have done this with the dead bird, for when I told him to take it to the garbage bin, he headed for a direction which I didn’t need navigational expertise to calculate the coordinates of. Even as a 21st century traveler without a compass, I could tell that he was headed for the direction of his kitchen and not my garbage bin.
Twenty five years is a lifetime and, like the wind, man does change direction. I do not intend to divert to that direction here, which, I believe, is obvious to you. Instead, let me tell you about the unfortunate little bird and three others it reminded me of.


The dead bird, a dove, was among many that have hatched, and continue to hatch, in nests around my garden. I saw this one, like most of the others, from the time that it was just a white egg, freshly laid by the mum. There were two eggs, but one dropped and was shattered, shortly afterwards. I thought the second one was the lucky one. The nest was placed with the competent care of a mother dove on the shoot and leaves of the creeping plant, held by the wooden support that a carpenter had nailed on the pillar for the plant to coil up and around. The nest was in a very secure place. Over the weeks I had seen the mum come and go for her natural maternal responsibilities. Only the day before, I saw her with a visitor, who looked like the daddy or some other relative, trying to entice the baby dove to take his first leap into the air. Although they didn’t seem to have succeeded, I knew, from experience, that the little bird could take to the skies any day now. Obviously, he was not meant to.


Two years ago, a few months after moving to our new home (this house), I got impatient with one of the bougainvillea plants that my gardener had planted along my front wall. It took this plant ages to pull itself along the wall, produce beautiful leaves and flowers, like the rest of its family in my garden. I wanted, so badly, to pull it out. Finally, when it started moving, the leaves were small, the stem ugly and short, and the flowers pale. I wanted, so badly, to pull it out. I told the gardener repeatedly to do it for me, but then he got uprooted himself before he could finally uproot the plant. I guess the plant was meant to stay.


One day, after we have had a new gardener, I walked with disgust to the bougainvillea. To my utter surprise, a dove flew into my face when I bent over the plant. Right in front me was a nest and inside it were two beautiful white eggs! This was the plant I wanted, so badly, to get rid of. The plant was so short and its "branches" looked so thin, that it was absolutely crazy for any bird, particularly of the size of a dove, to lay eggs there. But this particular dove did: the eggs were as visible as my palms. These eggs wont survive! Impossible, they can’t! When I told my principal adviser (my wife), she, as usual, was calmer than me: "Allah put them there. He will protect them." Protect them, He did. In spite of the heavy rains and winds that summer, they (both of them) hatched and two beautiful young doves flew out of our home, as we watched, one day. The once-stunted bougainvillea is now a vibrant plant, with colourful green leaves and red flowers, leaning robustly over my front wall.


Then, last week, while on my daily morning walks, I came across a little bird, that looked like a member of the lark family, lying in the middle of the tarred road. A car zoomed toward it from ahead. It looked sick or hit by a bird of prey, although there were no visible external injuries. Twenty five years ago I might have considered myself lucky and gone for a barbecue with my village friends. Twenty five years is a lifetime and, like the wind, man does change direction. So that morning, lucky was the lark. I quickly grabbed some sticks and moved it, with difficulty, out of the way into a patch of grass near the road. Just in time to avoid being ran over by the Ghanaian Schumacher. Making sure it was comfortable on a bed of dry grass with grains, I left. When I passed by later, I looked in order to find out how my little patient was doing, but it wasn’t there. Lucky indeed was the lark. This is the fourth little bird of my story.


Now, for those of you who may be analytically oriented, spiritually, I shall leave you with food for thought:
The little bird in the most protected nest was the one to have died, and just when it was about to fly away;
I disliked the bougainvillea and I wanted it "dead", but even the gardener couldn’t do that for me. Instead, he ended up being sacked, instead of the plant, for reasons that had nothing to do with the plant;
The two other eggs and, subsequently, the second and third little doves, survived the winds, rains and the fragile branches of Shortie the Bougainvillea, something only my principal adviser could have imagined as possible; and
If I had arrived, even three minutes later, the fourth little bird (the lark) would have been turned into minced meat by the crushing tyres of the approaching car.


Like everything else, the Qur’an offers us insights as we ponder over this story about Four Little Birds:
"And no one can die except by Allah’s Leave and at an appointed term" (3:145).
"And every nation has its appointed term; when their term comes, neither can they delay it nor can they advance it an hour" (7:34).


**********
MAY ALLAH ENABLE US TO UNDERSTAND AND APPRECIATE THE MANY BIG LESSONS OF THIS LITTLE STORY.

A King's Dream & the Young Pious Girl

Shaykh Maseehullah rahmatullahi alayh relates, ‘Once a king had a dream wherein he observed a very large tray containing many varieties, shapes and sizes of flowers.


Suddenly a knife appeared from above and cut these flowers; it would cut both large and small flowers.
At this point the king awoke and began to ponder upon the meaning of this strange dream. He related it to his Court Mu’abbirs (interpreters) but they all dismissed it as a product of the mind’s imagination. Unconvinced and worried, the king ordered that no cooking would take place in the kingdom until this dream is interpreted!


Coincidentally, a soldier returned home on leave...and asked for food. His mother replied,
‘Dear, there has been no food cooked for three days, it is the king’s command. Police patrols are going around, any sign of cooking smoke and instant arrest!’
Her son replied,
‘Well I do not care what great dream the king is supposed to have seen, I am famished, please cook a meal for me, if the smoke gets noticed and the king summons me we shall take it from there.’


Accordingly, the mother lit her stove and began cooking. Noticing smoke arising from chimney, the Royal spies arrived and arrested the soldier and took him into the kings presence who asked, ‘Why this disobedience?’ The soldier replied, ‘I am starving... anyway please relate your dream.’ The king described his dream. ‘Allow me to eat and three days grace...if by then I do not bring an interpretation you may kill me,’ commented the soldier. The king agreed.


After having eaten, the soldier mounted his horse and roamed from city to city, town to town in trying to find an interpretation...but to no avail.


Fatigued, he stopped at a small hamlet to request a drink of water from a young maiden spinning cloth in her porch way. The pious purdah nasheen lady brought a pitcher of water and left it by the gateway. Puzzled, the soldier dismounted and drank the water. Then he asked, ‘Madam you appear to be alone, where is your mother?’ The young lady answered from inside her porch way,


‘My mother has gone to deliver two from one!’ Dumbfounded, the soldier thought,
‘O heck! As if one dream to interpret wasn't bad enough...what does she mean by delivering two from one?’


Thereafter he asked, ‘Well, where is your father?’
The young lady replied, ‘My father has gone to enjoin clay with clay.’
Just then the father appeared and the soldier commented,
‘Your daughter is amazing, I asked her two simple questions and she gave such strange replies!’
Father: ‘What did she say?’
Soldier: ‘Well, first I asked her for a drink of water and she left some at the gateway.’
Father: ‘My daughter is purdah nasheen, shy and very modest. How could she possibly hand something to a non-mahram?’
Soldier: ‘Secondly, I asked her, ‘Where is your mother?’ She replied, ‘she has gone to deliver two from one!’
Father: ‘Yes, my wife is a midwife, she was called to deliver a baby, this is what she meant by delivering two from one!’
At this point, the soldier began to think, ‘Hold on, we appear to have something very special here...’
Soldier: ‘Thereafter, I asked her about you and she replied, ‘My father has gone to enjoin clay with clay.’’
Father: ‘A local has passed-away and I attended his funeral, anyhow, who are you and where have you come from?’


The soldier related his whole predicament of interpreting the king’s dream within 3 days or face the death penalty and the kings command forbidding any cooking in the kingdom. Addressing his daughter, the father asked, ‘Dear, did you hear the dream?’ ‘Yes father I heard.’ ‘Well, what do you say?’ ‘It is the king’s dream, I wish to hear it directly from him before giving the interpretation.’
Accordingly, all three left for the king’s palace...
Soldier: ‘Your Majesty, the girl who is to interpret your dream has arrived, please give a command allowing all your subjects to cook...should you find the meaning not to your liking, your majesty is king and may do as he wishes!’


A Royal Proclamation was given allowing people to cook again. Thereafter, when all had eaten, the young lady arrived and from behind a screen listened to the king’s dream and then commented...


‘The interpretation of this dream is as follows. The tray refers to earth, whilst its covering is the Heavens, the flowers therein are people and the knife represents death...which travels upon earth; ‘cutting’ some people in young age whilst others in later life. Some die in childhood, others in their teens, middle and old age. This knife keeps appearing and taking the souls of creation. Herein Allah Ta’?l? is warning you that it is not wise for Insaan [man] to remain neglectful of death: because it may appear at any time in life. These are the meanings of the tray, flowers and knife!’


The king was overjoyed on hearing this interpretation and showered gifts as a sign of his appreciation.
So dear reader, we too must be ever-careful and conscious of our own death. Nobody knows how long they are to live and the best way of being prepared is to live every minute of our life in complete accordance to the Sunnat of our beloved Nabee sallallahu alayhi wasallam who commented:


‘In whichever way you live your life, in this very state will arrive your death. Moreover, in whatever way your death appears, in this very state will you be resurrected!’
May Allah Ta'ala grant all of us Tawfeeq. Ameen.

Shaykh Saleem al Ashkabadi asked a class of his students.

"Yesterday evening I observed all of you sitting in the corner of the Masjid engaged in a debate, could you please tell me what you were discussing."

" Sir, we were discussing the miserable condition of the muslim ummah, and what can be done to change and improve it." Remarked one student.

" Subhan'Allah," Said the Shaykh. " Whilst you where trying to solve the crisis of the ummah, I noticed a villager sitting in the opposite corner of the Masjid, shedding tears in distress, because his children were hungry and he had no food, to feed them with. All of you observed this man, shedding tears, of desperation, yet not a single one of you went forward, to ask him what was troubling him , or to offer assistance.

' Oh Foolish ones you are incapable of helping one Muslim, who is in distress, yet you think you can help the entire Muslim ummah."


Something To Ponder.

Is this not our case we discuss and debate the crisis of the ummah and Proudly display our knowledge on issues. Yet often our relatives , friends or neighbors are in distress. We do nothing to reach out a helping hand.

Even on this forum we occasionaly get a Muslim who is in distress, asking for duas or some advice. We are often slow to respond, yet when it comes to refuting others or engaging in debates we feel no such laziness. we are incapable of helping one person, if only through a few kind words. Yet we think we will solve the situation of the Muslims.

Above is mostly a reminder to myself, and is not necessarily directed at anyone else.


May Allah grant us all hidayah especially a hypocrite and sinner like me, ameen.

A man known as Abu Abdallah said: I don't know how to explain an experience I lived through a while ago, that changed my whole life routine. The truth is that I would never have decided to reveal it, if it weren't for the fact that I felt a responsibility towards Allah (The Glorious), as a warning for the young men who disobey Allah, and as a warning for the young women who follow a fake dream or fantasy called "love". We were three friends, nothing grouped us together but disobedience and misguidance. No, actually we were four, the Shaytan was the fourth.


We used to go hunting down beautiful girls, and lure them with our sweet talk to far away farms. There, they would be surprised that we have turned into foxes with no sympathy, no feelings whatsoever, no matter what they said or did to make us reconsider. We were cold hearted, and had no feelings or any sense of shame. That is how we spent our days and nights; in the farms,camps, cars, and on the shore.Until the day that I will never forget came.


We went as usual to the farm, everything was ready. Each one of us had his prey, the damned drink (i.e., alcohol), but we forgot one thing, and it was the food. So after a while, one of my friends went to buy food for supper with his car. It was almost 6 p.m. When he left.


Hours passed without him returning, so at 10 p.m. I became worried that something happened to him. So I went with my car looking for him. And on the way, I saw some flames of fires spreading on the sides of the road. When I reached, I was shocked to see that it was my friends car, with the fire eating it up while it was flipped on one of it's sides. I ran like crazy, trying to free my friend from his burning car. I was alarmed to see that half his body was black like charcoal, but he was still alive. So I carried him and placed him on the floor, and after a minute he opened his eyes and said: "The fire! The fire!" So I decided to take him to my car and rush with him to the hospital.
But he sobbed: "There's no use, I won't reach."
Tears overcame me as I was watching my friend to die in front of me... Then he stunned me by yelling: "What will I say to Him?! What will I say to Him?!"
"Dumbfounded, I looked at him and asked: "Who?" He replied with a distant voice: "Allah".
I felt fear creep all over my body and I began to shake.Then suddenly he let out an echoing scream, and he took in his last breath. The days passed, but the image of my friend being eaten up by the fire,and him yelling "What will I say to Him?! What will I say to Him?!" never left my mind. I found myself asking "And what will I say to Him?!"
[And all those who disobey Allah, should ask themselves: "What will I say to Him?" ]


My eyes overflowed with tears and I felt an odd compassionate feeling I never felt before. At that same moment, I heard the Muazzin (the person who calls the Athan -Call to Prayer- ) call for Salat Al-Fajr (Morning Prayer)"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Hayya 'Ala Al-Salah" (Allah is Great, Allah is Great,Come to Salah).


I felt that it was a call directed to me personally, telling me to close the curtains on the dark years of my life, and calling me to the straight path of guidance and obedience. I washed up, made Wudu, and cleansed my self from the sin I drowned in, and I prayed. Since that day, I have turned to Allah, begging for forgiveness and repentance. I haven't missed one fardh. I became a new person. I try to be a an obedient slave to My Creator. My life has changed......
Author: Uknown
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"On the day when the earth will be changed to other than this earth, and the heavens - and they will all come forth standing before Allah, the One, the Dominant above all." [Qur'an Surah Ibrahim 14:48]

When we are leaving this world for the next one, it shall be like a trip to another country.


Where details of that country won’t be found in glamourous travel brochures but in the Holy Qur’aan and the Ahadiths.


Where our plane won’t be British Airways, Gulf Air or American Airlines but Air Janazah.


Where our luggage won’t be the allowed 23 kgs but our deeds no matter how heavy they weigh. You don’t pay for excess luggage. They are carried free of charge. With your Creator’s compliment.


Where our dress won’t be a Pierre Cardin suit or the like but the white cotton shroud


Where our perfume won’t be Chanel, Paco Rabane, but the camphor and attar.


Where our passports won’t be British, French or American but Al Islam


Where our visa won’t be the 6 months leave to stay or else but the "La Illaha Illallah.."


Where the airhostess won’t be gorgeous females but Isra’iil and its like


Where the in-flight services won’t be 1st class or economy but a piece of beautifully scented or foul smelling cloth.


Where our place of destination won’t be Heathrow Terminal 1 or Jeddah International Terminal but the Qabarastaan.


Where our waiting lounge won’t be nice carpeted and air-conditioned rooms but the 6 feet deep gloomy Qabar.


Where the Immigration Officer won’t be Her Majesty’s officers but Munkir and Nakir.


They only check out whether you deserve the place you yearn to go.


Where there is no need for Customs Officers or detectors.


Where the transit airport will be Al Barzaakh.


Where our final place of destination will be either the Garden under which rivers flow or the Hell Fire


This trip does not come with a price tag. It is free of charge. So your savings would not come handy


This flight can never be hijacked so do not worry about terrorists.


Food won’t be served on this flight so do not worry about your allergies or whether the food is Halal.


Do not worry about legroom; you won’t need it, as your legs will become things of the past.


Do not worry about delays. This flight is always punctual. It arrives and leaves on time.


Do not worry about the in-flight entertainment programme because you would have lost all your sense of joy


Do not worry about booking this trip, it has already been booked the day you became a foetus in your mother’s womb.


Ah! Atlast good news! Do not worry about who will be sitting next to you. You will have the luxury of being the only passenger. So enjoy it while you can. If only you can!


One small snag though, this trip comes with no warning. Are you prepared ?


************************
Hazrat Abdullah bin Umarرضي الله عنه reported that someone asked the Prophet(sallallahu alaiyhi wassallam) who was the wisest. The Prophet said that, the one who remembers death often and is ever engaged in making preperation for it. These are the men who have become masters of the honour of this world and the next. (Tibraani)
Hazrat Bara' bin Azib says that he attended a funeral along with the Prophet(sallallahu alaiyhi wassallam), who sat near the grave and wept so bitterly that the earth became wet with his tears. Then he addressed us saying : " O Bretheren, make preperation for this day." (Ibn Majah)

A few months before I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small town. Fom the beginning, dad was fascinated with this enchanting new comer and soon invited him to live with our family.Though his outside apperance was not attractive, the 'stranger' was quickly accepted, and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later. As I grew up, I never questioned his place in the family. In my young mind, each member had a specific niche. My parents were complementary instructors. Mum taught me to love Allah and dad taught me to obey him.


But the 'stranger' was our storyteller. He would weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spell bond for hours each evening and would consume most of our time over the weekend. If I wanted to know about politics, history, science; he knew it all. He knew about the past and understand the present. The pictures he could draw where so life-like that I would often laugh or cry as I watched. He was like a friend to the whole family.


He was always encouraging us to see the movies and made arrangements to introduce us to several famous people. The 'stranger' was an incessant talker. Dad did not seem to mind but sometimes mum would quietly get up, while the rest of us were engrossed with one of his stories of far away places, she would go to her room and read the Quraan. She would quietly tell us that the Holy Prophet Muhammed(sallallahu alaiyhi wassallam) said(something similiar to...) "THE BEAUTY OF ONE'S FAITH IS SHUNNING ALL NON-PRODUCTIVE ACTIVITIES".


I wonder now if she had ever prayed that the 'stranger' would leave. You see,my dad ruled the household with certain moral convictions, but this 'stranger' never obligated to honour them. Profanity,for example, was not allowed in the house, from us, from our friends nor from anybody else.


Our long time visitor however used four letter words that burned my ears and made dad squirm. To my knowledge the 'stranger' was never confronted by anyone. My dad was a teetotaller(a person who advocates total abstinence from intoxicants) who did not even permit alcohol in his home, but the 'stranger' felt that we needed exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often. He made cigarettes look appealing. He encouraged us to flirt with women. I know now that my early concepts of the man and women relationships were influenced by the 'stranger'.


As I look back I believe that it was Allah's mercy that the 'stranger' did not influence us more. More than thirty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family. But if I had to walk in my parents's bedroom, I would still see him sitting in a corner waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures and enchant his audience with his magic.
His name you may ask.........,we call him the T.V.

One day as Shaykh Saleem al Ashkabadi, was taking a stroll in the park. He was approached by a local man, after exchanging greetings, he said

"Shaykh My life is a disaster, I have lost my job, my wife nags me all the time, about being out of work. My children are always demanding things that I can no longer afford.

"The friends that I have are not very helpful, In finding me Work. My life is a
disaster."

Shaykh Saleem al ashkabadi, listened too the man's complaint. And pointed to an elderly Man seated on his own on a Park bench, and said that oldman is Ismail.

" Everyday he sits by himself on that bench for hours, hoping that someone will stop by and perhaps have a chat. His wife died many years ago, his children, have abandoned him. He has outlived all the friends he had, all of them have passed away. He sits in the middle of a crowd, yet does not even have a single, person to share a conversation with.

"You on the other hand have a loving wife, and children, sure they may place a few demands on you, that you find difficult to fulfill. You have friends, sure they may be embroiled in their own lives, and unable to help you in the difficulties that you are facing.

" Ask someone who neither has a family nor friends and they will tell you how truly blessed you are, My brother praise Allah, and express gratitude for the fact that you have not been left abandoned to loneliness."

Written by Julaybib.

Something to Ponder.

Many of us, complain about our Wives/Husbands we get stressed over petty disputes with our relatives. We fall out, and have arguments with our friends.

Yet we fail to appreciate that having a family and friends are in themselves a great blessing. There are many people out their who have neither a family nor friends, nothing but their loneliness and solitude to keep them company.


May Allah give us the Tawfiq to appreciate his blessings, and may he protect us from loneliness and despair ameen.

Usman was feeling excited and nervous both at the same time, today was going to be his first evening class in Quranic recitation at the Masjid. Uptill now he had been taught at home by his mother.

"You are 9 years old, and you need a proper teacher, besides i am sure you will also make loads of new friend's." His mother had said.

That first day at the masjid had been the worst, of young usman's life. Some of the boys, had started calling, him names they made fun of him because he was short for his age, and started calling him names. " stumpy" and " shortie" they whispered , when the teacher, Hafiz sahib was not looking.

One of the older boys challenged him to a fight. whilst another ridiculed him, because his clothes did not have a designer, label.

" you cheapskate, tramp, can't your dad afford to buy you proper clothes." He taunted.

Little did Usman know that things were about to get, worse. He was mercilessly tormented everyday, some days they would beat him up after class, and on the good days he would just get called names. He had tried being nice to the other guys in his class, and managed to make a few friends. But the class bullies were merciless they used every opportunity to torment him.

He could not tell his parents, because he would get called a 'sissy' and a 'cry baby' by the Bullies. If he told Hafiz sahib, they would call him a 'snitch' and the bullying would probably increase.

Usman, felt totaly trapped, he had lost his confidence, he was no longer the "little chatter box" as his mum affectionately called him, when he was younger.

He became more and more withdrawn, his school work suffered.His parents had tried to figure what was wrong and questioned him relentlessly. " I am fine, nothings wrong", he would respond.

Finally Usman could not face going to evening classes, he had stopped attending the Masjid. He would leave and return home at the regular times but instead of going to the Masjid for the evening class, he wandered the streets aimlessly. until it was time to goe home.

On one such evening, the weather was particularly bad, there was a thunderstorm. And as Usman rushed to cross the street, he was struck by an on coming vehicle.

The Paramedics had tried their best, but he was pronounced dead upon his arrival to the Hospital. Killed by a group of bullies.

Written by Julaybib.



Something to ponder.


Children can be cruel, and virtually every school and every other place children congregate bullying takes place.

yet adults are not immune, work place bullying is fairly common. Bullying within extended families. And even between neighbors living in the same street, and a new phenomenon called cyber bullying. The Psychlogical impact on the victim can be horrendous, we here of many stories of people being driven to suicide.
Let us think before we decide to ridicule others and make a joke at other peoples expense.


May Allah give us the tawfiq to treat others with kindness.