I am at my grandma’s place. I feel jealous. Jealous of those who have Muslim families. Whose grandparents at least died uttering the shahadah. I am jealous of those who have practising parents. Who gave them tarbiyah to be a good Muslim. Did you ever realise, that even when you were not practising, even on the days you didn’t pray salah, when you ever thought of God it was always Allah. If you ever have to beg before someone, it was always Allah.;
At least you knew His name. At least you knew there is some miraculous book of His. You always knew about the Prophet (salallahu alayhi wasallam)
It is a different story here. If we tell them there is only one God, they ask “which one” .. Each day starts with shirk. The temple priest is a snob and everyone hates him but he has to be respected by everyone. I can’t stand his tobacco stained teeth.
I sometimes wonder whether I should get on the top of a mountain(here rock) and declare about Islam how the Prophet (salallahu alayhi wasallam) did. Whether I should break the idols of the temple like Ibrahim (as) did. Whether I should have a direct talk with the priest. Or what else should I do.
No matter what I speak to the women here, goes unheard. My blabbering about The Creator and everything else being creations. About Tawheed. Akhirah. The idols being lifeless. Trees and sun being creations. They agree and the next morning I find them back to the same routine. As if not a thought was spared about what I said for a moment. As if it was just another gossip session.
They are not even literate for me to give away books. Males are a degree above vain. It pains to see their life. Their lifestyle is way tougher than the life in city. Women are working all day long. People eat five meals a day. They are cleaning their houses, washing and ironing clothes, cutting chopping cooking, separate schedule for temple stuff, serving in laws, raising brats, tendering cattles, filling water in containers… They slog from 6am till 9pm. They are just on and on and on. To top it, there is a fast or festival every 5th day where they have to do all this without food. They have restrictions in folding also. There is a list of things they cannot eat simply because they are married.
Waste. All a waste. Aimlessly doing things just because this is what women do in the village. Their simplicity, their goodness..will they be of any use? Only Allah knows. The prettiest bride, the most educated of them, the best and the worst person, each one has the same routine.
At times I am mum. At times I discuss things with them. How is it even supposed to happen in five days? How will guidance reach them when I live 2000 kms away. At times this question haunts me: Should I live in a Muslim dominated place where my imaan is secure. Where I am surrounded with opportunities to gain ilm and practice Islam freely with ease. Or should I give up this privilege and settle here to work on my people. What is more important?
Indeed, guidance is from Allah alone. His plans and His ways are matters we will never know or understand…