‘Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah. Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullah.’ I turn my head over my right shoulder, then to the left one. And the few people behind me follow the same process. The Morning Prayer always helps me start my day on a positive note. I wake up, do the wudu, then I come to the masjid to hear some melodious Qur’an recitation in qiyam. But today is different. As the Imam Sahab of our masjid is on a leave, I was asked to lead the prayer. As I am a hafiz myself, I usually lead the prayer in our masjid in Imam Sahab’s absence. Maybe it sounds like I’ve been a madrasa student when I call myself “a hafiz”, but the truth is I’ve never seen a madrasa from inside it.

I am Rizwan Ahmad, a research scholar in History. Though I usually have a lot of things to do throughout my whole day, I never want to miss a single prayer (I may thank the Lord of the worlds for that). Though my field is history, and I do love that very much, I feel more attracted towards the theology of Islam. But, to my bad, it wasn’t always like that. Whenever I think of that particular incident, that particular person, I thank Allah for sending him in my life.

It was almost six years ago, when I was in college. At that time, my mind was washed by the western culture and I used to think of the religion of Islam as “Barbaric” (May Allah forgive me for that). I would never attend a single prayer of the day, of course, because I had been addressing myself to be an Atheist. “If God existed, I would be able to see him.” This was all I would argue. But being just nineteen, I couldn’t have established my points to society, but my mother. I would tell her that I believed in Darwinism, I believed in Big-Bang, I believed in Richard Dowkins; but all she would reply was “May Allah guide you”. But not always she would be this calm. Being a mother, she surely cared for my success; precisely, in the afterlife. I remember it was Friday morning. I lied on my bed with the phone in my hand, when my Ammi entered the room.

‘Rizwan, I have something to tell you, beta.’ She said.

‘Yes, Ammi, what is it?’ I put my phone down.

‘Are you busy right now?’ She asked as she sat beside me.

‘No, Ammi.’ I replied. ‘I was just passing my time. Do you want me to do something?’

‘I want you to go somewhere.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

She paused for a moment.

‘What happened, Ammi? Is everything alright?’

‘Promise me, you won’t deny my request.’

‘Okay,’ I hugged her and smiled, ‘I won’t.’

‘Today is Friday, Rizwan. Today is Jumu’a. Please go to the masjid.’

‘I can’t.’ I didn’t take two seconds to reply. ‘I don’t worship your God,’

‘He is your God as well, my child.’

‘I don’t have a God. I don’t BELIEVE in God. Please Ammi, don’t ask me to do that.’

‘Will you not even do that for me?’

‘Will your God be happy if I do this for you, and not for Him?’

She paused again. I knew that she didn’t have any answer to that.

‘I do not always tell you to go to masjid,’ she spoke again. ‘So why am I saying this today, have you thought about it?’

I looked at her, sighed. ‘Why?’

‘Don’t you love your father, Rizwan?’ Her voice broke. ‘At least go and pray for him.’

I had lost my father a week ago. It was the previous Friday. Though I never expressed my love for him (we boys are all the same), he was someone I would never have thought of losing. Now Ammi was mentioning him for me to go pray? I didn’t really like it.

‘If there was something called GOD, He wouldn’t take away everything from me. Now you want me to pray to the One Who took my father away?’ I said it all in the heat of the moment, and then realized that I shouldn’t have.

I saw tears in my mother’s eyes. She didn’t say anything more as she left my room, and left me alone for introspection. At that time, my mother was the only person I loved. And, if I just go to masjid to make my Ammi happy, what’s wrong in that? Is my ego bigger than my urge to make my Ammi happy? After a lot of discussion with myself, I picked the prayer cap, and went to the masjid (My mother had taught me how to make wudu, so it wasn’t a problem for me).



I didn’t know exactly when the prayer would start, so I reached even before the Adhan. When I entered, I saw a man with a long beard in a long white dress talking to some kids. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that he was the Imam of the masjid, as he had just led the janaza prayer of my father a week ago. I didn’t bother myself with anything, and sat by an old man almost in the middle of the room. People started filling the rows as time went. Some started reciting something while counting the Tasbeeh, some of them started reading a book, probably Qur’an. Some were praying namaz by themselves. As I sat there, the adhan was called. When the person on the microphone said “Ashadu Anna Muhammadar Rasulullah”, I noticed almost everyone in the masjid replied to that in Arabic. I was curious to know what that was, but didn’t ask anyone. When the adhan had ended, the Imam of the masjid went to some sort of a throne placed a little higher than usual, so that everyone would be able to see him. He first gave us salam, and getting the reply from us, he started chanting something called Khutba in a lyrical tone:

‘Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillahi Nahmaduhu Wanastainuhu Wanastaghfiruh. Wanu’minubihi Wana Tawakkalu Alaih…’

I was unable to make anything out of it. And I was getting irritated at the same time. If your tongue isn’t Arabic, it’s better if you don’t chant something in that language, I thought (little did I know that it was a part of the prayer, and it must be given in Arabic). People barely understood what he was chanting. After sometime he started speaking in Bengali with so much aggression, and I started understanding. At the beginning he started praising Allah, and then went on describing how powerful He is. Though I didn’t agree with him then, still I listened to him mindfully. Then he started saying something I couldn’t have listened to anymore.

He said, ‘We do not realize how close we are to the end of times. But we are still disobeying Allah? We still leave our salah? We are still busy listening to music? We are still busy making girlfriends? Wallahi, the end of time is near, akhi. In Suratul Qamar, Allah says,

“The Hour has come near, and the moon has split.”

The Arabs were shown the moon splitting, yet they denied Allah, are we any better? Are we really listening to the commands of Allah and his Prophet? Turn back to your Lord, Akhi. Turn back, before you return to Him.’

I knew what he was referring to. The famous incident of Islamic Prophet Muhammad had split the moon with the help of God. And of course, I didn’t believe it. I raised my hand in order to seek permission to speak. But to my surprise, he completely ignored me and kept speaking. Being frustrated, I stood up and said, ‘I want to say something.’ Imam Sahab stopped and looked at me. The people sitting in front of me turned as well.

Imam Sahab said, ‘No one talks during khutbah, child. That is the protocol.’

‘I don’t care.’ I replied. ‘You said the moon was split into two, I want to prove that wrong.’

‘Whatever you have to say, please, say it after the prayer ends. Meet me when everyone is gone, okay?’

‘Alright.’ I said and sat back.

Till the end of the prayer, I didn’t say anything and kept thinking about that. Eventually, the prayer ended and everyone started returning home. I was waiting at a corner for Imam Sahab to finish his sunnah prayer, and when he finished, I went to him.

‘Assalamu-Alaikum, Imam Sahab.’ I said.

‘Wa-Alaikum-Assalam.’ He smiled at me. ‘now, tell me what you were saying.’

‘Prophet Muhammad didn’t split the moon.’ I said.

‘How do you know?’

‘Cause a man can not.’

‘Not even with the help of God?’

‘For that you have to show me the evidence whether God exists or not.’ I replied.

‘So you don’t believe in God?’

‘I am an atheist.’

Hearing this, he smirked and said, ‘I don’t blame you for this.’

“What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is, I can’t blame you for asking questions. I blame the system for not preparing us to deal with these. I am a representative of Islam in front of you, and see, I can’t even present evidence of something which is written in the Qur’an; all because I wasn’t taught to answer that. What I was taught is which Imam has said what. I don’t say that that is irrelevant, but counter arguments are also important. And I wasn’t taught that.’

‘So are you accepting defeat?’ I asked.

‘By defeat if you mean that I can’t answer, then yes I can’t. But if you think that there can’t be an answer, I may prove you wrong in some time.’

‘What will be new then?’

‘Well,’ he smirked, ‘I’m on a mission. And if I succeed, I will produce millions of Zakir Niaks and Ahmed Deedats, if Allah wills.’

‘Okay then, meet you soon.’ I said as I started walking away.

‘Hey kid,’ Imam Sahab called me from behind. ‘Will you be the first of my scholars?’

‘Me?’ I turned. ‘I’m not a Muslim.’

‘You have the potential to do something. You are a thinker, and I love people who think. Would you mind telling me what you do?’

‘I’m a history student.’

‘You must know about Roman and Persian Empires?’

‘Indeed.’ I replied.

‘Kid, if you are sincere, come to tomorrow’s Fajr prayer. I may fail to answer you but if you come tomorrow, Allah will present you a HISTORICAL argument.’

‘I don’t want to pray.’

‘Then just come with a pen and paper.’

A pen and paper in the masjid? During Fajr prayer? I couldn’t understand what he was saying. But I also wanted to know what argument “Allah would present to me”, so I accepted his invitation and confirmed that I would go.



I had told Ammi to wake me up so that I would go, she didn’t ask where. I woke up, brushed my teeth, and then went to the masjid, not to mention, with a pen and a notebook. It was a really calm atmosphere in the streets. I was thinking that, if not for Fajr prayer, I might wake up early at least to get a taste of this pleasant darkness. Almost half an hour later, the sun would rise, and people would engage themselves into various works. Who would remember that there was a moon a few hours ago, who looked this peaceful; only if we had time to notice.

I reached the masjid a few minutes before the prayer. Imam Sahab smiled looking at me then came to me and said, ‘Have the pen and the paper?’

‘I do.’ I replied.

‘Sit anywhere you want and note the initial verses I recite after Suratul Fatiha twice during the prayer, can you?’

‘I have a picture memory. So, I believe I can.’

‘Alright, then.’ He said. ‘Note the Arabic verses and I’ll explain those to you after the prayer.’

‘Alright.’ I said and went to a corner of the room. There weren’t a lot of people who had come to prostrate in front of their God. That was really confusing, because in the Friday prayer it was hard to make space for an extra person of two. I didn’t bother myself with that and opened the notebook. By that time the prayer had been started by the Imam saying “Allahu Akbar”, “God is great” in Arabic. He went on reciting “Alhamdulillahi Rabbil A’lameen”. His voice was so melodious that I could listen to that the whole day, only if my ego hadn’t stepped in. My mind was telling me that it’s not only his voice, but also the thing he was reciting which made this so pleasing to my ears. I had listened to him a day before as well, but at that time my mind was into something else. I knew Suratul Fatiha, so I knew when it would end and I’d have to write down the English transliteration of the Arabic verses. So did I, both the times after Suratul Fatiha. After that, he concluded the prayer. I was sitting in the exact position when he came to me.

‘Now, my child,’ he said, ‘tell me something about the Roman Persian conflict.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Who was winning it in the final phases?’

‘Well it was Persians who almost defeated Romans. It was some sort of a miracle that Romans eventually secured their victory in almost 628 AD.’

‘Precisely, a miracle.’ He said. ‘Do you want to see a bigger miracle?’

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘Before that, let me tell you that what you’re going to read now was revealed in around 615 AD. Now, read the first thing you’ve written.’

I started reading:

‘Alif Laam Meem.’

‘The meaning of this is unknown to us.’ He said. ‘Keep reading.’

‘Gulibatir Rome.’

‘The Byzantines have been defeated.’ He translated. It was true. During 615 AD, it seemed like Persians had ensured the victory and Romans had no chance to survive. So the Qur'an says “Romans have been defeated”? ‘The writer of the Qur’an didn’t know what was going to happen,’ I thought in my mind, and then started reading once again.

‘Fe adnal ardi wahum mimba’di galabihim sayaglibuun.’

‘In the nearest land. But they, after their defeat, will overcome.’ He translated once again.

I looked into his face. Was it a fortune telling? Or was it revealed after 628 AD? I googled it right then, but google also said the same. For a moment, I didn’t even believe in Google. Then I looked at Imam Sahab and said, ‘This was merely a coincidence, wasn’t it?’

‘Well,’ he replied. ‘If coincidences come to be this much precise, that would be a new thing for me to know.’

He was right. Whoever has read the history, knows very well that no one would bet on the Romans’ victory. And if Prophet Muhammad wanted to spread Islam as Devine, he would never bet on writing something like this in his book.

‘But how did Muhammad know all that? How did he write this in his book? Is it fortune telling? So much precision with a beautiful rhyme, was Muhammad a poet as well?’

‘For that you have to read the verses I recited in the second phase of the prayer.’ He smiled.

I turned the page and started reading, again:

‘Wa maa huwa biqauli shaa’ir. Qaleelam maa tu’minoon.’

‘And it is not the word of a poet; little do you believe.’ He said. I was in shock. He didn’t know what I would say, and he recited this even before I raised this argument? I read the next verse:

‘Wa laa biqauli kaahin. Qaleelam maa tadhakkarun.’

‘Nor the word of a soothsayer; little do you know.’ He shocked me, once again. Was he making all these up? It could have easily been done as I didn’t know Arabic. But honestly, his eyes didn’t at all look like a liar’s.

‘Then what is this book?’ I cried.

‘Read.’ I read as he commanded.

‘Tanzeelum Mirrabbil A’lameen.’

‘[It is] a revelation from the Lord of the worlds.’

I was outspoken. I didn’t know what to say to prove him wrong. Maybe he was really lying, so I’d have to do my own research. When I told him this, he agreed with me and said, ‘Do your research, be sincere, and Allah will guide you if He wills.’

That day I spent my whole time doing my research and came to a conclusion that at least he wasn’t lying to me. Maybe there were other things which I needed to know. From that day, I started knowing more and more about Islam. I started going to the masjid everyday, not to pray but to note down new verses and try to know everything about them. There was another reason for me to be there, which was the Qur’an recitation in his voice (I would have never accepted this, but that wouldn’t change the fact). Months passed, and I was still attending Morning Prayers, without being a part of it. After every prayer I would spend some time with Imam Sahab and discuss the verses he would’ve recited that day. Sometimes we would discuss politics, history, sometimes about the problems we are facing. He had given me a nickname “Shagird”, which means “student” in Urdu. So to say, I was more of a friend of his than a student. He was becoming an important part of my life. I took almost 3 to 4 months to learn Arabic from him, and I was able to recite the Qur’an and could also understand the meaning of it; if not completely, then at least the majority of it. Imam sahab loved me very much. The fact that I still didn’t accept Islam didn’t seem to bother him at all. One day after the prayer, he was telling me about Suratul Balad, the one he recited that very morning. After that we had some idle time, so we were just discussing random things when something popped into my mind.

‘Hazrat,’ I said, ‘I remember the first Jumu’a when I came here, and you told me about some mission. You never mentioned that again.’

Hearing that, he smiled and said, ‘I thought the time hadn't come to discuss that. I was basically waiting for two things.’

‘What are those things, Hazrat?’

‘My mission,’ he started, ‘is to teach the students how to present Islam to the modern world. You know Shagird, if we only talk about Qur’an; Non-Muslims aren’t going to listen to us. When Christian missionaries come to us with their arguments against Islam, we often fail to answer them because we have no knowledge on comparative religion. I want to start a culture where children will be trained to tackle the modern Fitnas, such as Darwinism, Nationalism, etc. I want to introduce modern education and science as well. And for that I wanted the masjid committee to establish a madrasa, and they have accepted it. They have started the foundational work for the building. This was the first thing I was waiting for.’

‘And the other one?’

He looked at me and smiled again. ‘I was waiting for you to accept Islam.’

I didn’t reply. Yes I loved him so much; yes I was fascinated by the Qur’an every day, but I was still skeptical about whether there is someone or something called God. I said nothing more and went out of the masjid. I really wanted him to succeed in his mission, I really wanted to help him with whatever possible to me, yet I didn’t find myself to be one with him on the mission.

Months passed, and the madrasa was getting built by the committee. I was still attending my Qur’an classes during Fajr prayer. Everything looked quite normal, except for Imam Sahab. This was the first time I saw him disappointed. So I went to him one day after the prayer and said, ‘Assalamu-Alaikum, Hazrat. Is everything all right?’

He just replied to me with “Wa-Alaikum-Assalam”, and remained silent.

I tried to change the topic as I wanted him to speak up. ‘Hazrat, I didn’t understand this ayah today. Will you please ex —’

He interrupted me. ‘Not today, Shagird. I’m not in the right mood right now.’

I didn’t understand anything, but thought that it’d be better not to bother him then, so I walked away. In the following evening, I came across Imam Sahab once again, this time in the park near the masjid. I went to him as he sat there alone on a bench.

‘Will I be bothering you if I sit here?’

‘Oh, Shagird,’ he said, ‘I didn’t notice you. Please sit here.’ So I sat.

‘What’s wrong, Hazrat?’ I asked once again.

This time, he sighed. ‘They don’t want to teach the kids the syllabus I offered.’

‘What? Why?’ I cried.

‘They say they are short of funds. They have enough money to cover the entire building with tiles, yet they are short of funds. They have enough money to install AC and keep that on from Fajr to Isha, yet they’re short of funds. They are insolvents when it comes to doing something for the youth.’

‘So now?’ I asked.

‘Now, even my job is in danger. They may expel me and bring someone else.’

I had never imagined this before. Or maybe I never wanted to. I had lost a father; didn’t want to lose another. Yet, he was right. It was very much possible that he might get expelled. No authority ever wants anyone to do something good without them having an involvement, even if they are doctors saving human lives.

‘I don’t want you to go away, Hazrat. Just forget your dream. At least you tried.’

‘Nah, Shagird. I am not a coward. Till the last breath of mine, I’ll keep fighting for my youth. Never in your life tell me to stop.’ He said it all while looking in my eyes. I could see the motivation he had, and it was no less than before. And so to say, it scared me even more. If I could, I’d always ask him to be the Imam, even if I don’t pray. But in reality, I was edging towards losing him.

‘Will you promise me one thing, Shagird?’

‘What is that?’

‘If I get expelled, please continue my mission, won’t you?’ There was a sense of hope in his eyes. He was really expecting something from me, yet I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to give what he wanted. I remained silent. This time I couldn’t manage to say “I’m not a Muslim”. Maybe that wouldn’t be appropriate to say at that moment. Seeing me silent, Imam Sahab sighed and said, ‘it’s okay, Shagird. You can go now. I don’t want to waste your time.’

I didn’t want to sit there any longer. Not because I didn’t want to sit with him, but because my absence might help him more.



I stopped going to the masjid from that day. No more Qur’an, no more Arabic. Every time I wanted to go to the masjid, I would recall that meeting with him, and would think that he mightn’t want to see me. Or maybe, I didn’t have the courage to face him. Slowly the time passed by, I started engaging myself in the things he would’ve labeled as haram.

It was almost two months when there was no contact between us. I started forgetting the verses I had noted down. Started forgetting the Surahs I had memorized. One day, I was going to the college, when I met a guy who usually went to the masjid. He was Asad. Seeing me, Asad gave me salam and said, ‘Hey Rizwan. Not coming to the masjid nowadays?’

‘Actually,’ I hesitated. ‘I’ve been busy a few times.’

‘I see. I hope you start coming again. Our new Imam is a nice and friendly person, not like the previous one. He’ll teach you in a better way.’

I wish I could just forget what I heard, but that wasn’t possible. ‘What do you mean by the new Imam?’

‘The previous one is gone. I’m quite happy about that. He had stolen money from the fund of the masjid, so they expelled him.’

I knew this was merely a lie against him, so that they could expel him. I knew he didn’t steal. I knew he couldn’t. But there was something more important to me at that moment. It was his mission. By this time, I had no other thought in my mind. I knew I was going to miss him. I knew I was going to miss his Qur’an recitation, spending time with him learning Arabic, sharing my problems with him. More than everything else, I would miss being called Shagird. Last time I had denied the existence of God when my father died. I had lost another loved one, another friend, another father. I didn’t know if I would ever meet him again, but this time, my heart said, “Fi Amanillah”. And though I was so stiff to speak, unknowingly, I said, ‘Ashadu allaa ilaha illallah, wa ashadu anna Muhammadan abduhu wa rasuluh.’