The Light of the Desert

And the wind sang along the dunes, and Malik took a brush against his shabby cloak, and the desert sand was like tiny sparks on his face. This was hours of walking on part of him, in pursuit of the horizon that kept on pushing away. The sun was now setting, and coloured the sky with fire and gold.

Malik used to be a Makkah merchant, young, ambitious, and greedy. But his heart was hardened with arrogance. He stole on his lovers, scoffed at the poor, and felt that religion was the prerogative of the feeble. The world was, as he figured, in the hands of the smart ones.

Everything however changed when the caravan was attacked. Under blazing sun bandits had swept in spreading men and camels over the dunes. Malik fled away with his life - and no more. There is no gold, or companions, or not even waterskin.

He walked days, each day it got a weight. The heat exhausted him; his lips dried, and he could not see. He gazed into the stars at night and thought of all the men he had wronged. There is a God, he to himself said once, He is surely scorned my face.

In the third evening Malik fell down by a dune. His throat was dry as dust. He shut his eyes, anticipating a termination. However, when daylight came he heard a small distortion, the bleating of a goat. He, raising his head feebly, caught sight of a small person on the horizon guiding a herd on the way to an oasis.

Malik made his final faltering steps towards the sound.

It was a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, and with a dark smiling eye and a quiet smile. Peace to you, one who passes, son, said the boy. “You look lost.”

Malik’s voice trembled. “Water… please.”

The lad made an affirmation, giving a little leather pouch. The water had been warm, but it was sweet to Malik like gold.

“Where am I?” he asked.

In the valley of Thalib said the boy. there is hardly a one who comes along these lines without reason.

The lad took him to the shady side of a palm and gave him some dates. Malik thoroughly ate them, and stood still in shame. The boy took notice and smiled once more. “Do not thank me,” he said. “Thank the One who provides.”

The boy is asked his name, that night, under stars, by Malik.

“I am Yusuf,” he said. My father was a shepherd and his father before him. We do not live well and believe in the mercy of Allah.

The tone of the boy arouses something in Malik. “And what of wealth? Power? Do you not dream of more?”

The eyes of Yusuf shone in the moon light. Once the Prophet ﷺ told him, Richness is not having a lot of possessions, but being content with oneself is richness. Why chase what will fade?”

Malik fell silent. This time he had nothing to reply.

Days turned to weeks. Malik bounced back into health, and assisted Yusuf in watching over his sheep. In the morning they used to pray in one accord when the desert was awakening in the golden light. The verses of mercy, repentance, and hope, verses recited by the lips of Yusuf were heard by Malik. Water to his parched soul every word would be.

One day Malik admitted that he was a greedy man. I offended a lot of people and believed faith was a consolation of fools. But now… I fear it’s too late.”

Yusuf touched him on the shoulder. “It is never too late. Allah says, do not lose hope on the mercy of Allah. It is true, Allah forgives every sin.

This was the first time that Malik cried in many years. The stars were made vague by his tears. He lived praying not to a prosperous time, but to be forgiven.

A caravan was going past the valley a few days later. The chief knew that Malik was there, and he wept, We sought thee! Come - your people imagined you dead!

Gently Yusuf gazed at him. “Go, Malik. Well, perhaps Allah has written a new way to you?

Malik hesitated. “Come with me,” he offered.

Yusuf smiled faintly. “My place is here. But be patient, there ye are to learn in the desert, and Allah is the guide of men who are seeking him.

They parted at dawn. When the caravan was going into the dunes, Malik looked back one more time. The boy was there, still waving in the rising sun, his white robe shining on the golden sand.

Years passed. Malik went back to Makkah, but he was no longer the braggart businessman he used to be. He restored his business, but with sincerity and modesty. He provided altruism to the poor and offered food to passersby. And in all Ramadan nights he prayed with upraised hands, as he meditated of the boy in the desert, of the shepherd that had not only spared his life, but his soul.

And, and sometimes when the wind blew the streets with the smell of sand and silvery palm Malik would whisper, Ya Allah, guide me as You guided that boy, through the desert, into Your mercy.