The Unseen Qibla

In a remote desert village, where the scorching sun met endless dunes, the people awaited the blessed nights of *Laylat al-Qadr*—the Night of Decree. Every year, during Ramadan’s final days, the villagers gathered at their ancient mosque, believing that Allah’s mercy descended there in whispers. But this year, a merciless sandstorm swallowed the land. The wells dried, the mosque’s minaret crumbled, and the Quranic manuscripts in the mosque’s library were buried under dust. Despair clung to their hearts like the relentless heat.

Three days before *Laylat al-Qadr*, the village elder urged everyone: “Allah tests those He loves. Cleanse your hearts, not just the mosque.” But doubt lingered. Five volunteers rode camels to seek aid from the nearest city, yet vanished into the storm’s fury. On the eve of the sacred night, the villagers prayed *Tahajjud*, their voices trembling: *“Ya Allah, guide us when the path is lost.”*

At dawn, they rushed to the mosque—only to find it buried under dunes. Cries erupted: “Where is our *qibla*? Where is Allah’s mercy?” But a child, her small hands clawing at the sand, uncovered a stone etched with Quranic verses:
***“وَإِذَا سَأَلَكَ عِبَادِي عَنِّي فَإِنِّي قَرِيبٌ أُجِيبُ دَعْوَةَ الدَّاعِ إِذَا دَعَانِ”***
(*“And when My servants ask you concerning Me, indeed I am near. I respond to the invocation of the supplicant when he calls upon Me.”* — Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:186).

The villagers wept. They rebuilt the mosque not with bricks, but with acts of *sadaqah* (charity) and renewed *iman* (faith). The sandstorm ceased, and the vanished travelers returned, unharmed, carrying water and dates. They had been led astray only to find a hidden oasis—a mercy they’d share with the village. That year, *Laylat al-Qadr* arrived not in a place, but in the unity of hearts turned to Allah.

The mosque was dust, yet Mercy never fled —*
*For Allah’s nearness dwells where tears are shed