The Stranger Beneath the Tree

Stranger Under the Tree**

In the past, there were cities so drier that even birds forgot how to sing.

It hadn't rained in four years. The well was almost empty. The data tasted like sand, and people's eyes were equally hollow. The kids aren't playing anymore. Even the mosque echoed in silence. Then one afternoon, a man appeared to shine, too tired under the sky. He wore long white clothes with dust, and he had no water or bags - just a staff member and a smile. He went to the centre of the city and sat under an old dead tree. No one had sat under this tree for years. His bark was separated, his branches were grey, and they did not wear leaves.

The stranger gently crossed his legs, as if the trees were still casting shadows.

ignored him first.

Another poor soul, they thought. Another fool comes to a place where nothing remains.

But the next day he was still there. Meeting. still. smile.

and something strange.

On that day, an old lady who had not been outside for months went to the mosque. Her son said she had a dream - the man of the light under the tree.

On the third day, the boy who had not spoken since his father's death muttered: "Who is he?"

On the fifth day, people began to bring him bread. He never asked about it. I've never reached out to him. But he smiled, quieted you for her, smashing the bread in half - part of it is always a bird.

There were no birds for months.

And yet they came. First sparrow. Next are two. Then 5.

A week later, it started raining. For a while. It's enough to wet the dust.

The villagers rushed to the mosque. Some cried. Some people fell into Sajida. The others turned to the man under the tree.

He didn't move.

A man named Salman, the oldest, finally approached him.

"Who are you?"

The stranger looked up, looking up at the eyes of a deep fountain of peace.

"I'm just a traveler," he said. "But this country may have needed someone who sat long enough to remember Allah."

Salman frowned. "You didn't even pray for the rain."

The stranger smiled again. "Don't you have it?"

He pointed at the sky and then to his heart. "It's not that you're not roaring. Some Du'as are rising from silence."

A soft drizzle has fallen tonight.

The next morning, the kids played again. The city began to stir like a soul awakened from sleep.

Strangers * Some called waliyyullah * - God's friend. Others said he was Dakur's man, the wanderer Darwish. Some still distrust him and thought he was a magician.

, but he never answered praise or doubt. He was just sitting under a tree. Or we went to the Masjid quietly for Sarah. Or whispered only the bird.

One night, a young man named Hamid approached with tears in his eyes.

"My father died in this drought. I hated Allah for it. I cursed the sky.

The stranger placed his hand on Hamid's chest. "And I'll make Sujod easier,"

Hamid cried out that night in Sujod. He has become a lot more.

days were a few weeks. The tree below the man, on which the man had been sitting for years, was to show signs of greenery. First, the seat. Next are two. At the end of the month, there was a full canopy of mild tints. But one morning, the stranger was gone. No one saw him go. His rod was still leaning against the tree. His smile still echoed through the air.

on They called the Tree * Shajarat al-Dhakir * -den Tree of the Reminer. And to this day, people will sit below, whispering to you, feeding birds that will never go. And whenever it rains, someone says: