Asad opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. His eyes
fell on a huge chocolate cake and some sandwiches, the leftovers from
yesterday’s tea.
“Oh God! Why am I being punished like this?” He groaned silently.
Beautiful written islamic arabic calligraphy Vector ImageIt
was the first day of Ramadan and Asad was fasting. He had just returned
from school and was feeling ravenous. After dropping his heavy backpack
on the bedroom floor, he made a beeline for his favorite spot in the
house, the kitchen. But fasting meant no food for at least four more
hours. He would have to wait till sunset to break the first fast of the
month.Just for a second, Asad felt sorely tempted.
“Who
would know if I eat a slice of the cake?” he mused. His parents weren’t
home, his grandparents were resting and his baby sister, Fatima was too
young to tell tales.
“Somebody would know, “a little voice argued
inside his heart. “He, who knows everything, since He is our Creator.”
Asad slammed the fridge door shut in frustration. He was
fourteen and felt ashamed of his momentary weakness. He went to the
living room where a maid was spooning Cerelac into Fatima’s little
mouth. Fatima gurgled and grinned at her older brother who bent down to
give her a hug. Asad looked at the pale yellow concoction that was
smeared across her face and swallowed hard. Even Cerelac smelled good at
this hour.He flopped down on the sofa in disgust and switched on the television.
“Maybe
a nice program will take my mind off food for a while,” he thought,
aggressively pressing down the channel buttons on the remote control.
He
paused at BBC channel where a cute anchorperson was presenting a
report. Asad stared at her for a while without registering the news but
then some live images made his attention snap back at the report. Rachel
Hayward was talking about intense, widespread poverty and famine in
Africa where millions of children perished each year due to hunger and
malnutrition.
Asad stared at the disturbing pictures of dark
brown skeletal children with distended stomachs. Flies hovered around
their faces and their naked bodies, as mothers listlessly tried to wave
them away. Their misery was writ large on their faces and their empty
eyes bore testimony to man’s inured ways.
Asad thought with a
guilty pang about the uneaten pizza he had thrown away in a fit of
temper last night. He had ordered his favorite Chicken Supreme but the
delivery boy had brought some other pizza and would not take it back.
Asad had paid for it and just to show the impertinent delivery guy what
he thought of his services, had tossed the pizza into the trash can
outside his house. It had felt so good at that time but now he felt like
a total jerk.
He remembered how his grandmother always chided
him when he left rice uneaten on his plate that was later scrapped off
by the servant and dumped in trashcan. He remembered the lavish meals he
and his friends ordered in college canteen and then discarded because
they could not eat a bite more. If excess, extravagance and waste were
crimes, then he was guilty of each one of them.
He changed the
channels once again and put on MTV. He had a huge crush on Beyonce but
after witnessing the BBC report, the music seemed too loud, too cheerful
and even obscene. He switched the television off.
“What is wrong
with me today?” He thought uneasily. “It must be the lack of food that
is making me so restless.” He glanced at the stately golden clock
adorning the living room wall. Only twenty minutes had passed and he
still had more than three and a half hours to kill.
“I’ll go to
Bilal’s house.” He decided, thinking about his friend’s house across the
street. “Maybe a few rounds of computer games will improve my mood.”
When
he stepped out of his house, he saw was a couple of dirty, bedraggled
children foraging through the trash can. The older kid, who seemed about
5 yrs old, dragged a piece of dried chapatti out of the refuse heap and
brushed away blackened mango peels from it. He broke it in two and
offered the other half to his younger sister. Asad stood rooted to the
spot in horror.
“Hey. Don’t eat that. It’s terribly dirty and
probably mouldy too,” he shouted but the duo quickly crammed the hard
chapatti into their hungry mouths and scampered off.
“Why had I never noticed such things before?” he wondered.
Asad
had never been hungry in his entire life so poverty, deprivation, and
hunger were concepts that he had never thought about.If the home cooked
meal was not to his liking, he always ordered his favorite foods from
upscale restaurants and had them delivered home. He had a credit card, a
gift from his father on his fourteenth birthday and he used it for
lavish meals whenever he wished.
Now hunger due to the obligatory
fast was forcing him to look at the plight of the less fortunate and
the more he saw, the more disturbed he felt.
He crossed the
street and saw a construction crew at work. Bilals’ father was having a
wing added to his already imposing residence. Asad paused to admire the
skill of an old carpenter who was busy smoothing a rectangular block of
wood. Wood shavings littered the floor around him.
“Are you fasting, babaji?” He asked respectfully.
The old man looked up and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
“Aye, son. Work is no excuse for not fasting,” he replied.
Asad
could not imagine fasting and then working in the relentless summer
afternoon heat. He looked around at the laborers, mason, and brick
layers working in a rhythmic method.
“What do you eat for
iftaar?” he asked out of curiosity, referring to the evening meal. He
imagined the lavish food that got prepared in their kitchen everyday. It
took their chef at least two hours to put together an afternoon tea.
The old man smiled,” Whatever Allah provides for us, son. He is Merciful and Most Gracious.”
“Does
Mr. Haroon provide you with meals?” Asad persisted. He knew Bilal’s
father was rather tight fisted. He would have insisted that the men put
in whole shifts instead of cutting down their working hours in deference
to Ramadan.
“What do rich men know about empty stomachs, my
son,” the old carpenter replied, moving his plane over the wood in a
smooth, fluid motion.
With bile rising in his throat, Asad turned
back towards his house. His mind was in turmoil and his heart ached. In
the living room he paced restlessly and then saw some CDs that his
grandfather was fond of listening. He put on one in the magnificent
stereo system that his father had recently purchased. It was recitation
of the Holy Quran. As the soul stirring voice of Qari Saad Al Ghamdi
reciting Surah al Baqarah filled the room, Asad felt waves of serenity
hitting him. He felt engulfed in peace and tears shimmered in his eyes.
“Those
who spend their wealth in the way of Allah and do not follow up their
spending by stressing their benevolence and causing hurt, will find
their reward secure with their Lord. They have no cause for fear and
grief. ”
Asad spent some time listening and absorbing the message
from Allah. Then he took a bath and said his prayers. His parents came
home and the smell of iftaar being prepared filled the house.
As
the entire family gathered for breaking the fast, Asad looked at the
dining table laden with a variety of food ___ sandwiches, cake, fruit
cocktail, tempura, triangular samosay, fried chicken pieces, dates and a
variety of other dishes.
“Mom, do we need to cook so much food for one meal that no one can possibly finish?”
“What’s on your mind, son?” his father asked, surprised by his son’s unusual question.
“Dad,
Mom’s on a diet, grandparents can’t eat fried and salty food as per
doctor’s orders and Fatima can’t eat solid food. That leaves you and me
to finish at least eight dishes. It’s pure waste.”
“Asad, what is wrong, son?” His mother asked concerned about her son’s state of mind.
“Mom
there are people out there dying of hunger. There are people who have a
handful of dried dates to eat and yet work all day on rich people’s
mansions and then thank God for His blessings.”
“Asad, we do pay
zakat and charity to help those in need. I am very happy that you are
being so thoughtful and caring, but we cannot eradicate poverty on our
own,” his father reasoned.
“Yes, but maybe this Ramadan we can
share our food with those whose needs are greater than ours, father. May
I?” Asad asked with a tilt of his head towards the food.
The
grown ups looked bemused but Asad felt a gleam of pride in their eyes.
He went outside and invited the laborers for iftaar. At first hesitantly
and then with joy and gratitude they accepted his offer.
Asad’s
servants laid out linen on the green grass of their beautifully
manicured lawn and the men took off their shoes and sat cross legged
waiting for the Maghrib azaan which would signal the time to break the
fast.
As Asad passed out fresh dates and fruit to about two dozen
men in the garden, the old carpenter said smilingly, “Didn’t I tell you
that Allah is the best Provider and we eat out of His provisions.”
For the first time in the day, Asad laughed aloud in joy.
“Thank
you for teaching me the true spirit of Ramadan, babaji . It is not
about mindlessly abstaining from food and drink all day but
understanding the needs of others and pleasing Allah to gain His
blessings that Ramadan is all about. Sharing and caring, that’s the true
spirit of this holy month.”
“Aye, and praying too. Now help this old man get up so that I can say my prayers, young man.”
Happy and satiated, they all went to the local mosque to offer their prayers and thank Allah for all His blessings.
