Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: ONEROUS (03/02/17)
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TITLE: Intervention | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
03/06/17 -
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His wife still slumbered while the muezzin continued his eerie cries through the loudspeakers that reached the distant-most parts of the city. Bilal punched Adiva in the thigh; he had little tolerance for her slovenly ways. She cried out, and in the dim light rose with a hateful expression toward him. “You always hurt me. Why must you bruise me in the same place?”
He snarled back, “If I must pray, you must pray, too. As your husband, I will not have Allah punish me for not watching over you.” He stumbled into Ali’s room. Having turned twelve last week, the boy now had this daily obligation. Bilal roused him, and the three of them gathered in the living room. They spread out their prayer rugs and immersed themselves in their worship of Allah and the moral clarity it brought.
When they finished, his wife and son returned to the warmth of their beds. From long experience, Bilal knew he would not fall back to sleep. He fished out his stash of pills from its hiding place behind the movable brick in the kitchen, and downed two of the fentanyl. His supply was getting low. Today, he would contact his supplier and make another monthly purchase. The habit was expensive, and getting more so, but it was cheaper and more potent than morphine. Better yet, it served its purpose of masking the pain of his depression, which had recently grown worse.
Bilal had been depressed for a long time; it was only in the last year that he realized he suffered from it. Once he’d become aware, he knew the reason for his depression immediately. He didn’t want to go to hell.
Only it was more than that. Islam taught him the many practices he must adhere to so that Allah considered him a good Muslim. Faithfully he’d said his prayers, paid the alms of charity, and fasted during Ramadan. He hadn’t been to Mecca for hajj because the cost of the pilgrimage was prohibitive. Would the performance of these few duties tip the scale in his favor? Allah was fair, but Bilal simply didn’t know if he’d done enough. According to the teachings, the only real assurance came through martyrdom in the act of jihad. Bilal had considered joining the Palestinian struggle against the Jews, but in moments of clarity knew the truth: he feared violent death. Even in jihad, despite the hype, he couldn’t be certain where he’d go after death. After all, that was the reason all faithful Muslims uttered “Peace Be Upon Him”, when speaking the name of Muhammad. No one knew if he’d actually gone to paradise, even though he was Allah’s perfect man. Had Allah been fair to him?
At noon, he left his accountant job and slipped into the marketplace. Earlier Bilal had placed a surreptitious call to Ma’soom. The news was good. His supplier could provide the pills he needed. He turned a corner and spotted Ma’soom loitering by a fruit cart. Bilal was about to raise his hand to catch the dealer’s attention when suddenly a throng of policemen descended upon Ma’soom. They beat him with sticks and kicked him when he collapsed to the ground. Puffing from their efforts, the police bound Ma’soom and dragged him away.
Bilal watched in despair. He needed more fentanyl. It could take days to find an alternative source. Thoughts of suicide arose unbidden. More and more often his dark thoughts had led him in this direction. He hated his life. He hated Islam and its oppressive requirements that gave him no hope for eternity. In that moment of weakness, he collapsed to the ground and cradled his head in grief.
“What is the problem my friend?”
The voice came from a far distance, yet spoken right in his ear.
“I want to die,” he sobbed, not knowing or caring who he told.
“There is a way of truth and life. His Name is Jesus. He brings light, hope, and peace. Will you come to Him?”
Bilal raised his head to see who had spoken. No one was there. Was it an angel? He rose, and began his search for Jesus.
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