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A series of murders sweeping through the country. There's no link between them, the police have given up finding the root for it.
Sultan Ibrahim tasks his carefree and unmotivated son to solve the case...
As the sun began its slow, shy entrance, a man began to breathe his last.
At the bottom of Mount Kawkab lay a sprawling a manor. Despite the wealth of its owner and the space it occupied, the manor itself was very simple and elegant, befitting a noble household. Towards the east, surrounded by a well-maintained garden filled with peach blossoms and a clean courtyard, was the entrance to the main house.
The small pond rippling with fallen pale pink blossoms reflected the soft purples and oranges from the rising sun. A beautiful voice wafted through the air, adding to the dreamlike scenery and giving an ethereal feel to it. If one listened carefully, they would realise the sweet voice was reciting the heart of the Qur'an, Surah Yaseen (1).
The sound came from the open window leading to the main bedroom. The furniture was minimal: a bed near the window, bedside table and bookshelf lay on one side. A screen divider sectioned off the front of the room where sat a low table with cushions to allow the visitors to sit.
A cushion missing from there could be found next to the bed where the reciter sat, sombrely reciting with a trembling voice, moments from breaking. The occupant on the bed stirred with a low murmur. The reciter paused, picked up the cloth soaking in a bowl of water on the side table. He wrung it out and, as gentle as a petal kissing the surface of the pond outside, wiped down his friend's face. Sweat gathered again almost immediately, its bearer in the middle of an extreme fever.
He picked up a small bowl of runny soup and spooned some to hold it near his friend's mouth. His friend turned away. Slowly, as though it was taking all his effort to do so, he tapped his lips with a finger. The reciter continued his recitation and picked up another cloth, dipping it into a glass of water, he wet his friend's lips.
His friend's breath wheezed. He was trying to say something. The reciter bent his ear closer. After a few tries, his friend managed to gain the strength to talk.
"I've been cruel to you," his voice was brittle. Like the leaf of icicle that formed from the water dripping from the roof. A small touch and it would break.
"You have not," the reciter shushed him, patting at his face with the wet cloth again.
His friend took hold of his hand and held it there. With much difficulty, he opened his eyes to reveal bright and glassy pupils. "I have. You won't think of it like that, of course." Pale, gritty skin stretched around a smile. To the reciter, this smile was overlapped with one much brighter and filled with life. "You would do so regardless. But I'm making a request of you."
"Anything," the reciter promised. He wanted to say 'don't die' but by now he had learnt there is a stage of life from which he would never get his precious people back.
"Find out the truth. Bring justice to my parents and yours. Use whatever means you need, take whatever resources you must."
The reciter nodded, scrunching his eyes to stop the tears from leaking out. "There's no need to make it a request. I will not rest until then."
"It's not revenge," his friend continued desperately, ignoring him. "You understand. They are planning something very bad. They don't care who they have to get rid of to achieve it. Do it so that no one else has to suffer like we did."
"Yes." The reciter brought his friend's hand to his lips, whispering the promise fervently to the back of his hand.
This seemed to console him. His friend relaxed, eyelids drooping. "That's... good. Really... good. I knew I could rely on you, my... Khaleel."
The reciter's heart clenched at his weakening voice. "Hey, stay with me. Repeat after me, hush. Come on..." He began to do talqeen of the kalimah, carefully watching his friend's lips to make sure he is repeating it.
He held onto that hand until it dropped heavily onto his lap, unable to stay up now its owner was no longer present.
The sun had completely risen now unbeknownst to the soul that had just departed.
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Khaleel - bosom friend. Allah called Hadhrat Ibrahim (AS) His Khaleel.
Talqeen - at time of death, the people around the person continuously recite the Kalimah so the person may recite it before passing.
(1) Hadith 'Everything has a heart and the heart of the Qur'an is Ya-Sin' - Tirmidhi, Weak.
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Eid ul Adha Mubarak to everyone! Starting off on a sombre note. Hope you're all up for coming on an adventure with me. x
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