The early hours of the morning were as quiet as the grave, the sky still black as the deepest ocean. Murtasim Khan, the successful businessman and wealthy feudal lord of Hyderabad in Pakistan, stirred in his bed, the sheets damp with sweat. His heart raced as if he'd run a marathon, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. He knew why - it was the first day of Ramadan. He turned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the ornate clock on the nightstand, but the darkness was too thick to penetrate.
He sat up, the motion jolting him back to reality. No time to waste, he thought. He had to wake his son, Mahir, so they could share sehri together. Murtasim knew that Meerab, his wife and Mahir's mother, would already be up, preparing the food. But it was tradition for the father to wake the son, to instill in him the importance of this holy month.
With steady hands, he reached over and gently shook Mahir awake. The six-year-old boy mumbled something incoherent, his eyes still closed. "Wake up, my son," Murtasim said softly, his voice thick with pride. "It's time for sehri." Mahir stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the dim light, and then smiled sleepily. "Is it really the first day of Ramadan?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Murtasim nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "Yes, my little lion. Today we begin a journey of self-discipline and devotion."
The boy sat up, rubbing his eyes, and then threw his arms around his father's neck. Murtasim hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth of his tiny body against his own. "Thank you, Baba," Mahir whispered, his voice muffled against Murtasim's chest. "Thank you for waking me up." They stayed like that for a moment, the silence broken only by the soft sound of their breathing.
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, the darkness slowly giving way to the first hints of dawn. The servants had been up for hours, preparing a feast for the family to break their fast later that day. The smell of baking bread and spiced curries wafted through the halls of the Khan's mansion, filling the air with a rich, aromatic scent. As Murtasim and Mahir made their way to the dining room, they could hear the quiet murmur of voices as Meerab and Maryam, Murtasim's sister, chatted softly, waiting for them to arrive. The feeling of anticipation and excitement was palpable, as if the entire household was basking in the glow of a new beginning.
Mahir, still dressed in his pajamas, skipped alongside his father, his eyes shining with curiosity. As they took their seats, he turned to Murtasim and asked the question that had been on his mind since he'd woken up. "Baba, why do Muslims fast during Ramadan?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration. Murtasim smiled warmly at his son, knowing that this question was the first step towards understanding the true meaning and importance of the holy month.
"Well," Murtasim began, "Ramadan is a time when Muslims around the world come together to focus on their faith, to pray, and to improve themselves. It's a time of self-discipline, when we try to be better people by giving up things that we enjoy, like food and water, and by doing good deeds. By fasting, we feel closer to Allah, our creator, and we show our gratitude for all the blessings he has given us."
He paused, watching as the explanation seemed to sink in. "Now, during Ramadan, we wake up early, before the sun rises, to have a special meal called sehri. This helps us to have enough energy for the day, and also to be thankful for all the food we have. After we break our fast at sunset, we spend time with our family and friends, enjoying the food and sharing our experiences from the day."
Mahir nodded, his expression thoughtful. "So it's like a time to practice being grateful and kind?" he asked. Murtasim smiled proudly at his son. "Exactly, my little lion. Ramadan is a time for us to remember those who are less fortunate than us, and to do what we can to help them. It's a time to show compassion and generosity, and to work together to make the world a better place."
As they finished their breakfast, the sounds of prayer echoed through the house as the rest of the family began to gather in the courtyard for the pre-dawn prayer. Murtasim and Mahir joined them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other men of the household, their voices rising and falling in unison as they praised Allah. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmur of quiet conversation, a sense of peace and unity permeating everything.
After prayer, they returned to their rooms to prepare for the day. Mahir, now curious about Layla til Qadr, asked his father if they could read about it together. Murtasim retrieved an old book from his personal collection, its leather binding worn and cracked with age, and began to tell his son the story of the Night of Power.
Legend has it that during Layla til Qadr, the angels and the spirits descend upon the earth, and Allah's presence is most intensely felt. It is said that on this night, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) received the first revelation of the Quran, the holy book that guides Muslims in their lives. The story goes on to explain that any good deed done during Layla til Qadr is rewarded with countless blessings and mercy from Allah.
As Murtasim told the tale, his voice soft and measured, Mahir listened intently, his eyes shining with wonder. He couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and reverence for this special night, and he vowed to spend it doing good deeds, praying, and asking Allah for guidance and blessings.
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