The Endless Golden Dunes

Chapter 30: Letters and Death

SALMAN

In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.

It has been quite some time that I have written to you; feels like years, in fact. I see that you have met Yasir. I haven't seen him ever since you and I left Yaqub. He speaks about Fatima, and has encouraged you to ask me about my father?

Salman was afraid of reading more of the letter. but something inside him gave him the will to do so.

Listen here, Salman. I will try to say this as kindly as possible: Never speak of such things. I have already told you that it is none of your concern, have I? What more could you possibly want to know about him and Fatima? If Yasir was with me, I would have struck him. Is that clear to you, ibn? Never ask me that same question.

There was an unnatural venom in the way that he wrote the letter. Instead of the slow, calm way he spoke, his words were now quick and harmful. They sunk into Salman's heart like a snake's fangs. He should have expected such a reaction. This was bound to happen.

'I should be glad that was all he said.' Salman thought to himself.

Then the voice in his head started speaking, telling him how foolish he was.

'What did you expect?' it asked. 'Was he going to tell you just like that?'

'I never said I expected such a thing.'

'Ah, but deep in your heart, you did want that to happen. You call yourself a scholar in training? You're supposed to be rational, not relying on hopes and miracles. Use your damned brain.'

'I would like you to be silent, please. I am trying to think, and your voice is getting in the way of my line of thoughts.'

'Bold of you to assume that I will be silent because you told me so.'

Just as such, Salman was forced to think amidst the blabbering of his unkind thoughts. Well, that was it, was it not? His father wasn't willing to answer. End of the tale. As far as he knew, he would not be writing about his mother or his grandfather ever again.

A strange sense of relief washed over him. The thought was a bit of a burden. Now, he didn't need to worry about it anymore. He could just set aside that matter elsewhere and continue living his day to day life.

Yet, there was that part of his mind that wanted to know more, that was unsatisfied by the answer his father gave. It was a longing, a desire to know more. He couldn't just stare at the veil that hid so much from him. Every man deserved to know what is hidden from him. It was a basic right.

'Why are you not satisfied?' He scolded himself. 'Be glad that this concern is over. Nothing but harm will come if we dig deeper into the matter.'

To keep his mind off, he wrote a letter back, making sure to not mention the previous ones.

ALI

Ali couldn't focus much on his thoughts. He was distracted most of the time, looking forward to regular meetings with Gregorios, thinking about Ismael, all of that. As of now, he was contemplating whether he should go to the mystic at all. He should be focused on the toughening of his own soul rather than conversing with another person who sought the same thing. Then again, the talks themselves would perhaps improve him.

He massaged his temples. He didn't know the last time he was this frustrated about something. He let out a long, thin stream of air out of his barely opened mouth. There were the questions too. There was first the question he asked when sober.

'Do I hold a sword because You willed it, or do I hold it because I am forced? You created the threads that carry fate. They intertwine with other threads, loop around some, go through others. Together, with all the threads, short or long, they create an image. That image is the world. Every thread has a purpose in Your grand plan. One of the thousands of thousands of threads, only one is mine. What role am I playing? How is this the best possibility for me? What should happen next? Just one drop, my Lord, one drop of Your infinite ocean of wisdom. That is all I ask.'

Then there was the question he asked while drunk with the mysterious power of the dunes.

'I am but an ant compared to Your greatness! All I want from You is to know that my life was worth it, that I have fulfilled the purpose that you sent me for. Have I been good? Will I have any regret when the Angel of Death, Izraeel comes to me to take my soul? To filter out anything unnecessary in this request, all I want is a regretless death!'

The answer to neither had come. That was not a good thing. At that moment, he thought of a foolish thing. Has Allah neglected him?

'Have you forsaken me, Lord?' he asked aloud.

Surprisingly, it was him who had answered.

'By the morning brightness. And the night when it covers with darkness, Your Lord has not taken leave of you, nor has He detested. And the Hereafter is better for you than the first. And your Lord is going to give you, and you will be satisfied. Did He not find you an orphan and give refuge? And He found you lost and guided, And He found you poor and made self-sufficient. So as for the orphan, do not oppress. And as for the petitioner, do not repel. But as for the favor of your Lord, report.'

He didn't know how he had suddenly said those words. The only thing he really remembered about it was the mullah reciting the surah. Ali had been fascinated by it, but didn't think too much of it. Now, suddenly, he was reciting it out of the blue while he didn't even know the name of it.

Your Lord has not taken leave of you, nor has He detested.

'Perhaps that is how things work in the universe,' he said aloud. 'The useful things come to you when you need them the most. That is God's way of giving one.'

The thought made Ali smile.

'Akhi!'

The voice, at first, removed his smile, but then he regained it when he turned to Ismael holding something in his hands, something hidden away from Ali.