The Nearest Heaven

Prologue -Mystery

 Prologue –Mystery

"Narrated 'Abdullah:

Allah's Apostle, the truthful and truly-inspired, said, 'Each one of you collected in the womb of his mother for forty days, and then turns into a clot for an equal period (of forty days) and turns into a piece of flesh for a similar period (of forty days) and then Allah sends an angel and orders him to write four things, i.e., his provision, his age, and whether he will be of the wretched or the blessed (in the Hereafter). Then the soul is breathed into him. And by Allah, a person among you (or a man) may do deeds of the people of the Fire till there is only a cubit or an arm-breadth distance between him and the Fire, but then that writing (which Allah has ordered the angel to write) precedes, and he does the deeds of the people of Paradise and enters it; and a man may do the deeds of the people of Paradise till there is only a cubit or two between him and Paradise, and then that writing precedes and he does the deeds of the people of the Fire and enters it.'"

~Bukhari

Mystery.

That one word sums up life in the most accurate sense. The future remains an uncertain variable in the equation of life, despite how much we try and plan into the future, it remains elusive. A mystery to everyone. Some try to dictate it; try to bend it to their will. Some allow it free reign. Some, however, try everything in their power to force it to follow the destiny that they have written for themselves.

One fateful night, Faraaz Ali had learned the hard way that life was one of the greatest mysteries to exist. He had his own plan of how the evening was meant to go: he was supposed to waltz into his own engagement, just slightly fashionably late. He was meant to look dashing in his black, well-tailored suit with his hand crafted shoes that would glisten under the harsh glare of the lights as the rain danced in the glow. His hair, which was normally neat and tidy, would look recklessly combed through, courtesy of his hands running through it as he dashed inside, trying to avoid coming inside the hall too wet.

But it didn't happen the way he had it planned in his head.

Instead, it was storming outside; the road hardly visible through the torrential downpour of the relentless rain, the soft humming of the car could not be heard through the continuous pelting of the rain hammering against the metallic frame of the car he was driving.

As hard as he tried to get to the hall on time, to be on time –well, technically not exactly on time, but just slightly, fashionably late –for his engagement, it was useless. Life had another plan for him. A plan that went against everything he had hoped for, everything he had dreamed of.

He squinted, trying to see through the haze the rain created on his windscreen, but nothing was visible to him, despite the fact that he was leaning as forward as he possibly could without putting his head through the windscreen. He cursed his luck. He knew that he should not have left his work for the last moment, trying to squeeze it in before the meeting, before his engagement. But as much as he berated himself, it could not change the fact that he was trying, and failing, to navigate his way cautiously through a road he knew off by heart.

The oncoming car had dim lights which were not noticeable to Faraaz, which meant that Faraaz had not seen it as it swerved into his lane. The rain had reduced everything to a blurring mush.

In one split second, his life changed.

In one split second, all his plans for his life flew out the window.

In one split second, he was confined to a life he had not anticipated.

It all happened so fast, Faraaz had not known what had hit him, what caused his car to veer off the path, hit a boulder and flip multiple times and land on the roof. The hit was the first thing that Faraaz felt as the other car slammed into him from his side. The jerk of the knock caused him to slam into the steering wheel, which helped in causing him to veer off the road, the tyres screeched horribly, like that of an angry old lady cursing. The resonating bang as he hit the boulder and flip, caused him to start reading his first Kalimah, he could sense his looming death and started hoping to die with the name of his Creator on his lips.

But it had seemed as if it were not his time to return to his Maker. Instead, the car flew into the air, spinning and twisting him around and around inside, like a ragdoll, as if he was spinless and weightless. The sparkling cracking of the windshield caused him to fly out of the car, several feet from where it landed on the roof after its last air performance.

Above him, the sky continued to cry, sending down harsh kisses on his bruised, battered and bleeding skin with each crystallised drop. "He-help," he tried to wheeze out, but his throat was closed off, he could not even breathe properly. He realised that it was futile to even try again, or to even try anything different.

His head hurt, he could feel the darkness drawing him in, calling his name like a soothing lullaby. He tried to keep his eyes open, but each blink, each second was getting more and more difficult for him to keep them open. Faraaz knew that he was suffering a concussion, because there could be no other possible reason for the African drumming happening in his skull.

He gave up. Internally, he read his Kalimah again, knowing that the last image he saw was blurry, almost pitch black; the trees bent over him, caressing him.