The Night of Power

By J. Daaud 

Ahmed's belly rumbles as a gravelly voice crackles over the neighborhood speakers. When is it time to break the fast? 

Outside his window, the sun sets over the Eastern horizon, casting shades of orange-red. Dogs bark wildly through lonely, dusty streets.  Flickering lights play peek-a-boo from windows, generators sputter and cough like old men clearing their throats. The voice on the speaker beckons Ahmed to pray and tonight is especially important--it's the night of power.

 “It’s said that this night where we commemorate the revelation of the Holy Quran is better than a thousand months.”  Ahmed recalls his religion teacher telling him earlier that day.  “One good action done for God during this day is better than a thousand months of good deeds.  Tonight your prayers and works will count more than any other night in the year.  Even tonight all of your past wrongs can be wiped out, Inshaallah.” 

There were many other things his teacher said, but tonight these few sentences keep rolling around in his head: “Your past wrongs can be wiped out.  One action is better than a thousand months of good deeds.”  The fact is that Ahmed can’t recall one good deed he has done recently. Just last week, under the influence of the forbidden demon bottle, he stabbed a “friend” who owed him money.  Thankfully, his friend survived, but Ahmed wonders if he should kill him to prevent his friends’ vengeance.  There is seething hatred in his heart, and he doesn’t know if God can wipe out that wrong. 

There have been several other wrongs as well: stealing a camera from his foreign English teacher and then denying it, lying to his parents about his secret girlfriend, cheating on his exam in order to get admission to the university…the list goes on and on.  “Can God really wipe out my wrongs?” Ahmed wonders.  His religion teacher has to be right; after all he has a long grey beard, and wise eyes.  He has read the Qur'an one hundred times, or so he says, so that must mean that he is a holy man.  There is a hunger in Ahmed’s heart that goes beyond the desire for the evening meal—he hungers to break free from his cycle of wicked deeds, from this slavery to the hatred in his heart.  Even though he has not prayed as faithfully as he should have this Ramadan season, tonight he will pray more fervently than he has ever done before.

 

In the next room, Ahmed hears his father and mother reciting prayers in earnest.  With a new resolve, he kneels towards Mecca on his Persian prayer rug, and for the first time he notices the exquisite embroidery, symbols and patterns which quiet his heart for prayer.  “God, hear my prayer.” He utters over and over again.  Sometimes it’s words from the Quran, other times it’s a plea for pardon.  The seconds give way to minutes, and soon it’s been an hour of rocking, uttering, crying, and kneeling.   

Tears wash over Ahmed, earnest, repentant tears, and for the first time he cries like a baby desperately in need of his parents.  “God, pardon my wrongs,” he cries out in desperation.

Through tear-stained eyes, Ahmed sees a light.  It isn’t the flickering bulb in his room; it’s a bright, effervescent light illuminating the entire room.  He sees a shadowy figure, and instead of fear, peace fills his heart. “Ahmed, I am Isa-al-Masih, I am the naan of life, follow me and I will satisfy you and forgive your wrongs.”  The naan, the nourishing bread, of Life—these words sink into the soil of Ahmed’s fertile heart.  He’s heard of people having visions of Isa-al-Masih, but he has never believed it before.  But tonight this vision is for him, and these words are his life-line.  Isa will forgive his wrongs!  There’s something compelling about Isa-al-Masih, and Ahmed knows he must follow Him whatever the cost.  

The lights are on downstairs, and the smell of naan and lamb wafts through the house.  Voices are raised in celebration and joy.  Ahmed’s stomach grumbles, and as he sits down and rips off a piece of naan a glowing smile spreads across his face.  “I can see that you are so happy that it is finally time to eat naan, my boy.” Ahmed’s mother lovingly says as she caresses his check.

“Yes, dear mother.” Ahmed replies.  “It’s the naan of life, and I am satisfied.”