The Journey of a Toiler

The Journey of a Toiler

(Novel)

Abbas Al Humaid

Published by Abbas Al Humaid at Smashwords

ISBN: 9781912275083

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

OTHER PUBLICATIONS BY THIS AUTHOR:

1.Islamic Strategy – How to Participate in the Development of the Muslim Nation

2.Your Career Path - Develop your Business Portfolio

3.Introduction to Shi’a Islam - The Islamic Vision of Life

4.The Tranquil Soul - Practical Steps to Achieve Happiness and Success

CONTACT THE AUTOR

Whatsapp: +96895385151

Email: abbas.alhumaid@gmail.com

Website: www.alhumaid.org

Table of Contents

Prologue

Lost

Tough Situations

The Story of Life

The Perpetual Spiral of Life

Love Makes Miracles

The Bitterness of Estrangement

The Conspiracy

Descending to the Abyss

And Life Continues

Abut the Author

Prologue

Grant grabbed Shane’s hand. Grant felt himself infused. He let go and rushed forward, pounding on the hunter. He backed off looking surprised.

I am not a scholar in religion, nor am I specialized in the Islamic doctrines. I am not a novelist or an author. I do not claim any of these roles. I am just an ordinary person sailing along the course of life with his small family, in pursuit of a good life, security, truth and Allah’s blessing. Like anyone else, life confronts me with all of its might and complexities, as if meaning to challenge me; yet I do not panic or retreat, but go forward defending my survival, dignity and values. My armor consists of patience, will and contemplation. I find relief in what my humble understanding can comprehend of the wonderful values, concepts, and practices of Islam that are embedded in the Islamic texts and embodied in our Islamic doctrines. At times I have been thrilled by victory; at others, I have sipped on the bitterness of defeat. I have occasionally overexerted myself, and often felt powerless - but each time I have felt weak, I have sensed the presence of the divine hand extending towards me. Throughout all this, I have wondered at the pressing mysteries and dilemmas of life, existence and the universe. But although I these mysteries have challenged me, at some point, I began tackling them one by one and integrating the jigsaw pieces into the bigger, fascinating picture of creation by the divine hand.

This novel is allegorical because the concepts and techniques in it are real. I have tried and practiced them myself, time after time, in situations even tougher than those experienced by the protagonist of the novel. These concepts and techniques have enabled me to enjoy happiness and peace of mind in a life in which, it seems, the stronger you prove yourself to be, the rougher and harsher it becomes.

The questions that have disturbed me about life and existence are many. I am certain they disturb many others, too; but like many things in life, it is often easier for us just to avoid them. Since my childhood, I have chosen to confront these questions and not to believe in anything just because I am told to do so. When I believed in Allah and recognized his beauty and might – to as great an extent as my limited mind would allow - I realized how massive the secrets and facts of the universe really are.

1- Does God (Allah) really exist, or is He merely fiction? Why must there be a creator? Why can’t the creator have a creator? Can there be a co-creator? How do we know that Allah is generous and honest in his promises to us? How do we know that He has all the attributes of perfection as described by Him? What is Allah? Will we be able, one day, to see Him?

2- Does Allah really love us and have mercy on us? Why, then, did He create ailments and diseases? Why does He allow people to starve and die of sickness? Why did He create criminals, germs and beasts? Why did He make some of us smarter and wealthier while others are poorer, less healthy or less smart? Why did He not create us directly in the heavens instead of on Earth where we suffer torments, err and then are subject to His wrath?

3- Why did Allah create us? What does He want from us in this life? Is it to reconstruct the Earth? But then why? Does He need us to reconstruct the Earth? Is the Earth more important than humans? Why did He create the Earth in the first place? Did He create us to worship Him? But then - why? He does not need our worship; it does not add anything to Him.

4- Is death indignity and torment? How could it not be; we hear that those who die suffer the severest of torment, right from the moment of their dying to their compression in the grave, their torture in Al Barzakh (‘Al Barzakh’ is an Arabic word meaning an isthmus or separation. In Islamic literature, it denotes the intermediate life between this life and the final life. It begins with death and ends with resurrection at the judgment day.) at the hands of ‘Monker and Nakeer’ (Monker and Nakeer are the names, in Islamic literature, of the two angels who undertake the initial questioning of people immediately after their death.) and their final destiny, hell. But do they not say that death is the ascension to Allah? How, then, could the ascension to Allah be torture and misery?

5- Why would He torture us in hell? What is it to Him if we commit a few sins without meaning to challenge His authority? We do it only out of our whims of lust, weakness, and ignorance. Why are we punished for temporary sins - like listening to songs - for periods of time that are disproportionate to our sins by a scale of millions? Would we not consider it unjust to burn someone who is cursing us? Why, then, do we consider the burning of cursers in hell a just punishment? Is it because it came from Allah? Is it because He is stronger than us?

6- Why did Allah insist that we pray to Him and ask Him about our needs? If He already knows our desires and needs, and He can fulfill them, then why would He make it a condition that we pray to Him? Does He need the prayers?

7- Did Allah not create us to worship Him? Why, then, did he allow Satan to seduce us, exploiting our lusts and weaknesses and leading to misery in the afterlife? Why did Allah answer the request of Satan to live long enough to seduce us? Is it because Satan provoked Him, highly exalted be He above this? Or is it that Allah hates us? Is this not a great injustice? Is this not contradicting the purpose of creation to begin with?

This novel attempts to deal with all these questions and many more in a manner that is simple yet relatable to day-to-day life. I have tried to make the allegory palatable to the tastes of the general public and to human instinct. I have certainly attempted to abide by the religious texts as well as to take into account the life situation in which we find ourselves, and hope that this will make the narrative vibrant and resonant with happiness.

Chapter I

Lost

July 1996

Muttrah, Sultanate of Oman

With the grief in my heart gripping my chest and seizing my entire being, my feet could barely carry me. I was frustrated like never before; my feelings painted everything around me in dark colors. The skies above me roared with violence; dark clouds overshadowed the sun with gloom and sorrow; rain poured in heavily. I was walking on the seaside street known as the Corniche, heading to no particular destination. My burning hot tears mingled with the cold raindrops. My body shivered with chills in the cold air - or perhaps this was my sense of helplessness.

A reel of bitter memories played slowly in my mind, uprooting what small remnants of peace remained inside. Questions stormed around me, casting me into hellish doubt.

Why me? I wondered. Why does fate insist on fighting me? I don’t ask for much. Why should I be deprived of the little that everyone else has? I work harder than others. Why?

I lived a poor life, yet never complained. Instead, I studied hard and made up for my poverty with excellence at school. Father always told me that our poverty was a blessing from Allah, as it made us push ourselves to excel and be rewarded in the afterlife. The rich, on the other hand, have no such motivation.

Where are you, Father? I need you so much. I miss you so much. Why did you leave me? With whom have you left me? This is my fate. How horrible it is for moments of peace and happiness to be turned to disasters! How harsh it is! Woe to it. I do not want to be an unbeliever, but I cannot take it anymore. Why, God? Why?

My Father told me you love us, that you created us to make us happy and that you reward those who thank you with good and abundance. Why, then, make me miserable when you know that I love you? I was regular with my prayers. I prayed with all my heart. I trusted you without limits. You were good with me and kept on telling me that you would support me. I never forgot your support of me, through all the hardships in my life. So why give up on me now? What did I do to deserve this punishment? You know well that I do not disobey you on purpose. Could it be that you are angry at me because I had moments of weakness and listened to songs in private? I swear to you I did not do it in disregard of you, but only because of my frail will, and I repented every time. Is it possible that you are punishing me for my disobedience? But you are not like that. You love us and know how weak we are; that’s what my Father always told me. Was he wrong? O God, what is happening to me? I started to become an unbeliever. I couldn’t go on thinking.

Father, where are you? I loved your passionate, warm smile. I loved your inspiring, encouraging looks. I loved your hand caressing my head with love. I loved talking and playing with you. You were my friend, my idol; you inspired my strength. Looking at you, I used to find my bearings and feel like I owned the whole world. I never imagined that one day, you would leave me. I never thought I could survive without you. You let me down, O Father. But no, you didn’t: you were made to leave me, it was our fate. You left me alone when I was in most need of you, in my high school year, the pivotal year that would determine my future and fate. Why, Father? Why?

Father, remember when one day you came home with an elegant table as a gift for me for being accepted to high school? It was the first piece of new furniture we had at home, and it made everyone’s day. Despite being small, it occupied a lot of space; but everyone was happy, since it made studying easier for me in that critical year. The goal was clear – I should attain first place amongst all the students in Oman.

The home was put on special alert: everyone was prepared to serve me and work together for my comfort. My younger twin sisters, born after a long time of waiting, stopped pestering me and understood the situation despite their young age. My grandmother never stopped praying for me. My mother made me her sole and highest priority. Everything was so wonderful for one month – a month of happiness like never before. But a month was all it was.

Happy things don’t last. On that gloomy day, fate declared war against me; a reckless driver took everything from me. My father was dead, and all my dreams with him. It was an unbearable pain and sorrow: a feeling of loneliness mixed with fear. My father was gone. I wished I had gone with him. My whole life long, I had never wanted anything other than him. I wished I could understand this cruel life. Oh God, I am so lost.

Days went by slowly and bitterly, as if taking delight in my torment, and increasing my sorrow and depression. I was helpless and gave in. I lost my desire for life and wished for death - the death that I hated for taking away my father. It wasn’t getting used to the pain that brought me back to life; instead, I mustered the remnants of strength from the depths of my heart. I had another nightmare to consider: my mother, who was mourning my father silently. I had to take care of my family, for whom I felt obliged to provide.

I went back to school after several weeks of absence and tried to catch up on what I had missed. I had to make my late father proud of me. Initially, that seemed impossible. I started taking on the role of my father, providing comfort for my family. Every now and then I became trapped in deep sorrow and had lapses of control over my feelings, but I was always able to recompose myself - or more precisely speaking, whatever pieces were left of me.

The days of my final exams came, and I was prepared for them. The target was to get a grade that would entitle me to enroll at Sultan Qaboos University – the best university in the country, or at least the best of the government technical colleges. I was all set, and felt confident, even without my father beside me. I felt that Allah would never let me down. My father had told me time and again that Allah gives more of his blessings to those who thank him. He told me Allah never disappoints those who seek His help and believe in Him. No doubt I was one of them. I prayed, trusted and loved Him. I loved Him even more than I loved my own father. He was my God. He couldn’t let me down, not when I had made such huge efforts and showed such supreme will.

I attended the exams one by one, and did well – great, even - until the last one: math. I don’t know what happened to me on that day. I dipped back into intense grief and lost my grip; my eyes welled with tears, and I couldn’t focus on the paper. I prayed to Allah to help me calm down. I tried my best. Minutes ticked by slowly until my time was up. I walked out not knowing how I had done, but I kept my faith in God. He surely knew that I was the only hope for my family now that my father was gone. He knew that there was no way I could provide for my small family unless I got into college. He would never abandon me - if not for my sake, and probably because I listened to songs sometimes, then at least for the sake of my believing and faithful family.

I wish I had not trusted Him. O God, forgive me for saying this - but had I not raised my hopes, I would not have exhausted myself in vain. I wish I knew why? Why, God? I only needed a few more marks to get into the college, just a few more. It was easy, O God, so why didn’t you help me? I was asking but for a little. Why did you do this to me? Why? I couldn’t understand you. Why give up on me when I need you most and when what I was asking was so easy for you? Did you not create us? Are you not in charge of us? Are you not the absolute almighty? Did you not say in the Quran, Call upon Me, I will answer you? Well, I called upon you so many times, so where was your answer? Do you really love us? Did you hear me? Do you even care? Will you help me? Are you really there, or are you just an illusion in my mind? If you are there, how should I know that you are capable of everything, that you will live up to your word, and that you love us? Indeed, if you are perfect, then why create us? Is it to make us happy, as they keep saying? How could I believe that when you abandoned me and didn’t help me get the grade I needed to get into college, despite my love for you since childhood and my faith and prayers?

The rain became heavier and the skies got darker. The thunder rumbled louder, roaring in anger at what I was thinking. Were my thoughts that of the unbeliever? Were you angry at me? I love you and have no one but you. O God, if you leave me, I shall perish. Please help me. I am lost and helpless.

My feet led me to Riyam Park, the place I used to play soccer with my father. I laid down on the grass, exhausted, and surrendered to fate. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. I woke up to the sound of my mother, weeping as she embraced me in horror.

Mom? What are you doing here in this weather? You’ll get sick!

Come on, son. Let’s go home. And she burst into tears.

I embraced my mother, holding her hand, and walked with her towards our home. All I could think of at that moment was her, my poor mother, who had a lot more to worry about than me. She had to keep her bearings for the sake of the family.

The road back from Riyam Park to our home, at Sur Al Lawatia (Sur Al Lawatia is a residential area near the Corniche street in Muttrah city, Muscat. It was the stronghold of Al Lawatia tribe before they scattered across the rest of the capital in the 1980s. It is still inhabited by some elderly people (around 60 houses of the total 240 houses in the area). It remains a rendezvous point for many of the tribe’s social and religious functions.), was long and scary in the stormy weather. I felt we might be blown away by the wind or dragged down by the high tide. I felt even sorrier when I saw my grandmother and two sisters waiting on the