The Circle Of The Qur'an #1[The Arkaan Series] ✓

Crescent 39: The Orphan..(1)[A Piece Of Chicken]

"And they give food, inspite of their love for it(or for the love of Him), to the Miskîn(the needy), the orphan, and the captive-"

(Surah Al Insân, 76:8)

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ARKAAN'S POV

Hearty.

Bleak.

Fulfilling.

Alone, but with Him.

My whole life, I've experienced only four Ramadans.

Hearty, - was how I would describe the Ramadan I had as a child, growing up the normal way, with my Baba and Ummi.

Every Ramadan was like a festival for us, a time for eating and being together as a family.

And even though we were poor, Baba always made sure our Ramadan was filled with bouts of joy and laughter, and plenty more than on our usual days. I was encouraged every one of the 30 days by Baba and Ummi, to fast for half a day. I always yearned for the time of Iftari even with that half-a-day fasting, and even more ..for Eid. Because when night came around, we sat together at Iftar, and Baba would grin playfully at Ummi, she half-frowning and half-red by his playfulness, he would tousle my hair with a smile and put the biggest piece of meat on my plate, congratulating me for trying my best. Then on Eid, he would carry me on his shoulders, and we'd roam the Dreamland Complex in the East District on a joy-filled spree, with his savings for the year.

At that time, I realized one thing ..I was the happiest child in the world with my parents around. The concept of being happy to me, - was having Baba and Ummi by my side.

Then he left.

Bleak. The only word that comes to mind for the two years after that.
I experienced a whole new side of Ramadan - the most empty and meaningless one could experience in their life.

It does exist.

For there are Muslims on the streets. Those without homes. There are Muslims who have no choice but to starve. Ramadan has no meaning to them, except a name to a month of their usual everyday routine. Nobody has to encourage them to fast. They fast always, even if they don't want to.

Perhaps, that's why Baba was always eager to pay Zakatul-Fitr, before he took me out. He'd tousle the hair of the poor children when he went with me to give to them the charity. And I would stand at the side, sulking.

'What are you sulking at?'Baba would say, a frown on his face at my childishness, but his playful grin ever present within his eyes,'You've a home, and a Baba..'

I didn't understand what those words meant, until I had only a home(if I could call it that..), no Baba.

Even Ummi was not available for me when I needed her. Blankly she stared, as I craved her care.

Bleak. Without the warmth and cheer of both my parents, the cold nights at Tâ Hâ seeped into my bony self. With barely enough food for us both to go by, I was literally forced to fast like the children I had seen past, whether I wanted to or not. The constant growls from my stomach reminded me of my loss, a joyless empty home.. I couldn't cry.

What was joy?

What was sorrow?

They were all the same to me. Seeing mother's emotionless eyes, becoming an adult at the age of seven, somehow, I became numb to all the pain in my aching heart, and the sorrow.