Chapter 9: "Agitation"

Post your reactions as you read. Boom it! 😁

November 5, 2019

Salma was sitting in the masjid hall, typing away on her laptop as Anne talked to the gathering of women. Their masjid had a meeting every Sunday in which a discussion was tabled about any of the pressing community problems. Usually, Anne picked her topics from the anonymous mail jars in which community members anonymously wrote about issues they were shy of voicing out publicly.

Salma, who had gotten tired of the vacuum in her head, decided to join Anne and help her out with the paper work. With Sarah closeby, passing snarky comments on some woman she did not like, Salma had started feeling a lot more relaxed and easy.

". . . Although it's a recurring complaint, largely from younger people, I think this issue applies to all of us being way too focused on others and not ourselves." Anne introduced the issue under discussion. "How the line between advice and judgment is a fine one and how often we cross it. I'll read to you a portion of one of these letters. The sister writes:

"I am sick and tired of these sisters doing my "islah". 'Your scarf is too small.' 'Your bangs are showing.' 'Your chest isn't covered.' 'The color is too bright.' 'Why are your nails painted?' 'Is that lipgloss? In a masjid?' 'Don't you know there's brothers in here?' 'Don't wear jeans.' 'Wear longer shirts.' 'Where's your abaya?'

One, after the other, after the other. I just couldn't wear anything right. I started hijab only recently and honestly, I feel like life was much easier without it. Not because disobedience to Allah is easier but because "MUSLIMS" let you be when you aren't trying to get better. As if trying to follow Islam is giving every fatimazurahra, sakintu-whatever, and yaseen and nosheen the open invitation to criticize you, ridicule you, order you, teach you, correct and reprimand you.

"Someone's getting pissed," Sarah muttered. Salma looked up from the screen to see her eyeing a couple of ladies at the far corner of the hall. They were clad in black burqas, and known for their bitter scowls, harshness and venomous words. These, apparently ultra-religious group of zealots, were trying to eat Anne away with their glares.

"The Haram police?" Salma asked, turning back to her screen.

"Yep," Sarah replied. She did not like the Haram police at all, and never let a chance miss her by to make her dislike known. "Bet they know they're the antagonist of this letter."

"Excuse me? Give me a Break! Do you have any idea what it was like to pick up a piece of cloth and wrap it around my freshly cut, nicely styled, beautifully dyed hair? Do you have any clue of what it takes to walk into a crowd with this wrap on, when you know they preferred you without it? When I am second-guessing my decision every second, must I get the extra incentive to just get rid of it, because according to some sakinatu-whatever!... it's useless because I am not doing it right anyway? That I MUST conform to your standards? What would it take to just be appreciative that I am at least trying? Its 1% of the teaching but it is still better than 0. The feeling I got here is that you'd rather I go for 0 than 1% . You could appreciate the one, make me feel comfortable and who knows I would take the leap to two and three. What appreciation and acceptance can do, criticism cannot.

"Ha! Keep dreaming, honey." Sarah scoffed. "No such thing as appreciation is happening here. Sakinatu-rat's poo has a huge ego. She'd rather feed it with judgment than smile and encourage."

Salma's shoulders shook as she tried to contain her laughter. Sakinatu-rat's poo?

"Sarah, just shut up," Salma said under-breath. "I need to take notes!"

"Did I lie though?"

"And it doesn't end there. So far as I know I cannot recite in the masjid. 'Don't recite here, sit on the chair, that elder is higher than you.' 'Don't sit there, my back is to you.' 'Don't sit with us, we are talking so it's disrespectful.'

"What even?!" Sarah and Salma cried in unison, rattled by the contents of the letter. A few heads turned in their direction but everyone quickly looked away as the writer of the letter expressed the same level of incredulity and frustration.

"I want to know who did this madness?!" An old quivering voice announced, followed by Nona Evelina's cane making an appearance above everyone's heads. "I just want to talk."

"You and me both, Nona," Sarah agreed.

"You'll find that the writer agrees with y'all," Anne said. "She says:"

"What in the world?! Why don't you sit on the floor or not turn your back or shut up and let me recite instead of making my worship difficult for me? And don't even get me started on how my prayers are never right.

I wore earbuds once. Three people snapped at me, "Don't listen to music!" "It's Qur'an," I replied. "Well then sit down! Don't walk around!" and it goes on and on --

"I believe you get the idea," Anne put the note away. "Let me make one thing very clear, none of what this young lady has been harassed over regarding her worship, has any basis in the Qur'an whatsoever. Please don't push people away from this religion. All of us think we're the only one approaching this person. And we're so concerned because, 'Oh my God, they're about to fall into fire. Let's save them!'"

The girls in the crowd laughed at Anne's exaggerated expressions.

"But with all of us using excessive force, and those harsh jerks away from that edge of the pit, we're upsetting the person. We fail to see that they might get tired of our continuous pestering and might just jump over because of us. Don't do this. Be concerned with yourself. How close to the fire are you walking? There's too many preachers. No followers. We are concerned with the others. Leave them be. Look at yourself. The only way we think of earning a reward is correcting others. Firstly, that's not correcting, that's you judging and harassing people. There's a time and a place and a manner of teaching someone. You're not earning any reward or doing any religious duty, you are being a hypocrite. One, because you apply the principal of correction to others only, and two, because with yourself, you would rather people leave you alone. You harass the other sister for not wearing hijab properly, because well, you're niqaabi so you can, you've already corrected yourself, right?

"Wrong. How would you feel if people follow you around correcting whatever wrong you're doing? Like waking up late, or backbiting, or making mistakes in Salah. Don't you get frustrated? Don't you go, 'Leave me alone! It's just this one small thing'? You see that's what you do. When you do wrong, it is small matter. You'll fix it. You need time. Allah is Ar-Rahman. He knows your intention etcetera, etcetera. But When the other person does it then, 'Oh no!' The fire of hell leaps out to grab this person and suddenly Allah isn't Ar-Rahman anymore and you gotta be this Superman and save them even if it means you wear your underwear over your pants."

Salma chuckled as the hall rumbled with laughter again.

"Relax! It's just the same. Her not wearing hijab is just the same a test as you losing it with your mum the other day and yelling at her. Allah is the same. Chances of forgiveness are the same. Option to correct the mistake is still open. Choices are the same. Leave it to Allah. Take a look at yourself instead and see if the fire isn't leaping out at you?"

"Me?!" Sarah suddenly spoke out of nowhere. "Oh no! My hijab is plain, long and perfectly pinned to cover me. I even cover my face. Did I mention that?"

Anne shook her head with a resigned smile as the girls snickered. It was obvious who Sarah was impersonating with her sudden goof. The ultra-religious ladies - that Salma knew were having a very hard time stomaching the whole discussion - threw Sarah some dirty looks.

"What?" Sarah shrugged at the crowd at large. "It's not like y'all don't know I'm above you because." She covered her face. "You know, Batman over Superman anytime!"

Salma giggled.

"Sarah, be quiet." Anne scolded gently, trying her very best to hide her smile. "However, I will agree to the point you made --"

"That Batman is better --"

"No."

"Oh." Sarah made a face.

Another round of giggles. Another blaze of deathly glares.

"I agree that this kind of mindset is of the blind and naive. You see you lose the race when this self-assurance kicks in. 'I'm good?' Really? Said who? Isn't this arrogance? When you view yourself above others in terms of your deeds, do you not see the problem with that smugness? Can you imagine Allah watching you while you are busy thinking, 'I am better than this person because of the cloth I've wrapped,' and Allah will love you? Do you not see the issue here? Isn't this what Iblees thought of himself? 'I am better than Adam because --"

"Some people rather be 'Team Iblees'," Salma muttered at Sarah, as the Haram police started getting visibly frustrated at Anne's words. "I'm suspecting a show-down in a couple of minutes."

"You have no idea how bad I want one of them to make the mistake of punching me."

Salma bit her lips to contain the laugh.

"The core reason of you putting that hijab is to please Allah. You think Allah is pleased when we do something and then parade around, feeling accomplished? Where's the humility that Allah seeks? That's arrogance and showing off whether you realize it or not. So next time, when you look at a girl and instead of seeing her trying to obey Allah you only see her colored hijab and think to yourself, "Might as well not wear it, girl!" then check yourself. It's not her you should approach and preach to. It's you. Remind yourself to think positively of her. To not judge. To remember that her act of doing an imperfect hijab might be more pleasing to Allah than your niqaab. Because Allah knows the struggle He put her through what He didn't put you through. Perhaps you were given a bolder personality, making it easier for you to not care for the people around you. Perhaps your family environment encourages you . . . and not her. Perhaps you knew since forever and she had just found out but the sudden change is difficult to make. Or she just simply doesn't agree with you. Whatever it is. There could be a thousand reasons. Just let her be. Judgment is Allah's job, not yours. Don't try to raise yourself above which you are. You're a human. Stay such."

Salma's fingers froze over the key pad.

"Judgment is Allah's job, not yours." The last words rang in her head like a buzzer. "You're a human. Stay such."

"Salma," Anne's voice jerked her back to the present. "Care to explain yourself?"

Salma blinked at her aunt, confused. She realized everyone was watching her.

"What?"

A few people laughed at her absent-mindedness. Salma was surprised and concerned to realize, the ultra-religious, glaring gang took part in the laughter.

Not good.

"There's a Halaqa going on," one of them spat angrily. "Your aunt has been giving us long sermons on important issues." She emphasized the words sarcastically. "We could not do something beneficial instead, like having a class for tajweed, tafsir or hadeeth. You were one of the people who campaigned for this! And now you're busy playing with your laptop."

Salma's blinked at the woman, taking a second or two to process the venom she had just spewed.

"Something beneficial, huh?" Salma muttered. Clearly, what Anne had just discussed was of no benefit to brain-dead people like them. Salma knew that this traditional religious group disapproved of how Anne and Uncle Dawood ran the affairs of the mosque, but she had not expected them to start on her.

"What were you doing?" Anne asked again.

I was chatting with my boyfriend, Salma wanted to retort, but she knew she would get in trouble with Anne for talking smart and provoking the mad-women. Instead, she just silently turned the laptop around.

The Haram police squinted at the screen.

Yeah, there's no movie playing R rated scenes you gossip-hungry dimwits! Salma rolled her eyes.

"She was taking down minutes to update the masjid's blog later, in case you still need it spelled out," Sarah retorted. "I mean, clearly, the not-so-beneficial talk about 'not judging people and leaving them be' seemed to have flown a few feet above your heads despite the simplicity of its message."

"Sarah!" Anne scolded as the crowd laughed.

"Just saying," Sarah shrugged, pleased with herself that the fuming gang of ladies were forced to remain quiet due the general applause and approval of the rest of the audience.

Salma suspected it wasn't just that. The strength of Sarah's punch was no secret, and neither was her extreme itch to throw a few at them. The Haram police knew where to draw the line, and it began just where Sarah's fingers started curling into a fist.

***

"Absolutely not! I don't agree!" Salma argued.

"It doesn't matter anymore!"

"Yes it does!" Salma returned. "You guys can't just force me into --"

"Fifteen minutes. Your uncle is expecting you at his office fifteen minutes to five," Anne cut her short as if Salma had been keenly waiting for orders.

"What? Why --"

"They're arranging a rock-climbing trip."

"The meeting is at five!" Salma cried, frustrated. "And I have nothing to do with any of that. I didn't even agree --"

"Salma --"

"Why can't Sarah be president for the Youth Club?"

"Because nobody wants the kids dead!" Anne returned. "Sarah's beastmode is --"

"Not true!" Salma defended her friend. "Sarah is cupcake."

"Right. I'm sure she is." Anne laughed. "But they chose you. Now stop talking and get ready."

"Anne!" Salma let out a long, drawn-out whine, lodging face down on the couch.

"I love you too!"

Salma grumbled into the cushion, constantly complaining. It was Nona Evelina's doing. As the discussion ended, people got up to leave. Salma started packing up her laptop.

"Also - sorry. Listen up!" Anne called over the noise. "Sorry, I had an announcement to make. The previous president of the Youth Club has left. We need a replacement. Any volunteers?"

The Youth Club of the masjid provided a safe place for the young Muslims of the community to share and solve their problems, and enjoy and connect with one another. The club was led by a pair of presidents, a male and a female, preferably Mahrams - so that they could coordinate better. The previous presidents were siblings, and they had to leave town. Therefore, the announcement. Salma expected the Haram police to grab the chance.

"We have a volunteer!"

B-b-bingo! Salma scoffed as one of them started talking. Zipping the laptop bag, she pulled the strap over her head. Power hungry zealots.

Except, things went Nona Evelina's way.

"We think --"

"I know just the person!" Nona announced, cutting the Haram police's short. "Where's your niece?"

Salma froze.

The hell?

Cowering behind the crowd, Salma tried to leave the hall before the old lady, or anyone else, could locate her.

"Salma?"

"Where's Salma?"

"Where'd she go?"

Salma had just crossed the center of the hall, when a sudden jerk to her collar stopped her. Her socks slipped over the smooth surface of the polished tiles. As did a panicked cry.

"Whoa!"

She fell flat on her butt.

"Ouch!" Salma winced. She straightened herself, trying to ignore the giggling crowd around her. Thankfully, she had landed on one of the cushions, sparing her a bruised behind. Salma felt something hard against her neck. Turning around, she saw the Nona pulling at her by the cane that she had hooked into Salma's collar.

What in the world?!

"Nona!" Salma cried at the adorable Italian grandma, who was not being very adorable at the moment.

"I will not have my granddaughters be taught religion by some self-righteous nut job!" she continued, ignoring Salma's struggle to break free. "They like you. They've been waiting since forever to have you lead them!"

Remembering how Nona had wrestled her into submission, Salma wailed some more into the couch.

"Salma!" Anne exclaimed, surprised to find her still grumbling into the cushion like a kid. "You're late! Your Uncle is expecting you. Come on, up you get!"

"I'm dealing with enough as is," Salma complained.

"It's just temporary." Anne consoled her. "Once the election process is over, you can go back to grumbling into the couch like a three year old."

Salma pouted.

"Not fair," she muttered, slowly getting up.

"Hurry up." Anne rushed her on.

"Why? It's still too early."

"Dawood needed you before the meeting. "Anne replied. "Come on, sweetheart. Be nice."

Salma got stuck in traffic on her drive back to the masjid, but she made it to her uncle's office with a few minutes to spare. She saw the silhouette of a guy sitting on one of the chairs through the frosted glass of the office.

Salma grimaced. She was in a mood to vent off her frustration to her Uncle. Perhaps she should have been to the meeting early, after all.

Sighing, she knocked.

"Come in."

Salma stepped in. The other occupant of the room turned around.

"Miss Rahman." Micheal smiled. "Assalamo Alaikom. How're you?"

"Wa alaikom Assalam." Salma returned the smile. "I'm good, thanks. How's M.J."

"Troublesome."

Salma chuckled.

"You're the president for the Youth Club?"

"What? Oh no," he replied. "I was here to discuss something with --"

A knock on the door cut him off.

"Come in." Uncle Dawood called.

"I'll get going then." Michael smiled, getting up. He quickly shook Uncle Dawood's hand and took his leave.

Salma nodded her goodbye. The door opened.

"Hey bro." Michael welcomed the incoming visitor.

Salma froze.

"How're you doing?" Zayn smiled, shaking his hand.

"Just leaving." Michael laughed. "Heard you're the new president for the kiddos!"

Salma's lips parted. What?

"Just helping out for a few days. The kids love ball. They insisted."

"Good luck!"

"Thanks man." Zayn chuckled.

Michael moved out of the way and through the door. Zayn looked up, the smile still playing on his lips. As he stiffened upon finding her in the office, Salma rounded on her uncle.

"Well, take a seat you two," he said, unfazed, taking out some papers. "I believe none of you need introductions."

"Uncle --"

"Hold the questions. We're on the clock."

Salma felt a tremble taking over her body. Clenching her teeth, she tried to ease her suddenly labored breathing. She was sorely tempted to storm out of the office. However, she was not so sure about throwing a tantrum in front of Zayn.

Zayn, on the other hand, could feel the silent fury radiating off of her in blast waves. He gave her a side glance before quietly pulling the chair and taking a seat. Salma, however, stayed on her feet.

Uncle Dawood deemed it best to ignore the ticking time bomb and started the briefing.

Author's Note

Oh dear, is that the sound of yet another cliffhanger 😱🤣

Anyways, in the previous chapter two new characters and a donut were introduced. I think y'all will be pleased to know the donut was the most popular introduction, and generated most interest from you Losties 😏.

I know y'all are waiting for Zalma to set sail and start cruising. I can tell you that you'll get some action but 1) it'll come at a pace that matches the characters' development. I can't write something that doesn't make sense to me. And interaction between various characters is one such thing.

And 2) this book is a thriller, not a romance. There's more focus on the plot and mystery around Salma, than the madness between her and Zayn. Their relationship plays a crucial role in the grand scheme of things but it's not the primary focus. I'm sorry to let y'all down 😬

3) As for the pacing of the whole story is concerned, if you think the story is getting stagnant, I can think of juggling that around a bit. For example, this whole chapter and what follows can 'somewhat' be taken out and it be fine. I could keep these chapters as Patron-exclusive, as I have with some parts of it. No issue. If you want a faster story, weight on it in the comment section. Majority's authority ☺️

Lastly, read ahead of everyone else by becoming a patron 🥰 www.patreon.com/brekhnajohar

Or, if you're broke, don't worry, your time is all I need. Vote, comment a ton and share the story to help 'Lost' rank better and get recommended more often.

Lots of Love

J.