By Iskander Jadeed

All Rights Reserved Copyright © The Good Way 1991

I have known Taufiq since I was a child. He comes from a fine family whose members are proud of their past glories and honorable forefathers. Misfortune, however, plunged him into despair early in life. His tears were many, owing to trials and worries which deprived him of any lasting joy. He left the home of his father suddenly, setting out into God’s wide world.

The villagers had conflicting things to say about him. Some claimed that he was a son who had never received love from his feuding parents; thus, it was no surprise that he would go. Others believed he had been in love, but that the young lady in question had left him and married one of his relatives; so he fled to a far-away place where he could forget her. 

Still, others said that he had read some religious books which influenced his beliefs, driving him to leave the faith of his forefathers; understandably, he had to vanish. And there were those who contented themselves with the idea that he was merely crazy.

As for me, I said nothing — either because I admired his simplicity of thought and passion for truth, or because I am not one who incriminates others, whether in thought or speech. I believe there are secrets hidden in every soul, inaccessible to the investigation.

Years passed by. Slanderous reports about him reached me, but I did not publish these accounts, for fear of spreading falsehood — the poison which villagers inject into every incident. One day, I received a registered letter from Taufiq. He asked me to visit him in Lebanon, and he had fixed the time and place. I was overjoyed at this invitation, eager for such an opportunity — not only because I sympathized with him, but because I wanted to discover the secrets surrounding him.

Upon meeting him, I found him to be in good health. Some lines upon his countenance, the inescapable effects of time, added a distinguished look to his appearance. From the sparkle in his eyes, I detected an inner joy, pervaded with peace.

I gazed upon his face intently, seeking to find the reason for the brightness of his smile — one which radiated a dignity in stark contrast to the slanderous things that had been said about him over the years.

“What has happened to you?” I asked. “Where is that angry mask you used to cover your face with? What has happened to the sadness that marked your youth?”

“My friend, you will learn everything,” he replied, beaming. “For twenty years I have been absorbed with the reasons behind my departure from home. I have patiently endured the slander hurled at me from all directions and have borne the wounds inflicted upon me in the house of my friends. The only comfort from the pain came from the living hope within my heart — one which arose as a result of certain books I had read. Now, my friend, the time has come to let everyone hear my cry, which refuses to be silenced. But keep my story to yourself until you find the right time for its disclosure. Then write and publish it, but do this with care — neither filling it with trivia that do injustice to my freedom of opinion, nor lessening my thrill of doing battle for the sake of truth.”

I stayed with my friend for several days, listening to his spellbinding story, reliving with him step by step the events he so vividly conveyed. Before our parting embrace, he handed me a large file and said: “My brother Hassan remained true to me until the end. In this file, you will find my memoirs and the collection of letters that we exchanged — those in which we discussed the way leading to eternal life.” After a moment’s silence, he continued, “I believe that publishing the contents of these letters will prompt many to stop slandering me.”

Ten years have passed since the time of that encounter which affected me so indelibly. The echo of Taufiq’s last words has tolled like a bell in my mind whenever I have been alone.

One day, while scanning a magazine, I came across an article that revealed fresh news about him — news that reminded me of those letters he had left with me. I realized the time had come to publish his story. It now gives me great pleasure to present this account to my readers.

Listen, O coastlands, to Me, and take heed, you peoples from afar! The Lord has called Me from the womb; from the matrix of My mother, he has made mention of My name. (Isaiah 49:1)

Source:

The Good Way 1991