The prayer that changed my life!

December 1976: a restaurant at the edge of an industrial town in Ontario, Canada.

It has been ages since I did anything Islamic. I used to think of myself as a Muslim because I abstained from forbidden things, but gradually it has been lost, too. I am not praying the Salah. I am not reading the Quran. I do not fast. I take a gin and tonic every day. At parties, I drink whatever alcoholic beverages are available, but in moderation. When I dine out, I know what wines to select with what course. I do not myself ask girls to dance, but if a girl asks me twice, I do oblige her. My reluctance is because I do not want to commit myself, not because it is forbidden. I have reasoned that the world has been unfair to me, my family and my country, so why should I pray,. When I had landed at Toronto, I had been received by friends of a department mate, and during the conversation I had said that I was an apostate. This was how angry I was with Allah (swt).

As I look out the window of that restaurant with my daily glass of gin and tonic, I feel sorry for myself. The highway I am travelling on is taking me to Hell, and I do not want to go there. How come I am on this path? Could it not have been different? Then, as I find no answer to my predicament, even though I had said I do not believe, a dua comes to my heart. In those days, I seldom moved my lips when making dua or reading/reciting the Quran. I call out to Allah in my heart:

O Allah!

Is this what You have created me for?

Is this really? That I should roam the West in search of a job which would give me just enough to survive on, and at the same time lose my deen?

I know this path is taking me to Hell. I do not want to go there, but I have no other road to travel. Why have other roads been blocked for me? Where is the Straight Path - the path of those You have rewarded? Why am I on the road to punishment?

Have You created me for Hell?

Have You really?

Why have you given me this education, if there is nowhere to use it?

Am I to struggle only for the economic benefit of kufr?

Is there not a place in Your huge world where I can come back to Islam?

Is there no work in Your scheme of things for me to strive for the benefit of the Ummah?

O Allah!

I have no one to turn to. I turn to You. Give me something to work for Islam and Muslims. Take away these afflictions which are incapacitating me. Save me from Hellfire, and admit me to Jannatul Firdaws.

And, despite my earlier declaration of kufr, Allah listened, alHamdulillah.

On one of the next few days, as I again sit in the restaurant, I see at a great distance, a cloud of white dust. I suddenly have visions of a snow blizzard. Although when I venture outside, I have ample covers to meet any cold, a blizzard can bury one alive, and I would not stand a chance of coming out alive after such a burial. My mind is made up. I do not want to live here at all.

That same December, I take a flight to London. While transferring to another plane at New York, I stand for a while and think: maybe I shouldn't take this flight, and instead take a plane to California. The weather would suit me. There are things to see in California: tar pits and petrified trees. I would have a better chance of finding work in this economy than in Britain.

Then I think: if I settle in the US, how will I come back to Islam, when all my effort will be to survive in this rat race. Mother is so many thousands of miles away. There will be a vast ocean to the west and lots of countries, while towards the east mainland US as well as another vast ocean to cross as well. Most likely I won't ever go back to see my mother, because I hate to take so much trouble. Would it be worth it? What have I given her that I should deny her the possibility of seeing her son ever in this world as well.

I take that plane to London. I stand a better chance of returning to Islam, and it will take me closer to mother, and my siblings.

In London I get a temporary R & D assignment. When the project comes to an end three months later, I hand in my report, and take some time off, as the asthma hasn't gone away. Here too, I am staying with a friend, whose wife does the cooking and even washing of my clothes as well. I feel guilty, but there is nothing I can do. A year later, I decide to go to Karachi, to meet my mother. Then before departure, I tell my friend: the €600 in a joint account I have opened with him, is for him. Buy bhabi a washing machine and a dryer. He refuses, but I am adamant. "Maybe I won't come back. The money is for you, and I will be happy if you buy bhabi a washing machine."

Karachi: January 1978: It is nice to see one's family, and to be fussed over, but I am beginning to wonder what I am doing here. What should I do now? Nearly a month has passed, and I see no suitable jobs in the newspapers advertisements. My asthma keeps bothering me.

Then, out of the blue, I receive a call:

Do you remember saying you would be willing to work for Pakistan, if Pakistan needed you.

Yes, I do.

Do you still hold that commitment?

Yes, if there is work, and if Pakistan needs me.

There is work, and Pakistan needs you.

Then I am ready.

Can you come tomorrow.

Where?

Islamabad.

OK, I will take the flight tomorrow to Islamabad.

The next day I was in Islamabad. As I was driven for interview, I noticed my asthma had vanished. When I entered the interview building, the people looked all very dedicated and Islamic. At the interview, after satisfying themselves I was their material, they asked me:

What pay do you want?

Whatever is sufficient. I do not know the taxes and the cost of living here.

What post or designation do you want?

That is not important to me. The work is. Do you really have work for me?

We have work. When can you join?

Depends upon you. If you want, I can go back, and you can call me from the UK. If you want I can join you without going back, managing my affairs there through mail.

We want you to join as soon as possible.

Then I will join you from the 1st of next month. I will need accommodation.

OK. We have guest houses. You can have a room there until you find a house.

I want to go to Wah, to meet a friend.

The official car will take you to the bus stop for Wah.

On the way to Wah. I noticed that not only my asthma, but also my travel sickness had vanished.

Allah had listened to me.

For the next five years, my breathing was fine.

The problems returned, but that is another story, to be told later, when the time is ripe.