Take Free Drugs* [[--Episode 14--]]

 *Take Free Drugs*

[[--Episode 14--]]
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بسم الله الرحمان الرجيم

Recently, in one community in Northern part of Nigeria, something amazing happened:

Ustaz Abdulqadir wasn’t a big scholar, but he knew how a Muslim home should be built. He believed a house is more than bricks—it’s a safe place where Allah’s mercy lives. So he decided that his home would never be filled with TV shows, music, or empty silence.

Every morning after Fajr prayer, the Qur’an recitation started playing. It was the background while his children got ready for school. When he left for his business centre, the Qur’an travelled with him, its divine verses emanating from a small speaker on his desk,

Because the Qur’an was always there, his children learned it naturally. They memorized many parts without being forced. At night, the recitation played immediately after ishai prayer till Fajr prayer time.

When his time on this earth came to an end, his family members and the community mourned a righteous man. As they prepared his body for the final rites, washing and shrouding him with tender hands, something inexplicable happened.

From nowhere, the distinct, familiar voice of his chosen Qur’an reciter began to play without a traceable source. It felt like the house itself was releasing the words it had kept for years.

The amazing situation continued as his body was carried out of the house and placed before the congregation for the Janaiz prayer.

Hundreds had gathered, and all could hear the unearthly recitation. Whispers of "SubhanAllah" rippled through the crowd. The Imam, a man of stern composure, stepped forward to lead the prayer. The moment he raised his hands and said, "Allahu Akbar," the Qur’an audio stopped. Instantly. The sudden, profound silence was more shocking than the sound itself.

The moment the final "As-salaamu ‘alaykum" was uttered, the beautiful recitation resumed, picking up exactly where it had left off.

Even as his body was lowered into the dark depths of the grave, the recitation continued. It echoed within the confines of the grave, a familiar comfort in an unfamiliar place. The gravediggers, their hands trembling, began to cover the grave with sand. With each shovelful, the sound did not diminish. When the last patch of earth was patted down, and the final du'a was about to be made, another breathtaking thing happened.

A bright white light shone from his grave. The light and the Qur’an sound rose up and disappeared, leaving everyone amazed and silent.

The message was seared into their souls. Ustaz Abdulqadir had not just listened to the Qur’an; he had lived with it, and in his death, it did not abandon him. It became his light, his companion in the solitude of the grave, and his vehicle of ascent.

Everybody in that community had witnessed a terrifying, beautiful truth: what you fill your life with will be what you are given in your death. And on that fearful, lonely journey, only the Glorious Qur’an has the power to be your light, your voice, and your escort into the mercy of your Lord.