Another Mosque Among the Stars Read online

  Chapter 1

  Religious or spiritual SF is an established sub-genre of speculative fiction but Islamic SF as a sub-genre has been coming to prominence only of late, particularly through the existence of websites like islamscifi.com and islamonline.org, etc. At the risk of sounding immodest, I like to think that the publication of anthology, “A Mosque Among the Stars” (edited by Aurangzeb Ahmad and yours truly) contributed more awareness of Islamic SF and planted seeds for fresh discourses.

  In view of this rising awareness, this is the right time to come up with a definition for Islamic SF.

  So what is Islamic SF? Let us take the “SF” part first. By SF we mean speculative fiction and not just science fiction. Thus we are including the broader field of fantasy in this definition.

  Coming to the “Islamic” part of this expression: Islam, like other religions, is a combination of beliefs and practices. The most fundamental belief is the Unity of God. God in Islam is Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscient, unknowable. The other fundamental belief is the existence of divine guides, sent by God to guide His servants. These divine guides and God’s messengers include names that are well-known among other Abrahamic religions like Judaism and Christianity: Adam, Noah, Abraham, Ismael, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Jesus and many others. The important difference is the addition of the name of Muhammad (PBUH) to this list as the last and the greatest of the Messengers of God.

  As far as practices are concerned, other than ritual practices like salat, fasting, Hajj, etc., almost all other practices would fall under acts controlled by ethical and moral codes and these ethical and moral codes are universal and can be found in almost all religions of the world.

  Islamic SF would be any speculative story that is positively informed by Islamic beliefs and practices.

  Keeping the above outlined beliefs and practices in mind, below is a partial list of what we could consider as Islamic sf:

  1. Any speculative story that strives to state the existence of the One God as described above.

  2. Any speculative story that deals in a positive way with any aspect of Islamic practices, like hijab, fasting, etc.

  3. Any speculative story that features a Muslim as one of its important characters and the actions of this Muslim in the story reflect Islamic values.

  4. Any speculative story which takes on one or more elements from the Qur’an or the teachings of the Muhammad, the Messenger of Allah (PBUH) in a positive way.

  Analysing the above list in detail, some may be surprised at what the list includes and what it excludes.

  As an illustration, my story, “The Maker Myth” would fall squarely within the boundaries of item (1) above.

  The field of item (2) is quite wide and should be inviting for future writers who plan to write Islamic SF.

  I can present almost all of the stories included in “A Mosque Among the Stars” as illustrations of item (3). Going further back in time, the fantasy stories of “Tilism Hoshruba” from India and “Shahnama” from Persia could be considered Islamic SF. However – and this may come as surprising to many of the readers of this article – in spite of the fact that it was written by Muslims, originates from a Muslim culture and features Muslim characters, I don’t consider “A Thousand and One Nights” as Islamic SF. I plan to write a more detailed paper on “A Thousand and One Nights” in the near future but let it suffice that in my opinion, the sayings and doings of the characters in this book do not reflect Islamic values.

  Item (4) once again offers a wide field of speculation for writers. For instance, a story featuring a Jinn would classify as Islamic SF provided the Jinn is not some ridiculous figure as in Disney’s Aladdin.

  Islam provides a fertile ground for science fiction.

  Science fiction has been described as a literature of ideas. Knowledge and reflection are the source springs of ideas. As far as I know, no other religion in the world puts more emphasis on seeking knowledge and pondering and reflecting, than Islam does. There are several well known sayings of the Muhammad (PBUH) about seeking knowledge:

  “Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave.”

  “Seek knowledge even if you have to travel to China for it.”

  Referring to his son-in-law, Ali ibn Abi Talib, Muhammad said: “I am the City of Knowledge and Ali is its gate.”

  Several verses of the Qur’an urge humanity to think and ponder on the world around them. Below are just a few examples:

  Verily, in the creation of the heavens and the earth and the alternation of the night and the day, there are signs for men who possess wisdom; those who remember God standing and sitting and reclining on their sides and think in the creation of the heavens and the earth… (Aale-Imran: 190-191)

  There comes out from within it (the honey bee) a drink of diverse colours, in it is healing for men; Verily in this is a sign for the people who reflect. (An-Nahl: 69)

  Say, “I exhort you only to one thing; that you rise up for God’s sake, in twos and singly, then ponder…” (As-Saba: 46)

  Hence – keeping the above in mind – what religion could provide a better platform for the literature of ideas fiction than Islam?

  The proof is – as they say – in the pudding. Let us see what SF tropes can be triggered and what ideas generated by just a very, very cursory glance at the holy Qur’an.

  The very first Sura (Chapter) of the Qur’an – Al-Fateha – states: “All praise is God’s, the Lord of the worlds.” The plural “worlds” should be noted. Obviously, ours is not the only world with intelligent life. There are other worlds out there – extra-terrestrial life, ripe for the imaginations of science fiction writers.

  Verse 33 of Ar-Rahman (Chapter 55) says: O’ you people of Jinns and humans, if you can penetrate the bounds of the heavens and the earth, then do penetrate through; But you cannot penetrate except with Our Authority. This verse, revealed 14 centuries ago, clearly showed the possibility of space travel. With God’s Authority you can penetrate the heavens and the earth. And what is God’s Authority? Knowledge.

  Incidentally, the above verse also talks of Jinn, mentioned earlier in this article. There is also a complete chapter in the Qur’an titled “Jinn”. Jinn are considered to be sentient beings made of pure energy. And that brings us to more than one well-known tropes of science fiction: sentience in a form different from us; beings of energy; a whole race hidden from our eyes, etc.

  Al-Kahaf (Chapter 18) also provides glimpses into multiple science fictional tropes. The first part of the Sura talks about the people of the cave – seven people and a dog from a time before Christ, to whom God granted a very long sleep to escape from the atrocities of their times. After being in sleep for over three hundred years, they wake up and go out into the world to find it completely changed. Right here are four common themes of science fiction: suspended animation, longevity, temporal displacement, alienation. As an interesting aside, the place where the people of Kahaf slept provides a great spark to the imagination. The location of the cave is a mystery. Qur’an offers very interesting and fascinating hints, but that is all.

  An-Naml (Chapter 27) and As-Saba (Chapter 34) talk about Prophet Solomon speaking to insects, birds and animals. Themes of multilingualism and animal consciousness could be explored through these Suras.

  These are just some of the themes and ideas that a writer could use to write Islamic science fiction. And these ideas were brought to light by a superficial and perfunctory glance at just five of the hundred and fourteen chapters of the holy Qur’an. Imagine the marvels writers could find if they took a look at the rest of the hundred and nine chapters!

  Chapter 2

  What would you have done if you were in my shoes..

  It happen
ed suddenly. One night, I had gone to sleep, a normal man. The next morning I got up, a thoroughly abnormal individual.

  At that time, I was a moderately well-to-do writer. I had no living relatives and lived alone in my apartment.

  That morning, I switched on the TV. A cartoon was being shown but the sound I heard was not the sound of a cartoon but of news being read. Was something wrong with the TV?

  Had two channels somehow got mixed up? Then I heard the news reader announce the date. I sat bolt-upright. How could it be the 25th of May, today? Yesterday, when I had gone to sleep, it had been the 20th. What was going on? Had I slept for four days – a modern day Rip Van Winkle? I ran outside, picked up the newspaper lying on my doorstep and looked at the date. Twenty first of May.

  So, after all, I had not slept for four days.

  That was just the beginning. That whole day, I kept hearing voices: Voices of my friends, my neighbors, the voice of my sweet heart, and my own voice. What was going on? Was I going mad? But there was no insanity in the voices I heard.

  I thought hard, struggling against a rising sense of panic. Slowly, almost shyly, a tiny idea raised its head. I had a hypothesis. It was fantastic. Nevertheless, I decided to test it.

  Next morning, I switched on the television. Once again, the picture on the tube didn't match the sounds. I heard the date being announced, and it was the twenty sixth of May. Hypothesis proved!

  No matter how fantastic, it was probably true. My sense of hearing had extended four days and a couple of hours into the future.

  First, I went into panic. Then, recovering, I quietly sat at my writing table for hours, mentally working out the ramifications of my condition. There were various things, big and small, to take care of. For instance, if someone rang the doorbell, I wouldn’t hear it. I had to have some kind of visual indication for it. Then there was the phone. This was one instrument that would become almost totally useless to me. And what about conversation with people? I could talk to them and they would hear me but when they talked, I would have heard it four days ago. How then to have a coherent conversation? The only solution was to tell everyone that I had gone totally deaf. Let them communicate with me via writing or sign language.

  And life went on with all its strangeness.

  My pre-sonic condition had its advantages. I made it a habit of hearing the business

  news bulletins on the TV, and armed with advance knowledge of the market, I started playing the stocks. Inevitably my income became healthier and healthier. In turn, I became quite a

  philanthropist and had no end of fun.

  No one knew about my abnormality till I heard himself telling my sweetheart about it and didn’t hear her scream or panic. So four days later, I did tell her about it and she, after a brief adjustment period, accepted it and said so in writing.

  And one day, I wrote a note to her, asking her to marry me. She accepted and soon we became man and wife and lived happily for quite some time...

  ...till the time – yesterday - that I heard my wife crying with grief. And this grief was over my death.

  I immediately got busy straightening out my things, preparing my will, loving and cherishing my wife.

  Today, I heard my friends come to bury me.

  And then my world went dead silent for some time.

  And then I heard a terrible voice say: "Who is your God?"

  And now I have three days to find the correct answer to that question.

  Chapter 3

  The relaxation exercises are not working. Neither is meditation. It is 2 AM, I am tense and jittery as I sit on my bed in a room in Hotel Guignol.

  My room is small. It is on the top floor. I have the lights shut off and am looking at the night sky out of the huge bay window. A meteor shower has been predicted.

  I try to lose myself in the darkness of the night but I cannot obliterate a vision that I keep seeing without the use of my eyes – the face of my wife, serene and beautiful even in death, serene and beautiful in spite of the marks of violence.

  I ring up the room service.

  “Could you send up two glasses of warm milk?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Ali.” There is no evidence of surprise. By now, they know some of my ways.

  Within five minutes, the doorbell rings.

  I turn the room lights on and say: “Come in.”

  The waiter enters and deposits the glasses of milk on the center table. I look at the waiter. He appears to be an Asian, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, close to retirement age. His face is lined and his eyes are empty. His name tag reads: Ram Prasad. Probably a fellow country man. He is about to leave but I want to try not to be alone as long as possible..

  “Please have a seat, Ram Prasad,” I point to the couch. “I would like to talk to you.”

  His eyes show surprise. He sits down but his manner is awkward, wary.

  “From India?”

  He nods.

  “So am I.”

  He smiles, the barriers coming down a few notches. I pick up one glass of milk and offer him the other. He protests. I smile and over-ride his protests. He sips his milk. Suddenly, I see tears in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I say, alarmed.

  He bows his head and nods. “I guess I had forgotten how it feels to be treated as a human being.”

  I let him alone for some time. Then I break the silence. “I have seen how badly the manager, Mr. Haysfire, treats you. Why do you stay?”

  “Because I am a waiter and I cannot be anything else.”

  “Why not go back to India?”

  “My wife and my daughter are buried here. I cannot leave them alone.”

  I wonder at how lives interweave. Here is another tie between this person and me.

  “Mr. Haysfire is a racist, isn’t he?” I say.

  “The worst kind.” His eyes express disgust. “If this was the last century, he would be a KKK leader.”

  “A person who would think nothing of raping and killing a non-white woman.” Something in my voice touches him. He looks up at me. Abruptly, he gets up. “I have to go, sir.” He leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I step out of my room. The door clicks shut behind me. Two rooms down, the corridor turns left. Two more rooms and I knock on the door in front of me.

  “Come in.”

  Colonel Nordstrad is a giant – a giant in a wheelchair. Ex-army, turned private investigator after retirement.

  “Here’s my report.” He hands me a folder. Given his appearance, his voice is surprisingly soft.

  “You have conclusive proof?” My heart is beating fast.

  “Conclusive enough for you and me, but nothing that will hold up in a court. Sorry.”

  Back in my room, I study the report. I finish reading it. Then I spread my pray mat and pray.

  Nordstrad is right. The evidence is conclusive for him and me. Ten years ago, one day, while staying at this hotel, I had gone night-walking. Upon my return, I had found my wife brutally raped and murdered in our room. She had not been able to make any noise because her mouth had been taped. Subsequent investigation had resulted in no arrests. The perpetrator had not been found. I had been harboring my suspicions – suspicions to which I could now attach a name: Haysfire.

  The ball is now in my court.

  Ram Prasad. Ram Prasad is my key to the next step.

  Haysfire sleeps alone in his apartment. He does not have a family. People like Haysfire usually do not have families. Thank God. When he is rudely shaken awake, he tries to sit up but he cannot. He has been securely tied to his bed. He cannot even make a noise because his mouth has been taped shut.

  He looks at me and there is fear in his eyes. He looks at the knife in my gloved hand.

  “You remember me, don’t you?” I say. “And my wife, Firdaus.”

  He tries to move and makes vague noises.

  “For ten years, a sense of injustice has been burning through my soul. Time to balance the scales of justice
is here.”

  I move toward him. He is not moving any longer, as if he has given up every hope. Only his eyes move, and there is stark terror in them. Suddenly I sense a stench that starts slowly but grows strong. I recognize it. Haysfire has lost control of his bladder.

  I raise the knife, pause, and move back in disgust. I cannot do it. I cannot kill someone in cold blood. I move away from the bed, put the knife back in the kitchen where I had picked it from, and leave his apartment.

  I take the elevator down to the main floor. The lobby is cozy and beautifully lit. The girl at the reception desk smiles at me. I walk out of the hotel.

  The silence of the night calms me. The vast, overwhelming sky full of stars shows me the insignificance of my affairs and my existence. Suddenly, I see bright pin-pricks of light moving through the sky.I remember the predicted meteor showers. .

  I raise my hands to the sky and pray. Then I make my way back to the hotel. I know that I will be arrested for assault and breaking and entering because Haysfire is sure to sic the police on me once he manages to remove the ropes and the gag.

  I enter the hotel and am arrested for suspicion of murder of Haysfire.