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A story of dignity and divine justice

Published : Monday, 14 April, 2025 at 12:00 AM  Count : 1101
Jahar Yousuf
There are stories that entertain. Some instruct. And then, there are those rare narratives that grip the heart so tightly, they change the way we see the world-even if just for a moment. One such story can be found in the heart of Rumi's Masnawi, a centuries-old collection of wisdom that remains urgently relevant in today's world scarred by injustice.

It is the story of a saintly scholar-unnamed, yet unforgettable. Known for his generosity, he lived not in excess but in service. He borrowed frequently-not to amass wealth but to give. With every coin he received, he fed the hungry, clothed the poor, and uplifted the desperate. He was a man who understood the world not through the lens of possession, but of responsibility. And in return, he trusted that Allah would always provide. For years, that divine trust held true.

But then came illness. Severe and sudden, it dragged the scholar to the edge of death. As his body failed him, so too did the comfort of those around him. News of his condition spread, and soon, those he had borrowed from came knocking. They did not come to pray. They came to whisper. They circled his bed, talking among themselves in hushed tones-"How much does he owe you?" "Will anyone settle the debts after he's gone?" "Is there no one to take responsibility?"

The scholar heard every word. And each one struck deeper than any affliction of the body. For a man who had dedicated his life to others, dying with a name muddied by suspicion was more painful than death itself.

Then, as if scripted by the unseen, a child passed by-a young vendor carrying a heavy tray of halwa, a simple dessert. The saint beckoned him inside and asked him to serve the gathered guests. The child, delighted at the prospect of selling all his goods at once, gladly obliged. He handed out the sweets to the men surrounding the bed, his eyes full of hope that his day's work would end early and well.

When the tray was empty, he turned to the saint and asked for payment.

"I have nothing to give you," the old man said softly.

The child's smile vanished. His tiny hands gripped the tray tighter as his voice cracked, "How will I return to my master with an empty tray? He will beat me. He will insult my mother. He will mock my family. What have you done to me?"

The traders, now emboldened, murmured again. "He's done to the boy what he did to us." Disgust grew in their eyes. The room became heavier with judgment.

The child, overwhelmed by fear and betrayal, threw his tray to the ground and began to weep. It was not the weeping of inconvenience. It was the heartbreak of a young soul who had tasted kindness only to be left with injustice. And in that tearful moment, the entire room stood still.

Just then, a knock echoed at the door.

A man entered carrying a pouch and a purpose. "I bring zakat," he said. "A Muslim brother sent this for the saint."

"How much is owed?" someone asked.

"Four hundred gold coins," came the reply.

Without delay, the man placed the exact sum into the saint's hands. Every creditor was repaid. Even the child received his due.

The scholar turned to those around him and said, "This wealth was always coming. It was written. But the pain of that child, his honest cry, was so powerful, it reached the heavens and summoned what was already destined to arrive. It came not because of your judgment, but because of his innocence."

The room fell silent. Shame washed over those who had doubted him. They filed out one by one, their heads bowed-not just out of remorse, but from having witnessed the quiet power of divine justice.

From Story to Reality: The Echoes of Palestine
This tale, while ancient, is not frozen in time. Its heart beats in every corner of our modern world where injustice still reigns. Today, it echoes from the rubble of Gaza, the ruins of Rafah and Khan Yunus, and the vast areas-turned-graveyards of Palestine. Children cry-not for sweets, but for mothers buried in bombed-out homes. Women scream-not for missed payment, but for sons wrapped in shrouds. And still, those in power debate, whisper, calculate. As if the pain of the oppressed is a political variable, not a human truth.

But just like the boy with the tray, their cries do not vanish into silence. Their voices, too, rise to the Divine.

The Qur'an speaks with chilling clarity:
"And do not think Allah is unaware of what the wrongdoers do. He only delays them until a Day when eyes will stare in horror." -Surah Ibrahim (14:42)

Justice may be delayed-but it is never denied.

The moral is not hidden: when the cries of the innocent rise, even the heavens respond. And those who trample the weak today will find themselves broken under the very weight they imposed on others. Tyranny, no matter how polished or powerful, has a short shelf life.

So let this story remind us that while human systems may fail, divine justice never sleeps. And sometimes, all it takes to move the world-is a child's cry.

The is an independent researcher and social observer from Barishal, Bangladesh, with a background in medical studies and a focus on Islamic thought, ethics, and justice


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