Fiction: Fifty Sins

This is chapter two of a series: read here

As he grabbed me by the neck, pushing me to the mosque’s courtyard, I thought to myself how much easier it would be to just not be here anymore. I also thought, and may Allah forgive me, how much easier it would be if I was born a Kafir. An ignorant Kafir, of course. With no knowledge of anything in Islam. I wouldn’t have to force myself to be obedient to any of these people. Not the Mosque’s gatekeepers — who take attendance of who has attended and who has not attended each prayer — not the Wudhu’man — who make sure you do every step of the wudhu right — not the prayer watchers — who keep an eye on how you pray to make sure you pray with khusho’.

A splash of ice-cold water hits my face from above, dripping down my entire body. Breathing hard and panting, I think to myself “Alhamdulilah” or perhaps I said it aloud, because clearly the Wudhu’man, who was punishing me, did not like it and did not think the bucket was enough. He decided to bring out the whip. Every mosque watcher had the authority to punish anyone who, in their opinion, made any mistake. The whip was bloody, worn out, and clearly had recently been used to punish someone.

With each flog, I would scream and yell
First Flog: “Bismillah” This was for all the times I lied to my parents.
Second Flog: “Ya Allah” This was for all the times I skipped my Qur’an lessons.
Third Flog: “Bismillah” This was for all the times I masturbated.
Fourth flog: “Alhamdulilah” This was for the all times I didn’t wake up for Fajr.
Fifth flog (an even harder whip than the previous ones): “Allah!” This was for the time I kissed a girl.

For each flog, I gave myself a sin for deserving it. By the end of it, I had hoped, that I had repented all of my sins.

By the fiftieth flog, my entire body, including my face was red, bloodied. Tears ran down my face as I lay on the mosque courtyard’s floor. But I pulled myself up. I thought of whether my Wudhu still counted or if I should do it again. I took one look at the Wudhu room, saw the Wudhu’man, with the whip still in his hands — now with my blood on it — standing at the door watching. I then thought to myself that Allah’s mercy was by my side.

I prayed “Allahu Akbar”