On The Way to Heaven (A Short Story)

It is believed that the gates of Heaven lie at the end of the road above Hell. We have to walk down a dreary road, as thick as a hair can possibly be and paved with claws, in order to reach the gates of Heaven. Some people will be lucky and move fast on this road, they will race each other to the Gates. Some others, like myself, will stumble and fall and maybe even never make it half way and become the wood that feeds the hell mouth open beneath them, or they will stumble and fall but they will still reach the Gates with bleeding hands and worn off feet. That is what we were brought up to believe. I do believe, the problem is not in believing, the problem is losing hope in redemption. 

As we were brought up to believe that it is our sins that will stand as obstacles between us and the Holy Gates, we were also brought up to believe that by repenting to Allah, he will forgive all our sins and help us through to Heaven. As sinful as I might be, as sinful as anybody might reach, there is still hope for everybody to go back to Allah and repent, a pure and honest repentance, if I want Allah to accept me in. I have to believe that Allah will accept my repentance so that he would actually accept it. If I have no belief, then I’m expelled from his redemption. I believe in that as well, but there are those moments of fear; doubt if I may say, that often hit the hearts of those who are lost as I am. What if I’m true in my wishes but still I’m not accepted in his mercy? What would become of me if I sin, repent, then sin again, then repent again and I die on sin before I have the chance to repent the most honest and truthful repentance I ever have to give? Will I feed hell, will I stumble and make it half way to the Gates, or will I just end nowhere but between the two worlds of sin and virtue?

This doubt overwhelmed me so much when I was standing yesterday in the street and it rained. It didn’t rain so heavily, but my mother, standing beside me, was getting wet. She was so excited about the rain. It is believed that if you ask Allah for something when it’s raining, Allah will grant your wishes and bring them to life. She was grateful for the rain but I wasn’t; it didn’t rain on me, I didn’t get wet as she did. I almost didn’t believe her when she told me that it was raining until I saw her sleeves getting darker with the rain droplets and I saw the street getting washed up and cleaned off their killing desolation. This was my moment of doubt, the strongest doubt I ever had about my destiny after life.

I then kept wondering, it didn’t rain on me although it’s raining all around me, am I that lost that I cannot be purged? Water is a symbol of purging and repentance and purity, so am I that sinful that the decay have reached so deep in me that water can’t help and now there is only place for fire to try making its statement? Will I not be redeemed and I’ll be one of those on which Hell mouth will triumph when it’s swallowing my frail body into its wrath? That is when I believed that I’m so lost beyond the hope of help to reach my wretched existence.

As broken as I was in these few seconds of havoc and wretchedness, I looked up at the sky when the first drop of rain hit my face. I looked at the clarity of the clouds and at the baby blue color filling the world around me and endorsing me with hope one more time. Maybe it was all a wakeup call not to lose hope. Maybe it was a call form Allah asking me to repent so that he would welcome me back in his Blessed Kingdom. Maybe my Kingdom of Heaven still awaits my presence and just is urging me to work a little bit harder so that I’d thrive in its goodness, maybe!

It was all a few seconds of belief and disbelief. A few seconds that awakened a giant troll sleeping. A few seconds that provoked a relentless storm of thought that then exploded and left its ruins everywhere in my head. Perhaps this all was just a daydream that didn’t want to end, leaving me with a lost mind and a tortured souls upon the remains of what was once a faithful heart with the solemn wish of finding its way back to God. Perhaps it’s still my call to make, whether to find my way back to heaven or to stay astray from the road of redemption.