A police officer in a Muslim country wrote the following letter to a Shaykh describing the events that led to his return to Allah. He recalls:
Seeing accidents and crash victims was a normal part of my day, but one incident was different.
My partner and I had parked on the shoulder of the highway and began to chat. In a random second, the scene shattered to the hideous sound of metal bodies becoming one. We threw our heads back to see what had happened: a head-on collision, the result of a vehicle slipping into the lane of the oncoming traffic.
You couldn’t describe the carnage. Two young men sprawled in the first car, both in critical condition. We carried them gently away from the car and rested them on the ground.
Quickly we returned to assist the owner of the second car. He was dead. Back we went to the two young men lying side by side on the pavement.
My partner began dictating the Shahadah to them. “Say: La iIaha illAllah (there is no god but Allah), La iIaha illAllah…”
… their tongues wouldn’t acknowledge. They started humming the hypnotic lyrics of some song. I was terrified. My partner had experience however and he kept repeating his instruction.
I stood watching, no movement, eyes locked. Never in my life had I seen anything similar to what was going on before me. In fact, I’ve never actually seen someone die, and never in such a satanic way.
My partner continued to instruct them to say the Shahadah but there was no use. The hum of their song came to a slow silence, slowly. The first one stopped and then the other. Not a stir. Dead.
We carried them to our patrol car, my partner made no effort to speak. Not a whisper between us two as we carried the corpses to the nearest hospital.
The police officer that we mentioned earlier fell back into routine, as he narrates, and started to drift from Allah. But another event happened to him that sealed his faith. He continues:
… What an odd world. After some time, about six months, a strange accident took place. A young man was moving along the highway normally, but within one of the tunnels leading to the city, he was maimed by a flat tire.
To the side of the tunnel he parked and stepped to the back to remove the spare tire. The whistle of a speeding car from behind. In a second, it collided with the crippled car, the young man in-between.
He fell to the ground with critical injuries.
I rushed to the scene, myself and another partner other than the first. Together we carried the young man’s body into our patrol car and phoned the hospital to prepare for his arrival.
He was a young adult in his blossom years. Religious, you could tell from his appearance. He was mumbling when we carried him, but in our rush, we had not paid attention to what he was saying.
However, when we placed him on his back in the patrol car we could make it out. Through the pain his heart was reciting Qur’an! He was so immersed in the recitation … Subhan Allah, you would have never said that this person was in intense pain.
Blood had soaked his clothes crimson red, his bones had clearly snapped in several places.
To tell the truth, he looked like he was staring into the eyes of death.
He continued to read in his unique, tender voice. Reciting each verse in proper rhythm. In my entire life, I had never heard any recitation like it. I said to myself, I’m … I’m going to instruct him to say the Shahadah just like I saw my friend doing; especially since I had previous experience.
My partner and I listened intently to that soft voice. I felt a shiver shock my back and up my arm, the hair stood.
Suddenly, the hymn ceased. I watched silently as his hand rose softly.
He had his index finger pointed upward to the heavens, saying the Shahadah
Then … his head slumpt. Nothing.
I jumped to the back seat, felt his hand, his heart, his breathing. He was dead!
I couldn’t stop staring at him. A tear fell but I hid it in shame. I turned back to my partner and told him that the boy’s life had ceased – he burst out loud crying. Seeing a man cry like that, I could not control myself and my partner faded away behind the fall of my own tears. The patrol car fogged from the emotions.
We arrived at the hospital. As we rushed through the corridors, we told all the doctors, nurses, and onlookers what had happened. So many people were affected by what we said, some stood there speechless and tearful.
No one wanted to lose sight of the boy until they had been assured of the time and place he would be buried.
One of the hospital staff phoned the boys home. His brother picked it up and was told of the accident.
His brother told us about him: He used to go out every Monday to visit his only grandmother outside of town. Whenever he visited her, he made sure to spend time with the poor children idling the streets and the orphans.
The town knew him – he was the one that would bring them the Islamic books and tapes. His dusty Mazda would be filled with rice and sugar and even candies – couldn’t forget the candies – for those families who were in need.
He would not stand for anyone to discourage him from the long journey to that town. He would always politely reply that the long drive gave him time to review his Quran and listen to Islamic lectures on his cassette deck.
And … and that with every step to the town he hoped for the reward he would find with Allah…