Read first: Page 1 – Page 2

A short story: The Nude man – Page 3

He postponed this trip for so many times. He wished he doesn’t have to make it. Unfortunatly he has only little choice as piligrimage is one of the five basic requirements of practicing Islam. He tried to ignore fulfilling that aspect of his religion, but he then decided that it won’t be a wise choice. He already screws up in other things that are out of his hand. He wants to try to do his best where he can. He has to balance between his sins and good deeds in order to be able to make it to heaven.

The night of his trip, he couldn’t sleep. He got so worried and tense. He kept on praying and asking Allah to help him through this trip. He knows himself. He is well aware of how his body works. He needs some support. “Allah, I don’t want to fail you. You know my weakness. I beg you to give me strength to make it right with you. I know that Satan won’t make it easy for me. I will try to be strong. Be with me. Please”.

In Mecca, he found a hard time convincing himself to leave his hotel room. He had to join the crowd around the holy black stone. When he did, he got overwhelmed. He paniced. His urges of letting go of the towel grew stronger and stronger as the crowd grew largert and larger. He tried to ignore those urges by admiring the holiness of the place. It is so vast and sacred. There is a huge space inside the holy Meccan mosk where everyone gathered. Everyone were dressing the same. All of them wearing only a towel around their waists and above their shoulders. They all equal in front of Allah’s eyes. They seemed so pure to him. The differences between them seemed to be vanish. The same faces, the same looks, the same bodies. Everyone seeking the same thing. Worshipping of Allah and heaven.

He thought of why they only wear a towel. He felt it as of a kind of purity and equality. They would be more equal without those towels he told himself. As this thought reach his mind, he paniced. A sound in his head kept telling him to drop the towel. Drop it. Drop it. He grabbed it tighter to his body. He started to sweat and sweat. He kept on moving to ease his mind. He was saved finally with the running ceremony. Everyone moved fast. He found hismelf runing and runing. Running from himself. Running for Allah.

The ceremonies were over. He went back to his room. Exhausted, but happy. He had a feeling of content. A feeling of achievement. He felt some pride in himself for doing what’s right. He lied in his bed. Naked in his room. The trailor of the day’s scenes kept on running in his head. Over and Over. What an experience he thought to himself. It is almost paradise to him. It is the closest thing he has ever experienced to what he feels life should be. If only people wear towels in their daily lives. Allah won’t mind. It should be a good practice for all.

When he got back home things were never like before to him. The memories of his trip to Mecca resided in his brain. He now wears towels all the time at home. His wife and sons think that he went insane. He argue with them that it is the most pure thing he has ever experienced. He says that it is a holy matter to him. He tells them that it helps him keep remembering the time he connected with Allah. He even urges them to do the same.

To be continued…