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10-07-2013, 08:24 PM
Muhammad al-Hasan al-Mahdi
Autumn 2045
Karbala, Iraq
The minarets sounded the sacred call to midday prayer across the sand-blown city. The sunlight glinted off the golden dome of the Mosque of Imam Husayn, and the roars of the people nearly drowned out the call to prayer. Hundreds of thousands gathered, and they continued to pour into the city with every passing day, riding cars, bikes and motorcycles – even camels and horses. Black flags floated atop shouting heads. The Black Flags of Khorosan. CDPS didn't know what to make of the surge of people into the city or their strange behavior, as if drawn like filings to a magnet.
Hasan watched from the steps of the mosque. He kept himself fully shrouded in white cloth, all veiled but his very eyes. He did not say a word. He didn't need to. They just kept coming. This was the final sign he'd needed to know that the time of his announcement was nigh, when he could finally reveal who he was and lead the faithful. The last days were coming – this was what the followers of the last true prophet of God had been waiting for.
Hasan stood and raised his hands. Suddenly silence spread across the peoples like a rippling tidal wave. There is no god but God, and Muhammed is his messenger. Allah show me the way.
In silence he motioned for his four attendants. They approached, bearing four black blankets, and held them up at four separate corners, creating a partition between Hasan and the world outside. Allah answered his prayer and power sprang to his fingertips. Seen only to himself, weaves sprung out and enshrouded him. He knew now that none could see him, even if he moved among them.
When Hasan's attendants dropped the veil, he was gone. The crowd was so stunned at what they'd witnessed that for several seconds there was nothing but silence. Even his attendants bore bewildered expressions.
Hasan stepped down and made his way down the street, straight through the crowd. Southwest. He noticed the people as they began to turn, as if they were looking through him and knew he was there, though they could not see him. It was just as Umm Salama, wife of the Prophet, had said: “The Mahdi would call the whole world from where he is, with no postman, and they will hear him, and even see him.”
One day soon, he would figure out the puzzle of the Tay-al-Arz and make it work for him, if Allah willed it, and then Muslim brother would be able to see Muslim brother no matter how far apart they were separated, as had been prophesied.
His unseen passage captured the gathered faithful's attention as he drew it southwest. Straight toward Mecca. Almost as if they could feel the pull again coming from their holiest of places.
Whispers and murmurs broke out again. There was no denying what they'd seen, and what they'd felt. The Shia faithful had been called, and must obey. A surprisingly large number of Sunni had also come, signifying there were plenty of believers in the impending return of the Mahdi among Islam's dominant sect.
After suffering centuries of misrule by godless infidels, demagogues, and false witnesses, Allah had finally sent his last imam to deliver the holy prophet Muhammad's final message and lead them forth once more.
After one thousand, one hundred and four years, the Major Occultation had come to an end. The Mahdi had returned to the earth to rid the world of injustice and oppression.
Nine years ago
Medina, Saudi Arabia
The Shahadah rang through Muhammad al-Hasan's head, as it always did. There is no god but God, and Muhammad is his messenger. Hasan clung to this and repeated it in his mind as his lips struggled to move, too weak to speak the words. This was the third time he'd been laid out in bed, wracked with fevers, chills, strange hallucinations and other ailments. What was this sickness that plagued him? Was it the will of Allah that he die a horrible, painful death, or was some demon tormenting him?
A woman came in, veiled from head to toe in a proper black hijab. Only her eyes showed. Amira – the trained nurse at the madrassa. Behind her followed a man – her cousin, one of the teachers. Even though Hasan lay wasting away and Amira was only here to tend to his illness, it still was improper for Amira and Hasan to be in the same room together as he was not one of her relatives. Or he probably wasn't. Hasan didn't know where his family came from, having been abandoned at the madrassa doorstep as a young child and raised by the schoolmasters.
It was only the proper thing for the schoolmasters at the madrassa to do to bring him in, in accordance with the Zakat, the fourth pillar of Islam. The orphans and needy must always be cared for. But knowing this had not stopped Hasan's heritage from shaming him deeply – surely his parents had been horrible sinners to abandon their child that way. Perhaps he still shared the stain of their sin, and this was why he was suffering.
Amira took a damp rag and wet down Hasan's forehead. “Allah will reward your faithfulness with health – you must stay strong,” she said.
Amira's cousin glanced at her and shook his head. “This is happening to us because we let the infidels enter our land and establish their own laws. We allowed ourselves to live under godless law that does not follow the true way of Allah's will, and he punishes us by tormenting the most promising and faithful man Allah has ever sent us.”
Amira turned away from Hasan. “This is not the doing of Allah, Bashir.”
Her cousin, Bashir, sneered at her. “You do not understand. All things are the will of Allah, except for the actions of the infidel who has rejected the true way. No one can say this of Hasan, and no infidel is causing his suffering, therefore it must be the doing of Allah.”
Hasan heard the reasoning and found he agreed with it. Yes, it must be the will of God that he suffer. With nothing to do but work and prove himself and learn, he'd always been the model student at the madrassa, though it was not proper to point it out. Humility was the proper way. At age six he'd already memorized the entirety of the Koran, and by age nine he was already years advanced in his various studies.
By the time he was a teen most local sheikhs had clamped down on the stricter religious madrassas, and had driven ones like this underground. A Dominance that attempted to govern Sunni and Shia alike, amid the likes of Arab Christians, secularists, and – the Jews in Israel – could hardly succeed in pleasing all, and there was no place in the law of the Koran in such a dominance governed by a patron trying to keep all happy while answering to a godless European, with lapdog sheikhs running around doing what they thought would please him. Allah was the supreme law, not the Ascendancy.
They'd claimed the schools were radicalizing the students and preparing them for violent and rebellious behavior. The Wahhabi schools had been the hardest hit, but institutions that clung to the Shia way such as Hasan's, a minority though they might have been even in pre-Dominance Saudi Arabia – suffered as well. How was it pleasing to Allah to merely believe in the proper way of law and living, but no longer have the ability to enforce it save through the whims of a Patron who sought different goals?
The answer was easy to Hasan. It was clear through his studies that practice of faith did not mean merely espousing it. It meant seeing Allah's will done and that meant a society where His law was supreme. Not some Patron beholden to a mere man, not to mention the privilege who had the ear of the Ascendancy – A Sunni, of course, and one who accepted the persistence of Israel and tried to sweep certain aspects of Sharia law from the landscape.
Hasan sometimes wondered if he was alone in this belief. So many of the Muslim countries had simply rolled over and begged to be taken in. Would the Dominance really be so eagerly accepted? No, it could not be. There must be those who wanted a return to a proper rule – in accordance with the law of the Prophet. The loss of the last Caliphate and balkanization of the Middle East in the last century had been hard, especially to people who still bore grudges over the Crusades. Loss of autonomy – even with freedom to worship being afforded them, just wasn't going to ever sit well. Would the westerners never learn that true freedom was living in a world perfectly aligned with the will of Allah?
No. Time dulled the sting of old injustices, but it would never put out the flame of the faithful. After millennium of war over who would inherit the holy land and the right to speak in the Holy Prophet's name, it seemed to Hasan that perhaps the arrival of the Ascendancy might finally be the catalyst that brought Sunni and Shia together.
There would come a day of reckoning. Hasan was sure of it. It had been prophecised in the Koran and passed on among those who proclaimed themselves followers of the Shia tradition. They were still in the period of the Major Occultation. Some day, possibly some day soon, the occultation would conclude and the Mahdi – the Twelfth Imam, the twelfth heir to the voice of the Prophet – would return, and would restore the world to its proper alignment in the eyes of Allah.
These thoughts came and went as Hasan lay in bed, tormented. As he struggled to breathe, he found his mind pondering recent events in his own life. Things had been happening that Hasan couldn't explain, aside from the sickness. He seemed lucky all of a sudden. Six days ago, while he'd been helping restore the brick facing on the minaret, a chunk of stone had fallen from directly above, but had inexplicably tumbled to one side, missing him. Other things like this had happened. And they always happened along with the bouts of illness. It seemed on the one side he was favored by Allah but then punished.
Or perhaps Allah was trying to show him something through this sickness. Hasan resolved to look down that path as soon as he was able – if he survived this time.
There is no god but God and Muhammad is his messenger.
Three Years ago
Medina, Saudi Arabia
Hasan bent his knees and laid his head down, pointing to Mecca. There is no god but God and Muhammad is his messenger. The sickness was gone. And in Hasan's unwavering faith, Allah had rewarded him tenfold.
He understood, now. Allah was preparing him for harder times to come, like the steel that must be heated and folded to become the sword. And Allah had bestowed upon Hasan the gift of the Keramat. Every time he wished for it, the gift of Allah came, and with it he found he could perform miracles. The secret was in the how, and the holy Koran paved the way.
The Tay-al-Arz. That miracle continued to fascinate him. Solomon had commanded the throne of Sheba to be brought to him, and it was done. Others used this blessing to move in an instant from one place to another. As it was described, it seemed to Hasan that it was not so much one person moving across the world in an instant as it was the world moving to the person. For that, he realized, one had to know where he was to begin with.
Bashir stood from his prayer and mumbled that he was going to go and fetch his cousin. Hasan barely heard him.
There is no god but God. Hasan felt himself flooded with the gift of Keramat. He knew where he was – he knew who he was. Allah's humble servant who wished to make the most of the gift he'd been bestowed. And to do that he needed to discern Allah's will, and the best way to figure that out was to find what he was able to do with his gift.
He sent – weaves – out. It felt natural. He felt like something should have happened, but it didn't. Plainly careful study must be undertaken on that matter. He tried again – attempting to poke a hole this time through the reality before him and –
Something split in the earth beneath him, and he found himself falling. No, this was certainly not the Tay-al-Arz. This was Hasan having managed to crumble the foundations beneath him. So much for knowing where he was. He fell with a crash in some sort of underground passage.
Wind knocked out of him, he clutched himself for a moment, gasping for air. The feeling passed, and he looked about himself to center his surroundings. He was in an open cavity and saw nothing but darkness above. An old sewer, perhaps. He crouched – the passage would not allow for him to stand – and brushed off bits of plaster and dust. To his side, though, long off in the distance, a ray of light shone down, illuminating a bit of the tunnel. He made his way on all four limbs, crawling until the light shone directly above him.
The way is being lit for me. So he began to climb. He made little rungs of solid air be with the gift of Allah that coursed through him, and began to climb. Rung by rung, like climbing a ladder, he ascended, and the light grew brighter and brighter. He saw the sky. It was like he was being lifted to the heavens.
His head poked above the surface. He'd been in a well. He put his arms out and lifted himself out – and saw his teacher Bashir directly before him.
The man glanced back at the mosque, and turned again to Hasan in surprise. “You – you were –how did I not see you pass--” He glanced about and suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs : “ALLAH HAS SENT US A MIRACLE!”
That got some attention. Passers-by began to cluster in groups as Bashir struggled to get his breath back. Hasan put his feet on the ground and came to grasp his teacher's shoulder, helping the man to his feet. Bashir explained what he'd seen – leaving Hasan in the mosque, and finding him appearing before him as he emerged from the well – it was impossible. Impossible unless Hasan had been transported there by Allah.
Bashir knelt. Hasan glanced around. The provincial sheikh wasn't too keen on deeply religious displays or gatherings among too many at once. He wasn't supposed to send Custodians out to break up public gatherings, but it happened – often with some flimsy excuse of a pretext to disperse, and especially if Shiites were involved. Hasan honestly didn't know if it had to with some prejudice or perhaps old grievances borne by the local governor, or if perhaps they were instructions taken from the Patron. None of them came, though. “Muhammad al-Hasan,” Bashir said. It wasn't often that his teacher used his full name. “It is as written in the Koran. You bear the name of the Prophet. And what I have seen – my entire life I have studied the teachings.”
Bashir took another breath. “I believe – no, I proclaim – you, Hasan, are the Mahdi, come back to lead us!”
The crowd cheered. Hasan fought the emotions swelling up within him. Was Bashir crazy? Even under Custody law, where stoning and mob justice was prohibited, it was still not unknown for a false declaration of someone to be the twelfth Imam returned from his absence to be subjugated to harsh punishment. However...
Muhammad al-Hasan al-Mahdi, the twelfth Imam, was supposed to return from his absence in a time of great injustice to cleanse the world of the unfaithful. This was clear according to prophecy. And he was to covertly reveal himself...here. In Medina. Was this why Allah had chosen Hasan to bear this gift of the Keramat?
Hasan took Bashir by the arm and pulled him back, toward the Mosque. “Teacher, I believe we have some things to discuss.”
* * *
Hasan had expected Bashir to be a stark raving lunatic, but things the man had said actually made sense. Hasan had been found as a young boy – roughly the age the twelfth Imam would have been when he disappeared a millennium and more ago. Also, Hasan possessed the gift of the Keramat that Allah had bestowed upon him. He found it hard to deny that perhaps he was destined to be the Mahdi come back to lead in the final days.
Also, it occurred to Hasan that although the coming of the Mahdi as the Twelfth Imam returned from occultation was predominantly a Shia belief, the Sunni majority of Muslims did also harbor a belief in the Mahdi which would return in the final days. Perhaps – if played right – the foretold Return could perhaps draw support from Sunni and Shia alike – maybe it could finally be a uniting factor among the two sects.
Unusual things began to happen in the months and years that followed. People in Medina began to speak of dreaming of the same things Hasan himself dreamed of at night. Sometimes he heard of the exact same things he'd dreamed – supplicant before Allah, in worship, people following him as they turned their backs upon all but the supreme will of God as revealed to his true messenger. At times on the march, turning to the sword to put out the eyes of wickedness and the hands of sin that festered in the world and in the hearts of men. Other strange things happened. One morning a young woman was found strangled to death outside her car. Apparently the trail of her hijab had caught as she'd shut the door and she'd slipped, choking to death with none to witness. An investigation had revealed she'd been carrying on an affair of some sort. Another man – a faithful nomadic shepherd fallen on hard times -- claimed every one of his ewes had lambed litters of five lambs each one year, though it was uncommon in the particular breed he'd had to get more than one or two for each birthing. Were these things bizarre chance, or Allah manifesting his will around Hasan?
No, it was undeniable to him. There was no chance. There was only the righteous path to take, and Hasan was clearly being called to act.
So Hasan and Bashir began to receive visitors. They put out messages to wealthy men of faith and influential spiritual leaders – scholars, ayatollahs, local leaders. Ones whose advice he felt he could trust, and who would keep quiet if necessary. He invited Sunni, Shia – even several Sufites. Even a secular scholar from the United States of all places. Several had refused to even speak on the subject of the Mahdi being returned until Hasan demonstrated some sort of miracle for them. Allah continued to bless him unconditionally with the gift of Keramat. By and large, they agreed. Hasan was clearly being called for something great, and the signs and prophecies were right – he could very well be the Mahdi. And if that were the case, only Allah could set his path for him.
Hasan continued to meditate, and pray. And he continued to learn more of what he could do with Allah's gift of power. He learned he was able to detect sickness in people with it, and sometimes cure ailments and injuries with just his touch and faith that it was the will of God to be done. People began to come to him for his healing ability. He tried to keep it quiet, but he suspected it was starting to spread beyond just Medina that he could do this. He learned with just the right touch, he could send out what he called “weaves” and carry his voice across great distances. Many of the miracles laid out in the holy books he found he was able to do. He could walk on water, pass through fire without being harmed – and he could shield himself or others from the eyes of all but Allah. These things he was careful to reveal only to a trusted few, for now. The miracle of the Tay-al-Arz still eluded him, but he resolved to figure it out, if it was willed.
More visitors came for spiritual guidance, and Hasan quickly found himself to be considered the head imam in Medina. Local authorities even began to defer to him at times. He preached and offered advice and, at times, handed down justice when approached with requests to do so. And people followed him. They believed he'd been anointed by God.
He meditated, prayed, and planned. And he decided. He would be God's servant and take up the role. He'd establish Allah's reign on earth. And he'd do it by going back to the original Word – disregarding the interpretations that caused so many divisions among the Muslim faithful. He would put his faith in God and his messenger, and would heal the rent between Sunni and Shia that went against everything Allah had intended.
So he began to travel, and speak at mosques, always veiled when away from Medina, and he prepared for his first great revelation.
Present day
Mecca
Muhammad al-Hasan al-Mahdi stood before the black frame of the Kabbah. The followers came, as they always did, on the Hajj, to visit the center of the Islamic world. And right now it revolved around him.
More pilgrims arrived, and more and more, they came bearing flags. White from the west. Black from the east. The faithful would come – he could feel it – and restore the land to the perfect image Allah had intended for his true followers.
The time had come. Hasan stood and dropped his veil.
Autumn 2045
Karbala, Iraq
The minarets sounded the sacred call to midday prayer across the sand-blown city. The sunlight glinted off the golden dome of the Mosque of Imam Husayn, and the roars of the people nearly drowned out the call to prayer. Hundreds of thousands gathered, and they continued to pour into the city with every passing day, riding cars, bikes and motorcycles – even camels and horses. Black flags floated atop shouting heads. The Black Flags of Khorosan. CDPS didn't know what to make of the surge of people into the city or their strange behavior, as if drawn like filings to a magnet.
Hasan watched from the steps of the mosque. He kept himself fully shrouded in white cloth, all veiled but his very eyes. He did not say a word. He didn't need to. They just kept coming. This was the final sign he'd needed to know that the time of his announcement was nigh, when he could finally reveal who he was and lead the faithful. The last days were coming – this was what the followers of the last true prophet of God had been waiting for.
Hasan stood and raised his hands. Suddenly silence spread across the peoples like a rippling tidal wave. There is no god but God, and Muhammed is his messenger. Allah show me the way.
In silence he motioned for his four attendants. They approached, bearing four black blankets, and held them up at four separate corners, creating a partition between Hasan and the world outside. Allah answered his prayer and power sprang to his fingertips. Seen only to himself, weaves sprung out and enshrouded him. He knew now that none could see him, even if he moved among them.
When Hasan's attendants dropped the veil, he was gone. The crowd was so stunned at what they'd witnessed that for several seconds there was nothing but silence. Even his attendants bore bewildered expressions.
Hasan stepped down and made his way down the street, straight through the crowd. Southwest. He noticed the people as they began to turn, as if they were looking through him and knew he was there, though they could not see him. It was just as Umm Salama, wife of the Prophet, had said: “The Mahdi would call the whole world from where he is, with no postman, and they will hear him, and even see him.”
One day soon, he would figure out the puzzle of the Tay-al-Arz and make it work for him, if Allah willed it, and then Muslim brother would be able to see Muslim brother no matter how far apart they were separated, as had been prophesied.
His unseen passage captured the gathered faithful's attention as he drew it southwest. Straight toward Mecca. Almost as if they could feel the pull again coming from their holiest of places.
Whispers and murmurs broke out again. There was no denying what they'd seen, and what they'd felt. The Shia faithful had been called, and must obey. A surprisingly large number of Sunni had also come, signifying there were plenty of believers in the impending return of the Mahdi among Islam's dominant sect.
After suffering centuries of misrule by godless infidels, demagogues, and false witnesses, Allah had finally sent his last imam to deliver the holy prophet Muhammad's final message and lead them forth once more.
After one thousand, one hundred and four years, the Major Occultation had come to an end. The Mahdi had returned to the earth to rid the world of injustice and oppression.
Nine years ago
Medina, Saudi Arabia
The Shahadah rang through Muhammad al-Hasan's head, as it always did. There is no god but God, and Muhammad is his messenger. Hasan clung to this and repeated it in his mind as his lips struggled to move, too weak to speak the words. This was the third time he'd been laid out in bed, wracked with fevers, chills, strange hallucinations and other ailments. What was this sickness that plagued him? Was it the will of Allah that he die a horrible, painful death, or was some demon tormenting him?
A woman came in, veiled from head to toe in a proper black hijab. Only her eyes showed. Amira – the trained nurse at the madrassa. Behind her followed a man – her cousin, one of the teachers. Even though Hasan lay wasting away and Amira was only here to tend to his illness, it still was improper for Amira and Hasan to be in the same room together as he was not one of her relatives. Or he probably wasn't. Hasan didn't know where his family came from, having been abandoned at the madrassa doorstep as a young child and raised by the schoolmasters.
It was only the proper thing for the schoolmasters at the madrassa to do to bring him in, in accordance with the Zakat, the fourth pillar of Islam. The orphans and needy must always be cared for. But knowing this had not stopped Hasan's heritage from shaming him deeply – surely his parents had been horrible sinners to abandon their child that way. Perhaps he still shared the stain of their sin, and this was why he was suffering.
Amira took a damp rag and wet down Hasan's forehead. “Allah will reward your faithfulness with health – you must stay strong,” she said.
Amira's cousin glanced at her and shook his head. “This is happening to us because we let the infidels enter our land and establish their own laws. We allowed ourselves to live under godless law that does not follow the true way of Allah's will, and he punishes us by tormenting the most promising and faithful man Allah has ever sent us.”
Amira turned away from Hasan. “This is not the doing of Allah, Bashir.”
Her cousin, Bashir, sneered at her. “You do not understand. All things are the will of Allah, except for the actions of the infidel who has rejected the true way. No one can say this of Hasan, and no infidel is causing his suffering, therefore it must be the doing of Allah.”
Hasan heard the reasoning and found he agreed with it. Yes, it must be the will of God that he suffer. With nothing to do but work and prove himself and learn, he'd always been the model student at the madrassa, though it was not proper to point it out. Humility was the proper way. At age six he'd already memorized the entirety of the Koran, and by age nine he was already years advanced in his various studies.
By the time he was a teen most local sheikhs had clamped down on the stricter religious madrassas, and had driven ones like this underground. A Dominance that attempted to govern Sunni and Shia alike, amid the likes of Arab Christians, secularists, and – the Jews in Israel – could hardly succeed in pleasing all, and there was no place in the law of the Koran in such a dominance governed by a patron trying to keep all happy while answering to a godless European, with lapdog sheikhs running around doing what they thought would please him. Allah was the supreme law, not the Ascendancy.
They'd claimed the schools were radicalizing the students and preparing them for violent and rebellious behavior. The Wahhabi schools had been the hardest hit, but institutions that clung to the Shia way such as Hasan's, a minority though they might have been even in pre-Dominance Saudi Arabia – suffered as well. How was it pleasing to Allah to merely believe in the proper way of law and living, but no longer have the ability to enforce it save through the whims of a Patron who sought different goals?
The answer was easy to Hasan. It was clear through his studies that practice of faith did not mean merely espousing it. It meant seeing Allah's will done and that meant a society where His law was supreme. Not some Patron beholden to a mere man, not to mention the privilege who had the ear of the Ascendancy – A Sunni, of course, and one who accepted the persistence of Israel and tried to sweep certain aspects of Sharia law from the landscape.
Hasan sometimes wondered if he was alone in this belief. So many of the Muslim countries had simply rolled over and begged to be taken in. Would the Dominance really be so eagerly accepted? No, it could not be. There must be those who wanted a return to a proper rule – in accordance with the law of the Prophet. The loss of the last Caliphate and balkanization of the Middle East in the last century had been hard, especially to people who still bore grudges over the Crusades. Loss of autonomy – even with freedom to worship being afforded them, just wasn't going to ever sit well. Would the westerners never learn that true freedom was living in a world perfectly aligned with the will of Allah?
No. Time dulled the sting of old injustices, but it would never put out the flame of the faithful. After millennium of war over who would inherit the holy land and the right to speak in the Holy Prophet's name, it seemed to Hasan that perhaps the arrival of the Ascendancy might finally be the catalyst that brought Sunni and Shia together.
There would come a day of reckoning. Hasan was sure of it. It had been prophecised in the Koran and passed on among those who proclaimed themselves followers of the Shia tradition. They were still in the period of the Major Occultation. Some day, possibly some day soon, the occultation would conclude and the Mahdi – the Twelfth Imam, the twelfth heir to the voice of the Prophet – would return, and would restore the world to its proper alignment in the eyes of Allah.
These thoughts came and went as Hasan lay in bed, tormented. As he struggled to breathe, he found his mind pondering recent events in his own life. Things had been happening that Hasan couldn't explain, aside from the sickness. He seemed lucky all of a sudden. Six days ago, while he'd been helping restore the brick facing on the minaret, a chunk of stone had fallen from directly above, but had inexplicably tumbled to one side, missing him. Other things like this had happened. And they always happened along with the bouts of illness. It seemed on the one side he was favored by Allah but then punished.
Or perhaps Allah was trying to show him something through this sickness. Hasan resolved to look down that path as soon as he was able – if he survived this time.
There is no god but God and Muhammad is his messenger.
Three Years ago
Medina, Saudi Arabia
Hasan bent his knees and laid his head down, pointing to Mecca. There is no god but God and Muhammad is his messenger. The sickness was gone. And in Hasan's unwavering faith, Allah had rewarded him tenfold.
He understood, now. Allah was preparing him for harder times to come, like the steel that must be heated and folded to become the sword. And Allah had bestowed upon Hasan the gift of the Keramat. Every time he wished for it, the gift of Allah came, and with it he found he could perform miracles. The secret was in the how, and the holy Koran paved the way.
The Tay-al-Arz. That miracle continued to fascinate him. Solomon had commanded the throne of Sheba to be brought to him, and it was done. Others used this blessing to move in an instant from one place to another. As it was described, it seemed to Hasan that it was not so much one person moving across the world in an instant as it was the world moving to the person. For that, he realized, one had to know where he was to begin with.
Bashir stood from his prayer and mumbled that he was going to go and fetch his cousin. Hasan barely heard him.
There is no god but God. Hasan felt himself flooded with the gift of Keramat. He knew where he was – he knew who he was. Allah's humble servant who wished to make the most of the gift he'd been bestowed. And to do that he needed to discern Allah's will, and the best way to figure that out was to find what he was able to do with his gift.
He sent – weaves – out. It felt natural. He felt like something should have happened, but it didn't. Plainly careful study must be undertaken on that matter. He tried again – attempting to poke a hole this time through the reality before him and –
Something split in the earth beneath him, and he found himself falling. No, this was certainly not the Tay-al-Arz. This was Hasan having managed to crumble the foundations beneath him. So much for knowing where he was. He fell with a crash in some sort of underground passage.
Wind knocked out of him, he clutched himself for a moment, gasping for air. The feeling passed, and he looked about himself to center his surroundings. He was in an open cavity and saw nothing but darkness above. An old sewer, perhaps. He crouched – the passage would not allow for him to stand – and brushed off bits of plaster and dust. To his side, though, long off in the distance, a ray of light shone down, illuminating a bit of the tunnel. He made his way on all four limbs, crawling until the light shone directly above him.
The way is being lit for me. So he began to climb. He made little rungs of solid air be with the gift of Allah that coursed through him, and began to climb. Rung by rung, like climbing a ladder, he ascended, and the light grew brighter and brighter. He saw the sky. It was like he was being lifted to the heavens.
His head poked above the surface. He'd been in a well. He put his arms out and lifted himself out – and saw his teacher Bashir directly before him.
The man glanced back at the mosque, and turned again to Hasan in surprise. “You – you were –how did I not see you pass--” He glanced about and suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs : “ALLAH HAS SENT US A MIRACLE!”
That got some attention. Passers-by began to cluster in groups as Bashir struggled to get his breath back. Hasan put his feet on the ground and came to grasp his teacher's shoulder, helping the man to his feet. Bashir explained what he'd seen – leaving Hasan in the mosque, and finding him appearing before him as he emerged from the well – it was impossible. Impossible unless Hasan had been transported there by Allah.
Bashir knelt. Hasan glanced around. The provincial sheikh wasn't too keen on deeply religious displays or gatherings among too many at once. He wasn't supposed to send Custodians out to break up public gatherings, but it happened – often with some flimsy excuse of a pretext to disperse, and especially if Shiites were involved. Hasan honestly didn't know if it had to with some prejudice or perhaps old grievances borne by the local governor, or if perhaps they were instructions taken from the Patron. None of them came, though. “Muhammad al-Hasan,” Bashir said. It wasn't often that his teacher used his full name. “It is as written in the Koran. You bear the name of the Prophet. And what I have seen – my entire life I have studied the teachings.”
Bashir took another breath. “I believe – no, I proclaim – you, Hasan, are the Mahdi, come back to lead us!”
The crowd cheered. Hasan fought the emotions swelling up within him. Was Bashir crazy? Even under Custody law, where stoning and mob justice was prohibited, it was still not unknown for a false declaration of someone to be the twelfth Imam returned from his absence to be subjugated to harsh punishment. However...
Muhammad al-Hasan al-Mahdi, the twelfth Imam, was supposed to return from his absence in a time of great injustice to cleanse the world of the unfaithful. This was clear according to prophecy. And he was to covertly reveal himself...here. In Medina. Was this why Allah had chosen Hasan to bear this gift of the Keramat?
Hasan took Bashir by the arm and pulled him back, toward the Mosque. “Teacher, I believe we have some things to discuss.”
* * *
Hasan had expected Bashir to be a stark raving lunatic, but things the man had said actually made sense. Hasan had been found as a young boy – roughly the age the twelfth Imam would have been when he disappeared a millennium and more ago. Also, Hasan possessed the gift of the Keramat that Allah had bestowed upon him. He found it hard to deny that perhaps he was destined to be the Mahdi come back to lead in the final days.
Also, it occurred to Hasan that although the coming of the Mahdi as the Twelfth Imam returned from occultation was predominantly a Shia belief, the Sunni majority of Muslims did also harbor a belief in the Mahdi which would return in the final days. Perhaps – if played right – the foretold Return could perhaps draw support from Sunni and Shia alike – maybe it could finally be a uniting factor among the two sects.
Unusual things began to happen in the months and years that followed. People in Medina began to speak of dreaming of the same things Hasan himself dreamed of at night. Sometimes he heard of the exact same things he'd dreamed – supplicant before Allah, in worship, people following him as they turned their backs upon all but the supreme will of God as revealed to his true messenger. At times on the march, turning to the sword to put out the eyes of wickedness and the hands of sin that festered in the world and in the hearts of men. Other strange things happened. One morning a young woman was found strangled to death outside her car. Apparently the trail of her hijab had caught as she'd shut the door and she'd slipped, choking to death with none to witness. An investigation had revealed she'd been carrying on an affair of some sort. Another man – a faithful nomadic shepherd fallen on hard times -- claimed every one of his ewes had lambed litters of five lambs each one year, though it was uncommon in the particular breed he'd had to get more than one or two for each birthing. Were these things bizarre chance, or Allah manifesting his will around Hasan?
No, it was undeniable to him. There was no chance. There was only the righteous path to take, and Hasan was clearly being called to act.
So Hasan and Bashir began to receive visitors. They put out messages to wealthy men of faith and influential spiritual leaders – scholars, ayatollahs, local leaders. Ones whose advice he felt he could trust, and who would keep quiet if necessary. He invited Sunni, Shia – even several Sufites. Even a secular scholar from the United States of all places. Several had refused to even speak on the subject of the Mahdi being returned until Hasan demonstrated some sort of miracle for them. Allah continued to bless him unconditionally with the gift of Keramat. By and large, they agreed. Hasan was clearly being called for something great, and the signs and prophecies were right – he could very well be the Mahdi. And if that were the case, only Allah could set his path for him.
Hasan continued to meditate, and pray. And he continued to learn more of what he could do with Allah's gift of power. He learned he was able to detect sickness in people with it, and sometimes cure ailments and injuries with just his touch and faith that it was the will of God to be done. People began to come to him for his healing ability. He tried to keep it quiet, but he suspected it was starting to spread beyond just Medina that he could do this. He learned with just the right touch, he could send out what he called “weaves” and carry his voice across great distances. Many of the miracles laid out in the holy books he found he was able to do. He could walk on water, pass through fire without being harmed – and he could shield himself or others from the eyes of all but Allah. These things he was careful to reveal only to a trusted few, for now. The miracle of the Tay-al-Arz still eluded him, but he resolved to figure it out, if it was willed.
More visitors came for spiritual guidance, and Hasan quickly found himself to be considered the head imam in Medina. Local authorities even began to defer to him at times. He preached and offered advice and, at times, handed down justice when approached with requests to do so. And people followed him. They believed he'd been anointed by God.
He meditated, prayed, and planned. And he decided. He would be God's servant and take up the role. He'd establish Allah's reign on earth. And he'd do it by going back to the original Word – disregarding the interpretations that caused so many divisions among the Muslim faithful. He would put his faith in God and his messenger, and would heal the rent between Sunni and Shia that went against everything Allah had intended.
So he began to travel, and speak at mosques, always veiled when away from Medina, and he prepared for his first great revelation.
Present day
Mecca
Muhammad al-Hasan al-Mahdi stood before the black frame of the Kabbah. The followers came, as they always did, on the Hajj, to visit the center of the Islamic world. And right now it revolved around him.
More pilgrims arrived, and more and more, they came bearing flags. White from the west. Black from the east. The faithful would come – he could feel it – and restore the land to the perfect image Allah had intended for his true followers.
The time had come. Hasan stood and dropped his veil.