The Healing Touch

The boy was getting tired of life. He was walking in measured steps, seeing how tired his legs were. How much more could he stand it. For the last few years, the boy had left his home in search of a new life, something unique, something challenging, something special. He had till now not found anybody who would give him a job. All of them rejected him even before he was allowed to speak.

The boy walked through the old market place, with his cloth bag hung on his shoulder. It contained all his old and precious memories. He treasured it for it were the only remnants of his glorious days, days when his parents used to be proud of him, when he had a lot of friends. But now he was walking in an alien world, where nobody understood him.

He was getting so frustrated these days that his eyebrows had been constricted permanently and his forehead had wrinkles as if he were an old man on his resting bed. He kicked on a nearby stone, with no concern. He heard some voices shout at him. But the boy had developed such a hatred for the world he was the least concerned. He sat down with his hands embracing his legs, and his teeth clenched together. He was so angry, that thoughts came and gone in a flurry. He could not understand why people didn't appreciate his abilities. He bent his head on his knees. He wanted to cry, but he knew that if he did he will accept defeat.

The market was getting busy, as people hurried to complete their shopping, as by the looks of the threatening skies and the fiercely winds a storm was impending. A lightning struck and the boy was shook. He looked up, frightened. He saw a woman totally covered in a black purdah from head to toe, standing just a feet away from him. She must have been observing him for quite some time. The boy was worried why she was looking at him.

The woman bend down on her knees and held the boy's cheeks with her hands. The boy was startled at what was going on. She began to whisper some verses, which the boy couldn't understand. They sounded like Arabic. He felt the warmth of her tender hands. A touch, which he had so much wanted all his life.

She then told the boy in her heavy accent,"Allah, has a divine purpose for you. You must not give up now. Repeat this 'Inshaallah I shall serve my purpose'." The boy couldn't understand why he was being made to repeat this. But she repeated again,"Please repeat after me young boy - 'Inshaallah I shall serve my purpose'." The boy not knowing what to do stuttered,"Insha-allah I shall serve my purpose." The woman lifted her veil partly, smiled and kissed the boy's forehead.
The boy was in a trance. He closed his eyes for a moment...

He slowly opened his eyes and realized the woman had disappeared. The sky was clearing and the traders were closing shop. He lifted his bag and started walking on. His head was relaxed and rejuvenated. His youthful eyes had seen purpose...