Fulfil Your Covenant, If You Are True to It

You said: “The sacred land belongs only to those who water it with pure blood—those who do not know submission, who do not fear death.” So we submitted to you. Your words struck our hearts like revelation—they stirred our limbs and ignited in our souls a flame that will never die.

And you said, as you filled us with the glow of īmān and the longing for sacrifice: “I will not be pleased until I see you praying under the shade of swords, where there is no safety but in the shield of faith, and no covering but the armour of certainty.” So we said: Labayk! At your service! Your pleasure is dearer to us than our lives and more precious than all that this world holds.

Let the seven heavens and the earths and all that lies between them bear witness: we stood firm upon your covenant, rooted like tree trunks in the face of storm. We challenged death with foreheads prostrate to You alone, while missiles rained down on our heads. We did not flee, nor turn back. We recited Qurʾān beneath the blaze of fire as if beneath the tranquillity of peace—bowing, prostrating—as though we were created solely for prayer upon this bleeding land, as our masājid were demolished and our homes collapsed upon us. We knew no defeat. We pledged to you only patience, and walked your path knowing that Paradise lies at the end of the road and martyrdom is the promise of the truthful.

You said—and you were the one who awakened in us the conscience of resolve, who planted in our souls the trees of steadfastness: “I want to see your resilience.” And we fasted for your sake—not breaking our fast on ease, but on the bitterness of trial; we took our suḥūr not from the pleasures of food, but from the purity of Your remembrance; we quenched our thirst only with the spring of tawakkul upon You. The whole of creation bore witness, and the pages of history trembled before us, that we fasted not just from desire and food, but from doubt and retreat and anything that might anger Your noble face. We took suḥūr on the light of Your names, repeating them in the darkness of siege. We broke our fasts upon the setting of the sun of patience, with Your name alone on our lips. Despite hunger and thirst, our ifṭār was a breath of praise and a tear shrouded in the palms of duʿāʾ. Food was withheld from us—not from lack of Your provision, but from the oppression of Your enemies. Water was denied—not because the skies withheld, but because the earth was engulfed in injustice and the light of mercy was extinguished. Our bodies were lifted for burial with every sunset, as though ifṭār was a meeting with You, and death had become another gate of fasting. We left this world as we entered it—pure, hungry only for You, thirsty only for Your pleasure. Our resolve never wavered, our spirits never faltered. Our certainty only increased—that You see us, that You count our steps, that You measure each breath we take, and that You receive our martyrs like travellers returning from a long journey.

We fasted—not in palaces or behind secure walls, but under bombs and fire, not on decorated tables, but on the wounded earth. We prayed while blood flowed around us. We declared takbīr, and the echo in the sky bore witness that we were patient, that we sought reward, that we stood firm.

You said: “My sacred land is thirsty. It is parched, and no rain nor river can quench it. Only your pure blood is the water, the balm, the fulfilment of the covenant.” So we answered: “We hear and we obey, O You whose call shook hearts, whose signal stirred the souls!” We watered it with our blood—without hesitation, without fear—because we believed that land is only nourished with the zakāt of blood, and that freedom is only born from the womb of suffering.

Ask the camps of Khān Yūnis that memorised the names of martyrs as a mother knows the names of her children. Ask al-Shāṭiʾ, Juhar al-Dīk, Dayr al-Balaḥ, Bayt Lāhiyā, Bayt Ḥānūn, and Rafah—Rafah that sleeps on wounds and awakens to the cries of bereaved mothers. Ask the streets we paved with our blood, the hospitals overwhelmed with our bodies, the schools where we taught the meaning of sacrifice, and the mosques that echoed with takbīr as we bid farewell to the world in sujūd. Ask all these. Ask your enemies and ours… did we betray the covenant? Did we slacken or hesitate? Did we withhold our very selves?

Ask the arrogant tyrants… they will tell you: “They gave their lives and souls, they marched to the graveyards like brides to their weddings.” Our faces were stained with blood—yes, the blood of dignity and honour, blood that does not know humiliation, blood that flows only heavenward.

We did not turn and flee, nor were our wounds upon our backs. Our injuries struck our chests and throats—places of honour reached only by those who sell this world and win the next. This is our path… so ask only the land that was watered—it is a truer witness than a thousand tongues.

You said: “Are you not the most worthy of Ibrāhīm?” We said: “Yes! We are the most worthy of him and truest to his way. We follow him, and walk in his footsteps.” You said: “Did you not hear that I tested al-Khalīl with words, and he fulfilled them?” We said: “Indeed, and we know that he was true to the promise, faithful to the covenant, fit for trial, and sincere to his Lord.” You said: “Did your forefathers not surrender themselves to Me?” We said: “Yes.” You said: “Has the sun ever risen upon a more dreadful scene than an old man lifting the knife to sacrifice his only son, the young boy, and then submitting and submitting?” We said: “By Allāh, no. We have not seen a trial greater than that. Ibrāhīm was truly an obedient leader, sincere and tender-hearted. No one compares in submission—except those who walked his path in certainty.”

You said: “We want from you what We wanted from Ibrāhīm.” And we did not delay, nor falter. Our youth raced as Ibrāhīm raced, with resolve that could melt mountains. They rushed to martyrdom—content, steadfast, and they changed not at all.

Then you asked more of us. Our elders rose, their faces clothed with the peace of īmān, their eyes glowing with the light of sacrifice. They advanced with such calm determination that it stunned the enemy and shook the ranks of the oppressors.

Then you asked again. Our women did not hold back. They offered you pure souls. They bore the loss of sons, husbands, and fathers. Their resolve never weakened—it only deepened.

Then you asked again. Our children opened their little chests for you. They came forth with innocent souls that had never sinned nor been stained by worldly distractions. With eyes filled with purity they said: “Here we are—accept us.”

Every time You called, we responded with deeper loyalty. Every time You summoned us, we came to You like Ibrāhīm—an entire ummah, turning in trial as the lover turns in longing. Death does not deter us. Fire cannot extinguish the flame of loyalty in our hearts.

You said: “Remember Me, I will remember you.” We did not weaken or forget. We filled the world with Your remembrance—it flowed from our mosques, waved in our banners, and moved our tongues in ease and hardship, in bowing and sujūd, in silence and noise—until Your remembrance became our breath, our cloak, our legacy on this earth.

You said: “Fulfil My covenant, and I will fulfil yours.” We searched ourselves, and found nothing dearer than this covenant, nothing more truthful than Your promise. So we fulfilled, we stood firm, we tied our hearts with strength, and walked Your path seeking no reward or thanks—only Your pleasure, our sole aim and desire.

How far—how far it is from us to ever say: “Fulfil Your covenant if You are true.” For who is truer to his covenant than Allāh? Who is more faithful in promise than the Lord of all worlds? Who is more generous than the King of Kings—when He promises, He fulfils; when He covenants, He never breaks.

We know You. We know You never break Your promise. That You never waste a single tear. That no sigh of the distressed is lost in Your Presence.

We submitted to You willingly—not out of fear or grief—but out of love and peace. We opened our hearts to You before our hands. We are content with You as our Lord. We worship none but You. We hope in none but You. We turn only to You—in hardship and in ease. We incline to You in humble return, loyal and devoted, seeking only Your noble face.

https://t.me/DrAkramNadwi/6188

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Disclaimer: This article was translated by AI. Original post: https://t.me/DrAkramNadwi/6188