♦
Masroor sighed at the kid reciting the Qur'an to him. It seems that no matter how many times he corrected their tajweed, the moment they went home, it all disappears from their head.
"There's a nun Sakinah here, followed by a yaa. What rule is it?"
"...Izhaar?"
"Are you answering me or asking me?"
"I don't know," the kid mumbled back.
Masroor sighed again. "Go back to your place and learn the nun sakinah and tanween rules again. I'll test you at the end."
The kid obediently went back and opened his tajweed book.
Masroor looked at the register to call upon the next child and smiled.
"Ahsan."
A boy of eleven stood up from near the back of the classroom. Small stature, petite face and eyes that held the stars amidst their gazes. He smiled demurely, taking a sitting in front of Masroor.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Ustadh."
"Wa alaikumus salam." Masroor gestured at him to start recitation and leaned back.
Ahsan's recitation was incredible for his age. There was the occasional mistake Masroor caught, which Ahsan fixed and never made again. He was one of the youngest students in Masroor's class, and undoubtedly his best student.
After Ahsan finished reciting, Masroor gave him pat on the head, mussing up his floofy hair. Ahsan gave yet another shy smile.
"The next two sides for Monday." Masroor said, gesturing him to get back to his seat.
After that, he glanced around the classroom and cleared his throat. "Okay, boys. Close your Qur'ans and books please."
Every Friday, the maktab had a routine where the teachers gave naseehat to the students to end off the week. The headteacher would give them a topic to discuss, and the teacher would expand upon that with the students and answer any of their queries.
This week's topic had made Masroor grimace, but he understood the need for it. With the government now making sex-ed mandatory in primary schools, many Muslim children are taught things that contradict and go against their religion. But the folly was that parents never addressed these topics and issues beforehand leading the children to fall back on what is taught in school and considering that to be correct.
These were topics that were hushed within the Asian community, not addressed, not elaborated.
The headteacher of their maktab had to fight a lot to allow a discussion to take place regarding these topics, if only so the Muslim youth aren't completely unaware of the Islamic stance regarding these issues.
Masroor agreed wholeheartedly, though the prospect to discussing sex-ed with boys aged 11-18 had him balking.
He cleared his throat again. He had agonised over how to introduce the topic the best way and hadn't really reached any clear conclusion.
"Alright gentlemen. We will be discussing a very delicate and mature topic today. I hope you will take it seriously and not giggle over it..."
He went through the Islamic stance on marriage, the need and necessity of it, and finally how Islam treats the physical aspects of a marital relationship. The boys surprisingly remained silent throughout, listening carefully without breaking off into giggles. He had noticed quite a few of them hiding their faces and others trying to act like they were listening to him while ignoring the topic at hand.
Masroor suppressed a smile as he finished. "Any questions?" He looked around the class. The boys had looks on their faces which told him they'll be avoiding his gaze for the unforeseeable amount of time in the future. His eyes fell on Ahsan, who was chewing his lips.
"Got a question?"
Ahsan looked at him uncertainly, glancing down, then back up at him. Masroor raised an eyebrow.
"Okay boys, you're dismissed. I'll see you all on Monday InShaAllah." He gestured for Ahsan to stay back.
Once the remaining boys had left with echoes of Salaam behind them, Masroor looked at Ahsan who remained in his seat. "I thought you'd prefer to ask your question in private." He said softly.
Ahsan nodded, and continued chewing his lips.
Masroor waited patiently.
"U-stadh," Ahsan stuttered, before clearing his throat. "Ustadh mentioned about men and women. What about, ah- what if a man, uhm, likes another... man, not a woman?" He mumbled out.
It took Masroor a while to process the question. Truthfully, he was surprised that none of the boys had asked that question. But, he also knew the attitude of the Asian and Muslim community towards such concepts – and children often pick up manners and attitudes from their surroundings.
He didn't expect Ahsan to ask him that question. He pondered over how to answer the question.
"Islam doesn't allow that sort of relationship between two men."
Ahsan paled. "Oh- is it- haram?"
Masroor nodded. There was something off about the boy's reaction.
"I-I see." Ahsan mumbled. "Does that mean that person will go to hell?"
Masroor paused. "If they know it's haram and still continue to act like such, then it is possible. But we can't judge who will go hell and who won't. That's between them and Allah."
Ahsan nodded shakily. "Jazakallah Khair, Ustadh. Sorry for taking up your time. I'll leave now."
"It's no problem. I'm here to answer your questions." Masroor smiled back.
♦
When Monday rolled around, Masroor glanced around the assembled boys and realised his best student was missing. He looked at Zubair, Ahsan's cousin brother.
"Where's Ahsan?"
Disgust flashed through Zubair's expressions before he shrugged. "He's not feeling well."
Masroor raised an eyebrow. "Your parents didn't call in." He replied with a frown.
"I don't know. He's not well though."
Ahsan didn't come the next day.
Nor the day after.
Or the day after.
Until Friday had rolled in. Masroor was leaving the Masjid after the Maktab had ended when Brother Zakariyya, the headteacher, called him.
"Ahsan won't be coming in anymore."
Masroor blinked at that, eyebrows furrowing. "Why? Did something happen?"
Brother Zakariyyah shrugged. "I don't know the details, but he isn't living with Zubair lot anymore. He's going to living with some of his maternal relatives."
Ah. Of course. Zubair's father was Ahsan's chacha, who took him in after the car accident which killed his parents. He had seen the way Ahsan's chacha doted on him and treated him as though Ahsan was his own son. But, he's sent him away to live with other relatives?
He returned home with the dilemma still churning in his head. He couldn't stop replaying his last conversation with Ahsan. And he couldn't ignore the gut feeling that Ahsan being sent away had something to do with that.
"Here." Tayyba dropped a plate of pakoras and samosas onto his lap. "That's your share." She said taking a seat on the other end of the sofa.
"Jazakallah khair." He replied. "Hey, you know Ahsan?"
"Anwar's cousin bro?" Anwar was Zubair's elder brother and went to the same school as Tayyba.
"Yeah."
"What about him?"
"He's not coming to maktab anymore. Went away to live with his maternal relatives apparently."
Tayyba raised an eyebrow. "So?"
Masroor gazed back at her, levelling a look.
"Hell, no." She snorted.
"Come on please?"
"You hate listening to all these gossips usually."
"I know. But he's my student so I'm a bit worried and," Masroor bit his bottom lip. "Something feels trippy."
Tayyba gave a long-suffering sigh.
"I'll do the dishes and hovering for the next week?" Masroor offered tentatively. Ever since their elder brothers and sisters have married and moved out, most of the household chores fell on Tayyba's shoulders. While Masroor did his own parts like washing his own dishes and cleaning his own room etc, he never helped out much apart from that.
Sure enough, Tayyba took the offer. "Fine. I'll ask Anwar and see what he says."
♦
The weekend felt far too long, and the lectures at university even longer. When he returned home after maktab, he was practically vibrating with nervousness and anticipation.
"So?"
Tayyba frowned. "It's a bit trippy okay. I don't know how to say it."
Masroor patiently waited, a skill he'd mastered while teaching at maktab.
Tayyba took a deep breath. "Well, apparently Ahsan told Anwar that he liked men, uh, you know, like that. Obviously, Anwar was shocked and told his parents. His parents spoke to Ahsan and I don't know what they said but the boy was sobbing. So, they sent him away." She shrugged. "You know how Asian parents are. Even if it was their own son, they would've disowned him."
Masroor sat there, mind uncomprehending.
"What about, ah- what if a man, uhm, likes another... man, not a woman?"
His last conversation with the boy echoing in his head.
"Does that mean that person will go to hell?"
"Bhaiya?" Tayyba asked, waving a hand in front of him. Masroor snapped out of it. "Shocking isn't it? The boy was so well-behaved and good too." Tayyba added.
Masroor nodded. Tayyba sighed looking at the unresponsive brother in front of her. He must be shocked to find out one of his own students was gay.
The thoughts running through Masroor's head were quite different. He couldn't grasp the heads or tails of what Tayyba just told him. There were so many things wrong and not adding up. He'd seen how Ahsan's chacha treated him. To send him off without attempting to tackle the issue at hand was completely out of his character. There was something missing.
"So where is he staying now?"
Tayyba gave him a dry look. "Are you gonna try to talk to him now or something? Leave it, the boy isn't your problem anymore."
"He's my student." Masroor replied adamantly.
"I don't know. Anwar didn't say."
"Can you find out?"
"Urgh. He's gonna think I'm so nosy."
"Please?"
Tayyba sighed.
♦
Two days later, she came to his room and stared at him.
"What?" He snapped, looking away from his thesis.
She grimaced. "They didn't send him off to live with the maternal relatives."
"Then?"
"They placed him in foster care."
Masroor dropped his pen.
"What?"
Tayyba sat down at the edge of the bed. "This is really trippy. I don't how much to believe. But Ahsan apparently-" She stopped, hesitant.
"Tayyba..."
"He tried to feel up Anwar."
Masroor stared at her.
"I know! It's hard to believe. But that's what Anwar said. That's why his dad was so mad at Ahsan. He contacted Ahsan's mamu, but they didn't want him. So, the only place left was foster care."
"You're sure it's Ahsan who tried to, uh." He couldn't bring himself to say the words.
Tayyba shrugged. "That's what Anwar said. There's no reason for him to lie. He shared a room with Ahsan. He was shaking and looked nauseous when he mentioned it." She added after a thought. "Can't believe little kids like can do such things." She shivered.
Masroor ignored her comments and tried to link these actions to the sweet boy who always learnt his sabaq, never acted up and followed all his instructions. Granted, he didn't know the boy better than his own relatives, but the actions didn't match with the boy he remembered.
"Yes, but sending him off to foster care isn't the solution. What about the boy's Islam and Imaan? What if he gets fostered by non-muslims?"
Tayyba remained silent, uncomfortable. "It's not like they could still let him live with them."
"He's a little boy! Maybe he didn't even realize what he was saying and doing. Throwing him away isn't the solution."
Tayyba threw up her hands. "Don't get so worked up. It's not like we can do anything about it now."
"No, we can." Masroor opened up his laptop, searching up a list of local foster care centres. Tayyba looked over his shoulders.
"What? Are you gonna apply to foster him now?"
Masroor ignored her. There weren't many foster care centres around them, but he gathered a list of telephone numbers for all that were situated in his city.
"You're seriously going to call up every single centre?" Tayyba asked incredulously. "What will you do if he's already been fostered?"
He didn't know. But, he couldn't leave it be. Images of the boy eager to learn new hadith, proudly memorising a surah, and meticulously reciting the Qur'an with full tajweed flashed through his mind. This was his student. How could he leave him to the possibility where he lose the most valuable thing one could possess – his Imaan.
Just because his family didn't know how to deal with the problem, doesn't mean Masroor will forsake him.
"I don't know. But I need to do everything in my power."
Tayyba sighed and left him to it.
♦
It took him a few days until he was able to find the service in charge of Ahsan. Many of the centres were reluctant to give him information regarding their charges, but Masroor persevered, trying to convince them he was Ahsan's teacher, worried and wanted to contact him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.
Until he finally reached a dead-end. The centre answered his call and said they had Ahsan as their charge.
But, he has already been taken in by a couple.
♦