A Race to Prayer (Salah). Aliya Vaughn
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A Race to Prayer
Published by
THE ISLAMIC FOUNDATION
Markfield Conference Centre, Ratby Lane, Markfield
Leicestershire, LE67 9SY, United Kingdom
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.islamic-foundation.com
Distributed by
KUBE PUBLISHING LTD
T +44 (01530) 249230
Website: www.kubepublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Text © Aliya Vaughan, 2018
Illustrations © Rakaiya Azzouz, 2018
Book design by Nasir Cadir
Cover design by Sophie Burrows
A Cataloguing-in-Publication Data record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-86037-653-8
eISBN 978-0-86037-765-8
Contents
Evidences from the Qur’an and Sunnah
Comprehension questions
Inspiration behind the story
Glossary
The author
I pray Allah guides me, you and all those who read this book to perform our prayers well.
Ameen.
Race to Prayer is an exciting story for children about a young Muslim boy who wants to have fun at the quad bike races. Something dramatic happens whereby he learns the importance of praying his prayers on time in their fixed stated times. This is an action most dearest to Allah and worthy of gaining a place in paradise.
Please note that an asterisk* has been used in the text to indicate where Muslims should say a blessing after mentioning the name of the Prophet Muhammad* (peace and blessings be upon him).
Narrated Abdullah bin Masood:
‘I asked the Prophet* “Which deed is the dearest to Allah?” He replied, “To offer the prayers at their early stated fixed times…”’
Hadith from the collection of Bukhari
‘Come on!’ Sulaiman shouted, punching the air with his fist. ‘Put your foot down. They’re going to overtake you!’
Huge clouds of sand billowed in the air as the quad bikes roared across the desert terrain. Flashes of colour appeared momentarily before disappearing behind the sand dunes.
His grandpa glanced up from his newspaper and tutted loudly.
‘Sulaiman! Stop moving. Every time you move - my paper moves and I cannot read.’ He slapped his paper with the back of his hand in annoyance.
Sulaiman quickly shuffled along the sofa so as not to disturb his grandpa. He knew how much he liked to do the crossword in peace. Sulaiman’s grandparents were visiting on holiday and he didn’t want anything to spoil their trip.
Sulaiman twitched nervously again as he watched the quad bike races live on satellite television. Suddenly the adhan interrupted the racing commentary. A picture of the Kaaba with large Arabic writing filled the entire screen. It was time for Dhuhr, the mid-day prayer.
‘Oh, why did that happen!’ Sulaiman huffed. ‘Now I’m going to have to go and pray and I’ll miss the end of the race.’
‘No, you won’t,’ his grandpa reassured him. ‘The races on the television are in Dubai and the time is different over there. We’ve still got three hours until we have to pray Dhuhr here in Britain.’
Sulaiman was relieved. He knew it was important to perform the five daily prayers at set times throughout the day, but they often clashed with whatever he was doing and he found it hard to steer himself away.
‘Anyway you call this racing?’ his grandpa continued. ‘You haven’t seen a proper race until you’ve seen camels racing. When I was a boy…’
Sulaiman quickly rose to his feet. He could tell Grandpa was going to recall memories from his childhood. His grandpa was well known for his lengthy stories. Having been raised in the desert with a Bedouin family, he was obsessed with camels. Sulaiman loved his grandpa dearly but he had heard his stories so many times before.
‘Er... excuse me, Grandpa,’ he interrupted politely. ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got to do something.’ Before his grandpa could utter another word, Sulaiman had disappeared out of the room.
‘Oh!’ Grandpa exclaimed, looking baffled. ‘Was it something I said?’
Chapter 2
Sulaiman stared at the raindrops as they trickled down his bedroom window. He raced one stream of water against another, his finger pressed firmly on the glass.
‘Every time I want to do something exciting, it either rains or it’s time to pray,’ he moaned.
‘Don’t complain,’ his dad said, watching from the open doorway. ‘Rain is a blessing and we are blessed with it quite often here in England.’
‘Is it? I don’t see how,’ Sulaiman replied, throwing himself onto his bed.
‘Without rain we wouldn’t have drinking water and the trees wouldn’t grow and there’d be no crops for us to eat. And without