The Chosen One

Late one evening, while they studied in their secluded corner of the library, she could contain herself no longer. She slammed her book upon the table. An echoing clamor resounded throughout the cavernous room. He looked up with a startled expression upon his face.

“Muhammad Mourad,” she said, “are you ever going to ask me to marry you?”

His eyes were emotionless. “It’s not possible, Sharif. I’ve got responsibilities that cannot be ignored. My village needs me. And where I go isn’t for you. My sparse homeland is quite poor. We’ve none of the things you so enjoy. There’s not one automobile, or even electricity or running water. I could never ask you to accompany me to such a place. Life there’s far too difficult.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not some wilting flower. I can take care of myself.”

“But it would mean living in the old ways. You’d have to dress in the traditional manner. There’d be no more of your pretty

clothes and Western makeup.”

“Such things do not matter if we can spend our lives together. Even so, you must promise me that while we’re married, you won’t get involved with the kinds of people you were associating with when we first met. You must promise as long as we’re husband and wife you’ll love Allah with all your heart. And in all other things you’ll practice moderation.”

“Such is a promise I can surely make.”

“Then I shall be your wife.”

10

Sharif’s adjustment to the primitive conditions of the squalid village went far better than any had anticipated. Not that everything in those first days was idyllic. There were many instances in the unrelenting monotony of her mundane existence when she longed for a bit of the world’s excitement. In the early years, the dreariness of her situation often made her wish for Cairo or Marseille or Algiers or anywhere but Aynorian. Still she complained not at all. And in the darkest moments, when she felt she could no longer go on, she wrapped herself in her husband’s love and went out to meet the new dawn.

She threw away her Western clothing and destroyed all remembrances of her previous life. Wrapped in traditional Arab dress, she appeared to be the most dutiful of wives. Outside their home she was careful to act in the manner expected of a subservient woman. The Mahdi’s image demanded such a role. She played her part so well no one ever suspected her life was anything more than what they saw.

Inside the walls of their sheltering home, however, where prying eyes couldn’t see, she was the old Sharif. She was once again her husband’s equal. When they were alone, their relationship was as it had been in Marseille. He adored her all the more for it. Muhammad needed her support now more than ever. And Sharif was eager to give it. Leading the destitute oasis was a substantial responsibility to place upon his narrow shoulders. But like his wife, he too performed his role with never the slightest complaint.

Without Sharif’s assistance, so bitter a reality, so challenging a task, might have overwhelmed him. Yet with her, he arose each morning with a broad smile upon his face. She could sense his every mood. She could read his every thought. When his confidence waned, she was there to support him. Not once did she fail. Her advice was sound and filled with encouragement. When he faced a difficult world, it was her counsel he treasured above all others. And it wasn’t just in her assistance to Muhammad that she shined. In many ways, Sharif was the best thing to ever happen to Aynorian. For her money could do much to ease the strain of the isolated people’s plight.

Six months after her arrival she surprised her husband with enough trucks to support the distant dwelling place for many years to come. No longer would Muhammad’s people be dependent upon the whims of the caravan to sustain their harsh reality.

By the end of her third year as one of them, the massive generators were in place and the miracle of electricity flowed into each unpretentious home. A few months later the precious gift of running water became a way of life in Aynorian. Slowly but surely, Sharif was dragging the backward desert people into the twentieth century. In her lifetime, the village changed more than it had in its previous thousand years.

With her immense wealth she could’ve insisted upon a gleaming palace for a home. In the mistaken belief it’d make her happy, her husband encouraged her to do so. Sharif, nonetheless, wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she built an unassuming but comfortable house not far from his uncle’s shops. After Sallah’s death, the unimposing exchanges were now Muhammad’s. And he slaved long hours to ensure his humble establishments met the needs of his people.

For their tenth anniversary Sharif astonished the entire region by building the grandest mosque ever seen on the shifting sands of the mighty Sahara. It wasn’t long before pilgrims from all corners of North Africa were arriving to worship, and to hear the Mahdi speak. His sermons were a thing of beauty. His love for Allah filled each flowing phrase he spoke. Every visitor left Aynorian with a passion for Islam beyond any they’d previously experienced.

Muhammad’s fame swept across the Middle East. From Iran to Morocco they spoke in reverent tones of the Chosen One. Despite the hardship involved in such journeys, by his thirty-fifth year the cry of the people to hear his words was so great he’d no choice but to begin traveling throughout the Muslim world.

In the finest of modern cities, and the meekest of communities, the Mahdi appeared. Wherever he went, great multitudes gathered to hear the sacred passages. He preached of his devotion to his creator. He described the paradise awaiting the true believers. He told them of the need to return to living in the simple ways of the Prophet. He spoke of the Quran’s promise to Islam. It was apparent from his powerful oratory that he believed the time would soon come to vanquish the nonbelievers and control the dying planet.

His religious fervor was there for everyone to see. Still he kept the promise he’d made to Sharif. He loved his God with all his being. In every other thing, however, he practiced moderation. He’d little interest in politics, for he understood his reward would never be of this world. Simply by the words he spoke, he became one of the leaders of the fundamentalist order gaining strength throughout the land. That movement lived by a single tenet. It believed the governments of the Islamic countries should be ruled by those who followed a strict interpretation of the Quran. Even while fervently expressing such tenets, Muhammad spoke against those advocating violence and the overthrow of the secular governments. Instead he preached of love and patience.

He knew when the time was right Allah would find a way to destroy those who stood in the way of the prophecy. Islam would prevail in his lifetime. And by the grace of God he was destined to play a major role in the chosen religion’s conquest and the planet’s coming end.

The adulation the Mahdi received from the masses didn’t go unnoticed by the rulers of the West and the moderate Middle East nations. The lurid fires in his dark eyes made the Arab leaders quite uncomfortable. Despite Muhammad’s peaceful message, at its core the fundamentalist cause called for the elimination of each of their governments by whatever means was necessary. North Africa’s rulers knew this was a man who needed to be watched.

The modest personage scarcely noticed the rapt attention friend and enemy alike were giving him. At the end of each trek he wanted nothing more than to return to Sharif and care for the needs of his people.

Shortly after one of his distant ventures, while he and Sharif were preparing for bed, they began a ritual that would go on for the rest of their time together. Muhammad suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked at her with a puzzled expression upon his face.

“Is something troubling you, my husband?” she asked.

“There truly is. It just came to me that my life is reaching its middle years and I’ve done nothing of consequence. If I’m the Mahdi, when will Allah show me the time has come for Islam’s mastery? How will I know what my role will be?”

“When the time is right, my love, you’ll know. Now come to bed.”

Night after night his questions remained the same. And her answer was always, “When the time is right, my love, you’ll know.”

The years passed. The pair’s passion was as strong as it had been in those idyllic days in Marseille. Even with her efforts to modernize the insular village, life in Aynorian was still difficult. Yet for Muhammad and Sharif their existence was nearly perfect. The only thing missing was a child. They’d tried to conceive from the first moments of their marriage. Nevertheless, their God hadn’t blessed them with a birth. When they reached their fortieth birthdays, both had to reluctantly accept that there appeared to be little hope for an heir. They’d been married for eighteen years. And time was running out. In the early days, they’d continually spoken of their desire for a child. Now neither mentioned it at all. Their lot appeared to be sealed.

Yet much to their surprise, Allah graciously granted their one remaining wish.

It would be a boy. I

n honor of his great-uncle, they named the little one Sallah. The infant grew into a healthy, strong toddler. He quickly became the center of his doting father’s world. Muhammad’s love for his precocious offspring was without measure. By the age of three, the child was accompanying his father on his numerous tours of the Middle East. Sallah’s attentive parents had never been happier. The bright-eyed boy was everything to them.

Muhammad continued to preach of a need for the Quran to dictate the principles of the people’s lives and the rules of their governments. And each night he asked his wife the same questions he’d been asking for years. Yet no sign came to tell them the time of the Mahdi had arrived.

By the 1990s, Algeria had once again become a land in turmoil. As in many Arab countries, the moderate government was under extreme pressure to convert the country to a strict form of religious rule similar to that in Iran and Afghanistan. The Algerian government steadfastly refused. So the fundamentalist party took to the streets to rally support for a new Islamic nation. What they couldn’t convince their government to willingly do, they’d do themselves. In 1992, as the Algerian parliamentary elections neared, it was apparent the extremists would be victorious. The people had decided an exacting Islamic regime would be taking power in Algiers. A nation based solely upon the teachings of the Quran would soon emerge in North Africa. Muhammad had played no direct role in the political victory, but in his speeches his pleasure with the results was clear for all to see.

Such a radical government wasn’t what the majority of the troubled planet wished for Algeria. They feared its intemperate teachings would soon spread across the deserts of North Africa. And from there consume the Islamic world. So, with support from the moderate Middle East nations and the leadership of the West, the Algerian army voided the coming elections and seized control of the country.