📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
وَقُلْ جَآءَ ٱلْحَقُّ وَزَهَقَ ٱلْبَـٰطِلُ ۚ إِنَّ ٱلْبَـٰطِلَ كَانَ زَهُوقًۭا
"And say: 'Truth has come, and falsehood has vanished. Surely, falsehood is ever bound to vanish.'"
— Surah Al-Isra (17:81)
The Grand Plaza of Nurhal, once a place of celebration, was now a stage of tension. Stone arches lined the square, engraved with forgotten verses. Banners of the Emir hung limp in the hot morning air.
The plaza was filled.
Thousands had gathered.
Some with folded arms. Others with anxious eyes. All silent.
No one chanted. No one cursed.
Each hand held a scroll—the Charter of Nurhal, or the leaflets that bore the Lightbearer's name.
And then, the drums began.
A procession of armored guards marched in, forming a half-circle around a raised marble platform. They pushed back the crowd with spears—not a soul resisted.
The silence was heavy. Holy.
Then came the prisoner.
Idris, bound in chains, hands bruised, but head held high.
His eyes swept the crowd.
He saw the signs. The faces. The quiet hope.
A whisper escaped him.
"La ilaha illallah…"
They led him up to the platform and forced him to his knees beside the Emir's golden seat.
Then, Emir Jalal emerged.
Robes trailing behind him, crown shimmering with polished onyx, he stepped up to the dais and raised a jeweled hand.
"My people," he began, voice magnified by the horn of the palace criers, "you have been misled."
A murmur—quickly swallowed—rippled through the crowd.
"This man," the Emir said, pointing at Idris, "is not your savior. He is a saboteur. A child of rebels. A traitor to the peace we have built!"
No cheers followed.
Only silence.
Jalal's voice sharpened. "Do you think scrolls and rumors make him a prophet? He brought unrest! He sowed division! He—"
A flutter of parchment danced through the air.
One by one, people in the plaza began raising their scrolls high above their heads.
Thousands of hands.
Thousands of papers.
Let the Lightbearer speak.
Jalal paused.
Then snapped.
"Seize every scroll!" he barked at his guards. "Burn them! Arrest the writers!"
But none moved.
Even the guards hesitated.
Because they too had read the scrolls. They too remembered the whispers in the streets. And some had even seen the massacres with their own eyes.
Jalal turned to his Council—Zayd, the silver-veiled advisor among them.
"They will not listen to reason," the Emir growled. "Prepare the execution."
But just then—
Zayd stepped forward.
He removed his veil.
The crowd gasped.
He was not as old as they'd thought. Nor as loyal.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Zayd said aloud, "but this trial has ended long ago. And the verdict was never yours to give."
He turned to the people and said, voice calm:
"My name is Zayd ibn Kalim. Once, I served the Emir. But I have seen the truth. I testify that Idris ibn Zubair is no traitor—but the bearer of the Charter's legacy."
And with that, he knelt before Idris.
The crowd held its breath.
Then, like waves crashing in succession, others followed.
One by one, scholars and shopkeepers, guards and beggars—kneeling, in silence.
Even some of the palace guards removed their helmets and placed them on the ground.
Jalal roared.
"Arrest them all!"
But his voice no longer echoed.
Because a new sound began to rise—
The adhan.
From every minaret in Nurhal, the call to prayer echoed.
The chains on Idris's hands fell loose—not from a key, but by a trembling guard who could no longer bear the weight of falsehood.
Idris stood.
He looked at the Emir, then at the people, and said clearly:
"I am not your king.
I am not your savior.
But I am your brother.
And I will not be silent."
The crowd erupted—not in chaos, not in violence, but in a shout of takbir:
"Allahu Akbar!"
"Allahu Akbar!"
"Allahu Akbar!"
And above, watching from a nearby rooftop, Zaynab wept.
Not for the past.
But for the return of dignity.
End of Chapter 21