In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful
Grande Strategy

To the Unknown Mujahid, May We Never Forget You

There are some things that need to be put on the record but I have hesitated thus far from doing so. I am afraid in my heart that I may be saying all of this to gain public attention. I am also afraid what this information could be used for. May Allah protect me from myself. The reason I make this information public (or I hope that these are the reasons rather than personal self-importance) are:

1. I owe this to the victim.

2. There is information that could be useful for the Muslim world.

3. This information could be lost forever if something happens to me. (No, not intending this as a farewell address, I fully intend to live long insh’Allah and see the tables turn, insh’Allah).

The backdrop is the Winter of 2001, when the United States and it’s lackeys attacked Afghanistan and the Pakistani government keeled over and joined the allies. I was a young man and had made my first decisive move towards religion. It was Ramadan and I was at the Faisal Masjid doing Ithekaq.

The details of how I managed to get into the Faisal Masjid for itheqaf are in themselves interesting in that you usually need to apply one month in advance, but somehow I managed to get in (by the Will and Grace of Allah) on the spot. It felt miraculous. In my heart, it was miraculous. To this day, that time spent in itheqaf is remembered as one of the most important turning points in my life and some of the most miraculous. When I came out, I was visibly healthier and my skin had transformed and even the very nails on my fingers seemed more alive than I have ever known them to be. The spiritual glow I had was amazing. During the itheqaf I had a constant awareness of Allah. Praying, fasting, reading the Quran all day and all night.

At one point, a CIA operative showed up, pretending to be Italian without an Italian accent (probably new on the job). Disingenously pretended to be travelling through from China. He asked me how was it that I could speak English fluently and seemed doubtful when I said that I had never been (till then) to the United States. However, since the Faisal Masjid had my passport this could have been easily verified, and All Glory to Allah that nothing further was heard concerning this.

We spent nights doing special war prayers for the Taliban in Afghanistan. The atmosphere is not explainable with mere words. The spirit was palpable and we had tears flowing down our eyes. I have never prayed like that since. One day, we did not have those prayers and the next day we found out that it was because the CIA requested that we don’t pray against them. The next day we continued to pray for the Taliban. Now, we had a large number of lecturers, some I felt like walking out on, some I truly felt were worth their weight in gold. There were also a number of other classes going on. One of these classes was the class for correct pronunciation of Arabic.

This particular class was being taught by a man, the like of whom I had never seen before, nor since have ever seen again. When you reach a certain level of spiritual enlightenment, or even otherwise, sometimes you can “see” or “feel” (there is no proper way to describe this) the “noor” or “aura” or “spiritual light” of another. Most pious people have a glow. This man did not have a glow – it was like a 1000 watt halogen lamp.

I have never seen a human spirit glow in this manner. I did not think this was even possible. I checked myself by discretely asking a few other brothers (perhaps it was some deficiency in me), and they too confirmed. Let me intimately describe you this man, he was tall, bearded wore a military camo jacket and in all his manners was as if he had walked out of the 1st century Hijri. He spoke English well enough that you could tell he was well-educated and belonged to a noble family. He was from Kashmir, in fact an elected member of the local government (back then Musharaf was all about devolution of power to press the national parties). Some close relatives of his were also senior officers in the Pakistan Army. He was obviously a mujahid, although in my opinion one that was fighting against India and in Kashmir and had nothing to do with the Afghanistan war.

To date, he is the only human being that I have met and been in awe of, and I went out of my way to shake his hand and consider myself to be privileged to have shook his hand. Your average jihadi does not have this noor. Some even have a black aura, i.e. they are doing something very wrong. This man was special in a very real way but when you try to describe why, you are found wanting.

I knew his name then, but for the life of me, I can’t remember it now. I do not know why. This is truly strange that I could forget his name. In any case, I owe the correct pronunciation of “th” in Arabic to this man.

I later found out that he was taken by the Americans, probably sold by the Pakistanis for a couple of thousand dollars. I have no idea where he is now, if he is dead in a ditch or in Guantanamo bay or some place worse. I would like to put this in the record that if we ever manage to establish an Islamic state insh’Allah, it should be a top priority to have this man released insh’Allah. Under any and all circumstances and with whatever it takes.


Because I believe (and Allah knows best) that if he is not the Mahdi himself or one of his men, at the least he is the precursor to the kind of men that would make up the army of the Mahdi. Or for those who do not believe in the Mahdi, he is the category of men that can save us from our present circumstances. A prototype to our success. And Allah knows best. Disclaimer: I don't want to claim that he is the Mahdi.

Vision Without Glasses


Post a Comment