They rose slowly, a flicker of hesitation lingering in their movements, before Hilal turned his body and advanced ahead of them. Aws and Shams followed, their steps measured as they approached the colossal white stone gate. Around them bustled a multitude of people, clad in clean garments, their scents marked by strong perfumes. Families walked together, men accompanied by women and children, all converging toward the entrance.
Beyond the towering archway, a row of water basins came into view, crafted in varying shapes—some elevated with seats, others set low to the ground. People paused there for cleansing before moving onward.
As they advanced toward the main building, the flow of the crowd diverged: women and children veered rightward, toward a separate gate. Hilal stopped. Aws and Shams halted with him. He gestured to Aws to wait and commanded Shams to follow. Crossing toward the women's side, Hilal paused briefly, signaling to one among them. She stepped forward, and he entrusted Shams to her, whispering a few words before returning to Aws.
Hilal: "Shall we?"
Aws nodded, and together they drew nearer to the carved wooden gate, adorned with intricate designs. They removed their footwear before stepping inside. Hilal motioned for Aws to follow, guiding him toward the back rows where seats were reserved for the elders. Meanwhile, others pressed forward to the building's front.
Aws sat, his eyes observing Hilal as he performed a series of bows, murmuring words under his breath. When he finished, Hilal seated himself beside Aws and gestured for silence.
Minutes passed before a man ascended a raised platform resembling a balcony. A melodic sequence of words, soft and entrancing, was repeated before the hall hushed. The man stood tall, clothed in a long white robe, his beard as black as ink, reaching down to his neck. His voice rang out with solemn gravity:
"Praise be to God, who honored us with obedience to Him, chose us with His mercy, protected us with His power, and granted us wisdom through His providence. He favored some of us above others, yet made us equal in accountability. He did not distinguish between man and woman, rich and poor, nor did He look to our forms and appearances, but rather to our hearts and our deeds.
As for what follows: I have prepared for you a story—one not distant from us, for it is the very root of our town and its history."
The crowd leaned closer, their attention rapt.
"The people once refrained from working on the Sabbath, devoting themselves wholly to the worship of God. They had asked for a day of rest and devotion, free of worldly toil, and God decreed the Sabbath for them as a sacred time.
But as is God's way in His creation, the moment of trial arrived—an examination of patience, of obedience, of restraint. The test came thus: on the Sabbath, the fish would gather in abundance, swimming close to the shore, easy for the taking. Yet on all other days, the waters were barren.
Temptation overcame a group among them. They devised schemes to circumvent the command. They did not catch the fish outright on the Sabbath, but set up barriers and traps, herding the fish on that day, then capturing them the next. In truth, their stratagem was no less than forbidden fishing.
The village split into three factions. One transgressed openly, ensnaring the fish by deceit. Another held fast to God's command, speaking out, warning the sinners, forbidding their wrongs, and calling them back to righteousness. The third, though not disobedient themselves, chose silence. They neither sinned nor reproved the sinners.
The silent ones would argue with those who admonished, saying: 'What use is your warning? These people will not desist. God's punishment is certain upon them. Why then do you waste your words?'
But the faithful who enjoined righteousness replied firmly: 'We do this to fulfill our duty before God, that we may not stand guilty on the Day of Judgment. Perhaps our words may yet touch their hearts, perhaps they may repent and return.'
Yet the sinners remained obstinate, unmoved by admonition. Then came the decree of God. His judgment fell upon the transgressors—severe, irrevocable. He delivered the faithful who enjoined good and forbade evil. As for the silent ones, they were left without mention—neither punished, nor rewarded. As one of the elders later said: 'Perhaps it was to show the gravity of their neglect; though they escaped torment, they earned no honor.'
And so the punishment descended. God transformed the sinners—made them into apes and swine, a manifest humiliation for their rebellion."
The words struck the assembly with a profound stillness. Aws sat frozen, the weight of the tale pressing against his heart, as if time itself had paused to let the lesson sink deep into every soul present.