Ikhwan a/-Musiimoon was under fire. From an untiring, unassuming, insignificant individual—Imam Hassan al-Banna—it had grown into a frighteningly large and well organised body with branches spread all over Egypt and even beyond. It had now in its forefront choicest of intellectuals and u/ama and in its rank and file those sections of the masses whose sensitivity to spiritual calls had not yet been blunted by the sterilizing force of modern civilization. They and their leaders firmly believed that the measures suggested by modern thought as remedies were the very ills the prophets of God had fought to eradicate at all times.

And the growth of the Brotherhood was not only in terms of numbers. Ideologically too it had come of age. It had reached a point in its long course of development at which it had either to accept stagnation (they said there can be no stagnation : either you are going up or going down) or, ask the government of the day (they are always of a day, if only they know) to do its part of laying asphalt on the road before files of Islamic revivalists could march further on. That started the fire. That is, I say, it’s reaching the point. Perhaps ! For it is precisely at this point that those in positions of power and influence will exhaust their patience and say : ” Thus far, my dears ! And no further ! ! ”

Pray and fast as much as you will. Go round the Ka’bah seven or seventy times —we are quite prepared to join you once in a while ! ! Go ahead and organise a hundred seminars on pure theological subjects. No objections whatsoever ! ! But, raise not your accusing finger at the economic system that is designed to justify a certain philosophy, or at the legal system that is constituted to defend it, or at the social system that is geared to offer all manner of sacrifices to it, or at the educational system that is structured to produce raw material for it, or, (least of all !), at the political system that supervises and reaps the benefits of it.

Ikhwan did it. That is, it raised its accusing finger at these institutions. So it was under fire. And if the fire was that instense it was because Russia was supplying fuel. She was furious that just when she was beginning to get a foot hold ikhwan was rolling up the red-carpet of materialism to reveal the lush-green vegetation of powerful Islamic ideology beneath.  No ! The interests of the Muslim Brotherhood ran counter to the interests of many. Now, lets’ be realistic. It ran counter to the interest of the age ! It could not be tolerated.

So destruction was ordered. Those in the front ranks had to go altogether. They were either assassinated in the streets or given mock-trials and hanged. While their calm surrender angered the authorities, their last smiles humiliated them to madness. However, the leaders thus dispatched, attention was directed to those in the lower ranks. Prison gates were thrown open for them. Forty thousand of them, according to one estimate, were stuffed in at one time. Inside, they were kicked, beaten and tormented. They believed in the hereafter didn’t they ? Well, let them earn it.

And earn it well, would say the chief prison officer, one Hamza al-Basyuni, who paid special attention to the operations. He possessed a rich and lively mind which never failed to invent a novel method of torture when the old ones became tiresome. He thought he would give the ikhwan a lesson for life—if it lived—and ordered a feast for the sadists. Shrieks rose loud above the tall prison walls while friends and relatives sobbed in their homes. Women were not spared too. Soon Hamza became a legend. His name was terror. You could scare a child asking for candy those days in Egypt by hissing his name. Years later people would wakeup terror- stricken when their minds replayed events of the prison in their sleep.

Such was the treatment given to those who raised the desperate call for sanity ! Such excesses were committed on those who called for balance and moderation in life. Such was the treatment given to those simple souls that rose with a pain in their heart and followed the track of those numerous caravans that went the same way singing

battT duee pasand hai haq la shareek hai,
shirkat mian-e-haq wa batH na kar qubool.

Many a heart sank in despondency as another attempt failed. And many a heart swelled in courage with the knowledge of what is in store for those who have chosen to raise that call.

Nevertheless, when the fire lit for ikhwan had eaten the fire lit by ikhwan, relaxation was ordered. Homes were less being raided now in the darkness of nights. Fewer women complained of humiliation. More and more people found them selves released from jails, released from the iron grips of Hamza.

Life began returning to normal—if madness is normal. Wounds healed. Ikhwan forgave the injuries. People forgot the Ikhwan. Such is the memory of the people !

But such is not the memory of Him whose vigil is constant. “Lo! Thy Lord is ever watchful. ” And He does not forget. Neither this world, nor me, nor you I He did not forget Hamza al-Basyuni. So it seems atleast.

The former chief of prisons, now retired, is heading towards Alexandria, the summer-resort of the guardians of the political system, the economic system—of all activities of life, in short! He has company and is travelling by car. And he is driving it himself. On a sudden something goes wrong. Exactly what or how no one can say. But all that could be seen is that he rammed straight on into a truck. The truck was carrying materials out of which prisons are made—iron bars. Pure accidental irony no doubt! But everything in the incident does not seem to be accidental though always ironic! For while his car rams into the truck and his co passengers escape unhurt, he does not. The iron bars have come in through the wind-shield, straight on into his face and body, and crossing him in a number of places have gone in right into the seat and beyond. Hamza is trapped. It is like holding a lizard on to the ground with a fork, Other similarities are there too. There is that maddening rage in (the eyes, that flaring anger, that writhing in pain, that helplessly relaxing and giving itself up. For those who rush, look, shiver, turn and sob, what is of greater horror is the refusal of the man to give his ghost up. He is very much alive and through his looks desperately pleading for help. But there is no helping him. The bars have gone in through his face, neck, and chest. Any effort to pull them out is futile. Surely the man is not going to survive even if they can be pulled out. So they stand around the imprisioned man and watch nature’s execution helplessly. It lasts for full 15 minutes. No ! The watchers would disagree. My God ! it was for ages, they would say. The time seemed to stand still. It seemed to be watching too! Finally of course the strong man had to give up. He ended, some would say, in the legendary manner in which he lived.

But was it the end or only the beginning? We don’t know ! All we can say with certainty is that there will be a beginning. For accounts are not fully settled, and justice demands the settling of accounts. But many people hold a different opinion. It was the end, they stubbornly insist. And an end after which there is no beginning, they would like to add most tenaciously.

And they say: ” What ? When we are turned to
bones and pieces shall we be restored to life ? ”
Say: “(Yes!) Though you may turn to stone or
iron; or any other substance you may think harder
to be given life. ”
They will ask: “Who is it that will recreate us ?”
Say: “He that created you at first”.
Then they will shake their heads at you and say :
“ When will it be ? !!”
Tell them : “ Perhaps very soon. ”
On that Day when He will summon you all and you
shall (involuntarily) answer with praises You shall
(then) think that you have stayed away but for a while. (The Quran : 17 : 49 to 52)