The Jihadi and the Jinn
A tale of the East for those who would be Wise
There is little doubt in our minds that the following story may upset some people. But we venture to hope that even they may recognise that it is not intended to court controversy, undermine anyone's faith, nor malign the many sublime teachings to be found in the Koran for which the author has the highest regard. On the contrary, our tale is intended to remind us that a god who punishes his children and exhorts his followers to murder one another in his name is no god, but a demon, no matter whether he be the god of Muslims, Christians, Jews, or any other race or nation.
Every chapter in the Koran begins with the Bismillah, the words of which may be rendered into English as: "In the name of the Compassionate and most Merciful God." Many thinking people ask how these words may be reconciled with the appalling acts of cruelty and hatred which strew the smiling earth with violence and death in the name of the God of Mercy? The answers lie in the dual nature of man which we have discussed in so many of our articles, partly cursed by his lower, animal instincts and partly blessed by the Angel that resides in every one of us, if we will but listen to its compassionate and merciful voice. The subject of this story did not do so until it was too late. But is it ever too late? This and many other questions this tale hopes to answer.
It will be noted that the style of writing varies throughout our story. There is a deliberate Occult reason for this, which will be understood by the discerning reader. In our customary afterword, we briefly discuss the life of the Prophet Mohammed and a few of the occult truths to be found in the Koran.
N A CITY famed for its beauty and culture there is a wide avenue bordered by stately trees, which at this season of the year, are laden with white and pink blossoms which cover the broad pavements with a carpet of loveliness such as only Nature can weave. In the dappled shade beneath that aureate canopy the sun played hide and seek among the tables and chairs that were set out in front of a restaurant. The warm, spring day had brought many people out to enjoy the fine weather and the tables were crowded with diners. There were elderly couples sipping coffee and admiring the view, businessmen and women enjoying a working lunch, boisterous young children with their indulgent parents gently scolding them, and several young lovers who had eyes only for each other. There were white faces, black faces, brown faces and even yellow faces amongst the diners, for this was an international city in which many different peoples mixed freely and joyfully with one another.
At exactly half-past-one on that spring day two young children who had been lost in rapt contemplation of the floral tapestry above their heads sat bolt upright on their chairs. At the same moment, the twittering sparrows, the cooing doves, the singing blackbirds, and all the other birds above their heads, took flight, and ascending like a huge and ominous cloud, wheeled away into the west. Seconds later there was a deafening roar accompanied by a blinding light. The trees were engulfed in flame and smoke. Tables, chairs and bodies were tossed into the air like leaves in a gale. The front of the restaurant blew outwards and vanished in a tornado of broken glass, splintered wood and flying masonry. Without warning, without any preliminary, Death had visited the city, this street, this restaurant and crushed the life and light from the hearts of its citizens.
Sirens wailed. Screams pierced the smoke-laden air, and the carpet of flowers ran with bright rivers of blood. It is said that over 120 men, women and children perished in that holocaust of senseless destruction, and many more were maimed for life, whilst the numbers of grieving relatives could not be counted. But this forms no part of my tale, which, as you will recall from its title, is concerned with the Jihadi and the Jinn. But before we reach that part of our story, I must tell you what happened after the bomb ripped through the restaurant, or what comes later will not make any sense to you.
The two little children who had noticed the birds leaving were still seated at their table with their parents, gazing in bewilderment at one another. "What happened?" asked the boy whose name was Marek. "I heard a huge bang and there was flash of light and yet nothing seems to have changed." He turned enquiringly to his sister. "I saw and heard it too," she answered, and looking up at her father asked: "Didn't you hear the big bang?"
"I heard a noise, Chloe," he replied, patting her head affectionately. "It was probably a car back-firing or perhaps someone is having a party and let off a firework. Nothing to worry about. Eat your fish or it will get cold."
Chloe stared at her parents in bewilderment. They didn't seem the least concerned and went on with their conversation as if nothing had happened. But something very important had happened, of that she was quite sure. For one thing the birds had not returned and there was something subtly different in their surroundings she could not quite understand. The sky seemed changed, as if someone or something had added an additional lustre to it. Marek thought the people looked happier and said so, at which his mother laughed and said the wine here was very good.
Similar conversations were taking place among the other diners, none of whom had the slightest idea that anything out of the ordinary had occurred, except for one or two, like Marek and Chloe, who, like many children, often see further and deeper than adults can. It was Chloe who first noticed that some people were disappearing; really disappearing. One second they were there and then they were not. They didn't get up and walk away, they simply vanished, which was very odd as I'm sure you will agree. When this happened to their parents the children became quite alarmed but before they could say anything, a tall lady approached them from the door of the restaurant and taking their hands in hers, drew them to their feet. She was so very lovely and smiled so sweetly that all their fears evaporated in an instant.
"You have died, my little ones," she said softly in a musical voice, "and there is nothing to fear. Hold onto my hands and you will soon be with your parents again." The light around the children grew in intensity and they felt themselves rising rapidly through it, until, all at once they found themselves in a wooded park, more beautiful than any they had ever seen before. And there, sitting on a wooden bench beneath the foliage of a magnificent oak tree, were their parents, looking much younger than they did on earth, entwined in each other's arms. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Chloe. "It's true, we really are dead, and this must be heaven!"
"This is not heaven," said the Lady, who now shone so brightly she resembled an angel rather than a mortal woman, "but only the precincts of it."
There we must leave the children, though one of them still has an important part to play in our little drama as we shall see later on. But before then, it is time to discover what befell the Jihadi after the explosion.
No sooner had he exploded his bomb than the misguided martyr felt himself tumbling head over heels in pitch blackness. There was not the smallest glimmer of light to illuminate the shapeless void that surrounded him on all sides, nor any foothold for his feet. Over and over he rolled, frozen with terror, not knowing where he was, what he was, or even if he was. His torment seemed to last forever, until without warning, he was violently precipitated upon a sharp rock, naked and bleeding from multiple wounds. Gasping with pain he scrambled to his feet and looked about him. What he saw was very different to the paradise he had been promised by those who had given him the bomb. This desolate spot couldn't possibly be Jannah. Here were no gardens of perpetual bliss, buildings made of gold and silver, adorned with precious stones, rivers of milk and wine, and certainly no young and full-breasted maidens, virgin or otherwise! No, the place to which the soul of the Jihadi had descended was very unpleasant indeed, as we shall see
As the he strove to collect his scattered wits a monstrous shape approached from the north. It resembled nothing so much as the horrible Ifrits his mother had threatened him with as a child. It looked like a travesty of a human being with cloven hooves and a long, sinewy tail which swept the ground behind it. Two baleful red eyes regarded him from beneath the brows of a goat-like face. One taloned hand beckoned him as it bared its fangs in an enormous grin. "Welcome!" it snarled in a thunderous voice which struck terror into the Jihadi's heart and turned his blood to ice. "Mercy!" he cried and fell to his knees. "Have mercy upon me! I am a true believer who by some terrible mischance has lost his way."
"Mercy?" laughed the Jinn sardonically. "You ask me, a demon, for mercy? I can see we're going to have a lot of fun with you, my poor, deluded shahid! My Master will decide whether you're a 'true believer' and HE isn't easily deceived! As for the vapid excuse of having 'lost your way', it seems to me you've only just found it. How do you like the cosy home you've made for yourself? Take a good look around, you're going to be here for a very long time."
The sky was the colour of rusty iron in which hung a sickly moon whose meagre rays illuminated the few stunted trees and diseased vegetation which dotted the desolate, rocky landscape with its baleful light. Here and there, flames erupted from stagnant pools of reeking sulphur, whilst the very air was laden with flying cinders and choking dust. This must be Jahannam, thought the Jihadi, and I am now truly dead. As if he could read the Muslim's mind (which he could), the Jinn replied: "Of course you're dead, you simpleton! Do you imagine you can strap 50 pounds of semtex to your miserable body and suffer nothing worse than having all your clothes burned off you? Here, put something on, we do have some standards of decency even in hell." The Jinn threw a tattered cloak to the bewildered Jihadi which he hastily bound around himself.
"D-dead?" he asked in a trembling voice.
"As a doornail," replied the Jinn breezily.
"H‒hell. This is Jahannam?"
"I'm afraid so, my meretricious martyr. Or rather, the outer courts of it. You're not nearly wicked enough to be worthy of our more refined accommodations. They are reserved for the strong-in-evil whereas you are only a very minor little sinner."
"How can I be a sinner?" asked the Jihadi. "I am a true believer devoted to Jihad. I only did what the Imam told me to! He promised me I would be rewarded for ridding the world of the filthy infidels."
You'll be 'rewarded', all right," cackled the Jinn derisively. "My master has something very special lined up for self-righteous sinners like you." So saying, the demon grabbed the unfortunate Jihadi by the scruff of his neck and dragged him kicking and sobbing toward the gaping mouth of cave from which emerged the most piteous cries, shrieks and groans it is possible to imagine.
"Mercy, MERCY!" cried the terrified martyr. "Have mercy on a faithful follower of the Prophet."
"Ask your victims for mercy, not me!"
"But they were infidels, Kafirs. . ." said the Jihadi hesitantly, for he was no longer sure what an infidel actually was or Jihad either. Had he been mistaken? Did Jihad mean something quite different? Had he sinned? If he hadn't why was he here in this dreadful place? Who to tell him?"
"You can knock those ideas on the head straightaway, my lad," snarled the demon. "There's no room for reformed sinners in hell."
Releasing his grip, he gave the Jihadi a violent kick which propelled him into the cave.
"This isn't fair," wailed the Jihadi. "I don't belong in hell."
"If I had a golden dinar for every worthless sinner who's told me that, I'd be richer than Solomon. If you didn't belong here you wouldn't be here. You'd be in the other place along with the 120 souls you slaughtered. Well, some of them anyway, as there were a good few sinners among them."
"120?" asked the Jihadi.
"136," to be accurate," replied the demon, "There were sixteen Muslims among your victims who are now dying of their wounds. Would you like to see them? Their deaths will be deliciously gruesome and exceedingly painful!" He rubbed his two scaly paws together in fiendish anticipation.
"Not so squeamish earlier, were you?"
"That was before I ended up——"
"——In hell," finished the Jinn gleefully. "Of course, it's heaven for us. Never more so than when we get our red-hot tongs on someone weak in evil like you. But we'll soon improve you. By the time we're done you'll be ready to do some serious mischief up above. One of your victims was a fanatical Wahabi Imam whose very promising career your pathetic little sacrifice cut short. My Master is not too pleased about the loss of one of his best servants. Still, you can take his place next time."
"N‒next time?" asked the Jihadi falteringly.
"You don't think souls stay here forever do you?"
"That's what I was taught."
"Dear me," said the Jinn, "you really are a gullible simpleton, aren't you? You'll be sent back upstairs like all the other lukewarm sinners who haven't got the guts to do anything really evil. But not until we've had our fun with you first."
"I don't understand."
The demon's mouth widened in a gargantuan grin which nearly split it's face apart in uncontrolled mirth. "Praise Iblis for the blindness and stupidity of you self-righteous fanatics! Our servants on earth murder, main, plot, betray, corrupt, despoil and ravage with never a twinge of regret or remorse, convinced they are fulfilling the will of Allah, whereas in reality they are only marionettes dancing to the tunes we compose down here in honour of our Master. HE is the true god, not your prater of pious platitudes and promises of unlimited virgins and oceans of wine for the faithful after death. My Master rewards his servants on earth, not in some wishy-washy hereafter."
"How dare you blaspheme the name of Allah!" shouted the Jihadi.
"I rather think you're the one blaspheming," replied the demon, giving him a playful (but excruciatingly painful) kick with his hooves. "Otherwise you wouldn't have ended up in our cosy domain. It's MY Master who sends his servants to earth to twist the words in your 'holy' books. Turning 'merciful' into cruelty and 'compassion' into indifference was one of his master-strokes which have netted us a rich harvest of pious hypocrites, mealy-mouthed mullahs and fanatical despots over the centuries."
The Jihadi groaned and sobbed into his hands. "May Allah forgive me! Oh how can I have been so very mistaken!"
"Save your tears for your victims," said the Jinn. "The exquisite pain you are about to experience will elevate you to the very pinnacle of holy martyrdom; then you'll have something to cry about. Now come along and take your medicine like a man. I promise you it'll really hurt and last a very, VERY long time!" Chuckling at his little joke, the Jinn dragged the reluctant Jihadi deeper into the cave which widened out into a huge arena from which the shrieks and screams were coming.
Hieronymus Bosch — Hell — tempera on canvas, ca. 1505
The scene that now confronted the Muslim martyr was worse than anything he had ever read about in the Koran. On every side a host of malignant demons were engaged in inflicting the most horrible tortures on their victims. Some were tied to burning stakes, others impaled on spikes, yet others stretched out on racks, their joints cracking as the demons wrenched their limbs apart. In one corner, a demon was gleefully extracting the teeth from the mouth of a Mullah with red-hot pincers, while his accomplice flayed the skin from his back with an enormous cheese-grater. In another area of the vast cavern several dog-faced demons were leisurely lowering a group of politicians into vats of boiling oil. Although hell is not the proper place for the ladies, several beautiful women writhed in agony in a snake-infested pit while the demons cut choice bits of flesh from their naked bodies and ate them. The Jihadi thought that only death could release these poor wretches from the terrible cruelties inflicted upon them, but they did not die for they were already dead. He shuddered as the Jinn dragged him to the centre of the cavern. There, on great, golden throne decorated with skulls sat a huge demon from whose misshapen shoulders an enormous pair of bat-like wings extended above his scaly arms. Tongues of fire danced in a diadem around his massive, goat-faced head, from which one solitary eye regarded him with fiendish cunning and malignity.
"My Master," said the Jinn by way of introduction. They joined a throng of demons around the throne who were prodding and pushing a sorry assortment of terrified men and women toward the monstrosity who glared down at them.
"We call this triage," explained the Jinn with a sardonic grin. "Though the 'diagnosis' is always the same: deliciously inventive torture followed by the 'second death'. Or, if they are really lucky, a swift descent into the lower regions of my Master's dominions, from which there is no return."
"Next!" boomed the rasping voice of the great demon.
"If it please your august Magnificentness, this mullah stoned a woman to death for sleeping with her gardener," said the Jinn.
"Tear out his fingernails—slowly," commanded the demon.
"This one betrayed his country to the enemy for gold."
"Into the sulphur lakes with him."
"This pretty maiden poisoned her husband."
"Pour boiling oil down her throat and then knock out all her teeth with red-hot hammers."
"And this pious wretch," said the Jinn, pushing the Jihadi forward, "is a suicide bomber who took the lives of 120 of his fellow humans."
"Is that all? Tear out his entrails and then skin him alive."
"No, there's more, your Highness," said the Jinn with undisguised glee. "He now regrets his crime and begs Allah to forgive him."
The assembled demons nearly split their sides with laughter at this unaccustomed joke. You see, there is no humour in hell except on the very rare occasions when some especially pious and contrite sinner arrives. The Jihadi was quite right when he thought that he didn't belong in hell. His sin, though extreme in the eyes of men, was not prompted by real wickedness, but by misguided zeal, twisted ideologies and the tongues of evil-speaking men. The Jinn knew this, as did his Master, for the demons can read the hearts of men as well as angels. Which is why the great demon, who was not Iblis, but one of his Ministers, now erupted in uncontrollable rage as fire belched from his snarling maws.
"What!" he roared. "You lily-livered scabrous turncoat! You spineless popinjay, how dare you repent of the mission WE entrusted you with on earth! Would'st spurn the honour bestowed upon your worthless self when we—WE at whose command tyrants rise and fall, epidemics are unleashed across the earth, and millions perish at the merest flutter of our mighty wings—when WE cast our unwinking eye upon you—you ignorant, weak-in-evil ingrate!"
"O may Allah save me!" sobbed the Jihadi as he struggled to free himself from the Jinn who held him in an iron embrace.
"Would'st add blasphemy to your other sins?" roared the great demon. "Come, kiss my bloody hooves and swear fealty to my Majesty and we may—we may be merciful and grant you a chance to redeem yourself."
"Never," cried the Jihadi. "A belated light has entered my soul and I see clearly where once I saw only darkness and the lies of men. Never again shall I raise a hand against my bothers and sisters or take the life of any creature in blind anger and hatred. I have sinned greatly. Yet I believe with all my soul in the justice of Allah, the Compassionate and Merciful! There is no God but Him! I give my soul into His hands and may he have mercy upon it!"
"Liar!" shouted the great demon. "Blasphemer! There is no god but Iblis and I—I AM his Servant! Tie him to the stake and let us see whether our genial warmth may yet sharpen his befuddled wits."
The demons obeyed and soon the hungry flames leaped up around the Jihadi. Slowly, he sank down into the fire while the demons howled with mad laughter and capered about on their crooked legs in a paroxysm of unholy joy. Then, without warning, a dazzling beam of brilliant white light broke through the roof of the cavern and scattered the demons, who, shrieking in terror, fled in all directions. Only the great demon and the Jinn stood their ground as a shape of unimaginable glory materialised next to the Jihadi who suddenly stood bolt upright again in amazement. He had died the 'second death'. The spirit loosed his bonds which fall to the floor, releasing his dead body, which sank to the ground and disappeared from sight. The spirit clasped the soul of the Jihadi in its arms and together they soared upwards into the light.
The place to which the spirit had conducted the soul of the Jihadi was illuminated by a radiant, kindly light which glittered like precious gems on the trees and flowers which dotted the landscape. In the distance could be seen rushing waterfalls descending from flowery hills sounding forth the joyful melody of nature; their laughing cadences reflected in the rainbow mists that hung upon the dancing waters. Nearby, a stately swan glided silently across a silvery pool, whilst all around rang forth the song of birds and the happy chatter of the insects going about their mysterious errands.
Tuco Amalfi — Fields of Peace — acrylic on canvas, 2010
"Dost remember me, Omar?" the spirit asked. "Thou dids't love me long ago, as I loved thee with all mine heart. As I love thee still and always shall."
"Alesha?" asked Omar.
"I was Alesha once," replied the radiant maiden thoughtfully. "But my true name is Daima as yours is Arfaan. For these are our true selves, now separated for a space from the shadows which clothed them on earth. We have borne many names and worn many shapes in the lands whither Allah has seen fit to place us. Just now I was Chloe whose child body you slew in your temporary madness. I heard thy soul cry out to me in the midst of its torment and prayed to Allah to save thee. And lo, a mighty voice, like the sound of many rushing waters mingled with the solemn tones of silvery bells spoke to me in my grief, saying 'go my daughter and rescue thy beloved and fear not, for the gates of hell itself cannot prevail against the Power of Real Love, before which even the greatest of the gods must bow their heads in impotence.' Thus did the voice speak to me. Then did I seem to pass through many regions, some bewilderingly strange, some oddly familiar, until I entered a thick, choking darkness peopled with shapes of unimaginable horror. But I did not falter even then, for the voice that had spoken to me was like a living robe of light before which the demons fled in terror. Thus did I come to thee, my Beloved, in that dreadful place whither thy erring steps had led thee."
Bitter tears welled up in Arfaan's eyes at the remembrance of what he had done. "Never, O never again shall I shed the life's blood of a single one of my brothers and sisters to appease the hatred and base ambition of the lowly sons of Man! O how great was the malice of my ignorance which led me to add to the bottomless ocean of woe and tears that strew the suffering earth with misery through my senseless act of unholy war! O never more! How often did thy loving voice warn me of the perilous path my foolish feet had entered. Yet always the fierce fire that burned in the bowels of the shape I wore did drown thy sweet counsel in raging accents of hatred and revenge. Alas! That I ever hearkened to the speech of evil men, who with devilish sophistry do distort with lies the holy truths the Prophet received from the angels of Heaven. For I see clearly now that Jihad is not what men think it is in their blindness. To slay the guilty doth not release them from their wickedness. Neither doth the slaughter of the innocent bring them one step closer to Allah. Jihad doth not consist in violence, but in waging war against the ignorance that blinds the eyes of men and leads them to murder one another in the name of Him whose name they are not worthy to speak!"
Trembling with rapturous emotion, his heart overflowing with mercy and compassion, did Arfaan pour out his love for all mankind. A wave of joy and bliss engulfed him as he clasped Daima to his bosom, who lifted her face to his and answered him thus: "The voice did tell me when I prayed for thee; did proclaim in words as strong as lightning, in accents grave but merciful: 'Every soul shall possess in goodness that goodness which it sought on earth. Every soul shall receive the darkness to which it clung in life. Every soul shall ascend to Me who truly willeth to ascend to Me. I have given it wings, but if it clip those wings, who is in fault? Neither in the highest heaven, nor in the earth, nor in the lowest hell, can the soul escape the consequences of its acts. It cannot be forgiven by angels or redeemed by the prayers of men in priestly garb. Sacrifice cannot atone for its sins, nor offerings remove the stains upon it. It must purify itself."
Arfaan sighed and bowed his head. "I know this my Beloved. Just as I now know that earthly life is a dream within a dream, peopled by shadows such as Omar, the Jihadi who I was. And though it take a thousand lifetimes in which I must wade through an ocean of bitter tears, I will undo the evil I have done and so become worthy to dwell with thee in Paradise. If Allah wills! O if Allah wills, as surely He must, the Compassionate and Merciful, who so longs to gather His lost and erring children into His loving arms."
So ends our tale. A true tale; true today, and yesterday and all tomorrows, though it be clothed in the habiliments of fiction. For the truths of Heaven are the fictions of earth and therefore few there are who comprehend them. Nor are such tales confined to space and time, for the sins of men do not vary very much at any time, nor do their virtues ever change. The greatest of these is Love for all that lives and breathes. Whatever your beliefs may be, we pray that Mercy may ever dwell in the chambers of your heart and Compassion guide your deeds, so that perchance you may never need to learn the bitter lessons Omar the Jihadi taught Arfaan.
This story and the afterword to it were written well before the terrorist attack of 22 March 2017 in London which left several people dead and many severely injured. But we have decided to publish it sooner than we intended for the benefit of all those who are perplexed and troubled by yesterday's event. Our sincere condolences go out to all those affected, including, unpopular as it may be, the perpetrator. But as our tale makes clear, none escape the consequences of their acts, though it may appear otherwise to those who do not know the Laws of God.
NOTE: If you have enjoyed this story you may also like The Adept and the Imp—a tall tale of temptation, devilry and magic in which you can find a number of occult teachings concealed in a seemingly daft manner.
© Copyright occult-mysteries.org. Article published 23 March 2017.