Translated extracts from the coded journal of Ishmail ibn Yusuf

I know I'm different, I just don't know how…or why.

I've known since I was, well, since I was still a baby. Granted, it didn't quite sink in at the time, but the realisation was there. I'm not even supposed to be able to write, I'm only 2 years old, but I have to express my thoughts some how. Kamran Bhai has been trying to teach me to read English, and Ammi and Abu have been showing me Urdu and Arabic, but how am I supposed to tell them I can write and read and speak when the other kids are struggling? I look at the others and…and I know I'm different.

I have heard stories being told to the older kids about how Allah subhanu wa ta'ala bestows gifts and attributes on others, and maybe that's the case with me? Isa alayhis Salam spoke when he was but a newborn baby, I couldn't do that but it does make me wonder…

So there's a new person in the village: Lubna. She's so different, and always wearing pink. I have come to the conclusion that, as children, our eyes work differently and we see differently…there are colours and movements, shapes and patterns, that catch the eyes of babies and I think we lose that as we grow older. What was seen becomes unseen, or unseeable, perhaps? Do we become blinder as we age? I don't want that to happen to me, I love seeing the things I can see, I just wish I could control it.

Kamran Bhai talks to me a lot. The other day he was telling me what he had read about noor and auras. I keep wanting to talk to him openly and freely, but…

The biology book he showed me is fascinating. It explained so much about what I had been seeing, but when Kamran Bhai said 'this is how we look under our skin and the only way we can see it is by either removing the skin or with special machines', I got scared. I'm seeing things we aren't supposed to be able to see…

Maybe it was because he had been mentioning auras that Lubna's stood out more than anyone else's? When I saw her, I was in awe. The colours radiating off her. The light…

I saw the look Ammi gave me; it was the same look Ruxana Aunty gave Uncle Shakeel when she asked him if he approved the rishta she had just told him about.

My arm hurts.

It was so embarrassing falling like that.

I was hearing engine noises that I hadn't heard before so I climbed to the roof to get a better look out at the fields. In the distance I could see a small group of men digging in one of our fields. Abu would have mentioned something, so it was clear he didn't know that this was going on. As well as my hearing getting better and better, I've noticed that I can see further and further as well. My curiosity over what those men were doing got the better of me, though, and I didn't notice the ledge crumble underfoot…

The sharp snapping sound shocked me, and the dull throbbing ache was confusing, but what made me lie there after I fell was embarrassment. I remember when Kashif had tripped and fallen head first into a mound of cowpats and how everyone laughed at him for months…that's what they're going to do to me. 'Look, there's Ishy, the one who fell.'

I wanted to cry.

When Aunty Nadia ran over and checked over me, I wanted to cry even more.

I'm dreading tomorrow when the other kids see me with this cast on my arm.

I didn't like the hospital. The smells and sounds and…and the death.

Doctors and nurses ignoring patients who hadn't paid upfront…

…or had no means to pay..

Other doctors quietly and efficiently tending to patients who hadn't paid upfront…or had no means to pay…

I don't understand. Why is there this…divide? If you're able to help someone then isn't that what you should do?

Why were people begging for help and being shrugged off?

Why was that old man crying himself to sleep as his soiled bed and body was covered with flies?

Some of the doctors and nurses were rushing about, exhausted. Others were calling them 'naïve', 'idealists' and 'foolish'. Is this how people outside the village are? Do they wilfully choose not to help each other?

Ya, Allah, where is the Insaniyat?

Aunty Nadia examined me but took all the records and reports with her when we were leaving. She left a hundred thousand rupees but I don't remember her telling Uncle Imran. It was confusing, they had only asked for ten thousand and I didn't see any other patients leaving with their records.

Seeing her quietly help some of the patients sitting in the corridors as we were leaving, though…that's how we are supposed to be. I'm sure of it. Watching her as Uncle Imran held me…I want to be like her…

Pretending to be asleep during the drive back to the village, I replayed the sounds and sights at the hospital and tried to understand the various smells. Copper and urine, burning flesh and faeces, pus and rotting meat, disinfectants and so many other scents.

The world away from the village is so different.

When Abu slaughters a chicken for dinner, he's careful and respectful. In the village, people share; they come together, and they help. Out there…out there I saw people quickly walk away from those who need help. Out there…I hardly heard anyone even make du'a for those in need.

Things really didn't go the way I expected. There was no joking about the fall, only concern. Is it because my arm was broken or because there was no cowpat involved?

I think Aunty Nadia knows something about me. I'm not sure what, though.

'Ishy, I know this is probably hard for you to believe, but I just thought you should know that there are some children out there who are hafiz by the age of the 3,' said Kamran Bhai as he ruffled my hair. 'I'm not saying you should be like them, every one is different, I'm just saying that, well, just because some of the other kids in the village can't do something that doesn't mean you shouldn't.'

Hafiz by three! Mashallah! I've been, secretly, a hafiz since I was a little over a year old. Listening to Ammi and Abu and some of the others in the village, I learned it by heart. I don't know the meanings yet, only what little I've been told by Kamran Bhai and Abu, but I can recite it. Only in one qirat at the moment – there's no one here to teach me any of the others.

Kamran Bhai had brought some books with him – they were children's books by an English author and certain things struck a chord with me. In one, for example, there is a passage that says:

'A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.'

In another, and one which I feel draws me to books in general, there was a passage that said:

'So Matilda's strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.'

Is this why Kamran Bhai brought these books for me? Is this why he's encouraging me?

I can see plant cells.

I can see Abu and Ammi's cells.

I can see my cells.

At least…I think I can. Sometimes.

Maybe it's just my imagination?

I'm different. I don't know how to explain it. The books Kamran Bhai left behind are too…basic. Oh, Matilda, how I envy you so. Your hunger for knowledge was provided for, your thirst quenched, and here I am 'woeing' and grieving and suffering.

I tried to move things with my mind today. It was my first day at school and I was so bored. Urdu alphabet? Seriously?

I didn't move anything but…I set a textbook on fire.

Note to self: mind your surroundings.

I've never seen Abu look so scared before – I've never been so scared before. It's no excuse, but I was lost in thought and observation. School has been so dull that, as you know, I've just been observing the world and making notes about what I see and understand. There's so much out there…so much to learn…no wonder Allah subhanu wa ta'ala keeps instructing us to observe.

School has been so frustrating, so slow…I had gone on ahead without the others…I just…had a lot to think about. I've memorised all the books Kamran Bhai had left behind and I keep reviewing them in my head, and there's nothing for me to learn at school. I can tell I'm making the teachers uncomfortable. At the moment we only have one teacher for the class I'm in – I understand the approach since we're all so young but I'm beyond what she has chosen (and trained) to teach. I'm not saying she's stupid, far from it. She's really smart, and, in way, I feel a lot more like Matilda because of her. I can see her excitement at teaching me more, but I can see her concern, too, that she may not be 'enough'.

The other kids don't like it – the ones from the other villages. Frankly, some of them have been spoiled and lied to. Maybe it's misguided love from their parents (does that sound 'cold' or 'harsh'?), telling them how smart they are and how 'right' they are. A lot of them talk nonsense and can't stand to be corrected. I'm not sure, yet, what this means with regards to the current education system – for all I know, it could just a rural thing and not something the urban school systems have. Kamran Bhai, for example, is clearly open to being corrected and learning more, and he's from London, so it's certainly not a 'universal' thing. It is disturbing, though. Superstitions and untruths being put forward as fact.

Oh, and the threatening of violence. I don't understand it. Why threaten to harm someone when you can't handle being wrong?

And then the bull trampled me.

First it rammed into my back and sent me flying a dozen feet deeper into the field. As I landed, my trousers tore and my hands scraped across the earth. I looked at my palms quickly, expecting to see torn skin because that's what happens when one of the others falls when we're chasing each other. But there was just dirt.

Then it slammed me into the ground and its left horn tore into my jacket and suddenly I was being shaken in the air. Within seconds the jacket tore loose of the horn, but as I fell again I was hit by one of its hooves. And it stamped and stamped and stamped.

I'm still trying to rationalise this, but…a bull can't hurt me.

'We're going to have to tell him soon.'

'No.'

'Jaan, we have to.'

'He's too young. One more year.'

I should tell Abu and Ammi that I know. I know I'm not their son. I know I'm not…human.

My eyes are cursed. That must be it. For three hours today, I could see through things and everyone was naked. Forget the incident with the bull, mere dost, this is the scariest thing to happen to me! We're not supposed to be able to see through clothes and buildings.

I dismissed it a few weeks ago when I concluded it was just my memory and I was maybe confusing things, but now there's no denying it. I can see through things. It's freaking me out.

I know I've seen through skin before, but I…suppressed it. I know I have some kind of zoom or microscopic vision, and I love being able to do that, but…seeing through.

It was okay when I was younger, when I could see, briefly, through skin and muscle…but this….

It's 'off' now but for hours I kept flashing between seeing through just clothing through seeing through everything.

I'm curious as to how it works…is it tied to the penetration of electromagnetic radiation and my eyes are able to see wavelengths beyond the norm? How am I to test and assess? How am I to control it so I don't see people's awrahs?

Am I some kind of djinn?

The only time I had been to a city was when Aunty Nadia took me to the hospital a few years ago. But now…

I love playing with Murtajiz - racing against him and exploring the woods. With him, I can run freely.

Today, though…today…with torn clothes and melted shoes, I ended up in Islamabad…

I'm (barely) writing this entry in a cave far from the village. There's too much noise.

Crickets.

Ants.

Birds.

Termites.

Leaves.

Trees.

People…

There's too much noise.

I've never felt so alone before. I've always been different, but I've always been able to 'fit in', too. I don't know if I can do that anymore. I know Ammi and Abu are worried, but I don't know how to explain this to them. I don't know how to explain it to anyone.

It's as if I can hear everything…or at least everything within a hundred miles.

A little while ago, the opposite happened. Sort of.

I've developed some meditative techniques and they've helped me to 'balance' things when I've had a bit of an information and sensory overload, but today I found 'silence'…and silence is terrifying.

Everything was quiet…the only thing I could hear was the blood flowing through my body.

I don't know why I can see and hear and do the things I can.

I don't know why I'm here any more…

Lubna's here, and she's not happy with me.

Alhumdulillah, things are 'normal' now. I can filter what I hear, I can focus on specific sounds…I can do so much!

Alhumdulillah, I can go home.

Ever since the incident with the bull I've been careful not to bump in to anyone. I play, but I'm 'slow' (and after running to Islamabad and back in minutes, I really have to be 'slow'). I was so distracted with being 'normal' for a while that I almost didn't see Lubna try to kick me. I probably should have caught her as she fell but I was still kind of shocked that she had tried to kick me in the first place…

I can't remember much from the days before I woke up, other than pain. Feeling every fibre of my being on fire. Pain steadily increasing to a crescendo of lightning and explosions in my vision. My brain boiling and my mind crashing through a kaleidoscope of memories and pseudo-memories (there were faces I couldn't recognise…they must have been created by my fever).

When I woke up, I couldn't move. I gave thanks, though, that I had been allowed to wake up, but I was fearful of what it all meant.

I was told that I stumbled a few times, and that I collapsed, but I don't remember any of that.

My abilities, along with my strength, are beginning to return….but Lubna and the others are going to be leaving soon. I am looking forward to the party – I've seen the sherwani Aunty Nadia has had made for me (couldn't help it) – but I really don't want them to go.

I really hope she likes the present – and I hope everyone kept the boxes I had made for them, I should really ask about that.

It was the scent that I noticed first – horses. A lot of them. Layered beyond them was the oil and grease and metal and rust of vehicles. Layered beyond them, and what particularly caught my attention, was gunpowder.

The rush of adrenaline kicked off my vision and hearing, and among the rumble of the hooves and the engines was the muttering of the bandits. I was still weak, though, much to my horror as my legs gave out as I tried to leave the bed.

Fear had caught my voice, and through the closed door I could see and hear Lubna refusing Kamran Bhai's help to carry her present. I could see them and hear them but I couldn't call to them.

I couldn't tell them to run.

I couldn't tell them to hide.

I could feel waves of heat pulse from my hands, warming the cool tiles of the floor. My fever was returning. My neck screamed in protest as I tried to raise my head. My body shook as I tried to push myself up and stand.

The voices muffled by bandanas, shawls and balaclavas were slightly familiar – I had heard them when I had spent those days in the cave. I heard one growl that 'Doctor Madam' was to be his.

I heard a lot of other things.

I know barely seconds passed by but it felt like years before I was able to turn my head towards to the village gate. My vision tore away at the layers of brick and wood that obscured me from seeing the raiding party, and for a moment I both panicked about and wanted my heat vision to work.

Everything seemed to move slowly but I knew it was merely my perceptions had sped up. That awareness, however, did nothing to counter my frustration as I struggled to stand, so I made dua.

Last week, I could have moved everyone out of the village before the first raider had been in sight of the gate. Screams of terror tore through me and I saw Uncle Zaheer fall from a ladder. I saw Kamran Bhai try to cover Lubna as a horse and rider barrelled towards them. I saw fingers pull on triggers and tug on reins. I saw the earth being kicked up by pounding hooves and churned by rotating wheels.

I moved, and my clothes tore in protest.

The horse reared up, neighing in terror, and its rider, unprepared, fell to the ground and had the wind knocked out of him.

Walls cracked and splintered, windows shattered, and the earth shook as I channelled my energies and shouted.

The pause was what I needed as I prayed for my abilities to last long enough to save everyone. I was thankful that the raiders had only shot in to the air and that my shout had unnerved them enough for me to position myself better.

"Allah! There is no god but He - the Living, The Self-subsisting, Eternal. No slumber can seize Him, nor Sleep. His are all things in the heavens and on earth. Who is there can intercede in His presence except as He permits them? He knows what (appears to His creatures as) before or after or behind them. Nor shall they compass even a small amount of His knowledge except as He wills. His throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and He feels no fatigue in guarding and preserving them, for He is the Most High. The Supreme (in glory)."

I recited the verse as I flicked small stones at the raiders and the horses – the flicks were much softer on the horses as I merely wanted to encourage them to move, but on the raiders the stones would, at the very least, bruise very deeply. Disarming those with guns was of utmost importance – without their weapons they could be overpowered but with them they put every villager at risk.

To one side, I saw Junaid Bhai try to protect his mother and sister from two raiders. To the side, a third raider lunged at him with his sword. In less than a heartbeat I rushed at the raider and pulled him away from Junaid Bhai. I think my disappearing from the line of sight gave some of the disarmed raiders some form of courage. As I tried to figure out where to position myself I saw some of them reach for their fallen guns.

May Allah forgive me, I used my heat vision to burn their hands.

The smell of scalding flesh made me feel ill, but I didn't know what else I could do at the time.

While some screamed, others cursed and raged, and as they called on God to help them…I raged. These…people had come to terrify and plunder and do evil, and here they were asking Him for help in doing these things.

As I stepped out to confront them again, as I stood their waiting for them to notice me, my fever wracked through me again, and I stumbled. I was deafened for a few moments as my hearing flitted through a range of frequencies; I was blinded as my vision seemed to collapse in on itself and then expand beyond what I had ever seen before.

My head snapped back as bullets hit it.

In that moment I knew, as weak as I was, one of my gifts was that, well, nothing short of an exploding shell would pierce my skin.

Allah burdens not a person beyond his scope. He gets reward for that (good) which he has earned, and he is punished for that (evil) which he has earned. "Our Lord! Punish us not if we forget or fall into error, our Lord!"

I'm not ashamed to admit it, but as recited the ayat…as they shot me with bullet after bullet after bullet…

I cried.

Glossary

Chapter 1

Shalwar – a lower trouser-like garment worn in the Subcontinent (South Asia)

Hadith (Ahadith is plural) – sayings and traditions of Prophet Muhammad (saw)

Alhumdulillah – Praise belongs to Allah (God)

Rabil aalameen – Lord of all the worlds

Bhaji – (older) sister. Used to convey respect.

Bhai – (older) brother. Used to convey respect.

Sherwani – men's clothing often worn for special events

Mere yaar – my friend

Subhanahu wa ta'ala – Glorified and Exalted is He (God)

Khalil – friend

Ayat al-Kursi – the Verse of the Throne. A particular verse from the Qur'an

Surah – 'Chapter'. There are 114 in the Qur'an

Chapter 2

Ammi – Mother

Abu – Father

Isa – Jesus (as)

Alayhis Salam – Peace be upon him – used when a Prophet is referred to by name

Noor – light

Insaniyat – humanity

Rishta – relationship. Often used when arranging or proposing to arrange a marriage

Du'a/dua – a prayer/supplication

Mashallah – 'What Allah wishes' and indicates a good omen or result (for example, you get an 'A' in a test and your mother says 'Mashallah')

Qirat – a way of reciting the Qur'an

Jaan – life. Here it is used as a term of affection towards a loved one

Ayat – verse (of the Qur'an)