The residents of Baitul Omar in Medina were glued to their televisions and computer monitors for the news of the state of Arakan. They were getting the news regarding the operation ‘Blood Red Greetings’ through the net. Apart from that they had the international media covering the events. Who were behind this operation, its objective and the leadership, the details of all these had already been revealed. From ten at night till twelve midnight, in the hall room of Baitul Omar, they were having discussions, debates about it. All who were there came up with their own views as to how they could prevent this design to wipe out the Rohingya nation. Most of the times, Solimulla played the role of the moderator during these meetings. During one of these meetings, one-night Qadir came to Rafiq and said that Solimulla wanted to talk to him.
Rafiq did not expect it. Hence, “Why would Solimulla bhai want to see me?” he asked a bit nervously.
“Why don’t you come and see for yourself? Perhaps, he is waiting for you with a gift,” Qadir said to Rafiq, and literally dragged him to the door of the hall room.
The office of the director was on the 8th floor of the building. After coming out of the lift, Rafiq confronted a huge door made of teak wood. The designs engraved on the door told Rafiq, it was not an ordinary door. After passing through the door, he came to a red desk which came up to his chest. The perfectly white walls ensured pleasant working environment inside the chamber. It had a red false ceiling made of wood. The ceiling had designs on it which added to the beauty of the entire room. Behind the desk, a lady wearing a hijab had been talking on the phone. When the lady saw them, she hung up and greeted them in Arabic. Then she said something to Qadir. Apparently, she knew Qadir. Qadir Addressed her as Saleha. By pressing the button of the intercom, she informed Solimulla that Qadir and Rafiq were there to see him. After receiving permission from Solimulla, she showed them the door behind her. Behind the door was an eight feet wide passage. The walls of the passage were also white, and it had a relatively high ceiling. The entire length of the passage had three lights hanging from the ceiling. They looked like chandeliers, albeit Rafiq was not sure they were. On either side of the passage, Rafiq glanced at the series of open doors. He could see men working behind computers in those office rooms. Rafiq couldn’t understand why they needed so many people for running one building. He asked Qadir if they were all employees of Baitul Omar.
“Yes.” Qadir relied.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Rafiq was amazed. He blurted out, “So many people for running one building!”
Qadir explained, “The name Baitul Omar belongs to the building as well as the donor organization that owns this building. These people work round the clock to collect donations and relief goods for the Rohingyas. After receiving the donations and relief goods from the rich tycoons all around the globe, they send it to the refugee camps at Teknaf in Bangladesh. It looks like an easy task. However, it’’s a huge and complicated task, encouraging the donors to donate and then organizing them and sending them where they are needed. Day and night, they have to work to keep in touch with those donors. When they talk, they have to be very polite and careful. How the money is being spent, often they have to give an account of that too, along with evidence. Apart from that, sending thousands of tons of relief goods to the destination is a formidable feat as well.”
“Qadir bhai, being a cleaner at the Masjid-e-Nabbi, how do you know so much about it?”
Qadir said, “Listen Rafiq, I am going to tell you something. I don’t want to boast, I’m going to tell you just to inform you. I have undergraduate and post graduate degrees in psychology, and basically I’m an employee of Baitul Omar. I’ve got this opportunity to serve at Masjid-e-Nabbi through Baitul Omar. Every day, numerous rich Saudi Tycoons come to the mosque for salat and I get to talk to them. Remember, those who truly love Islam, from them getting help like donations and relief goods is not really a difficult thing. Many do it for political and humanitarian reasons. It doesn’t matter why they donate. The task of Baitul Omar is to collect funds and relief goods from them. It is my responsibility to introduce those donors to Baitul Omar. For this, I receive financial incentives from the Baitul Omar as well.”
Qadir had stopped walking at the other end of the passage while explaining this to Rafiq. He presented a smile, and said, “Now let’s go and meet our boss. I’ll introduce you to him. I have already told him about you. He is interested in having a conversation with you.”
The white doors on either side of the passage had no designs on them. They were like any other office doors. But the huge door at the other end of the passage was made of teak wood. It had flowers engraved on it and at the top of it, verses from the Holy Qur’an were engraved in Arabic calligraphy.
Qadir told Rafiq to wait at the door. A minute later he came back and beckoned Rafiq to enter. The size of the room was at least twenty by thirty feet. The pieces of furniture in the room were all made of Burma teak. The spacious room boasted a sofa set with corner tables. At the center of the room was a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rafiq had never seen an office so beautiful in his life. At the other end of the room, behind a huge desk, Rafiq could see Solimulla sitting in his revolving chair. Solimulla smiled at Rafiq. This gentleman was a bit skinny. However, because of his fair complexion, neatly managed beard and his short silky dyed hair, he looked quite handsome. A few grey hairs over his ears told Rafiq that his age was way over fifty. He wore a navy blue t-shirt having white dots on it. In his revolving chair, he looked quite comfortable. Politely he responded to Rafiq’s Islamic greeting and said, “From Kadir, I’ve heard about your family in Arakan. If you don’t mind, I would like to hear the sad tale of Arakan from you.”