He lay beneath the sun like forgotten meat, his ribs rising only because his lungs still begged to be punished. Flies crowned him before any prayer did. A plastic sandal a few feet away. One cracked banana leaking sugar into the dirt. And above all—silence. The kind of silence that only surrounds the poor when they die.
No mother wailed. No imam ran. No child cried.
Just Arslan, breath slipping from a body that had long ago stopped living. And if this was a crime scene, then let us dissect the murder like God Himself was on trial.
Who killed him?
The villagers would say: "He was always weak."
The mosque would say: "He was tested by God."
The family would say: "He was a burden."
And the truth would say:
His killer was sanctified.
The name was divine. The weapon, doctrine. The motive, obedience. The accomplice? Society.
---
First, the weapon:
Verses.
Uninterpreted, unquestioned, repeated like nursery rhymes dipped in acid. Verses used like a father uses his belt — not to teach, but to silence.
> "Do not raise your voice to your parents."
"Your father is your door to paradise."
"Obey those in authority over you."
"The woman is deficient in intellect."
"Slavery is part of God's wisdom."
"Strike them if they disobey."
These weren't misinterpretations. These were the verses themselves.
Not poetic metaphors. Not modern liberal readings.
Literal. Canon. Untouched by context.
Perfect. Eternal. And deadly.
Arslan obeyed them all. That was his first mistake.
---
Next, the cause:
Control.
He wasn't raised. He was conditioned. Fed on guilt. Weaned on sin. Rewarded only when silent. Beaten when curious. And told it was love — because it came from God's deputies. His parents. His uncles. His imams.
They took everything from him and called it purification. They starved him and said it was fasting. They humiliated him and called it humility. They enslaved him and pointed to scripture. They demanded his gratitude.
> "Arslan, you are lucky to be born a Muslim."
"Do not question Allah."
"Do not shame the family."
What do you call a man who suffers his whole life under divine legislation?
A student of God?
Or a hostage?
---
Then the scene:
2025.
Online, Islam was a flower — soft petals of peace, reels of love, hashtags of mercy.
Offline, Islam was a courtroom — judges with turbans, verdicts with fists.
Online, the youth quoted Rumi with latte cups.
Offline, the mullahs banned music and blamed rape on perfume.
Online, they said "Islam is a religion of peace."
Offline, they said "Death to Shias. Death to Jews. Women belong at home. Apostates must die."
They meant both. They lived both.
Duality was not hypocrisy. It was theology.
And Arslan? He saw it all. From the bottom. From the pit. From the banana cart he pushed in the heat while influencers posted "Ramadan Mubarak" in Versace scarves.
---
And the body:
Collapsed.
Mouth open. Reciting prayers. Maybe out of habit. Maybe in desperation. Maybe both.
He didn't die angry. He died confused.
He didn't curse. He whispered.
He didn't resist. He submitted — even at the end.
And that, perhaps, was the final tragedy:
That he obeyed every command.
That he fulfilled every demand.
That he never once rebelled.
And still, he died unloved.
A good Muslim.
A perfect servant.
A corpse.
---
The murderer?
God? No.
The men who used His name? Yes.
The Book? Maybe.
The readers? Definitely.
The system? Absolutely.
When every institution that claims holiness allows abuse, it is no longer a misunderstanding. It is a blueprint.
> "He should've spoken up."
"He should've left."
"He should've been stronger."
No.
He should've been loved.
---
Final Evidence:
Arslan's only crime was existing without power.
And the murderer?
The man with the white turban who quoted verses and touched boys.
The woman who hit him and called it honor.
The father who used God's name as an alibi.
The town that pitied him in public but spat in his tea.
The internet that told him Islam is beautiful while he bled for its beauty.
---
So tell me again:
Was it a death?
Or a sacrifice?
And if it was a sacrifice, then who is the god that required it?
Because Arslan died without sin.
But the religion — the one in practice, not theory — bled all over him.
And now he is gone.
And the sermon continues.
And the children memorize the same verses.
And the crowd walks past another body.
And the believers post another quote.
In the name of God.