I was a young child, around five or six years old, riding in a car with my mother and my maternal uncle. I was gazing out the window as we drove when suddenly, the entire horizon exploded in blinding whiteness. Somehow, I knew it was the Final Hour, and I happily exclaimed, “It’s the Day of Judgment!”
Our souls instantly departed from our bodies and began rising upwards. I looked down and saw our dead bodies lying motionless in the car. We kept rising until my mother and I ended up in a featureless, gray room without floors or walls—it seemed to be some kind of waiting area.
For some reason, my uncle was no longer with us—it was just my mother and I. Soon after we arrived, some family friends entered into the room and joyfully exchanged the traditional Islamic greeting—Asalam alaikum.
After everybody greeted each other, my mother turned to me and informed me that it was now time to meet my father. Upon hearing these words, I was struck with fear. I told my mother I didn’t want to go because I was “scared of the light.” She told me not to worry, and that she would take care of me. Immediately, a large horse-driven cart full of hay appeared in front of us.
I crawled onto the cart and, still afraid, I crouched down in one of the corners in an attempt to hide. The horse slowly began to trot as the cart transported us out of the gray room and into a long, gray corridor. I occasionally peeked from behind the hay to see where we were headed and I noticed that that we were leaving the grayness and approaching a brightly lit area.
Not long after we left, the horse stopped—we had arrived at our destination. I slowly looked up and was astounded to see that we were in some type of grand palace abound with whiteness. There were no ceilings or walls—only dazzling whiteness. I remember seeing some lush palm trees and some beauteous water fountains scattered throughout the interior.
Not too far away, I saw a man sitting on a small stage performing some religious songs in front of a group of men. Curiously, though, as I was watching the performer, he would change from human form to some other body-less form that I cannot describe. As I was trying to comprehend the shape-shifting man, three men wearing traditional Islamic clothing approached the cart to speak to us.
The one in the middle smiled and simply said, “Asalam alaikum,” I am Prophet Muhammad. Please let me know if you need any assistance.”
