The Motorcycles Were Never His

بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ  

إِنَّ اللَّهَ يَأْمُرُكُمْ أَن تُؤَدُّوا الْأَمَانَاتِ إِلَىٰ أَهْلِهَا

 

وَإِذَا حَكَمْتُم بَيْنَ النَّاسِ أَن تَحْكُمُوا بِالْعَدْلِ 

 

إِنَّ اللَّهَ نِعِمَّا يَعِظُكُم بِهِ إِنَّ اللَّهَ كَانَ سَمِيعًا بَصِيرًا

Innallāha ya’murukum an tu’addul-amānāti ilā ahlihā; wa idhā ḥakamtum baynan-nāsi an taḥkumū bil-‘adl; innallāha ni‘immā ya‘iẓukum bih; innallāha kāna samī‘an baṣīrā.

An-Nisa 4:58 — Allah commands you to return trusts to those to whom they are due, and when you judge between people, to judge with justice. How good is the instruction Allah gives you. Surely Allah is All-Hearing, All-Seeing.

 

آمِنُوا بِاللَّهِ وَرَسُولِهِ وَأَنفِقُوا مِمَّا جَعَلَكُم مُّسْتَخْلَفِينَ فِيهِ

Āminū billāhi wa rasūlihi wa anfiqū mimmā ja‘alakum mustakhlafīna fīh.

Part of Al-Hadid 57:7 — Believe in Allah and His Messenger, and spend out of that over which He has made you trustees. 

One of our school drivers retired last year.

Retirement is not always an easy door to walk through. From the outside, people may imagine rest, freedom, and time. But for many people, especially those who have lived a life of work, retirement can also bring a quiet anxiety.

What will happen now?

Will there be enough?

Will the children be fine?

Will the body remain strong?

Will customers come?

Will Allah open another door?

With his pension fund, he started a small noodle stall near where we live, not far from the highway exit. It was a simple place. Nothing grand. Nothing that would attract the attention of people who think success must always be large, bright, branded, and announced.

But it was his new beginning.

He was worried about what the future might hold. So we encouraged him. We motivated him. We reminded him, as much as we could, that Allah is the One who provides.

One day I went there with the family and ordered noodles for everyone.

Partly it was to help him.

Partly it was to check on him.

And partly, perhaps, it was to remind myself that sometimes encouragement should not remain only as words. Sometimes encouragement must sit at a small table, order food, pay for it, smile, and let another human being feel that his effort is seen.

He asked me to make special do’a for him.

So I did.

What else can we really give anyone?

We may advise. We may encourage. We may buy a bowl of noodles. We may offer a few words. But finally, all openings are from Allah. All rizq is from Allah. The heart that is anxious can only truly be settled by Allah.

Some time after that, I passed by his stall again and noticed something.

There were motorcycles parked in front.

At first, only a few.

Then I saw him covering them carefully with a tarpaulin. He was using polythene to cover the mirrors and parts that might be affected by rain or heat. He was not careless. He was not casual. He was taking care of them with attention.

So I asked him what was happening.

It turned out that the government had started a bus service to the city center, passing through that highway. People began to find it more practical to ride their motorcycle from home, leave it near his noodle stall, take the bus to the city for work, and then return in the evening to collect the motorcycle and go home.

They would give him a small fee for looking after it.

SubhanAllah.

He had opened a noodle stall.

Allah opened another door beside the noodles.

He had worried about the future.

Allah sent customers of a different kind.

They did not only come to eat.

They came to entrust.

And there is a difference.

A customer gives money for what he consumes.

But a person who entrusts something to you gives you responsibility over what belongs to him.

That is a higher test.

The rizq was beautiful, of course. But what moved me most was not only that Allah had opened a way for him. What moved me was the way he handled the amanah.

The motorcycles were not his.

The mirrors were not his.

The seats were not his.

The helmets, the locks, the small scratches, the side stands, the little bags tied at the back, the rain covers, the fuel inside, the value of the machine, the daily dependence of the worker upon that motorcycle — none of it belonged to him.

Yet he cared for them.

He covered them.

He arranged them.

He watched over them.

He protected them from weather.

He did not say, “It is not mine, so why should I care?”

Rather, because it was not his, he had to care even more.

That is amanah.

And when amanah is done beautifully, that is ihsan.

Many people think ihsan only appears in large matters. Great charity. Great sacrifice. Great public service. Great achievements. But sometimes ihsan is a retired driver covering the mirror of someone else’s motorcycle with polythene so that when the owner returns in the evening, nothing has been damaged.

Do not underestimate small trusts.

A key can be small, but losing it can disturb a family.

A mirror can be small, but breaking it can burden a worker.

A scratch can be small, but it can become someone’s anger after a long day.

A promise can be small, but breaking it can wound a heart.

A child’s question can be small, but ignoring it can close a door.

A student’s weakness can be small, but mocking it can change the way that child sees himself.

A small trust is not small before Allah.

Then another thought came to me.

Every morning, the motorcycles come.

For some hours, the space becomes full.

Dozens of bikes.

Rows of them.

Covered.

Protected.

Watched.

To an outsider, it may even look as though they are his. The whole area is filled with motorcycles under his care.

But in the evening, the owners return.

One by one, they take back what belongs to them.

The motorcycles leave.

The space becomes empty again.

And he does not become upset.

He does not say, “Why are they taking them away?”

He does not say, “I covered them all day, so now they should remain mine.”

He does not say, “I looked after them, so I deserve ownership.”

He does not grieve because the space has become empty.

He knows the simplest truth.

The motorcycles were never his.

His honor was not in owning them.

His honor was in guarding them while they were with him.

What a lesson.

How many of us understand this with motorcycles, but forget it with everything else?

Money comes to us.

Property comes to us.

Position comes to us.

A title comes to us.

Students come to us.

Children come to us.

Health comes to us.

Time comes to us.

Influence comes to us.

A school, a project, a home, a reputation, a responsibility, a relationship — all of these may come and fill the space of our lives.

For a while, it may look as though they are ours.

People may even speak to us as if they are ours.

Your money.

Your house.

Your position.

Your school.

Your children.

Your success.

Your name.

Your people.

Your work.

Your future.

But are they really ours?

Or are they parked for a while in the small space Allah has entrusted to us?

Allah says: spend from what He has made you trustees over.

That is a very different way of looking at life.

We are not absolute owners.

We are caretakers.

We are not the source.

We are recipients.

We are not sovereigns.

We are servants.

The tragedy is that many of us begin as caretakers, but slowly start thinking like owners. Then when Allah takes something back, we feel robbed.

But how can we be robbed of what was never ours?

Of course, sadness is real.

The heart is not stone.

Even the Messenger of Allah ﷺ wept when his son Ibrahim passed away. The eye weeps. The heart grieves. Grief is not the problem.

The problem is when grief becomes accusation.

The problem is when sadness turns into anger at the Owner.

The problem is when we forget that the amanah was given by Allah, kept by Allah, and returned to Allah.

A child is an amanah.

So we love the child, educate the child, protect the child, guide the child, and make do’a for the child. But the child belongs to Allah.

Wealth is an amanah.

So we earn lawfully, spend carefully, give generously, and avoid greed. But the wealth belongs to Allah.

A position is an amanah.

So we serve through it, not worship it. We use it to carry responsibility, not to inflate the nafs. But the position belongs to Allah.

Knowledge is an amanah.

So we teach with humility, learn with adab, and do not turn knowledge into a ladder for arrogance. But the knowledge belongs to Allah.

A school is an amanah.

So we care for the children, the teachers, the families, the environment, the unseen moral atmosphere, and the small daily details that no one may praise. But the school belongs to Allah.

Even our own body is an amanah.

Our eyes, our hands, our tongue, our breath, our strength, our years — none of these were created by us. They were handed to us. One day they will be taken back.

Every evening, the motorcycles leave.

Every evening, the space becomes empty.

Maybe this is not failure.

Maybe this is completion.

The amanah was received.

The amanah was protected.

The amanah was returned.

Then tomorrow begins again.

New motorcycles.

New responsibilities.

New chances to show ihsan.

New chances to prove that we can be trusted with what does not belong to us.

This is how life is.

Allah gives us something for a while and watches how we treat it.

Do we neglect it?

Do we exploit it?

Do we become arrogant because of it?

Do we become attached to it?

Do we claim ownership over it?

Or do we say: O Allah, You have placed this in my care. Help me guard it with ihsan. Help me return it when You ask for it. Help me not betray the trust, and help me not worship the trust.

The world teaches us to acquire.

Allah teaches us to be faithful.

The world asks, “How much do you own?”

Allah may ask, “How did you care for what I placed with you?”

The world praises the one whose space is full.

Allah may love the one whose space becomes empty every evening because every amanah was returned safely to its owner.

There is a lesson here for all of us.

When something comes into our life, let us not become intoxicated by possession.

When something leaves our life, let us not collapse as though Allah has wronged us.

Between receiving and returning, there is our test.

That space in between is where amanah lives.

That space in between is where ihsan is shown.

That space in between is where a human being becomes either faithful or false.

May Allah bless our retired driver, increase his halal rizq, and accept his work. May Allah make us people who can be trusted with small things and large things. May He make us grateful when amanah is given, careful while amanah is with us, and surrendered when amanah is returned to its Owner. May He protect us from attachment that becomes heedlessness, and from grief that becomes complaint. May He make us people of ihsan in what is seen and unseen.

Ameen.