Ramazan is gone and we have anxiously started waiting for the next year to celebrate Ramazan again. This month is a blessing for us Muslims and yes, this proved true for me on its first day, which could have turned into a nightmare.

It was a night like any other, the stars shimmering in the dark night sky as the moon glistened upon the sea. The atmosphere was peaceful as it was the start of the holy month and its first night. I was in a mosque for the first Taraveeh prayers, praying peacefully without a clue of what was going to happen next until everything turned dark. My first thoughts were that it was most probably because of a power failure.

A few seconds passed in confusion, suddenly someone’s screams echoed through the walls, almost deafening me, “Run! Get out! There’s a fire!”

On hearing this, I tried to move but felt like my legs had turned into jelly. So I was unable to move while my heart started racing. My father grabbed my hand, and we both tried to get out from the premises with so many other people also trying to do the same.

Suddenly the area was covered with thick clouds of smoke and it filled our lungs too. The smoke was also making it difficult for us to see, but we kept trying to find a way out.

Someone shouted that the generator had erupted, resulting in the fire. We were horrified and looked around to see if it had spread in other areas of the mosque. Thankfully, it did not. But as it usually happens, all the exit points were choked by hysterical people shoving their way out.

Seconds felt like years. My father finding no way out, decided to take the dangerous stairs going down towards the area where the generator was kept. Though uncertain, I had no other option but to follow him even if it meant going towards death itself.

I took the name of God, the most Beneficent and the most Merciful, and prepared for the worse. I sped down the stairs as fast as I could but the vapours rushed past me, tearing me down. I collapsed with everything spinning around me and fell down on the cold, hard marble floor.

People didn’t bother to take notice of a small boy (me) who was stuck in this helpless situation, but kept running out of the mosque. I heard the wailing sounds of ambulances and fire brigades. I was sure I would have been trampled on if my father and another individual had not picked me up.

Still dizzy, I put my arm around my father and raced out of the gate, finally sheltered and breathing sighs of relief. I was amazed how I survived the fire and the resulting panic.

I still think of that day and thank Almighty Allah for getting me thro­ugh such a precarious situation.

Published in Dawn, Young World July 29th, 2017