Voice of British Muslim Women

Iffat Mirza Rashid, Alton 

There are two days of the year that bring me a small spark of joy. I never know exactly when they’ll be, and there’s no way of knowing where I’ll be when I realise today is that day. These are the days of the year when I see the first conker and when I see the first butterfly, because to me they signal the moment of entering a new season. 

Today, as I write this, was incidentally the day I saw the conker. In fact, it was not just one, but many which had fallen on the concrete, this rainy day. Almost like a child, I searched for the shiniest one, inspected it and put it in my pocket. It’ll probably stay there for a few months, until I find it randomly one day and I might have to tell myself it’s time to discard it – I can’t keep it forever now, can I? 

It’s interesting how we all have various markers or milestones to punctuate specific moments in our lives. They could be momentous occasions like graduations, marriages, births, and even deaths. In fact, much of human history is categorised like this. The Gregorian Calendar marks the birth of Jesus (peace be on him) as the year 0 and everything is spoken of in terms of either before or after.  The Islamic calendar starts with the hijrah or migration of the Holy Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be on him) to Medina, from Mecca; events taking place at the time are referred to as occurring before or after the hijrah.  

Of course, my spotting a conker and a butterfly once a year is in no way as momentous, but it is a little personal marker of time for me, and with it a reminder of the cyclicality of change. 

“Cyclicality of change” can be considered a bit of an oxymoron – does the constant coming and going of the same changes mean in the end nothing changes at all? It’s a marker of change but one that I’ve been doing for years, so arguably, quite a constant in my life. 

But I think this cyclicality of change, rather than being a contradiction of itself, is an expression of our desire for familiarity without boredom, and our need to experience certain conditions in order to appreciate what we are naturally inclined to. 

The conker on the ground, the butterfly in flight, the trees stripped bare and the ground beneath cloaked in hues of reds and oranges and then adorned again in green: each is Allah’s equilibrium and measure, demonstrated before our very eyes. Allah has placed within the rhythm of nature countless reminders of His power. And indeed, they are more than just reminders of the season that we enter; the cycle in itself is a reminder of Allah’s order and what we can learn from it, if we stop for a moment to ponder. After all, the Holy Qur’an does tell us: “In the creation of the heavens and the earth and in the alternation of the night and the day there are indeed Signs for men of understanding” (3:191). His Holiness Mirza Bashir-ud-Deen Mahmood Ahmad (may Allah be pleased with him), the Second Caliph of the Promised Messiah (on whom be peace) wrote in his commentary of this verse that it teaches: “man has been created both for spiritual and temporal progress, and that if he acts righteously, his period of darkness and affliction must be followed by one of sunshine and happiness.” ⁱ From this, we learn that there is an inevitability to darkness and affliction, but similarly there is an inevitability to happiness following it, just as there is inevitability to both day and night, and of course, to the seasons. 

The falling of leaves, the withering of flowers, the dull heaviness of the grey months – these are not ends, but preludes to renewal. The cycle we see is really a mirror of our own condition: we are born, we live, we wither, and then we are brought back to life. 

Each of these moments is absolutely necessary. It would not be beneficial to a tree’s health for it to be spring and summer all year round – the months of cold are necessary to its growth, even if they are difficult to bear. Just as spring cannot be fully appreciated without winter, joy cannot be tasted without grief. Just as autumn prepares the ground for new growth, moments of loss remind us of the greater renewal to come. “Surely there is ease after hardship.” (94:6). 

But it is certainly comforting to know that with every autumn, there is the promise of spring. And with every conker, there is the promise of a butterfly.