Kitab Silahul Mukmin -

The next day, Zayan went to Tuan Raif’s warehouse. Three thugs blocked the door. Zayan did not carry a parang. He carried the open book.

Zayan had seen his grandfather read from it every dawn after Fajr prayer, tracing its Arabic script with reverence. But to Zayan, who had just returned from the city with modern ideas, a book was just ink and paper. kitab silahul mukmin

“Grandfather,” he whispered, “you were right. This is a weapon. The only one that leaves no widows in its wake.” The next day, Zayan went to Tuan Raif’s warehouse