Lejla And The White Days [Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs] – A Short Story

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ used to command us to fast the days of the white (nights): the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the month. He said: “This is like keeping perpetual fast.”

—Qatadah ibn Malhan al-Qaysi

 [Sahih according to Al-Albani]

***

[This Islamic short story is adapted from The Brothers’ Grimm “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”]

The Birth of a Beauty

Once upon a time, a widow watched as snow fell on her husband’s grave, like steady, gentle tears. Her beloved dedicated his life to letting Muslims know when it was time to pray. But rather than being a mu’adhin, he was a muvekit—the man who maintained the hands of the Sarajevo Clock Tower with his own. He took great pride in his work, and she did as well. This was the only public clock in the world that held time according to Allah’s decree.

Many moons had passed since his passing. But time went on, as it always does, and she would often pass the ebony windows of the clock tower that counted the hours from sunset, and not from midnight. 

One evening, she decided to visit the masjid alongside the clock tower. As Maghrib approached, she thought to make du’a for the thing her heart wanted most. But when she lifted her hands, she found something strange: that she was bleeding. A cut from the tree branches, perhaps? Still, it was a sign of health, and in desperation, she called, “Ya Allah, grant me a child as ivory as snow and ebony as the wood in the frame.”

There was a shining sense of hope throughout the dark days of her ‘idda. The sad widow was going to be a happy mother! And as for the child, she hoped and prayed that he, too, would be a muvekit like his father.

But Allah ﷻ chose differently for the small family. The widow eventually parted this world, while a baby girl was welcomed in it. She was as her mother asked, with snow-white skin and hair black as night. Midwives chose to call her “Lejla,” because she was a beauty like none other in the heart-shaped land.

Mirror, Mirror

The imam, who knew the deceased muvekit, called the congregation to action soon after the janazah of the widow. “Is there anyone who could take in the child, and raise her as their own?” he asked on the pulpit. “Who would like to keep the sunnah of our Prophet ﷺ alive?”

One lady raised her hand. But her heart was dark. The envy deep within her boiled after hearing a beautiful child was born. For her to foster Lejla meant that she would appear not only pretty, but pious to the community.

The woman was a witch; so adept at her craft, that she had trapped a jinn within a mirror in her home. Daily, she inquired of it:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?”

Even after she took Lejla in, the jinn inside the mirror replied: “You are the fairest one of all.”

What seemed to be innumerable tolls from the clock tower rang. Lejla went from a little girl, to a young woman, to a fine lady in a matter of years. But the mirror’s response remained the same, and the wicked witch had no cause for concern.

Until one day, he answered:

“You are most fair, my lady, it is true,

but Lejla has become much fairer than you.”

In a rage, the witch schemed how to be best rid of the girl. The community was fond of her, and would never forgive the witch if anything were to happen. As she plotted and planned, she decided that the crime would have to be a discreet one.

The huntsman she often paid to procure game for their household was perfect. She always paid him handsomely, and didn’t suspect that he would betray her. When she summoned him to her side, she ordered: “Let Lejla join you on one of your hunting trips. And let her be your prize. All I ask is that you bring me her heart.”

“Bring me her heart!” [unsplash (camilo jimenez)]

“Do you know?” she asked the huntsman. “Perhaps I have eaten too much of our food, or thanked her too little. Or perhaps I have not complained more than I have cleaned. Perhaps I should die from my ingratitude.”

This moved the huntsman’s heart, and he decided to spare hers. “Run away, you poor child!” he begged. “Never return to the city!”

Before Lejla could protest, a wild boar appeared. Frightfully, Lejla obeyed him, and he remained behind to slay it.

As agreed upon, the witch received a heart. While the huntsman thought it would only serve as proof of Lejla’s death, the witch had more sinister plans. When she boiled, salted, and ate the heart, she hoped that she would take some of Lejla’s beauty for herself.

With All Her Heart

Lejla entrusted herself to Allah. With a shaky bismillah beneath her breath, she ran wherever a path was carved. There was no time for her to worry about the branches cutting apart her clothes and mud caking her feet. But even the animals avoided her, and miraculously, she entered the deepest part of the forest unharmed.

The only sound in the glen was that of her own heavy breaths. A half-full moon spotlit a small house, smaller than she had ever seen. Cautiously, she crept up to the door and knocked. 

No answer.

Again, she knocked, and said salaam. Exhausted, and still fearful of the dark forest, she tried to open the door. It did not even creak as she stooped down to step inside. The house, she thought, must be well maintained and well lived-in.

And it was. She called out over and over, but despite signs of life, the house was empty. There was a table with seven chairs, seven plates, seven forks, seven spoons, seven mugs, and seven knives. Behind that were seven beds.

Lejla assumed that there would be seven sets of other things, but she was so tired that her brain refused to count much else. After rummaging through the house, she found a bowl of seven apples and ate one while seated on one of the chairs. She gripped the fork of one set and the knife of another and used another plate to eat the pieces after she had cut them up. She then poured herself a mug of water, and, thinking better than to leave the dirty dishes out, washed them all in the basin nearby. Finally, she settled into the first bed that she saw. Her last thought was that she hoped her seven hosts would be merciful to her—but if Allah had already been thus far, then there was no need to worry.

She slept until ‘Asr. In the fading daylight, the masters of the home finally returned. They were stout dwarves, sporting seven white beards, seven hardy boots, and seven bags of minerals from the Sarajevo mountains. It didn’t take long for them, after lighting all seven of their candles, to realize that there was an eighth person in their home.

The first one, Muhammad, asked: “Who sat in my chair?”

The second, Ahmad, asked: “Where is my plate?”

Al-Mahi, the third, said, “My mug isn’t here, either!”

Al-Hashir and Al-Aqib remarked that their knife and fork were gone, too, while Sadiq pointed out a missing apple from the bowl.

Finally, the seventh dwarf, Amin, asked: “Who’s this in my bed?!”

The young girl was still fast asleep, even after each dwarf shined their candles around her. 

“SubhanAllah!”

“I’ve heard of her!”

“The muvekit’s daughter!”

“The one with ivory skin—”

“scarlet lips—”

“an ebony hijab!”

“Lejla!”

Suddenly, Amin was all right to have an intruder in his home. But they all struggled to figure out how they might wake her up.

“Do you think she’s prayed already?”

“What if she’s missed Dhuhr?”

“She’s a traveler, she can combine!”

“But what if she missed Fajr, too?!”

“Let her sleep! She might not be praying in the first place!”

“What if she’s actually dead?”

“She can’t be! Look…”

Their chatter eventually woke Lejla. She gasped at the sight of them, and they all looked startled in turn. Muhammad was the one to shush them and press his hand to his chest. The others followed suit, and Lejla giggled at their earnestness.

“Lejla the Muvekit’s Daughter,” one whispered in awe. 

“We’ve met your father, you know!”

“And those that came before him.”

“We helped build that clock tower, you know.”

“Oh, be a little humble, we just collected the wood for it.”

“And the gold it was gilded in!”

“… Please forgive my brothers. Salam. How did you stumble upon our home?”

Beaming, Lejla told them everything—her stepmother, the huntsman, and her perilous journey through the forest. Again, they exclaimed with subhanAllahs and Allahu akbars. Lejla felt as though she were talking to young children and not old dwarves. 

Then they all began mumbling to themselves, and Muhammad cleared his throat to announce a verdict. “Lejla, it would be an honor for us to host you. We have a spare room for guests.”

“Oh, please, I couldn’t stay without helping, at least a little.” Lejla shyly looked down at her hands. “It would be an honor for me to serve you, the ones who helped build the Clock Tower. While you all are mining, I can keep this house for you.”

Again, the dwarves began mumbling. Some didn’t want to impose on the young lady, and others agreed that they could use the help. Muhammad once again asked, “Are you sure you’d like to do that?”

“With all my heart,” Lejla answered.

“Then let us feast!” one of the dwarves cried.

“After she prays!”

“Shh! What if she’s not praying?”

“But what if she already did pray?!”

“If she hasn’t, she’ll be making du’a against you!”

“Forgive us, Lejla! Forgive us!”

The White Days

That evening would be a special one. The seven dwarves told Lejla about a tradition they’d been keeping for hundreds of years—fasting the White Days. Every thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the lunar month, when the moon was at its brightest and fullest, they would spend their days reciting Qur’an as they worked and their afternoons in du’a. Lejla loved the idea, and vowed to make their suhoors and iftars spectacular. It was also Rabi al-Awwal, the birth month of the Prophet ﷺ, and so she felt that she had to make this occasion extra special.

The poisoned apple [(PC: János Patrik (unsplash)]

That morning, on the thirteenth day, the dwarves left early to go to the mountains. Before parting from Lejla, they warned her to keep watch about herself, as she would be alone until they returned for Maghrib.

But not for long. Despite having eaten the heart, Lejla’s stepmother once again took to the mirror to confirm her triumph:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?”

“You are most fair, my lady, it is true,

but Lejla is still much fairer than you.

Deep in the forest, she lives and works in wait,

because the huntsman prevented her from her fate.”

Envy engulfed the wicked witch once more. She commanded the mirror to show her a path to where Snow White was. Then she disguised herself as a peddler, traipsing through the trees.

“Beautiful things for sale!”

Lejla was in the midst of preparing for iftar when she heard this call from the windows. From the window, she replied, “I’ll not buy anything today, sister.”

“No need to buy anything. You may merely look at what I have.” The peddler showed her shawls that were drenched in poison. But the fumes smelled only like perfume. To Lejla, the shawl was beautiful in every which way—and she decided to buy it. 

“You’ll look beautiful in it,” the peddler murmured.

No sooner had she put it on that she fell to her knees and collapsed.

“You used to be the beautiful one,” the lady responded, cackling as she left the home. The dwarves, fortunately, arrived within minutes. Their noses wrinkled from the stench of the shawl, and they plucked it from Lejla and tossed it from the window. She awoke as if from a deep sleep.

“Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah,” they repeated. “Wherever did you get such a thing, Lejla?”

“A woman was selling it outside.”

“It must have been your stepmother in disguise. Thank Allah that we were able to get the poison off of you in time!”

“If it truly was poisoned,” she mused thoughtfully, “then Allah must have protected me from the beginning. Are fasting the White Days so powerful?”

“Indeed, indeed,” they said. Though Lejla was tired, she decided to fast the next day, too. On the fourteenth, the wicked woman once more conversed with her mirror,

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?”

“You are most fair, my lady, it is true,

but Lejla is still much fairer than you.

They removed the shawl, she stirred awake,

it will take much more to make her break.”

She spent all day coming up with a new plan. Now, she was a beggar, an old woman with drawn-on wrinkles on his face, stooped over with a cane. Trading whatever she could to get by.

Lejla’s heart melted at the sight of her. She left the dwarves’ cottage, and offered her apples. The old woman muttered something kind under her breath and gave her an ornate kohl holder in return. It was stunning to the eyes but would stun them, as well. The old woman walked away with a smile that could have frozen hearts.

By the time Lejla applied the kohl at the table, she fell over on top of it. The dwarves found her there moments later. One retrieved a towel, poured it with water, and wiped it from her eyes. Thankfully, she revived. Again, she attributed it to Allah’s mercy that came in so many ways—the timing of the dwarves, the protection from the poison, and the weak nature of her stepmother’s magic.

On the fifteenth day, the wicked woman attempted her plot for the last time.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who in this land is fairest of all?”

“You, my lady, are fair, it is true,

but Lejla is still much fairer than you.

They rubbed off the kohl, she opened her eyes,

she is less likely to believe your lies.”

Lejla had given her an apple. It was only fair that she would give it back.

It was almost evening when she set out into the forest again. She’d dipped the apple in poison, and only one bite would send the girl into the most permanent sleep.

Lejla was outside, tending to the garden. This time, the woman walked inside, set the apple on the table, and walked away. Unseen.

It only took one question to the mirror the next morning to know that she had succeeded.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who in this land is fairest of all?”

“You, my lady, are the fairest of all.”

The Final Feast

The dwarves’ iftar that night was the saddest it had ever been. Water and dates, nothing more, as their guest had bitten down the poisoned apple. Just when they thought they were finally free of the wicked woman’s torment.

News spread in Bosnia about the muvekit’s daughter’s passing like wildfire. The entire country mourned. But none so braved the forest for her janazah, save for the muvekit’s apprentice.

The dwarves had fashioned her coffin humbly; a fresh tree that had been cut, a clean cloth from one of their beds. By the time the muvekit’s apprentice arrived, they were in the middle of another debate.

“How shall we wash her?”

“We can’t! It has to be a mahram!”

“Oh, so the woman who killed her?”

“We must press charges, we must involve the town!”

“With no evidence?!”

“The woman has a jinn mirror! That does not sound innocent to me!”

“Enough arguing, please, we must pray over her…”

“What if she isn’t dead?”

The eighth voice was none other than the muvekit’s apprentice. As a man of repairs and science, he always believed that impossible fixes were only impossible for humans.

The dwarf brothers regarded him warily, but the muvekit’s apprentice was insistent on this premise. He asked them the story up until now. Soon enough, there were tales and triumphs against the other attempts on Lejla’s life.

“If Allah protected her twice, he would protect her a third time. And even more.”

Gently, he applied his gloves and opened her mouth. The bitten apple piece fell out, and Lejla awoke. The beautiful story only continued from there. Lejla recognized him—she was one of the few people who truly got to know her for her character and not merely for her lineage. The only one she missed in the woods.

The dwarves did quick work organizing a nikkah instead of a janazah. While the young couple were married in the mosque, they stormed to the qadi, the poisoned apple pieces, the shawl, and the kohl container in their hands. 

The stepmother’s house was stormed. Poison was everywhere, and the cruel woman was put to death as muvekit’s daughter and muvekit’s apprentice lived happily ever after.

–

[The Sarajevo Clock Tower is a real place. It is currently manually maintained by our brother, Mensur Zlatar. May Allah ﷻ reward him]

Related:

– Halaa And Gaafar [Hansel And Gretel] – A Short Story

– Asha and the Washerwoman’s Baby: A Short Story