When noise, taunts, labels, and hate speeches crush the spirit, even creatures built on trust, loyalty, and social bonds choose to walk away. Leaving one’s own kind hurts - but remaining where the soul is wounded again and again can be far more painful
Recently, a video of a lone penguin walking in Antarctica caught national and international media attention. Across social media, people interpreted it in different ways- some saw humor, others loneliness, and some even symbolism. But beyond the surface reactions, that simple moment carries a deeper spiritual and moral lesson for our times.
That lone penguin’s walk was not merely about isolation; it was a quiet reminder of what happens when belonging loses its soul. This silent withdrawal mirrors the spiritual fatigue and longing expressed by Allama Iqbal (RA):
Duniya ki mehfilon se ukta gaya hoon ya Rab,
Kya lutf-e-anjuman ka jab dil hi bujh gaya ho?
Shorish se bhaagta hoon, dil dhoondta hai mera,
Aisa sukoot jiss par taqreer bhi fida ho.
Marta hoon khamoshi par, yeh aarzoo hai meri,
Daaman mein koh ke ik chhota sa jhonpda ho.
Like the penguin’s quiet march, this poetry captures a soul seeking silence over noise, sincerity over spectacle, and peace over hollow belonging.
In Islam, unity, peace, and comfort - of the Ummah and of families - rest on one unshakable foundation: Kalima-e-Tawheed. When this bedrock weakens, togetherness becomes fragile, conditional, and noisy rather than nurturing.
It hurts to witness a divided Ummah, broken families and neighbourhoods, drug-abuse, rising suicides, and growing conflict - both at the macro level of societies and the micro level of homes. Much of this pain emerges when values shift from Deen to dunya, from ethics to greed.
When states are built purely on capitalist logic, the rich grow richer while the poor sink deeper into debt, interest, and un-Islamic economic pressures. The same pattern quietly enters our homes. Respect is often reserved for those who earn more - regardless of how they earn - while those who earn less, even through halal means, are humiliated or ignored.
Judgment is passed on income, not honesty; on spending power, not character.
A father is celebrated when he can afford mobiles, cafés, tours, and luxuries - but taunted when his income declines. Children too are valued or dismissed on the same scale. Love becomes transactional, seasonal, and fragile.
Yet Islam teaches us something radically different:
Love must be unconditional - rooted in Deen, for the sake of Allah, not tied to material possessions that rise and fall like seasons.
This distortion is equally visible in marriages. The Qur’an does not describe marriage as an economic arrangement, but as a divine sign - founded on tranquility, love, and mercy, not wealth or display. A similar moral imbalance appears in offices, colleges, and marketplaces, where flattery, compromise, and unhealthy familiarity are often rewarded, while integrity, professionalism, and honesty are quietly sidelined.

The Prophet (SAW) warned that sidelining Deen opens the door to fitnah and widespread corruption - a warning that resonates far beyond family life.
A true Ummah is not held together by wealth, titles, or appearances, but by hearts aligned to the same moral rhythm - a shared hatred for lies, gossip, arrogance, and injustice,
and a shared love for truth, dignity, humility, and openness.
Allah reminds us:
“The believers are but brothers.”
And the Prophet (SAW) taught that believers are mirrors of one another - reflecting faults gently, without mockery, without humiliation.
Look at the bond between the Prophet (SAW) and his Sahaba. Their unity was built on Tawheed, not status. Among them were traders, governors, rulers, and caliphs, yet wealth and power never defined their worth. They were ready to sacrifice everything for Deen, the Ummah, and the vulnerable.
Hazrat Abu Bakr (RA) left nothing at home when giving for the cause of Islam.
During the height of the Khilafah, Hazrat Umar (RA) declared that if even a dog were to die hungry on the banks of the Euphrates, he would fear being questioned for it on the Day of Judgment. He questioned a governor for allowing an elderly non-Muslim Majusi to beg- reminding him that if taxes were taken in youth, care must be ensured in old age. At another time, when he visited and inspected his other governor, namely Abu Ubaidah ibn al-Jarrah (RA), he found only a container of dried bread, which the governor would soak in water before eating. Upon seeing this, Umar (RA) wept.
This was leadership rooted in Tawheed, justice, zuhd (asceticism), and mercy - not profit, pride, or power.
There must be a natural compatibility among Muslims- not of personalities, but of principles. Such compatibility, rooted in Kalima-e-Tawheed, must naturally reflect in everyday conduct. When shared faith and values guide relationships, sincere reminders are not taken as personal affronts but as acts of care. For instance, being advised to wear modest dress or niqab, to never lie, to read the Qur’an, to stay within moral boundaries, or to avoid haram or unverified market foods must not be seen as insult or coercion, but understood as guidance grounded in Islamic teachings and concern for moral dignity.
Personal egos, changing fashions, material comparisons, and unnecessary rigidity can be set aside. Even maslaki differences were never meant to fracture hearts; they remain minor when weighed against the Seerah of the Prophet (SAW) and the way of the Sahaba. Imam Malik observed that the later generations of this Ummah will only be reformed by what reformed its earliest generation- Tawheed and prophetic methodology, not materialism or ideologies of division. The Sahaba were described as the best of people and as guiding stars, precisely because faith anchored their disagreements.
When unity becomes hollow, when brotherhood turns conditional, and when faith is reduced to noise rather than mercy- some souls quietly step away, like that penguin. Not in rebellion, but in search of sincerity, dignity, and spiritual peace.
This reflection on the penguin’s march also speaks to the wider reality of multi-religious societies, where hate speeches, stereotypes, and labels have increasingly become the norm. When dialogue is replaced by shouting, and reason by ridicule, even principles once rooted in secularism- peaceful coexistence, diversity, dialogue, reason, and science- are openly mocked. In such environments, withdrawal often becomes a form of self-preservation rather than protest. To prevent deeper divisions and social chaos, societies must rediscover the shared ethical ground of Sufism’s compassion and secularism’s moral neutrality- not as opposing forces, but as complementary values that protect dignity, conscience, and peaceful coexistence.
In the same moral spirit, Allama Iqbal (RA) reminds us that true dignity, wisdom, and freedom do not lie in power or conquest, but in love, moral independence, and spiritual courage:
Shaheed-e-mohabbat na kaafir, na ghazi,
Mohabbat ki rasmein na Turki, na Taazi;
Yeh jauhar agar kaar-farma nahi hai,
Toh ilm o hikmat faqat sheesha-baazi.
Na mohtaaj-e-Sultan, na marghoob-e-Sultan,
Mohabbat hai azaadi, mohabbat hai be-niyaazi.
The Prophet (SAW) sent as Rahmat-ul-‘Alameen for the whole humanity, envisioned the Ummah as one living body-when one part suffers, the whole body responds with pain. If we allow this Prophetic ethic of shared compassion to guide us, unity regains its soul, belonging regains its meaning, and mercy regains its central place- within the Ummah and beyond it.
True unity does not suffocate. It shelters. And it begins- always- with Tawheed, expressed through compassion, and upheld in society through reason, dialogue, and a secular ethic rooted in science and justice.

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