Aisha and the Corrupt Christian Minister [Fiction]

You will have read how Allah heard my prayers, and sent down a Buraq, my iron sword Meatslicer and an invulnerable Quran. But these gifts from Allah weren't for display, they were for use! I already described how I brought a pedophile Catholic priest to Islam - this is about a different kind of Christian.

There is a sect of Christians who believe the "prosperity gospel". This is a belief that faith. positive speech and generous donations to people who preach the "prosperity gospel", will bring them health, wealth and happiness. I'm sure you can see where this leads.

But millions can't see, and they give away their hard-earned wages to frauds posing as ministers, who then spend that money on fast cars, large houses and women that I'd rather not talk about.

And you know what? Churches don't pay tax in America. So every penny donated by the poor, goes straight into the pockets of these fraudsters.

One such "prosperity minister" was Jesse Custer, who claimed that each dollar sent to him was like a seed, from which a tenfold return would be returned. And yes - some people are so gullible that they believed him, and the money poured in. Never mind about the sufferings of the poor people who were going without so that Jesse could buy another private jet airplane.

And then he came to England. Here, we have freedom of religion, even for a faith as outrageous as this, so he was allowed to organise a big "revival" meeting in which he got up on stage and preached his creed.

I was there. I wanted to hear this for myself. Maybe he had been misrepresented, and he wasn't as bad as people had said? But no - he was every bit as bad. "Each fifty pound note you give today, will be returned to you tenfold by God," he said. "If you give a thousand, God will reward you with ten thousand." And then he started to justify it from the Bible.

Philippians 4:19: "My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus."

Malachi 3:10: "'Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.'"

He was twisting the words of the bible, in order to line his own pockets. What could be more despicable than that, I thought, and resolved to deal with this.

That evening, he went back to his de-luxe suite at the Dorchester Hotel. He took a chauffeured Rolls Royce; I followed on Buraq, high above him. At the hotel, I dismounted, and told Buraq to go small and follow me, in the appearance of a dog. I followed Buraq as she tracked Jesse, almost invisible in my chador and niqab. I've noticed that if I dress like that, people glance at me then look away, and although I'm not actually invisible, it's almost as good. Meatslicer was concealed under my outer garments, and I was carrying my Quran, as usual.

I told Buraq "FIND", and her sensitive nose followed Jesse's trail. No-one noticed a muslima and her dog walking down the corridor, and Buraq stopped outside one of the doors, and adopted the pointing posture. I thought of knocking, but then had a better idea. The locks on the doors here, respond to a magnetic strip embedded in the key card. I didn't have a key card, but Meatslicer is made of iron, sent down. So I prayed to Allah to magnetise my sword in the correct pattern to open the door; I held it up, and the lock light turned green. I was in!

Jesse was not alone. A woman was with him, and one look was all I needed to tell me that she was not one of his wives. I brandished Meatslicer, and told her "Get out! NOW!", and Buraq growled and showed her teeth. With fear in her eyes, the woman quickly dressed and left. Now I was alone with the corrupt minister.

The television was on, and I wanted no distractions, so I turned it off, but not in the usual way. I wanted a display of the power of Allah, so I swung my sword Meatslicer at the TV, and chopped it in half.

Jesse was wearing trousers, and after that demonstration, it was clear that he needed to change for a dry pair. But I wasn't going to give him any chance to recover. "Prostrate yourself," I commanded, "Towards Mecca. Now!" The fool didn't know which way was East, so I had to show him.

And so, while he was prostrating to Allah, I told him that he was a fraud, a liar and a thief. I explained to him that the usual punishment for theft was the amputation of a hand, and that my sword Meatslicer was named that for a good reason. He shook with fear.

Then I gave him the good news. "If you revert to Islam, Allah will forgive all your sins."

He looked up at me, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "All of them?" he whispered. "Yes," I confirmed, "your soul will be as white as the snowdrops in January."

He didn't hesitate. "How do I convert?"

I told him. "Do you believe that there is one god, and only one?" "Yes," he affirmed. "Who was not begotten, nor did he begat?" "Yes," he agreed. So now repeat after me ...

I took him through the Shahada, and then said "And now we will pray to the Almighty, to the Creator of all", and I led him in prayer, using the Quran that had been sent down to me. Then I gave him a short sermon on the evils of theft, and on the benefits of restitution. "Restitution?" he asked. "Yes. you must give back everything that you have stolen from the poor people who believed your lies." "How can I do that?" he asked. I glanced at Meatslicer, significantly. "I'll do it, I will," he claimed.

You and I know that he can't - he's spent a lot of it on luxuries that, when he sells them, won't fetch as much as he paid. But Allah is Most merciful, and we should be too, so I explained to him that a sincere effort to make amends to the greatest extent possible, would have to suffice.

"I'll be watching you," I told him. "What you do now, will be big news. It will be reported everywhere that you have reverted to Islam, repented, and will be refunding the money you stole, and if you deviate from this straight path, people will remark on it, I'll get to hear, and I'll visit you again. And next time, Meatslicer will not be sheathed until she has tasted your blood."

I turned and left, glad to get away from the smell of his soaked trousers. Burak followed me out of the hotel, and I asked her to revert to her horse-with-wings shape. I climbed on board, and we flew home.

Job done.