Until We Meet Again in Jannah

by Laki Khan

  ‘Saira, what are you doing in there?’ I heard Omar’s voice echo as he walked into the room. I put my hand up, gesturing for him to leave. ‘If you need anything I’m here,’ he said softly, and then unwillingly left the room. I lay down on Ammu’s bed, recalling her voice around me as if it were melody to my ears, only to discover that it was the imagination of my subconscious mind. I lay thinking about her almost that entire night until my eyes closed and I surrendered my grief-stricken exhausted body to sleep.

  The next morning I opened my eyes to find myself covered with a thin blanket; in my hand was Ammu’s shawl and Layla was sitting next to me. I could hear the chatter of people and the devastating reality pierced right through my body, reminding me that my mother was no longer amongst us. I sat up to see that it was bright outside and figured that I must have been sleeping a while. I looked towards Layla, who smiled at me lovingly, informing me that almost everybody in the village had come by to enquire about me. Most of them had brought food and other items which they felt we may need. Omar walked into the room immediately, enquiring about me; Layla replied that I still had not spoken.

  ‘Saira, please will you say something, you can’t continue like this… it’s not good for you,’ he said to me. I continued to stare out through the window, mute, as some women entered the room. They hugged me, offering their heartfelt condolences, only this was not enough; nothing was and nothing would ever take away this ache in my heart. I desperately wanted her to return, I wanted to feel her touch and hear the sound of her melodic voice that I missed so much. The women left the room, discussing how I needed to process my loss. Was she just a loss? Because to me she was my everything: my heart, my world, my lifeline, my guardian angel, and without her I was unable to breathe or speak, so how could they expect me to process my loss. I wanted to scream out at the top of my lungs from the rooftop that to me she was so much more than just a loss. I spent most of the day in her room holding her shawl closely against the warmth of my chest, detesting myself for not doing more for her. Feeling responsible for her death; if only I had taken better care of her, if only I could have persuaded her to be admitted to hospital then today she would have been right here beside me. A thousand questions came into my mind one by one, causing internal chaos. I fell to the floor, weighed down with sorrow, and Layla rushed to my side calling Omar hysterically, telling him that I had fallen. Together they lifted me up off the floor and Omar instructed Layla to take me into another room. She sat me down in one of the front rooms.

  Omar turned to me, saying, ‘Saira, we are all so worried about you, you haven’t eaten or spoken for almost two days now, and I don’t know how to help you.’

  ‘Saira, please, you need to speak or cry, please, just say something. We are both here for you,’ Layla said, holding my hand.

  ‘I can only imagine what you are going through, but please, you can’t give up, not like this, you need to stay strong. Please just say something,’ Omar continued. I remained quiet, unable to find the courage to speak, and brushed away the glass of water they offered me. I lay down, turning away from them both.

  ‘Layla, do you think we need to call a doctor?’ Omar asked with a deep concern in his voice.

  ‘I think we just need to give her some time,’ Layla replied. They continued to converse about how traumatised I must be feeling, so I closed my eyes in an attempt to drown out their voices, to no avail. Omar left the room and, just like the day before, Layla continued to sit beside me as he had instructed. She placed a blanket over my tortured body; perhaps she thought I was sleeping. Just then there was a gentle knock on the door so I kept my eyes closed in pretence. I heard the voices of more women who had come by to pay their respects. They crept over to look at my face, talking amongst themselves about how important it was for me to rest and eat. They had brought along enough food to last a few days and asked Layla to serve it to me when I woke.

  As soon as they left the room I opened my eyes and recalled the time my beloved Abbuji had departed from us in a similar manner. Back then, just like today, almost everybody visited me and Ammu offering their condolences; many brought along gifts while others brought food and household items they thought we may require. Only today was more painful as I had nobody to shield me from the storm and, as the saying goes, ‘When it rains it pours’. The person who protected me the most and who had been my shield and teacher and everything I had ever known was no longer in this world; she had departed for the next. My head began to feel extremely heavy and my throat became lumpy; I was filled with anxiety. I jumped out of bed and stood in front of the open window, gasping for air as the breeze brushed over my face.

  ‘Saira, Saira, what happened?’ I heard Layla shouting as she came towards me, with Omar following her.

  ‘Layla, what’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know, it was like she was struggling to breathe,’ Layla informed him.

  ‘Saira…’ Omar said, looking at me. I closed my eyes, inhaling air deep into my stomach. ‘Will you drink some water?’ he continued, at which I shook my head. He turned to Layla saying he felt helpless.

  ‘She really needs to drink something,’ Layla continued. They were so preoccupied with my well-being, when all I wanted was to curl up into a ball and go someplace far away and never return.

  It was almost afternoon and the day was hot. I pulled Ammu’s shawl closer to my nose, taking in her fragrance with every breath I inhaled, while Layla watched me constantly saying that I should not upset myself like this. I heard the door again, followed by Omar’s voice along with some others I assumed to be fellow villagers who had come again to enquire about me. I listened as they entered the room and closed my eyes in pretence of sleep, expecting a repeat of the previous mantra.

  I felt a gentle touch on my hand that surprised me, a touch that I recognised almost instinctively, followed by a softly spoken meek voice saying, ‘Saira.’ Immediately I placed my hand in hers, standing up to look at her smiling face. I embraced her at once, crying my eyes and heart out into her chest as she lifted my head up, wiping away my tears one by one. I looked up at her unchanged face, just as it was when I had parted with her.

  Sumayah was standing right in front of me along with Mesabji Chacha, who placed his gentle hand on my head, stating, ‘Dear, you don’t cry for the departed, you pray for them.’ I began to sob inconsolably, holding on to both Sumayah and Mesabji Chacha.

  ‘She’s gone, Sumayah, she has left me all alone. She has gone, I couldn’t make her better.’ I continued sobbing. They sat me down, wiping away the tears. Sumayah brought me some water, forcing me to take sips, and I did find some relief from the surge of sadness in my heart.

  Mesabji Chacha looked at me and said, ‘Saira, dear, you have to stay strong. Just like your father, your mother was a wonderful person and she would dislike seeing you in this state. Have faith that she is dwelling peacefully within the beautiful gardens of Jannah. Now you must continue to live your life, if not for you then for your wonderful mother. Let her live through you.’ He placed his hand over my forehead as if to bless me then left the room. I looked at Sumayah who smiled at me and then embraced me again.

  ‘I still can’t believe that she’s gone. It feels surreal – how will I live without her, Sumayah?’

  ‘You will find a way, I promise. God will guide you,’ she explained. Slowly the darkness of the night was beginning to loom over us. Sumayah and I sat out on the patio sharing stories about Ammu for a while. I wondered how she had reached me here in this village. Sumayah told me how Omar had gone to visit Mesabji Chacha that afternoon, distressed by Ammu’s sudden demise, and explained that I had become mute and had stopped eating and drinking altogether. Mesabji Chacha was extremely concerned upon hearing this news and went to Sumayah’s parents to ask their permission for her to visit me here.

  ‘How’s the village?’ I asked her with deep sadness. ‘You remember the stream, Sumayah, and how we would sit there every evening with Ammu and our ginger tea. I
can’t stop thinking about her beautiful face,’ I continued.

  ‘I wish I could have seen her one last time,’ Sumayah whispered, and I began crying uncontrollably again.

  ‘Saira, please don’t cry anymore,’ she said, pleading with me.

  ‘It’s my fault, Sumayah. After we left our home she became so weak and unwell. I gave her so much tension and stress with everything that happened with Hamid – and her blood pressure had… I couldn’t even look after her, what will I do now?’

  ‘No, Saira, none of this is your fault, or even anything that happened before, nothing is your fault, do you understand that? You know they say God takes the people he loves the most and I bet she is now in Jannah with your Abbuji talking about how much they love you and want you to continue living and being happy,’ she said.

  I expected she was right; Ammu always had a soft spot for Sumayah. I recalled how she always put aside for her a portion of every meal we had. ‘You know I longed to meet you again, I just didn’t expect it to be in these circumstances,’ I told her. The night was dark and warm with a soft breeze; how ironic that Sumayah was sitting here with me and Ammu was sitting somewhere up in the heavens, where I guess we would meet again someday. With that thought in mind I stared up into the dark starry night.

  ‘Saira,’ Sumayah said, holding my hand as I turned to look towards her. ‘Do you remember that saying of Ammu’s?’ she asked.

  ‘Which one?’

  Sumayah closed her eyes and said, ‘The world is three days. Yesterday has perished along with all that was in it. As for tomorrow you may never see it. Today is yours and you must live it.’ She opened her eyes and smiled.

  I inhaled a deep breath, deep into my abdomen, understanding all too well the message she was giving me. ‘Sumayah, I feel scared – I don’t know how to live without her,’ I said.

  ‘Saira, you will be absolutely fine,’ she replied, and we sat there together for a moment in reflection. ‘Saira, will you do something for me?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I will,’ I replied.

  ‘Do you promise?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Without a doubt, I promise,’ I reassured her.

  ‘Will you eat something with me?’ she asked innocently. I looked at her, now bound by my promise, and nodded as she smiled in approval. She walked to the kitchen and returned with two plates. I suspected that this was most likely part of Omar’s master plan. Nevertheless I sat with Sumayah to eat my first meal in almost three days, and admittedly felt physically better for it. Sumayah and I laughed over how Ammu had always overfed us, serving us before herself. Everything about life reminded me of my mother, as though she were all around and immersed in me.

  ‘Saira, I have to leave now,’ Sumayah said.

  ‘Of course, it is very late,’ I replied. Mesabji Chacha, Layla and Omar joined us out on the front patio.

  Chacha placed his hand on my head and said, ‘My dearest Saira, your parents would be so proud of you today. Stay strong.’ I nodded, thanking him for his support and kind words. Sumayah hugged me one more time as I clutched on to her tightly; tears had now made a comeback for a third time.

  ‘No, Saira, don’t. Promise me that you will look after yourself, promise me,’ she said firmly.

  ‘I promise,’ I told her, thanking her for visiting.

  ‘God willing I will see you again,’ she whispered as I gradually slipped my hand out of hers.

  I stood in the patio, watching as Sumayah and Mesabji Chacha disappeared into the darkness of the night, and closed my eyes, secretly thanking God for this sweet endeavour. I pondered the glimpse of hope they had resurrected – hope to continue living for my mother, as I was now also accountable to the promise that Sumayah had bound me to.

  I sat out in the dark patio for some time, retreating into a state of mindfulness.

  ‘Saira, I will need to go now. Do you need anything else? I will be back in the morning,’ Layla said.

  I turned towards her and said, ‘Thank you Layla, I’m fine.’ I sat watching Layla walk home into her cosy little abode sculpted out of mud; she had been so kind and affectionate towards me over the last few days, leaving her daughter with her husband for long periods just so she could look after me. I must remember to thank her, I thought. I looked at Ammu’s shawl which I was still clinging on to and drew it tightly around me, indulging in her aroma as the cool breeze blew over my face. Just then I heard gentle footsteps approaching the patio.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Saira?’ Omar asked in a soft voice.

  ‘Omar,’ I said, turning to look at him, ‘thank you for bringing them both here today. I appreciate it immensely,’ I said, choking back tears.

  ‘As long as you’re okay, that’s the most important thing,’ he answered. I wished him goodnight and retired to bed. This was the hardest part: sleeping in Ammu’s bed in her absence. I touched her clothes; everything lay intact, only she was missing, never to return. I lay in bed right where she used to sleep, taking in her sweet fragrance, sobbing into her empty pillow. Darkness and silence pervaded the entire house, leaving an irreparable hole in my heart and soul. I missed her with every bone in my aching body and with every breath that I took; I knew that nothing would bring her back. But I remembered my promise to Sumayah and placed my hands together in submission to the Almighty, and prayed with conviction that wherever my beloved mother may be, she may be surrounded with peace and tranquillity in her new abode.

  The next morning I opened my eyes and turned to where Ammu used to sleep, and my subconscious mind attempted to enact what used to be that was no more. Then, memory by memory, the last few days flashed right before my eyes in various images and conversations. Seeing Sumayah yesterday had given me perspective and I knew she was right, I knew that deep down Ammu would want me to continue living. I prayed that one day we would meet again… in Jannah. I asked God to give me strength: to live, to breathe and to continue. I wanted to continue living and make my parents proud of me, although I found myself struggling with that notion on more levels than one. Ammu had been my guide, my direction, my shining light when all was dark, the one I turned to in times of joy and distress; she was the one who taught me to speak, to walk, to live. She taught me courage in defeat, strength when I felt weak, and told me to be brave when I was afraid. Everything I had become was due to her love and nurture – how could I continue without all these things? Paralysed, I stood near the open window; I hadn’t been outside in the open air for what seemed like an eternity.

  I walked into the kitchen – everything appeared different as if something was lacking or amiss. I felt suffocated, so I decided to take a walk out in the morning air, in search of a change of scene. I walked along the concrete path leading to the pond; although I had no reason to walk there at this time my feet took me there and my body followed. The pond appeared the same and I was greeted by familiar women who were preparing for their day ahead, who appeared bemused to find me there. I stood and stared into the water.

  ‘Apa.’ I felt a tug on my arm. I looked down to see the angel-faced boy standing next to me, smiling. Even though I had discovered that his name was Jamal, I much preferred to call him Angel Face. ‘Apa, please don’t be sad. God will look after your Ammu,’ he said to me and I felt my eyes swimming in tears.

  ‘Yes, you are right,’ I told him as he hugged me tightly wiping away the visible tears on my cheeks. I stood and watched him playing in the water, laughing with the other children, full of life and joy as I once had been. The sun was now shining brightly over the pond and the entire village, making everything sparkle. I pondered how the village had remained the same; only my perspective and outlook were different. I turned to walk towards the concrete path leading back to the house. Many people were out and about now; some were transporting cattle, some were washing pots, and some women were washing their laundry. This picture made me realise that life still continued for everyone, apart from me. I felt trapped between yesterday and today and was unable to muster the co
urage to go on to tomorrow, just as Sumayah had said I should.

  I spent the next few weeks in an almost lifeless state, deeply introverted, as if I was being taught how to live all over again. But this time my teachers were Omar and Layla as opposed to my beloved mother.

  Chapter 16 – Untold Revelation

  A few weeks later

  The morning was filled with a cool breeze as I enjoyed my walk, taking shade near the big pond to watch the children play, engrossed in laughter and happiness. I smiled as splashes of water fell onto my face and arms and I took in the rays of sunshine beating down. Just as I was about to walk back to the house, a group of local women approached me to enquire about how I was coping. They clearly had a set of pre-planned questions, to which I said nothing. I stared at them vacantly. It was as if their words were daggers that did nothing but refresh my unsung pain. The women then walked towards the pond and I began to walk away. Their words as they continued to talk amongst themselves reached my ears almost immediately, halting my steps right where I was standing. I heard them talking about me, saying that I was now a vulnerable, young, unmarried woman living under the same roof as an unmarried man. I heard another lady join in to add that this was not ideal for my reputation, especially now I no longer had a guardian to protect my chastity from disrepute. Their cruel gossip hit the epicentre of my already emotional mind, sending me to the edge of despair. My hands trembled and my legs wobbled beneath me, while my vision became blurred. Little did these women know that I was already a product of disrepute – a woman scorned – and in the eyes of society I was no longer a woman of integrity. I gasped for air, almost running into the kitchen, bumping into Omar with a loud thud.