Again Shauqina

Chapter 13 Truth Hurts

          Hero one day, a villain the next. Such were the ways of Man.

Man, in all of his prided intelligence, has not changed much since all of the millenniums he had lived and populated this Earth. Just look at the unending wars that got worst, the sophisticated ways to kill which made one spoiled for choice, climate change due to man's own destructive hands, genocide, innocent babies dumped and left for garbage or flushed down the toilet like some infectious sludge—the list goes on...

And that's the truth.

As the Khalifahs—the Leaders, the Guardians—that God has chosen to protect this Earth, Man surely are quick to judge and destroy and even quicker to impose punishment.

For Isaac, the 'punishment' was not fatal but lethal enough—obliteration by isolation. His friends, his peers, his teachers even, have chosen to 'isolate' him from their gatherings, from their evening teas, even from their social chatting. His existence in class was even ignored and denied. All in the name of justice—this 'shameless' brown-eyed boy, so disrespectful of Asian values, must be punished. And punished he was by us mere humans. At an age where peers matter more than anything, to be handed the 'isolation' sentence, treated like a pariah, must surely have been a 'death' penalty even to a loner like Isaac.

I sat there, in my living room, observing the frown on Isaac's forehead as he tried hard to complete the exposition assignment I gave him. I guessed with all that's happening in his life right now, the Malay Language has become triple harder.

When Isaac had shown his face at my door that evening, my Mak's maternal instinct went berserk. She went promptly back to the kitchen and came back with an ice-pack. She gestured to his bruised eye and he quietly took the pack and did as told. She never asked why—she just smothered him with extra attention and extra food. Then she lingered at our table longer, saw that Isaac was alright and went back to the kitchen.

Abah was different. He let Mak did what she had to do then stood opposite Isaac.

'Are you alright son? This happened in school?'

Isaac nodded his head, afraid to look up at Abah.

'It was not his fault, Abah.' I added and then my Abah smiled, nodded his head and went promptly back to the living-room sofa, reading the Qur'an.

Isaac's phone vibrated and I recognized the number. Zahid's.

Isaac look at his phone, then looked up at me, his frown now replaced by a questioning look.

I nodded my head. He answered the call.

'Yes, this is Isaac. Zahid, we met once remember? Yes, at Eza's college. I need to talk to you. I trust you. What? Of course not, this is not about Eza!'

Isaac had lowered his voice but I had heard. So did Abah, for he looked up from his reading, looked at both Isaac and me, then quietly resumed his reading. I was fuming mad. What was that all about? Talking about me? Isaac pointed to the door and I nodded grimly.

Isaac was on the phone for close to half an hour. I didn't know a boy could talk that long on the phone! I was beginning to feel sleepy and my father had turned his head like for the umpteenth time from the sofa where he was now watching his favourite program. He had completed his Qur'an reading like ages ago. Mak had been extra busy in the kitchen. Even without any cooking to do, she was always bringing things out from the kitchen cabinet, washing them, dusting them, re-arranging them. I know what she did is honourable and a service to her husband and family and surely, Jannah—the heavens, awaits her insha Allah.