May 2008
"Nooooooooooo!"
She screamed on seeing his lifeless body. It was not real, it couldn't be real. Her husband couldn't be dead. He had just gone to the Bin Saleh Masjid for the Jumua prayer. He couldn't be brought back covered in blood- he had only been to the masjid. Why would anyone want to shoot someone from the house of Allah?
She felt dizzy at the unbelievable sight. There were loud wailings and hushed conversations all around her but she wasn't paying heed. "Bombing", "aimed at the Imam", "army officers"- words buzzed around her, hardly making any sense. She couldn't understand how her husband got killed on the one Friday that she hadn't joined him for the prayer because of her nausea.
Nausea. She had been fainting and retching all the time this past week. She couldn't swallow a single morsel of food without it all coming back at once. It was sickening. She had never thought that carrying a baby would be this difficult.
At the thought of the baby, the reality of her situation struck her hard and her walls of resistance crumbled. She heard someone say, "He was killed while in prayer. May Allah grant him Jannah," while patting her back.It only made her sob harder. Yasser always wanted to be a shaheed, a martyr. He was appalled by the lethargy of the Ummah- in his words, "How can we expect to enter the same Jannah as the prophets and their companions when they endured so much and we live in comfort?" He was always helping out people, immersed in charity or da'wah in his free time. He wanted to make his stay on earth fruitful. Is his soul at peace, as he got to die while in prayer and that too on a Friday? Will I be able to bear this pain? How on earth will I bring up our child without his-
"Come, Warda, it's time for the funeral prayer. Come on, habeebti..." Someone interrupted her thoughts. She was helped to her feet and taken to the room where the body was kept. Her knees buckled at the sight of her beloved's lifeless form. Who had bathed him? He wanted me to do it. I have promisedhim I would do it. Ya Allah, please forgive me for failing to keep my word. Habeebi, forgive me for not fulfilling this final promise. She broke down again.
"Warda, honey, we cannot delay the prayer any longer. Hold on, habeebti, have sabr..." It was her mother. She stood up somehow and leaned on her mother for support. She had to do it. She couldn't miss her husband's funeral prayer. She took a deep breath and composed herself.
She only broke down when she reached the part of the dua that said "exchange his spouse for a better spouse"- not that she didn't believe in Allah's wisdom. It was just that she had always prayed to be united with her husband in Jannah as well.
* * *
Warda was beyond consoling. She grieved and grieved for the loss of her husband, she wept for her baby who was orphaned before birth. She wondered why Allah had tested her so- Why did you take him, oh Allah? Why deprive my child of its father? How can I bear it, how can I live without Yasser? She cried till her eyes dried up. She had no appetite, no desire to live. It was only her mother's reminder that she needed to eat for the sake of her child that made her have something. And gradually, she grew stronger, for Allah does not burden anyone beyond their capacity. But it was not that she forgot, only that she accepted it as part of her fate. She would still think of him, yearn for his warm embrace... She knew that theirs was not the ideal marriage or anything- they had their differences and petty fights, they had their share of joys and sorrows but while he lived, he had been hers, hers alone to love and cherish, in spite of all the differences.
* * *
February 2015
"No."
"Please, Mama," Ammar whined.
"No, Ammar, and that's final. You are NOT going anywhere today."
"But Mama, I haven't played with Ziyaan for soooo long!"
Warda knelt beside her son with great difficulty. "Ammar, I know that. I really wish I could send you but it's dangerous to go out now. There are bad people with big guns out there. What if they harm you?"
Ya Allah, how do I explain to a six year old that there's a war going on?
"Can I go with Baba then?"
Warda sighed. "Let's ask Baba when he comes."
"Baba will take Ammar to Ziyaan's house! Baba loves Ammar!"
Well, I'll let you handle that, Aiman. If you manage this one, I'll let you have the best-father-in-the-whole-wide-world award.
Warda glanced at the clock once again. Where's he by the way? He should have been back by now! Ya Allah, keep him safe... I can't go through it again.
The civil war in the country had made her a nervous wreck. Every time Aiman left the house, Warda worried herself sick. The fact that she was eight months pregnant did not help either.
She had remarried four months after her delivery. She was not willing initially but her mother convinced her that her baby needs a father. Being in depression for over five months after Yasser's death, nobody talked of marriage to her. When she recovered, Baba called her into his room for a long talk. He told her that Aiman, who had been to school with her, has asked for her hand in marriage. He had left for Saudi Arabia on a scholarship few years ago and that's the last thing she knew about him. Baba told her that he heard of her wedding and Yasser's death on his return, and that he wanted to marry her. He was ready to wait if she needed time. She was not ready, of course. It was just too soon.
"Mama, please don't ask me again. I told you I'm not ready for this."
"But think of the baby, Warda. Allah has shown you a way out. Your child will not be an orphan. He will have a father to look up to. And it's not just about the baby, Warda. You can't live alone either. You need a husband."
"But Mama-"
"Listen, Habeebti. You know that Rasool Sallallahu alaihi wa sallam loved Khadeeja (Radiallahu anha) beyond measure. But he remarried after her death. Do you think he stopped loving her? Not till his last breath. Marrying again doesn't mean that you have stopped loving Yasser. You don't have to. Just think about what I've just said."
She was about to leave the room when I voiced my greatest fear: "What if I can't love Aiman?"
Warda smiled at that memory. It was simply impossible not to love Aiman.
She was about to dial his number when she heard the gate open.
"Baaabaaa! Mama, Baba has come!"
A minute later, Aiman walked into the room, with his bag in his right hand and Ammar perched on his left.
"Assalamu alaikum Habeebti," he smiled. "Has the princess been troubling you?"
"No, I was just worried that you took so long. And it can be a prince too, you know."
"I have a feeling that it's a princess." He sat down beside her, putting his hand on her protruding belly.
"Baba! Ammar wants to play with Ziyaan. Baba please take me to Ziyaan's house, Baba."
Aiman looked at her for help. She just shrugged.
"Ammar, don't you love Baba?"
"Yes," Ammar said, confused at the sudden change of subject.
"But you always want to play with Ziyaan! You never play with Baba," Aiman pouted. Warda smiled at his act.
"But Baba is big. Baba doesn't play," Ammar pointed out.
"Who told you so? Baba loves to play with you. It's just that you never ask me. So go and get your ball. Let's play together!"
Ammar ran off in search of his ball. Warda took this opportunity to talk to Aiman.
"So, what is the news?"
He took her hand in his. "It's turning uglier, Warda. Saudi has sent their troops too. Now it's a full-fledged war."
"But why has Saudi sent their troops? It's Yemen's internal issue. Why are they getting involved?"
"They feel that they have to protect the Sunni population of Yemen against the Shia rebels."
"Great job!" She snorted. "Just look at how protected we feel being Sunnis!"
"I agree with you, Habeebti. It's only going to make matters worse. And let's not forget that Shias are Muslims too! Why on earth should Saudi Arabia, home to the Holy Ka'aba, send their troops to fight Muslims of a neighbouring country?"
"Especially when they could be doing something worthwhile, like helping Palestinians against Israel."
Her Baba always believed that Israel's existence in the Middle East was a proof of the lack of unity among the Arab nations. He said that if the Arabs joined forces, they can easily teach Israel a lesson.
"Exactly! Instead of fighting against the real enemy, we are just fighting among ourselves. No wonder Muslims are targetted all over the world."
"So what are we going to do?"
"We'll have to move," Aiman said gravely. "I know it's a big risk but staying here is even riskier, especially in your present condition."
"But where will we move to Aiman? Where is it safe for us?"
Before he could answer, Ammar barged in with his ball.
"Come on, Baba! Ammar wants to play now!"
Aiman got up and lifted Ammar on his shoulders, making him squeal in delight.
"Let's get started, champ!"
Watching them together, Warda thanked Allah for guiding her to make the right decision six years ago. Ammar was such a daddy's boy. Aiman was definitely his hero.
* * *
"We'll have to start tomorrow morning. Right after fajr. I have got our papers ready. We'll only take a couple of clothes to change, a blanket and a day's food."
"But where are we going to?"
"There's a refugee camp that's just a day's distance from here. We can stay there till things get better, in sha Allah. We can't wait any longer because the air-forces are going to start striking again. The immigrants are all being evacuated by their embassies. So, it's a bit less dangerous now."
Immigrants at least have somewhere to return to. Where will we go when our homeland is not safe anymore?
* * *
"Are you sure we have taken everything? Your pills, Warda?"
"Yes Habeebee, I have packed it. You have the passports and documents, right?"
"Yeah. Let's get going before Ammar wakes up and starts asking questions."
Warda looked at her home once again. She was going to leave this place that has given her a lot of memories. She was not even sure whether she'll be able to return once this war was over. She tried to stifle her sobs.
Aiman wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder.
"It's alright, Habeebti. Allah has a better plan for us."
She wiped her tears with her sleeve and nodded. "Let's go."
They walked out, Aiman carrying a sleeping Ammar. As Warda was about to close the front door, Aiman turned back and went inside again, returning with Ammar's favourite ball in his hand.
"Put this in the backpack too, dear. In case he throws a tantrum."
* * *
They trudged their way through the rubble. The roads were all broken. They made only slow progress, as Warda couldn't strain herself. That left Aiman to carry both the bags and the sleeping child. They were constantly on alert- what if there's a hidden shooter? What if a bomb is dropped on them? What if they get lost? By the time Ammar woke up, they were at their wit's end.
Ammar was delighted in the beginning. He might have thought that they were going on a picnic. After a while, he got bored though. They decided not to aggravate him. After resting under a tree for a while and having breakfast, they started again. This cycle of walking and resting continued till sunset. Most of the stops were for food or prayer. They had to pass a few checkpoints too. Neither the soldiers nor the rebels had a problem with them. It made Warda wonder why they were forced to leave their home- you ought to be safe if none of the armies considered you a threat. When she voiced her doubt aloud, Aiman gave her a sad smile.
"Unfortunately, that's not the way the world works, my love."
* * *
After maghrib, they decided to call it a day. They still had three more hours' journey left but didn't have the energy to carry on. Aiman found a deserted house that stood intact- well, most of it. It was the one with the least damage. Warda made Ammar have some food and put him to sleep. He slept almost instantly. The long journey had tired him for sure. He hadn't caused much problems, though. Whenever he demanded to go back home, Aiman took the ball out and made a game out of it.
Warda pulled a blanket on her sleeping son and kissed him gently. Aiman came and sat on the floor. He started massaging her feet.
"You must be really tired, Habeebti. Have something and lie down."
"I don't want to miss Isha salah. I'll sleep after praying."
"Alright, dear. Have you thought of names for the baby?"
She smiled. "If it's a boy, you name him. If it's a girl..."
"You already have a name in mind, don't you?"
"I was thinking of Sumayya..." She was not sure if he would like it. Obviously, she wanted to name her daughter after the first martyr in Islam, but there was more to it. Sumayya (Radiallahu anha) had a son named Ammar, and her husband's name was Yasser. That's why Warda had named her son Ammar. If it was Yasser's daughter, she would have definitely named her Sumayya. She wasn't sure if Aiman would like it though.
"Why not? It's a beautiful name," Aiman looked into her eyes and smiled, and Warda let out a breath of relief. He caressed her cheek gently, without breaking his gaze.
"You know Habeebti, you have the most beautiful eyes in the world. I can look into your eyes forever and not get bored..."
His voice was barely above a whisper. Warda gave him a half smile and leaned on him, closing her eyes.
"You are so droopy-eyed!"
"What?" Yasser exclaimed.
"You know you never hold my gaze! I have always dreamt of looking into my husband's eyes and having a silent conversation but you always look away or close your eyes. Am I so ugly that you can't even bear to look at me?"
"Wallahi, it' s not like that!" He was just shy, I knew it. But I liked to irritate him just the same. So I just glare at him.
"Now, now, Habeebti, you can't blame me for not holding your gaze when you look at me like that!"
I turned away from him in mock anger. A second later, he was standing behind me, his arms around my waist. "You know how much I love you, Warda," he said in my ear.
"I know. And I love you, Yasser."
Aiman drew her close and kissed her on the top of her head.
"I love you, Habeebi," she whispered.
* * *
Warda was hardly able to sleep that night. Thanks to her big belly, she couldn't find a comfortable sleeping position. She turned to Aiman to snuggle close to him, only to find his place empty.
Where has he gone? That too at this time of the night?
She got to her feet and looked around the strange house. He was not in the next room. The toilet was unoccupied as well. By the time she found him in the hall, Warda had begun to panic.
He was praying. He had got up for the late night prayer and was now making dua'. He was laying all his worries in front of Allah and asking for His help. His sobs were how she found where he was.
"Ya Allah, help us reach the camp safely, ya Allah! Ya Allah, bring an end to this war and restore peace to this country, ya Allah! Ya Allah, help me keep my family safe, ya Allah! You are our only refuge!"
"Aameen," she whispered, wiping her tears. There was still hope.
* * *
A/n:
This story has been brewing in my mind for the past three months. This is for all the people under oppression right now.
Please include the people of Palestine, Syria, Yemen,Myanmar, Bangladesh and all other nations in conflict in your prayers. May Allah help them all.