F o r t y S e v e n
This one is for queeniram
:)
"How beautiful is it that Allah
will eagerly forgive you for
things that you can't even forgive yourself for."
☆
Mashal
According to Zeyara he joined me on the floor because, "You are so clever zawjati! You were planning to sleep on the floor and get the reward of the sunnah alone so you could get to a higher level of jannah than me and marry someone else there?"
I looked at him incredulously as we walked towards the elevator after praying fajr in the masjid. "Out of all the reasons a person could sleep on the floor, you thought of that?"
He shrugged and replied, "Obviously! But your plan failed because I slept on the floor as well. Now you are stuck with me!"
"Because of your silliness I woke up late and now I have to bear Humna's punishment."
"Hey! Its not my fault that I'm so hot and you didn't want to wake up from sleeping beside me." He chuckled, his deep laughter brought the silent coridoor to life. People turned their heads to look at us and I gazed down in embarrassment.
"Astagfirullah for real. We are fasting Zeyara!" I elbowed him.
We reached the elevators and halted. We had to go opposite ways. Zeyara had to go to halba and I wanted to meet Saddia.
"We will continue this conversation after iftar and I need a good enough reason as to why you came to the room so late last night?" He said mirthfully as he stepped into an elevator, hands as always, stuffed in his pockets.
"To avoid your hotness." I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah I know you might melt but please don't be late tonight. I want to call abbi and Marwa before they start thinking we are dead and prepare for our funeral." He chuckled before the elevator door closed and he gradually disappeared from my view while doing funny dance steps to tease me through the glass door.
It was impossible not to admire him. I smiled to myself as I took the other elevator to the airport.
Saddia is usually in the airport in the morning, at least that's what Zara told me. I wanted to talk her into allowing me to call Minahil's parents. I couldn't let Minahil suffer alone like this.
Rightfully I found Saddia in the airport and asked her if she would let me call Minahil's family since they were like my own family. She agreed reluctantly, probably because of me being a leader.
She led me through the elevator to a room which had the label 'Netwroking' and was full of rows and rows of hi- tech wide screen computers and professional looking people, wearing headphones and microphones, typing away on the screens.
She halted beside one of the computers which wasn't being used by anyone. I watched as she typed and swiped a number of times before pulling out a chair from under that table and asking me to sit.
Saddia set the headphones on me as soon as I sat down.
"When you're done, just follow the same way we came in. I've got to go to halba so I won't be able to stay here with you." Saddia said before she left me. I didn't tell her, but I was glad for this. I didn't want her to hear my conversation with papa.
I could hear the bell ringing in my ears for a while before someone finally picked it up.
"Hello?" It was the voice of Minahil's mother, a voice that had been imprinted in my memory as my own mother's voice, ever since I could remember.
The past memories of her ill treatment towards me came rushing in my mind as I greeted her with a Salam.
"Mashal!? Mashal is that you?" She asked in an alarmed tone as soon as she heard my voice.
"Yeah." I gulped down the image of her calling me 'shameless' and continued speaking. "How are you?"
"I'm bad, I am very bad." Her voice started cracking as the words spilled out, "I wronged you, I used such bad words for you Mashal. You can't imagine how sorry I am! I blamed you to be shameless and I got my punishment. My own daughter turned out to be shameless--"
She began sobbing and I bit my lip from saying anything that would hurt her. What she did to me was wrong, she knew Ibrahim was my brother but she still termed me to be 'shameless'. It would've been okay if she had told me that she wasn't my mother, but at that time I believed that she was my mother and hearing those words from your own mother is the worst kind of thing.
"Please forget about that. If not mother, you're still my elder, you've cooked for me, provided me with clothes and a home. I can never thank you enough for tha--"
"No I didn't!" Her sobs increased in pitch. "I didn't spend a single penny on you. In fact my whole family ate from your money. Someone used to send us thousands of pounds for you. I haven't done anything for you except for treating you like an insect."
Baba.
I immediately knew it was baba who sent them the money, he never completely abandoned me.
I shook my head trying not to remember those dark sleepless nights of my life. Even when baba payed them more than they could desire, they still mistreated me.
"I wanted to talk to you and papa about Minahil--"
"That shameless girl? We have nothing to do with her." She interrupted before I could complete my sentence.
"Please don't say that. You said the same thing to me and you're regretting it now. At least don't do it for your own daughter!"
I could hear shuffling sounds through the phone as she pulled away the phone from her ear.
Papa's voice came after that. "We have seen her pictures. I'm not blind! I have seen the text messages she sent to that boy. I also found a letter from NHS about the pregnancy test she did. Is that all not enough of a proof?"
The phone must have been on speaker mode because papa seemed to have heard my entire conservation with his wife. His voice was full of anger and hatred.
"She didn't do it! She was abused! Did you even consider that guy might be lying to you?"
"Are you saying he stole Minahil's phone and texted those unspeakable disgusting things from her phone to himself? Are you saying that the pictures I found in her room are also edited? All her friends who said that she was his girlfriend are lying? Is everyone a liar except her?" He spoke with a coldness I had never heard before.
"She made a mistake, I admit that." I tried to reason with him. His point was valid and that scared me, Minahil was at fault. "She shouldn't have gone out dating boys but that doesn't mean you abandon her! She's your daughter for God's sake!"
"She is no longer my daughter! The whole neighbourhood knows, the whole family, even the ones in Pakistan know what she did! I will not take such a disgrace into my home." He affirmed, there was no sympathy just hatred and rage in his voice.
"But papa--"
"We gave her everything and this is what she gave us! Such daughters should be buried alive."
"That is exactly the problem! You gave her everything. You spoilt her, you made her like this and now you're throwing her out?!"
"She is dead for me. I will not change my decision."
"Fine." I sighed, rubbing my forehead to muffle the headache which had started to sprout. Papa wasn't going to be convinced. He wasn't going to forgive Minahil, at least not so soon. His wounds were still fresh.
Defeated, I finally let out the words I had been holding. "Then allow her to get married."
"Marriage?" He scoffed audibly, "No man of honour will ever marry her and I will not spend a single penny on her marriage!"
"What if...... you don't have to pay anything and a man of honour asks you for her hand? Would you let her get married then?"
He paused as if contemplating and then spoke. "I would be glad to get rid of her. She can marry whoever she wants but keep this in mind, if that man divorces her, I will not take her back in my house!"
"I assure you, that won't happen in sha Allah."
"What do you mean...Is someone ready to marry her?"
"Yes." I almost whispered, I wasn't prepared to talk to him about this. I squirmed in my seat, trying not to feel anxious.
"Who?" He asked, the most predictable question.
"A man of honour" I sighed, "my brother Ibrahim."
"That self righteous bearded Arab guy?! Does he not kno--"
I felt myself losing patience, he had no right to say anything about Ibrahim. "That self righteous Arab guy as you call him, is better than you papa! He's ready to honour such a girl whose father calls her a disgrace."
"Oh really?" He scowled, "Let him do it then. I'll see how long he can deal with her."
"Why are you being so heartless?" I asked in disbelief
"I'm being heartless? I trusted my daughter Mashal! I gave her everything and gave you nothing. Still she ended up like this, without any education, without any self respect. I do have a heart and that's why I have nothing left to do with her. Nothing!"
His shouts caused me to flinch. I could imagine papa crying while he said that.
He was hurt and his pain seeped into his words.
One could say that papa was being irrational but imagine a boy coming up to you with pictures and saying that he had an affair with your daughter, papa had a right to be upset.
After talking to him, I went straight to Minahil's room but she wasn't there yet again.
This left me with a good chance to nap for a while.
I woke up abruptly when I felt an incredibly painful stinging sensation all over my body. The pain made me jump off the bed, only to realise that Humna's punishment had started and the pain I felt was due to the outgrown spikes on the bed.
Thankfully I had been wearing my abaya so the spikes didn't hurt me through all the layers of clothing. They did leave scratches though, all over my feet and arms.
I controlled my urge to scream and kill Zeyara by reminding myself that it was Ramadan and I was fasting.
"Look at the bright side Mashal. At least the spikes didn't prickle your eyes and leave you blind forever." I mumbled grudgingly as I put on countless plasters on my arms and feet.
So much for sleeping on the floor.
The azan for zuhr had already been called out so with scratched feet, I hurried to the mosque. I was halfway through when I remembered that it's better to walk to the masjid rather than running. I slowed down and strolled patiently through crowds of people all going towards the masjid.
All on sirat al mustaqim. The straight path.
Only in Ramadan do you get to experience this, when everyone's main goal becomes Allah.
Ramadan is like a magnet which pulls the Muslims back to the right path.
Praying zuhr engulfed me in a state of serenity. Praying with parched lips, dry mouth and an empty stomach due to fasting is a different kind of enjoyment, something that not everyone gets to experience.
People get addicted to drugs, I guess I was addicted to salah.
I prayed for Minahil after the salah. She needed a lot of prayers. I thought Ramadan would change her a bit, that she would at least start praying regularly but she was never present in the masjid during the time of salah.
That bothered me a lot but it was a possibility that she liked praying alone in her room and I was no one to be concerned about her salah. It was between her and Allah.
As per my Ramadan routine, I sat down to read Quran after zuhr when most of the people had left. Zara settled down beside me a while later. We exchanged Salam before we both got lost in the mesmerising words of Allah.
We wanted to finish the Quran twice during Ramadan so both of us had made an adequate schedule of reading a specific number of pages every day.
It took me longer than her to read the scheduled pages since I didn't know Arabic and had to read the translation as well.
I always used to read the Arabic without knowing it's meaning but then I realised, it's like drinking water from an empty cup. I used to see people crying while reading the book of Allah and I wondered why?
Now that I, myself read the translation, I knew the answer to that.
People cry out of joy when they receive a single love letter. This book is the greatest love letter mankind could ever get and that too, from Al Wadud. The Most Loving.
The mere thought of that is enough to make someone emotional.
When we were done reciting, it was almost time for asr so we decided to stay in the masjid instead of going back to our rooms and coming again to the masjid for asr.
Zara, I figured, was more or less just like Marwa. The only topic she had to chat, was her brother. She kept on ranting about his good behaviour, exceptional mannerism and their childhood stories.
One story caught my attention for the most obvious reason.
"And in Syria he used to help the poor orphan kids without telling anyone in our family." She said dreamily, "One day I caught him playing in the park with a little girl called Marwa. He was so embarrassed and shy that I saw him."
I suppressed my laughter knowing that this time she was unknowingly talking about my Zeyara.
I also got to know the reason behind Zara's colourful hijabs.
"You know Zeyara wanted me to wear a headscarf but I didn't like it so he bought me so many colourful scarves! I loved the idea that I could wear a different colour everyday and that's how I ended up wearing a hijab."
I felt myself wishing that I had such beautiful memories with Ibrahim. Memories like Zara had with Zeyara bin Hamid, like Marwa had with Zeyara. Being a desperate little girl with an overprotective brother who walks her to school, fights away her bullies and watches over like a hawk.
Wishing that baba hadn't sent me away, mama hadn't died and Ibrahim's mother hadn't cheated on baba. Maybe that way, we could've been a normal happy family.
Wishing is painful, it eats you up if the wishes are never to come true.
But my faith however, gave me a hope.
Jannah, where all wishes come true.
Asr turned into Maghrib as the sun rolled down.
By that time I had totally forgotten about Humna's impending punishment until I tasted my kebab in the cavern for iftari and it had no salt or spices in it.
It was just plain meat.
Everyone else around me indulged in the delicious food platters placed in front of them but everything on my plate was unsalted and completely unseasoned.
I would've strangled Zeyara at that time if he was next to me but I was on the carpet at the women's side and he was at the men's side.
After maghrib however, we got to see each other in Khawlah for my routine training session. I couldn't understand why he took me to Khawlah because we usually practiced in a small room.
Even during that time though, he didn't let me talk about anything other than training. He didn't even crack any of his lame jokes.
"Now Mashal listen, you know how to punch, how to fight. You have enough stamina to run. I don't have anything else left to teach you." He said sternly, leaving me wondering how he got so much energy from the unsalted iftar. "It's up to you how you shape yourself. I'm just gonna stand here in the corner, prove to me that you are capable of being a leader. Oh and I have invited a few guests as well."
He walked up to a wall and leaned his slim muscular form against it, hands in his pockets and face hidden behind a balaclava mask, Zeyara shrugged his shoulders as a signal for me to start.
I had no idea what he meant. Confused to the pit of my heart I couldn't figure out what he wanted me to do.
Before I could ask him, the door flung open and in walked Saddia, Soha, Zara...... and all the other women fighters I had seen in Khawlah.
I stared at Zeyara with fear rising in my throat. I was shocked, stunned, flabbergasted. He simply nodded at me reassuringly as if saying, 'you can do it.'
All of those professional looking women stared at me in an intimidating manner. Saddia stood next to Zeyara and I could see them mumbling something to each other, probably a greeting.
Zara was the only one in her yellow hijab whose smile was actually genuine and encouraging. She even gave me a thumbs up mouthing, 'best of luck.'
The others however gazed at me, smiling sarcastically.
Some of them sat down on the floor, chatting with each other, laughing, commenting, hi fiving.
They were the audience and I had the option of either becoming a joker or a fighter.
"Attention please." Saddia announced when she finished her conversation with Zeyara. "So we all know that MZS said in the beginning of this year's training that the one who beats him will become the next trainer for women. There were three levels to that. First you had to complete your task in Khawlah, then in Zanjabeel and the ones who passed those two were to be allowed to fight with MZS. As we all know, Mashal was unable to pass Khawlah and Zanjabeel so didn't qualify to fight with MZS but since she came late to Alnihayya so she has this one chance. If she is able to prove herself then she will get the chance to fight MZS like the others. So best of luck Mashal, you have thirty minutes. Remember this is your last chance."
It finally made sense.
Zeyara still looked unfazed, he didn't move even a bit from his position. Saddia ordered everyone to be silent and soon I could hear only my heart pronouncing Allah and my panicked breaths.
You can do it Mashal.
Bismillah.
I sucked in a deep breath and pulled off my hijab before getting down on my knees. The dark curls masked away my face and I pretended no one was watching me.
Zeyara's instructions kept ringing in my head.
Arms straight. Legs straight.
I started doing the push ups slowly.
One. Two. Three. Four--
I thought I was doing good but Zeyara shouted at me, using an unusual tone of voice, probably to pretend that he wasn't MZS.
"Faster Mashal! Otherwise we already have enough female fighters. What makes you different?"
His voice echoed in the hall, acting as a catalyst to my actions. I sped up my pushups.
I had done twenty in five minutes but it wasn't something the other fighters couldn't do.
I had to do something different.
I lifted myself off the ground and walked towards the back of the hall. Cruel laughs erupted in the hall along with whispers.
"That's it?"
"My four years old sister can do better than that."
Ignoring their comments, I grabbed a thirty pounds weight pack from the back and walked back to my place. I could see Zeyara's eyes smiling, he knew what I was going to do.
Copy him.
I got back down on my ankles, placed the weight on my back and started the pushups again.
I did twenty more with the pack on my bag. This time there was an impressed silence, no more cruel laughs.
I punched the bag next. Landed a flurry of punches, kicks, hooks, concentrated them all on the same spot.
I ended up tearing the bag withing ten minutes.
This earned me a cackle from Zeyara and claps from everyone else.
"Shabash Mashal!" Zeyara exclaimed.
Bravo Mashal.
I didn't look back at them. It would've made me too happy to continue.
Finally the treadmill. I let the machine storm at the fastest speed possible.
Where one wrong step would leave me with a fracture.
Literally.
I ran and I ran, as if running away from the sight of that aged man eating a dog, as if running into Zeyara's arms after being away from him for months, as if running away from that greasy smiled terrorist or running towards Shafin to stop her from killing all those Syrian Alnihayya members, all those who performed dabke at my wedding.
I don't know for how long I ran before my vision blurred, my legs staggered and my sweaty form gave up.
Before I could hit the ground I felt Zeyara's arms catch me and his faint dreamy whisper against my ear. "You earned it zawjati. Congratulations."
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•
I woke up by the sound of a soothing isha azan in Ibrahim's voice. I released myself from the tangles of the duvet and rose up from the floor.
I wasn't sure if I had been dreaming about the success in Khawlah or if it really happened. It was when I examined my sweaty clothes that I realised it had actually happened.
I had achieved it!
My body couldn't have been able to cope with the sudden strenuous work right after fasting, that's why my muscles were unable to bear my own weight and I passed out.
I smiled reminding myself of Zeyara's congratulations and the way he didn't let me fall.
And a huge Alhamdulillah that Zeyara remembered about Humna's punishment and let me rest on the floor instead of putting me on the spiky bed.
My happiness was fleeting to new levels and I no longer cared about the cramps, those exercises had brought me.
I performed sujood ash shukr. Prostration of thankfulness, before changing my clothes and walking to the masjid.
It was time for isha and in Ramadan almost everybody would be headed to the masjid at that time but when I walked through the coridoors, they were all empty, the elevators were empty.
When I reached the masjid, even that was empty.
This was enough of an indication that something was massively wrong.
I gathered my courage and took the elevator to the cavern.
As soon as I stepped into the cavern, raw intense screams filled my ears. My mind was lost in absolute fear as I pushed through the crowds of people to see what was happening. The cavern was full, everyone was there instead of going to the masjid. They stood there like statues, paralysed as if they had just seen the death angel.
As I came closer to the source of the screams and hysterical crying, I could tell it was Zara's voice.
But I couldn't tell why she was screaming.
And I couldn't tell why no one was helping her.
I pushed past the last couple of people and finally saw the scene in front of my eyes.
Zara was on her knees on the floor, red eyes, puffy face, beating her fists on the floor, screaming the most ear piercing screams. Wailing and crying as if she had just lost everything.
In front of her lay Zeyara bin Hamid. Lifeless.
His dark hair stained with crimson blood, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, white shirt with the Alnihayya logo washed red and three deep bullet marks. His once handsome face, spotted with deadly bruises and his skin, as pale as ice.
People had formed a circle around the crying girl, watching, sobbing lightly at her loss and their loss. The loss of someone they knew as MZS.
I forced myself to run towards Zara, even though I wanted to run away.
I enveloped her into a tight hug but her cries only grew louder against my chest.
I didn't know what to say to her. Saying 'it's okay' seemed rude, it's like punching someone in the gut and saying sorry.
I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. I tilted my head back to look at Zeyara. He kneeled down beside me, his eyes wet and bloodshot. He had been crying too, crying without tears.
"Mashal" he barely whispered in my ear. "They killed him thinking he was me."
And I knew I could never be more thankful that Zeyara got that face removed.
☆
This chapter is bound to have loads of mistakes and it's not even well written but you all wanted me to update so desperately that I had to do it.
I'll have to do a LOT of editing when this book ends in sha Allah to make it ready for publishing.
Ahem. And my favorite question, WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS NEXT??
-Muskaan.