Usamah bin Sharik said: "Some Bedouins asked: 'O Messenger of Allah ﷺ shall we treat (our ill)?' He said: 'Yes, O worshipers of Allah! Use remedies. For indeed Allah did not make a disease but He made a cure for it' - or - 'a remedy. Except for one disease.' They said: 'O Messenger of Allah ﷺ! What is it?' He ﷺ said: 'Old age." Reference: Jami' at-Tirmidhi 2038
Chapter 25:
Aligning Paths With You
It had been hours, Joseph was sure, but why couldn't he wake up?
The last thing he remembered was getting into a scuffle with Mrs. Marie Adams' son. The man had almost knocked Joseph's teeth out. Joseph had only been a defense opponent, not wanting to inflict the pain back. After all, he knew he'd done something that was deserving of these blows to his stomach as well. Joseph probably had a black eye from the dead woman's son, but he could clearly see who was at fault here; and that was himself. Then, someone had given him a shot of sedatives, and the world had turned fuzzy and weird.
Sedatives. That was probably why he couldn't move, though now he felt like if he really tried, his fingers quivered in the darkened, desolate ICU.
He wasn't even sure how many hours had passed. Everything was a blur of space and voices. Though now he realised how truly weak he was at heart. And not just that — he realised that maybe he had a dangerous gap in his skills now that it actually killed someone. Throughout his stay there, he'd heard all sorts of things.
"He made a really big mistake."
"This could affect our hospital's reputation."
"I can't believe he forgot something so petty, he might end up losing his job."
"He'll have to find another way to live then."
"The son will make sure his Medical License is taken away."
"What a waste of time and money this drama is going to cause!"
Each word was like a knife to his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to dissolve in his bed and disappear. A million thoughts raced through Joseph's head. He imagined himself as a helpless man, wandering here and there — unable to bring justice to the knowledge in his head. The dream of becoming a neurology professor was crushing down around him. This was all because of his absolute carelessness. Hadn't they taught him how to take history of the patient at medical school? Why had he messed up so badly?
If he was honest with himself, he knew he'd deserve whatever punishment was coming for him.
Perhaps he wasn't supposed to be a doctor, and all of this was happening to prove his incompetency. Fate was probably showing him where he stood in the world; not beside a patient's bed.
He was doomed from the start. Coming from a poor family, his parents and his five sisters, they all depended on him — how would he manage everything without his profession? If he didn't have them to think about, he might've allowed himself to wallow in guilt. But he had to steady himself and keep going.
But with this much responsibility, he doubted if he could ever face his family again. They'd be so ashamed of him, so disappointed that they had spent every last penny to make his dream come true. Joseph felt like the walls were closing in, pressing him into a small corner. He felt as if he would die of guilt.
The medicine had almost completely worn off, he could now support himself and sit up on his bed. Yet the freedom of voluntary movement gave him no relief; his breathing was heavy. Beads of perspiration appeared on his face as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. His head was spinning fast as he stood up and opened the window. The gust of cold wind brought him back to his senses and his breathing became a little calmer.
"No matter what happens..." The Imam at the Masjid had told him. "It was already destined to happen. The good, the bad, the happy and heartbreaking, the monotony and the surprise — everything."
"Then what does it mean that we have a choice?" Joseph had asked. Surely, if he chooses to do something wrong, it means he was destined for it, right?
"You have a choice, that is true." The Imam has spoken. "But there is also the fact that He Knows what you are going to choose while you don't. That makes all the difference in the world."
He Knows what you are going to choose while you don't.
While you don't.
Joseph suddenly felt like he needed to try praying by himself for the first time. He had been to many masajid before but he had never prayed by himself, away from everyone in a darkened ICU room. And so he did. He stood for the longest time after takbir, reciting in the pattern he had heard countless times, then came the ruku and two sujood before he was up again. Never before had he felt like suddenly all his worries began to lighten.
Sure, he probably had a lawsuit before him. But he was going to get through it, he would find the exact cause perhaps. Sure, he earlier thought he was the only caretaker of his family but he had forgotten that everyone's well being rested in Allah's Hands.
And no matter what happens, he knew he must have patience — because this life is only for a short duration. It is a fleeting moment, perhaps like a speck of time in the realms of reality. With the help of Allah, he knew he could overcome any difficulty. It was just the matter of a few moments on this ever changing, quickly eroded world.
When his head of department called for him early morning after a week of ICU care, Joseph was told that it had been taken care of. The son was explained that the only disease they couldn't treat at this hospital was old age, and Mrs. Marie Adams had almost zero chances of surviving either way. Though monetary compensation was also given, Mrs. Marie's son agreed to never bother Dr. Joseph Maud for something he didn't do.
Once again, Joseph was stunned at the effect every prayer made. It almost seemed like Allah said "Be," and it was. As the weeks began to dissolve, he realised what a drastic change salah had brought to his life — two of his sisters were employed, another was accepted at a university and the younger two along with his father had opened a flower shop right beside their farm house outside Inersaw City. They would go to school, come back and help their father (who suddenly developed a liking for gardening) tend to the flowers.
He felt like he was favoured, like he was being given so many things without asking for them. And to think, he hadn't even officially become a Muslim yet. That was when he knew that Allah truly knows what is in the hearts of people — and he had to please his lord, he had to become a Muslim.
Faith, if asked for, dawns in the strangest of places. He thought. For me, it was a ICU Ward. Fortunate are the ones who are born with it. And perhaps for the first time since forever, he was finally aligning paths with Allah swt's religion.
• • •
Just that morning, Leila had looked through one of Kareena's latest poems. It reminded her a lot of how she felt when she had put a Band-Aid on Laeeq's finger. It was surreal, and he looked so much like an innocent yet surprised kid that she felt like giggling. But as soon as she sensed that the vibes were getting a little too personal, she decided she'd get Fatima and ask her to mark her for the First Aid classes.
Yet, every time she read the poem, she felt something stir in her heart, and she wondered if the heart needs wounds for such beautiful words to pour out of it.
if I had imagined
that when I explore
the depths of love
there could've been
treasures unheard of
perhaps I'd have wanted
to meet you sooner
count the full moons
a little faster
to catch up with you
maybe talk a lot more
to all the birds that visit
I wish they would fly
across great moors
to catch a glimpse of you
through the eyes that saw me
for enough moments
to wait a lifetime
for it seems as though
you change me into an ocean
with a kind of storm
only words can sedate to peace
and suddenly I feel like there are
several people residing under
the shade of my soul
some cry, some laugh
and others wait
to become unhidden and
wear the colours of your love
how foolish would it be
to hasten this love
knowing it has yet to live
between the hearts
beyond our death
and waft beautifully
in the gardens of Jannah
because in a love like this
if I were to live until
the end of time
every heartbeat of mine
is a poem for you
even if most of them
would be destined
for the wait!
Leila wondered how many times one's heart must break to be able to write the way Kareema did. She was the kind of girl who fell in love with the smallest kind gestures and Leila believed it to be a flaw until she read the poems. And then there was Husna...
She was sitting on her yoga mat, amidst a stretch when Laith knocked on the door. When he called out her name, she felt a weird sensation in her stomach. How was she supposed to tell him everything that Husna had told her? Abdur Rahman had wrapped Husna around his little finger, and she was stuck like a stubborn tendril — unwillingly. How was she supposed to tell him what had happened that made Husna the way she is now?
And truth be told, she was against breaking off the engagement of her best friend and brother. She couldn't see them in pain, and it would do good to no one. Husna deserved someone like Laith and things that happened in her past should not rob her of good things.
"Come in!" Leila called and Laith walked in and sat down on one of the chairs in her room.
"Okay, tell me what's wrong." Laith demanded.
"Nothing." Leila said immediately.
"Don't lie to me." Laith spoke. "She hasn't replied in a week."
"Well, it's because Kareema said it's better not to engage in useless talk before getting married." Leila told him. "I agree actually, it's a good decision that she has made."
"Oh." Laith echoed after a while.
"Don't be so dejected." Leila consoled him. "She's just keeping her distance so that things have the barakah and work out quickly."
"That is all, right?" Laith asked and Leila felt a pang of guilt. She remained quiet but that turned out to be a mistake. Laith raised an eyebrow. "Leila?"
"I'm sorry, but there is something that I can't tell you without her permission." Leila finally spoke.
"Why?" Laith questioned. "Is it going to affect my relationship with her?"
"Only you can answer that." Leila spoke.
"Okay, just tell me if it involves another man." Laith pleaded.
"Laith, it's not like that at all." Leila spoke. "Husna isn't a girl like that, don't think that way."
"What way?" Laith questioned. "What is it about?"
"I can't tell you." She repeated.
"What do you suggest I do, then?" Leila asked.
"From what I know, I think she needs a bit of time." Leila spoke.
"But our wedding is in a month." Laith said incredulously.
"You have to wait, Laith, because the other option is confronting her." Leila told him. "And she is not ready for it yet. If she breaks off the engagement you'll know that she's uncomfortable but if she stays silent, you know she's okay marrying you."
"I am not sure if I want to know or not, but I definitely want to clear some confusion in her mind." Laith relayed.
"I have an idea, actually..." Leila started.
• • •
"So I heard you're marrying Mum." Khadijah spoke.
Samir paused and looked up at the little girl, the "Goodnight Stories For Children" book open in his lap. Fatima hadn't spoken to him in quite some time and though he tried his best to not think too much about it, he was afraid she was going to say no. Or that she had too much on her plate. But Khadijah's remark brought hope back in his heart, and he wondered if Fatima had spoken to her daughter about it.
"In Shaa Allah." Samir chuckled nervously.
"She's really hurt by the way." Khadijah said, and Samir could gauge that this little girl had the mind of someone who is much much older. Perhaps because she only has her mother as her sole friend.
"Why is that?" He asked.
"I think she wanted you to ask that question a long time ago." Khadijah grinned. "But I also guess she's happy now."
Samir smiled, and there was no response he could give because he still didn't know what Fatima truly wanted. What was holding her back? He hoped it wasn't guilt, because Fatima was an expert at shifting the blame all to herself, or maybe she thought Khadijah would feel weird because Samir wasn't her true father. But whatever the case was, he wished she would just talk to him, directly or indirectly.
"I have something that belongs to you." The little girl told him.
"Something that belongs to me?" Samir asked confusedly.
"Yes, a letter." Khadijah revealed. "I think Mum wanted to give it to you but she hasn't been able to."
"She never mentioned it though." Samir said carefully.
"I saw it in that photo album." Khadijah said, pointing to the bedside table. "Anyway, I think I would like to rest a little bit."
"Sure, let's get you tucked into bed." Samir agreed and helped the little girl lie down. It had been a few minutes before he noticed that someone was watching him and he turned to find Fatima. She smiled a little and shifted her gaze to her daughter.
"Assalam alaikum." Samir greeted her.
"Wa alaykum assalam." Fatima sighed. "I'm just a little worried that she's starting treatment tomorrow."
"It's going to be fine In Shaa Allah." Samor comforted her. "She's a soldier."
"She is tough for sure." Fatima chuckled.
"Has she gone through other treatment cycles before?" Samir asked curiously.
"Once, and though it cost her the beautiful hair that she had, she still survived." Fatima told him.
"She's so strong, she's gonna make it." Samir supplied.
"What were you talking about with her?" Fatima asked. "I came in just now when you were tucking her in."
"She was telling me she has something that belongs to me." Samir spoke. "Can you give it to me? She told me it's in the photo album over there."
"Samir, I don't think—"
"You can give it to me now or regret that something you meant for me never reached me." Samir grinned.
"It's not something I ever wanted to give you." Fatima tried to reason. "But you know what? You'll find my answer in there. I think this is a safer way to give it to you."
"Your answer?" Samir racked his brain.
"If you want to know if this letter is—" She started, getting the envelope out and giving it to him.
"Enough to marry me, right?" He smiled, and caught himself before he could say all the things he had always wanted to.
"If you're going to read too much into my sentences like that, I'll have to make them harsher." Fatima chuckled.
"Please do." Samir nodded. "I mean, sorry." He added, flustered.
Fatima laughed. It was so heartwarming to see him flustered again after years of waiting. She had truly missed him, and finally she'd be able to align paths with him through the letter she wrote before her previous marriage.
• • •