Rabiya
Sobbing filled the silence in the air, heartbreaking screams piercing into the darkness. Even the children seemed to pause and watch the tormented faces of their parents, wondering what calamity had striken them so dreadfully that their cheeks had been stained with tears, eyes swollen, and lips quivering.
Rabiya stood up, unable to take their cries no more. She had to be strong. Her family had traveled from their homes in order to reunite with her mother's family. It was only two weeks prior that her uncle had mysteriously been found dead one night, his wife's cries all that anyone heard from that fateful night.
Her grandfather was already an old weakened man, kidneys both gone, and only a couple weeks left to live. Blood poured into his vomit at times, the crimson color swirling within the bile of his stomach.
The death of his only son seemed to destroy his already fragile form until he was left defenseless to the world's sickly pleasures, internal bleeding that refused to halt. This morning, he had fallen victim to a stroke, his heart stopped beating.
He was legally dead for ten minutes.
When the Bangladeshi doctors finally stabilized him, they weren't sure whether he'd live to see the sun of day ever again. Now, her beloved grandfather laid helpless on a hardened hospital bed with tubes deep down his throat and a machine pumping his heart.
She watched his chest jolt up and down, the same scary rhythm that she hoped she'd never have to experience. Walking closer to his body, she reached her hand closer to his cold forehead. His eyes painfully squeezed, and she knew that a part of him was still there. Allah was giving him a few more moments.
Wrinkles that told a story of a brave soldier lined the corner of his eyes, a long slender nose followed after, a nose that no longer breathed for him. His long gray beard was softer than before and easily breakable like thin twigs. Rabiya fought her tears back, the world around her disappearing, and she lost herself in her own anguish.
He wouldn't survive. She knew he couldn't because if he somehow did live through such physical torture than he would never be able to walk the Earth without the constant reminder of his dead son. Rabiya wasn't sure if she was ready to let go though, especially after her beloved uncle had already passed away.
She'd never experienced death, not once in her eighteen years of existence, and she was blind to the harsh reality of such grief. Rabiya believed that her uncle, a man as courageous as a tiger, would always be at her side, treating her as if she were his own daughter.
Allah had other plans, and even if the thought of another family member dying, before she even recovered from the last, killed her, Rabiya still trusted her Lord.
Allah had never thrown an obstacle that she couldn't handle. Her Creator was the all-knowing, whose plans were beyond human capacity. Every struggle, every conflict, every pain she felt made her stronger in the end, yet even that thought didn't stop the fear that blossomed in her heart.
She wanted to be selfish, and do anything to save her grandfather. Her voice ached to tell him how much she loved him and apologize for all the times that she never showed her compassion. She wanted to go on her knees and beg Allah for one more day to spend with her grandfather. She would do anything to hear his raspy voice one last time.
Alas, the world was not made for selfish people. Those with an inch of purity in their hearts knew the chilling realization of fear of the unknown. Bangladesh was at war, fighting for their independence from Pakistan, and Muslims were fighting for their rights back.
She glanced at her grandfather's right arm, which laid limply on the bed. The bone jutted out, an imprint of the war left on his body, and the once opened flesh had dried out. He was a fighter, a war veteran, who stopped at nothing until justice was served, until he had put in all his efforts into survival.
But was that much effort worth it after all that he had endured?
Shaking her head, Rabiya let the tears escape the protection of her eyes. Her grandmother prayed silently behind her, along with her mother and two aunts. Rabiya's older brother and father stood outside with the doctors. She knew her brother, Tahmid, couldn't handle watching his beloved grandfather's life slowly drain from his body.
Rabiya leaned her lips close to her grandfather's ear. Her fingers clutched his hand tightly, knowing that her next words would shatter her heart, but it had to be said. The doctors had informed them that he could hear everything that they said, but he couldn't speak.
"Nanu (grandpa)," she whispered, "don't worry about us. Allah is calling you home, go and don't worry. One day we'll see each other again in the valleys of Jannah (paradise) if Allah wills it."
Her voice quivered, uncertainty lacing around her words, but she fought the urge to scream. Rabiya's heart shattered into billions of pieces, like glass that had fallen, yet she continued to hold back her sobs, biting her lips to stop the sound of inner turmoil. By this point, tears had blurred her vision, and trailed down her cheeks, creating a river from her eyes, a teardrop falling on their joined hands.
He flinched slightly, but otherwise remained silent, machines pumping his heart even more. The heart monitor began to drop slowly, going into the single digits before rising to twenty beats. She was running out of time.
"Y-You asked me to watch over Nani (grandma) and Ammu (mother)," she said shakily. "I made a promise to you Nanu. I promised to take care of them. I promised to watch my uncle's children and raise them to be the great Muslims. I promise you, my dear Nanu, that I will take care of this family till my last dying breath."
His body shook, alerting her that he heard her. The weeping in the room got louder, but Rabiya's voice remained quiet. Her words were hushed vows against his skin. The monitor dropped again, fear engulfing her, until it went back up. She knew that Allah was taking his soul slowly and she prayed that Allah would take care of him.
"Nanu, please don't worry. Like you always said, Allah will help us even when you're gone."
She inhaled a deep breath, reminding herself that if she didn't say the words her voice ached to say, then she would live in regret forever. Cradling his cheek in her right palm, Rabiya placed a gentle kiss on her grandfather's forehead, feeling him react to her touch warmed her heart.
"One day," she whispered, "I hope you can forgive me for all the wrong I have done to you and remember that I will always love you, Nanu."
She felt footsteps walk behind her, a large body towering her small one, but she wasn't intimidated because she knew her father's presence better than anyone. He had heard her. Her father's side of the family hated her father and his children, so Rabiya's father always sought his father-in-law's advice and comfort.
He placed a firm hand on her shoulder as a lone tear slipped the corner of her eyes. "It takes a strong heart to say that, Rabiya," he murmured, understanding his daughter's grief.
"I know."
In her father's hand was the Qur'an; it called out to her. The pages within contained verses that were to be spoken to a dying person, words that soothed restless souls, a rhythm that one took with them to the grave. Rabiya gently took the holy book in her hands, turning to Surah Yaseen, and she began to recite through her tear filled vision.
Instantly, the room had quieted to a deafening silence as those around Rabiya admired her soothing voice as she began to recite the comforting words of Allah. As her lips formed the mesmerizing words, her grandfather's body and soul began to relax from hearing the journey of the chapter, the journey every soul took when the Angel of Death came.
Before she knew it, the heart monitor beeped to a straight line, and the world around her began to weep.
* * * *
Rabiya's plain salwar kameez (Bengali traditional dress) hugged her hips ever so slightly as she sat alone by a coconut tree. It was winter time and her body shivered from the cold, but it did not stop her heart from bleeding. The Janazah (funeral prayer) would start in a couple hours, and her grandfather's body was being washed by her father.
It was only hours ago when they had returned with the deceased, yet it felt like it had been centuries ago almost as if time was withering away and Rabiya was stuck in place, lost to the world.
Across the pond was a boy, his black hair sticking up in all directions, his clothes dirty. She gazed at him with tearful eyes. He seemed older than her by a year or two, but she admired his strength, noticing his muscles as he carried a heavy crate.
Who is he?
When his dark eyes met hers, Rabiya forgot to breathe for a moment. This boy looked at her with compassion, and she turned away from him.
He reminded her of the two men that she lost, making more tears flow from her eyes. Rabiya wept for hours.
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I finally updated I know! This chapter was really hard to write for me since some of my sadness reflected in it.
Did anyone tear up? I'm sorry XD
EDIT: I saw there was some talk about the dialect being used. I know some people refer to their maternal grandmother as "nanu" and maternal grandfather as "nana." However, I write my books in the way I live and speak, and my family is from northern Bangladesh.
It's really uncommon in the north to refer to maternal grandmother as "nanu" and even when I visited a year ago, no children called their grandmother that. The way of speaking is different in the north than in the south hence why there are different dialects of Bangla.
For the sake of this book, they are northern Bangladeshis and will follow the dialect there. I apologize if it caused any confusion.
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