"Allah, may He be exalted, says: 'There are three whose opponent I shall be on the Day of Resurrection ... [One of whom is] a man who hired a worker and availed himself of his labour to the fullest extent, but did not give him his wages.'"
[Narrated by al-Bukhaari, 2270.]
Chapter 13:
Crinkling emotions
Rufaida walked from the bus stop to the villa, as was routine from the past week. When her mum's friend's friend had rung her up, introducing herself as the mother of Zara, an eleven-year-old who was selected by an internationally acclaimed organization to pitch her nutrition-related project to a renowned jury, Rufaida had immediately agreed to help.
The competition was in the next two days and Rufaida was working incredibly hard to ensure she put up a good show. Zara was just eleven but she was extremely talented, and seeing her hard work, Rufaida was challenging her limits to do better. And with the way Rufaida was working for it, juggling hospital shifts and pulling all-nighters, you'd think it was her project. Her level of dedication was something else.
Every day after finishing her duty, Rufaida would take the bus to come to their house, help Zara, then go home, help her mum with chores, continue working on this project until late in the night, and the same cycle would repeat every day.
That day, being her last, as Rufaida gave finishing touches, Saima, Zara's mum said, "How I wish we had found you earlier, Rufaida. You've made our lives so easy. Please keep in mind all the hours and efforts you've put in, you've been working night and day."
"It's alright, I'm glad I could help," Rufaida smiled, working on Zara's laptop as she edited her PPT. Rufaida had helped Zara prepare two speeches that she would be presenting on the main day, you could say she had planned the whole of the presentation for her and come up with a 3 D model of her idea. Zara's project was to do with Public Health Nutrition where young children in villages were taught about healthy eating. While things like My Plate were scientific concepts, she had given it a unique twist of her own, to make it personal and practical.
"I can see this project has worn you out," Saima commented. "You look visibly drained," she noted, the dark circles around her eyes obvious, and her skin dull.
"This project was demanding," Rufaida agreed. "It would be different had you approached me earlier, we could have worked things out at our pace instead of this last-minute rush."
"I know, my apologies. Zara was allotted a guide but she turned out to be one lazy lady. We're paying her a five-digit figure, and you're doing her entire job," she commented. "How I wish people these days were more God fearing, they don't understand they're accountable for the money they take."
Rufaida agreed to the statement, rethinking about some of her seniors in the hospital who made the freshers do their entire work and then took credit for it. But as taxing as it was, Rufaida had enjoyed working with Saima. Sure, it was more of a paid, professional project, but along the way, they had become like family. Saima spoke so much about Islam, and discussed topics that Rufaida believed in, it was a pleasure to work with them. In fact, there was a time Saima had told Rufaida how she had started seeing her as her second daughter.
Drawing her attention to her, Saima said, "People quote before they undertake work, and look at you, you've been selflessly working so hard without once talking about the money. But Rufaida, since today is the last day, please let me know of your charges. Although I'll say it again, we hope to be of help to you in the future, no words can express how thankful I am for what you've done for us."
Rufaida hesitated for a moment, unsure what price to quote, more so because she no more saw her as a client, but rather a friend who was much older to her. Trusting the bond they had developed over the past few days, she thus said, "I'll leave it up to you to come up with a number, you're a witness to the hours and work that went behind, you can pay me accordingly."
Smiling, Saima replied, "Sure, we'll take care of it."
It was late in the night by the time Rufaida finished, the constant ringing of her phone indicating her mum's worry back at home. While leaving, as Zara thanked her for all her help, her mum, Saima handed over a bag to Rufaida.
"This is for you," she smiled.
"JazakAllahu khair," Rufaida responded. "I hope you haven't taken much trouble," she said, because if Saima had some fancy cheque in it, Rufaida wasn't going to accept it, she was only expecting a minimal amount. Sure, Rufaida needed the money that this project would fetch her, but she hadn't worked just for that. That was the first lesson her mum had taught her regarding this professional world, that it's your right to be paid for your work, but it must be your intention to not work only to get paid.
"No trouble, Rufaida," Saima dismissed and after wishing Zara all the best and promising Saima they would keep in touch in the future, Rufaida headed out.
Since she wasn't very sure of the frequency of buses at this time of the night, Rufaida thought it was wiser to book an auto. She knew this transport would turn out to be pricey, but Rufaida tried to reason that it was alright, she could consider a part of the stipend that Saima offered as travel allowance.
But even as she brought all convincing logic to opt for it, the few drivers she approached did not want to drop her to her particular address. She stood outside the massive villa and sighed. She fetched her phone from her bag, and after sending her mum a quick message, she tried booking one from the previously installed app, but although her phone's battery was at 56%, it went off. Panicking slightly, Rufaida knew where this was going. Her phone, her companion for four years, was slowly protesting the grind Rufi had been putting it through.
Maybe it was time to get herself a new phone, and perhaps she could use the money earned through this project for that purpose, she thought. But while that was secondary, standing in a posh locality relatively deserted at this time, Rufaida had no clue how she'd get home tonight.
***
Ahmed was sprawled on the floor in their vast living room, busy laughing at memes on his phone, while little Fariha sat on his stomach, her legs on either side of him as she wheeled the car across his chest.
"Are you having fun using me as a racing track?" Ahmed grinned, putting his phone down and Fariha giggled.
"She hates playing with dolls," Raiyyan commented, looking at his little daughter in awe. In a few months, Fariha was going to turn one, but Raiyyan was still not over the fact that she belonged to him, that this little human was a blessing from Allah to him and his wife. Raiyyan had loved Tammara from a very long time, several years before they even got married, but that moment when Fariha was born and the two of them held their baby together for the first time, love was a very small word to describe what he felt for his wife.
"That's because Afreen's not here," Ahmed replied to Raiyyan's previous statement. "She'd teach her all girly stuff had she been here, but I'm glad to know in my shadow, my niece is taking over my interests, playing with cars and bikes."
That caused Raiyyan to bestow Ahmed an incredulous look. "Seriously? Trust you to turn my daughter's choices in your favor."
"Of course!" Ahmed exclaimed. Pinching her chubby cheeks, he said, "My friend's sister recently started her entrepreneurial venture that makes customized clothes for toddlers. So warn Tam not to be surprised if you receive some cool clothes with creative quotes written on them."
"Did you order them for Fariha already?"
"Of course I did, you're going to love all of them."
"And what quotes do they contain?" Raiyyan asked.
"Just some facts," Ahmed replied in a matter of fact tone.
"Like what?" Raiyyan prodded, his lips twitching in a smile.
"One romper has 'I get my good looks from my Chachu' and the other one is, 'If you think I'm cute, you should meet my Uncle'. There are many more, but I'll let that be a surprise." Ahmed said, and while Raiyyan thought Ahmed was really funny for doing this, he adored the bond he was developing with his daughter. If anything, they were going to make the cutest Uncle-Niece pair in the family.
As Raiyyan and Ahmed continued their conversation, now with Fariha in it, as she cooed and giggled, Tam walked out of the kitchen.
"Ray," she called, "Can you get me milk from the grocery store? Hurry up, before it shuts down. I just heated the fresh milk we had in the fridge and it happened to curdle."
"Why don't you ring the supermarket and ask them to drop it home?" Raiyyan suggested, unwilling to go out and purchase groceries.
"They're not answering the phone," Tam huffed.
"Oh!" Raiyyan exclaimed, turning to look at Ahmed, and the guy in question rolled his eyes.
"Of course," he groaned. "Your mum and dad give me a lot of work, Far, you must remember this when you grow up. One night, when it was very dark outside, your Chachu still went in the biting cold just to get milk for you. Never forget, princess, never forget."
Raiyyan and Tam exchanged a laugh at Ahmed's hilarious dramatics, and on his way out, Zainab, who had just come from her room, asked, "Ahmed, you're going somewhere?"
"Yeah Mamma, to the supermarket."
"Very well," she nodded. "Please pick paneer on the way. And eggs too. And tell Raju to add two kilograms of semolina to the grocery list I gave him this evening."
"Sure," he answered sarcastically, "Ask Abbu if he too has some work he wants for me to finish on the way, because obviously, what started as my short trip to the store to fetch milk has now turned into the job of a delivery guy. And hold on, why do you want paneer? Please don't make palak paneer again for breakfast tomorrow, I'm tired of it," he complained.
Not adhering to his request, Zainab replied, "For someone who can't cook, you do deny a lot of food served to you."
"No one listens to me in this house," he moaned, and just as he reached the door, he heard his name being called again.
"I can't hear anything," he sang, as he proceeded nonetheless.
"We're not asking you to get anything more, Ahmedi, don't worry," Tam clarified, grinning. "Here, take this cloth bag, get all supplies in this, don't accept the plastic bag they offer."
Obliging, he caught the bag Tam threw his way and walked out.
Throwing the hood of his jacket over his head, Ahmed made his way to the supermarket on foot, considering it was hardly a few steps away from home. However, just as he was about to climb the six broad steps to the store, someone at the turning point caught his attention.
He paused for a moment, jerking back to verify if the sight before him was real. Rufaida standing by the end of the lane, helplessly waiving at the few autos that passed by was not what he was expecting when he walked out of home that night. He glanced at his watch, his eyebrows shooting up when it dawned on him that she was indeed all alone, helplessly looking for a means of transport at this odd hour.
For a slight moment, Ahmed hesitated, wondering if he should inform her that from where she currently stood, it would be hard to get autos, but immediately thought against it. Hoping that she knew what she was doing, he left her to fend for herself.
However, before he could act upon that thought and leave, noticing a looming figure, Rufaida instinctively turned around, and much to her surprise, found Ahmed observing her. She knew Afreen's house was somewhere close from here but hadn't anticipated she'd be stumbling upon her brother.
Both of them shared a glance, their little encounter suddenly making Rufaida feel conscious of this guy who had previously used her fragile circumstances against her as a taunt. While Ahmed was tempted to offer help, with the way Rufaida immediately broke eye contact, crossed her arms against herself and turned away from him, proved even if he did, Rufaida wasn't going to accept anything that came from him.
Minding his business, Ahmed thus made his way to the supermarket, but as he went about buying the supplies he was instructed to, he kept peeking outside through the glass wall, slightly bothered upon still finding Rufaida there, all by herself.
Ahmed wasn't raised to turn his back on people in need, he was just not that guy. So although Rufaida was somewhat a stranger to him, and they hadn't had the best of history together, he knew he couldn't leave her stranded all alone at night.
As he stood by the cash counter, he thus fetched his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Assalamu aliakum, Mubarak Uncle," he greeted.
"Wa alaikum as salam, beta, how are you?"
"Alhamdulilah good. Uncle, have you reached home yet?"
"No, I was driving back, just passed by your house."
"Uncle, could you please do me a favor?" He requested.
"What happened, beta?"
"Someone needs a drop."
"Sure, let me know where I must come."
Grateful for Mubarak, who was the husband of their old maid, and whom they trusted blindly and called him often in Ramadan to drop Zakah and Sadaqah to houses in the slum, Ahmed gave him the necessary instructions. As he paid the cashier, instead of walking back home, he waited by the exit door, just to make sure Mubarak would find Rufaida as per his description and take her home safely.
Ahmed looked on as Rufaida, who was unaware of Ahmed's involvement in this, waved at Mubarak's auto, called out the address to him and seemed visibly relieved when he asked her to take a seat. Now at peace that this was sorted, Ahmed stepped out and decided to head home.
However, while he had thought Mubarak wouldn't notice him since he had already turned the key in the ignition, all set to leave, he wasn't expecting it when the man called his name.
"Ahmed baba, how have you been, see, I told you I'll be there in two minutes and I kept my word, didn't I?"
Holding the grocery bag in hand, Ahmed halted at the statement. He didn't want Rufaida to have the slightest idea of what he had done tonight. If anything, he was scared if she knew it, she'd jump out of the auto and refuse his help. Yet Ahmed wondered if Rufaida would really do that since the odds were against her and she really needed to get home.
Giving Mubarak an uncertain smile, Ahmed peeked at Rufaida, as she looked at him in turn, her curious eyes trying to put two and two.
He realized Rufaida was definitely the kind of girl who'd lunge out and throw his attempt to aid her on his face, but maybe not tonight. Tonight was different, and while Ahmed had a way of making her feel uncomfortable every time he was around, this time was no different, except that it was his kindness that left her uneasy.
"Jee Uncle," Ahmed finally replied, a hesitant smile playing at the corners of his lips, like a child whose secret deed was now out in the open, for the entire town to talk about it. "JazakAllahu Khair for coming," he thanked since he didn't have much to hide anymore. "Okay then, Uncle, see you again, in sha Allah."
"Okay, beta, Allah hafiz," Mubarak waved and with a very surprised Rufaida, he drove away.
Ahmed and Rufaida shared one last glance, one that lasted for less than a second, but which would go down in history as the moment that shifted the dynamics of their relationship. What just happened was nothing big, yet what occurred at that moment was the start of a new chapter in someone's story.
"Uncle?" Rufaida called, in need of a confirmation of what just happened.
"Yes?"
"Did he ask you to come to pick me?" She enquired.
"Who, Ahmed?"
A slight pause and Rufaida gulped, before proclaiming his name. "Yes, Ahmed."
"Yes, beta. I know Ahmed's family since a very long time, ma sha Allah, they are such generous people. My wife used to work at their place, Ahmed's mother is so nice, every time my wife went with a need, she ensured it was taken care of. In fact, Ibrahim Saab has sponsored my children's education, and Raiyyan baba even ensured my son got a good job after his degree. As for Ahmed, my wife has raised him since childhood, he is such a humble and well-mannered boy. So is his twin, Afreen. We consider ourselves blessed that Allah put them in our life," he went on and while Rufaida deduced Mubarak Uncle spoke a lot, she was also met with another realization.
Well, what do you know, the villain in one chapter could be a hero for the rest of the story.
When Rufaida finally reached home, she made an attempt to distract the debate of her mind as it desperately tried to categorize a familiar stranger. With her mum lecturing her on how she didn't have to take up extra work for additional income if it required staying away at odd timings, Rufaida decided to check the contents of the bag Saima gave her.
"What's this, Rufi?" Asma prodded, curious at the sight of the bag.
"Zara's mum gave this to me while leaving."
At the reply, Asma looked on as Rufaida brought out the stuff from the bag. It had a dress in it, a simple, decent embroidered dress with a chiffon dupatta, and when Rufaida realized that was the only thing in it, she was taken aback.
She wasn't the only one, because so was Asma.
"Did the lady hand over your payment for the project separately?" she inquired.
"No," Rufaida denied, "This is all that she gave me."
"Didn't she ask you to quote an amount?" Asma asked, unsure what to make out of this.
"She asked me, but I've been working with her and her daughter for the past ten days, and we developed such a personal bond, I told her she could pay me a suitable amount she thought was best," Rufaida replied, her mind unable to process why Saima, after acknowledging all her efforts, when it was time to pay, had given her just a dress.
"And what did she reply?" Asma asked, knowing where this was going.
"She said she'd take care of it," Rufaida answered, still in a trance.
"She was never willing to pay you, Rufi," Asma made known, and as a mother, felt her heart break when Rufaida's head jerked up, trying to make sense of it.
"I don't think so, Ammi," she denied. "She's such a nice lady, and they are extremely rich. More than me saying it, she kept acknowledging the work I was doing for them, she was the one reminding me to keep a tab on all the hours I worked and charge accordingly."
"I repeat what I said, Rufi," Asma emphasized. "She never intended to pay you. If she did, when you said she could pay you anything she wished, she would have immediately insisted you to still quote an amount, fearing that whatever she gave would be less. But she took advantage of your goodness, since you didn't specify a figure, she just gave you a little thank you gift, and turned her back on you."
Rufaida found her eyes turn glassy at her mum's analysis, a deep crack of ache filling her with dread.
"But why would she do that," Rufaida whispered. "I didn't expect anything fancy, and from the beginning, it was understood this is a paid project."
"People with deep pockets sometimes have the smallest hearts," Asma explained.
Rufaida couldn't believe it, absolutely could not. Forget about the work as such, the fact that she had trusted her and developed such a personal bond while all the time, Saima saw her as someone she could fool and take advantage of left her feeling torn. If she didn't want to pay her, she could have easily said it, Rufaida would rest the case, but the fact that she got played left her feeling betrayed.
She caught hold of the dress material she had gifted, and opened it completely, checking deep inside the bag as if something hidden would appear and prove her mum wrong. But nothing happened, and she let life teach her another reason.
"Never regret being good to someone, Rufaida, your reward lies with Allah. But this is a lesson for you, in the future, when you undertake any project, don't be shy about quoting a price for your work. This world is otherwise very selfish, when it's their turn to reciprocate goodness, they'll slyly and politely say thank you and get going." She paused, before questioning, "Will you be asking Saima about this?"
Rufaida shook her head at the question, all the nights she stayed up to do Zara's work, all those times she went hungry to their house after shifts, those extra hours she spent in buses flashing before her eyes. Saima was a wise lady, very wise actually, and Rufaida knew her move to compensate all this with a dress was not a misunderstanding, but indeed a choice.
"I rest my case with Allah, my reward is with Him."
She didn't utter a word after that, while she tried to absorb the scam she had just experienced.
If she could delete one word from her dictionary, it would be betrayal. It was an emotion she detested, a feeling that left you questioning your own worth. She didn't know how someone had the capacity to take so much without crumbling under the weight of it. It baffled her to know that while accepting the slightest help made her feel like she was being a burden, the rest of the world was so egoistic, they thought everyone else was obliged to sacrifice just to feed their desires. She hadn't received much from this world, yet Rufaida was always a giver, but today, for the first time, she wondered, didn't life ever get tired of taking so much from her?
Rufaida saw her life as a journal, each event becoming a scribbled page. As for this incident, she would call it ambiguous. After what Saima did, she would have titled it betrayal, but it was also the day a person who had once caused her emotions to crinkle by reminding her of her miseries earned a sincere dua from her heart.
Today someone had become her offender, and someone had earned her forgiveness.