On the night of July 1st, I couldn’t sleep. Lying on my bed, my thoughts suddenly took me to my mother. Why has she left this world?
These torturing thoughts troubled me so much because I wasn’t there with my mother when she breathed her lost. I was busy with my goddamn newspaper, and I got a call from my son in the morning, informing me about her demise.
Next morning, I was sweating and trying to figure out the previous night’s experience.
Actually before going to bed, I had spoken to my colleague, Raouf Rasool, about his mother who was critically ill, and interned in Khyber Hospital. I think I was thinking about her as another colleague, Jeelani had gone to see her at the hospital and he had told me that she was “not really well.”
I think I was thinking about her and Raouf and that’s what had triggered thoughts about my own mother.
Raouf’s mother wasn’t keeping well for past few years – kidney issues – and she was in and out of hospital all the time.
How lucky Raouf and his sister Kousar are! They were always there with her, attending her at home and in the hospital.
My mother had no hospital history; she was admitted only once, first time in her life, just for a week or so. But that time also I was not there with her; my children, sisters, nephews and nieces were there.
Raouf is not like me. I know how he was always there with his mother, doing whatever he could. But couldn’t beat the destiny!
Same day I heard about the death of Raouf’s mother. When I reached his residence in Soura, I was shocked to see his lawns. It was pathetic. Bit of greenery and huge patches of dirt.
This used to be the lawn which everyone would envy as it would always be so lush and so well-maintained that it would give tough competition to even a silk carpet.
Obviously as his mother wasn’t keeping well and he was always there with and around her, I could image for him it would have been — hell with the lawns and everything else!
That is what a son should do when his mother needs him. I didn’t do that. I was busy reporting, counting numbers of dead and injured, while my mother was readying to leave this world.
It reminds me of another friend – Manzoor Anjum – Editor Uqab. His mother was bed-ridden for more than a year. Anjum too invested himself fully to his mother.
And, when I look at myself, I feel so empty, so meaningless, almost like ZERO.
Prophet of Islam (pbuh) didn’t get much time to be with his mother, and still proclaimed: “Al Jannatu Tahta Aqdam-i-alaummhate {the Jannah (paradise) is under the feet of the mother}”.
And here am I — when my mother left this world, I was miles away from her feet (Jannah).
My mother was my only inspiration. My father had died when I was just 14, and thereafter my entire universe had revolved around her.
A tall, almost six feet, beautiful with Aryan nose and mesmerizing eyes, she had never gone to school, and yet was a living example of an emancipated woman.
She would run family-owned floor mill (Grata) a few meters from our home and earn for the household. She was an entrepreneur in her own right. She would add to family earnings by running the floor mill. We owned a huge patch of land around the mill and there she would also graze two cows that we had.
In the evenings, she would sit on the window of her room that had a distant view of Koh-i-Maran and Shankaracharya temple, light a Panama Filter cigarette, have paused drags and puff out the same in circles. (After few years, she quit smoking).
Spiritually, she was a ‘darvesh’. She would pray five times, and fast during Ramzan; help the needy and was so full of love and compassion. She never wore her religion on her sleeve but had so unflinching love for, and faith in the Almighty’s benevolence that she wouldn’t mind making jokes about the rituals which she strictly followed herself.
I still remember, at Sehri time (pre-dawn meals during Ramzan), she would always make a witty comment: “Even our cows won’t eat at this hour!”
Coming back to Raouf’s mother, she was a pious woman. Her universe would begin and end with Raouf and his sister Kousar. And I am so happy that both were there when she breathed her last; they will have no regrets like I have.
Death is destined for every living being. One who comes to this world, in whatever shape, has to die.
As per Abrahamic traditions, God created Adam and Eve and since then the Eve has been giving birth to life. Isn’t she second to God?
Maybe it sounds blasphemous? But hasn’t our dear Prophet (pbuh) said that the Jannah (paradise) is under the feet of the mother?
To whom belongs the Jannah? God and God only.
And beneath whose feet it is? Mother and Mother only.
So, isn’t mother second to God?
Then why do mothers die?
