The plight of our elderly!
Though a mother cradles progeny in her sweet lap and suckles it the marrow of her bones, but it is a father who squeezes the nectar of his muscles to fuel the engine of his child, so that he/she can propel the wagon of life smoothly. If the mother holds the paradise under her feet, then it is the father who is the door of the paradise. If the mother is an epitome of love and sympathy, then the father is the treasure house of strength and courage. If the mother lactates us the comeliness of her face, then it is the father who makes us to drink the blood of his veins.
If the mother teaches us to walk, but it is the father who first carries us on his shoulders, then strengthens our legs to gallop on the path of life. The mother brings us into the beautiful world of Allah SWT, but it is the father who enables us to explore the hidden corners of the world. The mother bakes rotis for us, but it is father who grinds the flour in his mill of determination which runs on his red blood cells. The mother experiences the pangs of labour pain which is undoubtedly the severest pain in the world, but the father bears the gnaws of poverty which are even more prickly than the labour pain. If the mother is the home minister of a family, then the father is the defence minister of the family.
Mucky clothes and grubby hair, concretizes the fact that fathers strangulate their own dreams and desires for the joys of their children. Raising a progeny eats up the youth of a father. He loses the sheen and masculinity to hard work, labour, drudgery and burden. He trades his precious possessions to buy comforts and pleasures for his children. He gives up living for his own, rather sees the life through the prism of his children. He stops wearing branded outfits for the sake of his children. He sacrifices his aspirations and longings for the safe future of his children. Pungent smell of sweat of an honest and toiling father is holier than the musk of a deer. He even barters his faith to make every comfort of life accessible to his children. Many fathers miss their meals to arrange delicious foods and cuisines for their children.
And ironically, we have begun to maltreat these godly figures. We have very proudly constructed old-age homes for them. Alas ! Our consciences are dead. We have left our benefactors at the mercy of God. We have crossed the frontiers of humanity to dip into the ocean of opprobrium. We have deprived our fathers of their genuine rights, albeit a few instances where obedient and virtuous children treat their old parents as their masters. They feel alienated in their own houses which have been erected on their blood and sweat. Their roles in decision making has been reduced to a minimal level. They are hardly taken into consideration for different household matters. Even many fathers hesitantly beg before their children for a few bucks to fulfill their basic needs. A monarch of yesterday is a scrounger of today. We have confined space for our fathers in their own dens where bricks and mortar bear witness to their solitary ownership. Cursed and ill-fated are those who weigh their parents lightly, during their old-age days. Allah SWT and the beloved prophet Muhammad SAW have advised us to be kind and compassionate to our parents.
Once a young sahabi requested Prophet Muhammad (SAW) to reprimand his father for spending his wealth. The sahabi said, ” O Allah’s prophet (SAW), my father spends my wealth without my permission. Kindly take him to task for consuming my precious possessions so ruthlessly. The holy prophet (SAW) at once send for him. The elderly father of the young sahabi came hurriedly at the call of the holy prophet (SAW). Before the prophet (SAW) could ask him anything, the angel Gabriel (AS) came in and greeted the Allah’s apostle, and said, “O beloved prophet (SAW), Allah (SWT) wants you to ask the old man to recite the poem he was mumbling while he was on way to your home. The prophet of mercy and compassion said, “Would you recite those lines loudly here which you sang a few moments ago.” Tears rolled the face of the old man, and he cried out deplorably, “O beloved prophet (SAW) of Allah SWT, I bear witness to your prophet hood and the dominant hegemony of Allah SWT. I had silently and secretly mumbled a poem of complaint against my son to register my protest, but your Allah SWT has heard my silent cries. Let me recite it loudly before you.”
The old man then lamentably exclaimed (Sum and substance of those Arabic couplets), “My dear son, I gave up living for myself when I begot you. A new journey of my life dawned at the horizon my sky with your arrival. I fought boldly with harsh heat waves of life, to let you take rest under calm shades. I worked hard during chilly nights, to protect you from the frosty winds. I toiled hard like a miller’s ox, to fuel your bones with the blood and sweat of my youthful days. I grew older, you grew younger. My back bowed down, your back straightened up. My legs lost their flesh and vigour, your legs became stout and sturdy. My hands began to shiver, your hands became brawny. I began to dwindle, you started flourishing. And then… I thought… As I have suffered and struggled for your comforts and sustenance, you too will reciprocate, to become the walking stick of my cruel days. When my sturdy legs will refuse to walk along me, you will be there for my help. But… Once you trod the path of success and youthfulness, you forgot me completely. Young days spread a scarlet red hue on your cheeks, and old-age paled my face like the yellow gallows of autumn. The season of spring bloomed kaleidoscopic flowers in thy garden, and the autumn of life snatched my colours of joy.
The summer of life warmed you up, and the winter of life, froze my bones and bent my legs. And you, at once, began to stare at me scornfully. You frowned your brows, to scold and chide me. You even looked at me very sardonically, as if I am your slave, and you are my master. Then… I cursed and calumniated my thirty years of fatherhood, because thy atrocious approach, cemented a belief in my heart, that I am not a father, rather a servant; and you are not my son, rather my lord. If you had been my son, you would not have treated me so indifferently. You have forgotten the hardships of my days, and the insomnia of my nights. You have not weighed and valued my sacrifices for you. My son, now, you are my master, and I am your servant. But, don’t deprive me of your alms and charity. I am living at your mercy. ”
The painful lines made my beloved prophet (SAW) blubber. His sobs and sighs were audible from a good distance. The poetry pierced daggers into the heart of the beloved prophet (SAW). He (SAW) lambasted and ridiculed the young sahabi, and said, “Get lost from here, you and your entire wealth belongs to your father.” The plight of our fathers is somewhat same. We have begun to humiliate and demean them. Curse of heavens is about to entrap us. If the tradition is not brought to an end, then our fate is not going to be any different. Our parents deserve our love, respect, empathy and time. Let us all pledge to be kind and compassionate to our parents.
Author is a Teacher and a Columnist. He can be reached at [email protected]
