MOHAMMADI BEGUM -- MY FRIEND In this journey of life we meet numerous people, but only a few leave a lasting and positive impression on ones mind and heart. It is nearly nine or ten years ago that I resided with my son Omar and his family in San Francisco. Life was enjoyable for I had two lovely grandchildren: Pasha a handsome boy and Mina a lovely girl. My life was centered around them, teaching them, playing with them and all that a grandmother can do, for there is nothing more precious than a grandchild. When the kids started school life became unbearably lonely. I missed having some one my age, or speaking my vernacular. One morning I decided to go and sit on a bench outside the K. Mart just opposite to our apartment, hoping to meet such a person. I took with me a book to read. I had just turned the first page when I felt some one staring at me. The man staring was a tall and thin and looked emaciated and on the verge of tears. Are you from India/ he asked. I am from Lahore, Pakistan. It is so nice to meet you. I am Arun and I am from Dehli, India. I am glad to have met you. I have been waiting to meet someone who spoke my vernacular. I know a Muslim family from Hyderabad, Deccan. They are very nice people. They live on Murchi Drive. I will bring my wife with me tomorrow to meet you. Will you be here at 10am? I will surely come. The next morning I was heading to the beautiful park for my hour long walk, when a car stopped near me and a young tall lady, with a pleasing personality stepped out. Aunty, did you just move here? My name is Kausar and that is our house. It would give me great pleasure if you will visit us ...... On second thought, let me take you now and introduce you to my mother. I think her prayers have been granted. Mine too. I said. Amma, come and see who I brought. That is how I met my friend Mohammadi Begum. She had just been preparing breakfast in the kitchen, and I could smell the aroma of the fried pirathas. The warmth with which she greeted me and invited me into her kitchen, opened up my heart. It was the beginning of a lovely friendship. Kausar would phone me, Aunty, get ready. Amma wants you to taste her khatti daalor samosas. Just excuses to get together. Sometimes I would be involved in writing or cooking, but I would never refuse for I felt that we both needed each other. A year or more went by and our friendship and affection for each other increased. When my son decided to move to Pakistan she gave a farewell dinner and invited her two sons and their families and of course there was Kausar,her brother and her family. My eyes flooded with tears when we parted, and I could feel how sad both Mohammadi and Kausar were. While in Pakistan we kept in touch, corresponding and phoning. I had not called Mohammadi Begum in a couple of months when I received a phone call. Kausar was dying of cancer. I could not believe my ears. Kausar, so young, full of life, volunteering and helping even strangers in trouble. Many a time she brought Arun and his wife to her house and invited them to lunch. The disease spread so fast that it devoured her in a period of six months. It had come with a mission to kill her. Heart broken she yearned for her children, and repeatedly asked her mother, never to leave them. The latter had the responsibility of a son in law and three grandsons, and she was diabetic, had high blood pressure and severe arthiritis, but she persisted by means of her strong Faith and because she had made a promise to her daughter on her death bed. As the boys grew and went to the universities, Her sons insisted that she live with them and take a break from hard work. Her youngest son Mujahid who was studying medicine also moved with his mother. She was looking for a bride for her baby boy, and had selected and accumulated the clothing and the jewelry for her sons bride. A few months went by struggling with my own physical, emotional and financial state and I kept postponing to call my friend. Last evening I had a strong urge to phone her. She answered the phone but her voice seemed to lack something. Mohammadi Behan Assalaam O Alaikum, Aap kaisi hain? Bohat din huay baat naheen hooi. Khalida Behan, aap kaisi hain? Mein aapko bohat yaad karti hoon. Dekho saat saal Kausar kay inteqaal ko ho gayay, or August mein Mujahid bhee chal bassa. Mohammadi Behan, aap nay kia kaha? Mujhay samajh naheen ayee. I really thought my ears had deceived me. Behan mera Mujju mujhay chhor gaya. I held my breath, and I felt my heart would jump out of its socket. My ears rang and I felt a shortness of breath. I cold not speak. I kept hearing her voice. Khalida Behan, aapko aawaaz aa rahee hai? Jee Mohmmadi Behan. mein aap ko bataa naheen saktee keh mijhay kitna dhakka laga hai, or kitna afsos hua hai We spoke for a while but I was crying and my voice was breaking up. I will call you later dear Mohammadi Behan. Behan ronay say kuch naheen banta. Yeh mary Aazmaiash hai. Allah maray or maray bachon kay gunnaah muaaf kar day. Ham use ka maal hain aur use kay paas jana hai. What a deep Faith and Acceptance of Allahs will by a heartbroken mother.! I held my head in the palms of my hands and Allah knows how long I sat on my chair, my head reeling with the intensity of the shock. It is nearly 14 hours since I heard the news, and I find it hard to come to terms with it. Why should a good, kind, compassionate, loving lady have to suffer such fate? I then thought of the thousands and may be millions who are sacrificed at the ALTAR of faith, greed and hatred.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Nov 2014 16:06:13 +0000
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