Hamdha Mohideen’s diary
“I wanted to see you getting married before I close my eyes, that’s what worries me”, my father repeated the same stanza three or four times this week. At first, I felt pity for him, but at last, I got angry at him today, “dada, stop this nonsense. You talk as if you are going to die tomorrow”.
Literally, my father sounded as if he was going to die. He did not take my anger seriously. I have never yelled at my father before. The feeling of pity towards him made me angry. But, he took my anger as a hilarious comedy, and he laughed loudly. He uttered to me with the same kind empathic tone: “I couldn’t save enough wealth for you, darling. But, you have a sound education to look after yourself. I am happy about it”, he said.
Our recent financial losses have made my father weak, both physically and mentally. We had to sell many of our properties over the last few months. My father worries that he could not ensure that there remains enough property under my name for my future.
“Dada, please, stop worrying. For sure, we have lost. But, we haven’t become poor. Our standard of living is still better than many other people out there. We still afford to maintain a house in Dehiwala”, I said.
“Yeah, for that thing, I must remain grateful to God”, he said.
“We have to be grateful to God for everything, dada”.
“Yes, true enough, darling”.
My dad took a deep breath. Though he was worried, he looked content. A tranquillity filled his face.
My father’s young age was incomparable to that of mine.
I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I grew up with tremendous wealth. I did academically well. My performance in school and university was above average. These things happened to me naturally. It did not occur to me to take painstaking efforts to gain such things. The foundation for these achievements of mine were put by my father during his young age, long before I was born, and even before my father married my mother.
He struggled with his life. He struggled to overcome the barriers in front of him. It was a miracle he managed to build a business empire on his own.
My father would have had many dreams in his youth. I have some photographic memories of my father. He used to be young, energetic, strong and outgoing. He possessed a fine sense of care for others and was a pleasant personality anyone loved. Behind all such positive characters, he had been struggling to earn a place as a man. Whenever I was reading the lines of Bob Dylan, “how many roads must a man walk down, before they call him a man”, the only character who used to come to my memory was my father.
Many big shots out there live in a well-furnished image. Sometimes, cruel characters hide behind the veils of such furnished images. My father had no idea of such hypocrisies. He was a pure man by heart. He had the guts to say whatever he thought was correct. For this very reason, he earned many powerful enemies. It cost him the wealth that he had gathered in his whole life.
He has to die poor, though not so desperate, like he was born poor. What am I thinking? Does my father have to die? Am I crazy? Everyone has to die someday. But, the thought of my father’s death was unthinkable to me.
My eyes filled with tears.
****
I could not remember at what time I slept that day. It unusually took more time to fall asleep. I could have slept not more than a couple of hours tonight. Even this brief sleep was not peaceful. My heart was remarkably heavy. It was translating into bad dreams. Afterwards, I fell into the deepest sleep. Everything became tranquil and peaceful. I could not enjoy this long-awaited peaceful sleep for long.
Suddenly, my mother started screaming.
I woke up astonishingly to her scream.
“Hamdhan, Hamdha, hurry up…….. Come here”, she cried.
I did not have the time to think. My legs, beyond my control, ran towards my parent’s room. I saw my brother was also coming towards the room.
I could not forget the scene I saw in my parents’ room till the end of my life.
My father was in pain. My mother was screaming “Laa ilaaha illallaah (There is no God, but Allaah)”.
I had never seen my father in this condition before. He was stretching his tongue out of his mouth. His eyeballs were rising higher and higher.
I had never seen a person dying. People sometimes talk of the horror of death. That night, I saw the actual terror of death in my father’s eyes.
My brother was crying. “La’ilaha Illaah” and said “let’s take him to hospital”.
I heard those words coming out of my brother’s mouth. But, it did not make any impact on me. Maybe I knew by intuition that this was my father’s time of farewell, the appointed time of departure to meet the Almighty God. What could a mortal creature like a doctor do to stop it?
My father was on his deathbed. He was suffering the agony of death. I got closer to his ears and said, “there is no God, but Allah”. I said three times.
I saw the complexion of my father’s face suddenly change. I no longer saw the horror of death in his face. There were a few drops of sweat on his forehead. Then, he closed his eyes. He closed them in a way he would never open them again.
There was no movement afterwards. No breath. No heartbeat. Nothing. Perfectly peaceful and tranquil. All three of us, my mother, brother and myself, tacitly realised that our father had departed this universe. His life after death has already begun. Malakul Mawth (The Angel of Death) has approached us so closely to capture his soul.
My mother started weeping, “because of those….. All these things happened”.
“Don’t make threnody, mom”, I sternly told my mother. But I could not finish my sentence. I started crying endlessly.
Doctors came.
Neighbours came.
Our house was loaded with our relatives and acquaintances by morning seven.
Our house becomes a funeral house.
“May Allaah show mercy upon him”, my lips pronounced.
Meanwhile, my heart was peaceful and content that my father had lived as a pure human. I am a daughter of a good-natured man. What else do I want? All I can do throughout the rest of my life is to pray for him.
I was lucky to have a father like him. I wanted to make sure and to live the rest of my life in an exemplary way that makes my father lucky to have had a daughter like me.
My eyes were brimming with tears. This time, these teardrops were cold.
((To be continued))
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Previous chapter: chapter 27 - the hope of a winter sun
Next chapter (final chapter) : chapter 29 - Another sunset
* Characters, events and the places in this story are fictional and a mere product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real-world events or characters is merely coincidental.
** Vijayapura and Marudur are fictional places.
Riza Jaufer
Akurana -Kandy,
Sri Lanka
