Her cheeks were worn and sunken, and her skin hugged her bones. That didn’t stop her because you could never catch her not reciting Qur’an.
She was always vigil in her personal prayer room that our father had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer, was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again; boredom was for other people. As for me, I craved nothing more than Television and novels. I treated myself to Music and videos until the trips to the rental place became my trademark. It’s a saying that when something becomes habit, people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and my Salah (Prayer) was characterized by laziness.
One night, after a long three hours of watching, I turned the video off. The Aadhan (Aazan – Calling for Prayer) rose softly in the quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket. Her voice called me from her prayer room. “Yes? Would you like anything Heera?” I asked. With a sharp needle she popped my plans. “Don’t sleep before you pray Fajr!” (Fajr – Dawn Prayer) Aaagghh!!! “There’s still an hour before Fajr. That was only the first Aadhan,” I said. With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was like that even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. ”Thousif, can you come sit beside me.” I could never refuse any of her requests; you could touch the purity and sincerity in her. “Yes, Heera?” “Please sit here.” “Allright, I’m sitting. What’s on your mind?” With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting: “Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on the Day of Resurrection.” She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, “Do you believe in death?” “Of course I do,” I replied. “Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?” “I do, but Allaah is Forgiving and Merciful, and I’ve got a long life waiting for me.” “Stop it Thousif! Are you not afraid of death and its abruptness? Take a look at Nashree, She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die.” The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. “I’m scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death. How am I supposed to go to sleep now? Heera, I thought you promised you’d go with us on vacation during the summer break.” Her voice broke and her heart quivered. “I might be going on a long trip this year Thousif, but somewhere else. All of our lives are in Allaah’s hands and we all belong to Him.” My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks. I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness. The doctors had informed my father in private that there was not much hope, Heera was going to outlive the disease. She wasn’t told, so I wondered who hinted to her. Or was it that she could sense the truth?
“What are you thinking about Thousif?” Her voice was sharp. “Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? I hope not. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. How long are you going to live Thousif? Perhaps twenty years? Maybe forty? Then what?” Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. “There’s no difference between us; we’re all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allaah:
ﻓَﻤَﻦ ﺯُﺣْﺰِﺡَ ﻋَﻦِ ﭐﻟﻨَّﺎﺭِ ﻭَﺃُﺩْﺧِﻞَ ﭐﻟْﺠَﻨَّﺔَ ﻓَﻘَﺪْ ﻓَﺎﺯ
َﻭَﻣﺎ ﭐﻟْﺤَﻴَﻮٰﺓُ ﭐﻟﺪُّﻧْﻴَﺎ ﺇِﻻَّ ﻣَﺘَـٰﻊُ ﭐﻟْﻐُﺮُﻭﺭ
“And whoever is removed away from the Fire and admitted to Paradise, he indeed is successful. The life of this world is only the enjoyment of deception (a deceiving thing).” [Soorah Aal-e-Imraan, V: 185]
I left my sister’s room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: “May Allaah guide you Thousif – don’t forget your prayer.” I heard pounding on my door at eight o’clock in the morning. I don’t usually wake up at this time. There was crying and confusion. Ya Allaah, what happened? Heera’s condition became critical after Fajr; they took her to the hospital immediately.
“Inna Lillaahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon.” There wasn’t going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home. It felt like an eternity had gone by when it was one o’clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital.
“Yes. You can come and see her now.” Dad’s voice had changed, and mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so very long now? Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right? Everyone, just move out of our way! Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made Dua (Pray) for her Heera. We arrived at the hospital’s main entrance. One man was moaning, while another was involved in an accident. A third man’s eyes were iced. You couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.
Heera was in intensive care. We skipped stairs to her floor. The nurse approached us. “Let me take you to her.” As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet of a girl Heera was. She somewhat reassured Mother that Heera’s condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. “Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time,” the nurse said. This was the intensive care unit. Past the flurry white robes, through the small window in the door, I caught my sister’s eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After about two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying. “You may enter and say salaam to her, on the condition that you do not speak too long,” they told me. “Two minutes should be enough.”
“How are you Heera? You were fine last night sister, what happened?”
We held hands; she squeezed harmlessly. “Even now, Alhamdulillaah, I’m doing fine.”
“Alhamdulillaah. ..But…your hands are so cold.”
I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No, it is just that I remembered Allaah’s words.”:
ﻭَﺍﻟﺘَﻔَّﺖِ ﺍﻟﺴَّﺎﻕُ ﺑﺎﻟﺴَّﺎﻕِ
“One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud). “ [Holy Qur’an: Soorah Al-Qiyaamah]
“Thousif pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the Hereafter very soon. It’s a long journey and I haven’t prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase.” A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and She joined me. The room blurred away and left us to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister’s palm, which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I’ve never cried like that before.
At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. One after another, my cousins came in my room. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point!
“Heera had died!”
I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn’t remember what they said. Ya Allaah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn’t even cry anymore. Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time. I had kissed Heera’s head.
I remember only one thing while seeing her spread on that bed. The bed that she was going to die on, I remembered the verse she recited:
ﻭَﺍﻟﺘَﻔَّﺖِ ﺍﻟﺴَّﺎﻕُ ﺑﺎﻟﺴَّﺎﻕِ
“One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud).”
And I knew too well the truth of the next verse:
ﺇِﻟَﻰٰ ﺭَﺑِّﻚَ ﻳَﻮْﻣَﺌِﺬٍ ﭐﻟْﻤَﺴَﺎﻕُ
“The drive on that day will be to your Lord (Allaah)!”
I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured the person that had shared my mother’s stomach with me. Heera was my younger sister. I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with, who comforted my rainy days. I remembered who prayed for my guidance and who spent so many tears for many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allaah save us all.
Tonight is Heera’s first night that she shall spend in her tomb. “Ya Allaah have mercy on her and illumine her grave.” This was her Qur’an and her prayer mat. I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allaah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allaah to keep her firm in her grave as She always liked to mention in her supplications.
At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself what if it was I who had died. Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again. “Allaahu Akbar, Allaahu Akbar” “Assalathu Khairum mina noum” The first Aadhan rose softly from the Masjid. It sounded so beautiful this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Mu’adhin’s call. I went out to Masjid and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Heera had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr. Now, and Insha’Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the morning I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Heera’s journey. What have we prepared for it?.
People usually feel embarrassed when they do something wrong in front of a crowd. The embarrassment increases as the size of the crowd increase. For example, a person will feel more embarrassed if his/her faults are revealed in front of a thousand people than in front of only 10 people. Imagine how you would feel if your faults were broadcasted through the media to all the people in your country.
The path of Madeenah 