Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

VII

VII

Nadir

"You are the worst papa," Mishal cried.

That was a rather alarming statement when it came from a five-year old. I sat up on my bed, and slapped shut the book I'd been reading to face the little ball of fury.

"Mishal behave," Zaeb rebuked. "Allah would be so angry!"

"Why, mamma, wouldn't Allah be angry that papa got a kitten for Mustafa but nothing for me?!"

"Papa brought you a barbie doll not that long ago, didn't he?" Zaeb reasoned. "Mustafa didn't get anything then."

Her forehead still scrunched up, she began to think.

"I told both of you to have Sabr that evening at the mall, Mishi," her mother reminded softly. "You'd begun crying for a new doll, do you remember? But Mustafa had listened to me. So Allah rewarded him for having Sabr."

She thought for a long moment, until something struck her all of a sudden. "But you said Allah rewards Sabr with Jannah! So Shawarma isn't Mustafa's reward! Don't lie to me, mamma, I am smart!"

"Of course you are, Mishi," I said upon realising that Zaeb couldn't think of a way to answer that. "I'll tell you Mustafa's secret. Come here," I motioned.

"Mustafa went to the Masjid with me last Friday," I told her when she was on my lap. "He prayed with me."

"I prayed too, with mamma," she prompted.

"I know. But did you ask Allah for a kitten?"

Her eyes widened in realisation."No . . . "

I raised my eyebrows. "And do you know if Mustafa did?"

She shook her head, her little pigtails swinging.

For a while I allowed it to sink in. If children are allowed to understand certain concepts by their own slow and detailed understanding, instead of through repetitive lectures from elders, they truly learn and remember things better.

"So, Mishal?" Zaeb said, smiling at me. "What do you understand by this?"

She jumped off me. "That I am going to have to ask Allah for a kitten if I want one! I'll tell Mustafa in the morning that Shawarma will have a sister very soon."

"Good, now let's go to sleep," Zaeb grinned, pleased with the way I handled it.

"No, I'm going to sleep here today," she said, wiggling into the blanket.

Mishal's energetic little body slowly fell asleep in the middle of the bed, as I watched Zaeb slip into the duvet and turn the lamp off.

I silently thanked Allah for the thousandth time for blessing me with these little angels. They were practically my life.

"Life," I grinned and shook my head, my voice very low.

"What?"

"What is life, Zaeb?"

She half-smiled, and her eyes looked like she was struggling for the right answer to show me, shuffling from a variety of answers she .

"It's an ocean," she said after a long time, "An ocean you're in the middle of."

I couldn't stop another smile from coming to my face. Mishal squirmed in her sleep and pushed closer to me.

"Life is an ocean you're in the middle of. All of us together, always moving, always trying to reach the end. We are tired, we crave peace, but the waves wouldn't stop hitting us. The roars of the sea deafens us, while the sun blinds us and burns our backs.

"We see each other struggle, and some of us decide to hold hands and help each other and, in the process, help our own selves. Whilst some do not." She paused. "But the catch is : you have to reach the end alive. Each one of us is going to end up on the shore anyway; either with a bit of life inside of us, or having spent it all on the long, harsh journey. But you truly succeed if you do so without letting the warmth and vigour you started with, die."

She paused, and it seemed that she wasn't convinced with the answer she gave me; like she didn't express it completely, or didn't explain it will enough.

"But Nadir," she said after a couple of seconds, looking up at me, "Do you know the essence of it all?"

I shook my head, and was more interested in knowing it than anything else, which probably showed in my expression.

"It is to go deep."

Mishal punched my belly in her sleep. I straightened her arms, my eyes never leaving Zaeb's face.

"All of us swim, in our own pace, moving closer and closer to the shore. But most of us don't go deep. Most of don't get to see the real beauty of the journey; the gems the bed protects, the adventures it holds, the horrors it conceals.

"That, I think, is the essence of life," she said, and now she looked like she had given me the right answer. "That is what we all must try to achieve; to not just float through the water, but to have truly lived the ocean. Don't you think so?"

Actually, I did not.

Going through her own analogy, I began wondering how any of it mattered.

I wanted to ask her what the point is, when we know we aren't made for the ocean in the first place. I wanted to know, why? What we are is land dwellers, and our home is dry and peaceful and awaits the day we reach it - to be comfortable and happy once and for all. Then why even take the effort?

Why would you worry about enjoying the journey, of struggle to see the wonders deep within the water? What is the use invading and discovering things that Allah never intended for us to; what is the use of ever wasting all that energy? 

These things were rotating in my brain, but like a thick layer of cream covering milk, the thought that sat atop every other thought in my mind was that this - this right here was what was the difference between me and Zaeb. She thought of something, tried to form sentences with the words, failed, tried again...

...and finally succeeded in getting her message across.

But me? No, it would never be so easy. It never has been.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't translate my insane thoughts into the language that people understand. There was always so much of struggle, so many tries and failures, and too much embarrassment and pity to get past. And so, to avoid the discomfort caused to myself and others, I had now stopped trying.

I was playing absentmindedly with Mishal's pigtails, my eyes focussed on the ceiling. I was wondering if the ocean could also be a metaphor for the human mind. I thought of all the questions that she probably had the answer to, but I didn't know how to ask her. I wondered if you can drown in the ocean of your mind if nobody swimming alongside could realise that you needed a hand.

All of a sudden, Zaeb began shaking with laughter. She was just inches away from me. "Mishal's asleep now," she said. "I'll take her to their room."

The thought of losing sleep over guessing and assuming what had made her laugh made me force the words out.

"Zaeb, why did you laugh?"

"Oh," she giggled again. "It's nothing. Just recalled a conversation with Sami, just like this one."

When she left with Mishal, it dawned on me that tonight I was most likely going to be losing sleep either way. Because now I would be wondering if that really was, as Zaeb claimed, nothing.