Human hearts are the tools with which we endeavor to comprehend the great mysteries of our lives. For often without our knowledge, they taste and remember the sweetness of all our joys and triumphs, the bitterness of all our pains and trials. The blissful echoes of past happiness, the crushing heaviness of silenced regrets and quiet sacrifices. Deeper still, beneath this ever raging ocean of memories, there lies a treasure of countless relations. Some are severed by the irresistible force of time, by our own mistakes and follies but are valued above many others for their once adored magnificence. Others are newly forged in the white hot flames of honest emotions and sincere desires, of selfless devotions and unwavering loyalties. Such is the nature of these jewels, whose beauty makes our lives worth living, and whose brilliance keeps at bay the darkness of our own hearts.
The brightest gems that crown these hidden treasuries of every soul are the pearls of a mother’s love. For she and she alone has the honor of being a faint glimmer, a reflection of what our Lord Allah The Most Merciful feels for us. A Love that knows no bounds and is always prevalent over His anger at our heedlessness, a Love that waits for us even after our shameless disobedience of Him, a Love that has the authority to annihilate the entire universe with a single word and yet suffers the violations of His beloved Prophet’s teachings, so that the likes of us may recognize our follies and return to Him for our salvation and an eternal abode in His Gardens, the Jannah. Thus He, The All Knowing and The Most Wise has proclaimed the sanctity of a mother’s love by making it an example of His own.
Sadly however today most of us are so wrapped up in our own self-centered existence that our hearts have lost the ability to recognize and acknowledge this paragon of human love and devotion. In our ignorance we forget that a woman adorns her soul with these heavenly jewels of motherhood, only when she first bathes in that unendurable pain of raising another soul within herself. From the fires of her own agony she lends the sparks that kindle the flames of her child’s life. Such agony, dear reader, marked the beginning of your infancy and childhood. When your mother embarked upon a journey of countless sacrifices to pave the path of your life with just as many delightful explorations and new discoveries. Yet as time rushed on, your affections dimmed under the glamor of your achievements and hers grew ever the more stronger under the pride she felt for those same achievements. Resulting in a strange bond of careless ignorance and selfless appreciation. Thus motherhood is indeed a mystery that has baffled human intelligence since the beginning of mankind . Nevertheless there comes a time in your life when pain breaks all illusions and suffering teaches you the value of honest relations. As mine revealed to me the purity of my mother’s love for me.
Fourteen years ago my eyes were closed to the colors of this world but my heart was opened to the brightness of another; to a world where every sound taught me to see the soul of this universe and to hear the music of its ancient songs. Melodies, that showed me the truth of many relations, the sincerity of my connection with my Lord The Most Merciful, and the depth of intimacy I have with my family and friends. They taught me how to breathe in the affections of my loved ones as a part of my own soul, making them an inseparable part of my own being. Thus they infused in me the significance of my mother’s love for me as the core of my existence. Even as I write these words, I can hear their heavenly voices singing softly with in my very soul. Urging me to add some notes of my own to their eternal symphony. So joining my voice to theirs, I pen these following thoughts as a tribute to my mother.
Dear Maa:
To say that I can ever truly understand the extent of love that you feel for me would indeed be a lie. For no one but The All Knowing has the knowledge of that sacred mystery. However, to teach us the value of such heavenly blessings, He has gifted us the wisdom to seek within our own hearts the truth we all desire but for which few are able to find the courage to make that deep a journey.
Thus daring to look deep within my soul, I find myself walking across the bridge of time to a strange land of immense beauty, a land of memories. A place where the black blanket of my blindness is lifted, and I behold once again the enchanting smiles of all those I love and remember. Their affectionate faces make me relive all those joys and achievements, healing my unconsciously weary heart and filling it with an inexpressible gratitude towards my Most Benevolent Master. And Maa; among all these faces yours shine the brightest, like the dawning sun who’s blazing majesty dominates all the shining stars, the twinkling guardians of the night sky.
Radiant with pride at my achievements, your smile is the widest and most beautiful of them all. For it not only heals my heart but has become the warmth of its life. If I ever lost the sight of your innocent face, I would indeed lose my way in the harshness of my reality. For though your face is as angelic as I remember it to be, your eyes are full of an unearthly wisdom that silently shows me the story of your motherhood. Teaching me the virtues of an honest soul.
Standing here, looking into your eyes, I see myself as an infant in your arms and feel your unrestrained happiness at holding your first born. The scene shifts and I see myself a crawling baby, having cut my finger by sticking it between a closing door and a toy I was playing with. The cut was deep and I bled so terribly that abu’s shirt was soaked red and once again I feel the pain you felt at that time, as if it would tear apart your heart. In another image I see myself sitting on a tricycle trying to paddle it over a stepping stone in our garden and falling. Face first on the stone, again cutting my chin. I feel your frantic confusion and see you carrying me to the neighbours, asking them through your uncontrolled sobs to take me to the hospital. The story continues and I am four years old. You are scolding me for not doing my homework but when I cry, you feel guilty and hold me to your chest and ask me, “do you really want Ahmed and Fahad to get a head of you and leave you behind?” Yes, Maa, I remember your lessons.
More images follow these and I see you walking to and fro in our driveway. Wrapped around you is your grayish black cloak and you hold a rosary in your hands, praying for me. I see you standing in the window, waving goodbye to me when I used to leave for the school in the mornings and in the evenings, standing in the same spot, just watching. Making me feel protected and apprehensive of your watchful eyes. Another image shows me laughing, in an army uniform with you self-glowing with affection and amusement on seeing me, playing the soldier.
The images that follow are the most vivid and are richest in detail. Perhaps because they concern a part of your story that you abhor but which I believe makes you one of the greatest mothers in our Lord’s eyes. For now I see myself an eight years old boy, bathed in my own blood. Screaming for you. Trying to fathom the thunderous explosion, the sudden darkness and fear of death that filled my soul. Maa, had the world been able to reflect the agony and the turmoil of my childish heart, mountains would have crumbled to dust, oceans would have risen to a hundred tsunamis, and the very earth would have cried out in agony “oh Lord have mercy on us”. Such was the pain that you took within your own heart with a single caress of your loving hand. I can see your kind face covered with your tears as if you were trying to wash away the stains of my folly. When I wanted to watch cartoons you would become my eyes and tell me every little scene.
For these last fourteen years you have lived a life of two souls. Your tireless devotion became the vessel for my education. No matter how many times you had to read a text, you would do it. Such tenderness has taught me the value of honest emotions and sincere relations. Not to judge their devotions nor to question their sincerity. Not to expect a return, just acknowledge their affections as you acknowledge mine. For the fact is that we humans have no capacity of returning the unconditional love of a mother.