Faith

July 25, 2019

 

 

 

They had had another run-in. No matter how much she tried avoiding it. And it was right when she had to rush out of the house too. She hated the way someone could belittle another person and then hours later act as if nothing had happened. Yet, she knew she would play along, grateful for normalcy.

Meanwhile, silently and repeatedly calling on God helped calm her rage. Subhanallahi walhamdulillah. Glory be to God, all praise be to God. Light on the lips, heavy on the scales. Her mouth moved rhythmically, unconscious of how many times she had said it on the ride over to the government office and while she stood patiently in the queue as the heat enveloped them, broken only by the few phrases she spoke to the haggard worker or words of comfort to her baby in her arms.

At last, they were inside, their sweat diminishing against the tepid air blown by the ceiling fans. She continued her dhikr as she awaited their turn, wordlessly complaining to God for her predicament while also turning to Him for comfort. Before she knew it, she had seated her child in the designated chair and was trying to catch his attention so the photographer could take his picture for his travel documents.

For some reason, her son wasn’t cooperating. After several tries – jingling the keys, calling his name, making funny noises so he would look toward the camera – she noticed the board with several bulbs and open sockets. She took her car key and poked it in one of the sockets to make some noise, not knowing it was carrying live current. The sudden crackle made her jump back even as the photographer snapped the photo.

She wouldn’t have thought much of it – satisfied that the picture was taken – had it not been for the man next in line who said disapprovingly, “You know, you could’ve been electrocuted there! The plastic on the key saved you.”

She looked up in wonderment. The morning’s unsavoury events had already unsettled her and now his words completely jolted her. She shook her head and clutched her baby to her chest, the silent dhikr taking on the renewed force as she gratefully made her way out into the unrelenting sunshine, knowing full well that it wasn’t just the plastic that had saved her life.

 

 

Saulat Pervez

Saulat Pervez has published three children’s books in Pakistan and mentored six teenagers in the collaborative writing of a murder mystery, set in Karachi, which is available in the USA. Her creative writing has been published in Blue Minaret and Muslim Matters. She lives in Northern Virginia. Her email address is spqalam@ymail.com.

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