Bismillah Hir-Rahman Nir-Raheem!
I can’t begin to put into words what I am feeling right now. There is a boulder forced on my chest and I can’t seem to get rid of it. I can’t seem to breathe. It feels exhilarating. The pain, it makes every heartbeat feel like torment. It makes the muscles inside me flinch to their cores and my chest hurt like never before. I don’t know where to begin from and I don’t know where to end. Honestly, I don’t even know if there is an ending anymore. I find it painful to imagine the normality of my morning and the absurdity of my afternoon. Am I even capable of thinking? I don’t know that either. To begin to imagine how unexpected this life can be, is beyond my belief..
When I became a mother, my world was overjoyed. You and only You know oh Allah, how much anguish I had to go through to give birth to my boy. The boy, whose existence had changed my world. The boy, whose presence made everyone in my house boast about their relationship with him. I don’t remember the time I did not love him, Aye Allah. Frankly, I don’t even ever remember the time where he had not loved me. And now, I don’t think I will ever be able to forget the last time he looked at me.
I gave my child the best of everything. Just like any other parent would. Thirteen years of my life I spent fulfilling his whims and giving him comfort. In happiness, I celebrated his joy. In sickness, I caressed him all night. In achievements, I gave him words of motivation. Yet today, in DEATH oh Allah, I remained helpless and vulnerable. I could not offer him anything. I could not do anything to save my child and I could not be there to help him in his pain. They barged through the school gates and harassed him. They didn’t think he was worthy enough of been given instant death. So they tortured him. His little eyes, Oh Allah. They made him vision oozing blood and exploding brains. All, those belonged to his friends. They stepped on his tiny hands and feet, and they pointed a gun on his head. They forced him to recite verses from The Quran. Holy Verses. From the Holy Book. In the state of such ordeal. And then they did it, THEY SHOT HIM. THEY SHOT HIM IN THE CHEST. NOT ONCE, NOT TWICE, BUT THRICE.
I question you Allah Taa’la. What did he do to deserve such torment? What did I do to feel like this? Meri khata kya thi aye Allah? And then I question myself. I curse myself for entertaining such a thought. Forgive me Oh Allah. I know that death is inevitable. I know that To You we belong and to You we will return. I just wish I had the time to say Goodbye. I wish I had the time to fondle my child one last time. Or to at least see him in the very form I left him in. His cry, Allah, it keeps ranging in my ears like a continuous drumroll. His aches. His call. His screams in anguish. His calls. His Trauma, Aye Allah. I can’t ignore them. I cannot even fathom the pain and it kills me. It kills me because I thought I knew best. Because I thought going to school was a privilege and not a crime.. My heart is weeping today. It is weeping tears of blood. For the light in my house that has been extinguished forever. For the son, that no words of comfort, will ever be able to replace. With the grief, that no time will ever be able to heal.
I raise my hands up to You today, Aye Allah, with the memory of the sight that seemed to be never ending and hypnotizing. That made my whole body surrender and just give up, becoming a helpless victim of the command whose dominance did not let go. The retention. It is playing like a constant echo in my mind, forcing me to stop functioning properly. So I raise my hand to pray for my child. And for all the innocents who became victim to such horrendousness. I pray for justice. And I pray for ease. I pray for the hearts of mothers like me. And I pray that NO other mother has to hold the remains of her child’s grave and scream at the top of her lungs, like I did…
Help me oh Allah. I am at a stage where the reality of what happened just won’t seem to completely sink inside me. My emotions are stuck in a halo outside the walls of anger, disappointment, rage, anguish, torment and excruiciating pain that my heart has built around it. Make this suffering end. Please.. because I am about to collapse..
137 families. 137 coffins. And 180 million broken hearts.
I pray that the victims of the Peshawar school attack receive the highest place in Jannat-Ul-Firdous and that Allah gives their families and loved ones the strength to bare this loss. I pray that the Taliban and every single person associated with this attack receive the worst form of Azaab in their Qabar as well as the Day of Judgement.
And I request each and every one of you to be tolerant towards each other. Everyone has their own ways of grieving. For some it is silent, and for some it involves the social media. Please don’t point fingers at each other for changing Facebook displays or Tweeting. Instead, be compassionate at the time of such a loss and PRAY. Offer your prayers and pray for these people, please. It could be you and me, it could be our siblings.
The people who did this they cannot be Muslims. They cannot be Hindus and they cannot be Christians. Because the people who did this, they are not human. And if they are, then I don’t know what I am.