Sa'eed - The Warrior

Justice is certain

Sa'eed, the righteous one. That's what my father always called me. It made me feel special because it was a name associated with male gender. Sa'eedah would be right for a female, but no, Abbuji always called me Sa'eed. I was his little girl but he made me tough. He taught me to be a warrior. He encouraged me to learn literature, philosophy, religion and martial arts. Everything the society thought was useless for a girl. After 6 years his death still hurt. I am 17 now yet, I never gave up on the things he believed I could do.

His death fuelled my anger. And anger made me crave for justice. To continue what Abbuji had started. To make sure he didn't die in vain.

With these thoughts in mind I move swiftly through the busy marketplace, the Shahi Bazaar, keeping my eyes lowered and stealthily making my way through the crowd. I was covered in the traditional long gown with a veil over my face, which left my eyes open. I reached the empty alley that was behind the Jamia Masjid of the kingdom. There was a narrow opening in the compound where I could squeeze through the hedge and jump through the window in the backyard to enter the store room. This was how I had been attending Hazrath Fakhruddin Mulla's dars for the past 6 years unnoticed.

I don't think I went completely unnoticed though. I felt Hazrathji knew I was there behind the thin store room door. He knew I was hanging on to his words as eagerly as every other male pupil sitting in front of him. Why else had he commanded no one to enter the store room whilst he was teaching? Why else had he gone over the previous lesson on those five eventful days when I couldn't make it to the class?

Yes, he knew. And the fact that he had never confronted me was a proof enough that he silently encouraged me. I was thankful for that. I had learnt so much from him. From simple things like how to lead my daily life to complicated ones like decision making, spiritual development and healing. After all these years I had almost completed the traditional course the Jamia Masjid offered. 2 more months and I won't be making these risky trips anymore. That did not mean knowledge ended here. Knowledge was an endless ocean. It just meant I had covered the minimum books required to be known as a scholar.

Today Hazrathji is teaching us the importance of justice. He reads out an ayah to us from the Holy Quran.

"That day, Allah will pay them in full their deserved recompense, and they will know that it is Allah who is the perfect in justice (24:25)"

"My dear students, you may cross the limits of disobedience in this world. You may commit sin after sin and still not be accounted for. Allah will leave you free in your transgression. He will just keep an account and give you your time to repent and return to him. But know that a day will come when you have to face him. When you have to stand in front of his unwavering scrutiny and answer for every misdeed you have done. This world is but an exam. Your life is yet to be checked my dear children and results are yet to be announced. Choose wisely, it's either never ending bliss or an extremely painful punishment".

His words chill my spine. How can a soul take a step towards sin when it knows it will be accounted for it?

"A sun that rises has to set. A ball that is thrown up has to fall. A man that reaches heights of transgression has to pay his due. Whether his reckoning begins before his death or after his death is in Allah's hands". Hazrathji concludes his class.

After the class ends I carry my meager study supplies with me hiding them in my gown and go back the way I had come. I enter my home and greet my ailing mother. She is in bed with her eyes closed but I know she isn't sleeping. Her pain hardly lets her fall asleep. I kneel by the bed, hold her hand, kiss her forehead and whisper, 

"Assalamualaikum Maa". 

She opens her eyes and smiles at me. Too tired to reply she doesn't say anything.

I know she wants to hear more from me so I tell her how my day went. She is satisfied to know her daughter is doing fine and I let her be.

I walk over to the small corner we call our kitchen and check for food. Dayima usually leaves something for me here after feeding my mother. Allah bless her for all she has done. She has been associated with our family since she was a young woman. She was a midwife and nurse to me since my birth.

Her visits became more frequent after Abbuji's death when we had to leave the Shahi housing given to all royal courtiers. We moved into this hut since, it wasn't much but it was still home. Dayima stood like a strong pillar giving Maa the emotional support all these years.

I thank Allah and eat the naan and khurma she has left behind, offer my evening salah and prepare the tincture Hakeem has been giving my Maa. Though he hasn't been able to tell what's ailing her, he has asked us to give her the tincture daily to ease the pain and put her to sleep. I feed her the medicine.

"You will be fine soon Maa", I tell her. She nods, "Yes, I will be InshaAllah, I need to get my princess married".

Little does she know her princess has no intention of getting married. Though Maa didn't mind me studying and training in martial arts, she never wanted me to actually use those skills. She worried for my safety and wanted to hand me over in safe hands which would be my husbands she believed.

But I knew marriage meant stepping into a cage. A cage whose guard would be my husband. A man like every other who wouldn't want me to finish the task Abbuji had started.

No, I am not getting married until I want to, I tell myself as I sit beside her and weave the baskets that Dayima sells for us to keep our home running. Weaving and selling 5 baskets was enough to fill our stomachs daily but I made no less than 10 everyday. I was saving up cause I knew I would need the extra savings later on.