In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

24. Remembering Zeenat

With her frail hands around the three children, a source of power surged through mum's body. Poignantly, the children paused holding onto mum. Mum cried on this auspicious day, a day of prayer, reflection and remembrance of Zeenat.

"Is this what good daughters do?" Mum kissed the twins on their head. "They get angry and don't call for weeks!"

Mum's words punched me with guilt. Puffy eyes, swollen ankles it was clear she'd been up all night and cooking early this morning. How cruel of me, to put my argument with dad between me and my mum? It wasn't fair I was punishing her due to dad's mistakes. Mum had no one, no one who truly cared. Dad had the business, Amjad's dad and his friends. Mum relied on me and the kids. I kneeled before mum, reaching the children's height and apologised profusely.

"I've been awake since fajar cooking and cleaning." Mum wiped her tears with the end of her chador.

The children spilled out of her embrace and began to explore the house. I held mum's cold hands and rested my head on her lap. There was as stillness in her lap, a scent that took me back to my childhood.

"Is Zayn coming?" Hope lightened the darkest circles around mum's eyes. Today family and friends and would gather. Zayn's attendance was pivotal, everyone was expecting him at the prayer ceremony. I'd argued with Zayn last night that he had to come. If he didn't it would be rude and disrespectful.

"He's coming later." I blagged. I hoped he came later. I couldn't make excuses for him. There was no excuse big enough to cover for today. He had to come. There was no ifs or buts.

The large living room was devoid of furniture. With the large sofas pushed back and tables removed, a black sheet layered the floor recalling the day of the funeral; dark and empty.

"Sadaqat and Amjad came and helped move the furniture in the garage."

"Amjad? What was he doing in the house?"

Mum refused to answer that question. It wasn't in her jurisdiction to choose who enters the house. Amjad was in the office and naturally he would enter the house. There was no rift between our families anymore. The rift was between me and them; and that didn't matter. I simply had to get over it.

The rice, curry, chappatis were ordered from the caterers. Mum cooked smaller dishes, Zeenat's favourite fish curry and Shepard's pie. Outside in the garden the children found the trampoline and screamed with delight.

"Your dad bought it. He couldn't wait when he saw the price." Mum stood in the doorway and a ghost of a smile haunted her dry lips. It was times like this which made facing dad bearable. I had to push through the hurt, for mum's sake. The children were Zeenat's legacy.

****

Soon enough the local women began to fill our house. Dressed in pale and pastel colours with sombre notes on their lips, the ladies congregated in the living room. Here they would recite chapters from the Holy Koran, praise the Lord on tasbeeh beads. Collectively we would pray and bestow Zeenat's departed soul with blessings easing any suffering she would endure in the hereafter.

However, the women were enticed with gossip and saw this opportunity as a social event. Auntie Shehnaz, who spent most of her life with a walking stick, sat above me, on the sofa as I sat on the floor.

"How are you Zohra? We haven't seen you much at your mum's house? How are the children? Do they miss their mum? Of course, they will miss their mum. You are doing a noble job looking after the children and Zeenat's husband. There are not much good decent girls like you. May Allah bless you." Auntie Shehaz asked the questioned and answered it herself. There was no point intruding in her one-person conversation. Times like this I missed Zeenat, we'd often chuckle at auntie Shehnaz's one-way conversation. Auntie took the tasbeeh beads and began to chant prayers on the beads.