Wattpad Username:

kayaestic

Book name:

Journey to Hidayah

Write-up:

The letter that Zameer had written to Zoya:

To my beautiful and strong Zoya,

I pray that this letter finds you in the best of health and may you find enough courage in yourself to read this. This letter contains everything that I wish I could have told you in person but could never find enough courage to do so, and now, when I am on my death bed and can sense that the angel of death is near, I feel it is time to tell you everything that you deserved to know all along. I need to give you the closure that I should have given you long back. I’ll be long gone by the time this letter reaches you, hence I’m going to not burden you with the details of my health and whereabouts. 

It’s been years since I ran away from you and from all the guilt that came in a baggage whenever I looked at the hollowness of your eyes that was indirectly or directly caused by me. I never really appreciated you enough, Zoya, and now - when it’s too late to rectify things - not a single day goes by without me not wanting to turn back the clock and pull you into my arms and tell you that I love you whenever I could. Looking at you was always difficult for me. Earlier it was because you looked oh so much like your beautiful, beautiful mother whom I could no longer hold in my arms and later because it was so hard to look at the pain that had sought refuge in your eyes replacing the light that was once there. Whenever I looked at you, I saw my inadequacy looking back right in the eyes at me. 

You were never at fault, my child. Not when I chose to ignore your existence like you weren’t there. Not when I turned a blind eye to your sufferings. It was never you. It was me. I still wonder how terrible of a father I have been that I failed to notice how light was slowly seeping out of your eyes when you were in matrimony with Farhan. How did I buy the lies that you were forced to feed me and never detected the façade of a happy life that you had put up? How did I not see you suffering, dying?  How did I fail to notice all the marks of suffering and violence on your body? All these questions don’t come alone. They bring along waves of guilt and anguish with them for me to drown and wallow in. When you parted ways from Farhan, I fled away not because I was embarrassed of what you did or was disappointed in you, no! never! I left you behind and disappeared because it was then I realized that how I had failed you and your mother as your father. Earlier I could not save your mother and then I could not protect you like I had promised your mother that I would. I decided to turn my back at you and ran away from you when I should have run towards you instead. I should have supported you and should have been there for you, but I decided to do the exact opposite and God knows how sorry I am for that. I ran away because I could not look at you in the eyes or hear your call me Baba without being reminded of my inadequacy.  I had realized that I had been anything but a father to you. It was and it still is difficult for me to look at my reflection in the mirror and not feel ashamed of the kind of father that I had been to you in all those years. It is hard to not loath myself for not being able to keep the promise that I had made to your mother of loving you. Your union with Farhan was a test from Allah, not just for you, but for me too, and Zoya, mere bache, you passed it and became the beautiful and strong woman that you are today and this father of yours failed. How I wish I could go back in time and not get you married to Farhan, but I cannot, can I? Hence, I am going to carry the burden of this guilt to my grave. 

I saw you and Haroun on television – thanks to the little to no privacy that Paparazzi gives you - and I’m so happy for you, my child. I have seen the way he looks at you Zoya and the way you look at him and I could not be more grateful to the almighty for finally blessing you with the love you always deserved, der se hi sahi. You both are perfect for each-other, and I pray – as unanswerable as my prayers could be – that you both stay happy and content with your life always and forever. You always deserved a man like him and not like a man like me – your father, and neither a man like Farhan. I’m so happy and grateful to Allah that you have Haroun now. He’s good for you, Zoya. I hope that he gives you everything that I could not and knowing that you finally have someone in your corner who is deserving enough of you and is ready to have your back has made my guilt subside a bit and has made death easier ever so slightly. I can now die a little more peacefully knowing that you have your person now, meri jaan.

I saw your son, my grandson – zameer, too. How you could still name your first born after me despite everything that I did to you, or everything that I did not do to be more precise, is totally beyond my understanding. How I wish I could hold him once and give him the love of a grandfather that he deserves but perhaps Allah has other plans and We plan, and Allah plans. And Allah is the best of planners (8:30||Qur’an). Don’t repeat the mistakes that I did, Zoya. Never turn your back to your child like I did to you. Be the parent whom your child can look up to. Love him with all your heart and teach him to be kind and beautifully strong just like his mama. 

I never told you this but right after your birth, when your mother was about to step out of this ephemeral world and find true solace and peace in Jannah, she had put you in my arms and had said to me, “This is our baby girl, Zameer. She has both you and me in her and she has my eyes; The same eyes that you loved oh so dearly. So, whenever you miss me, look into her eyes and you shall see me looking back at you. Love her, protect her, and never leave her side. Teach her everything that I could only imagine and raise her into one beautiful woman like I always wanted. Teach her to be kind and loving towards everyone and teach her to not let anything change or harden her soft heart. And Zameer, always remember that this was the qadr of Allah. This is how he wanted you and me to end so never, ever hold our precious daughter accountable for anything. She is Zoya, Zoya Zameer. The fruit of our love and from now onwards your life. I love you, and I love her.” I remember it like it was yesterday and you know what I feel? Guilt. I failed your mother and I failed you. I could not protect you and I could not love you like I should have and I’m so, so sorry for that, Zoya. Your mother was the one to name you Zoya, meaning love and life. She had named you so because you were the fruit of our love and another reason for us to live and love life. You were simply our life. But I failed to give you both. Neither could I give you love nor a good enough life.  I never really told you anything, Zoya, and I’m so sorry, and guilty about it and now this guilt is going to accompany me to my last abode – my grave.

You will also find a will with this letter, Zoya. I hope that you do not think that I am trying to buy your forgiveness with this. I am not trying to persuade you to forgive me in exchange for everything that I said or in exchange for this will. I am merely giving you what was rightfully yours all along. I should have given you this long back, but something always held me back. And now when I am about to depart from this world, I want to rectify all the wrongs of mine that I can. Being on the death row, however late, has finally opened my eyes to many things. 

Zoya,

I should not really expect forgiveness from you after everything that I have done to you, but a tiny part of this treacherous heart of mine still hopes that someday you might find it in yourself to forgive me. I still dare hope that someday your heart won’t ache while thinking of this father of yours. I hope that perhaps someday you will find it in yourself to tell your children about their grandfather without trying to change the topic. I apologize from the bottom of my heart for hurting you and making you feel like you were not loved and cherished. I hope that someday you will forgive me, just perhaps. I will keep hoping and waiting for your forgiveness. Forgive me, Zoya. 

I wish the best for you and pray that you find all the happiness in this world and beyond. May Allah grant you a long and prosperous life. May Allah protect you and bless you with children who will be the coolness of your eyes.  May you reach your hidaya after completing your journey to hidaya. May you find the love, happiness, protection, and acceptance that I could never give you. Fi Aman Allah baba aur mama ki jaan.

-Your inadequate and incapable father

Zameer (Jisne apna zameer kho dia)

Wattpad username:

Scatteredpearls

Book name:

Journey to Hidayah

Write up:

When the evening sun sunk into the horizon, it spilled a sea of orange and purple hues, dyeing everything in its colour. A ray mischievously crept into a bedroom through the half-opened window. It shone across a messy, disorganised room, sparsely furnished. The bed, tucked away in one corner, was undone, duvet half spilling from the bed. The only other furniture it contained was a single wardrobe and a desk by the window. 

The desktop was empty save a pile of newspaper clippings and some more newspapers next to it with a pair scissors placed beside them. Each clipping was cut out very carefully, the edges smooth and straight. For the clippings near the bottom of the pile, the edges were worn smooth by touch. As though the owner would regularly run his fingers through them. A wooden pin up board stood against the wall at the edge of desk. Some clippings were pinned upon it in neat meticulous rows. 

All of them contained information on one person. 

The most recent newspaper placed on top, the article half-cut – ‘CEO of Zameer Corps Allegedly Terminally Ill; insiders reveal the CEO has not come in even once within the past two months’.

A breeze entered through the half-opened window and the paper fluttered to the floor. An age-wizened hand picked it up and gently placed it back on the desk. The hand was slightly damp, the owner had just done wudhu. The greying hair at his temple and beard still dripped with drops of water. His eyebrows drooped from old age, crow’s feet and laugh lines deeply etched onto the face. 

There was a towel in his other hand, he fully dried his face and arms before gently smoothing down the paper on the desk again. After that, he quickly shut the window and drew the curtains – his movements were swift belying his elderly appearance. 

It was time for Maghrib salah, the man left the small apartment and walked through the familiar streets to reach a small inconspicuous mosque at the corner of a street. His strides were long and swift and not long after, he entered the mosque. 

He was always one the first ones to enter to the mosque in order to grab a place in the first row. Today was no different. Just as he sat down behind the Imam’s position, his eyes glanced to his right. 

Sure enough. That young man was here already. 

The young man sat at the rightmost place in the first row. He had been coming in punctually for the past two months, and always sat there. It was extremely eye-catching when the first row usually consisted of the elderly and local grandfathers. His youthful face really stood out. 

A small palm-sized Qur’an was cradled in his hands as his lips moved in whispered recitation. 

Even after salah had ended, including the post-salah discourse led by the Imam, the attendees all trickled out leaving behind a few stragglers, the young man was still sitting in his place. As he had been doing for the past few months. 

Zameer Khan released a breath. After finishing his dhikr and dua’, he stood up and went the shelf of Qur’an placed near the rear of the hall. He picked one and went to sit, right next to the young man. 

The young man did not notice, continuing with his recitation. Now that the mosque was emptier, Zameer Khan could hear his smooth recitation. When he finished reciting Surah Waqi’ah, he noticed something extremely strange. 

The entire way, the young man kept reciting Surah Duha and Inshiraah repeatedly. 

Zameer Khan was a slow reciter, it took him almost twenty minute to recite Surah Waqi’ah. The young man had recited Surah Duha and Inshiraah ten times each by then. 

He closed his Qur’an and stared perplexedly at the young man. Coming early and staying back late at such an age was already astounding, now this was even more confusing. He took his time to observe the face, bright and youthful but with a shadow of sorrow. 

Someone staring was much more conspicuous than someone sitting down close by, perhaps this was why the young man finished the Surah and closed his Qur’an, eyes lifting to meet Zameer Khan’s. His eyes were lifted at the corners giving a natural cheerful look, though even that couldn’t hide the anguish roiling in them. 

Zameer Khan was taken aback, he wondered if it was possible for such a young man to have such an aged look in his eyes. The young man gave a polite greeting, the question in it evident. 

Zameer Khan replied, “Sorry for the trouble, young man. Just couldn’t help noticing what you were reciting.”

The young man smiled back. It added no joy to his expressions, merely a muscle movement. “These two Surahs comfort me,” he said in a very low voice. It was slightly raspy and hoarse. 

Zameer Khan nodded. He has cultivated the habit of sitting in every tafseer and hadith session held in the mosque. The Imam had once or twice mentioned about Surah Duha, but he couldn’t quite recall the details. “May I ask why? Teach me a little.”

The young man reacted slowly, sitting up straight from the slightly slouching position. “Both of these Surahs console our Prophet (SAW). It was a few months after he was granted prophet-hood, no revelation came to him for an extended period, Prophet (SAW) thought Allah abandoned him, did not love anymore, that he was no longer worthy to be a prophet. At a time when our Prophet (SAW) felt low, anxious and like the whole world had abandoned him, Allah revealed Surah Duha to console him.

“The verses in these Surahs are really too beautiful,” he recited the third verse of Surah Duha. “And your Lord has not forsaken, nor does He hate you.” Followed it up by the fifth and sixth verses of Surah Inshirah, ‘Indeed with hardship, there is ease. Indeed with hardship there is ease.’

Just listening to his crisp recitation lightened the heavy burden that crushed Zameer Khan’s heart on a daily basis. 

The young man heaved a small sigh. “My heart feels constrained by this world right now. These two Surahs comfort me,” he said with a small chuckle that verged on a sob. 

It wasn’t appropriate for Zameer Khan to delve any further. He placed a steady hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You’re heading towards the right direction already. If you need someone to speak to, I can lend an ear,” he said softly. He slightly squeezed before letting go. 

“Shukran, uncle.”

Although, Zameer Khan did not approach the young man, he consciously followed the young man’s constant presence at the corner of the mosque. Alongside another perpetual mention in his duas, the young man also crept in. 

On the desktop, the pile of newspaper clippings grew higher. Wrinkled hands gently cut-out a new clipping; ‘Zameer Corps Press Conference – CEO Admits to Ailing Mental Health.’ 

.

A few days after that, the young man came into the mosque and joined the third row. After Salah, he waited for the mosque to clear out and headed to Zameer Khan who sat in his place immersed in his duas. He sat waiting by him with not a trace of impatience. 

When Zameer Khan lifted his head, he gave a bright smile. His whole face lit up. Zameer Khan was taken aback but responded with a muted smile of his own. 

“I wanted to inform uncle that my world doesn’t feel so constrained now,” he said. 

Zameer Khan replied with a ‘Khair, Alhamdulillah’ and a grin that fell short of the young man’s joy.

When he returned to his desolate apartment, he walked to the desk without removing his jacket and caressed the beautiful face on the newspaper clipping, not a trace of youthful, shy smile that once graced that face remained.

He sighed. He knew full well, this had nothing to do with him. He had no right, but even so. 

A small thought circled in his mind.

She’ll be okay now, won’t she? 

He didn’t fail this time, did he?