FROM MOTHER TO SON, A PRAYER

I was pleasantly surprised by the many unexpected responses I got on last week’s piece, “From Father to Son, A Lesson.” I was surprised because, as I mentioned in my introduction, the story had made the rounds of cyberspace for several weeks, and is still ‘trending’. And it was pleasant because many readers who I […]

I was pleasantly surprised by the many unexpected responses I got on last week’s piece, “From Father to Son, A Lesson.” I was surprised because, as I mentioned in my introduction, the story had made the rounds of cyberspace for several weeks, and is still ‘trending’. And it was pleasant because many readers who I wouldn’t expect to have been impacted by so simple a yarn, were indeed impacted, as I was. Alhamdu lilLah.

The unexpected aspect was that many of my Christian compatriots wrote on last week’s piece saying they didn’t see it anywhere else until I ‘downloaded’ it onto my page. That means the story was mainly circulating in Muslim Cyberia all this time. I now realise, though not very surprised (as a student of communication), that even our social media usage is moderated by our beliefs and cultures, and it seems cyberspace, despite its ‘democracy’ and pervasiveness, is yet to break some of our barriers.

Having ‘treated’ ‘Father’ last week, this week it is about ‘Mother’. It is yet another of those simple, uplifting and inspirational old-age wisdom on the efficacy of a Mother’s Prayer. The story is still making its rounds in cyberspace, and I also got it, like last week’s, from a multitude and a variety of sources. I am therefore only ‘forwarding’ it to our traditional non-social media readers, and also to Christian compatriots, as this is also from mainly Muslim Cyberia.

It is the hope of this Column that, at the end of it, a lesson is learnt, and ‘Mother’ (everyone’s Mother) is further appreciated. May Mother be blessed, and may the original author(s) of this and similar stories be divinely rewarded. 

The story, which I call “From Mother to Son, A Prayer”, is narrated by a third person. And as the currency ‘rupee’ is frequently mentioned in the tale, it may well be situated on the India-Pakistan area. And as always, the story has been edited for space. Enjoy:

It was near Iftar during Ramadan. I had gone out to buy some fruits. I saw a small fruit stand nearby and went near it. A small noticeboard was hanging from the top of the stand. On it was written “My mother is very old and ill, and there is no one else to take care of her. So I, your fruit-seller, am at home attending to her. Below are the prices for a kilogramme, and fraction thereof, of each fruit. Please pick whatever you want, weigh it on the scale and put the money under the green doormat-like pad I kept under the stand. And if you need the fruits and don’t have the money to pay for them, please take them anyway, and pray for my mother’s wellbeing. And Allah is the Best Sustainer.”

I weighed two kilogrammes of apples, grabbed another dozen bananas and put them in a shopping bag. After checking the price list, I counted out the money from my wallet, lifted the mentioned pad and placed it among several other notes of various denominations, as well as many coins. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, but there was none. I was intrigued as I picked up my purchase and returned home. I narrated the fruit stand story to my brother.

After Iftar, my brother and I went back to that stall just in time to find the owner packing up, about to leave. He was a middle aged man, the grey in his beard peeking out from among the black. We greeted him and he smiled at us as he said “Sorry, no more fruits left, Sirs. Come back tomorrow.” We asked his name. He said, “Hussain”. A few minutes later, we had become friends and were having tea all three of us at a nearby teashop.

We asked him of his business. He told us, “My mother has been bedridden for the past three years. She is very old and paralysed, and she sometimes shows signs of Alzheimer’s. My own wife has passed away and I have no children of my own. So there is no one to look after my mother and I have to do it all the time.

“One day”, he continued his story, “I said to my mother while massaging her feet, ‘Mother, I want to take care of you more than anything else in the world, but my pockets are empty. You said you don’t want me to leave your side. You said you feel extremely anxious and worried when I go anywhere. So Mother, what I should I do? Where will we get food from?’

“My mother tried to sit up with difficulty, so I adjusted her pillow and had her rest against it. She raised her wrinkled face and trembling hands in a silent supplication, but I didn’t hear what she asked Allah. Then she told me ‘Just load your cart with fruits and leave the stall by the roadside. You will get your food while sitting in this very room, in sha Allah.’

“I said, ‘Mother, what are you talking about? If I leave the stall there, somebody will come and steal everything on it. No one cares about other people these days. Who will actually pay for the fruit when the shopkeeper isn’t there?’

“She said, ‘Don’t argue with me. Allah will take care. After Fajr, fill your stall with fruits, leave them at the roadside and come back to me. And in the evening bring back the empty stall. If you lose any money, then I will cry to Allah to pay back every single rupee of it, in sha Allah.’

“Brother”, he continued the tale, “it has been two and a half years since then. I take the stall in the morning and bring back the empty cart in the evening. I have not lost a single rupee. In fact, many people often pay more than is due. I usually make about 4,000 rupees more than I would according to the current prices of the fruits. Some people also leave flowers for my mother. A few days ago a girl left a dish of food with a card saying ‘for your mother’. 

“A doctor also left his business card that had a note on the back saying ‘Uncle, if your mother is falls very ill, call me and I will come personally pick her up from her house.’ A pilgrim visited my stall and left a packet of Ajwa dates. A couple came to buy fruit and left a dress suit for my mother. Every day things like these are given to me along with my money. My mother doesn’t let me leave, and Allah doesn’t let the blessings stop. 

“Not only is Allah the best Sustainer, He is also the Best Retailer. He sells my fruits for a premium, because my mother prayed that silent prayer to Him. And even though now we can afford to hire some help, I prefer to continue taking care of mother in sha Allah.”

And this to my Christian friends: “A man came to Prophet Muhammad (upon whom be peace) and said to him, ‘O Messenger of Allah! Who among the people is the most worthy of my good companionship? The Prophet said. ‘Your mother.’ The man said, ‘Then who?’ The Prophet said, ‘Then your mother.’ The man further asked, ‘Then who?’ The Prophet said: ‘Then your mother.’ The man asked again, ‘Then who?’ The Prophet said, ‘Then your father.’ 

And the Prophet (upon whom be peace) also said, ‘Your Heaven lies under the feet of your mother.’

May Allah forgive our mothers, our mothers, our mothers, and then our fathers, and then us.