Mansur’s folly

‘Who next? Your mother’ My youngest daughter answered, quoting the chorus of the song. ‘ I see’, I answered sitting up on the sofa, and extending a hand to her. ‘Come sit here and sing it to me again’. I gestured to her to sit on my lap. LB sat and looked directly up at […]

‘Who next? Your mother’ My youngest daughter answered, quoting the chorus of the song.

‘ I see’, I answered sitting up on the sofa, and extending a hand to her. ‘Come sit here and sing it to me again’. I gestured to her to sit on my lap. LB sat and looked directly up at me while she sang:

‘Who should I stay right close to

Listen most to

Never say ‘no’ to

After Allah and Rasullullah?

 Then comes your mother

 Who next? Your mother, who next? Your mother

And then your father.’

‘Beautiful, L B, that’s a really beautiful song you’ve sang for me.’ I said when she finished reciting the third stanza of Yusuf Islam’s inspirational song ‘My Mother.’

‘So, do you do all those things to me? Do you listen most to me, and never say ‘no’ to me LB?’

‘Yes mummy’ she replied, looking at me with all the innocence of a five-year old.

‘No baby, you don’t. You often don’t listen to me and even if you’ve never said ‘no’ to me, you sometimes did exactly as you wanted, until I brought out my cane that is.’ I insisted. Shame-faced L B could only continue looking at me, a slow smile spreading on her lips as she probably decides to accept her wrongdoing. Looking at her, my heart skipped a beat like it always did when she smiles and transforms to a small version of Tahir. No doubt, of all my four children, she’s really the one that’s Tahir’s carbon copy. Her dimply smile of course, makes her even better-looking than him, but the basic features are all his. I remember Asabe’s comment the first time she saw her at the maternity ward.

‘Hands-down, Bint, you’ve been beaten hands-down by Tahir.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean this baby went right through you and out, you made no impact.’

‘Really? Well give her forty days and I guarantee you she will change. They always do.’ But L B never changed, I couldn’t help thinking that Tahir deliberately named her after me in order to rub that in.

 ‘Welcome Little Bint’ he had said the moment the nurse handed her over to him after her first bath.

‘Why, Little Bint, does she look like me? I asked straight away.

‘Looks have nothing to do with it. I have decided that if it was a boy he’ll be named after me, and a girl will be named after you. So that’s it.’ He explained.

‘I see, but you only name a child after yourselves when you are ready to close shop.’

‘We are ready to close shop Bint, four is enough.’

‘Remember what you said when I had a miscarriage some years ago, you said I could have as many babies as I wanted.’

‘If I ever said anything like that, it must be in the heat of the moment. I don’t stand by it. So congratulations, you’ve just won yourself a namesake.’ Tahir declared and handed her over to me.

‘Thanks’, I answered weakly. And the name had stuck, within months he had shortened Little Bint to LB and the rest of us had followed suit. But coming as she did, five years after her brother Mahmud, LB has more than her share of love and attention.  The result is a beautiful, pleasant child who can also be assertive and head-strong.  I had often had to beat her up to make the point that I don’t believe in a spoilt last born. Hence my little psychotherapy session, now that  I’ve heard her singing about mothers.   

‘So do you promise to listen to what I say all the time and always do as I command?’

‘Yes I do’ Little Bint replied.

‘Even more than you listen to Daddy? Because I can see now that it’s only him you hardly disobey.’

‘Yes, even more than I listen to Daddy’ She answered, slipping away from my lap to, obviously to make her escape from what she might see as a boring session.

‘Good’ I said ‘because you know the song says mother three times and then father only once, right?’

‘Right’ echoed LB but before she could make her way out of the room I heard Tahir’s voice saying:

‘I heard that. And I fail to see why you must conspire to steal my daughter’s loyalty. What should she give you three times and give me only once?’ he asked, scooping the child off the floor into his arms.

‘There’s no conspiracy there, it’s what the Hadith says.’

‘What hadith?’

‘The one that formed the basis of Yusuf Islam’s song, My Mother;  the one about a child’s obligation to its parents.’

‘I see. That still doesn’t give you the right to indoctrinate my angel for your selfish ends.’ He replied taking a seat next to me. LB finally made her escape before Tahir turned and asked:

‘How did it go with Asabe?’

‘She wouldn’t even hear of it. She said if Mansur could write three divorces at a go, it means he really wanted to prevent any attempt at reconciliation. So please don’t waste your time asking any scholar to come and tell you three- means- one according to sunna, because she doesn’t want to be forced back on him. And she has her pride you know, at least that’s what she said.’ I explained.     

‘It’s a relief to hear that she feels that way, because he wouldn’t hear of it either. He repeated his old arguments about having to tolerate so much without complaining to a soul, and wished that we will understand that he was forced to take this action in both their interests.’

‘What interests for God’s sake, when he has succeeded in ruining the lives of his six children and their mother?’ I asked dejectedly.

‘Who knows, however before we allow Mansur’s folly to ruin our happiness, you better get me some Sallah meat.’

‘Ok hubby dearest, though I didn’t expect you to have an appetite, in the circumstances.’

‘I haven’t exactly seen you starving yourself either.’

‘No, in fact even Asabe seems to retain her healthy appetite. When we took your advice and moved the Sallah barbecue to her house, both we and the children enjoyed ourselves tremendously. You wouldn’t think there was a thing amiss.’

‘I told you, cancelling it altogether wasn’t a good idea. Now that you have me to thank for that, shouldn’t you please let me have that Sallah meat with some Sharbar muluk?’

‘Yes, anything you ask for darling. You certainly deserve a drink fit for kings.’ And with that I hastened towards the kitchen.