They are called by many names in many languages, but I will call them angels of love. Mothers are statues of nature carved from pure love and designed with kindness and affection. One look from my mother has always been the cure for any pain. She has never been an assertive woman, but she has always let me know that, in pain or joy, success or failure, respect or humiliation, I could find her by my side to share both sorrow and happiness.
While most parents tell their children to be careful while crossing the road or to stay away from strangers, my parents warned us against telling people my mother was Shia. I remember my father saying that people in our area believed if they killed Kafurs (non-Muslims) or Shias, they would become Ghazi (warriors against infidels) and go to heaven. She had grown up with these messages of hate against her and her people, not only from neighbors, but in school and the mosques and, as a married woman, even from her in-laws.
When I was in the first grade, even if people didn’t ask me, I would say that both of my parents were Sunni. I realize now this pronouncement probably made them more suspicious.
On Ashora, a famous Shia holiday, schools in Peshawar, Pakistan, where we lived, took the day off. These celebrations were normally violent, because fights between Shias and Sunnis were a common part of the festival. In those years, the ceremony did not feel complete without a few bomb explosions and a dozen causalities.
The year I was in fourth grade, instead of going out to celebrate on Ashora, we stayed home. My mother sat on the balcony with a bucket of water, washing clothes. Her eyes opened and closed from the strength of the sun; her nose-pin shined in the beautiful sunlight. She moved her small body slowly while hanging the clothes to dry, occasionally wiping the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Inside, my younger brother and I watched TV. As I stared at the television, my thoughts wandered to the same day, the year before, when my family and I were taking the bus to visit our relatives. My mother was sitting on a seat while my sister and I were standing up, holding onto the back of the driver’s seat and to the corner of my mother’s dress. Suddenly, the bus slowed, and a throng of people passed by throwing stones. Some stones hit the bus. We were frightened.
My mother lowered her head, as did others. I couldn’t see anything but could feel my mother’s hand on my head. She was saying prayers. Her voice was fearful, yet it had the courage of a mother who could do anything to protect her children.
The angry voices coming from outside were not unfamiliar to my ears. I had heard them many times on TV while watching Afghan warlord Gulbuddin Hekmatyar and other fighters during the Soviet era. Those voices were saying, “God is great.” Such a holy phrase, yet used in times of violence by men who knew nothing about God or humanity. The demonstrations were against the Ashora celebrations.
That day, a question formed in my mind and remains unanswered for me still: How can people kill innocent men and women in the name of religion? Religion should be the symbol of peace. Once again, though, religion is being used as a weapon for fundamentalism.
My mother appeared tired again this day. She had perspiration on her face, her sleeves were rolled up and she wore a black scarf tied around her head. As she entered the room from the balcony, my brother looked at her and said, “Moma Jaan, are you an atheist?”
My mother gave him a look that made him lower his eyes but said nothing.
“The teacher,” he whispered, his voice was getting softer and less confident, “said that Shias are atheists and they kill innocent Sunnis, so killing them is not a sin.”
This was nothing new to her ears. “Ask your father, tonight,” she replied, as if she were finally tired of answering these questions all her life. She no longer believed her answer would make a difference, not even to her own son. In that moment, she looked like a failed mother.
By Meena
Your essay is heartfelt and honest. How difficult it must have been for your mother to bear the weight of such a secret. You have described her in a loving way. I’m sure your love and acceptance, and the support of her family made the burden lighter.
Your love for your mother shines through your writing. Your story, unfortunately, is an old one: the intolerance of one religion, or one sect, for another. Thank you for telling your story so well. I can see your mother, and your brother, so clearly. I wish you and your famiy happier times.
Thank you for telling your story. You are such a good writer. I share your family’s dismay at the way intolerant, uneducated people forever twist their religions to justify the cruel and inhumane treatment of others.Your mother is fortunate to have such a perceptive and loving daughter by her side. I wish you all peace.
Your descriptive language is beautiful and your love and respect for your mother shines through. Thank you for sharing your love and your pain.
Meena, thank you so much for your powerful story, which you told so well. Religious intolerance has caused so much pain and death over the centuries. And my heart goes out to you and your family who are still suffering under this fear and oppression. May things change, and soon. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
Meena,
“In that moment she looked like a failed mother”. I find that ending so utterly stark. I read this in the ´paper yesterday. “what´s inside you, no one can touch”. Your Mum, despite how much invisibility of her being would have enhanced the haters has always had her inner self. Keep loving her.
I love these lines about your mother:
She has never been an assertive woman, but she has always let me know that, in pain or joy, success or failure, respect or humiliation, I could find her by my side to share both sorrow and happiness.
This says so much about her character and about her love. Your story has a heartbreaking ending but I hope you will help her to feel that she has not failed at all. Far from it. She — and you — are amazing. Beautiful writing, Meena.
I, too, found this sentence particularly compelling.
She has never been an assertive woman, but she has always let me know that, in pain or joy, success or failure, respect or humiliation, I could find her by my side to share both sorrow and happiness.
Your words are understated, elegant and powerful in their simplicity. Please keep writing.
“How can people kill innocent men and women in the name of religion? Religion should be the symbol of peace. Once again, though, religion is being used as a weapon for fundamentalism.”
Every day I ask myself that question.
beautifully written.
“This was nothing new to her ears. “Ask your father, tonight,” she replied, as if she were finally tired of answering these questions all her life. She no longer believed her answer would make a difference, not even to her own son. In that moment, she looked like a failed mother.”
Brilliantly written!
The questions that are still unanswered to me, and I still ask myself, are why is there two groups of muslim to begin with, why is there a division, a sect in the first place? And even if the answer is political, how could shia and sunnis be against each other? Both are muslims; both believe in Allah, in Quran, and in prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) as the last messenger; both follow and obey the Words of Allah as well as sunnah of prophet. Both are brothers and sisters in Islam. The division is purely politics, nothing more. So why such violent hatred? Both know that killing is one of the greatest sin a person can commit. Both know that you have to respect peoples of the Book (e.g., Christians, Jews). So why not get along with each other (sunnis and shias)? The division should not exist at all. But even when it does, they should live and get along as brothers and sisters in Islam. This boggles my mind.
Thank you for writing this. It is beautifully written and conveys your love for your mother, and the difficulties in your daily lives.
Thankyou for sharing your love and your pain. I am moved by your respect and love of your mother and brother. Even though I am not familiar with your religion but I believe that every religion is invented in the name of mercy and peace. Your words is beautifully written and I hope your everything goes well on your family.