The Wings of Mercy By Yaqeen Ul Haq Ahmad Sikander

Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned prodigal, with nothing to do but keep his house open to hope. John Ciardi

It was a gloomy day, sky clad with clouds and dim. It was the fall of 2010 and I was preparing to leave my hometown for my further studies abroad. I had to meet a few friends of mine at the University of Kashmir. I left home in the morning, said goodbye to my mum and she accompanied me till the gates of our home. I walked down the long road till the bus stop and waited patiently till I finally managed to get in a bus. The bus being full, I had to stand. After a few bus stops, there was some empty slot for me to sit at the back. Typically in Kashmiri public buses, five people sit at back. Three people were already sitting there, two girls on the extreme right side and an old man on the extreme left, leaving the middle two seats empty. I went to the back and had to choose a seat. I chose the one next to the old man leaving a gap of one seat between me and the girls sitting on the other side. To my surprise, the old man had been observing me and he said, You did well son by choosing to sit beside me rather than the girls. Perhaps he was impressed. I just smiled, but he wanted to talk more. So I just started listening to him. He talked about where and how he lived, the job he did and also about the death of his wife. He was in his 70s or late 60s, I guess. His face was wrinkled and he wore a traditional dress. His face and look depicted a man who held grudges against the atrocities of nature. He continued and said, I am going to perform Hajj this year. Last year my application was rejected as I suffered from pneumonia. Now InshaAllah this year I will perform pilgrimage. I hope I will stay healthy there While he was telling me all this, I felt a tone of sorrow and grief in his words and I wanted to listen more without interrupting him. Something deep down was compelling me to listen to those words. And all of a sudden he changed the topic and talked about the rights of parents over their children and I could sense a depth of pain in his tone. He was in grief and it seemed to me that he had a rage inside him, which he wants to talk about and maybe he felt I was the perfect one at that particular moment. He continued, My wife died many years ago, and I have only one son. I got him married to a girl. I thought everything will be fine and settled afterwards. My son will get a wife and

there will be someone in home to manage the household affairs. But fate had something else stored for me. My daughter-in-law plotted against me. She misled my son until he deviated from the path slowly and stooped too low. First, he asked me for his share of inheritance. I wonder what had happened to his intellect. A man can be fooled this much was unthinkable to me because after me he is of course the only one who will inherit all my wealth and property. But when Shaytaan whispers to us, we forsake our minds. Afterwards, he insisted to divide the house. So I am living alone in the lower floor while he took the rest. He looks at me with anger and disgust. He is so shameless that he even never asks me how I cook for myself and how I do the household chores in this old age. I am left all alone, by myself. He never asks for my condition, whether I am ill, or have I eaten or anything. He doesnt know even how I support myself. He sighed. He spoke with agony which could make even the strongest of men melt like wax. He reached his destination and pointed to a simple house where he lived. He wished me good bye and left while the tears in my eyes were making my vision blurred. I was feeling blank, lost in thoughts, and wondering how could children deny and be ungrateful to the innumerable favours of their parents. The only words I could remember then was the verse of the Holy Quran,
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And, out of kindness, lower to them (parents) the wing of humility, and say: "My Lord! bestow on them thy Mercy even as they cherished me in childhood." (Al Quran 17:24) (Based on a true life experience of the Author)

(The Author can be reached at www.yaqeenulhaq.info or can be mailed at yaqeen@ymail.com)