The month of mercy

The Month of Mercy

The Dry Autumn leaves swirled in the cool breeze, covering the Earth with their gold dust. It was an unusually mild day. The glowing autumn sun glistening through the trees. What a world away from last Ramadan this is, thought Rabia. As Ramadan was the 9th month of the lunar calendar, it was ten days earlier each year. It wasn't cold, but she shivered, drawing her shawl around herself, she was lost in thought again, back to a day last December.

"Help! Help me! Oh my God, No...NOOOOOO!"

The terrifying screams had interrupted her peaceful recitation of the Quran. She ran to the window, there had been a car crash outside her house. Her heart beat in her chest as she ran to the hall-way grabbed a headscarf and tied it hurriedly around her hair. She could hardly breathe, thinking quickly she grabbed the cordless phone and flew out of the house.

A rush of winter air enveloped her body. A guy was standing by a car looking dazed. She rushed over to him, careful not to slip on the icy road.

"Sir, sir, are you okay?" said Rabia, as she dialed the emergency services looking the man over. He looked back at her with a blank expressionless face that sent a chill up her spine. He looked fine; there were no cuts, but then who had been screaming?

The voice at the other end of the line interrupted her thoughts.

"Can you tell me where you - "

"Help me! My Baby!"

Rabia ran around the first car, running her hand along it so as not to fall. She suddenly noticed the horror of what had been obscured from view. A woman was sitting on the ground trying frantically to gain access to the passenger's side of the car. The other car had hit it side on and the whole side was a demolished mess.

"Hello! Hello!" The operator's voice seemed to call her from some far off distance. But Rabia could not find the words to respond, tears welled up in her eyes. She felt as though time stood still as she looked into that car to see the lifeless body of a child still strapped into its car seat.

There seemed to be a commotion as other residents arrived on the scene. Rabia noticed nothing though, just the imploring eyes of the young mother begging for her help. She knelt down on the ice cool road, placing a hand gently on the woman's shoulder.

"I can't get him out," she choked out between sobs.

Rabia could hear the distant wail of sirens. It was too late though; there was nothing she or anyone else could do now. Gently placing a hand on the mother's arm, she began to pray in a low whisper that drifted away on the cool winter air. The mother's sobs grew louder as the horrible truth gradually dawned on her. Rabia held her close, as she continued to recite from the Quran.

The paramedics were first on the scene, but they were soon followed by the rest of the emergency services. The young mother was helped into an ambulance as firemen set about trying to free her child. Rabia felt useless now, there was nothing she could do, but like others she felt reluctant to leave. She perched herself on her doorstep and watched the firemen at work. She noticed that police were breathalising the man she had spoken to earlier, he must have been the driver of the other car. She subconsciously shook her head in sadness and closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of the dead child.

"Rabia dear, I thought you could do with this" Rabia opened her eyes to see her neighbour standing before her, her outstretched hand holding a mug of tea.

"Thank you Charlotte," said Rabia smiling as she made room for the old lady to sit down. "But I'm still fasting." She added.

"Oh, I'm so sorry honey," said Charlotte embarrassed. "I should have remembered."

Rabia smiled as she recalled how Charlotte had brought her a box of dates at the start of Ramadan, Charlotte knew that Rabia liked to break her fast with them as the Prophet Muhammad had traditionally done.

"It's an easy mistake to make," said Rabia rubbing her ice cold hands together. She surveyed the sky; the sun was beginning to set over the rooftops. "It's nearly time for Iftar," she added.

"It's a terrible thing," said Charlotte gesturing towards the crash.

"Yes," replied Rabia.

"I was doing the washing up when I heard the sirens, did you see the crash?" asked Charlotte.

"No, I was reading the Quran," replied Rabia.

"Ramadan is also called the month of the Quran, isn't it?" said Charlotte, her eyes lit up like they did when she recalled a name long forgotten.

"Yes," replied Rabia smiling at her neighbour. " It's because the Quran was revealed in this month," she added.

A buzz of activity near the cars indicated that the child had been freed from the wreckage. Rabia could still hear the chilling screams of its poor mother.

"I have to go in and pray now, wont you join me for Iftar afterwards, Charlotte?" said Rabia affectionately rubbing her friends arm.

"I'd love to dear, there's nothing we can do now except pray for that poor girl," she sighed as she followed Rabia into the house.

"Well, this is the month of mercy," said Rabia to herself as she took one last glance at the scene before closing the door.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Rabia's watch alarm brought her back to reality. It was time for Asr. The days were getting short and the prayer times getting closer together. She should go home, thought Rabia to herself. She cut across the park and was soon home. She was surprised to see someone sitting on the doorstep. From a distance the lonely figure looked unfamiliar, but as Rabia approached the young lady, she realised it was the very same woman that she had just been thinking about. The lady got to her feet as she saw Rabia.

"I was afraid you didn't live here anymore," she said nervously.

"I just went for a walk in the park," said Rabia visibly surprised.

"I came down here a few times -," the woman stopped mid-sentence, looking out at the road as if watching the horror of that day again. "I brought you this," she continued, reaching down toward the step where she had placed a basket of fruit. "I thought you could have it when you break your fast. My friend, Humera told me that there was blessing in giving food to a person that is fasting." She said handing the basket to Rabia.

"Thank you, that's very kind," said Rabia taking the gift. "Why don't you come in?" she asked.

"No, no thanks, I wont." The lady stared at her shoes, unsure of how to proceed.

"They charged him with my son's death, he was drunk at the time, they finally sentenced him last week," she said kicking the ground nervously with her shoe.

"Yes," was all Rabia could manage in reply. She had been following the case in the local paper.

"I wanted to ask you what you were saying to me when my son died," she looked up at this point, and those same eyes searching for answers stared at Rabia.

"I recited a verse from the Qur'an, Inna lilaahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon," said Rabia, the fluent arabic rolling off her tongue.

"It means, to God we belong, and to Him is our return."

"I thought it was something like that," said the young lady, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Thank you, thank you for everything you did."