Faith.

We all believe in a set of certain beliefs to keep ourselves going, running in one piece. We look into our lives, and retrace the steps that got us here. What was that one force which drove us through the tumultuous waves of time and dreary lanes of life?  What fueled our genie lamps and we survived even through the darkest storms? It may be termed differently by different people belonging to different schools of thoughts, according to their experiences; what remains constant is the affect it has on all of us. Some call it Dharam - belief in the divine force that makes universe possible. Some call it Saddha - confidence based on knowledge, while some call it Eemaan - Faith.
Lets talk about faith. I have always had trouble defining faith just as much as I have trouble defining religion. You know what it is and what it means, what you don't know is how to fathom it into appropriate words. How must you define that which defines you?

Faith, is what governs you. Faith is silence; just not the kind which breaks you, rather a kind which keeps you together. Faith is a memory; just not the one which keeps you entrapped, rather a one which sets you free. Faith is time; that which unravels answer to every why that kept you restless. Faith is a saving hand which holds you from drowning; it is a ray of light which shows you way when you are groping in the dark. Faith is fate. It is not a coincidence. There is always a story behind how a belief was established, how a faith was developed. There is pain. There is hope.

~ ~ ~

I am tied in shackles of a memory which I force back in my head every second of every day. But there comes a time when I lose the battle and it comes gushing, filling my senses. I let it flow, and wallow in the sorrow it brings. I feel it closer than usual. I suddenly hear from my past. And it doesn't happen only once. Reminders lurk in simple little things. An association triggers the memory, I fail to hold myself together. I miss that which is gone. It's natural. I cry myself to sleep. I wake up and I see a message... That, too, doesn't happen only once.

*

Since my childhood, I would hold my breath to capture time. The longer I'd hold my breath, the slower would the time pass, and the more will I get to savor moments. I grow up. I hear talks pertaining to severity of the illness my paternal grandmother is going through. I hold my breath to freeze the time. It doesn't work. My paternal grandmother dies.

Always do good. Always be honest. Don't ever hurt a soul. That which you do, shall sooner or later get back at you. I am told that everything which happens, happens for a reason. A belief is established. I start reading signs. I start judging my life according to these notions.
My imaginative faculty is highly receptive. I dream a lot and remember each of it. My dreams are always pleasant. My sleep relies on my dreaming ability. I read about the interpretation of dreams. Another belief is established. Every dream means something. I cannot think they will ever cease to appear.

I overhear my father's grandmother repeat certain words to find something which has been lost before looking about it. I memorize it. I say it when I lose my things. I always find them when I do. It works for me.

I have an Aqeeq studded silver ring. It is a tangible souvenir of my faith. I wear it all the time. I lose it one day. I solemnly say those words again and again. I search and search but cannot find.

I forget about the ring eventually.

I observe the water coming down from the sky... I am told the sky showers the water of heaven. It is a blessing. I soak it in my bones. It makes me happy and reinforces my intuition of life. It inspires me at so many levels. I associate rain with spirituality. It will always be a good sign for me.

A friend is leaving for Damascus. She asks me to write an areeza. I don't know what it is. The idea of it fascinates me. She teaches me to write one. I neatly tear a paper from my notebook. I write Bismillah and offer Salaam to Sayyedda Zainab with my favorite pen in nastaleeq Urdu. I write a couple of lines, asking her to call my maternal grandmother at her Shrine.

My maternal grandmother leaves for Damascus a month later.

I check in my drawer for something. I see my Aqeeq ring resting beneath my accessory box. I close my eyes and hold it between my hands for quite a while. The need to wear it is no longer felt.

Muharram moon is sighted and my grandmother repeats to us tales like every year of how Muharram was commemorated back in her times. The simplicity of it all charms me. Muharram has begun and I feel like I have finally gotten back to where I truly belong. I feel completely at home. I weep at the tribulations of Ahlebait; the household of Prophet. It enlightens my faith.

It is the 8th of Muharram. It is important for me to attend tonight's majlis. There is haazri at home. We cannot go. My heart sinks. May be Hazrat Abbas doesn't want me to attend his majlis. I get a call from chaachu asking me if I need a lift. I am there sitting in the majlis, under the soothing silver light of the moon coming down at us from the open sky. I look up straight at it. The Moon of Hashmiites wanted me to attend his majlis. My faith is strengthened.

We go to attend the Ashura procession. We leave for home earlier than usual. I am very upset about it. We are preparing for  faaqa shikani, when suddenly there is news of a bomb blast targeting attendees of the procession. I experience so many emotions at once.
The turn out for Chehlum procession that year was however greater than ever. It doesn't matter what the funny looking Jihadis preach. They do not rule our faith.

I am starting college. I want to study Literature. My father wants me to go for Pre-medical. I cannot say no. I take Pre-medical. Three months later I realize it is not my field. I tell my mother. She asks me to switch to Literature if that's what I want. I am confused. What if I make a wrong decision? I take eight chits and write lit. and med. evenly in four each. I recite Naad-e-Ali three times and then pick a chit. It says literature. I repeat. I get literature again. I pick a chit for the third time. It's Literature.
I switch my subject.
I score second highest in my finals from Literature group in the entire college.

I believe in the power of words. I remember what people say. I store it in my memory. I safely keep the letters and cards and notes and messages that people give me. They give me something to remember. I treasure it. Keeping their words close is my way of keeping a part of them with myself.
I write a folder of letters to a friend who is moving to America. The letters will work as a reminder. I will remain with her as long as she keeps them.

I measure life in terms of months and years. I keep track of time. It gives me an illusion of being in control of my life. New Year eves make me nostalgic. A sun goes down, taking away tiny parts of me that will only exist in my memories. I recall little details and events that went through the year and look forward to many that the time ahead have in store for me. I bid adieu to the year bygone. I attach hopes with the one that will follow. I say Amen as the sun sets; I make wishes as it prepares to rise.

It will soon be 2012. My university will begin in fourteen days. I am an adult. I am excited. This year will be wonderful.

2012 turns out to be a mess. Family issues. I have trouble accepting that blood relations can abandon each other. I don't know what went wrong and I lost a friend. An acquaintance has wronged me to such an extent, I will never forgive that person. I write an areeza to Imam Hussain. I ask Him to answer me before the end of 2012.

It's New Year's eve. I shall not make any wish. I must not expect anything from 2013.

It is the 31st of December, 2012. I don't have my answer yet.

It is the 5th of January, 2013. I have my answer.

Five extra days. My faith is strengthened.

The acquaintance suddenly shows up after a month and apologizes for everything. I look back. I don't even remember it anymore. The disappointment is long over. I forgive.

I forgive because I have forgotten.

I wake up one day and I hear my mother cry over phone. A relative is shot dead in the wave of Shi'a Genocide. I lie back and tell myself it hasn't happened to us. I realize it has happened to us. We go to attend his funeral. To die for Hussain is to live for eternity. I stand amidst the chants of Labbaik Ya Hussain, my faith is strengthened.

I take a leap of faith. It is raining. I revere and hold close the promises I am given. 2013 has brought me a sacred euphoria.
I appear in someone's dream. The person explains the dream where we both walk along the shore and discloses something which upsets me. Something which the person cannot quiet recall. The dream proceeds as I begin to walk away; the person runs after me and convinces me to stay. I am convinced. The dream ends. I wonder what could it be that had me upset? It doesn't matter. I stayed. I know it's real.

Two weeks later, the same person reveals to me a reality. The same which had me upset in the dream. It was a sign. I am shocked. I go out under the vast sky, face up, I close my eyes and let the silver streaks of moon fall on my face.
I am scared.
I say nothing.
And then I pray.

I wake up the next morning. Everything is still the same to me. I know its genuine love, the kind which doesn't change with circumstances. I am enthralled by its purity. But distracted by its fragility. I need to be careful. I don't have a legitimate right. I must observe caution, I must not say everything that I feel. I must wait. For the right time.
It's drizzling and I am walking down the parking lot towards the one who has come to me. I am reading the sign. I know what I want. I make a choice. It is difficult, I know. But I will remain by it. I pray punctually. Everything is clear. I have faith.

I have to go through a trial. I cannot tell it to the one who needs to know the most. I cannot worry someone who I already sense is through a hard time. I rely on my faith, I rely on my prayers. I raise my hands and say, "You know the purity of my intention, be my witness. Save my heart, save my soul. Save me from ruin."

The result comes out in my favor. I take it as a sign. I know where I'm heading.

I see a person in my dream. I wake up happy. It's a sign. I must capture it into words before it slips away. I type down the entire dream and email it to the person it involves. The need to share it is strongly felt. I get no reply. I understand. It doesn't affect my short-lived happiness. I know I will always remember it.

I detect traces of lies and contradictions in statements every now and then. I don't take it as a sign. Everyone makes mistakes when they are scared. It does not matter what has been beside of what will be. I will make it happen. I send an areeza beseeching both my Masters resting in Karbala. It has my deepest prayer. Later that day, I fall asleep and see a dream where I am prostrating in haram of Hazrat Abbas, weeping bitterly and repeating to Him that He knows what my heart desires. I wake up with tears in my eyes. I am reading the sign. It is like I have conquered every blessing.
The latter part of the dream is not very satisfying. I cannot interpret its significance. I choose to ignore it. It continues to bother me. I pray hard.

I read somewhere that reciting Dua-e-Tawassul fulfills every legitimate prayer. I listen in majalis that no prayer is denied when you pray through Waseela-e-Abbas. I have strong faith. I sit under His Alam and punctually recite Dua-e-Tawassul every Thursday. It does wonders for me.
I will not immediately understand when my most earnest prayer will be denied. It will come to me only later.

The year is coming to an end. I reflect upon 2013. This year changed my life. It will be Twenty Fourteen in a little over a month. Two Thousand and Fourteen. I have a lot of expectations from the coming year. It will decide the course of my life. I shall not say it out loud. It will jinx it. But I have faith.

It's New Year's eve. I feel something slipping away. I express myself out loud and vow to stay by through all which would follow. I get no reply. But I know love better. It does not need to be proven. I have felt it and I know it is there. I have faith.
The year ends.

2014 begins. The world flips upside down. I am lost in the middle of nowhere. I suffer in silence. I revel in my pain. I become immune to it. I spend nights wide awake in a hope. A wait permanently settles into my subconscious. The dreams stop appearing to me and I fall out of my sleep at intervals. I get no answer.

I jinxed it.

I still pray regularly.

It's been a couple of months. Why is my faith taking so long? I log in my email account after ages for an assignment, I find another email instead. My faith has been in constant action even when I thought it isn't. It gives me hope. I get to exchange only a couple of emails with the sender. He disappears again without completing the discourse.
I continue to intuitively check my mails till this date.

I am told a million things. I choose to register none. I am told how I have been hurt. I am explained the 'nature' of betrayal. I continue to wash my faith with my tears. I fall sick. I have lost my ability to dream.

I give up all hopes and condition myself to go with the flow. The one who had disappeared suddenly shows up. I am told another long tale as a closure. I am too numb to react. I promise to keep it a secret, and I let the person go. I wallow in my sorrow. My story comes to an end. I pray harder.

I move to our new house. I have trouble letting go. My faith tells me it is for the better. I make peace with it.  I delete every word that I had kept close. The memory remains. I still cherish it in my wandering thoughts.
Inside, I am a mess. Outside, I am beginning to improve. The one who had presented closure, shows up again. I am hearing the voice after so long. It swells my heart, but I cannot say. I think this is the last time; but the broken bond is suddenly revived. I am perplexed. Is it that easy? It makes no sense. How can I go back being the same person that I was? Where do I find compensation for that which is lost? My wounds are deepened, but I do not say. My silence is misinterpreted like all other times. I am accused of insincerity. The person abandons me again. I have never hurt anyone. Why did it happen to me? I pour out all my grievances in an areeza to Imam Hussain. I make Him a witness to every tear I have shed in the quietest of nights. I tell Him to remember all my vows I had made and from Him I seek justice and from Him I expect comfort. My faith is intact. I still pray.

I get to receive numerous remarks. I stay silent because I am still just numb by how much it hurts. I tell myself that one who has hurt me would have by now realized. I will forgive if forgiveness be asked. I am proven wrong when the person shows up yet again only to tell me that it was all my fault and I am remembered as someone who withdrew. All my efforts so conveniently disregarded. It tears me apart. I choose to stay strong on the surface.

I fall sick again.

I see my family worried. I see my friends distressed. I question my faith. I get no answer. I stop praying.

I am in a hospital. A friend comes to see me. She holds my hand and asks me to have faith. I cannot hold my tears. We both cry. I feel something break inside me. I think I have lost connection. My prayers are returned unanswered.

I remember listening in a majlis in my childhood of how God doesn't forgive the one who has hurt you as long as you don't. I remember how I have always fancied myself as someone capable of forgiving. I realize now that I am not. I choose not to forgive. It fuels my fire. It keeps me going.

I receive a call from a friend living across the seas. She tells me she has finally got the answer to her 'why' after three years. I am happy for her. It gives me hope.

I have no plans. I continue my semester. I am 21. My family has other plans for me. I don't have the capacity. I tell them I need time. They understand.
It is the same time of the year. One year behind the line, I wasn't broken. Now I need every piece to run right again. I still don't have my answer. I am searching for a lyrical poetry, I come across a Persian Nasheed of Bay Taha Bay Yaseen instead. I internalize it in my bones. The sound of it comforts my shattered soul.

The one who was gone, showed for the nth time dragging me back yet again. I am exposed to the number of lies I was ever told. The person knew all along that it was never my fault, yet the accusations. I don't know where the limits are anymore. Love. Shock. Disgust. Pain. Anger. The possibilities life could have touched had truth been told earlier. The battles I would have taken had this love been just as honest as true as it said it was. There is so much that can never be said again. I have a number of questions to ask, a number of things to tell; I say none. It is ironical how something that I had so earnestly longed for at one point, has arrived so late, that it doesn't even matter anymore.
I am slowly joining the dots... The necessity to forgive is not felt. The pain lives - but I know now.
I have my answer.

For although I had stopped praying, I still had my connection. It was never lost, only disrupted. Neither were my prayers returned unanswered nor denied, only delayed. This calls for a prayer. A prayer of gratitude. My faith has won.

*

The Euphoria was mine all along. I will keep it. I get a part of inspiration for the fifth and final sequel of my Euphoria from Abbas Ali Khan's rendition of a Sufi kalaam composed by Baba Gulzar Sabri. Of all the contemporary music I have listened to, none of it can beat the gravity and soulfulness of this song.

 Nah hai ibteda mere ishq ki, nah hai inteha mere ishq ki.

Mera ishq hee hai mera khuda, mujhay aur koe khuda nah dey.

Mujhay baar baar sada nah dey,

meri hasraton ko hawa nah dey.

Mujhay aashiqo'n mei shumaar kar, mujhay aashiqi ka sila nah dey.

(Neither does my love have a beginning, nor does my love have an end.

My love alone is my God, don't give me any other.

Don't call me to yourself again and again,

don't inflame my hopeless longings.

Consider me among the noble lovers, do not reward me for love.)

~ ~ ~

I adhere to certain values. I do what is right. It is faith.

* * *

It happens again. I find myself thinking of the time gone; I rejoice in my pain. Ten minutes later, I receive a message... I hear what I had yearned to hear at one point.
The second day I am composing random rhyming couplets about a lost golden butterfly. The memory is active in my thoughts. I receive another message. The pain is reinforced. It angers me. It also compels me to do what I may have done had it not come this late.
What do I do? How do I escape from it? Help me, God. It does mean something. Show me what has it come for? I have faith in You.
It is the third day, I subconsciously anticipate for yet another message. And as I type this down, I receive a notice - and not a message - that my number has suddenly been blocked. What is it, a sign? It is God's answer. It is Him telling that the time to let go of the hurt has finally come. The last link is broken. I will not hear from the one gone ever again... It's beginning to settle in. It is finally time to let go. My chest hurts, and down flows the stream of tears. It is beyond my control. I must heave out all my pain in this one last lament.

My faith is renewed.