By Sana Sarfaraz Khan
Somewhere in Lahore, Pakistan.
Her sight was akin to peering through hot smoke—an amalgamation of shadows lacking recognizable coherence. Her ears caught only snippets of murmurs, as if permanently immersed underwater. A husk of bygone vitality, her form appeared shrunken and shriveled, consumed by old age and brittleness.
In her mind’s eye, she could still envision her glory days—the life of the party, the queen of the show. A doer, a getter, once pliant, active, alive, limber, and lithe.
Now, her days were spent in anticipation. She sensed her end drawing near. Exhausted, her body awaited release from life’s tenacious grip.
Each day had become a trial. Simple tasks, from getting out of bed to eating lunch, drained her energy, leaving her feeling like a wrung-out piece of laundry, devoid of moisture.
In gatherings, she sat aloof and distant, lost in her thoughts. Unable to discern the words of those around her, she felt someone grasp her bony hands. How strong those hands had once been—symbols of youth and vigor. Inwardly, she yearned for that time, that body, that vitality. Now, she was but a skeleton of her former self, drained of life’s essence, leaving a hollowness in her bones.
One night, amidst her prayers, she broke down before her Lord, pleading to be released from the wretchedness she had become. A dark, silent figure—what purpose did she serve to the world?
Weak and exhausted, she craved respite. From the world, from its endless trials that had drained her. She had given too much to an unkind, unreciprocating world. Images of her departed sister and brothers haunted her thoughts. She longed to reunite with them and escape the clutches of this merciless realm.
A sob escaped her as she clasped her veined hands to her face, pleading with her Lord, begging for mercy. Her slight form shook with broken sobs, her heart aching as she poured her pain into her prayers.
“Naheed.”
She stilled. The voice was clear as day, unlike the muffled cacophony she was accustomed to. With an exhale, a wave of deep remorse washed over her. Along with everything else, she was losing her mind as well. It was about time, she supposed.
“Naheed, I know you hear me.”
She shot up straight, her eyes blinking in the darkness of her room. Through the fog of her vision, she could make out a dark splotch in the far corner. Or was that just a trick of her veiled sight? And the voice… it had come from no particular direction. An omniscient sound that had descended upon her.
“Ya Rabb, save me from myself, my Lord!” She wailed. “My mind betrays me, my Lord, I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.”
“Naheed, you are not losing your mind. I am here.”
A shudder wracked her body as she began reciting the Ayat ul Kursi, insistent, desperate, and fearful. The devil had come for her. Her voice rose with every divine syllable, hoping that her loudness would banish any evilness into oblivion. With her heart thundering in her chest, she reached the last verse and blew its blessing around her, seeking God’s protection.
“I am not the devil, Naheed. I am a Jinn. I can feel your plight.”
She stared into the darkened corner, tiny tremors coursing through her body. She was at a loss. What was she to believe? In her eighty years of life, she had experienced her share of surprises, but this was a first
“Ya Rabb, forgive me. Forgive me,” she whimpered.
“Breathe, Naheed.”
She felt something—a prickling behind her neck, a hint of movement. She drew in a ragged breath as a few moments passed.
“Why are you here?” she wheezed, glancing towards the dark corner, where a shadowy form seemed to lurk. Or perhaps it was just her poor vision.
“To comfort you.”
She sat silent.
“Are you here to possess me?”
“No, Naheed. I am here to comfort you. I heard your pleas to our Lord. I could no longer remain silent.”
“What can a Jinn offer me?”
“I can tell you that I have seen you, Naheed. The life you have led, the challenges you have conquered, the heartaches you have borne. The regrets which plague you, the mistakes which haunt you till this day. I see you, Naheed.”
She closed her eyes and pondered. “Astaghfirullah, forgive me, my Lord.”
“It is no sin to speak to me, Naheed,” the voice somehow “sounded” amused.
She looked in the dark corner again, peering closely. “I cannot see anything.”
“You can. Perhaps not physically. But you still see everything, Naheed. Who says you need eyes to see?”
She scoffed at his words. “I encounter a Jinn, and that too, a crazed one.”
The Jinn chuckled, or that’s what it seemed like. “Always quick with that tongue.”
“Are you here to kill me?” she asked, her voice laced with a tinge of hope.
“That is not my place, Naheed. You know better.”
“Then why are you here making me doubt my sanity?” she retorted.
“I want to show you, Naheed, that life is not as bleak as you perceive it to be. I want to show you that within you lies the remnants of both triumphs and failings, and that despite everything, you remain worthy of this life simply because of who you are. I see a soul that has lived and suffered at the hands of humanity. I acknowledge your grievances with God, yet I also see your strength to endure whatever challenges come your way. There is so much depth and resilience within you, Naheed. I want to show you that you are loved, always.”
She closed her sunken eyes. A featherlight tear rolled down her hollowed cheek. “I…I think my children are tired of me.”
“That is their trial, not yours.”
“But I can’t stand being a burden on anyone.”
“You’ve led a fiercely independent life, Naheed. Widowed with five little children, you’ve navigated through the filth of this world to carve out a place for yourself and for them. But now, Naheed, it’s time to receive. Let them find favor with their Lord. Let go, Naheed.”
She sniffed, pulling a crumpled tissue from her sweater pocket and blowing her nose. She pondered in silence, her eyes still fixed on the dark corner.
“I hear you so clearly. I wish I could hear my children like that. I wish I could see them without this shroud of darkness.”
The Jinn remained in thoughtful silence.
Naheed felt herself enveloped in a dense fog.
And then she saw:
They were seated in her TV room, bathed in bright lights and surrounded by laughter; the external joviality contrasting with her inner turmoil. She saw herself as clear as the sun, her hunched form on the couch next to her granddaughter, Sana.
Sana had her arm around her and was asking what she had for breakfast. Her voice was loud, decipherable, crystal clear. Her eldest daughter sat adjacent on a stool, recounting an anecdote to her great-grandson, shaggy hair askew, who nodded while munching on M&M’s. Their faces were animated, eyes sparkled, laughter reverberated. Her son, her grandson-in-law, and her other daughter—all present. She was able to see them, noticing the wrinkles around their eyes and the greys in their hair. It was beautiful. All so beautiful that her heart filled up and bloomed with love. She was surrounded in her house, which had taken painstaking years to build, brick by brick.
“See to your heart’s fill, Naheed.”
After some time, when she had felt she had memorized the scene, the fog vanished, leaving her in her darkness.
“Have you left?” she whispered.
“I am here, Naheed.”
She nodded and began whispering prayers for her children.
“They are always on your lips, Naheed,” came a statement filled with wonderment.
Ignoring the Jinn, she continued in hushed tones, petitioning her Lord for health and mercy for all her children, and her children’s children.
A few moments later, she quieted. “I saw too much today. I don’t want them catching the evil eye.”
The Jinn chuckled, “Now you think you see too well.”
She preferred not to answer.
“It is your prayers, Naheed, which help them. Your continuous interceding on their behalf with God, your untainted love and good intentions for them which you release into the universe, come to them in good ways, Naheed. You are still playing an important role. They are blessed, as you send these blessings their way. Night and day.”
She blinked at his words, letting them sink in. Hesitant to admit, she felt a small stirring of hope inside her. Like a faint whiff from a new bloom. Like a single raindrop on a sweltering day. Like the waft of chai as it begins to boil.
“I am going to lie down. I am weary,” she announced, then proceeded to recline slowly, allowing her back to straighten and adjust to the change in position. A hiss escaped her lips as she settled onto her pillow, feeling something pull between her shoulders.
A few moments passed, “How much more time do I have?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
She gave out a bitter laugh. “Some Jinn you are. Don’t you steal this knowledge from the heavens?”
“You have time.”
“My children would think me crazy if I told them any of this.”
“You won’t tell them.”
“Will you come again?” Her voice drifted, she was falling asleep.
The Jinn dared to advance closer. He was in a form of a mist; light, ethereal.
He observed Naheed; defenceless, innocent, waif-like. She would not remember anything come the morning. But a minute aspect of their exchange would stay with her, like a grain of dust upon her cheek.
He brushed her temple with the most delicate touch, “I always do, my love.”
Glossary:
Ya Rabb: Dear God/Lord
Astaghfirullah: I seek forgiveness in God
Ayat ul Kursi: Verses from the Quran which are considered to be powerful and often said to ward off the devil.
Jinn (in Arabian and Muslim mythology): an intelligent spirit of lower rank than the angels, able to appear in human and animal forms and to possess humans. (definition from oxford languages)
Sana Sarfaraz Khan
Freelance Writer
