How cool is this?
How cool is this?
The plaque just before Masoods grave!
Masoods final resting place. A hero, a defender, a fighter, a leader… a martyr. i couldn’t believe how such an inevitable being could lie so helplessly. i cried. he didn’t belong there. Before his death, he had dreamt he was going to die. he cried for his nation and his people. what will happen to them?
His memorial. Still undergoing construction…
This is how it will look like once completed.
One of Masoods men handed me this flower from his garden and told me that this flower will never grow old. It has a felt texture. i think he’s right.
When the bombings would get too extreme, Masood would seek cover underground.
This is where Masood would sit and ponder. Bombs would drop but he wouldn’t budge. That’s what you call determination and bravery!
Masoods newly built family home for his 5 daughters and one son. just before moving in, he was martyred. His family visits annually and stay here.
Masoods garden. So serene and lovely. haven’t seen any place like this in all of kabul!
Masoods guest house, long before he built the above house.
His house which he lived in. Had only 2 rooms and one bathroom. It was this that made me know that he was very dedicated to his people and didn’t pocket peoples money for his own cause.
Masood lives on. One of the few pics i see him laughing.
I will provide a detailed post about the trip as soon as i get the time.
Ba omideh deedaar….
With all credits to James Hill for his spectacular works.
Photoes… thats self-explanatory. i’m not in the mood for writing much. Hope ur having a better day than i am.
Sayaafs gov’t cars- final preparations
When an old man dies, a library burns down. – Chinese proverb
He proved them wrong!
Before dying, he had only two words of advice- Islam wa Itifaaq (unity). he also wanted to be buried in Afghanistan, near his orchard. A wish which was granted.
Finally, they arrived! we hugged in turn as we cried softly. the cars were brought to the terminal (Again, no afghans were allowed but i guess it was all Ustaad Sayaafs magic).
i was dreading home, afghan women have the tendency to wail and scream. Some even pull their hair out. Something i am not accustomed with.
we got home, the house was filled with men and women. no room to walk. i went upstairs to see how my grandmother was doing, but thankfully my grandmother had taken the news easier than i expected.
Ustaad Sayaaf was downstairs, he loved my grandfather very much and holds deep respect for him. His presence meant a great deal. His life was at risk, yet he still attended. My grandfather had wanted Sayaaf to lead the funeral prayers, which Sayaaf gladly accepted. Someone came in and told us that Sayaaf wanted to see my grandfathers children alone, in private. i went along!
Eventually he stood up, asking to be excused. he left the room with his companions. we reunited with the ladies.
The day went on and the house was filling by the minute. It was iftaar time, the cook had set everything.
We wanted to see my grandfather but they said to wait til the next morning. They didn’t want to leave him in the open for too long. so the coffin stayed closed. I couldn’t believe it. the last time my grandfather was at our house, he was alive and breathing. now he’s lifeless in a box, in a coffin.
The very next morning, 600am the house was awake. my eyes shot open. my sister was asleep beside me, sharing my double bed. she woke up as well. people were downstairs, they had uncovered the coffin. i jumped out of bed. ‘are you going?’ my sister asked. ‘yeah for sure,’ i replied as i quickly undressed from my pajamas and into something more appropriate. So did she, we didn’t say a word.
Both of us managed to finish at the same time. i grabbed my white scarf as i rushed out the door pulling it over my head, covering my hair. i dont know why we were running. with unwashed faces we bolted down three flights of stairs. we reached the third flight- the final flight. that’s when i stopped. i peeked and saw my grandfather lying peacefully in his coffin. my grandmother had her head resting to his right on the coffin, weeping silently. other women surrounded her but none felt her loss. Some were reading quraan. some were crying loudly.
i slowly walked down the stairs in a bit of a shock, my sister behind me. i went closer to my grandad, people moved as my sister and i made our way through. my eldest aunt was there, she held me tight as tears came down my cheeks uncontrollably. My grandad resented screaming and wailing near the dead. he always told us not to scream.
Despite being a week since his death and the impact of travelling, he looked so peaceful, his face was glowing. His white beard, his skin, his tall height dressed in white kafan. he looked holy and heavenly. he really was smiling.
i stood by his coffin as women sobbed. i held my grandmother. i thought of the good times we shared. My grandfather was the one person i held deep respect for. i never spoke back to him or displeased him. he was like a friend to me. i lifted my head to look at him, he looked like he was asleep, i expected him to awake any second. but he didn’t. thats when it hit me. he’s gone forever!
my aunts consoled other women, asking them not to raise their voice as it will cause him discomfort.
Ladies read the quraan loudly. They recited Surah Yasin.
My aunt finished reading, i sat by my grandads coffin opposite my grandma and opened the quraan. i started reciting softly next to him, unsure whether he could hear with all the sobbing. but i recited anyways. I felt very lucky to be able to read the Quran for him.
i finished reading Yasin and passed the Quran to my sister.
My maternal grandma sat next to me and recited Surah Yasin in a beautiful voice which made many cry. I was sitting beside her and joined her in the recitation. She then raised her hands and other women did too and made dua for him and asked God to grant him Jannah and to strengthen his family. Ameen.
We continued with Surah Alrahman together, sharing the Quraan.
my aunts took my grandmother away. i was left with my uncles and my dads cousins daughter. My dads cousins came and prepared my grandfathers coffin to be taken to the funeral car. My dad and my eldest uncle looked on, crying. i hugged my dad and cried, this time much more than before. My dad whispered in my ear, ‘sabr… sabr jameel’ (we speak in Arabic) i kissed him on the cheek and my uncle held me close to him as i continued crying.
I didn’t want to say good bye to my grandfather, it was all too soon.
I walked away from the coffin without seeing my grandfather, i didnt want to weaken. i needed to be strong. i didnt need to say good bye, he was still with us. i could feel him around.
my dads cousin pulled me close to her as we made our way to join the rest.
i went to my bedroom, locked my door and looked out my balcony. i had never seen that many people in my entire life. It was only half of the men who will be at the funeral prayers. Sayaafs cars and police cars were lined up in an orderly fashion. i watched on. The cars moved further. The funeral car was making it’s way towards the convoy of cars. the police car was first followed by the funeral car and then Sayaafs 4Wds followed by more police cars and then the guests.
The roads were blocked. it was very well organised. i know my grandfather liked it very much. Later i learned that 1500-2000 men had attended the funeral prayers which was led by Ustaad Sayaaf.
My grandfather was a good man. Never spoke ill of anybody, attended to people during their time of need and practised Islam to his maximum capability. As most people said, he was a father to everyone.
May Allah grant him Jannatal Firdaws. ameen.
Ba omideh deedaar, Khuda negahdaar.