Roti -S.Lubna He looked up at the massive wall before him. Rusted by the age it stood dark, brick on brick lined by creases of rust. It didn’t look so big a few steps ago. He stepped back and scratched his ignorantly grown hair to find a way out. He pulled his waned bucket seared a numerous ways, tied to a sting rope. He tied the free end of the rope to his waist which held another string holding a rug which was the only piece of cloth on the short structure of a boy. He lifted up the bucket and swung his tiny arms to surge it into the well and draw some water to serve his bed-ridden mother. But what strength would the tiny five year old arms possess to caper the heavy vessel through a height? The bucket slammed on the rocky bricks and fell on the disturbed soil. He pulled back the dented old metal and swayed it again with an advanced effort. Again the bucket slammed the bricks and fell down. Little Ashraf sighed. Tears started to well up in his big brown eyes. “Water..” his mother’s trembling voice rang in his ears. He had run out of the house to five kilometers distant well to fetch her mother a glass full of water. Little young man now had greater passion to fetch the water from the well. He stepped back and rocked his tiny arms with greater might and succeeded this time in getting the lousy old bucket into the well. He felt like a soldier. A soldier who had defeated his enemy and was now returning to his homeland with that pride and honor in his eyes. “Ma..” he called for his mother with a glass full of happiness. He didn’t hear an answer. He stepped in to find his mother asleep. He stood there waiting for his mother to wake up. For he didn’t want to wake her up. Wake up and feel the pain of the disease she had been bedridden for. “You are the responsible man of this house Ashu..” his mother had told him once. After losing his father to a tragic drought, they were just three. He, his mother and his infant sister, But soon after his father’s loss, they had to bid goodbye to the little girl too to heir enemy, hunger. Ashraf cleaned the hut. For he had now taken up the responsibilities of his mother and father both. He used to work at the local sheriff’s for two pieces of roti’s. One for his mother and other for him. His labor was way underpaid, but before losing any other member of his family of two, he had to befriend underemployment for a piece of roti. The night fell and soon followed the day. He had to go for work. Leaving the glass on his mother’s bedside, he left for work with a jute sack to carry the roti of the day. He hopped and skipped through a couple of miles to rejoice what he would earn today. “Assalamualaikum chacha..” he seemed happy today. The sheriff sniffed up his tinted mustache and didn’t care much about the change in the young boy’s attitude. But his wife was a kind lady. She fed him with an extra piece when the sheriff wasn’t around and petted the lad. “You look happy today Ashraf, anything special?” she interrogated the smile on his face. “It’s my Maa’s birthday. Can I go early today?” his anticipating eyes were too acquitted to say no to. “Oh sure sweetheart. Take this too.” She handed him an old piece of shawl patched at places. Yet it would serve the purpose as the winters were coming up. His eyes twinkled to see the gift he would carry with the roti today. His happiness knew no bounds. He left with an inexplicable smile today. The next day he arrived with the same smile. “How’s your mother young man!” the wife interrogated again. “She was sleeping. So I spread it over her at the night.” He smiled. “Oh alright little one.” The wife served him with a plateful of porridge. “Oh no Memsaab, I had two roti’s tomorrow. I am not hungry. Jazakallah.” He refused her treat in an ignorant tense. “Oh why? Didn’t your mother eat?” she could not believe the love of a mother to bear a hungry sickness to see her child with a happy stomach. “Oh no she didn’t. She was sleeping.” The child explained. “Oh okay little one, I shall come with you to your hut today. Will you welcome me?” the wife asked surfing her hand on the little boy’s hair. “Sure Memsaab..” he smiled. “Maa see Memsaab has come to meet you.” The lad shook his sleeping mother. “Maa..” he shook harder but earned no response. The shawl was laying the same way he had blanketed on her. The glass of water was still filled and nothing had moved since the time he left. Sheriff’s wife sniffed in a foul smell and marched to inspect. Yes! She suspected right. Ashraf’s mother was asleep. But an eternal sleep. She covered her face with the same patched shawl and held up little Ashraf in her arms. Ashraf didn’t know what was going on. Yet seeing her mother motionless, the two pieces of roti fell to the ground from his hand with two drops of tears. Charities(Sadaqaat) shall go to the poor, the needy, the workers who collect them, the new converts, to free the slaves, to those burdened by sudden expenses, in the cause of Allah, and to the traveling alien. Such is GOD's commandment. GOD is Omniscient, Most Wise. [9:60] O you who believe, you shall give to charity from the provisions we have given to you, before a day comes where there is no trade, no nepotism, and no intercession. The disbelievers are the unjust. [2:254] via IiWords