Nikah - Taqdeer, Page 2

lips. Frowns. Takes another bite of her baklava. She licks her fingers. Keeps the right index finger in her mouth. Sighs. Then looks at her mother excitedly.

  "I find his voice very attractive." She smiles. "He has a deep manly voice. Though very gentle." She looks down at her plate. Lightly pokes at her baklava and takes another piece and puts it in her mouth.

  "His face is... striking. Dark. But filled with noor." She smiles shyly. Her dimples ever present.

  Rhoda looks at her as if to try and understand.

  "What else, she asks?"

  "Well," Gadija bites her lip. She tucks at her scarf. "I like his eyes. Their hazel. Big and..." She smiles embarrassed. "I like them." She takes a date from the fruit bowl and takes a tiny bite.

  "What I like most though, is his love for Allah." She smiles, but more as if to herself.

  "He is a volunteer at the orphanage too. He does what he can he  says." She looks at her mother.

  Rhoda looks at her. She seems to understand what her daughter likes about this Malik. She has not mentioned once how his clothes looked. Or the fact that Malik and his uncle arrived on a bicycle at the restaurant. No. Her daughter does not see that. She sees the boy that's becoming a man. One with the same values as she.

  "That's what I find the most attractive. That he wants to do good, for Allah's sake."

  "Insha allah." They both smile.

  For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health

  Malik sits on the end of the cart.

  He holds his topi in his right hand, while the left holds tightly to the side.

  The huge milk canisters making a loud rattling noise as the cart is pulled further towards town.

  Malik's friend, Rafiq, sits next to Malik.

  He, being much lighter than Malik, seems to be bouncing on the edge.

  This, whenever the cart hit a rock or the unending, uneven surface of the dirt road.

  Still, both were smiling happily and enjoying the scenery.

  "How is your mother?" Asks Malik.

  "Alhamdulilah!" Answers Rafiq.

  "Yours?"

  "Alhamdulilah!"

  They both smile wide.

  "Your grandfather still ill?" Asks Rafiq.

  He smiles less and looks at Malik.

  Malik looks at Rafiq.

  His smile almost gone.

  "Alhamdulilah." He still manages a smile.

  Rafiq pats Malik on the back lightly.

  He smiles too.

  "Did your chicks hatch?"

  Malik is immediately excited.

  "Alhamdulilah!" Rafiq almost shouts.

  "Alhamdulilah!" Says Malik, forgetting to hold on tight.

  He goes off balance and almost slips off the edge.

  Rafiq grabs him and is able to just nudge Malik back enough for him to grab the side of the cart again.

  "Alhamdulilah!"

  Both laugh ecstatically.

  "Did all of them survive?"

  Malik looks at Rafiq.

  Still with a broad smile on his face.

  "Alhamdulilah."

  Rafiq tries to force a smile.

  "Alhamdulilah." Malik pats Rafiq on the back.

  "Did you manage to get the books for the orphans?"

  "Alhamdulilah."  Malik smiles.

  "Alhamdulilah." Rafiq's smile big and broad.

  "Did your dad get a new job?"

  Rafiq looks away.

  Then back at Malik.

  His smile less broad then before.

  "Alhamdulilah."

  "Will you be able to make ends meet?" Malik asks concerned.

  Rafiq looks at Malik with a slight frown.

  Then smiles.

  More with his eyes.

  "InshaAllah."

  "InshaAllah," says Malik too.

  They both take in the scenery.

  They both smile broadly.

  "Alhamdulilah."

  Alhamdulilah

  "Salaam alaykum, Malik." Zogherah says that with a big broad smile. She tucks the stray, grey hair back underneath her plain black scarf. "How are you?"

  "Alhamdulilah, aunty Zog. How are you?" He smiles and casually walks into her house and returns with two empty glass bottles. He starts filling them with milk.

  "Alhamdulilah!" Zogherah says loudly. "Now that I have more milk, I can go and enjoy some delicious spiced tea. I have been patiently waiting for a cup. And subhanallah, here you are."

  "Alhamdulilah," smiles Malik. Careful not to spill any of the milk. He goes back into the house with the filled bottles. Zogherah follows him into the kitchen. Malik smiles broadly at the delicious aroma. He sets the bottles on the kitchen table.

  "What do I owe you for the milk?" Zogherah asks and takes her small string purse from the front of her apron.

  "Nothing, aunty, Alhamdulilah." Malik smiles and starts walking to the front door.

  "Malik, wait, "shouts Zogherah while she puts some of the delicious pastries, she had just baked, into a small container and handed it to Malik, "Jazakallah, my boy. May Allah reward you."

  Malik hesitates, but then takes the container.

  "JazakAllah, aunty Zog." He gets back onto the cart and they drive off.

  "What's that," asked Rafiq curiously as they started leaving. He was holding his tummy.

  "It's some of aunty Zogherah's delicious pastries. She makes the best pastries in the world. Allah has taught her very good." Malik smiles. He then looks at Rafiq. He could see that Rafiq was very hungry.

  "You are welcome to have some, if you want?" Malik hands him the container.

  "Shukran!" says Rafiq and almost grabs the container. He smiles at Malik, then opens the container. The aroma was delicious. Malik's tummy made a soft rumbling noise.

  Rafiq took out a triangular shaped one and bit into it slowly. "Mmmmmm," he says and then takes another bite and finishes the pastry quick. He takes another. "Shukran, Malik. Those were delicious." He hands Malik back the container. Malik closes the lid quick. "Wow! Really scrumptous. They didn't all have the same filling. I am almost sure that last one was filled with nightshade." He licks his fingers and smacks his lips.

  "Alhamdulilah," says Malik, happy to see that his friend is smiling again. They take in the scenery.

  "Alhamdulilah," they both say.

  Back at the farm, Malik packs up his belongings and with a "Salaam" he starts walking home. He comes across his two friends from the orphanage. Isa and Mohammad. They are both glad to see him.

  "What's in the container, Malik?" Asks Isa. He also seems to be a bit dry around the mouth.

  "It's pastries made by aunty Zogherah. She stays near the market. Her pastries are the best. Have some." Malik opens the container and they each take one.

  "Shukran, Malik. We will be on our way. We are off to see the farmer regarding work."

  "InshaAllah," says Malik.

  The two orphans leave with a loud happy "Salaam" from each.

  Just as Malik was about to enter his house, he sees Abdul Rahim cross the street. He looked to be in bad shape. Malik walked over to him.

  "Salaam, uncle. Is everything okay?"

  "Salaam, my boy. Yes. Alhamdulilah. I am just low on sugar. Need something sweet to eat. The diabetes has me." Abdul Rahim tries to smile, but barely.

  Malik opens the container and says, "Have one."

  Abdul Rahim smiles broadly and takes the pastry. "Jazakallah, you are a life saver. A few more minutes and I might have fainted. This will get me home. My shots are there. Mmmmmmm. These really are incredible. Who made them? You're mother?" Abdul Rahim enjoys every last leave.

  "No, aunty Zogherah that lives near the market."

  "You must give me her address, I could sell these in my shop. People will flock like crazy. Mmmmmmm!" He smiles and walks off.

  Malik smiles happily and looks at the container. It was empty. He took a last whiff of the aroma and said, "Alhamdulilah." He walks into the house, just as the Maghrib athaan started.

  He g
oes and takes wudhu and takes a glass of water and some dates to his room.

  Silently on his knees, he says:

  "Oh Allah, for you I have fasted and with what you have given me, I break my fast. " He takes a bite of the date. It is delicious in his mouth. His mouth sucks all the sweetness in. He takes a sip of water and it sooths his dry throat.

  "Oh, Allah, I ask You by Your mercy which envelopes all things, that You forgive me.” Malik says and then leaves to join  the dinner table.

  Mmmmmmmmm.

  Spaghetti and meatballs.

  Alhamdulilah.

  Spaghetti and Meatballs

  Malik looks at the plate in front of him.

  Mom's cooking is always the best, he thinks. He can't decide what he wants to try first. The meatballs look extra big today. Malik could see the grated carrots. He loves it when his mom adds carrots to the meatballs. He looks at the thick sauce. May Allah reward Mom for making the sauce nice and thick. He looks at the spaghetti. Just the right texture. Eating the spaghetti and meatballs with only three fingers, is going to be easy peasy today.

  "Bismillah," he says and closes his eyes. "Thank you Lord for this feast You have provided for me. Thank you for sustaining me, my Lord. May I only eat what my tummy requires. With your blessings,  I will give what is left for the hungry and the poor that lives across the street. Please also bless Mom for learning from You so well. Also bless Dad for working hard to help Mom prepare this feast in Your name. Ameen. "

  He opens his eyes and picks up a knife and fork. Scoops some spaghetti on a sideplate and takes one meatball and puts it on the spaghetti. He looks at the plate infront of him. Two meatballs left. There are still a lot in the bowl in the centre of the table. One more should be plenty enough. Satisfied, he shifts the plate to the side and moves the side plate in front of him. He starts cutting the meatballs in small pieces, then dices up half of the spaghetti.

  First, he only puts a small piece of meatball in his mouth. Sure to get some carrot as well. Malik closes his eyes. He gently bites on the carrot. It is soft.