Wise Beyond Years

The veiled elderly woman was knitting on the steps of her house, beaming exquisitely under the hot sun. She had already prepared a glass of tea for her granddaughter, Ayla. The aroma drifted into the air. Her wrinkled face shone with an aura, a Nūr. She listened to the Adzan. The call to prayer coming from the masjid. It was Asr time. Which meant that her granddaughter would be home soon.

The elderly woman remained on the steps for a short while longer until her granddaughter appeared at her small gate. The schoolgirl seemed intense and hardly smiled, she noticed. Her eyebrows were frowning and arched in her headscarf where it was blowing in the summer wind. She pulled on the front gate firmly and joined her grandmother.

"Assalamualaikum, Ayla," the old woman greeted her grandchild while she continued intently knitting the mauve-coloured wool. But Ayla however, did not return the salam. There was a prolonged silence and the old woman looked up at her granddaughter when she knew she was being ignored. "How many times do I have to remind you to show some—"

"Walaikumsalam, I'm sorry babaanne," Ayla begged her pardon.

"What seems to be the matter?"

Ayla lowered her lashes. "Nothing—Nothing"

"Ah, You're just like your baba. You don't have to hide it you know."

She hesitated for a moment and suddenly groaned. "Fine, babaanne. There is something I'd like to tell you, but you wouldn't want to hear it."

"Child, how do you know I wouldn't want to hear it when I haven't heard it yet." she cried in a puzzled tone.

As Ayla stood there, the old woman read her granddaughter's trembling lips and anxious eyes. With a sharp eye, the old woman consciously scrutinized and leaned in a little. "Something is bothering you. I don't know what it is. Could it be someone in your school?"

"Yes, you're right," Ayla gulped and nodded. "There's a senior in my school who is known to be the son of one of my teachers. He doesn't respect his mother. His own mother. They're always arguing in the hall and my teacher always sheds tears every time class is over. Worst of all, the mother is being abused at home. The next day, she'll have a bruise on her face in class." By the time she had finished explaining the matter, the old woman had put away her knitting was listening attentively.

"Every time when we ask about it, she'll brush it off and proceed with the lesson," she sighed. "We can't help her, yet she's suffering in silence and I feel bad."

The old woman reflected. "Do you think the son would do such a thing? To his own mother?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's either him or his father. Though I shouldn't jump to conclusions." she dropped to her knees, sitting next to her grandmother with a sorrowful and pitiful look on her face.

"What's her name?" the grandmother asked. "Who?" queried Ayla. "Your teacher." "Oh, Maryam," replied Ayla.

"May Allah ease Maryam's pain." she began praying, lifting her wrinkled hands in the air while closing her eyes and ending with an "Amin".

"Amin. Amin," Ayla repeated. "Babaanne, it's such a shame no one wants to respect their parents and especially the elderly anymore. It's like they don't even care. I mean you should see my classmates. Most of them are naughty. "

"I understand. But we shouldn't always blame the child. The parents have a role to take. Sometimes a child's behaviour reflects the parent's past. It's the parents' duty to help their children."

"I know. But do you think hurting a mother is excusable?"

"I don't suppose there is any reason to harm a mother. Especially your own mother. To think I was in labour for twenty-four hours to have your baba— I would not take it if he treated me like that under my own roof! Anyhow, it seems to me—this boy—your senior has a lot of anger issues to deal with. Does he?"

"I don't know. Looks like it." Ayla's legs were curled up on the steps, her chin against her knees and she caught the tea beside her. "Is that çay for me?"

The old woman nodded. "Yes, drink it before it gets cold." Her granddaughter obeyed, added some sugar and drank it.

After she had drank and tasted the sweetness in the tea, she whispered in a long girlish breath, "If only this can cure a mother's heart." And she went on drinking, gulping everything down until there was no more left in the glass.

Glossary

Çay* - Tea

Babaanne* - grandmother (from father's side)

Baba* - Father