The Blessings of Amma

The Blessings of Amma

BY:Khan

When I entered the house that evening, I found my wife sitting on the sofa, crying. Startled, I asked, “What happened?”

Through her sobs, she whispered, “He hit his mother again today. And this time… so badly…” She broke down into hiccuping tears.

I tried to comfort her. “Why are you so upset? After all, she is his mother, not yours. And perhaps the old woman must have said something sharp.”

But my wife shot back with bitterness in her tone, “Do you even know? That poor woman is paralyzed!”

I was taken aback. “You never told me she had paralysis before.”

“Forget it. What can we even do?” I tried to change the subject, but my wife wasn’t ready to let it go.

“My heart says we should bring Amma here for a few days,” she said softly.

“What? Are you out of your mind?” I snapped. “Why would you invite someone else’s burden into our home?”

“Just for a week,” she pleaded.

“No, impossible!” I shook my head. “And why would her son agree to let her stay with us anyway?”

With tears welling in her eyes, my wife said, “Even his wife often complains, saying, ‘This old woman doesn’t even die.’ Can’t you see how unwanted she is in their home?”

Then, moving closer, she sat beside me and whispered, “Please agree. Let’s bring her here.”

I sighed. “So now you’re putting the responsibility on me to bring her here? And what if you cannot handle her care?”

She looked down sadly. “We don’t have children… and apart from watching television, I do nothing at home. If she comes, at least my heart will be engaged.”

Her words pierced me. Ten years of marriage, yet we had been denied the blessing of children. I thought for a moment. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. But what if he agrees and she ends up staying with us permanently?”

“That would be even better!” my wife said eagerly.

The next evening, after much thought, I went to her son’s house. As planned, I told him, “My wife knows spiritual healing from the Holy Quran, and she wants to treat your mother.”

He didn’t look particularly happy. So I continued, “But the problem is, your mother will need to stay at our house for a week. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.”

A mix of shame and relief spread across his face. After a short discussion, he agreed. I added, “Treatment may take fifteen to twenty days.” His face brightened. “Saeed sahib, I only want my mother to recover, even if it takes a month.”

And so, Amma came to live with us.

She looked frail, wrapped in worn-out white clothes. Neglect and poor nutrition had worsened her condition. My wife, with all her heart and soul, devoted herself to Amma’s care. She bought new bedding, warm blankets, clean clothes, and cooked nutritious meals. Slowly, Amma’s face began to glow with health and her eyes sparkled with life again.

Days passed into weeks. A month slipped by. At first, Amma’s daughter-in-law visited every other day. Then once in four days. Then once a week. By the second month, she came only once. By the third, she stopped visiting altogether.

I said to my wife, “Now Amma is your responsibility.”

Her face lit up with joy.

Around the seventh month, tragedy struck: her son was killed by his own wife with the help of a friend. She was eventually arrested.

Meanwhile, Amma’s energy was returning, and with every smile that spread across her face, my business prospered. It felt as though divine blessings rained upon me. Within a year, I had three flourishing shops.

By the third year, the three of us—my wife, Amma, and I—performed Hajj together. Soon after, we bought a five-hundred-square-yard bungalow in Gulistan-e-Johar and moved there.

Amma lived with us for seven beautiful years, blessing us with every breath. Her prayers filled our home with peace. And then, a miracle—Allah granted us children after so many years of longing.

Today, Amma is no longer with us. But her absence is deeply felt.

Just recently, I noticed my wife unusually happy. I asked her why. She smiled and said, “I had a dream.”

“What dream?” I asked.

“I saw the Day of Judgment. People stood scattered, worried and restless. I was among them. Suddenly, Amma appeared, took my hand, and said, ‘Come, Munira, I will take you across the Bridge of Sirat.’

“She led me through a beautiful garden, and soon we reached a vast open field. She said, ‘There, we have crossed the bridge.’ I was amazed. Amma laughed aloud, and then I woke up.”

I congratulated her. “That’s a wonderful dream. But did you not think of me?”

She replied softly, “Insha’Allah, someone will come to help you too.”

I didn’t tell her that I had also seen a dream—almost the same, except that Amma had taken my hand and said, “Come, I will take you to Munira. She is waiting for you across the Bridge of Sirat.”