It was four years after World War I and the Spanish Flu, with all their brutality and horrors, had left this continent. Mustard was blooming in the fields and winter was coming. When my grandmother John came to this world and heard the rest of the story from his mouth.
I was the third among five sisters after two brothers.
When my husband would come home after Fajr, we would see my siblings sitting next to my mother and reading the Qur'an, then he would pray for us all to have a long life. I am telling myself.
When he regained consciousness, after recognizing his mother's voice, the second voice he recognized was the hand grinding the flour.
Deep in rezai, I would hear the sound of the mill from the other room, along with the low voice of Kalam Bahu.
The meaning of which is not understood, but the sounds sound very good. It was our beji (my grandmother's aunt), who used to grind wheat and make flour before we woke up, from which bread was made for us. When he regained consciousness, he learned to run the mill with Beji at dawn and to spin the spinning wheel in the light house after dinner.
An elder brother joined the army.
My mother-in-law passed away remembering her. Then there was a time that I had to leave all this and come to my in-laws. It was only the third day after I came here that my mother-in-law died. I was able to return to Makkah after a full month and a half. In my in-laws, it was a custom to 'make big roti' when the elderly died, which meant that halwa or some sweet would be made along with curry roti.
Thus, I also agreed to grind a sack of wheat in one night. After sifting this ground wheat, bread was made from fine flour and halwa was made by adding jaggery and local ghee to the slightly coarse flour. The days stopped. We also served the guests with the same halwa for three days. It was due to Allah that my grinding skills and hard work gave me the opportunity to earn a big name in my in-laws.
After the death of my mother-in-law, my husband and father-in-law used to take care of me a lot, that there were all men in the house, including three walls, and the responsibilities of the whole house fell on me. Father-in-law used to say "Rabi Patar" by drinking milk in a big brass bowl, the responsibility of the whole house is on you, stay healthy. "Even today the secret of my health is that positive attitude and simple diet."
The first shock came to me, and when my cousin's son died, it was when our India became a part of the Second World War, and my other brother also joined the war. There was a shortage of soap and grain. Wheat did not grow in abundance, so apart from millet and corn, many of the commodities that today's women throw away from wheat, we used to add salt and pepper to them and make bread for them too.
Everybody in the village was a family, and even though there was no money, nobody's labor ceased. Everyone was employed for pay. The wedding involved the entire community.
During the long winter nights, women would gather in a large room of a house and spin the wheel till late at night. No one knew about tea.
For the first time, tea was introduced in our village by Hakeem Sahib, who used to make coffee and drink it in case of stomach ache.
Ever since I regained consciousness, I have only seen one war riding on another. First my father, then my brother. Now the situation that this war has brought, I have never seen before. It was Eid in the morning and my two sons were involved in the war. My heart was breaking.
In such a situation, my husband would encourage me. After the war, one of my sons came back and the other went to Indian prison. The era of lighting a fire with an ember ended. Matches became common. Instead of spinning the wheel, women started sewing sweaters and embroidering clothes.
A radio had also arrived in our house. When the news of the return of prisoners of war began to be broadcast, people from our village and the surrounding villages whose sons were prisoners came to our house to hear the date and day of their son's arrival. I was saddened by them. Then one day my son also came back after four years after being released. Life smiled once again.
I educated my children as much as I could, Allah relieved me from fulfilling their duties. Now a new era of life has started, we became grandparents and grandmothers. Once again in my home. Now, seeing my grandchildren laughing and playing in the yard, I remember my children's childhood, and sometimes they start seeing their siblings around.
A shock came to me a few years ago when my partner left me forever, and I was left alone in this mess we both made. When I look around my house, all my friendships are gone. Everyone's courtyards are sleeping and sometimes I feel very lonely.
But then I am proud of my own luck that Allah Almighty has given me a long life and I am seeing my third generation flourishing in my courtyard. This is how the story of the last century ends.
