Rayyanat! Rayyanat!! Rayyanat!!!
She was just 16 years old when her father called her. She came running, responding with “Na’am, Abba.”
Her father was silent, gazing at Rayyanat, whose complexion resembled chocolate. However, her appearance was far from glamorous. She wore a tattered shirt and a dress that had seen better days, except for her head, which was covered modestly. Her hair was unkempt, with some strands torn loose, and she seemed reluctant to touch her own body. The sound of her sobbing echoed through the room.
Baffan, her father, spoke gently, trying to comfort her, “Don’t cry, Rayyanat. Inshallah, if the farmer pays me the money he owes for our farm work today, I’ll buy you a needle and thread. You can mend your clothes and borrow some from my wife if you need.”
“Ameen, Abba,” Rayyanat replied, wiping away her tears. “I’ll stay home and take care of myself. I won’t go to the village today.”
Her father looked concerned, “Rayyanat, why don’t you want to accompany me today?”
Rayyanat hesitated, “Abba, how can I go out like this with torn clothes? The boys in the city would make fun of me.”
Baffan reassured her, “May Allah protect you on your way. Ameen, Ameen.”
He then left with a hoe slung over his shoulder. Rayyanat watched him until he disappeared from view, his worn and wrinkled clothes a testament to his years of labor.
As she turned away from the doorway, she entered the room and sat down. She glanced at the closet, which held very little aside from a small collection of clothes in two or three different colors. Her bedding consisted of an old mat with a pillow that had seen better days. The room had a mosquito net covering the window, but a lone mosquito had managed to find its way inside. Two plastic balls lay in a corner, their contents unknown.
Rayyanat stood in the middle of the room, her gaze fixed on her stomach, which was now growling with hunger. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep before her father returned due to the pangs of hunger.
She lay down on the mat, hoping to get some rest, but the persistent hunger kept her awake. She remembered how, the previous night, she had filled her stomach with water to quell the hunger and finally fall asleep. The water had temporarily eased her discomfort.
As Rayyanat drifted into an uneasy sleep, she was greeted by a vision of her friend named Sarat.
Sarat was a tall girl with striking beauty, a stark contrast to Rayyanat’s current condition. Sarat handed her a black cloth, known as a “malgam,” and said, “My dear, don’t refuse it. I know your situation, and I got this for you not for any other reason but because I know how much you love cassava bread. I went to the market to buy it for you. Please accept it, and be patient. I know you don’t like it.”
Rayyanat responded, “It’s alright, Sarat. Today, I will accept your gift because you’ll be leaving, and I don’t know when we’ll see each other again. Thank you. But when are you leaving?”
Sarat’s eyes filled with emotion as she replied, “Don’t worry, Rayyanat. I understand your situation better than anyone. That’s why I’ve been your constant companion. I don’t have a friend who’s been with me every day like you. Thank you, Rayyanat. I’ll be leaving now.”
Rayyanat got up, and together, they stepped outside. Rayyanat bowed respectfully and greeted Sarat’s parents before a young man, Sarat’s brother, emerged from a car parked outside.
As Rayyanat lowered her gaze in shyness, the young man smiled and said, “How long will I keep loving you, Rayyanat, and pouring out all my pain and suffering for you? I’ll keep you in my heart even if I’m not around.”
Rayyanat, overcome with emotion, responded, “How can you say that, Anwar? I’ve never accepted gifts from any boy except my father. But today, I’ll make an exception because I promised you that you are the only man from whom I’ll accept gifts forever. I won’t break my promise to you.”
Anwar closed his eyes slowly, tears glistening. “Inshallah, Rayyanat. Goodbye, my dear. Take care of yourself.”
After a warm farewell, Anwar got into the car and took the driver’s seat. He started the car, holding back the tears threatening to fall as he gazed at Rayyanat through the rearview mirror.
Sarat bid Rayyanat farewell as well, tears streaming down her cheeks. She stood silently, hoping they wouldn’t notice her emotions. She clutched the black cloth, a gift from Sarat, to her chest, pressing it close. As Anwar and Sarat drove away, Rayyanat watched them until they disappeared from sight.