The cold wind moved the wooden door of the mosque. I was terrified, and I took shelter in the mud. I was thinking that someone wanted to open the door. When the wind howled again and shook it, and those white things lying there did not move, and one of them almost blew the cover off, I was shaken by childish curiosity to see the faces. What is the secret of that strong perfume that comes out of it, which resembles the smell of the Afghan “Abdul Shakoor” shop? Sometimes it resembles some of the smells of my aunt “Ruwaya’s” Mandoos. When I remembered at that moment my aunt “Ruwaya”, who had been an old woman for a long time, that is a signal that smells send. When I once asked her what is this thing wrapped in a baguja, which you put in one side of “Mandoos” and constantly checking on it, I remembered. She said at that moment: “This is my shroud… my perfume and my camphor… this is what I will emerge from this world on the day I die…”!
Are these three dead men, but my aunt “Ruwaya” is still living. Perhaps she gave them her shroud that carries the same smell. Do you see what the face of death looks like? Does it have a different smell than these white covers? Does the dead see others? I approached that cover, which the western wind had almost blown away from his face. I could not untie it, but I slipped the cover from under it. I wanted to see what the face of the dead person looked like. His head was wet or dripping with water that had not been absorbed by the white dress. I uncovered the cover for him. He was opening one eye, and the other was closed lazily. I was alarmed, and I almost covered him again, but something inside was pushing that desire to go away. I touched his cheek. He was soft and cold, and his face was long, and he had a thick beard similar to the beard of porters in the market. Have you ever seen Is this face in the market, or does death change faces when it wants to take them underground? I smelled the scent of death then; Because I felt it entering my body, wanting to rip out my insides, so I was afraid that I would die next to them. I covered my face, and his head hit the ground. I realized that he would follow me because I woke him from death, and I felt like I was going to vomit my intestines, and with a jump I did not think I would have done the likes of, I crossed the wall in two stages and fell. I went outside, vomiting bile that hurt my throat, and I was certain that I was perished, and that I would die now. I got up and ran after putting the end of my kandora in my mouth toward the house. I wanted my mother at that time, and I wanted to know if my aunt “Ruwaya” had died with them. I entered through “Sharja.” Al-Darwaza, and almost touched my head with a wound, I found my mother and her neighbors walking, and my aunt, “Ruwaya,” who was in the middle of them, shouted: “Come on, what’s wrong with you? You say you see a devil!”
I was in the arms of my mother, who felt that her son had been frightened by a genie or some animal of the earth. I was trembling as I looked to my aunt, Roya. For a moment, I thought that all of this was a dream. The bile continued to ooze out residue from the stomach. My aunt sprinkled me with cup-washing water. So she woke up a little, and took out from the end of her bag a bundle that I knew had a smell like fainting. She called it the black seed. She kept inhaling me, until I almost lost consciousness. The neighbors surrounded me with their questions and their prayers that nothing bad had happened. My mother’s panic was different. She brought salt and read. The exorcist, and I was reassured that the silver drum was still hanging around my neck, protecting me from the evil eye, envy, and the ravages of the night and the day. She lay on her leg, and fell asleep, startled from time to time, so that I could hardly hear anything except, “In the name of God be upon you, my son… I protect you with God and His Book from every soul of the nation.” Every animal is important…!
After the afternoon prayer, my father summoned Al-Mutawa to read the Qur’an over my head, and make me “erase” written on a plate with rose water and saffron so that I could drink it, because I was terrified, and when he finished, he took the fawala, and I heard them talking about the bodies of the smugglers in the mosque, and that they had taken refuge in the mountain, and they exchanged fire. With the police, and buried them in the farthest cemetery of “Qasaida.” I did not leave that scene that happened one time in Rabina.
#happened #Rabina