The only shab-e-Barat that stands out in my memory as special is the one which I spent some years ago with an aunt of mine at Rahatkada, Karachi’s only hospice for terminal cancer patients.
Had it not been for that aunt both Rahat Kada and cancer, as it exists for the less well-off among us, would have remained unknown.
We never called that aunt Khala. Almost everyone we knew called her Bajee. Though Bajee had little she gave enough of herself, through love, time and effort to become as well loved as she was for a vast variety of people, many of whom still cherish their own fond memories of her.
Through the many ups and downs of her life she had retained an unflinching courage, pride and faith in her creator. It was her pride which had bough us in contact with Rahat Kada.
A diagnosis of cancers, and subsequent treatment had made her realize that her long life was drawing to its close. And her search for a place, other than a friend’s or a relative’s house when she could live out the last day of her life in dignity, had ended at Rahat Kada.
Looking around at the clean, bright airy room women patients, she had seemed happy and satisfied. One of her roommates had turned out to be a former neighbor of her’s and that added to her sense of contentment.
Bajee was the oldest of those four women and the first one to die.
About a month before her death I got a call from the doctor on duty, who said that she seemed particularly ill, and since she was asking for me it was best that I should come.
It was Shab-e-Barat. A Shab-e-Barat that I spent with the sick and dying who were some how more alive in their spirit of love for their creator and for each other than many healthier souls. I will never forget that night or the spirit of cheerful courage which enlivened that room in Rahat-Kada. All the four women there and families but all of them had preferred to be there rather than be a burden on a son, daughter, friend or any other relative. They all seemed aware that it was hard enough to look after any sick person but harder still to look after terminally-sick cancer patients.
That evening their visitors came bearing gifts of halwa. Halwa which was later shared and enjoyed by all. As the evening wore on, the visitors left. Bajee did not want me to leave, so I stayed on as did the daughter of one other patient.
No one slept that night. Mixed with the loud sounds of the fireworks outside, were the moans and grooms of patients inside. Above all there were sounds of friendly chit chat. At one point in the night one of the patients, a frail little Chotee Begum, someone’s second wife, was persuaded to recite a Naat as she had a very nice voice. One by one the others joined Chotee Begum with the exception of Bajee who kept on complimenting and encouraging the Naat Khwan, although she would barely speak.
When dawn broke, Bajee felt well enough to ask me to go home and leave her in the care of the Rahat Kada staff.
One more Shab-e-Barat was over, one which always reminds me of the spirit of four brave women and of the love which had made possible for them, as for other, a last refuge called Rahat Kada. |
