The Prayer

Alsalato khayron men alnawm (prayer is better for you than slumber).


Asha woke up to the call for prayer. She sluggishly crawled out of bed and washed her ankles in preparation to answer the mu'azin's hail.


"Assalamu 'Allaykum W Rahmato Allah, Assalamu Assalamu 'Allaykum W Rahmat Allah."

She then lifted her hands and began to plead,

"Ya Allah, today I ask that you bless my three sons, Ahmed, Ali and Tareq, and aid my husband Mohamed in his journey to sustain us. Oh Allah, funds are scarce and food is scant, but we thank you for the gracious gifts of family, health, love and life! Oh Allah, may all those who endanger the lives of my young boys repent to you. I ask that you guide them to the path beloved by you. As such, may the essence of humanity overcome the vicious deeds of the cruel men who infest these lands. Peace and blessings be upon Mohammed. Amen!"

The sun began to peak over the horizon as Asha stroked the beads of her rosary. Thoughts meshed and unfolded themselves onto her mental to-do list as her mouth idly moved to create whispers of praises to her Lord. That was they way things had become recently. She had no time to act now and think later, and she could not afford to act without thinking. Be it the steps she took to her bakery, or the funds, if any, that she decided to dedicate to a supermarket's visit, or even the cinch act of tossing the polyester shams of her thobe over her head. None of it was done without careful consideration. Life was tedious and doleful but she managed to persevere. She had heard of the mother and the daughter raped three blocks away from her humble home. She could see the face of the shy mother now. I wish I'd said hello to her the other day, maybe if I had wished her a blessed day…

Tareq, her youngest son, interrupted her thoughts with a finger on her shoulder. It was time for her day to begin. Thus she arose, and set her folded prayer mat aside, apt as ever, to carry out the obligations of another dutiful day.

As her sons were dressed and seen off to school she went back into the kitchen and took a peak into her boiling pot of 'Adass. She smiled to herself as she remembered the old Sudanese sayings that bestowed the titles of "the Nation's Sustainers"and "Kings of the Dinning Table" on mere dishes of lentils and red beans. Indeed, those two seem to be the only consumer products who have the nation's best interest at heart. Inflation has caused everything else on the racks to play with numbers in a way that could make the most esteemed engineer cry. As she stirred the yellowing seeds, her husband appeared from behind her kitchen's windows. With a smile and a wave he set off, leaving Asha appreciating his strength. She did not remember the last time a smile commenced her day. But she was alive, she reminded herself, that is what is important.


By noon the day's cooking and cleaning had been dejectedly carried out. She decided it had been a while since her neighbor, Hafsa, had come by for coffee. As such, she took it upon herself to brew a pot of coffee and make her way next door.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Asha ducked for cover as her pot of coffee carelessly flew in the air and allowed its contents to stain the dry, sand floors and Asha's thobe alike. It was that time of day again, which was to be marked by a dreaded routinely visit from a few governmental planes. The planes made unannounced appearances and gifted the tenants of Darfur with bombs embodying chemicals unheard of to the average townsfolk. As soon as the ground beneath her knees stopped shaking Asha curiously rushed to find the area the Kezan visited today. She prayed to God that nothing had happened to Hafsa, since Asha believed that she was growing to become some sort of taboo on her people. Everyone she touched, spoke to, or even remembered seemed to disappear. She had lost so many acquaintances that she began to wonder if she played some part in laying them onto harm's way, or if maybe fate was playing some twisted game with everyone. She did not like this game where she won to watch her loved ones lose, and be eliminated from the playing field.

THUD-THUD! THUD-THUD!

Her heart pounded hard, rebelling against what suddenly became too small a chest. Her head spun as her screams meshed and became one with those of the women and children around her. The feet which had carried her for 47 years suddenly failed to function and she collapsed to become one with the earth she was created from. It was sudden, and before she could comprehend what was happening, her last breath escaped her lips taking with it her soul. They bid the world farewell and rose to join the souls of Mohamed, Tareq, Ahmed and Ali, whose blood-spattered body parts lay an arm distance away from their mother's corpse, indistinguishable from the fur and remains of the exploded animals beside them.

Not today Asha, your prayers will not be answered today because Allah has decreed that you and your family leave this cruel land to a place pure, and high, befitting your humble souls.

This is a very well written piece, regardless of the fact that it isn't really a cheerful one. The religious focus may put some people off, but the story is written from a certain perspective and so I consider it appropriate. I only have two tiny criticisms:

I don't considder the use of the term Rosary appropriate, for it is, to the best of my knowlege, a term largely associated with Christianity, particularly Roman Catholicsm and what might be termed, "Maryolatory," although I know plenty of Anglicans who use them. 'Prayer Beads' would be better here. Also, your use of 'as' at the beginning of this sentence: "As her sons were dressed and seen off to school she went back into the kitchen...." would imply that she did it at the same time, which doesn't really work. When would be more appropriate here.

The only other thing I might wonder about is whether this tale couldn't have stood being a little longer. We'ver barely been intoroduced to the character before the story ends. This is a little unsatisfying. I think there is room for a bit more in the tale to give it a bit more balance as a narrative.

So welcome to litnet live and be well - H

There's no better introduction here than a well-written story, and you have it. For the prayer beads try: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer_beads

It is short but I have no objections to that. Bombings can be sudden, without warning and leave little to say afterwards. Character development-can it be done more fully without too many more words, and if so, how? That's the question. Good solid stuff.