HWJN (English 2nd Edition) (13 page)

(19)

Hawjan, I Will Not Forget You!

I
am Sawsan, …

Sawsan daughter of Abdulraheem Said.

My mother is Raja Maghrabi.

Allow me to tell you my story.

It started a few years ago, when I was a student in my twenties at the school of medicine. Forgive me if my story starts as sheer madness that is not even fit to be a fantasy story. Even I find it hard to believe sometimes!

Before I start, I hope you don’t consider me one of those who are infatuated by myths and legends of Jinn and Efreets. On the contrary I’m a totally logical person and a realist to the extreme; I do not deny the existence of Jinn, as Allah has mentioned them in the Holy Quran, but I am convinced that most of the chatter about Jinn is just made up for excitement and due to curiosity about everything that is strange in our world. At least that was what I believed until the events of my story started, specifically when we moved into our new home in a remote district on the outskirts of Jeddah. In areas like this, obsession with Jinn is pretty high, and every wind that moves the curtains or closes a door turns into a story about an Efreet trying to scare off the house’s occupants.

This was my belief: that Jinn had their own lives, and we had our own. Though I believed we could not communicate with them in any way, my friends convinced me to try out a game called Ouija. The idea was to chat with Jinn. At first, I thought of it as nothing more than a pastime delusion…and then I got to know him.

I got to know Hawjan.

You might consider me crazy or delusional, but I truly got to know a Jinni named Hawjan who was ninety years old! I got to know his mother, grandfather, and wife; I was convinced I was talking to him for hours every night. I would use my tablet to communicate with him. I would speak, and would feel my fingers move and type the answer.

What I did not notice was that Hawjan appeared at the same time I found out I had brain cancer. It’s amazing how many secrets a Human body holds, especially the brain.
Hawjan’s symptoms were increasing as my illness was, first with strange events happening in our house, such as noises, electric disturbances, and closing doors, until everyone considered our house haunted with Jinn and Efreets. What I did not expect was that my dad, may Allah bless his soul, would be convinced of such an idea. Our house turned into a laboratory for magicians, sorcerers, and imposters claiming to scare off the Devils, and these strange events increased along with my illness. My delusions got to the point that I would see Efreets in front of me, trying to choke me and push me out of the window. I had many hysterical episodes and spasms ending me up in a coma that almost claimed my life. As the cancer got worse and chemotherapy failed, my doctors said they needed to operate on me, and my chances of success were almost nonexistent.

And then something miraculous happened. The doctors admitted best expectations were for me to survive the surgery with some permanent mental and physical disability, but I am, as you can see, just fine. In fact I am writing these lines and telling my story as my daughter plays next to me. It was Allah’s mercy above all that saved me.
Above science, above brain cancer, and above chances of success. Aside from some protective medicine I take and a slight tremor every now and then in my fingers, I consider myself perfectly normal, and credit for all of this—after Allah of course—goes to the person I love the most. To the man who had stood by me in my hardest hour.

Eyad.

My husband!

I knew Eyad in my college years. He would always try to chat with me, and I would always ignore him, although he would send half of the girls at school into hysterical episodes every time they saw him pass by or smiled at one of them, or even if they noticed him driving by in his luxurious sports car. None of that impressed me, though. I saw him as, despite his wealth and how handsome he was, as
fairly normal guy, and I was convinced his insistence on following me was but reaction to my ignoring him. But Eyad proved me wrong.

I forgot a huge part of my memory, especially the period where my illness was at its worst, but I remember Eyad proposed to me as I was dying. I refused him, but he stubbornly insisted. He did not leave my side for an instant during my surgery and beyond. After my surgery I was like a baby—I couldn’t talk, move, or even comprehend really what was going on. I spent one full year in an intensive rehabilitation program. Eyad would wait for me in the hospital for hours every day, until my rehabilitation was over. Then one day he re-proposed, pushing aside all the other girls his parents wanted for him, and ignoring my repeated refusal of the idea.

I could not accept a marriage of pity.

As my psychological healing was as important as my medicine, Eyad insisted I visit Dr. Emad
Zaki, one of the best psychotherapists. Dr. Emad would only accept rare and difficult cases, and he took me on as a favor to Eyad’s father, who was a good friend of his. Dr. Emad was the only person who understood and accurately diagnosed my illness; he was able to untangle the mysteries and knots of my psyche and lead me back to my life before I knew I had cancer. My sessions with Dr. Emad went on for a year; I found out during that time that what I had was called catatonic schizophrenia. I had lived in a made-up world my mind had weaved. I was sure I’d connected to the world of Jinn, and that our events were entwined perfectly. I remembered my discussions with Hawjan, his questions and mine, and the information he told me about his world and other dimensions. All of that had been a movie produced and directed by my brain, and Hawjan was a character my brain made up to heal the shortcomings of my own personality—a male from another world with superpowers. I convinced myself of his existence to escape my reality as a logical, ill female.

Dr. Emad amazed me, and sometimes even scared me when he accurately extrapolated on the details of
Hawjan’s case in my life. At the same time, he helped me to reinforce the weaknesses that had pushed me to invent Hawjan. I regained my self–trust and my love for life, and in less than a year, I was engaged to Eyad. I decided to dedicate my life to repaying him for everything he had done for me. Now I wake every day as if I were born again. Yes! Every day we awaken is a gift from Allah, and we must make the most of each moment to make those around us happy, and in turn be happy ourselves. A Human does not need to face death to feel Allah’s greatest gift to him—the gift of life! I thank Allah for my life. For every moment, for Eyad, and for my daughter, Jumana!

Eyad insisted on calling her that. I respected his choice as well as his refusal to tell me the secret behind it. Jumana might have been a girl who had previously held a special place in his life, but I don’t care about that. What is important is that Allah has given me a new, happy life. Because of
Him, and because of Eyad who gave me his life so I would not lose mine, and because of Dr. Emad, who sent Eyad a message every week to check up on me and Jumana. And I would never forget who I had escaped from reality with when I could no longer bear the pain. Although he was a figment of my imagination, I will never forget my imaginary friend.

I will never forget you, Hawjan!

(20)

Goodbye, Sawsan

M
oments of death, I thought, were the hardest moments of life. But today I found out that there are moments when we wish death would have claimed us first. Moments where the pain in our hearts is much worse than death itself.

Today I left Sawsan in limbo between life and death only to be shocked by the loss of Jumara and my son. I dashed to Malaj, certain I would never come back. Crowds gathered in the main town square, around the royal podium where Hayaf sat on the throne. On his left was the representative of The Damned, and in front was an infant on an altar. This was the first time I saw my son. He was in the hands of a priest who prepared to slaughter him as a sacrifice for The Damned! In such moments one does not need to analyze or think. I moved closer to the podium like a madman as Hayaf recited talismans, all eyes were watching him, the guards did not notice me pushing through the crowds, and suddenly I was in front of the priest, who was shocked to see me in his face.

However, that lasted for only a fraction of a second as I pressed the knife he held over my son’s neck to his own. I didn’t give him the chance to realize he had been slaughtered on his own altar. Then, I reached out to pick up my son, who was covered in the priest’s blood. But my movement was restrained before I could get to him, by an army of guards who had piled on top of me and held me to the ground, I saw King Hayaf’s feet moving slowly toward my head , which was flat on the ground:

“Forgive me, Hawjan,” he said. “I had to cut
Jumara’s belly open to take the boy. You know I cannot wait.”

A head fell in front of my face—
Xanam’s head!

“Unfortunately I had to kill him,” King Hayaf went on. “He was acting as if he wanted to protect his sister, can you believe that? But on a more serious note, your wife is truly beautiful. Even as we were cutting her open she was so amazing! But I did not want to take you away from your Human girl and bring you here to see your son slaughtered in front of you. My manners do not allow me such cruelty. I just wanted to please Lucifer and ensure he hands the kingdom to my bloodline after I drink the blood of your Fayhee boy, which you have agreed to hand over to me. But since you have insisted on joining us, I guess we’ll drink even more Fayhee blood today.”

That was King
Hayaf’s biggest mistake—to dare to mention Jumara! He had just issued his own death sentence. The world around me turned, and I was able to lift the pile of Marids off my back for an instant, and then…I moved to your world! And I pulled a bunch of them with me. I felt myself falling from the sky to slam into the angry waves in the heart of the Red Sea, as did the Marids around me. I battled the waves and heard their screams; they did not understand the fact that they had moved to the physical world only to drown in its depths.

Now I had to return and save my son. I felt a slimy arm wrap around my neck, and others around my arm, my waist, and my chest, all squeezing me with enormous force. I felt my ribs about to snap, and sharp teeth sunk into my neck and shoulder. It was King Hayaf. He had decided to get rid of me in the physical world, so he formed as a strange creature with multiple arms and sharp fangs I could not escape. I tried to get back to our world, but I suffocated and felt death creeping in.

Then I remembered my son, and the moment of death fled. I screamed despite my breathless lungs and my shattered ribs, and the water that was now filling my chest. He tried to shut my mouth with one of his arms, but my scream had already came out and brought me back to my world! I fell like a rock next to the podium, and next to me was King Hayaf. But the podium we had left for only a few moments had turned into a battlefield. The other mistake King Hayaf had committed was taunting that Fayhee clan!

The blood he had promised to drink boiled. The
Fayhhees attacked the guards, and the mobs that could not bear Hayaf’s injustice attacked them. It was an unbalanced battle. The Fayhee clan had courage and numbers, and King Hayaf found himself at the feet of those whose ultimate wish was to step all over him and rid themselves of his rule. I did not care much for King Hayaf, I did not care for the blood that flowed from my neck and shoulder, nor did I care about the unbearable pain in my ribs. All I cared about was getting to my son. One of my uncles had him in his arms. I took the boy and held him in my arms for the first time in my life, and then the world just went dark. I blacked out.

***

Allah’s grace has no limits. In the midst of despair and tragedies, our limited minds forget the grace and reach of Allah. And when our demise strikes, he engulfs us with mercy, shaming us for despairing. I woke up the next day lying in one of my uncles’ houses, where they tended to my wounds. I looked around and found my son—one of my uncles’ wives carried him. I looked to my other side and saw Jumara lying there. Seeing her brought back life to my body, and I moved toward her despite my pain. I needed to know if it was her or her body; she was as pale as the dead, and her blood was dry. I felt her forehead and whispered so low even I could not hear myself:

“Jumara… Jumara… It’s me, Hawjan.”

She opened her heavy eyes. She tried to come into my arms, but her wounds and pain were too severe. She could only move her lips.

“Hawjan… My love, Hawjan… What took you so long?”

My voice could not respond, but my tears did. I held her hand to my chest.

“
Hawjan, how is Sawsan?” she asked.

I nodded. At that moment I did not care for anything but Jumara and my son. My uncle’s wife noticed me and came over with a smile. I held my son with one arm and helped Jumara up with the other so he could enjoy his mother’s hug for the first time. When she knew our son was okay, Jumara smiled as if her spirit had returned to her.

“Meehal looks like you, Hawjan!”

“You mean Elyaseen.”

No one had expected me to name my son after my Nafar grandfather rather than my father.

“Elyaseen?”
Jumara asked.

“My grandfather’s name,
may Allah bless his soul. If my father were alive, he would not have named him anything else.”

After the death of King Hayaf and the mutilation of his body, the citizens of Malaj had agreed to form a ruling authority under the leadership of the head of the tribes, led by my uncle. Although he was
really busy, he checked up on us every day and tried so many times to convince me to stay in Malaj—the same efforts the Yatmah chief had tried when we’d gone to visit Mother so she could see her grandson. I decided to take my mother, wife, and son to live as far away from you Humans as we could, and far from the Devils of Malaj and the extremists of Yatmah. We went to live in Hindabah, where citizens lived under the principles of freedom and justice and let go of all racism.

I got a bit too occupied with my family to check up on Sawsan. However, after my affairs had settled, I want to see her. My heart bled for her; after her surgery, she had lost her memory, her brain function, and her hope to get back to her normal life. She was a lost child with nothing but her trust in Allah’s mercy.

Eyad was with her moment by moment. I too attended her therapy sessions, which helped her regain her bodily and mental abilities, but her psyche was still shattered. She started to remember me and mention me; she asked Eyad about me several times, but I warned him to deny my existence. Sawsan had to forget everything about me so she could live her normal life and dedicate all of her emotions to Eyad. However, he had a plan: he used his medical degree and some of his father’s money to open a psychiatric clinic, and chose a doctor with knowledge of Sawsan’s case—me!

It took me a while to perfect forming in your world. Jumara taught me, and I would form as the psychiatrist Emad
Zaki. Jumara would form as my nurse; she insisted on doing this out of curiosity, or maybe jealousy I suppose. My knowledge of everything that had happened to Sawsan made it easy for me to convince her that Hawjan had been a figment of her imagination—an imaginary friend. She was not easily convinced; we spent one full year reigniting her spirit and self-trust, and trying to erase my memory from her heart. And it worked!

I would suffer and barely control my tears during our sessions, and lose control after them. I almost exposed myself more than once; I almost admitted my existence and love for her. But that love prohibited me from returning to her life after it had gone back to normal. She and Eyad invited Jumara and me, as Dr. Emad
Zaki and his nurse, to their wedding, and a year later they invited us to celebrate their firstborn, whom Eyad insisted on naming Jumana even though it almost exposed us.

As time went on, I would watch Sawsan whenever I got a chance. I would visit Dr.
Abdulraheem’s house, may Allah bless his soul, every Friday when she and Eyad would go to visit Mrs. Raja. Sometimes I would take Elyaseen with me. Jumana would sometimes see us and play with him, and I would always remind Eyad to take care of Sawsan. Sometimes I would send him messages from the cell phone that I still carried, and when Sawsan asked, he said they were from Dr. E Z.

The years passed by quickly. Before I knew it, Elyaseen was four and Jumana was two. These simple years of my life were filled with more events than the ninety years before them, and I still wonder why I wrote them for you. Whatever the reason, I thank you for every word you have read and every emotion you have shared with me. I might be next to you right now as you read, and I might watch your kids and grandkids read this book as well. How terrifying a thought that is to me!
The thought that I age so slowly, and Sawsan ages so fast. In just a few short years, Jumana will grow up and get married. Sawsan will have grandkids and…

All that is important is that she is safe now.

And that your idea about us Jinn has changed.

And for me to put my story in your hands.

My story with Sawsan, the Human.

- The End –