The Garden of My Imaan (16 page)

OCD’s Diamonds

O
CD sprawled comfortably on the recliner in the TV room, fingering her prayer beads and reciting Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar with her eyes closed. Her beads clicked rhythmically—each one the size of a pea but as clear and luminous as a sparkling water drop. If someone didn’t know any better, they’d think my OCD was a very rich old lady.

“Where did you get your beads?” I asked.

“Makah Sharif,”
OCD replied. “Holy Mecca. Al humdu lillah, very, very expensive!”

“On your pilgrimage?” I asked.

“Yes, yes. Ninety-nine beads. A bead for each one of Allah’s great attributes. Come, come. Recite them for us. Now! Juldi, juldi!”

I shook my head, ashamed. I couldn’t.

“Aii!” she said. “Tch … tch.”

“The beads are beautiful, Choti Dahdi,” I said.

OCD nodded and continued reciting Allah’s praise.

“You should say ‘thank you’ when someone pays you a compliment,” I muttered.

“Eh? Kya bole? Vhaat you say?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled.

“Then why were lips moving up and down going pitter, pitter?”

I snapped my book shut and turned on the TV. An advertisement for a new program came on.

“La hol walla!”
OCD screeched. “The ujjad woman is showing legs up to
there
!”

She stormed out, not noticing that her prayer beads had fallen from the pocket of her abbayah. I opened my mouth to speak but quickly changed my mind. Not yet. First I’d make her sweat a little to make her pay for the zillion errands she made me run and for the shrieking and criticizing too.

The beads caught the light and glittered like stars. Winnie’d think they were gorgeous too. I’d show them to her and return them before OCD even noticed them missing. I tucked the prayer beads away in my pocket.

The next day, my friends gawked at the beads I had twisted around my wrist. Pleased at their reaction, I told them that it was a diamond bracelet that had been in my family for a long time.

It wasn’t long before Juliana heard about them. When we were lining up for lunch, she leaned over and said to me, “I heard you have some sort of bracelet.”

“I do.” My face felt hot.

“Let me see.”

I held out my wrist.

“Those are diamonds?” she asked. When I nodded, she raised an eyebrow. “No way!”

“Way!” I said.

“Yeah, right!” she muttered.

Juliana obviously didn’t want me to know it, but I could tell she was impressed. She told some other girls and they told their friends and I soon was the center of attention.

“She’s jealous,” I told Winnie gleefully. “She’s bright green with envy!”

Winnie gave me a high five. “Are you kidding?” she exclaimed. “Who wouldn’t be?”

Fifteen minutes before the end of the last class, I raised my hand to ask permission to go to the bathroom. The jingle of the beads drew everyone’s eyes again, making me feel like a Hollywood celebrity.

I danced down the hall, swerved toward the girls’ room, and grabbed the door handle. As I went through the door, the bracelet snagged on the latch.
Ping, ping, ping … a
shower of beads bounced onto the bathroom floor and scattered everywhere!

I gaped stupidly for a second or two, then dropped to my knees. With shaking hands, I chased down eleven errant attributes of Allah. My heart hammered in my chest and a
buzz droned in my ear. In a flash, my celebrity glow vanished and I was left with the very scary prospect of my great-grandaunt’s wrath. My hands shook as I collected the rest of the beads and stuffed them into my pocket.

“What’s wrong with you?” Winnie asked me as we settled into our seats on the bus.

“I don’t feel so good,” I admitted.

“Are you going to be sick? It’s a good thing we’re almost home!”

Home was the last place I wanted to be. OCD was there, her broken beads were in my pocket, and I had absolutely no idea what I was going to tell her.

OCD pounced like a hungry tigress as soon as I stepped through the door. “Have you seen them?” she demanded.

My heart hammered in my chest. “Assalam alaikum, Choti Dahdi,” I said, trying to buy some time.

“Yes, yes … Assalam alaikum,” she replied. “Have you seen our prayer beads?”

“Prayer beads?” I tried to sound casual but my insides were shaking like leaves in a hurricane.

“Aii! What prayer beads, she asks!” She turned to Amma in disgust.

“Choti Dahdi can’t find her prayer beads,” Amma said. “I was hoping you knew where they were.”

“I don’t know anything,” I muttered, squirming a little.

“I don’t either,” Zayd added.

Amma looked slightly defeated. “We’ll find them, Aunt dear. They didn’t walk away and certainly no one took them.”

“Ai hai! Ai hai!”
OCD lamented. “We will ask Bibi Sayeda for help.”

Bibi Sayeda was a saintly person who helped people find lost things. Once you had found your lost object, you were required to do a form of obeisance by making fourteen salaams to her, followed by giving alms to the poor. The amazing thing was that Bibi Sayeda had died a very long time ago, but according to Choti Dahdi she could still help from the other side.

“Yes, you do that,” Amma encouraged.

I escaped to the sanctuary of Zayd’s room, but after a few minutes Amma walked in. “I came to look here one more time—” She stopped midsentence and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, Aliya? You don’t look so well.”

The concern on my grandmother’s face was more than I could take. I burst out crying and my whole body began to tremble.

Amma quickly wrapped me up in her arms. “What’s wrong, Meri Jaan?” she asked, rocking me gently back and forth. “Are you all right?”

“N-no,” I sobbed. “I … I am n-not all right. Nothing is all r-right!”

I told my grandmother the whole story—about Juliana’s posters and the bracelets and the eye rolling and then I told
her about Choti Dahdi’s prayer beads and the bathroom door latch.

I waited for my grandmother to say something, but for the longest time she didn’t speak a word.

“Amma?” I cried, looking into her eyes.

“Meri Jaan,” she finally sighed. “You chose the wrong way to impress your friends. Diamonds don’t matter. Truth and honesty do. That is what people remember us for, in the end.”

“I was going to return them. Honest,” I wept. “I didn’t know everything would go this wrong.”

“A wrong can be made right,” Amma said. She held me and let me cry and cry. When I had calmed down, she said, “I think you know what you must do.”

“Do I have to?” I pleaded. “Couldn’t we tell her the prayer beads were under the cushions or something?”

“We could, but
should
we?”

“I guess not,” I admitted.

“We must own up to our mistakes. I’m afraid that takes courage but it is the right thing to do. Do you have the courage, Meri Jaan?”

No
, I wanted to admit to her,
I don’t
. I was a famous Fraidy Cat. I was scared of Austin, threatened by Marwa, awed by Juliana, and nervous around Josh, and all I wanted to do was run and hide from Choti Dahdi.

“Meri Jaan?” my grandmother prodded, but I shook my head forcefully. She sighed.

“Listen to this true story.” She hugged me closer. “A little
girl planted a mango seed in dry earth. The well was a great distance away and the road was rocky and sun was blazing and the bucket was heavy but the little girl was a brave soldier. She walked and walked until she had blisters on her feet, but she kept going because she had to fetch water for her seed. When the mango ripened, the girl took a bite. And straightaway, she forgot about the blisters but she remembered the sweet, sweet taste of the mango for a very long time.”

It was Badi Amma’s story. I had heard the story of the garden of my
imaan
a million times. Amma had added the part about the blisters but the rest of the story was the same. I closed my eyes, snuggled closer, and willed myself to think about the mango seed. I went deeper this time. Then I pushed away from my grandmother’s soft bosom and met her hard gaze.

“Yes, Amma,” I said slowly. “I think I can be brave.”

“Shabaash! Well done!” My grandmother drew me back to her. “You can stop worrying now. You’re looking at the world’s best fixer-upper, young lady, or did you forget? My job is easy. Yours is so much harder in comparison and I am oh so proud that you are ready to tackle it!”

With each step forward, I wished I could take ten in the opposite direction, but I kept going. “Be brave,” my inner voice urged. “Be brave.”

I heard OCD muttering to Bibi Sayeda, promising those fourteen salaams if only she could find her beads. I watched as she looked behind the drapes and peeked in the fireplace.
She opened and closed cupboards and pantry doors; she pulled cans of soup and vegetables from the shelves. She even peeked into the garbage pail, with a thumb and finger pinching her nostrils. She was clearly desperate.

“Choti Dahdi,” I called out softly. I don’t think she heard because she continued her frantic search. “Choti Dahdi,” I tried again, a little bit louder this time. “I have something to tell you …”

I told her everything and it wasn’t so bad after all. Choti Dahdi lectured me about the evils of stealing and I didn’t argue. She said it made Allah unhappy and I nodded in shame. But she also added that Allah is always pleased with people who ask for His forgiveness. I promised I’d ask. “Cross my heart,” I added.

“Aii!” snorted Choti Dahdi. “What is this ‘Cross my heart’?”

Important Victories

M
adison came running up to us in the hall. “Hey, Aliya,” she panted. “Juliana’s saying horrible things about you!”

“What’s the witch saying now?” Winnie asked before I could react.

“She’s going around telling people you’re toast!”

“I’m what? What exactly does she mean by that?” I cried.

“Toast. That means you’re finished! It’s over for you.”

“I know what it means!” I said. “Why is she saying it?”

“Dirty politics,” Winnie speculated. “That’s what this is. She’s shifting her strategy from buying votes to negative campaigning.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“We should start our own smear campaign,” Winnie said. “We can spread the word that a vote for Juliana will contribute to the ruination of the school.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think my Mom or Amma will allow that. They’d want me to be truthful and honest.”

Juliana, Nicole, and Morgan stood behind me in the lunch line.

“Maar … vaa
. What kind of name is that anyway?” Juliana giggled.
“Maar … vaa!”

“And get a load of the scarf she has on today,” Nicole said.

Juliana snorted. “Does she think she’s making some sort of a fashion statement?”

“And how about that gross stuff she’s always eating?” Morgan added.

My ears were hot and my heart was pounding. Without thinking, I whirled around. “You’re worse than Austin! Her name is Marwa!”

“What?”

“Marwa doesn’t wear her hijab for fashion. She does it because she thinks it’s the right thing for a Muslim girl to do.”

I think that startled Juliana. “Whatever,” she muttered.

“And it’s mean to talk behind someone’s back,” I added.

Juliana, Nicole, and Morgan stared at me. Winnie’s jaw had dropped; she looked back and forth between me and Juliana.

“How would you know?” Juliana asked. “Are you a Mos … lem, or whatever it’s called?”

“
Mus
-lim.” I emphasized the proper
U
vowel sound in the first syllable. “You know very well I am.”

“So why don’t you wear a funny scarf too?”

I started to explain about personal decisions and interpretations—things that Mom was always telling me about—but I changed my mind. Instead, I just said, “It’s hurtful and cowardly to talk behind someone’s back. If you have something to say, bad or good, you should be brave enough to say it to her face.”

Juliana, Morgan, and Nicole just stood there silently. That made me feel good.

“Marwa’s really nice,” I said. “You should try to get to know her.”

“Who says we are remotely interested in knowing her?” Juliana had found her bearing again.

“If you aren’t,” I said, “you’re really missing out. She can be a very good friend.” I started to leave. Then I turned back. “And by the way, that gross stuff? It’s just feta cheese. The Greeks eat it too.”

“Can you believe it?” Juliana sneered. “The cat just let go of someone’s tongue!”

“Way to go, Aliya!” Winnie thumped my back so hard that she almost knocked me over. “I can’t believe you did that!”

I had just stood up to Juliana! And I had done it without help! Still, my heart was thumping in my chest and my mouth was dry. I knew that they were probably rolling their eyes and smirking. But maybe their laughter was now tinged with embarrassment.

After lunch, we found Madison and Leah outside huddled against the wall, stomping their legs and trying to keep warm.

“What was going on in the line back there?” Madison asked. “It looked like you were really telling Juliana off!”

“She was being a big jerk,” I said.

“You should have seen Aliya,” Winnie told them. “I’ve never seen her like that. I was so proud of her!”

“Thanks, Winnie,” I said.

We hopped on one foot and the other and did jumping jacks just to keep the blood circulating. I didn’t notice Austin had walked up until I heard him behind me.

“Watch out! The Alien’s leaping!” he yelled. “And if you aren’t careful, the Alien will bulldoze you over!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Madison asked.

“What’s
wrong
with him is there’s nothing
right
about him,” I said.

“Get lost, creep!” Leah shouted.

Suddenly I thought of someone else I wanted to see before we had to go back inside.

“Hey, where are you going?” Winnie called out. “Austin’s not going to bother you now; he’s going away!”

I walked over to the picnic bench. But no one was there.