Tale of Urbina, the widow

Urbina the Widow
I released my thoughts from the restrictions inflicted on me by the religion and those outdated customs. I propelled my window for the fresh air to enter my room and to refresh me. There, I could see the freedom that birds and humans have and the happiness in their eyes when they live their life to their wish. I desired to be one of them, to fly up the sky, or walk up the road to my own wish apart from the decisions and wishes of others who slaved me in the name of religion and the customs. Those sights were an inspiration for me to take a new resolution about my life, the decision to realize my interests and my dreams which I carried with me throughout my life. I have thought, for long that why have they slaved me? I being a widow of their son, they are supposed to give me every right to choose the happiness in my life, but they caged me as a bird and took my dreams of my life along with it. Today, I remember that day again, the day that made me a widow. Not to weep or curse at it again since I have done it for the past one year, but to understand the actual state of mine, am I fully over it or still am I stuck on it. My mother used to say that “Time can heal everything”. When I look back to the day when my husband died, I too wish the time to heal me too. I Urbina and I am a Muslim and I am going to listen to what my mind says on the decision to be taken about my life. My life is mine only till I surrender it to anyone.

It was an evening and after a long shower, I was braiding my long black hair in front of my mirror when I heard of his death. For Bassam, my husband, he wanted me in my full allure on his return from the work every day. He used to say that the fragrance of my bathed body and the beauty in me distress him from the tiredness of his work. So every day I try my best to impress my man for him to love me more than the previous day and It was such a day when Farad, Bassam’s brother came to me with the news of his death in a bomb blast happened at his workplace. I felt like my powers draining out of me when I heard of his death. An uncomfortable coldness followed by numbness took control of my body. I hadn’t realized my comb fall down from my hand or I hadn’t heard it hit the floor. I came to sit on our bed as soon as I realized the powerlessness in my legs. The numbness started to irritate me and poured, complete darkness in my mind. I even thought of killing myself, for I had lost all the hope and charm that had in my life. Not a single drop of tear rolled down from my cheek for my loss was above everything which can be healed by a long weep.
Farad struggled for the words to console me, but on realizing his failure, he came beside me. Quietly. Silently wept. I could hear the loud cry of my mother-in-law from the hall, which made me afraid of the situation, which is more than she could handle at her age. I feared of anything happening to her and wished someone to take care of her than wasting their time on me. I heard the shout of Bassam’s father nearby my room cursing those terrorists who killed his son, my Bassam, in the name of protecting the rights of Muslims. It was clearly a terrorist attack for the rights of the Muslims, he say, but they have nothing to say about those Muslims dead from it, unaware of the war between the nation and the terrorists. Is this the karma of a Muslim? Is it what written in Koran? I wondered. I sat covering my face between my legs as an emotionless creature, heeding the words of Bassam’s father. But our biggest sorrow was of not getting his body to bury him in the way a Muslim dead deserved. I was such an unlucky woman who couldn’t see his man for a last time or to bid him goodbye with a last kiss.

We all went together for the burial of those dead in blast in a long pit near the seaside. None had full body in their corpse. I could see a heap of many arms, burned faces, legs. I searched to spot any remains of Bassam’s, but everything heaped there, looked similar in ash color and they were in ashes. But now, I thank god for not making me see his burned body and I am happy now for that. If not so, the sight will haunt me till my life ends and it will surely affect the decision I might take at the end.

The days followed were the days of solaces by the friends and family. Everyone came to me with a bunch of commiserations which I hated the most. Those words filled with condolences reminded me of the loss I had rather than the peace I needed most. I wished to remain alone in my room to solace myself with the way I need, but the visitors thought that their presence and their words was a comfort to me, but they were absolutely wrong. Every time I was surrounded by someone that they feared me doing something bad. But I was happy somewhere in my mind about the care they are showing on me, but it all proved wrong in the days followed.
On one morning, Bassam’s mother bought with her a black long dress popularly known among Muslims as Purdah, which covers the whole body exposing the small fraction of our face to the outside world. She gave it to me and told me that it should be my dress for the rest of my life. I was puzzled and totally confused. Interrupting her, Bassam’s father preached the custom of Muslim widows to refuse the fashion and to live their life as an unlucky woman. I was afraid of him for he is strict in these kind of matters or the matters relating to the religion. But I hoped that things will change with time, but things went more terrible to the days followed. Bassam’s mother forcefully took my jewelries and clothes from me. She possessed the gold and gave my dresses to the gypsies that wander near our town.

I understood that apart from me every others in the house started to come back to their normal lives, actually they haven’t allowed me to live normal. Their restrictions and outdated preaches and the emotional harassments made me to behave as they needed. I was not allowed to eat anything spicy or hot. They just gave me rice with some small curries to weaken my sexual senses. I was fed up with this life here and started hating Bassam for the acts of his family.

To me, Farad was my brother. He was the only one who showed kindness to me. He tried to make me laugh with many lame jokes and he discussed his daily activities with me. Four months has been over after Bassam’s death and according to the custom I am free to marry again. Freedom will be given only if I am married and it should be anyone from the family. It was then they forced me to marry Farad. How could I marry a man who I love as my brother? I could not do that and I thought he will also refuse the family’s decision. But he confessed on me that he started to love me meanwhile and he wish to marry me. That was more than I could tolerate. I was in a helpless situation for not even my family is there to help me. Every Muslims value their custom more than the life of their beloveds.
I was not allowed to attend any functions and they forced me to pray to Allah to forgive my sins. It was then I started reading books. Books were my only company and it is a good company for those lonely souls. I could visit many lives and it helped me to think of every situations from every possible perspectives. I imagined myself as the woman’s in those novels that I read and fancied there love life and their strength in their life. I masturbated myself when I went through the explicit contents in the stories and trained my mind to be stern like the protagonist move in their difficult situations. My whole concept about the life started to change and I believed that everything that happens in life is for good. For me also, something good awaits somewhere.

On an evening, when I was braiding my hair in front of my mirror after a quick shower, Farad entered my room. He came to me and caught me from behind. I was shocked of what he was doing. Farad begged me to have sex with him and he started to rub his face and his penis on my buttox. He tore opened my gown and squeezed my breast. I struggled to push him back and I screamed. But there was no one to help me. Everyone has gone for a wedding and will only be back at night. I don’t know what to do. My body may want the pleasure to continue but my mind says no. But Farad was not ready to leave me for he was biting and licking and squeezing me like he has never seen a girl before.
Suddenly I remembered of the woman’s that I have gone through in my books. Their strengths and their boldness have gave me some power to act back. I suddenly caught hold of his neck and pressed hard. I clenched on it till his eyes started to bulge out. His eyes turned red and he struggled to choke. I kicked him hardly on his balls and pushed him out of my room and warned him that never ever force a lady into sex.
After that incident I was feeling uncomfortable to stay in that house. Everyone seemed strangers to me. It was the whole incidents happened to me in this course of one year. While looking outside the window to the sight of free birds and humans, I too decided to grab my freedom for I refuse to be a slave of others decisions.
One day, when everyone was tattling in the hall, I took my things and started to leave from the house. I told them that I am leaving and never ever come back to my life. Bassam’s father yelled at me for I stared him back which shut his mouth soon. I forcefully took my jewelries from Bassam’s mother and moved towards the door. I turned to them and told them that learn to respect a widow. I also told them never to shut anyone’s freedom for no one is born to be a slave of anyone. Break the customs and kindly love everyone as humans. That’s what Allah records in his book not this dirty customs that only hurt widows.
I sighed heavily when the fresh air of freedom covered my full body and moved forward for I have a long road to cover, the road to my freedom. I am Urbina, I am Muslim and I am a woman who fought for my freedom. Let my story be an inspiration to every woman who struggle their life as someone’s slave.