The taste of water

  The Taste of Water 

 Student Id: U5DAX Intended Audience: Ages 11 and up

The sunbeam escaped through her ragged curtains and struck her closed lids. Amal irritably held up a palm to block the luminous rays as she woke from her restless sleep. Last night’s sleep wasn’t too bad; she had gotten an hour of more sleep than usual, but it wasn’t much progress. Although her eyes itched with a dull dryness, there was an uncontainable lump of glee beaming up her stomach. She rid the worn-out quilt off of herself in a hurry and raced off to the plains. 

“Amal, you’ve woken! Where are you going now, eat up first-” her mother began to start as she spotted her daughter slip out of the hut in a rush. When Amal was already gone, her mother sighed to herself, “She just doesn’t give up, does she?” 

Amal ran down the lowlands, stopping as she spotted the mason jars she had placed in rows. She was still a great distance away to make out what was in them and squinting was not helping. She stepped closer and closer, a bit too nervous to discover what was inside. Once she was a reasonable distance away and was able to catch a glimpse inside one of the jars, she felt her stomach plunge and her chest heave. Blood quickly rushed to her temples, but she remained calm. 

“Tomorrow,” Amal nodded. She turned around before skipping back inside her home. “Amal, anything new?” Her mother asked as Amal returned. 

“No, Mama,” Amal said quietly. “But I know tomorrow will be different.” Amal’s mother gave the young girl a kind smile that didn’t quite reach her solemn eyes.

“You look so tired Amal. You’ve got serious bags and your eyes are so puffy! Have you not been sleeping recently?” When Amal shyly looked away, her mother’s brows knitted tightly together. 

“Amal!” The disappointment was heavily lathered into her cry. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself, especially this time around!” 

Amal frowned when taking in her mother’s frail frame. Frowning at the way she resembled a deteriorating skeleton whose eyes had sunken into a riverbank, showcasing layers and layers of melancholic forehead creases, with hands grasping a bloody handkerchief. 

“I’m fine Mama, but you look dreadful. You’ve worked yourself too hard and now you are too sick! You have to let me lend you a hand around here!” At her concern, her mother folded her hands across her chest, a motion that very much resembled two twigs intertwined. 

“This is not about me, this is about you. People in this village are dying every day and I’m not going to easily let you become one of them. I’ve already got one child slowly crumbling to dust and bones, I refuse to let you weaken too. Your lack of sleep and your imbalanced diet is going to make your health go down, and when you have poor health, you become weak. Submitting to weakness this easily is not going to help you survive this drought, do you understand? Please take care of yourself… for me… for your brother.” The glowering look on her face had suddenly distorted to a twist as she let out subsequent coughs. Amal drifted her gaze to the handkerchief that her mother finished wiping her mouth with, noticing the freshly stained crimson.

Amal’s mouth went dry as she complied with her mother’s pleas, nodding and swallowing down any hints of a cry. “Y-yes, but you have to take care of yourself, too. You put too much stress upon yourself in the work that you do. Amir and I need you to get through this drought, and Insha’Allah we will because if you start to crumble, we will also crumble.” 

Her mother let out an understanding sigh. “I have to do all this work so you two can prosper and live a life in decency, get to the light at the end of the tunnel! Right now, you aren’t being my good daughter since you’re letting my hard work go to waste by not taking better care of yourself.” 

“I’m sorry mama,” Amal responded glumly. “But let me help because it will make me stronger to survive.” 

Her mother cracked a small smile, letting it be the only reaction to her daughter’s words. 

“Come, my dear, you look famished, have a sip of water,” she offered, already reaching for the clay pot that sat on the open cabinet made from earthly minerals. The pot was not minuscule but by no means was it large either. It still didn’t contain a week’s worth of water. Six months in, the pot was now about three fifths full, plentiful enough to keep them going a couple more months. 

Amal reluctantly declined, eyes widening in alarm, “not right now, I’m fine.” Her mother had already pulled out a glass as she finished her words. 

“Come on, just a little, we’ll still have plenty. You have no meat on you, you ought to drink a little so you can gain a bit of strength. For us, remember?” Amal shut her eyes for a brief

second, unclenching her fists to allow the pressure around stir away. She downed half a glass, immediately feeling every bit of her body awaken in refreshment. She had forgotten just how addicting the taste of water could be; how amazing that something so bland and tasteless could bring out pure liveliness. She tried her best to keep the taste in her memory, but to her dismay the scarce substance was quick to dissolve into her taste buds, making the euphoric moment short-lived. Immediately she wanted more as her thirst had become longing, but she fought against her temptations. “Thank you.” 

Her mother returned no expression, only an order. “Can you please check up on Amir now? See if he’s woken up?” Amal nodded, turning to the tiny cramped room that she and her brother shared. She looked over the wooden cot, spotting Amir’s blinking eyes. 

“Amal!” He greeted weakly, starting to sit up but Amal was quick to stop the action. “My back hurts from the cot, can I sleep on the floor like you and Mama from now on?” He gave a playful pout that made Amal smile. Though his condition was deteriorating, his playful energy remained. 

“I’m afraid not, Amir. The floor’s too dusty, you might become even more sick!” Amir shyly looked away in disappointment, the ends of his lips tugging into a slight downward dent. He stayed mute for a moment before turning back to her with twinkling eyes. 

“Did you find the jars full today?” When she gave her answer, he again turned his head in disappointment.

“Don’t be so glum, Amir. Insha’Allah, tomorrow all the jars will be overflowing.” This answer would usually soften his features but today his expression hardened. 

He frowned. “You always say that,” he drawled, tone lightly dipping into acid. “You always say tomorrow but then nothing happens tomorrow. Amal Baji, don’t lie to me anymore, when will it rain?” Amal felt her heart sink at his accusation: he had never accused her of being a liar before. Her devastation washed away as she noticed how terribly upset Amir had become. The Amir who always managed to be optimistic about everything despite his condition was now profoundly showing his hurt. How could she make her weak brother so hurt? She thought she could uplift him with her usual answer, give him the hope that many people in the village lacked, but it didn’t go as she had intended. 

Was she really lying to him? Were her words really giving him false hope? She sat motionless in her conflicted state, wondering if tomorrow was to ever come. 

She thought back to the Quran lessons she and her brother would receive months before the drought. Months and months back when Amir wasn’t so weak and Mama wasn’t so sick. Imam Akhtar would arrive at their hut and the children would sit on the mud flooring, telling tales of the prophets. Amal had forgotten how much she and Amir loved to listen to stories of the prophets. She slowly looked up, her eyes meeting Amir’s again. He still had his eyes on her, desperately searching for answers in her expression. 

“Amir, do you remember the story of Prophet Ayyub?” Her sudden question made Amir blink in confusion, his face concentrating a small frown.

“Yes, but what does this story have to do with now?” he asked. 

Amal avoided his question. “Can you quickly remind me what the story was about?” 

He looked at her unsurely before answering. “The story’s about Allah testing Prophet Ayyub.” Amal’s stare prompted Amir to continue explaining. “The Prophet was living a very good life and he loved Allah a lot. Allah wanted to see if the Prophet truly loved him, so Allah started taking everything away from the Prophet to test him.” 

Amal nodded, “Allah took his family, his property, his health, everything! He was becoming so sick, every part of his body was rotting except for his tongue and his heart. His tongue and his heart allowed him to keep Allah in mind and fulfill his prayers. He was being torn apart but he still had iman; the Prophet had to go through a long time of torment but he had patience. He knew this was Allah testing his devotion.” Amir was instinctively nodding as Amal took over in telling the story. 

“But he passed Allah’s test, Amal Baji! Allah gave him back everything that was taken away in the end.” Amir displayed a lopsided grin as he took the opportunity to finish the story. 

Amal felt a flutter in her heart watching her brother smile again. “You are correct, Amir. It was a long time of hardship and patience, but eventually, it was all over,” she concluded, “and eventually, our period of hardship and patience will be over, Insha’Allah.” 

Amal was surprised to see that Amir’s smile hadn’t dropped at her cunning correlation. “Insha’Allah it will be tomorrow,” he added. His words made Amal pull in Amir for an embrace, wrapping her arms around his fragile frame. She tried her best to be unbothered by his bony back

and how she could practically feel every edge of his protruding bones. Resting her chin on his shoulder and closing her eyes, she welcomed the warmth. 

“Do you still remember Imam Akhtar?” Amir asked, breaking away from the hug. 

Amal bit the inside of her cheek, looking down. “Yes, I remember him very well. It’s unfortunate the drought took him away.” 

Now it was Amir’s turn to look down with his shoulders slumped. “Who’s going to tell us prophet stories after the drought is over?” he asked quietly. 

Amal gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “He passed all the stories down to us, so now we can retell each other the stories and pass them down to other kids in the village.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Amir agreed, “oh, I can’t wait for things to turn back to normal.” 

“Me too.” 

“Amal Baji?” 

When Amal had hummed in response, Amir took it as a sign to continue. “Why do you always say tomorrow?” 

“Because there is no ending to tomorrow, Amir. Every day starts off as tomorrow.” 2 and a half months later

The day had started gloomy. Amal had woken at the crack of dawn to wake up Amir in preparation for the burial. She debated letting him come but gradually let him do so. In 2 months, he had improved so much in both spirit and condition. A small gathering of men arrived from the mosque where the Janaza was held, heading towards the local burial grounds. Amal and Amir followed them, holding back sniffles. Both their cheeks were stained dry from the night before. 

They watched from a distance as the event unfolded. The siblings held out their hands for prayers and soon it was all over. The village men began to leave, expressing their condolences to them on their way. Soon, the place was deserted with the exception of Amir and Amal and soon, they also began to head out. 

The walk back home felt more stretched than usual. Amir walked at a quicker pace: already at the doorsteps. Amal let out a sigh as the distance between her and the doorsteps were slowly enclosing. Never had her eyes felt so dull before, for the dryness was almost unbearable. As she was about to take her next step, she realized that her cheeks felt oddly wet. Had she been unconsciously crying again? A wet drop slid down her cheek, making her immediately lay a palm against her wet cheek. Suddenly, there were droplets of water rolling down her palm. Amal was completely stunned. “Amir! Come outside right now!” she hollered before tilting her head up at the sky. And sure enough, it was raining. 

 Amir rushed back outside, confused at the slight commotion. Amal beamed at him, pointing up at the sky. Amir stepped closer, following her finger. He stood for a moment, observing as his black hair began to dampen, and in an instant he raced towards the lowlands where the jars sat. “Amal Baji, look at this!” He exclaimed.

The jars were beginning to fill to the brim and the sound of pouring water meeting the glass sounded like music to Amal’s ears. She reached down to embrace her brother, uncaring of the fact that they were both starting to become drenched. Off in the distance, she could hear the joyful cheers of the villagers celebrating. She inhaled the petrichor, a scent that had been awfully missed. “Tomorrow has come, Amal Baji, tomorrow has come!” Amir cheered. 

She nodded as she tightened her arms around the nape of his neck. She let her tongue poke out just enough for a raindrop to dissolve through her buds. Immediately she felt her body and spirit reawaken. The abundance of water falling from the sky was a moment that had truly exceeded her countless dreams. She could’ve gone on drinking the rainfall, for the taste of water was the most transparent yet the most savoring. 

Tomorrow had come.