knotty mystery(nazir jahangir) The event I am going to reveal here is related to my aunt. Her name was Fatima. She was about 12 years of age, the age between childhood and adulthood. This is the age when a person, being in the state of adolescence, remains always in movement. So was Fatima marching towards adulthood and passing her days in skipping, frolicking, gamboling and frisking.

One day Fatima felt a little pain on the back of her hand. She took it easy and did not attend to it. She had to do other work also, so she remained engaged.

Next day she felt more pain and it began intensifying gradually. Continued pain reached, at last, a high degree. She was moaning in pain. She was confined to bed. She was losing her strength day-by-day and writhing with pain. Actually, a boil had erupted on her hand.

She was reduced to a skeleton. The severe pain had converted her into a situation where she had become pain itself; a skeleton that continuously was groaning in pain. She had stopped to eat and drink. She had lost the strength to swallow anything. She was not in a position to pass even a drop of water down her throat.

All the reputed and prominent Vaids, Hakims and doctors of Kashmir Valley were approached. But no treatment yielded any fruitful result. It was the early forties of the 20th Century. Finally, an English doctor of good repute was consulted. He was brought to home on a ‘Tonga’ (a horse- driven two wheeled vehicle) and paid a fee of rupees five. Those days a rupee had a big value. He advised some medicines, besides suggesting juice of pears. The doctor said that if the pain persisted even after that prescription, then there would be no alternative but to chop her hand off.

An abundant quantity of pears was brought and a large quantity of juice extracted which filled a huge vessel. But it proved of no use. Fatima could not pass a drop of it down her throat. The boil did not heal up. No cure proved effective. Pain persisted. Affliction continued.

Everyone, in the family had sensed that her days were numbered and any moment she would collapse. Fatima had herself realized this. One day, when she had rested her head in the lap of her father who was patting and rubbing it gently, she told her father in a subdued voice, “Baba! I am feeling a shooting pain.” Tears rolled down her eyes. Baba was a saintly and virtuous man. Simple and straightforward. A believer and God fearing. He said: “My dear daughter! Whatever treatment was humanly possible, I provided it. Whatever was within my reach, I made it available to you. But you yourself know that all has proved useless. My girl! I perceive that God is wishing to call you back, so I ask you to pray to God and implore Him for peace in the life hereafter.” Fatima wept bitterly, so much so that the Baba’s pheran (gown) became wet with her tears. She sobbed for a long while and then became silent.

It was the time for afternoon prayers. Call for prayers was given from the minarets of the mosques. Baba tried to relieve his lap, but found Fatima sound asleep. This situation filled Baba with pleasure and relief. He thanked God with a broken heart. His eyes moist. Fatima was found in such a state of relief after many days. So Baba very slowly moved her head and made it rest on a cushion. He went to the mosque for prayers. Those days they were residing in Nowhatta, Srinagar.

When Baba returned from the mosque, Fatima had woken up. Baba went to her and asked how she was feeling. This enquiry was just a courtesy. Fatima told her father, “Baba, I had a dream. I saw a saintly person wearing a white beard and having a bright face. He asked me why I was worried. His voice was so enchanting that it relieved my pain and my heart bloomed like a flower. I told him about my boil and the excruciating pain, and solicited his blessings. This bright face advised me to use a herb called ‘Resosechud’.”

Baba thought that Fatima was to die now, so he should fulfill her that desire of hers too. This herb was freely available with every grocer and its cost was very cheap. So he went to the bazaar and bought a good quantity of this herb for half a paisa. It was mixed with water in order to apply it on the boil. After applying the herb on the boil she heaved a sigh of relief, as if it had alleviated all her sufferings. It was a feeling accompanied with the deliverance from pain. She told her father, “Baba, I am relaxed.” She asked for a drink. On hearing this Baba was so delighted as if he had been offered the whole world. Tears trickled down his cheeks. He thanked God and bowed in prostration.

The innocent girl who had not been in a position to take a drop of water down her throat, and whose lips were wetted with cotton dipped in water, was now asking for a drink. So, Baba gave her a glass of juice, which she drank. She felt strength in herself. After a few moments, she again asked for juice. The pain gradually lessened. Everybody in the family was overjoyed. Charitable donations and other offerings were given in the name of Allah. Food was served to the poor. Everybody was jubilant. Fatima was recovering incredibly. In the evening she attempted to move herself. The next day she walked some steps. The third day the boil had disappeared from the skin. The fourth day Fatima was again skipping, gamboling and frisking.

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