changing these sects because I wanted to be with them all my life and I was happy with my dhamal .”
Next morning I took him to the hospital . Doctors told me he was suffering from pneumonia and they admitted him . The few days he was to remain in the hospital turned into weeks , and Dewaia was not getting better . I visited him every day .
One cold evening when I went to visit him , he was silent but not speechless ; he was speaking with the sad expression of curiosity in his eyes . One could only find this curiosity in a man ’ s eyes when he is born . He was looking outside and I noticed white fog coming into the window . In the street , the thick fog rolled between big and small brick houses , and the street lamps loomed like dark and shapeless blurs .
“ Are you alright , Dewaia ?” But he remained silent and shook his head . I knew something was wrong . Dewia was unable to speak . I went close to him and asked again . He replied in a weak voice , “ Watni , please take me to my village .” “ Yes , Dewaia , we will go to the village . We will go tomorrow morning if you promise to get well tonight .” “ Watni , why is God silent ? Does he not understand my language ? Our village people say that to get close to God we should learn Arabic . Is that right ? I don ’ t know Arabic .” “ Oh no , Dewaia , languages are for men . God does not rely on languages .” His eyes sparkled with hope for a moment . He pressed my hand softly and said , “ I am begging God . My mother named me Allah Dewaia , meaning God given . So why doesn ’ t God answer ? People say that after death man meets God . Why not in life ?” “ Dewaia , don ’ t worry . You ’ ll meet God in your life .” But he was confused . The brightness of his eyes disappeared . Nothing seemed to calm his anxiety and his mute lips seemed to be longing to say something . That evening , I returned home with a heavy heart .
Early in the morning , I received a call from the hospital . They told me Dewaia was dying and he had called for me . By the time I reached the hospital Dewaia had already taken his last breath . His salvation had arrived finally . He was dead but his eyes were still open looking at the door and talking to me . Watni , if you knew how peaceful this is , you wouldn ' t be worried about dying . I did not reply and silently closed his eyelids . I took him to his village . After a two-hour journey , we reached the black rocks at whose foot our village lay . He always loved those mountains and now the silent and sombre hills were ready to pull him into their warm embrace .
Before going home , I stopped at the mosque of the village and requested the cleric to announce the death of Dewaia on the loudspeaker . After all , he spent his whole life serving and entertaining the people . I thought the villagers would gather and mourn the death of Dewaia , but no one came . I returned home with his dead body . After an hour , there was a knock on the door . I went out and saw a group of people . They all were gazing at me with their eyes full of hatred and I burned with anguish and anger . One angry man spoke . “ Where will you bury this Kafir . This infidel ?” I replied with a compassionate request . “ Kafir ? He was not a Kafir . He served all the religions and by all those sacred religions , I ask you to be merciful .”
“ He was a man without religion , and we are telling you we cannot allow you to bury him in our graveyard .”
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