In My Sister's Shadow

Copyright © 2020 by S.N.Mughal All Rights Reserved

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Day One.

It was 12.37 a.m when we got the phone call. In the pit of my stomach I knew something was wrong. There was something eerie about late night calls that snatched sleep from my eyes like a thief and jolted me up in my bed in dread. I held my breath waiting for a voice. A murmur. A voice. To my devastation I heard mum's wails.

That's when I knew something was terribly wrong.

It was the moment my life changed forever.

Quickly, I pulled my beige shawl over my head and rushed to my parent's bedroom. The wailing grew louder increasing my heart rate. Was it grandad or grandma in Pakistan? Who could it be?

When I entered their bedroom, I found mum's figure perched on the end of the bed with her head in her hands. Dad pressed the corded phone against his ear dressed in a string vest. The corner lamp washed the figures in a dim and gloomy light and silhouetted their hunched crestfallen figures.

"What happened?" I pressed dad.

Mum's soul rendering sobs filled the room.

***

Without a second to think, I was in the back of my dad's Toyota Avensis speeding through the rain. The wipers swished hopelessly and I couldn't see past the mist. It was late December, Christmas decorations and lights coiled the lampposts in the streets of Birmingham. This year, there would be no reason to enjoy the holidays; devastation would grip our home. I leaned forward and tugged mum for answers, but she bowed her head in her hands and all she said was, "your sister. Zeenat. My Zeenat!"

Zeenat was younger sister by two years. She was the bright, funny, vivacious sister that spread laughter with her infectious snorting giggle. Everyone loved her. She was the life and joy of the party as everyone would always ask, "Where's Zeenat? How is she?" My younger sister was stunning and the apples of dad's eye.

However, dad hadn't seen her for the past five years. This was the first time he would meet her since she moved out in acrimony with her rebellious husband Zayn-ul-Abidin.

Sitting in the waiting with our eyes pinned on the door eyeing up every doctor or nurse desperate for news of our sister, my leg bounced nervously. I reached out and held mum's hands tight, both of us in desperate need of support.

When the Polish doctor arrived with a name without vowels that I couldn't pronounce, we jumped to our feet and accosted him. He led us to the relatives' room decorated with flowers and pretty pastel colours to make us feel better. But how could we? We were to learn of the devastation that lay in the hospital; my young baby sister.

"Your daughter has been involved in a serious road traffic collision. She has serious injuries and we have to operate on her ruptured spleen."

She was alive.

"Can we see her?" Instantly mum stepped forward.

The doctor shook his head, but mum began to cry. She implored the doctor in her broken Mirglish; English with Mirpuri.

"You no understanding me, dactar Saab."

Thankfully, the doctor caved.

Lying on the hospital bed wasn't my sister. The woman was half her weight. Her mouth swollen. Her face pale. She was a shadow of my sister Zeenat. Wired up to machines and monitors, the beeps recorded her heart beat. My stomach twisted with grief. I felt physically sick. Mum and dad stood by her bed and called out to her; there was no response.

"Her children are with the on call early years worker." The nurse approached me.

"Her children? They were involved in the accident?" I turned to my alarm. "Are they okay?"

"They've been checked all over and suffered minor cuts and bruises from the windows. Thankfully they were buckled up. Your sister wasn't." With a stern look she shook her head lightly.

Mum cried, holding her hand and dad stood helpless. Zeenat moved. She choked. She reached up. I shuffled forward and stood behind mum. Zeenat was muttering something. Her wide bloodshot eyes fixed upon me like she wanted to tell me something.

"What is it Zee?" I leaned in

"Zohra...-" She chocked calling out to me.

"Don't speak. You need to rest." Said mum.

But these were the final words she would ever speak to me. "mmmy..children. Look after them. Don't let him near them-ever."

Him? Who was she talking about? Her husband?

The machines beeps increased.

"We need to go!" Ordered the doctor. The nurses and doctors waded in and began to prep her for surgery and that was the last I saw of Zeenat Zafar aged 27; the prettiest girl of the Zafar family.

****

Back in the relatives room, dad prayed silently as we waited nervously for news. Two police officers arrived confusing my parents.

"Your daughter was on the M1 Northbound travelling north. She wasn't wearing a seat belt and ploughed into the back of a lorry. It seems she was on her mobile."

My mum's teary eyes fixated upon dad. It didn't make sense. Firstly, Zeenat lived in Walsall, she had to travel south to come to our house. Secondly, why was she travelling north late at night? Where was Zayn? And finally why weren't they allowing us to meet the children?

"I want the twins." Cried mum. "I need to see them."

"They're upset and tired." Informed the lady police officer.

"I'm their grandmother. They know me!" Mum sobbed. "Bring them to me. I must see them."

Dad's eyes sharp with introspection. "You've seen the children? When?" Mum bowed her eyes in guilt.

Dad had disowned Zeenat and her discourteous husband. Dad didn't allow any communication. But mum's nature was soft and compassionate and for the past year we were secretly meeting Zeenat.

The secrets were slowing slipping out of the net, unraveling the tight knit family thread by thread. The police woman took us to the children's play area and there they were. Zeenat's 3 year old twin boys and her 4 year old daughter Zaara. Mum violently hugged all three of them and sobbed uncontrollably. Their small faces filed with wonderment.

"Where's mum?" Asked Zara, the little madam. "Is she okay? I want to see mummy!" She demanded.

Quickly, I stepped in and kneeled to her.

"Everything will be okay." I lied, my voice shivering. "We're here now." It was so good to see them. To touch them. To hug them. They were a part of my sister. Holding them and taking care of them felt we were doing something good in this terrible situation.

Dad stood aloof, like his family was alien. The children looked at him like a stranger and dad made no attempt to close the gap. Instead he marched straight out.

***

The clock ticked loudly. After 45 minutes there was still no news of Zeenat. We played like zombies with the train set, our minds throbbing with fear. I could see through the window dad's figure pacing the corridor for news. Then a doctor approached and I kneeled up motioning to mum that there was news.

Quickly, she stood up and rushed outside. I sat with the twins as they played eerily quietly like no kid should ever play. The look on mum's face said it all. She collapsed in dad's arms and shrieked out with a soul piercing cry. I gasped with terror my jaw dropping and I slapped my hand over my mouth. Tears filled my eyes and the children looked at me knowing something had happened. How could I tell them? How could I break the news that would change their lives forever? I recalled my sister's bloody eyes, her hand waving up and her dying wish.

The children.

"Is nanoo (grandmother) crying?" Zara was exceptionally inquisitive. Normally, she would talk about the everything and anything. But tonight, she was unusually quite.

"She's-" I gasped back my tears. I couldn't speak and reassure my niece. In a circle I wrapped my arms around all three of my nephews and niece huddled together in a circle of despair.

It was 2.35 a.m when news confirmed; my sister passed away. The children were my future, my responsibility. I had to keep my promise to my sister and take care of them; whatever the cost.