جز آستان توام در جهان پناهی نیست
سرِ مرا به جز این در حواله گاهی نیست
Except for Your threshold, I have no refuge in this world;
For my head, there is no place of surrender but this door.
— Hafiz Shirazi
Touch is the first sense through which we meet the world, and the last to leave us as we stand close to death. It is often said that touch comes before sight, before speech. It is our first language and our final one, and it never lies. Our bodies seem to agree. Even before birth, a child is wrapped in fine hairs, lanugo, as if the body is preparing itself to feel before it learns to see or speak.
That is why touch holds the ability to heal. A held hand can calm pain in a way words never can. At the moment of death, it may feel as if the comfort of touch is taken away, but those who have felt the touch of the soul know something else. They know they are not alone.
On the 13th of October 2023, my daughter Nafeesa met with an accident at school and broke her arm. She was in severe pain when we rushed her to the hospital. The fracture was serious. She needed immediate elbow surgery, and a steel wire was inserted.
The surgery took place the next day, on the 14th of October. We were told that the wire and plaster would be removed after a month. Each day, we reassured Nafeesa that she was getting better, that soon she would be able to use her hand normally again.
We held on to that hope.
Finally, on the 14th of November, the plaster and wires were removed. Her arm looked fine. She could move her elbow without pain. We felt relieved. But moments later, Nafeesa said something that froze us. She said she could not feel her thumb. It felt as if it did not exist. Our relief vanished. We rushed back to the hospital. The doctors were confused and visibly shaken. We were told to wait for a few days. Perhaps, they said, it was just the effect of having the plaster on for so long.
We could see from their faces that something was not right. We overheard them quietly suggesting that the wire insertion might have caused this.
We returned home. Nafeesa tried to hold a pencil. She could not. We were devastated. There was nothing to do except wait and hope.
It was during this difficult time that we learned that Mufaddal Moula TUS would be visiting Karachi. The news felt like a gentle touch on the soul.
On the 20th of November 2023, we went to Aqa Moula’s bethak with Nafeesa and an araz in our hands, seeking shifa. Moula read the araz. I said softly, “Moula, haath na angutha ma jaan nathi.” Moula paused. He looked at Nafeesa and asked, “Aim kem jaan na hoi?” He then asked the doctors present to understand the situation fully. After listening, Moula mentioned a specific doctor and instructed us to consult him.
On the 25th of November, we went to see the doctor Moula had directed us to. Despite having a waiting list of over two months, he saw us immediately upon learning that Moula had sent us. He examined Nafeesa’s thumb carefully and his concern was evident. He told us that this condition was most likely a result of the surgery and that it was uncommon. He tried different methods, but Nafeesa felt nothing. He advised us to continue with a splint bandage for a few months. If there was still no improvement, he said, another surgery might be the only option, and even then, the chances of the thumb functioning normally were grim.
His words left us with very little hope.
The next day was Sunday. Moula was blessing the shops of the mumineen with qadam mubarak. He was present at a shop across from my house. I stood there for didar, holding Nafeesa in my arms, tears in my eyes. I had removed the splint from her hand. In my heart, I kept repeating: “Moula, aap shifa aapso.”
Moula came out of the shop and walked toward where we were standing. I could not speak. Not a word. I only said “Moula” and brought my daughter forward. Moula looked at her, smiled, and gently held Nafeesa’s very hand with his haath mubarak. He held it for a few seconds, smiled again, and moved on.
I returned home overwhelmed with gratitude, calm, and a quiet sense of certainty.
As we were still talking about what had just happened, something caught my eye. Nafeesa was lifting and holding things normally, easily, naturally. We stood still. None of us could believe it.
It was not the same hand. It was a hand that had been touched and held by the one who keeps reminding us that we are never alone.
Not here. And not in the hereafter.
Behn Batool Juzer Bhai Abadaniwala
Karachi, Pakistan
In the means of shukr and zikr, anyone who is willing to share his/her’s acquaintance, incident or any experience with Moulana Muqaddas RA or Moulana Mufaddal Saifuddin TUS can mail it to dm@tazkerat.org & md@tazkerat.org
Tazkerat 