Reflections of a Daughter who lost her Father in a Blast

“In an Islam­ic Repub­lic, one per­son enters a mosque and rips it apart in the mid­dle of Fri­day Prayers just because the mosque belonged to a dif­fer­ent sect who, he believed, were infi­dels. Worse, the rest of 18 crore bare­ly care. What is left in us after this? Islam? Human­i­ty? Any­thing? Talk about hope? Ask them who lost their loved ones.”

These are a few lines from my diary after last month’s Shikarpur blast. Lit­tle did I know then that the angel of death was so close, just anoth­er Fri­day away.

The blast and gun­fire in Imamia Masjid, Peshawar claimed 22 lives, includ­ing two of my cousins, DSP Naveed Ban­gash whose youngest daugh­ter is only 10 months old and Farhan Ali Ban­gash, who has three school going daugh­ters. My father, Muham­mad Ishaque Ban­gash, received seri­ous injuries in the blast but sur­vived that day and we could not ever know that death was to give him only six more days. My father embraced mar­tyr­dom six days lat­er. But there is more to the real­i­ties of life than what meets the eye. How the mean­ings of life and death rec­i­p­ro­cate for a mar­tyr and his fam­i­ly! No one will ever know who is buried and who dies.

That Fri­day, I was sit­ting in the sun after col­lege when I noticed baba was stand­ing next to me. I looked up. He was look­ing at me and smil­ing. He often did that. That is how he loved us. I smiled back and as always asked him if he was say­ing some­thing. I always knew the answer but I loved to make him say it by ask­ing so. He, as usu­al, kept smil­ing, nod­ded his head and said that there was noth­ing. Noth­ing in the world is worth your father smil­ing at you for no rea­son. Only if I had known that it was the last time baba was smil­ing at me, I would have hugged him tight and nev­er let him go. Who could but stop him from going for prayers? If we ever talked about how dan­ger­ous it was, espe­cial­ly for us for the rea­son of our faith, baba would look up and say, “Allah is there, watch­ing over us.” That is how strong his faith in Allah was. Who knew baba would give his life for his faith one day? One day, so soon.

The days and nights in hos­pi­tal since the blast, I often remem­bered those last moments before baba left for Fri­day Prayers but I always dis­tract­ed myself with prayers for his life because I thought you recall the mem­o­ries of those you lose. Baba will live. All I did those days was pray­ing for his life. I asked peo­ple to pray, every­one I could. In return, peo­ple asked me how baba was. I nev­er had an answer. It took me long to reply their mes­sages. I wrote texts and erased them sev­er­al times before I sent them. No one can feel the help­less­ness of a daugh­ter whose father was fight­ing for his life in hos­pi­tal. Baba’s con­di­tion was crit­i­cal. The doc­tors kept him sedat­ed all this time. He couldn’t talk to us. Baba was wound­ed all over. I couldn’t even hug him. I often but hugged him in my thoughts, think­ing that my prayers and love will heal baba. All those days, I sat by his side silent­ly cry­ing and beg­ging for his life but God intend­ed to heal him some oth­er way. My father joined the rest of mar­tyrs in heav­en six days after that blast took place in Imamia Masjid, Peshawar.

There are some truths chained to life that we can’t deny. Where there is life, there is death. For me, how I lost my father, it was a tran­si­tion from the extreme of pain to the extreme of com­fort. I can’t imag­ine the pain that my father went through. I recall those moments in Imamia Masjid in my thoughts and what fol­lows in me is beyond my pow­er to bear as a human being and as a daugh­ter. Then I hear some voice whis­per in the depths of my heart that baba is very hap­py with Allah. Every­one has to lose his loved ones one day. For me, it is eas­i­er because I don’t imag­ine my father in the dark­ness of the grave. I imag­ine him in the lights of heav­ens. I haven’t lost him. He lives and he watch­es over me. As a Mus­lim, it is easy for me but what do I do for that daugh­ter who lost her lov­ing father and what for? Just because he belonged to a dif­fer­ent sect that is not accept­able for some peo­ple in Islam­ic Repub­lic of Pak­istan? Yes, where there is life, there is death but Allah gives us life and only He has the right to take it. Since when did the deci­sions of life and death get in the hands of human beings? Who is answer­able to me for my father’s life? Who is answer­able to me for the pain that my father went through? Why is being Shia a crime in Islam­ic Repub­lic of Pak­istan? Where do I seek jus­tice? I need answers, both, in this world and the world here­after.

What­ev­er the truths may be but for a daugh­ter there is only one truth that she lost her lov­ing father. Amid all the truths, the painful truth is that I can’t see my father smile at me like that again, I can nev­er feel the warmth of his hug again or the safe­ty of his pres­ence.

[block­quote style=“3”]“And nev­er think of those who have been killed in the cause of Allah as dead. Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiv­ing pro­vi­sion, rejoic­ing in what Allah has bestowed upon them of His boun­ty.” (Holy Qur’an)[/blockquote]

See you soon, baba!

Love,

From the lov­ing daugh­ter of Muham­mad Ishaque Ban­gash Sha­heed.