It Is Him, Hani

Screams went up from the adjacent street and told about another destruction. The boys’ school in the area had been bombed. The screams reached the house of Hani’s mother and the news they brought was like bullets hitting her heart. Immersed in water and soap, she quickly left the laundry. Soap bubbles still covered her hands.

Somehow, she managed to reach the chaotic street. People were running in all directions. Eyes were looking at the devastated school. A cloud of black smoke rose over the scene from afar. It had been a powerful explosion. Hani’s mother chased the running crowds with her eyes. She was trying to ask a question but no one was able to answer as everyone was running. So, she started running. Scattered words and tears of fear took part in this marathon race. Hani’s mother was gasping through her tears.

The street was filled with stones and charred tyres. The remnants of last night’s missile were still on the ground but Hani’s mother did not notice any of this.

A ribbon of memories interrupted the tears and pain to participate in the marathon.

It is him, Hani. My only son whom I had after ten years of marriage!

She nurtured him with great care till he grew up and he revived the spirit of their home, ending the years of silence. He was the only blessing with which destiny had endowed her.

“O God, he is all I have,” she implored in trembling and pained voice.

Silence prevailed again; tears flowed and her heart was banging. Those moments passed painfully. She could no longer see things well. So, she tripped and fell over a large concrete block. She put up with it and quickly stood up out of agony but again she stumbled.

Tears were not enough for the pain of her body and soul, so she broke into sobs. She said with an anguished voice, “But it’s Hani!” Thus she mustered all her strength, stood up, brushed the dust off her clothes with her hands, and carried on running.

“It’s him, Hani!” she said.

She did not know how she managed to reach the destroyed school. Everything was dead. Scattered schoolbags filled the scene, grieving over the children stuck under the rubble. The remnants of a notebook, blown away by the powerful explosion, included a map of Palestine, a drawing of a kite, and the words “I love you, Palestine”. Pens that bore children’s fingerprints were scattered all over the place.

“But where is Hani?” she exclaimed.

Quick as a flash, her eyes scanned the area. Children who had survived the bombing were running towards her. She received them with joy and thanked God that they were safe. She wiped their faces with her hands to rid them of the terror that gleamed in their little eyes. “But, where is Hani?” she asked herself.

Without any focus, she looked at the scene. She began running towards the place. Rescue operations were still underway. Men were carrying burnt corpses of children. She ran towards them.

“Perhaps he is Hani!” she thought. Her heart sank for a moment.

“He is not Hani,” she said. The rescuers jostled amid the screams. People were shouting, “Ambulance! Come on. Here is a wounded person. Quick!” Moments were racing each other. Hani’s mother rushed anxiously towards people carrying a wounded child. She called out, “Hani! Hani! No. No. It can’t be Hani.”

Rescuers kept coming out of the rubble, carrying injured people and thus she did not know where to go. Her eyes followed everything. Quickly, she climbed the rubble to look for her son. Suddenly, she slipped and her foot got stuck among the rubble. She was in terrible pain. She shouted at the top of her voice, “O my God, where is my son, Hani?”

As she tried to pull her foot out, the pain increased. Her strength drained away as she resisted the pain. Twice she tried to stand up but in vain and the pain increased. She shouted from the depths of her soul, “What is this pain?”. Defying the pain, she said, “But this is Hani!”

She moved aside the piles of bricks and got her foot out. She stood up and breathed a sigh of relief. A rescuer was carrying a seriously wounded child. Though she did not see his face, she recognised his head. “Probably he is Hani” she said. She ran like a little girl with pain and fear. She said to herself, “Perhaps he is not Hani. Hani might have been kil… No! No! O my God.”

She shed tears as she was putting her hope in God despite the despair and destruction. She neared the rescuer who was holding a critically wounded child. She said, “It is him, Hani!” “Is he alive and kicking?”

She looked at his bloodied body. She implored him to show a sign of life so that he could give life to her tattered heart. She touched his body trying to find a pulse that would give her a glimmer of hope. Her heart was bleeding and her tears were rolling down. She was speechless. However, the marathon had not finished yet.

Hope was mixed with tears, and prayers to God the Giver and Bestower were said in silence. Hani’s mother ran after the rescuer and tried to get in the ambulance. There was no room for her because there were many victims. So, she had to go to the hospital by another means.

The marathon continued between tears, hope and her heart which was clinging to the ambulance. The ambulance disappeared from sight and thus she had to run. Now, she felt the pain in her foot again. She was out of breath as she rushed about, looking for a car. She managed to get in a car carrying relatives of the victims and which was heading to the hospital.

When the car arrived, Hani’s mother jumped out with her swollen foot. She bore it patiently and, as if she was addressing the foot, said, “O foot, run. It’s him, Hani!” A shiver of fear ran through her body. Crucial moments. What would the doctor say to her? Had Hani died?

“O God, You are the Most Merciful, I cannot lose hope in You” she pleaded.

The doctor looked at her in silence. Then he smiled and said, “He is still alive”

Hope in God does not die. The will to live is stronger than all the destruction.