I quickly lifted my head to confirm the owner of that voice—a voice I could never erase from my mind. My eyes locked onto his; he was standing before me with a profound smile on his face. In his hand, he held a Qur'an decorated with captivating, colorful threads. He held it out to me, but shock kept me from reaching for it or saying a word.
I took a long breath and let it out before asking, "Muhammad Taufik, right?" He gave me a small smile, saying, "Take it; you’re just standing there staring at me." Feeling weak, like a doused hen, I reached out and accepted the Qur'an.
"I congratulate you. May Allah bless the studies you have completed. I will look for you before you leave." I simply nodded. Before I could say anything else, Malam Aminu arrived and called me aside.
"Amatullah, let’s go. The Sheikh wants to speak with you." My heart thudded against my chest as I followed him. I knelt before the Sheikh; he stared at me so intensely it felt as if he could see right through me. He picked up some books and held them out. As I reached to take them, he suddenly grabbed my hand firmly. Startled, I looked up at him, but he seemed unbothered, rubbing my hands in his. I had to use force to snatch my hand back. I scrambled to stand up, but a wave of dizziness hit me. No matter how hard I tried to stay on my feet, I couldn't. Malam Aminu, who was close by, quickly took the Qur'an and the other gifts from my hands.
Everything went dark as I collapsed to the ground, my head spinning and my body going limp. People crowded around me, their faces appearing blurred and distant.
"Amatullah, are you alright?" That was Brother Alhassan’s voice—the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness. I was carried away and rushed to the hospital. Slowly, I began to open my eyes, which felt incredibly heavy. I looked around the room and confirmed I was in a hospital. My mother (Umma), Amira’s mother, Aunt Sawwama, Amira, and Aunt Zulaihatu were all in the room. They began asking how I was, one after another, but before I could answer, Abba, Brother Alhassan, Umar, and Malam Suleiman burst into the room in a state of extreme panic and distress. I noticed Abba’s eyes were filled with tears as he stared at me as if I were a stranger.
Before I could realize what was happening or say a word, Abba landed a heavy slap across my face. As I looked up, he slapped me again. Umma and the others rushed forward, asking what was wrong.
### **THE POISON OF THE TONGUE**
**Page 36**
"Munnir, what is wrong with you? You’re slapping a girl while she’s on a hospital bed, ill!" She turned to Brother Alhassan, who had kept his head down since they entered, unable to look anyone in the eye. "Alhassan, what did the doctor tell you? What is happening to Amatullah?" He didn't raise his head, nor did he answer her.
“It’s impossible for my daughter to be beaten like this without a reason! She is sick; if she isn't being comforted, she shouldn't be traumatized. By Allah, this will not stand!”
"Hafsatu, shut your mouth before I lose my temper with you right here! You have betrayed me, and you have betrayed your daughter’s life. Hafsatu, you have shattered every plan and preparation I had for Amatullah’s life. You have cast me into such shame and fear that I cannot face people, let alone associate with them. Between me and you, Allah is the judge; I will never forgive you." The room was filled with exclamations of "Salati" and "Sallallami." Umma went into a frenzy, ranting uncontrollably until Amira’s mother held her, begging her to calm down and reminding her they were in a hospital.
I was crying with all my strength, my whole body shaking like a leaf, my teeth chattering together like a rain-soaked chick.
"Please, everyone leave. I want to speak with Amatullah alone," Abba said, his voice trembling with the intense distress and confusion he was feeling.
"You aren't the only parent of this girl, Munnir, so I am going nowhere! Whatever you discuss will be in my presence. I have authority over her just as you feel you do," Umma said with arrogance and spite. It took a great effort for Amira’s mother to persuade her to leave the room. It was just Abba and me. I continued to cry; though I didn't fully know what was happening, I knew that whatever could make Abba act this way and speak such harsh words had to be grave.
He sat near my feet and stared at me—a long, silent look he had never given me before.
“Amatullah.”
"Yes, Abba," I answered, my voice faint, as if a cord were tightened around my throat.
“Amatullah, you were one of the few women in my life I trusted completely. I believed you would never betray me or bring me shame. The day you were born, your mother’s womb had to be removed because of the intense suffering and agony she went through during her pregnancy and your birth. It was confirmed she would never give birth again. I vowed in my heart that I would raise you, care for you, and give you a religious education so that you would be worth ten sons to me. And Alhamdulillah, I was filled with joy today seeing that you had memorized the Qur'an; I had nothing but gratitude to Allah. But why did you choose to turn this day of joy into a day of sorrow—the worst day of my life?”
He didn't give me a chance to speak. "Allah is my witness, for He never sleeps and sees all that is hidden and manifest. He knows I guarded the trust He gave me; not for a single day did I let you stray from the path of the religion brought by the Prophet. But Amatullah, why did you choose to repay me this way? Why did you choose to fill my heart with a pain that will never let me live in peace and happiness again?" I broke into a violent sob, my breath hitching.
"Amatullah, the doctor has confirmed to us that you are two weeks pregnant. My daughter, who got you pregnant?" I felt like the living dead; my breath stopped momentarily. I felt the world spinning. I only came to when I felt something cold and wet on my face—Abba had splashed water on me. I continued to cry a cry so deep that I don't believe words exist to describe the pain in my chest. No matter how much I wanted to speak, my mouth refused to utter the things haunting my soul. My distress reached its peak when I saw tears streaming from Abba’s eyes as he bowed his head in silence. My own tears eventually ran dry, leaving my eyes stinging.
"Abba," I whispered in a weak, broken voice. There was no reply. I called him a second time—still silence. I shook him, and he slumped to the floor, his eyes rolled back and his mouth twisted to one side.
I put my hands on my head and let out a scream that brought Umma and the others rushing back into the room.
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un! What happened to him?" Aunt Sawwama asked, but I couldn't answer, only shake and sob.
Brother Alhassan and Malam Aminu lifted him onto the bed I had just occupied. Amira’s mother ran for the doctor, who entered and ordered everyone out. I couldn't move my feet, even as Amira tried to pull me away. Seeing my state, the doctor told them to leave me be. I dragged my limp body to the bed and knelt, rubbing Abba’s hand gently. The doctors swarmed him, trying to save his life; his body began to jerk, and they used a machine like an iron to press against his chest.
They worked on him for a long time until he stabilized and was placed on a ventilator.
"Have patience, get up and go outside. God willing, he will be fine; as you can see, he is better now," the doctor said softly. I looked up at him. “Please, will he wake up?”
“Why wouldn't he? In sha Allah, he will wake up, recover, and live his life as if nothing happened.”
I didn't answer; I just cried harder while rubbing Abba’s hand. His face had grown gaunt, and his palm was as cold as ice. Suddenly, the door burst open. I turned to see Umma entering like a cobra; fear gripped my heart. Before I could move, she fell upon me with blows, hitting me everywhere as if trying to beat the life out of me. She slammed my head against the metal frame of the bed, and blood immediately began to pour out. The doctors had to pry her off me, but she didn't stop shouting curses.
“Allah is the judge between us, Amatullah! Rather than have a child like you, I wish I had lived my whole life without ever conceiving. If I had known you would become this plague, I would have strangled you the day you were born! I hate you; I hate looking at you! With this shame you have brought us, I would rather see your corpse before me; then I would be at peace!”
I crawled over and grabbed her feet. "For the sake of Allah’s greatness, Umma, have patience! Don’t say words that will break my mind. Umma, give me a chance to explain, I swear it was destiny..." Before I could finish, she kicked me away like a ball. I screamed from the sharp pain that shot through my skull.
"Are you crazy?" the doctor shouted at Umma. “What if you kill her? No matter what she did, you should wait until you get home. Have you forgotten this is a hospital and you are in a patient's room? Pack up and leave; we don't want this noise here!”
The doctor spoke with extreme anger and disappointment. Amira’s mother and Aunt Sawwama took Umma out. Amira helped me up, and the doctor told me to leave so Abba could rest. We went to another part of the hospital where they dressed my bleeding forehead. When they finished, Aunt Sawwama said we should go home; Brother Alhassan would stay with Abba.
"Aunt, please, let me stay here..." I started, but she cut me off. "Don't argue with me, Amatullah. Let’s go." I didn't say another word. Malam Aminu, Brother Alhassan, and Muhammad Taufik approached us. All three gave me intense looks. Malam Aminu, looking disgusted, left first after Aunt Sawwama thanked him for his help.
"Aunt, it looks like you're heading home; I can drop you off on my way," Muhammad Taufik said, looking at Aunt Sawwama.
“No, my son. You’ve done so much since this happened. You brought us to this expensive hospital in your car and paid for everything. It's too much; just go, we will take public transport.”
"My father instructed me to stay with this servant of Allah until everything is resolved. So, I beg you to help me fulfill my father's command." Aunt Sawwama went silent, then nodded. "Alright, we thank you." They said goodbye to Brother Alhassan, exchanged numbers, and we followed Muhammad to his car. Umma and Amira’s mother had already left.
The car was as silent as a hearse. No one even coughed until we reached the house. Aunt Sawwama and Amira thanked him. I couldn't say anything; he and I just looked at each other.
As soon as we stepped into the courtyard, Umma met us as if she had been waiting.
“Don't you dare come near this room, you cursed bastard! Amatullah, you’ve given people something to gossip about in this town; you’ve brought me shame. Don't come near me, because if we stay in the same space, my heart might drive me to strangle you!”
“Subhanallahi! Haba, Hafsatu! When someone loses their way, you use your own mind to find them. Pour cool water on your heart so we can sit and find a way to mend this tragedy that has befallen us all.”
Aunt Sawwama’s words only seemed to make Umma angrier.
“Umar's mother, get this girl out of this house before I follow my heart and do something we will both regret!”
Aunt Sawwama held her head. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un." My vision blurred into darkness, but I dragged myself to Umma and held her feet.
"Umma, if you don't protect my secret, who will in this world? Umma, give me a chance to explain; it wasn't my fault, it was the destiny of the Lord." She kicked me so hard I tumbled, and my dressed forehead hit the ground. Blood began to flow from my forehead and nose. Aunt Sawwama quickly lifted me, but I couldn't stand; she had to hold me firmly. Despite the coldness of our household, I saw pity for me on their faces that day.
The wife of the Ustaz told me to come and stay in her room, but Umma jumped up and vowed to curse anyone who gave me shelter. So, Aunt Sawwama led me away, crying, while Amira was forcibly pulled away from me. We left the house, weeping bitterly.
Outside, I saw Muhammad Taufik. When he saw us, he jumped out of his car.
"Hajiya, is everything alright? I saw you go in and come right back out." Instead of answering, she asked, “You're still here?”
“I was just about to leave when I saw you. Is something wrong?”
“Everything is fine; it's just that my friend’s health isn't good, so I’m taking her to my house.”
“Then get in, let me take you.”
"No, don't worry, we'll find a ride." He quickly interrupted. “Hajiya, I am fulfilling my father's command. He respects and honors anyone who memorizes the Holy Book and serves them with his strength and his pocket. Please, let me take you.”
She didn't argue. She took my hand and we got into the car. I cried all the way to her house. As we got out to enter, he called my name and I froze.
“Amatullah.”
I turned, and our eyes met. "May Allah grant you healing." I couldn't find the words to reply, but I answered in my heart. We entered the house, and I collapsed onto the mattress in the room, sobbing.
Aunt Zulaihatu came in and tried to comfort me with every word imaginable, but I couldn't stop. Aunt Sawwama came in too.
“Amatullah, sit up. We need to talk.”
“Aunt, I can't get up.”
In a stern voice, she asked, "Amatullah, who got you pregnant?" My breath hitched at the bluntness of the question. I didn't even know who did it to me, so I had no words to defend myself. All I knew and believed was that my destiny had arrived this way, and there was no way to escape it.
### **THE POISON OF THE TONGUE**
**Page 37**
I was breathing heavily, blood from my forehead washing over my face. In a soft voice, she asked again, “Amatullah, please help us by telling us who got you pregnant. Look at the state your father is in. In his life, you are one of the things he is most proud of. From the moment you were born until you grew up, his happiness only multiplied. Many times, your mother benefited from your status; he would overlook her flaws because, in his words, she did a great thing by giving him a daughter. Because her womb was removed, he felt it would be unjust to leave her. Amatullah, your parents have sacrificed so much for you—more than words can describe. Your mother suffered through your pregnancy and a long labor where we thought she wouldn't survive. Your father worked so hard for you to provide a good life within his means; he gave you an education until you memorized the Qur'an. Is this how you repay them? Do they deserve this from you?”
“I swear it was destiny; it wasn't my will! Aunt, believe me, I would never throw away the upbringing you gave me or stray from the path you set me on.”
She cut me off. “Who got you pregnant?”
"I don't know him. I've never seen him. In fact, he doesn't know me either; he has never seen my face." She stood up in a rage—a rage I had never seen from her in my entire life.
“What kind of talk is this that a sane mind cannot accept? How can you not know him?”
“By Allah, I don't know him. We have never seen each other.”
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un!" she exclaimed, holding her head in distress. Aunt Zulaihatu stood up to hold her, as she looked like she might faint. She sat her down, saying, “Please, Umma, have patience. Let’s take things slowly. It’s better to leave her alone until she regains her senses and her mind settles.”
Aunt Sawwama’s breathing became erratic. I ran out to get her water and bumped into Umar as he entered the house. He blocked my path. “Where are you going?”
Trembling, I said, "I’m taking water to Aunt; she’s struggling to breathe." He snatched the cup, gave me a hateful look, and I followed him into the room. Aunt Zulaihatu took the water, recited some prayers over it, and gave it to her. She drank some and rubbed the rest on her body, gradually calming down like someone who had just finished a race for their life. Aunt Zulaihatu helped her lie down, and soon she fell asleep. We all sighed in relief; she had complicated high blood pressure and respiratory issues.
"Aunt, what is she doing in this house?" Umar asked with a scowl.
“This is Amatullah. Don't you recognize her? This is like a home to her; she has the right to come whenever she wants.”
“Aunt, that was before. She shouldn't be here to throw dirt in our eyes now. A bastard child, Amatullah? Who got you pregnant? Why would you do this to us?”
Aunt Sawwama suddenly slapped him. She pointed a finger at him. “Umar, have you gone mad, or have you started using drugs? Can you not protect your sister in the face of the destiny that has befallen her?”
He held his cheek where she had slapped him. “Aunt, destiny? You say destiny? Amatullah is not a child; she is over fifteen. Even if it was destiny, why didn't she speak up when it happened? Why wait until a pregnancy appeared?”
After saying his piece, he stormed out of the room. Aunt Zulaihatu held her head. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un! Allahumma ajirni fi musibati (O Allah, reward me in my affliction)." I sat motionless. By now, my tears had stopped, replaced by a silent, burning internal grief. I sat there until Aunt Zulaihatu got up, went out, and returned to sit by me.
“Get up, go and bathe. Clean yourself up. Change your clothes, then come and eat so you can rest.”
I quickly lifted my head to confirm the owner of that voice—a voice I could never erase from my mind. My eyes locked onto his; he was standing before me with a profound smile on his face. In his hand, he held a Qur'an decorated with captivating, colorful threads. He held it out to me, but shock kept me from reaching for it or saying a word.
I took a long breath and let it out before asking, "Muhammad Taufik, right?" He gave me a small smile, saying, "Take it; you’re just standing there staring at me." Feeling weak, like a doused hen, I reached out and accepted the Qur'an.
"I congratulate you. May Allah bless the studies you have completed. I will look for you before you leave." I simply nodded. Before I could say anything else, Malam Aminu arrived and called me aside.
"Amatullah, let’s go. The Sheikh wants to speak with you." My heart thudded against my chest as I followed him. I knelt before the Sheikh; he stared at me so intensely it felt as if he could see right through me. He picked up some books and held them out. As I reached to take them, he suddenly grabbed my hand firmly. Startled, I looked up at him, but he seemed unbothered, rubbing my hands in his. I had to use force to snatch my hand back. I scrambled to stand up, but a wave of dizziness hit me. No matter how hard I tried to stay on my feet, I couldn't. Malam Aminu, who was close by, quickly took the Qur'an and the other gifts from my hands.
Everything went dark as I collapsed to the ground, my head spinning and my body going limp. People crowded around me, their faces appearing blurred and distant.
"Amatullah, are you alright?" That was Brother Alhassan’s voice—the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness. I was carried away and rushed to the hospital. Slowly, I began to open my eyes, which felt incredibly heavy. I looked around the room and confirmed I was in a hospital. My mother (Umma), Amira’s mother, Aunt Sawwama, Amira, and Aunt Zulaihatu were all in the room. They began asking how I was, one after another, but before I could answer, Abba, Brother Alhassan, Umar, and Malam Suleiman burst into the room in a state of extreme panic and distress. I noticed Abba’s eyes were filled with tears as he stared at me as if I were a stranger.
Before I could realize what was happening or say a word, Abba landed a heavy slap across my face. As I looked up, he slapped me again. Umma and the others rushed forward, asking what was wrong.
### **THE POISON OF THE TONGUE**
**Page 36**
"Munnir, what is wrong with you? You’re slapping a girl while she’s on a hospital bed, ill!" She turned to Brother Alhassan, who had kept his head down since they entered, unable to look anyone in the eye. "Alhassan, what did the doctor tell you? What is happening to Amatullah?" He didn't raise his head, nor did he answer her.
“It’s impossible for my daughter to be beaten like this without a reason! She is sick; if she isn't being comforted, she shouldn't be traumatized. By Allah, this will not stand!”
"Hafsatu, shut your mouth before I lose my temper with you right here! You have betrayed me, and you have betrayed your daughter’s life. Hafsatu, you have shattered every plan and preparation I had for Amatullah’s life. You have cast me into such shame and fear that I cannot face people, let alone associate with them. Between me and you, Allah is the judge; I will never forgive you." The room was filled with exclamations of "Salati" and "Sallallami." Umma went into a frenzy, ranting uncontrollably until Amira’s mother held her, begging her to calm down and reminding her they were in a hospital.
I was crying with all my strength, my whole body shaking like a leaf, my teeth chattering together like a rain-soaked chick.
"Please, everyone leave. I want to speak with Amatullah alone," Abba said, his voice trembling with the intense distress and confusion he was feeling.
"You aren't the only parent of this girl, Munnir, so I am going nowhere! Whatever you discuss will be in my presence. I have authority over her just as you feel you do," Umma said with arrogance and spite. It took a great effort for Amira’s mother to persuade her to leave the room. It was just Abba and me. I continued to cry; though I didn't fully know what was happening, I knew that whatever could make Abba act this way and speak such harsh words had to be grave.
He sat near my feet and stared at me—a long, silent look he had never given me before.
“Amatullah.”
"Yes, Abba," I answered, my voice faint, as if a cord were tightened around my throat.
“Amatullah, you were one of the few women in my life I trusted completely. I believed you would never betray me or bring me shame. The day you were born, your mother’s womb had to be removed because of the intense suffering and agony she went through during her pregnancy and your birth. It was confirmed she would never give birth again. I vowed in my heart that I would raise you, care for you, and give you a religious education so that you would be worth ten sons to me. And Alhamdulillah, I was filled with joy today seeing that you had memorized the Qur'an; I had nothing but gratitude to Allah. But why did you choose to turn this day of joy into a day of sorrow—the worst day of my life?”
He didn't give me a chance to speak. "Allah is my witness, for He never sleeps and sees all that is hidden and manifest. He knows I guarded the trust He gave me; not for a single day did I let you stray from the path of the religion brought by the Prophet. But Amatullah, why did you choose to repay me this way? Why did you choose to fill my heart with a pain that will never let me live in peace and happiness again?" I broke into a violent sob, my breath hitching.
"Amatullah, the doctor has confirmed to us that you are two weeks pregnant. My daughter, who got you pregnant?" I felt like the living dead; my breath stopped momentarily. I felt the world spinning. I only came to when I felt something cold and wet on my face—Abba had splashed water on me. I continued to cry a cry so deep that I don't believe words exist to describe the pain in my chest. No matter how much I wanted to speak, my mouth refused to utter the things haunting my soul. My distress reached its peak when I saw tears streaming from Abba’s eyes as he bowed his head in silence. My own tears eventually ran dry, leaving my eyes stinging.
"Abba," I whispered in a weak, broken voice. There was no reply. I called him a second time—still silence. I shook him, and he slumped to the floor, his eyes rolled back and his mouth twisted to one side.
I put my hands on my head and let out a scream that brought Umma and the others rushing back into the room.
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un! What happened to him?" Aunt Sawwama asked, but I couldn't answer, only shake and sob.
Brother Alhassan and Malam Aminu lifted him onto the bed I had just occupied. Amira’s mother ran for the doctor, who entered and ordered everyone out. I couldn't move my feet, even as Amira tried to pull me away. Seeing my state, the doctor told them to leave me be. I dragged my limp body to the bed and knelt, rubbing Abba’s hand gently. The doctors swarmed him, trying to save his life; his body began to jerk, and they used a machine like an iron to press against his chest.
They worked on him for a long time until he stabilized and was placed on a ventilator.
"Have patience, get up and go outside. God willing, he will be fine; as you can see, he is better now," the doctor said softly. I looked up at him. “Please, will he wake up?”
“Why wouldn't he? In sha Allah, he will wake up, recover, and live his life as if nothing happened.”
I didn't answer; I just cried harder while rubbing Abba’s hand. His face had grown gaunt, and his palm was as cold as ice. Suddenly, the door burst open. I turned to see Umma entering like a cobra; fear gripped my heart. Before I could move, she fell upon me with blows, hitting me everywhere as if trying to beat the life out of me. She slammed my head against the metal frame of the bed, and blood immediately began to pour out. The doctors had to pry her off me, but she didn't stop shouting curses.
“Allah is the judge between us, Amatullah! Rather than have a child like you, I wish I had lived my whole life without ever conceiving. If I had known you would become this plague, I would have strangled you the day you were born! I hate you; I hate looking at you! With this shame you have brought us, I would rather see your corpse before me; then I would be at peace!”
I crawled over and grabbed her feet. "For the sake of Allah’s greatness, Umma, have patience! Don’t say words that will break my mind. Umma, give me a chance to explain, I swear it was destiny..." Before I could finish, she kicked me away like a ball. I screamed from the sharp pain that shot through my skull.
"Are you crazy?" the doctor shouted at Umma. “What if you kill her? No matter what she did, you should wait until you get home. Have you forgotten this is a hospital and you are in a patient's room? Pack up and leave; we don't want this noise here!”
The doctor spoke with extreme anger and disappointment. Amira’s mother and Aunt Sawwama took Umma out. Amira helped me up, and the doctor told me to leave so Abba could rest. We went to another part of the hospital where they dressed my bleeding forehead. When they finished, Aunt Sawwama said we should go home; Brother Alhassan would stay with Abba.
"Aunt, please, let me stay here..." I started, but she cut me off. "Don't argue with me, Amatullah. Let’s go." I didn't say another word. Malam Aminu, Brother Alhassan, and Muhammad Taufik approached us. All three gave me intense looks. Malam Aminu, looking disgusted, left first after Aunt Sawwama thanked him for his help.
"Aunt, it looks like you're heading home; I can drop you off on my way," Muhammad Taufik said, looking at Aunt Sawwama.
“No, my son. You’ve done so much since this happened. You brought us to this expensive hospital in your car and paid for everything. It's too much; just go, we will take public transport.”
"My father instructed me to stay with this servant of Allah until everything is resolved. So, I beg you to help me fulfill my father's command." Aunt Sawwama went silent, then nodded. "Alright, we thank you." They said goodbye to Brother Alhassan, exchanged numbers, and we followed Muhammad to his car. Umma and Amira’s mother had already left.
The car was as silent as a hearse. No one even coughed until we reached the house. Aunt Sawwama and Amira thanked him. I couldn't say anything; he and I just looked at each other.
As soon as we stepped into the courtyard, Umma met us as if she had been waiting.
“Don't you dare come near this room, you cursed bastard! Amatullah, you’ve given people something to gossip about in this town; you’ve brought me shame. Don't come near me, because if we stay in the same space, my heart might drive me to strangle you!”
“Subhanallahi! Haba, Hafsatu! When someone loses their way, you use your own mind to find them. Pour cool water on your heart so we can sit and find a way to mend this tragedy that has befallen us all.”
Aunt Sawwama’s words only seemed to make Umma angrier.
“Umar's mother, get this girl out of this house before I follow my heart and do something we will both regret!”
Aunt Sawwama held her head. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un." My vision blurred into darkness, but I dragged myself to Umma and held her feet.
"Umma, if you don't protect my secret, who will in this world? Umma, give me a chance to explain; it wasn't my fault, it was the destiny of the Lord." She kicked me so hard I tumbled, and my dressed forehead hit the ground. Blood began to flow from my forehead and nose. Aunt Sawwama quickly lifted me, but I couldn't stand; she had to hold me firmly. Despite the coldness of our household, I saw pity for me on their faces that day.
The wife of the Ustaz told me to come and stay in her room, but Umma jumped up and vowed to curse anyone who gave me shelter. So, Aunt Sawwama led me away, crying, while Amira was forcibly pulled away from me. We left the house, weeping bitterly.
Outside, I saw Muhammad Taufik. When he saw us, he jumped out of his car.
"Hajiya, is everything alright? I saw you go in and come right back out." Instead of answering, she asked, “You're still here?”
“I was just about to leave when I saw you. Is something wrong?”
“Everything is fine; it's just that my friend’s health isn't good, so I’m taking her to my house.”
“Then get in, let me take you.”
"No, don't worry, we'll find a ride." He quickly interrupted. “Hajiya, I am fulfilling my father's command. He respects and honors anyone who memorizes the Holy Book and serves them with his strength and his pocket. Please, let me take you.”
She didn't argue. She took my hand and we got into the car. I cried all the way to her house. As we got out to enter, he called my name and I froze.
“Amatullah.”
I turned, and our eyes met. "May Allah grant you healing." I couldn't find the words to reply, but I answered in my heart. We entered the house, and I collapsed onto the mattress in the room, sobbing.
Aunt Zulaihatu came in and tried to comfort me with every word imaginable, but I couldn't stop. Aunt Sawwama came in too.
“Amatullah, sit up. We need to talk.”
“Aunt, I can't get up.”
In a stern voice, she asked, "Amatullah, who got you pregnant?" My breath hitched at the bluntness of the question. I didn't even know who did it to me, so I had no words to defend myself. All I knew and believed was that my destiny had arrived this way, and there was no way to escape it.
### **THE POISON OF THE TONGUE**
**Page 37**
I was breathing heavily, blood from my forehead washing over my face. In a soft voice, she asked again, “Amatullah, please help us by telling us who got you pregnant. Look at the state your father is in. In his life, you are one of the things he is most proud of. From the moment you were born until you grew up, his happiness only multiplied. Many times, your mother benefited from your status; he would overlook her flaws because, in his words, she did a great thing by giving him a daughter. Because her womb was removed, he felt it would be unjust to leave her. Amatullah, your parents have sacrificed so much for you—more than words can describe. Your mother suffered through your pregnancy and a long labor where we thought she wouldn't survive. Your father worked so hard for you to provide a good life within his means; he gave you an education until you memorized the Qur'an. Is this how you repay them? Do they deserve this from you?”
“I swear it was destiny; it wasn't my will! Aunt, believe me, I would never throw away the upbringing you gave me or stray from the path you set me on.”
She cut me off. “Who got you pregnant?”
"I don't know him. I've never seen him. In fact, he doesn't know me either; he has never seen my face." She stood up in a rage—a rage I had never seen from her in my entire life.
“What kind of talk is this that a sane mind cannot accept? How can you not know him?”
“By Allah, I don't know him. We have never seen each other.”
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un!" she exclaimed, holding her head in distress. Aunt Zulaihatu stood up to hold her, as she looked like she might faint. She sat her down, saying, “Please, Umma, have patience. Let’s take things slowly. It’s better to leave her alone until she regains her senses and her mind settles.”
Aunt Sawwama’s breathing became erratic. I ran out to get her water and bumped into Umar as he entered the house. He blocked my path. “Where are you going?”
Trembling, I said, "I’m taking water to Aunt; she’s struggling to breathe." He snatched the cup, gave me a hateful look, and I followed him into the room. Aunt Zulaihatu took the water, recited some prayers over it, and gave it to her. She drank some and rubbed the rest on her body, gradually calming down like someone who had just finished a race for their life. Aunt Zulaihatu helped her lie down, and soon she fell asleep. We all sighed in relief; she had complicated high blood pressure and respiratory issues.
"Aunt, what is she doing in this house?" Umar asked with a scowl.
“This is Amatullah. Don't you recognize her? This is like a home to her; she has the right to come whenever she wants.”
“Aunt, that was before. She shouldn't be here to throw dirt in our eyes now. A bastard child, Amatullah? Who got you pregnant? Why would you do this to us?”
Aunt Sawwama suddenly slapped him. She pointed a finger at him. “Umar, have you gone mad, or have you started using drugs? Can you not protect your sister in the face of the destiny that has befallen her?”
He held his cheek where she had slapped him. “Aunt, destiny? You say destiny? Amatullah is not a child; she is over fifteen. Even if it was destiny, why didn't she speak up when it happened? Why wait until a pregnancy appeared?”
After saying his piece, he stormed out of the room. Aunt Zulaihatu held her head. "Innalillahi wa inna ilaihir raji'un! Allahumma ajirni fi musibati (O Allah, reward me in my affliction)." I sat motionless. By now, my tears had stopped, replaced by a silent, burning internal grief. I sat there until Aunt Zulaihatu got up, went out, and returned to sit by me.
“Get up, go and bathe. Clean yourself up. Change your clothes, then come and eat so you can rest.”
I raised my bloodshot eyes…