The Victim Wife of a Drug Addicted Husband
In the morning, I woke up to remember the last terrible night and I was about to tell my father but I feared that I would be in shame. Now, I wish I had told him.
- Categories: Muslim Women's Issues - Touching Stories -
All praise and thanks are Allah's, the Lord of the ‘Alamîn (mankind, jinn, and all that exists) and Peace and Blessings be upon our Prophet Muhammad, his household and all of his companions.
She said: Whom shall I to blame? To whom shall I complain?
After my bloom faded away, I lost the brightness of my youth, I reached the age of forty years, white hairs appeared in my head and the wrinkles of old age terribly penetrated my face, now I avoid looking at the mirror.
What is my tragedy and story?
Before I start to sail in the ocean of bitter memories and before I proceed to open my wound so as to let my blood flow to make everyone who shared in creating my tragedy smell it, I only complain of my grief and sorrow to Allah, for Allah is my only Shelter and to Him I only refuge.
I hope that my husband, who is imprisoned now, may listen to my tragedy and story. Now he is staggering, he lost his mind, trembling and worn by diseases. I hope also that my father could now save any part of his daughter who became as a ghost living with her children in a house that any creatures can live in except humans.
How was my tragedy interwoven?
My father cared so much to make me marry as he feared that I might miss the chance of marriage as happened to my sister. He thought that he had to prevent the same tragedy to happen to me but he forgot that everything was prescribed by Allah. The first suitor was welcomed by my father as if he wanted to get rid of me, my father did not ask well about him and he only satisfied himself with his family compliment, the family who also shared in killing and murdering me. They did not disclose to me the fact that their son was really a demon, they hide that arguing latter with fake arguments that they expected he would be good after he marries me!
He got married to me; I was an innocent wife who did not know that she married to a snake in which poison abounds. I really was lost and find no one to help me.
One month after getting married, I discovered the terrible truth, one night, he returned late with a dirty smell breathed from his mouth. As I asked him about this smell, he said in laughter and hallucination while he trembled: This is a perfume, oh you fool!
I was stuck to see him looking at me with goggled and red eyes as if they were flaming fires. He murmured with some words which I could not understand but I only grasped that he threatened and frightened me. He started to beat and kick me in all my body then he threw himself out of fatigue as if he was an ox who lost his power.
In the morning, I woke up to remember the last terrible night and I was about to tell my father but I feared that I would be in shame. Now, I wish I had told him.
For more than twenty years, I endured such bitter silence and got four children who were brought up in this tragedy. Every day, they see their father on a condition they never see other peoples in.
My daughter who is ten years old always asks me with her tears blurring her eyes and dropping as if they were pearls or a wonderful clear spring of water, why do you cry mother every day? Are not you fed up? Is my father ill? Why does he beat you? Where is he now? This time, his journey is very long, we have not seen him since one year, every time he traveled, he came back then traveled again.
This miserable innocent baby girl thinks that her father travels, she believes what I tell her despite the fact that he is really in prison.
In brief, this is my tragedy and I know that everyone who listens to me now is only preoccupied by his own matters.
I'm a woman!! The victim wife!
I embrace my children when the night falls.
I tremble with fear when I hear the sound of thunder or see the lightening fearing that rain my shower us and destroy our fragile house.
I see in my children eyes a question which they severally want to pose: who is responsible with our tragedy? Where is our father? I cannot reply but they repeat their question as if it was coming from the depth and echoing in my ears. We are always hungry.
Cold weather tears our limbs and sleep never visits us. Yet, I'm patient because I believe that our Lord will never forsake us, He shall sustain us as He sustains even birds in their nests.
I hope you my husband, shall hear me..
I hope you my father shall hear me..
I hope my communist shall hear me
I hope everyone who shared in creating my tragedy shall hear me..
In the heart of the night and in some parts of the day, I hear the wolves howl around my house, they want to eat my chastity but I smell their dirty smell, so who shall protect me? Fear, hunger, loneliness, frailty and the cries of my children are knives that may kill me.
Who shall respond to my cries? Who shall protect me?
Who shall respond to my cries? Who shall respond to my cries?
Signature
The victim wife
Abdullah bin Abdulrahman Al Ayada
Ibn Khuzaima Publishing House
Translated by Wathakker.info website