Two Cities

August 14, 1947.  It was a day full of wonder, and hope, and terror. Something had shifted on the earth. Not in the skies, because I don't hold God responsible for this. It is our own follies that lead us here. I heard people were being dragged from their homes and executed. Dragged and bloodied and r***d. I didn't want to believe it. But it was time to move. Abu, bless his soul knew about me and never even blinked about it. He preached love, and he wasn't going to go back on his word. Ammi's heart was broken but I didn't hold myself responsible and told her she shouldn't either. We would talk through food, cooking together, I chopping and frying, her arranging the meats and the liquids and the water. We wouldn't speak, but make food. I let her find her way through. I prayed every day, five times, lifting hands in supplication, no one could tell me otherwise. Ammi said we are already chased for being Muslim, now you add this. It took her a long time to understand that I hadn't added this. It was part of me all along. And when Saima came along, it was almost as if she loved me through her. She would offer her food and one time, I caught them praying together, and I left the room, crying and thanking Allah through my tears, my head pressed against the wall. So my family was with me. I didn't need anybody else really. Just them. I needed us to liive though. So we began packing. Packing packing our life away. We didn't know what was ahead but we knew we had to go.