Madness: A Lover’s Station (1)

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A woman I unexpectedly bumped into inspired awe in me as I looked into the deeper side of her derangement. Now she lived in my mind.

How could she banish from my thoughts when she unfurled to me the Beloved’s Magnificence even in a dull lamplight? Should I remain tight-lipped about my heartening encounter with what some of the “devotees” called her as an “insane” woman?

Nobody seemed to put much attention on her every time she attended a gathering or snatched a sleep inside the mosque. She must have accepted the people’s treatment as if it was no more than she deserved.

Now let us take a glimpse of the menacing but powerful stroke of her insanity.

Albeit I missed the company of my fellow ums (all were in a vacation/others were engaged in private matters), a mentally unstable woman had perked me up on a Thursday night during the activity on Mi’raj (Prophet’s Ascension) at the Blue Mosque.

As I wended my way out after my night prayer, the presence of a giggling woman, seated alone in an armchair alongside the hallway of the mosque, caught my attention. She was of small build in her thirties with a bony facial feature. She was dressed in a colorful striped shirt and old slack.

I stopped for a moment as I greeted her. She flashed a warm smile, murmured to her right side and giggled with sheer delight. Suddenly she raved about many things and talked incoherently. I failed to comprehend what she said but the book (The Torah) in her armchair did not escape my watchful eye.

She murmured and continuously peered upward at the wooden carved design of the main entrance, facing her. Then she looked up at me, smiled and murmured to her right side as if she was in a conversation with someone else. 

Did she pretend to be insane? I wondered.

But if she was out of her mind, she seemed to be a harmless deranged woman. So I dropped myself in an armchair beside her. She talked absolutely nonsense as I heard her murmured continuously.

“What is your name?” I befriended her.

“Marissa,” she smiled and murmured non-stop to her right side. Now I was convinced she was not normal.

“My husband is just around waiting for me. I will be getting married,” she pointed her finger to the left side of the mosque. Again she murmured non-stop.

This puzzled me.

“I will show it to you,” as her hand tried to scribble something.

I requested a young boy beside me to get a pen and a paper.

“I believe in God and the prophecy of Muhammad,” suddenly she uttered this line.

“Who is your God anyway?” I asked.

“The one,” she replied.

I invited her to use the table near the dining area to scribble what she meant. We sat down while young boys cluttered together and joined us. When we handed the pen and paper to her, she refused to write.

“No, I do not know how to write. The figure is at home.” She said.

I gazed at her in confusion as she laid her back on the chair. She seemed to be tired and weak. She closed her eyes and murmured to her right side.

Did she experience a trauma? I wondered what affected her mind as I requested one boy to get a glass of water for her.

“Thank you,” as she took a gulp and stood up a bit away from the table.

“There were three hundred prophets (maybe she meant thousands) but prophecy has no end.” She began to speak.

“And who was the last prophet?” I asked her.

“Me.” she answered as she pointed her thumb on herself.

Perhaps she deserved a bravo for her mind-blowing answer.

“I believe in God.” She declared this phrase again.

“Who is your God anyway?” I asked her for the second time as she roused my curiosity.

“The one, the one.” She answered back as her index finger steadily pointed upward.

“Subhannallah, Allahu Akbar!” She uttered this phrase twice. 

Note: (Subhannallah – All praise be God, Allahu Akbar – God is Great)

Did a jinni possess her? If she was, then it must be a good one! I can’t help but wonder.

(see part 2)

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