Mleeta Resistance Tourist Landmark - Lebanon

Messengers of Loved Ones

By: Mariam Jouma'a

Great whirlpool… Heavy rain… Spectrums everywhere… Suddenly, a strange loneliness overcame the silence of darkness.
*****
She… woke up trying to catch her speeding inhalations… wiped the drops of sweat that were running down her forehead… checked her pulse… discovered that it was beating strong and fast… took a deep breath to exhale it slowly in a hope that it will calm down her shivering chest… walked a few steps slowly towards the washbasin… looked in the mirror to take a glance at her worried face because of the horrors of that strange dream… All that she saw, for a moment, was nothing but the picture of the absent…
She… washed for prayers… prayed her Morning Prayers… brought her small Quran from the desk… embraced it with her heart… kissed it and opened its dedication page… The last effect of her horror was gone as soon as she read: "… for without doubt in the remembrance of God do hearts find satisfaction…" handwritten by her loved husband… This holy Quran was his gift and commandment to her before he left for his work in south Lebanon… This was not the first time when he goes to the south… However, this journey had another taste…
She took her notebook and wrote the date:
July 13, 2006
A dream that worried me…
I woke up very tired on that very day although the day before it was the happiest day after the courageous resistance fighters succeeded capturing two Zionist soldiers. However, that dream worried me for real."
It wasn't very long until a close and powerful blast echoed and terrorized her entire being. "God protect us," she said. She rushed out and gazed at the place of explosion to have an eye contact with a thick cloud of dust on that particular day. This was the day when the whole world launched a comprehensive war to eliminate the resisting trend in Lebanon. Thirty three days of heavy bombardment have targeted the residential areas in the southern suburb of Beirut and south Lebanon. Enemy's satisfaction was limitless to reach with their aggression the middle regions (Biqaa) and the north. Tons and tons of rockets… Thousands of displaced people… Large number of massacres…
Throughout this critical period she did not hear any news from him or about him. She did not know whether he is safe, lost or even martyred. All that she cared for was hearing anything from him, be certain about something.
The war ended without receiving anything. She returned to her home to find nothing but the ruins of what used to be a home in the past. There were fractions of memories that were burnt by the rockets of the treacherous enemy. She scoured the place for something small that occupied her thoughts for thirty three days. She hoped that God will keep it safe above all her possessions inside that house. She searched every inch, turned every stone. "At last," she took a breath of sigh. Signs of joy appeared on her face. She found it. She found the Quran, the gift of the precious one. However, the precious one is yet to return, but there is no news, not even a word.
The day came when the news about his martyrdom arrived through one of his comrades who accompanied him on his journey of jihad until the day of the reunion, the day when he yelled as he swam in an ocean of his wounds to say, "I won by the lord of Kaaba." The mujahid told her about the two bullets that penetrated his chest, about the blood that sprung and watered the earth to grow daises and roses, about his determination when he tolerated his pains and continued his struggle until he received the third bullet that became his ticket of departure towards the Creator, the Exalted.
Among the belongings that she received was a piece of paper that he had in his pocket when he was martyred, with some blood still on it. She embraced it strongly and opened it to read:
"A strange time was following my steps
There was a dazzle in my eyes and painful bitterness in my mouth
I opened my gates to the wind and rode a restless passion
I thought of my future at sunset and at night
My hands drew the lines of the running time
I am slowly fading day after day
In my eyes I found deep dreams embracing my tears
In my ears I found a river that murmured along a deep valley
In my thoughts there were doors with buried secrets behind them
Each day left to be replaced by a new concern
I grew up while dreams and worries grew up with me
I searched for an eternal unity
My soul yearned after departure and traveling
I thought without knowing what I was thinking about
I lived without knowing what I was living for
I only knew that each creature had an end
And for each dark night there was a beautiful morning" [1]
*****
August 25, 2006
Was that goodbye or reunion? Was that the bridegroom or the funeral? No, that was a part of each. Rather, that was the feeling in its perfection. Today I will wear a gown that will oscillate between the presence and the absence, the absence of your magnificent eyes, and the presence of this illuminating crowd of martyrs, which were stars that shined from afar. They were anthems that sang the songs of victory. They were torches that burned above high mountains. They were those who suffered to protect us from any harm. They received the bullets with their hearts to protect our children from hearing their terrifying sounds. What can I do? Should I scream or moan? Should I keep silent or smile before the crowds of those congratulating me for victory and martyrdom?
*****
Her spirit roamed on that very night while having a vision, searching for the light of her eyes. She found him, as usual, standing in a field of flowers. He looked at her smiling. He gave a look of someone in love. And he whispered into the depth of her conscience saying:
"Do not cry my little one. Your heart will be my paradise. You are mine and I am yours forever. That will do."
And he disappeared from the horizon of her visions until the next appointment.

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[1] A piece of paper that was in the hand of martyr Ali Marmar (Abu Hilal) at the time of his martyrdom.

This tourist landmark is run by the Lebanese Association for Tourism & Tradition

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