Rajab belonged to a family that was a model of Eastern culture. When he became aware of his surroundings, he found himself in a home where he had his father's affection but not his mother's love, as his mother was his stepmother. Because of this, he often felt subdued. Time passed, and Allah blessed him with a little sister. He was very happy, but his joy was short-lived because his stepmother did not let him get close to his little sister. As soon as he came home from school, he was put to work around the house. He rarely had time to visit his grandparents, and when he did, he would return sad because they did not show him the same affection they showed to other children, which he felt deeply. There were no other relatives who gave him any love either.
Time went on, and two more siblings were added to the family. As they grew up, he found a certain joy in watching them play together. This was the only happiness left in his life. When his stepmother showed affection to her children, Rajab would wonder who and where his own mother was. He asked his father many times, but his father always avoided the question. After matriculating, Rajab was thinking about enrolling in college when his father passed away. Despite having everything, he was now alone in the world. His longing to know about his mother tormented him deeply.
One day, he went to his grandmother and asked, "Grandma, please tell me, who was my mother and where is she? I am grown up now and should know about my real mother." She replied, "Son, your father married an Iranian woman. He had gone to Iran for work. He spent a few years with your mother, but then, for some unknown reason, they had a disagreement. Your father brought you back to Pakistan and never returned to her. He never spoke to us about it. We asked many times, but he never told us anything. Eventually, we stopped asking." This incomplete story from his grandmother left Rajab restless. He thought there must be some secret they were not telling him. Lost in these thoughts, he stopped studying. He was disheartened by his family's behavior as well. Who is there for me in this house? No one. His stepmother wished he would just go away. With this in mind, he went to Karachi in search of a job. It was a big city, and he faced many hardships, but he did not give up. Gradually, he saved up some money through hard work and thought about going to Iran to find his mother. Who knows, perhaps God would help him meet her, but due to a lack of resources, he became disheartened and moved to Lahore. He found no peace there either, constantly missing his mother. He got a job in a factory and started working even harder. In two years, he saved a considerable amount of money.
In the factory, he met someone whose elder brother was a Persian teacher. Rajab requested to learn Persian, and through this connection, he started taking evening tuitions and learned some Persian in six months. Having money makes things easier, so he managed to get a visa for Iran. The Persian teacher helped him with this process too. Before going to Iran, he visited his grandfather to get some information about his mother but was unsuccessful. Finally, the day came when he was to leave. Two days later, he was in Tehran, Iran.
In this vast sea of people, where could he search for his mother? The Persian he had learned was formal, and the everyday spoken language was different. He decided to first learn the local dialect, hoping that it would help. Some Pakistanis in the area assisted him significantly and helped him secure a good job in a factory. He had now learned enough Persian to get by, both speaking and understanding it reasonably well. After living there for a year, he had become quite fluent in the language, which led to a better job offer with a higher salary, but without accommodation.He needed to secure a place to stay. The factory where he worked issued him a work permit under a two-year contract, making his status in Iran legal.
Rajab had informed his coworkers that he needed to rent a room. One acquaintance mentioned that although a separate house wouldn't be available, he knew a woman who was looking to rent out a room in her home. She lived on the ground floor and was willing to rent the upper room. Rajab went with the acquaintance to see the place. The landlady's first question was about his nationality. "Where are you from?" she asked. "From Pakistan," Rajab replied. She paused for a moment, then said, "Come with your belongings tomorrow." The rent was reasonable, so the next day Rajab moved into the Iranian woman's house. The room was on the roof, cleaned and carpeted.
The landlady had a daughter. In the evening, she brought her daughter to Rajab's room and said, "This is my daughter, Farideh. Where in Pakistan are you from?" Rajab explained his hometown in detail and mentioned that he worked in a local factory. The woman then shared her story: "I was married to a Pakistani man. We had a son named Shabbir Ali. Our life was very peaceful, and I was happy with my husband. We lacked nothing. When our son was three years old, my husband took him to Pakistan to meet his grandparents but never returned. His parents did not want him to come back to me. My parents, on the other hand, forbade me from going to Pakistan. I thought eventually something would work out—either my husband would return or my parents would relent, but neither happened. During this time, I was pregnant, waiting for my husband to return. I gave birth to a daughter, but he never came back. I cried a lot because someone sent a divorce letter to my parents' house. I had no information about my husband—whether he was still in Pakistan or had moved to another country. I didn’t even have his exact address. Losing both my husband and my son at the same time was a double blow. My parents were not willing to reconcile either. They were relieved when they received the divorce letter, as they had never approved of the marriage. My daughter was only a few months old then. I accepted her as a blessing from God and tried to be content, but I always missed my son."
"When Agha Sahib told me that a young Pakistani man needed a room, I agreed to take you in, hoping that you might help me find my son. After saying this, the woman cried for a long time. Rajab felt sorry for her. He consoled her, saying, 'Don't worry. Consider me your son. I will do my best to find your son. Maybe in return for this good deed, I will find my own lost mother, whom I came here searching for.'"
Even while working, he kept thinking about how neither the woman’s son was found nor his mother. Could she be my mother? But her son’s name was Shabbir, and mine is Rajab. How could I be her son? The landlady had mentioned that her husband was from Lahore but didn't disclose his name, while Rajab's father was from Gujranwala and their home was there. These contradictions raised questions in his mind. During their first meeting, the woman had shared her brief story, but Rajab hadn’t mustered the courage to reveal much about himself. A few days later, when he met the landlady again, she offered him tea and invited him to her drawing room. That’s when Rajab asked for her husband’s address. She said, "I wrote many letters to the address I had, but they were all returned. My husband’s company had that same address." Rajab remained silent.
Time passed. The landlady took care of Rajab and often asked about his meals. Sometimes he declined, but other times, he accepted her offer and ate at her home. Gradually, she started treating him like her son because he took care of her and helped with chores on his days off. For Rajab, it was either work or loneliness. His life felt like an autumn leaf, with his heart perpetually wilted. Suddenly, a breath of spring entered his life. The landlady’s niece, Andaleeb, was a masterpiece of beauty. She lived in Europe with her parents and had come to Iran after many years. By then, Rajab had become a part of the landlady's household, so the guests treated him with respect. Andaleeb’s arrival brought him joy and a sense of life. She and her parents were there on vacation. When the holidays ended, Andaleeb returned with her parents, leaving Rajab feeling even more desolate. He felt as though he had found and lost something precious.
Two years had passed in Iran. He started missing home and took a leave to visit Pakistan. Upon arrival, he first checked the address given by the landlady, but found nothing there. He was constantly troubled. He missed the landlady’s kindness. His siblings and grandfather lived at home. Rajab would occasionally send money to his grandfather to buy gifts for his half-siblings on his behalf. One day, in conversation, he pleaded with his grandfather, "If you know anything about my Iranian mother, for God’s sake, tell me." Moved by his grandson's plight, the grandfather said, "Yes, I know her address. Your father had forbidden us from telling you, fearing you’d leave us, but since you’re already living there, I’ll tell you." He took Rajab to his room, opened an old trunk, and took out some papers. Rajab’s heart raced with anticipation. The grandfather placed a few photographs in front of him. As Rajab looked at them, his vision blurred with tears—he had seen these photos at the landlady's house. Could she be my real mother, and Farideh my real sister? That’s why I never felt like an outsider with them.
That night, Rajab couldn’t sleep from happiness and prostrated before God in gratitude. The next day, he called Iran and learned that his mother was gravely ill and hospitalized. He became restless, took the photographs from his grandfather, and rushed to Tehran. The journey seemed endless. When he arrived at the airport, it felt like the whole city was waiting with open arms. He hurried home to find Farideh there, who began to cry upon seeing him. Rajab comforted her, saying, "Don’t cry, my sister, I’m here now." They went straight to the hospital. His mother’s condition was critical. He gently caressed her head, tears streaming down his face. When she regained consciousness and saw Rajab, her eyes lit up. Her first question was, "Have you found my son?" "Yes, mother, your son is here," Rajab replied. "When you were leaving for Pakistan, I had a feeling I’d find my son," she said. The news of finding her son revitalized her.
Rajab gave her the photographs he had brought from his grandfather and said, "These are my childhood pictures. You’re holding me in your arms. Grandpa kept them safe. I am your son, and my father has passed away. My stepmother and siblings live with Grandpa." He narrated the entire story. Overjoyed, she threw a grand party. During this time, Andaleeb was in Iran, and the landlady arranged her engagement to Rajab. His life became peaceful. Andaleeb gave him all the happiness he had missed. He left his factory job and started his own business, funded by the landlady. Two years later, they had a son. However, due to deteriorating conditions in Iran, Andaleeb, Rajab, and their son moved to Germany, where her parents lived, while the landlady and Farideh remained in Iran. Thus, the family was divided among three countries: Pakistan, Iran, and Germany.
I believe that sometimes human determination is so sincere that God Himself removes the pain of separation from their hearts, making what seemed impossible, possible.
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