the tomb By the light of the lamp, we could see your unwavering gaze and your lips slightly trembling. It was plain that even then you were reciting the Holy Qur'an I cradled your head in my lap, and your father clasped onto your hand and began to cry. In a very faint voice, you said, "Mother. Father. Who knows why the tomb didn't open. Anyway, the case has been decided, whether justice was done or not. Okay, so I am the sinner. You made us wait a long time, Sam Dulhe Shahji. Now, on Judgement Day, when we are ail standing before God . . when we are all standing before God . before God . God. . " You were quiet after that, and you have been quiet ever since. We brought you right back here. Then today, at dawn, it was as if the jinn that had possessed you leapt into your father when Sam Hazrat Shah's head servant brought a shroud for you. He grabbed the cloth and thrust it into the fire heating the water for your last bath. Now—my sweet child, my pure and true, my dear, precious Ranu' Come—let me kiss the faded moon on your forehead. Look—the purple blossoms of the Persian lilac smell so and the squirrels are scampering up and down the Jujube trees and such a fresh breeze is blowing that new seedlings would even sprout out of centuries old, dry wood. The echo of your recitation is still ringing everywhere and the acrid smell of that shroud still lingers and there is as much pain jammed up inside me as there was when I gave you birth. Translated by Shelah S Bhatti Annual of Urdu Studies, #6 82