The Inheritance of My Grandfather
I once asked my father about my grandfather’s inheritance…
He smiled and replied:
A piece of land filled with trees on the outskirts of the village…
A stone house, consisting of a single room, sharing its walls with my cousins’ homes and other neighbors…
It was part of the family house…
A large courtyard, a mulberry tree in the middle, and a taboon oven…
A plow, an axe, and a basket of belongings…
Inside the basket, there were papers wrapped in a bundle—
I assumed they were the land deeds…
A cooking pot, a clay jar…
A clay storage vessel filled with wheat, and another with flour…
A copper ablution pitcher engraved with Turkish letters…
A drinking vessel… a hammer with two heads… and an anvil…
A wooden wardrobe with three compartments…
In the first, were turbans and trousers.
In the second, remnants of garments.
In the third, prayer beads, a cane, and other scattered belongings…
I asked my father about my grandfather’s spotted ghutra.
He said: He never wore one; he had only a turban and a headband…
My grandfather had a locked chest—it was my grandmother’s dowry!
He was not a wealthy man…
He had three sons, yet he couldn’t afford to send them to school—
Instead, he sent them to the kuttab to learn the Opening Chapter of the Quran…
He was a farmer, deeply in love with his land—
Plowing, sowing, and watering the fields…
He left behind no wealth—
Neither a dirham nor a dinar…
But he cherished grapevines
And loved the taste of taboon bread…
He taught his sons the art of farming
And the skill of horseback riding…
Is this all he left, Father?
My father lowered his gaze, as if searching his memory…
“There’s more… much more…
I almost forgot his will!”
Did my grandfather have a will?
“Yes, indeed.
It contained only a few words… but they were everything.”
What were they?
“Never leave your home.
Never sell an inch of your land.
Never extend your hand in need to anyone.
Build a mosque in every home…”
I pondered my grandfather’s words…
And I said to my father:
“You failed to fulfill his will—you left your home.
But at least you never sold an inch of land!”
My father sighed,
“I was forced to leave… it was during the war.
‘Verily, with hardship comes ease.'”
My father died with sorrow in his heart…
He couldn’t return.
He couldn’t fulfill his father’s will…
Forgive us, Grandfather…
I do not know who will uphold your words.
But at least…
I will remember them.
And that shall be enough.
✍🏼 By: Mohammed Abdul Jalil Dheeb