As I stood there watching him scrape away the rustling dry leaves off the unnamed grave, I was left wondering; Would there be someone who would do the same at mine long after I am a distant memory?
It was a hot and humid friday afternoon and even though an hour of prayers in the stifling mosque had done wonders for me psychologically, it had been rather taxing physically. I had come out raring to rush home when I had suddenly remembered that there was a grave there that I had wanted to visit for a while now.
Another ten minutes were spent reflecting on the miserable plight that most of us loved to call ‘lives’. Prayers were sent into the heavens and an ardent one along with them to make the rest come true.
It was only when I was on my way back past the other multitude of graves that I had noticed this young man of about nineteen kneeling down and painstakingly clearing the small mound of dirt that had accumulated over the time since the last living soul had been there.
He looked quite ordinary, but I was struck by the extra-ordinary care that he went to to make sure that a place that was truly outside the wandering curiosity of passerby was as clean as a soil-eroded hilside.
What was it that made him come there, stand in silent agony, and dwell upon memories? Was it human nature to look further into the past than most deem safe? Was it curiosity that drove us, mistakes that needed correction, or mere chance?
As i spent the next few enlightening moments looking at this living soul pay his respects to the dead one, a part of my brain was calculating the futility of life. Was all of it worth it? The pressures, the joys, the sorrows, and the relationships? Would i indeed one day be as lucky as the one beneath the well-trodden earth to have someone who scrapes the leaves off my grave? Or would i rot away without anyone giving a second thought?
May all of us have an equivalent of that young man in our lives.