An Accident in the Desert

 (30) An Accident in the Desert

4-12-99

Fazeel Azeez Chauhan

It was a hot summer day in the Arabian desert in 1974. In the 120 degree heat, the wind was beating the sand against the car, on the deserted highway. Up ahead, mirages appeared constantly. Mom, Dad and six of their youngest kids were in a brand new, chocolate colored Toyota Corolla station wagon. We were on our way to Mecca, for a pilgrimage.

The distance to the destination was still 600 miles when a swerving pickup truck forced my dad to take the car on the shoulder. He avoided the collision, but the front tire hit a strange hole on the soft shoulder and the car turned over.

Dad was driving at about 80 miles per hour. The over-turned car skidded down the road at a very fast speed and it didn't seem like it would ever stop. The roof scratching against the asphalt mad a loud scary noise. I saw blood spraying out of my father's arm. The car echoed with screams of shock and horror.

Eventually the care slid off the road onto the sand and stopped. The kids were crying because they couldn't get out. One of my brothers kicked out the rear glass window and the six kids crawled out. With horror, we looked at our parents, who were almost passed out, and traped in the front seats.

The highway was littered with things that had been tied to the roof of the car. The strong wind was scattering the things, including money, further and further away from the road, into the endless desert. Some people pulled over and helped open the driver door to get my father out. His left arm was broken and drenched in blood. He was moaning with severe pain and disbelief. A man attached some pieces of wood to his arm to keep it from moving.

My mother's right arm forearm was still trapped under the car. Ten people lifted the car slightly to free her arm. The bones were all crushed and the flesh was split open. Veins were dangling from her arm. She was in shock and crying with excruciating pain. My parents almost died but they made it to the hospital on time and each had several operations. Each suffered infections and incredible amounts of pain. A doctor was about to amputate my mom's arm, but she held her ground and did not let them do it. In the hospital for 6 months, and later at home, she looked at her arm and cried for months.

She finally got some peace of mind when she met her spiritual guru. Though my father had read lots of books about Sufi Saints, it was my mother who persuaded me to also become her guru's disciple. I waited twenty years before I began to find out what Sufism really was