The Wanderer
I was crying hard but he pulled me back inside the door. I wanted to stop her, I wanted to say I was sorry for hurting her but he was much stronger than me. I bit his hand and he yelled loudly. I ran after her, my heart was beating fast, thinking she would turn back and look at me. Who was I kidding? She was the one who had left me here. That is my punishment; she left her beloved son alone with strangers. All in all she was the only one I trusted and cared about in this stupid world but as the car turned right I fell onto the ground. Her face was the only thing I could see in my dreams. Everybody said that I had her eyes. After all she was my mother.I was wearing my best shalwar kameez. We were all in our place as planned. When she would come we would surprise her. Everybody waited for her to come home. We all heard her footsteps nearing. She called our names but we stood still. She was calling me to help her with the grocery that she had in her hands. As she approached the kitchen, we all looked at each other. "Surprise! Happy birthday!" everybody yelled and she was shocked to see us all together. I was the master mind of this whole arrangement, bringing all her children together under one roof after a long time. Well not all of them though. She stood staring at us in amazement, tears in her eyes. I had never seen her so happy before and it meant a lot to me because, after all she was my grandmother.
I still remember the day my husband had hit him hard on his face. He was just 8 years old but his rage was more than anyone could handle. The youngest son of Major Malik had rebelled against his own father. My husband was strict and forceful even though he wasn't home much, but when he was, nobody was allowed to put a toe out of line. And no one even dared to. But he stood staring directly in his father's eye, all pumped up. He felt a firm slap on his face with a blow and fell on the ground. Tears in his eyes, he couldn't believe what his father had done. Unable to hide his emotions he ran blindly out of the house not thinking for a second about the heavy rain. I was blessed with two other elder sons but I always had a soft corner for my little one. I ran after him, to stop him but my husband grabbed my hand and told me not to go looking for him. He told me that I should let him wander alone for some time, to give time for my havocked train to come to the right track.
"I have to be strong for them. I am the only one they have now. Give me power my GOD; give me strength to answer their questions. The worst has gone and now happiness will prevail". I was praying when she came to me running and sat on my lap as she always did. Happily, she traced the lines on my hands, care free of what had happened in her life. My son and his wife had gone to Islamabad to attend a wedding ceremony of their friend. They had left their children; two young daughters with me. She looks at me as my tears start to drop onto her tiny shoulders. She turns to me and asks for a meetha paratha to eat. Every time they had come to visit me, I used to cook loads of dishes for them to enjoy. I had prepared kheer for my son when the phone rang. The person on the phone told me that my son and my daughter in law had died in a car crash. Their youngest daughter was pulling my dupatta and asking for the kheer and I just looked at her. I had forgotten her question.
I was going to ask him for this months' rent when I saw him opening the letter; tears in his eyes. I stopped at the door and observed him silently. This boarding house has seen me for twenty years, every day with different sort of boys. Some were noisy, some were lazy, and some were just boys; but this one was different. Unique. I never saw his acquaintances; he kept away from living things as if he had a dark deep secret hidden somewhere inside him. His routine never changed. He would wake up early in the morning and spend a little time under the dawning sun jogging, he ate a boiled egg and milk for breakfast, his bed was always made up. There was not a single crease to be seen on that sheet. It was as if he were trained to the core like an army brat. From the school to his room, this was the only trail he learned. Years passed and he grew taller with broad shoulders and muscular arms. Stubble covered his face but his eyes filled with the same plain and vacant stare. His routine merely changed, apart from the two destinations he used to visit. He had now started working at an internet café and when he was free from all the study of buildings and bridges; he went to work for the Forbes & Browns architecture. Even though I never shared a laugh with him or cried on his shoulder but when he went away forever, he took a piece of my past with him. I always pray for him in church every single Sunday. I pray for him and I pray for the stolen piece of my past.
I have been around books all my life. If I had been the earth, books would have been my sun; my day and night, months and years, life and death. In my early twenties I found my desire to be near tomes. I decided to be a librarian. My parents, especially my father wanted me to be an airplane engineer. But destiny is something written in stone, it cannot be washed away by a mere flicker of the water sliding. A very tedious struggle and my rebellious attitude guided me to the second most respectable place in my life, the library. A lover of paperbacks and volumes; I was a typical librarian. I rarely saw people valuing the hardbacks. The returns were torn or scribbled up. But one of my regular was always clean. She always returned the books without a scratch. It looked as she hadn't read them at all. Sometimes she would even mend the worn out books. We both had this unexplained connection. We would stay up late, cleaning up and she helped me graciously, stacking up the books in the shelves with her tiny little hands. As I grew older I started looking for my heir who would rule this empire of imagination and fiction and reality. I knew deep down she was the only one, and now she had even completed her college. She was the perfect piece to the jigsaw puzzle, which when completed would show her, my kingdom. But the day I decided to give her the sword of my dynasty, she never showed up to the library.
I wasn't excited to meet him nor was Shoaib. We hadn't seen him in 15 years. Our mother used to visit him in England but he had never visited, even for holidays. He was our youngest brother but he didn't feel like family. He hadn't even bothered to turn up at my wedding. I didn't have a care in the world for him. The way he used to treat our father. He had disgraced our family name. But we had to face him one day or another. It was my son's birthday when ammi had a heart attack. She always cried at the family events remembering him. Why did she even care? He was the one who had given her so much grief. She cried her heart out that day and everything was ruined and we were all tensed. Even father who never showed any signs of misery, was a little let down. When we were allowed to go visit mother, she was only whispering his name. Haider. As if none of us mattered to her. Haider. He had always been her favorite. She begged my father to bring back her beloved son. Only because mother was ill, only because of her poor condition, father agreed to call him back home. Shoaib and I are waiting for him at the airport. How will we recognize him? We don't know.
I always wanted to get married; studying wasn't my cup of tea. It was a dream come true when Asif and his family came to my house with the proposal. Actually, they never would have come to our home if it hadn't been for Maha. Asif was her teacher; he used to come home to tutor Maha every day or maybe he came to see me, who knows? Because I had beauty and she had the brains. But even then she is the strongest one in our family. Sometimes stronger than dadi. When our parents died, I cried a lot but Maha stayed calm. Maybe because she had a strong believe that our parents were safe with ALLAH. And after that crisis she grew stronger. When we had no money, she worked extra hard and stared tutoring to children even though she was just 15 years old. My uncle and aunt forced my dadi to sell the house so they could have their share of inheritance. But dadi didn't give away to their demands, only because of us. After that, Aunty and Uncle never came by to ask about us. My elder uncle even stopped giving us the monthly charity. By the grace of ALLAH Maha got a scholarship at a big university in Karachi and me and dadi went with her, leaving Sialkot and our troublesome past behind.
I was really tired after the exercise that day. All I wanted was to go home and get some sleep for tomorrow's big day. I headed for the exit when I heard noise in the boxing area. It was almost 9 o'clock and usually the gym gets vacant by 8. That's when I saw him, he was practicing his punches. He was angry. I had never seen anyone hit the bag so hard in my life before. I was never good at fighting but the way he moved and punched; he looked to have some experience in the game. He suddenly stopped and looked at me. I had been so mesmerized in his game that it took me a minute to snap out of the trance. He walked out of the ring and made his way to the locker room. I followed him. When he turned around, I offered him a hand shake. He shook my hand but ignored me completely. If this would have happened to me some other day I would have beaten the crap out of the person who would have dared to ignore me. But that day I was acting like a stupid kid come face to face with his favorite super hero. I introduced myself. He told me his name. Haider. But then he turned around and headed to the washrooms. What was happening to me? Why was I waiting for him? He hadn't shown any interest in me but there I was sitting, knock kneed on the bench near his locker. He came out, took his bag from the locker and went toward the exit. Since my childhood I have always had whatever I wanted. I got every toy I wished for. I went to the best schools. I dressed the smartest and hung out with the coolest lot in town. Everybody wanted to be my friend but I was friends with the people I wanted. After all I am the son of the famous industrialist. I am Waqar Javed.
I wanted to study more and thankfully he supported me. If it were for my parents they would have given me away during my intermediate. I am in my 3rd year in BBA at the most expensive university. Having a famous father-in-law has its own perks. Through his connections around the town I got the admission. But unlike me, she had to tunnel her way into this reputed university. She is bright and I knew it from the very first day. It was her name that made my attention drift towards her. Mahpara. A fraction of the moon. There she was sitting all alone in the corner; her dressing signified that she wasn't from Karachi. I noticed her every day. She was quite bold, raising her hand and answering every question in a demanding yet demure manner. She took an avid interest in the most boring subjects our books had to offer but the more I observed her the more I wanted be just like her. She invoked inspiration in me. She wasn't the prettiest piece around, but I believe that beauty lies in ones eyes.
Then one fated day we both ended up becoming partners in a project and since then she has been like my twin. And today, the most important day of my life, I have her by my side, braiding my hair together in neat interwoven patterns. I am looking at her through the glazed mirror in front of me, imaging my life without her and the way she had changed the old Maria Hussain.
To Be Continued...
Short story by Farah Khalid
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Written on 2014-10-09 at 21:40
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Farah Khalid |
