With only a vestige of Faith
Not a single cloud roofed the dark firmament. The black sky roared deafeningly of the tragic scenes from the past couple of hours and the stars flickered in sorrow. It was a strong chilly gust that tried to blow up the ignited flames.The ashes struggled in escaping to the other side of the river bank. Still the body inside the sweltering logs was blazing with all its might. The burning smell was too much to handle but he was compelled to stay there till the end.From where he stood he saw the river dividing into two tributaries, each one making its own path by striking the river bank. As far as his vision allowed him, everything was covered in mist. He took deep breaths trying not to inhale the smell coming from the burning body. A breeze touched his dull face and his brain started recalling the past night. This appalling reminiscence made his eyes moisten. At the end of the antam sanskar, the mourners had started to depart, making their way back to their warm and cozy beds. They were leaving him and his father Hari Singh to stand alone in the cold weather stranded. Why would they stay? The smoldering corpse wasn't related to them.
When his cremated mother's cadaver had been reduced to ashes; he started to put the vestiges in the copper container. His father; who was standing opposite to him, helped him depositing the remains of his mother's body. When Sardar Hari Singh restored the last residue of his wife in the pot he whispered his wife's name Beena Kaur. He used to call her beenu when they were alone; away from the whole world. He told his son to immerse the ashes in the river. This was the first sign of weakness, Hari Singh the man with wisdom and power who was the mukhiya of his village could not keep his emotions together. He didn't shed a tear but his heart was bursting. He couldn't stand to be away from his beenu. A relation built on 23 years of struggle, strength and love. A bond that resembled concrete and vagueness was destroyed by merely a misunderstanding or was it one? He never gave a second thought to her and their past and proceeded to the Gurudwara to purify himself and his soul.
He started walking towards the end of the river, holding the most precious one in his hands, his mother. Mother a creature carved with tenderness, painted with affection and gifted with ardor. She knows you even before you know you yourself. She bestowed her blood and sweat to make her child stalwart and colossal enough to facade the realm but still you need her to hold you in the dark thundering night. You need her to show off your achievements and weep on your deprivation.A fall you had fabricated scars on her heart but still she buckles you up to conquer the unseen destiny. She makes you bold and intransigent; deep inside she knows you need her at every step of life. What is she? How can she love you more than yourself? What will happen when your only cling in life is no more?
She left him without even saying good bye. He couldn't find his inner peace.Everything was alright yesterday morning, she made him Aloo ka paratha for lunch. Right now he was cursing himself for not finishing it and running away to play. Well he didn't know it then that he won't be able to taste them again ever. With regret in his heart and heavy legs he walked towards the end of the river
A single ray of sun illuminated the sky making the sight a little better. Through the heavy fog he saw something closing up towards him. A small boat perhaps but why would someone travel the river at this time? He squinted his eyes trying to inquire. He couldn't make much of it,it was too far to mark an affirmative decision. He paced up so that he could finish his work before the arrival of the strangers. As he marched up he saw that a man was rowing the boat and there were two woman accompanying him. He slowed his steps then because he saw the boat approaching the river bank really quickly. As the edge of the dinghy touched the land the passengers got out of it hurrying. They were Muslims, their outfits indicated. The man was fussing about someone, the elderly woman shoved a bag in his hands and handed a pile of books to the other woman. The threesome started walking towards east. He was glad they were going away, he could finally perform his work serenely. The weight was much to handle because the female with the books was left behind as the man and the elderly woman made their way. To keep up with them she started pacing; caught her feet in the sand and tripped. As a human gesture he ran towards her to help her pick up the books, unaware of his presence she was startled. He drew back trying not to offend her when suddenly a gush of wind blew up her veil. She was not a woman, she was a girl. Girl with a radiant face, a beauty worth capturing. He wanted to touch her face, to make it if it's real or not. May be she was a gorgeousness reveled from heaven above, a virgin maiden of paradise. A glimpse was all he could get of her because she gathered her things and went running towards her partners. A prevue splendor had led him to a state of bewilderment, as he stood facing the runaway girl unasked questions in his head, attar; a hint of natural perfume in his nostrils and a surprise in his rib cage that he had never known before.
***
He ran blindly in the night not thinking twice about what he had done! Scared as hell he was but deep-rooted inside that the deed he had just performed was righteous. Never before had he thought about raising his voice before his father, Hari Singh; a man so mighty that even the elders of the village bowed their eyes before him. Respect was the only relation he had with his father but today he had done the unthinkable yet his anger patted him for his bravery.
He had changed since she had gone, nothing had remained the same as before. Days were passing by and people forgot about the terrible night when a woman had died of an unknown cause. But for him it was a treachery, a theft, a robbery of his concord and soul. Nothing was relevant, the air around his home, the lofty smell in his clothes was gone, and the food was tasteless. His pillow and his bed bunk were somehow alien to him in just a couple of days. The only worthy being in his life, his mother was taken away and there was nothing he could do about it. It was impossible to absorb the fact that his mother was not anymore.
He ran through the market, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed that if anybody saw him they would start to shower their pity and commiserate him but in truth they would be laughing at him not because he was almost a grown man weeping like a toddler but because he was Rajveer, the son of Sardar Sahib weeping like a toddler.
His legs carried him to the gigantic mango tree beside the dry well. What familiarity he felt almost like home, a place where he had spent the long days of summer hiding from the scorching sun eating the sour unripe mangoes with his partner in crime, Jamshed. Accustomed to the old tree he climbed up to the cradled branch, unable to fit properly in his old designated place; he settled to sit with his back leaning to the trunk. Clearing his face with the lap of his kameez, his eyes saw the weirdest things ever. The long forgotten haunted haweli had been let at last. In his early days of his childhood, he and Jamshed use to bet other kids around the village to go and touch the last stairs to the second floor, both of them would climb up the mango tree and scare the daring kid by making weird noises and throw stones at him. This past memory brought a flickering smile to his face. An illumination in the window above him caught his attention and he climbed up high to inquire. To his utter surprise he saw that same alluring girl in the black veil, today she was engulfed in white drape. Enchanting as it was he stared at the meditating being and the world around him started to feel different yet miraculous. It was she who as in namaz but it looked like his dua was being accepted.
Mesmerized by either the faith or the girl, Rajveer had found an alternate to the commotions in his life. Early in the morning he used to wake up just to stalk her in the way to the girls' school, hiding through the bushes, he had injured his feet once or twice. His frequent visits to Jamshed house hadn't raised a suspicious eye on him yet but he couldn't stop himself to see that mystery girl learning Quran from Jamshed's Ami. His evening would pass on the gigantic tree watching the girl in white, praying to her GOD. He had seen Jamshed praying before but there was some captivating spirit around her prayer that made him believe in one GOD. She would raise her beautifully craved hands in dua and he too would imitate her. Even though he believed in Guru with all his heart but at the moment he wanted ALLAH to bless him. Sucked up in a trance he would walk home through the sleeping settlement. His aunt used to yell at him for not eating the dinner but how would he explain to her that his appetite was now grow into a hunger of love. The same pillow and a rough bed was now a mercy for him because in his eyelids he carried the image of the praying girl in white.
***
Ibrahim woke up with a jolt. He rubbed his eyes as if trying to shed of the looming dream. After so many years of forgetting his past, he was in peace that he has locked up his bygones in a cage and bolted up with locks of prayers and chains of meditation and threw the keys in a bottom less pit.
At the beginning of his solitary days, he used to wake up every night, wet in fear. Guilty and weak. He was long way from home, he found his sanctuary on the stairs of Ajmer Sharif. The recitation of the holy verses sooth his disturbed soul, he ate food with the hobos around the shrine, swept the floors and slept on the same bed with a broken pillow to steady the head and a mere sheet shielding from the open wind.
The time turned the pages of his life, he had made a permanent spot in the aficionados of the holy place. Baray Maulwi sahib, his mentor had said "You devote yourself here and the blessings of Khawaja will bestow upon you". He had knotted this advice to his brains. Day in and day out; he prayed, worked,meditated. His whole spiritual routine had made him a dear at the consecrated place. When he recited Quran,people from round the area would sit near him and engross the holiness. Women who couldn't conceive a child were taken to him from special dua. Still he found himself lesser then the people around him. Why wasn't he born a Muslim?Why couldn't he be a son of a maulwi instead of a sardar? Why was his name Rajveer not Ibrahim?
There was still time for Tahajud. As he splashed the cold water from the pound in order to purify himself, his mind ran to the dream he had earlier. Fragments was all he could remember now. He had seen the haunted haweli dressed in small Deepak. He remembered that it was raining and he was running to catch the train. He saw his aunt crying on a dead body and each time he used to wake up the very moment when the face of the corpse was being reveled. As usual he left his sorrows to the Al-mighty and he raised his palms to his ears. "ALLAH-HU-AKBAR".
***
Dressed in yellow from head to toe Paras was sitting around bunch of girls she called friends. They were all busy applying turmeric on her; that was the ritual when a girl get married. From days before she was cleansed with milk, beautified with rose water, dolled up with henna and immersed in all sorts of scented oils and herbs. It was then she will be ready to be presented to his law-fully wedded husband. She glanced at her mother, happily clapping to the rhythm of the dhol. She was only doing this for the pride her mother; a mother who was an essence of sacrifice and hardship. She had bear the fact that her husband had died in a riot between Muslims and Hindus and now the lot was after them for revenge. With a girl at a risky age she traveled alone safe keeping her from the eyes of the evil. Shah Mamu met them half way to their carefully chosen destination. From there they moved on inch by inch hiding from the malevolent gaze to the birth place of her mother. A forgotten haweli stood awaiting for its occupants. They found a Muslim family not far away from them and it was as if they were some long lost part of their lives, mixing up together sharing bliss and burdens alike.
One evening when Mulani sahiba, Sarah's mother had given her a day off, it was Sarah who broke the news to her about the boy next door. She said he was the best mate of his brother Jamshed and was immensely in love with paras. Giggling like a small girl, she pointed him out from the rooftop flying kite with Jamshed. Anger had boiled up inside her but she tried not to show her dislike to Sarah. The boy was handsome, tall muscular with cropped hair; the Black kurta he wore had brighten up his fair color. Any girl could have easily fallen in love with him. He had this built and exterior of a grown man but his face was soft as an infant. The point of displeasure was only a fact that he was a Sikh, Rajveer Singh; Son of sardar Hari Singh.
She saw the boy following her every day to the school but she chose to ignore him, thinking that he would eventually give off after a week or two. If accidentally he would ever caught her eyes, both of them would pretend if nothing had happened. Weeks had turned into months but Rajveer still hadn't made a move.Thankful she was but also a little startle at his behavior. Every night when she used to pray on the third floor, he used to observe her from a distance climbing up the mango tree. She would pray for his protection and safety and when he would turn away to depart thinking that her prayers have ended, she would glance from the window and blow up Durd- Sharif on him for his well-being.She never knew when these things made her fall in love with him and one day Jamshed told her that Rajveer had accepted Islam for the sake of marrying her,she could believe herself. On occasions she felt as if he knew his magic has worked, she thought he had the knowledge that the spell he had cast on her was working because she was deeply and extremely in love with a boy she has seen but never met. A boy she had heard but never spoken to. She read his heart through letters and poured hers in responses.But here she was sitting around a bunch of girls she called friends who were getting her ready to make petals and flowers from henna on her hands. Some where in the design they would hide the name of his husband, Jamshed.
***
How very witty is it of time? When a house in a village was decorated with sheen and shine to celebrate a new beginning, there was another dwelling in the someone that was dim due to the grim caused by a broken relation. Everything was silent since the ill-fated news had entered the ancient house. A house so pious that even the walls were familiar with Guru Granth Sahib script and born within the boundaries of this godly dynasty was a son, a smug on the forthcoming descendants of the abode. Sardar sahib had confined himself inside his room and his widowed sister Gurpreet sat outside the door crying for the calamity his brother had seen in just one year.
Yes!It was love that had brought a curse on this kin. Gurpreet being a female was the first victim. On the nightfall of her marriage when she had sewn on her redress dreams and fantasies of being adored. She was acquainted with a horrible reality. Ignoring his newly wedded wife, her husband descended to the kitchen below. Following him out of curiosity she quietly made her way through the slumbering folks of the house. To her sheer disbelief, her husband was making love to the household maid. Till the dawn she sat quietly in her room awaiting for the culprit. When he stepped inside the trap she confronted, the man with a voice so loud that her in-laws came running. Angry as hell but deeply broken inside she took her unopened steel box which carried her belongings. In the same red dress she was back to her own house in which she was departed with well wishes.
The next prey were her brothers. It would have been a pleasure if Beena had died of an ordinary disease; no she had taken her life with her own cursed hands leaving Hari Singh to calculate the past of his marriage. Beena's suicide had opened a Pandora box. For years she said in her letter that she has devoted herself to the man she married. But when Sachdev, younger brother of Sardar sahib returned home from the battle; she couldn't wall up her love for him. Apparently Sachdev and Beena were massively in love in their days of youth. Promising Beena for their eternal love, Sachdev went for serving in the military. She tried to give excuse to her parents. She used to find dirt in every single man that came to ask her hand in marriage. She wrote letters to her lover, telling him about the dismay she was enclosed in but after a long silence she gave up and the unstable health of Bibi had left her no choice, she promised Guru Gobind Singh that she would marry without any resistance to the man who will come next. Fate took an interesting turn of events, she was married to the elder brother of his lover. She tried to stay truthful to the man whose child she was carrying in her womb.
Everything was in a standard sort when out of the blue Sachdev returned. Guilty inside, she faced him day in and day out hiding from his miserable eyes. Being weak and fragile she couldn't handle pressure and after so many years of care and love taken from both the brothers, she gave herself up. Her offspring followed her steps in wounding Sardar Hari Singh. Sardar sahib was ashamed to face the world, he was ashamed of his fugitive son. His son was not a Guru Nanak follower anymore, he was a Muslim now.
***
Today marked the fifth year of his conversion. He thanked ALLAH for his guidance and folded the jai-namaz placing it on the shelf. He made his way to the pergola near the shrine's garden when he heard someone calling him. He turned his back and saw chotu running towards him, panting heavily he told Ibrahim that someone was there to meet him and they say they have traveled a long way to meet him.Through the fenestrated design in the wall, he saw his past emerging, it was sitting on the shrine's floor legs crossed and bowed head. Clearly time changes everything, the man in front of him was weak and feeble now with signs of old age visible. The man hadn't recognized Ibrahim as he had grown a beard on his young face, no one from his previous years could identify him. The man was busy in telling his tale of sorrow, he told him that her niece was cursed by someone because she wasn't getting married. It had been five years, she was almost about to get married and none of the others proposal succeeded after it. Ibrahim was absorbing each and every word the man uttered, He was the same person who had disgraced him and sent him off telling him that they won't marry their niece to a non-Muslim. On this demand he informed him that he had recently converted to Islam, upon hearing this they laughed at him chastening him.Shattered to pieces he had nowhere to go except for turning to ALLAH. Seeing the decorated Haweli for the last time he walked away from his native land,saying from his mother recalling in his mind "Be neither a heart breaker nor heartbroken" But he was both. He had broken the heart of his father and the girl in white and he was heartbroken by the ailment of time.
He stood up without listening a word that the man had said, he was bubbling with rage and distress. He would have punched the old man if it weren't for his age.To control his anger he did the only thing his mind ordered. Marching towards the exit, his nostrils caught a hint of a familiar attar. His eyes automatically started scanning. At far end he saw what his eyes were searching for. The girl in white, his love, the reason he changed himself was sitting in a corner with a tasbi in her hand. As he moved towards her, Paras raised her head, a smile danced on her small pursed lips, she had perceived him through his sturdy which no more bore the signs of adolescence. The time stood still for both of them as they sensed the difference in each other. It had started to rain, the sky was flowing happy tears in the reunion. They both looked up and then smiled at each other, it was raining the last time they had met. Taking steps towards each other they had found the missing tune of harmony.
***
Ismail ran fast with his tiny feet. Imitating a plane he raced through the masjid towards the pergola. Ibrahim caught him and lifted him up in the air. The same smell of attar aroused his nostrils. He kissed his son on the cheek and Ismail wiped it real quickly. Carrying his son in his arms he started walking towards his quarters in the backyard of Ajmer Sharif where Paras was waiting for his husband and son. She served them aloo ka paratha and lassi for lunch. Life had given them many hurdles to cross and jump over. At the end they had made it through together hand in hand. The reward was Ismail and another one was on the way.
Short story by Farah Khalid
Read 783 times
Written on 2015-08-03 at 17:41
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