Marooned

I see the bright white ball of fire turning red, visible to the naked eye. The change in the lighting tells me that another day from my life is about to come to an end. I don't know what time it is though, I've lost count of time. I still remember myself getting mad at my wrist watch when it stopped 20 days back. I hit the watch many times in a hope that it may start working magically. I think it may be 4 P.M. or wait, it can be 6 P.M. too. After all I don't really know in what part of the earth I am. I've stopped sensing cold or heat.

It has been three months or precisely 92 days since I was left on this island by the thunderstorm. I've kept a count of days in this little diary of mine. I don't have a mirror to look what exactly I look like after these many days but the blurred reflection in the ocean tells me that I don't look that smart now. Unshaven and in the same clothes for 92 days, I probably look like those people from the novels who were left alone on islands. Ah, how stupid of me! I myself am an owner of this undesired privilege now.

I've lived here on the water from the ocean, coconuts and a strange fruit of which I do not know the name. It looks like a poisonous little fruit and I had actually tried eating it one day to commit suicide but then I found that it was the most delicious thing I had eaten in years. Perhaps God didn't want me to die. I haven't tried to kill myself since then.

This is a well traveled trade route, each passing day I see hundreds of ships passing in these waters. I've tried to signal many but to no avail. Still, I shout and try to signal ships standing on this cliff nearby. Hope, you see, keeps things, relations and the broken-hearted alive.

Actually, it is not so bad down here. I've started loving this beauty of nature. It was nature herself though who left me here, marooned. I cannot say for good or worse though because all the other members of the crew are dead, perhaps. It is sometimes tough to judge between death and life.

There is something here which overpowers and breaks me down sometimes, this loneliness. It would have been beautiful had there been someone with me to share this life. I cry sometimes thinking about the girl from the town whom I loved. Then, I wipe my own tears...who else will, if not me?

I see a ship coming this way. It is the nearest I have ever seen. I'm going to try my luck once again.

I sign the page of my diary with my rank daily. I've never used or heard it in many days after all.

Captain Robert Miller.

The tragedies of life

It was the 9th of June, 2014. Me and my wife, Maryam, were coming back from a holiday in Switzerland. It was our first holiday after we got married two months back. Our minds were full of the beautiful moments we had spent in Switzerland. Finally, my dream of a happy family was shaping into reality. Our plane was about to land at the Karachi International Airport and we prepared ourselves to get off the plane.

The plane's wheels touched the runway and it came to a standstill in few minutes. We got off the plane and started moving towards the exit counter. I heard a loud sound which appeared to come from a gun. Suddenly a group of Airport staff came to us with shades of horror clearly visible on their faces.

"I am sorry sir but you people cannot make an exit from the airport right now. A group of terrorists have attacked this area. You'll have to come with us immediately!" an airport official said.

"Terrorists? What?" I inquired, trying to realize the situation we were in.

"Yes sir! The military has been called. Currently the airport security team is trying to combat."

They took all the passengers in a room nearby.

"Please don't try to get out of the room unless somebody comes to the rescue," they said and went away.

For the next few hours we could hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions. As every new explosion occurred the faces of the passengers shrank, with drops of sweat clearly visible on their foreheads as if they had seen the ghastly figure of death standing before them. Every single face in the room had the mixed expression of horror and hope on it.

"Will everything be fine?" Maryam asked while reciting some aayaats from the Qur'an.

"Yes, my love," I replied, trying to give her the hope which I myself was not confident of, but a word of support from another person is always a mountain of hope.

After few hours of horror the explosions seemed to have come to a halt. We thought that this was the end to the chaos but waited for two more hours before making an attempt to go out.

A few army men came to our rescue and we started to move out of the room with them. No sooner did we come out of the door than an explosion occurred again. We were confronted by a group of three militants, all of them wearing Islamic symbols. It was ironic to see them, they were destroying the name of the same religion of which they claimed to be 'the warriors'.

Firing resumed from both the sides.

The army men tried to cover us from the ongoing rain of bullets. The sparks were blinding everyone's eyes and the sounds were deafening. A bullet was fired from the enemy side which would have hit my wife in her heart had not a soldier dashed forward and pushed her to the ground. The soldier himself was not that lucky though, another bullet hit him on his forehead and he was immediately reduced to a corpse. Call it fate or chance but my wife could also not live of that miraculous save for much time. Another bullet hit her, blood gushed out of her body and I saw her precious soul leaving me, forever. I couldn't bear it any more and fainted. I still faint at times when I remember that scene.

I woke up in a hospital after few hours. I knew that all my dreams of happiness have been shattered by this hellish incident.

"Why Allah? Why! Why did you do this to me?" I shouted at the top of my voice.

I fainted again.

~ Few Days Later ~

I knew that I had suffered the greatest loss in the incident until I heard on the news, "Many soldiers have sacrificed their lives while saving the Karachi International Airport but one of the stories is the most tragic. Soldier Zubair got martyred in the violent struggle with the terrorists. He got married just an year back and her wife just gave birth to a baby girl. The girl will never be able to see her father's face. The tragedy however did not end here. Her mother could not survive the delivery and the baby is left alone in this world, an orphan."

I fell upon my face and asked God to forgive me whenever I whined.

~ 5 days later ~

"So, Mr. Muhammad, are you sure you're going to take this step of adoption? I mean you've just lost your wife, will you be able to take up such a great task all alone?" the manager of the orphanage asked me.
"Yes, indeed. I've no one else in the world and on top of that her father died saving us."
"You may sign here sir. I wish that you both remain happy for the rest of your lives."
"Thank you."
"Before you take her I must tell you that she has not yet been named. What name shall we put on the papers so that we can go on with the official process?"
"Maryam," I replied.

Unsung Hero

"Chotu! Pick up those cups and wash them too," yelled Ram Singh. Chotu's small hands working on the plates shivered hearing that voice. He knew the outcome of that tone very well. He immediately got up to bring the cups.

"I've been seeing recently, you don't do your tasks well!" Ram Singh shouted again.

"Sor..Sorry saab ji," replied Chotu with trembling lips.

"If you do it again, I won't give you the day's wage"

Chotu, a ten year old boy, has to work from 8 am in the morning till 10 pm in the night when the dhaba closes for the day. He lost his father at the age of five and his mother worked as a maid to feed themselves. When Chotu was nine, his mother's health began to deteriorate and he had to leave the primary school to look after his ailing mother. He then started working at Ram Singh's dhaba to bring home 100 rupees per day.

The clock struck ten and it was time for the dhaba to close.

Ram Singh, however cruel he may seem, was actually a saviour for their family. He went mad at times but also helped Chotu with extra money whenever he was in need.

"Here are your 100 rupees chotu. How is your mother now?"

"She is well saab ji."

Chotu went straight to the medical store to purchase his mother's medicine.

"Which medicine do you want?" asked the medical store owner.

"I don't know the name. Here, take the paper which doctor saab has given me."

"Here it is, 70 rupees."

"70 rupees? It was worth 50 last week."

"Prices are increasing on everything. Don't you know?"

Chotu passed the hundred rupee note to the shopkeeper and took the medicine and the thirty rupee change.

He reached home after a walk of two kilometres.

"Here ma, I've brought your medicine."

"Beta! God will make you a great man one day."

~ Next Day ~

A team of social workers headed by Mr. Aniket along with some policemen came to Ram Singh's dhaba.

"How old are you son?" Mr. Aniket asked chotu.

"Ten...why?"

Mr. Aniket turned to Ram Singh, "Aren't you ashamed of keeping such a young child at work?"

"Saab Ji, his mother was ill and they had no source of income."

"I know all your cheap tactics to save yourselves from the fine."

The reporters took a photo of Mr. Aniket along with Ram Singh and Chotu. Ram Singh was fined heavily.

"Social activist Aniket saved a young child," was the local newspaper's article's headline next day with a large picture that was clicked the last day.

Few days passed and nobody actually made an effort to help Chotu's family.

One day Chotu went to Mr. Aniket's office.

"Saab you took my job but no one has tried to provide me any help since then. My mother is very ill saab, help us."

"Arey! Who are you? How did you come in? Where is the gate-keeper?"

"Saab, I am the child who worked at Ram Singh's dhaba."

"I'm busy right now. I'll look into your matter later."

"But saab...my mother..."

"Are you going out or shall I call the guard?" shouted Mr. Aniket.

Chotu ran out, dejected.

In the evening he went to Ram Singh's dhaba. He knew he may get a slap or two from Ram Singh but he had nowhere else to go.

"Saab forgive me for what happened. My mother is ill, please keep me at work."

"Son, it was not your mistake. These people just make money from here and there. Here, take these 200 rupees and purchase medicines for your mother. I'll keep you at work after few days when this matter cools down. Also, tell me if you need anything else."

Musings

It is 4 in the morning and I’ve still not fallen asleep. I think I have gone crazy, a retard or maybe I am institutionalized. What is institutionalized, you ask? Institutionalized like Brooks was in — The Shawshank Redemption. I think I’ve become so used to the life in that cubicle that I cannot handle a life this serene. I mean, for God’s sake! I’ve taken this two day leave just to get some life in me and I am not even able to sleep.

I’ve grown kind of weird these days. At times I want to judge people on scales of logic, science and rationality and at others I just want to sit like how God sits in the Christian paintings; up in the heavens with the earth as his foot stool and smile at people caring very less about logic and rationality.

I get up and head outside. The sky is still dark, full of gloomy clouds. It is not looking scary actually. It is looking like me. I move towards a nearby hill. Hill stations are beautiful places.

I reach the hill top in about half an hour. I see that the trees have started swaying. I think that even the hill doesn’t like me being here. Or wait! Maybe it is just welcoming me in its own way. I hear the beautiful sounds of the birds moving out of their nests and flying high in the air in search of food. Food — that’s all what they seek, and we? We seek wealth. And why? To lead a life of luxury. It sounds very ironical though.

I see the environment brighten up a bit. The sun has started to come out of its sleep. I see it coming from far behind the mountains. I think the sun has brought a glad tiding with it. I’ve suddenly started to feel calm and serene. Sometimes I wish that I lived in the era when nobody knew if the earth was flat or a sphere and if the earth went round the sun or vice versa, life of a pirate as they say. A drop of rain falls from the heaven above and tickles my skin. I’ve never felt like this in years.

I’ve learned that the beauty of nature can give you the much needed happiness and resurrect your devastated life and as it turns out, I am not that institutionalized after all.

यूँ छोड़कर ना जा

ज़िन्दगी के इस मोड़ पर यूँ छोड़कर ना जा
इस बेरहम छोर पर मुँह मोड़कर ना जा
आज दिल-ओ-जाँ में हज़ार गम हैं
ये मेरी बेरुख़ी नहीं वक़्त का सितम है
माना हमारी तासीर मुख़्तलिफ़ है
पर बिन तेरे हर दम ख़लिश है
तासीर जो मुख़्तलिफ़ है तो क्या ?
मुख़ालफत तो हर मौसम में है
पर सर्द-ओ-गर्म मौसम के दरमियाँ
ही आती है बहार
चलती हैं रहमत की हवाऐं
और खिलते हैं समन
हर रंज भुलाकर तू
फिर हाथ थाम ले, ऐ बेख़बर!
इस बेरहम छोर पर मुँह मोड़कर ना जा
ज़िन्दगी के इस मोड़ पर तू छोड़कर ना जा

My Lost Love

Hither this day as I hold thy wreck
Tears flow from mine eyes surplus
Thought of thy loss gives me an ache
As mine heart pumps life, lifeless

As I stare at thy body, isabelline
I recall when I said, "Thou can go on"
I knew that I was being mean
And in a flick of fate, thou art gone

O how I wish to touch thy strings
To hold in mine hands thy body, alluring
And fly with thy soul, if I had the wings
To listen again to thy melodies, charming

"It's just a guitar," say the angels above
Little do they know, thou art my lost love

Execution

"Allah hu-Akbar... Allah hu-Akbar," the sound of the Azaan struck his ears. The news of a rising sun got modulated throughout the sky on waves of the cold night air which blew to bask itself warm in the rays of the sun. The birds chirped and started transferring the glad tiding of day break from one branch to another. The grey streaks of clouds in the sky started to get a red tint due to the emerging fire-ball from the depths of the ocean.

"Ashhadu-Allah ilaaha...," Amit jumped off his sleep. Drops of perspiration oozed from his forehead and wetted his eyebrows. He was shivering and sweating heavily, trying hard to remember his nightmare. Reality, however, was not much better than the deadly dream he had just forgotten. He looked out of the iron bars which restricted him into the cubical. It was dark in the corridor outside, barely visible. He looked up, the ventilator just got illuminated with feeble light. He knew this was the last sunrise he'll ever see. He looked at the watch, 4:30 AM it showed. "Just six hours remain," he thought to himself trying hard not to explode into tears.

"Hayyalas-Salah...," the Azaan continued. "Come to prayer, this means. Faizan had told me once," he thought. "Faizan, yes, the reason I am here. I deserve to be here, I deserve to be executed," he shouted as tear drops fell from his eyes. A strange fear, an unseen void started to overtake him. He was numb, could hardly feel his own limbs. He felt like someone has held his heart and is pressing it every moment. He could hear the pushes, the attempts his heart made to pump blood. He could feel the air going into his lungs. "All this will stop in 6 hours," a voice in his mind said. He got goosebumps.

"Hayyalal-Falah...," he smiled as he heard this. "Come to success? Huh! there is just failure, death before me." He had often shouted in debates how God wasn't something real, how human beings used religion for destruction and how their ancestors had fabricated God to reign over people. But this day, this very last day, he felt the sudden impulse to cry, to cry to a higher power, to cry to God. "Oh Lord! Save me!" he uttered and fell upon his face. Stream of tears flowed off his swollen eyes. He found himself plunging deep, deep down into the dark, murky valley of thoughts. The thoughts so overtook him that he soon fainted.

~5 years earlier~

"Have you gone mad, Amit?" Faizan shouted at the top of his voice.
"No, I haven't. You deserve it. How can you back stab your best friend and sleep with Anamika?"

Love or aptly said, obsession, urges you to perform devilish wrongs even to the people you love. Amit's eyes burned red with rage as did the flame the emerging from his lighter. Faizan lay there bleeding and dripping in the petrol which Amit had just poured over him.

"No, no..Amit. Please don't do this. I'm...I'm sorry," Faizan cried.
"No, the likes of you are destined to burn on earth and in hell."

He threw the burning lighter on Faizan. Flames erupted from his body. Faizan cried in pain. Amit conscience shook him. "What the crap am I doing?" he thought and ran to Faizan's rescue but it was late. The fire had burned a lot of his body. He tried to extinguish the fire by throwing water on it but to no results. He ran outside and brought some sand with him. As he threw the sand he saw a dark body lying there beyond recognition.

Next he remembered seeing himself in police custody. A case was filed against him. It went on for four years before he broke down in front of the judge and accepted his crime.

~Present Day 10:00 PM~

He was being taken to the execution spot, his face covered with black cloth. He couldn't feel much of the air by now, he was already dead in his thoughts probably. "It won't be painful. Just a bone will break. Much less painful than your crime," a voice told him.

Faizan's mother, Aaminah, stood their looking high up. Her heart finally content with the vendetta. She knew his death won't bury the pain of losing a 20 year old son but would definitely give her the satisfaction that the murderer of her child is not roaming free, alive.

Amit was made to stand under the rope. He could feel death overpowering him. Any moment now could be his last. Tears wetted the black cloth. The rope was now over his neck. "Forgive me, please." he cried.

Aaminah went near him, took off the rope and slapped him hard. "This is for killing my boy," she said and went away.

She was a mother after all.