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The Divided Heart - an Indo - Pak story (part 3)
Read part 2
Part 2 ending:
"No, don't go there. It's not safe. Gurman will be okay", baba tried to console me, utterly failing. He tried to drag me away from there. I resisted, I pushed him away and I ran, I ran fast to the street where Gurman lived.
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Part 3
I ran fast, faster than ever, hoping to be faster the fate which can separate us. My heart thumped loudly, but more than that, the word 'Gurman' reverberated more louder. Panting, I reached Gurman's house.
There was nothing there, no blood, no corpses, no house at all. All it remained were the ashes which shaped the beautiful hut of Gurman's. Fighting through the rubble, I searched. But, this time, NOT TO FIND ANYTHING. At least then, I could live the rest of my life, hoping that Gurman is safer elsewhere. But, in the midst of those ashes, there existed a half-burnt pink turban lying in a puddle of blood.
My mind stopped thinking, and I madly started to search for Gurman, kicking through the ashes and uprooting the bushes. Nothing found. All I could do was to hold the blood-stained turban to my face and cry.
Baba and I searched for Gurman for the next few hours, but all our efforts went in vain. What a drastic change it was! Just two days ago, I remember enjoying the Lahore markets, just a week ago, Gurman and I were playing with the glow worms, just a few days ago, people in Bilal lived in harmony without communal differences. All of that changed by a poison called 'hate'. Two days was enough to destroy entire Bilal.
The sun started to set. The usual orange sun seemed to be red, reflecting the state of Bilal. Still, there was no sign of Gurman. As the time passed by, our hopes started to fade away like the fading sun.
Baba and I split ourselves and started searching for Gurman in every place we roamed together, the masjid street, the open fields, British office. While I passed through the Sikh lane, I was chased by a small mob and I hid myself in the bunker, which I and Gurman used to play.
The bunker was pitch dark, the entire world seemed to be in charcoal. The night was dead except for the buzz of insects. But, the bunker seemed weird then. I could sense the presence of another being rested there. Fearing, I turned my lamp to find Gurman drooling in blood, lying unconscious. Tears flooded my face seeing Gurman in such state, but, finally, I was relieved to find his heart beating.
My heartbeat burst the silent night as I ran for finding Baba. After returning, we wiped the blood from his wounds. We knew that Gurman wouldn't survive if we were late to the hospital. Considering the scenario, we were sure that he wouldn't be admitted. Moreover, there was a high chance that he would be killed by the doctor itself.
Slowly, baba removed the turban from Gurman's blood-covered head. We cut his hair short with the knife baba brought for defense. We knew that was against his religion, but it was necessary to save his life. We apologized god and hoped that he would forgive us for our mistake. Baba placed his white Taqiyah on Gurman's head. We admitted him into Shah Alam nursing home, lying that he was my brother Abbas who got injured in the riots.
Two '0 clock morphed into three, but the doors of the operation room were still shut. From the corner, I took the green mat and unfurled it across the floor. I bent my knees and prayed Allah with whatever hymns I knew. I only wish I had in my mind was to see Gurman alive. I prayed and prayed with my puffy eyes, and somewhere in the midst of my prayers, I dozed off to darkness.
I woke up suddenly, when a fighting trumpeted my ears. It was chacha, who was arguing with baba. His hand bore a long talwar with a sharp edge, which shone as it reflected the baby sun rays. I peeped out of the window as the conversation went on..
"You're a traitor to our religion", chacha said, pointing the talwar edge towards baba, "You know what religion he belongs to. They are killing our people in Eastern punjab."
With a rebellious tone, baba replied "I'm sure that if I were born in a Sikh family, I would have followed Sikh traditions. We're born as humans first, and we stick to religion later. How is the child responsible for killing Muslims in eastern Punjab? Spare him. You know that he is nice to all."
"We should protect our religion. You're a coward. Move away", chacha looked undeterred.
"Allah never told anyone to kill people", Baba said emotionally, "He asked us to love and save people".
" You don't understand religion. Move away or you'll have to face the wrath of my talwar", chacha said advancing towards baba.
My instinct told me to take Gurman away from this. We both held our hands tightly and started running from the back door.
We reached the Lahore express which ran from Lahore to Amritsar. Gurman removed the taqiyah, and tied a turban around his head. The station was so crowded and we moved through the gaps to find a better place in the train. As we ran around, we dashed across a heavy-built guy and we fell down.
It took us a minute to realize that it was Habeeb chacha, disguised as a Sikh to save women and children. I handed over Gurman to him and he promised that he'll take care of Gurman. Departure was not easy, we hugged each other tightly and tears made our faces wet. Gurman handed over his silver kadiyam to me.
I ran back, this time with a sense of elation and joy. I ran across sand, dirt and pebbles, with the happiness that Gurman was saved. With the same, I reached shah alam hospital. My happiness evaporated seeing Baba drenched in a pool of blood.
Chacha's talwar pierced through Baba's heart. Perhaps, baba was too soft hearted to resist that hard metal. Tears flowed through my eyes while the sky too started to cry along with me.
"Baba", I yelled.
Life has been miserable for me ever since. There was no baba, no Gurman, no habeeb chacha, none. Still, I waited for Gurman hoping that he'll visit Bilal again. Every week, I visited the Wagah border in the hope of seeing Gurman. But, he never did.
Ever since, people started measuring your patriotism in how much you hate the other country. Now, people of our countries die fighting with each other, often forgetting that their grandparents died fighting together, for independence.
Akram closed the diary, as he wiped his tears. The two people in the photograph were still smiling, not knowing how cruel this world is.
From that time, our heart was divided. Nearly, one million people migrated to the other counterparts and ten million people lost their lives in the massacre. But, still people like me exist, people like Habeeb chacha exist. People like Gurman exist. We love peace. We're waiting for the day when people of India and Pakistan stop hating each other. After all, we're the children of same mother. What say?
End of the story
Read part 1 part 2
Part 2 ending:
"No, don't go there. It's not safe. Gurman will be okay", baba tried to console me, utterly failing. He tried to drag me away from there. I resisted, I pushed him away and I ran, I ran fast to the street where Gurman lived.
--------------------------------------------------------
Part 3
I ran fast, faster than ever, hoping to be faster the fate which can separate us. My heart thumped loudly, but more than that, the word 'Gurman' reverberated more louder. Panting, I reached Gurman's house.
There was nothing there, no blood, no corpses, no house at all. All it remained were the ashes which shaped the beautiful hut of Gurman's. Fighting through the rubble, I searched. But, this time, NOT TO FIND ANYTHING. At least then, I could live the rest of my life, hoping that Gurman is safer elsewhere. But, in the midst of those ashes, there existed a half-burnt pink turban lying in a puddle of blood.
My mind stopped thinking, and I madly started to search for Gurman, kicking through the ashes and uprooting the bushes. Nothing found. All I could do was to hold the blood-stained turban to my face and cry.
Baba and I searched for Gurman for the next few hours, but all our efforts went in vain. What a drastic change it was! Just two days ago, I remember enjoying the Lahore markets, just a week ago, Gurman and I were playing with the glow worms, just a few days ago, people in Bilal lived in harmony without communal differences. All of that changed by a poison called 'hate'. Two days was enough to destroy entire Bilal.
The sun started to set. The usual orange sun seemed to be red, reflecting the state of Bilal. Still, there was no sign of Gurman. As the time passed by, our hopes started to fade away like the fading sun.
Baba and I split ourselves and started searching for Gurman in every place we roamed together, the masjid street, the open fields, British office. While I passed through the Sikh lane, I was chased by a small mob and I hid myself in the bunker, which I and Gurman used to play.
The bunker was pitch dark, the entire world seemed to be in charcoal. The night was dead except for the buzz of insects. But, the bunker seemed weird then. I could sense the presence of another being rested there. Fearing, I turned my lamp to find Gurman drooling in blood, lying unconscious. Tears flooded my face seeing Gurman in such state, but, finally, I was relieved to find his heart beating.
My heartbeat burst the silent night as I ran for finding Baba. After returning, we wiped the blood from his wounds. We knew that Gurman wouldn't survive if we were late to the hospital. Considering the scenario, we were sure that he wouldn't be admitted. Moreover, there was a high chance that he would be killed by the doctor itself.
Slowly, baba removed the turban from Gurman's blood-covered head. We cut his hair short with the knife baba brought for defense. We knew that was against his religion, but it was necessary to save his life. We apologized god and hoped that he would forgive us for our mistake. Baba placed his white Taqiyah on Gurman's head. We admitted him into Shah Alam nursing home, lying that he was my brother Abbas who got injured in the riots.
Two '0 clock morphed into three, but the doors of the operation room were still shut. From the corner, I took the green mat and unfurled it across the floor. I bent my knees and prayed Allah with whatever hymns I knew. I only wish I had in my mind was to see Gurman alive. I prayed and prayed with my puffy eyes, and somewhere in the midst of my prayers, I dozed off to darkness.
I woke up suddenly, when a fighting trumpeted my ears. It was chacha, who was arguing with baba. His hand bore a long talwar with a sharp edge, which shone as it reflected the baby sun rays. I peeped out of the window as the conversation went on..
"You're a traitor to our religion", chacha said, pointing the talwar edge towards baba, "You know what religion he belongs to. They are killing our people in Eastern punjab."
With a rebellious tone, baba replied "I'm sure that if I were born in a Sikh family, I would have followed Sikh traditions. We're born as humans first, and we stick to religion later. How is the child responsible for killing Muslims in eastern Punjab? Spare him. You know that he is nice to all."
"We should protect our religion. You're a coward. Move away", chacha looked undeterred.
"Allah never told anyone to kill people", Baba said emotionally, "He asked us to love and save people".
" You don't understand religion. Move away or you'll have to face the wrath of my talwar", chacha said advancing towards baba.
My instinct told me to take Gurman away from this. We both held our hands tightly and started running from the back door.
We reached the Lahore express which ran from Lahore to Amritsar. Gurman removed the taqiyah, and tied a turban around his head. The station was so crowded and we moved through the gaps to find a better place in the train. As we ran around, we dashed across a heavy-built guy and we fell down.
It took us a minute to realize that it was Habeeb chacha, disguised as a Sikh to save women and children. I handed over Gurman to him and he promised that he'll take care of Gurman. Departure was not easy, we hugged each other tightly and tears made our faces wet. Gurman handed over his silver kadiyam to me.
I ran back, this time with a sense of elation and joy. I ran across sand, dirt and pebbles, with the happiness that Gurman was saved. With the same, I reached shah alam hospital. My happiness evaporated seeing Baba drenched in a pool of blood.
Chacha's talwar pierced through Baba's heart. Perhaps, baba was too soft hearted to resist that hard metal. Tears flowed through my eyes while the sky too started to cry along with me.
"Baba", I yelled.
Life has been miserable for me ever since. There was no baba, no Gurman, no habeeb chacha, none. Still, I waited for Gurman hoping that he'll visit Bilal again. Every week, I visited the Wagah border in the hope of seeing Gurman. But, he never did.
Ever since, people started measuring your patriotism in how much you hate the other country. Now, people of our countries die fighting with each other, often forgetting that their grandparents died fighting together, for independence.
******
Akram closed the diary, as he wiped his tears. The two people in the photograph were still smiling, not knowing how cruel this world is.
*******
From that time, our heart was divided. Nearly, one million people migrated to the other counterparts and ten million people lost their lives in the massacre. But, still people like me exist, people like Habeeb chacha exist. People like Gurman exist. We love peace. We're waiting for the day when people of India and Pakistan stop hating each other. After all, we're the children of same mother. What say?
--------------------------------------------------------
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