The Divided Heart - an Indo- Pak Story

8:08 PM Life , Our World , stories 4 Comments

               The death of my grandpa made me visit our village. I don't know much about grandpa, but I had a few good childhood memories with him.

                As I peeped out of the bus, the Sun bathed itself in the giant blue sky and spread its glory to the world from there. The fresh air, the lush-green trees decorated by tiny slow flakes, and the sight of village food made me nostalgic. I used to play a lot in the streets of Bilal (Punjab, Pakistan), but later, we moved to Karachi. I always loved this place.

                After re-arranging things at the house, I moved into my grandpa's room. It was the first time I visited the house after his death, which happened a week ago. It was a rather a bleak, shabby and less furnished room which maintained an old library. While moving the things around, I found an age-old diary which read the title "Yaadein"  and it seemed to contain intriguing experiences of grandpa. As it was dark, I switched the old oil lamp on and with a lot of alacrity, I opened it.

                 As I opened the book, a crumpled old photograph, seemingly a polaroid one, fell from the book. It bore two boys, standing beside each other, one with a big smile and the other with a mousy look, with a turban bound to his head. A snowman rested in between them; it seemed that they were enjoying themselves . The beaming one looked awfully similar to my grandpa, but who's the other guy?

Wondering so, I flipped the page to read the story written in Urdu.

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                 "Those days were the best days. Like all the boys of our age, Gurman and I enjoyed every small moments. Gurman was an interesting guy. He was rather a shy looking, round-faced boy with a bit tilted smile, his teeth so white, enough to make you blind. But, in creating fun, he was the best, none could ever reach his mark.

                  Holidays were given to school every winter, that makes the winters best time for us. Every morning, Gurman would come to me, drag me to the fields, where we used to gaze the sunrise, perplexed and fascinated by its beauty. After that, Gurman used to come with me to the mosque, wait till I complete the Faj'r namaaz, and then start our quest for fun.

                  Deflating the tire of the Maulvi's old cycle was our most-to-do avocation. He was pretty annoying, often asking people for more money. That made us dislike him.

                  Apart from that, stealing the sweets from Habeeb chacha's dukaan, making a snowman army, catching Jugnoos (glow worms) at nights, strolling through the markets of Lahore were our all time favorites.

                   When baba asked us about the snowman army which we built, we replied that we'll use that army to defeat the British. We used to do many silly things which people never understood, but for us, it was fun. Gurman and I shared an invisible bond between us, inseparable.

Things went well  till one day..."

                   The oil lamp started to flicker and the flame popped out. Maybe the oil got exhausted. I put the book aside, with so many questions in my mind while moved into the kitchen for kerosene.

                     So, Gurman was grandpa's bestie. Where is he living now? Is he a Sikh? Why didn't grandpa ever mention about his memories? I opened the book again, hoping to find the answers to my questions.

"Things went well till one day...

The lush-green village of Bilal became red with blood."

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End of part 1                                                    

Read part 2 here