Journey Part 4

She felt very exhausted and couldn’t resist from being drown into semiconscious state. In the background, blurred pictures started to get clearer and started to disturb her again.

Four years ago, the Morning was drizzly at Anarkali Bazaar which appeared less crowded. It seemed the silence prevailed in that old street was about to be broken as a funeral procession was approaching. As the procession neared by, chanting heard louder that awakened the street from the sleepy state.

The dead body, completely wrapped in white cloth, could be glanced through the holes of the coffin being carried on. Large number of people in the procession, generally, shows the deceased was met with the fate perhaps too early.

Light wind blew across that congested street carried perfume arisen from the coffin, being carried slowly towards the graveyard.

“Who died?” an onlooker couldn’t suppress curiosity.

 “Iqbal saab who ran a shop in this street, he died of prolonged illness”. Someone said in a soft voice.

“How old he was?” an old man asked, while looking away from the moving procession.

“May be 35 or 40 only”, someone instantly replied.

“Poor guy, in a way he was fortunate to escape the miserable life he lived since his marriage. His wife was mentally unstable also and he suffered from renal diseases.” Another bystander added.

“Don’t know why God spared people like me, no more to suffer….” Old man didn’t wait for anyone to respond and moved towards the procession to join.

It seemed the nature had no plans to stop drizzling and the wet city was already shivering from intensive cold. It was only the procession that held people from seeking shelter at shops along the street.

As the procession appeared in the Juma Masjid compound, the chanting was stopped and some people moved ahead so as to prepare and receive the coffin from inside the mosque. They helped the coffin to be lowered down gently. Some people, apparently kith and kins of the diseased, removed the green cloth imprinted with verses from Holy Quran. Then, they slowly opened the casket and prepared to take the body, wrapped in pure white cloth and scented with perfumes, out. Little by little, they put hands beneath the dead body and lifted it up from the casket and then carried towards inner side of the mosque, for Janazah Prayer.

The motionless body was now waiting on the floor, inside that poorly lit mosque, awaiting people for a congregational Janazah prayer. This is the final prayer conducted for any deceased in the Islamic Religion.

Iqbal khan belonged to a wealthy merchant family who had migrated from India much before the partition.

Few years ago, a woman was seen struggling to walk on the slum streets of Lahore, a day after she was brutally beaten up and dragged by own in-laws. To the spineless onlookers, she appeared to be a disoriented one and so chose to turn a blind eye. But, to her, no matter what label is put on her – it was comparatively better now. Enough is enough. She has gone through the peak of agony.

As with many historic events, railway stations always witnessed most of the decisive happenings in the lives of many people. And she was no exception. The filthy platform, at the very Lahore Railway station, hosted her with magnificent level of agony and distress when she was abandoned by her own people for the reason she had yet to realize. Being labeled as mentally retarded, no onlookers did bother to pay attention regardless of her torn clothes and bleeding bruises gave a pathetic picture. She was half conscious and coiled herself in the chillingly cold wind.

Journey Part 2

Shaheen was running across the large courtyard, paved with glossy bricks. Her blonde hair under the scarf was exposed and shined. Pegions flew up in circles as she reached the lamp post.

Gasping heavily, she leaned her back and rested one leg half folded on the lamp post.

A cool breeze, from far across the sea, brought her a mesmerizing scent of freshly blossomed flowers. Branches of nearby tree were hesitant to let the golden rays to fall upon her face. Without wasting a moment, she took out a book and opened it. The anxiety on her face was increasing as she kept turning over the blank pages.

Finally, a message was found in the book which she impatiently started reading with her eyes wide open.

It was the moment Shaheen has been waiting for months. Her deep emotional desire, to connect with the most admired student in the University of Istanbul, has just become true. In other words, she has become the most privileged girl by winning the heart of Aditya – an Indian literature student at the same university. He was such a charming and enticing personality with whom girls easily fall in love.

Aditya was a literature student blessed with poetic skills.  The piercing lyrics of pain that flowed down the nib of his fountain pen caused many hearts to bleed and resulted in mad crush of girls on him.

Aditya became the synonym for sad, yet romantic poems.  Many girls became so impressed and dared to offer him love. However, he was not a man to be influenced by the physical beauty.

He had no crush on any girl until he found Shaheen. He was always chased by girls. Aditya, a boy of calm and quite nature, was always indulged in books.  When she met him for the first time at the library, no love at first sight occurred. Instead, he frowned upon her, thinking what the science student did here in the literature section.

Shaheen was actually in search of the classic Les Misérables (The Miserables) by Victor Hugo.

Failed to suppress the curiosity, Aditya approached Shaheen.

“Hello, can I help, you seem to be …not very familiar with this section”.

“Thank you…. Yes indeed…I am a science student…but literature is my passion…” she replied.

“…interesting…young lady…well I am Aditya…3^rd year literature..”. He introduced himself.

“I know…I read many of your poems in the magazine.” She said excitedly.

Aditya exclaimed:

 “But …I wonder…how come you end up with reading world classics, regardless of being a medical student? Rather, shouldn’t you be reading the Anatomy of Human body instead?”

“Oh really?” she replied sarcastically.

“I thought the library is not restricted for few”. She looked him intensively.

Aditya laughed “oops…young lady…I didn’t mean it… I was just joking and I am really happy to see you reading novels and poems. In fact, the library is proud to have an ambassador in the science stream”.

“Thank you”. She said it with a smile that hid her admiration towards him.

“….But Mr. Aditya, I always wondered do poems always need to be painfully sad.” Shaheen was in search of a pretext to elongate their conversation.

“Why do you think so Ms……?” He apologetically stopped as he forgot to ask her name.

“Shaheen” she filled the blank.

“Yea …Ms…Shaheen…why do you think so?”

“Because … many of your poems make our eyes tearful. It would be great, I suppose, if you could write something about the beautiful world.”

“All that glitters is not gold….that’s my perspective about life”. Aditya defended and started to lead her toward the other end of the long raw of book shelves.

The library, as usual, was least crowded and quite which made the page flipping sounds very audible, from different corners of the building. Walking along the long shelves, which hosted legendary and classics in world literature till date, Aditya was lost in thoughts about Shaheen, a beautiful girl with brain. As they reached the World Classics section, he stopped and took out the book she was in search for – Les Misérables.

“Thanks Mr. Aditya, for your kind help”. She never thought he was such a down to earth personality.

“No mention, please”.

He passed a formal smile and waved his hand before moving towards the other section of that grand library. She proceeded to the librarian to sign the register and then moved out to the large courtyard.

The giant tree, stood on large green lawn that surrounded the University of Istanbul, was a silent witness to evolution in the lives of many generations. The five centuries old university was the place where Science, Literature and Arts were all nurtured hand in hand – helping to shape up the future of humanity.

Affection grew into such a strong association that both Shaheen and Aditya became inseparable over time. Except on holidays, they could not miss the beautiful scene of dusk, at the campus. Vast green lawn around witnessed how they fell into love, a love affair that just did not limit to being affectionate to each other. Rather, lion’s part of their time was eaten up by arguments on literatures and philosophy. It was Shaheen who always took initiative to start a discussion on any subject of her interest, just to throw herself into a confusing state where her points would soon get nullified. Very often, Aditya would give in just to make her not disappointed. They, however, always felt every moment with each other to be comfortable, enjoyable and inevitable.

Beauty of love is not confined to a single sphere of expression of affection; it is rather in the search of a perfect blend of emotions and character - of two entirely different personalities.

That afternoon was cold after a short drizzle in the morning. Shaheen walked slowly, towards the bench near woods. A refreshing fragrance felt in the air, arisen from wet soil. She took deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and sat there with her legs crossed over – impatiently looked far across the lawn.

“How come Adi is late today!” she exclaimed. Chilled wind indicated approaching heavy rain. She stood up, thinking to walk towards the library room to meet him.

“Shaheen”, it was none other than the one she has been waiting for, Aditya.

“I thought you were lost in books!” Shaheen said vaguely as he approached her.

“No maa’m, I was stuck in a meeting to finalize preparations for the Annual Day. I am sorry”.

“So, what are you planning for this year? Something special?” Shaheen asked aimlessly, in attempt to cover up own displeasure from waiting long for Aditya.

“There can’t be anything special in my life, other than you, my young lady”. Aditya teased her. Shaheen started walking as usual, making his attempt apparently unnoticed. He realized it was an untimely joke and started to walk along with her quietly.

They would just keep walking along the paved ways without uttering a word –as if lost in thoughts. Yet, they communicated silently and passionately.

“I am sorry Shaheen. I know you have been waiting for me long time”.

She eyed him unemotionally and continued walking, then turned back.

 "You don’t have to be sorry Adi, I wasn’t hurt by your words at all. But, what makes me tense that our remaining days at this wonderful place where we have grown up as much as our intimacy. When you said Annual Day, which would be our last one, it really makes me think about the gruesome uncertainty before us. What do we do after?” Her face blushed and eyes were filled as she looked far straight into horizon.

Aditya did not see her serious and emotional like this, ever before. He was shaken, obviously – but managed to regain quickly.

“Look Shaheen”. He grasped her both hands and raised closer to him.

“We know that seasons would wait for no one. But that doesn’t mean our future is bleak or uncertain. We love each other and our love is not going to be affected by anything. We live to love my sweetheart. It’s not to be confined inside the walls of this college campus.”

She listened to him like an innocent obedient child.

“Shaheen, listen to me. I have already got an offer for trainee editor, from a newspaper. So my plan is to wait for another year to get stabilized. By that time, we should be able to convince our parents –which I hope would not be a problem. Doctor Shaheen weds Editor Aditya…. Cheers lady….life is always as beautiful as love”.

She knew that he is a master at convincing. Yet, a day without college and Aditya was simply beyond her imagination.

Aditya passed a hopeful smile and released her hands before started walking ahead slowly. Shaheen smiled back and quickly joined him. She firmly held his arm. They paused for a while, looking into eyes and then continued to dissolve in to the world of their own.

That bracing evening was decorated with beautiful backdrop of sunset, far across the sea.

Shaheen shared all her childhood experience with Aditya – including betrayal of love that resulted in her father’s suicide. Once she said, she was not adopted but took a rebirth to her adoptive parents who had loved, cared and brought her up much better than her biological parents would have. Had she not been adopted by them, her life would probably have been remained like shattered pieces of a glass.

Shaheen was adopted by a childless couple who worked as diplomats in Turkey. Father worked as First Secretary at the Embassy of Islamic Republic of Pakistan and mother worked as Press Information Officer. Ever since, they never went back to home country. Jovial and liberal nature of adoptive parents kept her happy, in spite of the gruesome episodes she had gone through in the childhood.

Journey Part 3

She opened her eyes, yet again into the same uncertainty.

Slowly, a soft smile was blossomed on the face as she saw a hole high in the roof. Facial wrinkles deepened when she wondered how the rain drops and light rays raced with each other, just to wade through the thick darkness prevailed in that small room. To her, it seemed rainy outside as the bashing sound increased up above the roof tiles. Weak light fell through the only hole in those tiles indicated the absence of a sunny day also. A desperate attempt to turn away from the dripping water only increased her pain. As her weak body started to shiver in the piercing cold, she inhaled deeply and extended her both arms in search of anything that could create noise, but in vain. Helplessly, she closed her eyes and fists as tight as possible, as if to fight the intense cold. At times, a light breeze would caress her shivering body – probably to prevent her from falling unconscious. Filthy condition of that room was well preserved by a locked door with rusty iron bars.

Few hours later, the door opened with a shrieking noise which awakened her. A man stepped inside with a plate of food and kept it down, close to her. She could just stare at him helplessly and tried to keep her eyes open. He bowed further to assist her to sit against the cracked wall. Dry roti (bread) served with lentil (Dal) failed to trigger her taste buds and thus remained as left over in the plate. Perhaps all her senses were occupied in dealing with enormous level of agony she has been through. She wouldn’t recall anymore the day her life was crumbled. As the ashen and curly hair fell on face, she attempted to move it aside – just like memories of her past life. Gulped some water with shivering hand and she leant backward. The man who brought the food wondered how this poor lady struggled with own life, if not with her surroundings. Everything around her had much to contribute towards the pitiable condition. He moved the bed to the dry part of the floor, little towards the door and helped her to move. Somehow, with painful steps, she managed to reach the bed and lied down. She kept her eyes wide open to avoid getting drown in memories and stared at the bare floor. But, that debilitated and enfeebled lady finally lost the battle and closed eyes.

He carefully stepped out as not to wake her up and cautiously closed the door.

It was an abandoned school building which was turned into a shelter for destitute, especially old people. This building and its tenants had many things in common, be it a glorious past or bleak future for both. After all, life is much more like an oasis which no one can be sure of until met with the ultimate fate, regardless of how reassuring the surrounding environment is. Things go upside down overnight, emotionally, physically or financially – if destined.

Journey Part 1

11 AM, Lahore Railway Station.

The train slowed down, approaching the station. Now the window portrayed a clearer image of people rushing towards the moving train. Many food stalls and drink corners are also seen along the busy platform. Slowly, noise began to increase with newspaper boys and tea-sellers running along with the train.

The dusty wind was blowing moderately….with the same bloody smell, bringing up the discarded –yet-inevitable- memories of her childhood. Suddenly, Shaheen turned her face away for a moment, as if from the haunting memories…

The train had almost missed, thanks to taxi driver who managed to reach the Islamabad station before its departure in the early morning.

The station master, in his full white uniform, is now walking back to his room with two flags rolled back, Red and Green. The screeching sound followed by a long bell, reminded that the train has reached its destination, Lahore. The journey of 260km, from Islamabad, was not as tiresome as the flight journey from Istanbul.

Today is 3rd May 1979, a month past since the execution of Zulfikar Ali Bhuto, on 4th April 1979.

Passengers hurried to the door with heavy luggage on hands, just like nursery kids running out of the classroom. Some were busy in adjusting their turbans, a symbol of social status. The train was fully stopped. Through the window, guarded with horizontal bars, many military personnel can be seen all around, keeping a vigilant watch on everybody.

The platform is now become silent, much quicker than usual. Looks like a silence by force….she thought. Ever since the partition, this country was never lucky to have a stable condition, in terms of anything.

The atmosphere looked the same as 32 years ago, with blackened stones carpeted between railway tracks, the porters, beggars and the unforgettable greasy stink prevailed as a mark of this oldest station. Now, some diesel engines are to be seen, which was rare in 1947.

Quickly, realizing the long preserved plan, she stood up and reached the trolley bag kept overhead and walked towards the door. As she reached the door and looked out to the platform, a lightning fear hit her mind – ripping her heart apart.

For a moment, she could see thousands of blurred images hovering around; expect that of one man – her father Tara Singh. Three decades of life passed, after the death of my father.

What had been holding me back from coming to this country? Probably the shackled life of a doctor… No idea, nor do I have a good reason. Nevertheless, it is now realized that it was the fear of haunting memories that held me back all this time.

For a girl of 6 years, what could be more grisly than witnessing own father’s suicidal death under a train.

With trembling steps, she started walking on the platform number 2 – towards buried memories of her father. She clinched her fists very tightly.

Her headscarf became less obedient, like her memories, and flew in the air as if to hug the blowing wind.

Each footstep was so heavy that pulled her back to painful moments of her life. Tara Sing had come all the way from India, with his daughter, to reunite with his wife Rubeena – who came back to Pakistan to meet her parents after the chaotic partition.

He managed to come to Lahore and found Rubeena. However, fate had something else in the store. He was not allowed to meet his wife and brutally beaten by her relatives before handed him over to police, accusing him of attempt of raping Rubeena.

Being a cross-border love story with a backdrop of stained partition, it grabbed the attention of national media. This incident was given wide coverage and became much sensationalized.

Eventually, Tara Singh was arrested and presented in court. Rubeena was also summoned in to the court. That was the moment Tara Sing has long waited for. The glimpse of his wife there made him feel that the ordeal is over, finally.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know that it was the beginning of his own end. The court proceedings began slowly. Name of Tara Singh was called out. He was led, along with his daughter, to the dock. Although he felt nervous standing before the packed court room, the hope of reunion with his beloved wife made him feel
comfortable. People watched how Tara Singh struggled to console his daughter as she became so annoyed by now.

The judge put his specs on and scanned the courtroom. He struck the Gavel against wooden desk covered with cloth, to calm down the prevalent noise. Then adjusted his silky black gown and looked at Tara Sing. Now, only rubbing sound of papers could be heard in the courtroom.

The clerk, sitting right below the chamber, submitted the crime report to the judge. As the judge read out the crime charged against, Tara Singh pleaded not guilty. Further, holding his daughter tightly in arms, he said that Rubeena was his wife and mother of his daughter.

Consequently, Rubeena was summoned. She stood dispassionately before the judge. The judge asked her whether the claims of Tara Sing were right and acceptable. Rubeena looked nowhere and calmly said she didn’t know Tara Singh.

At once, the courtroom was blanketed by an enormous level of grief and heavy silence. Failing to suppress the grief, Tara slowly sat down and hugged his daughter. Tears rolled down his cheek heavily. However, he didn’t look towards Rubeena who looked so unemotional.

The courtroom now became so noisy with whispers that the judge struggled to calm down the people.

As there was nothing further to be enquired on the case, the judge ordered immediate deportation of Tara Singh and his daughter – back to their home country - India. With a heart blown apart, Tara Sing had nothing left to do, but to wipe off his tears silently. He looked down, held daughter’s hand firmly and slowly stood up. Then, he started to walk away with the police who struggled to make their way out. The police escorted Tara, to the nearest railway station - Lahore. There, he held his daughter tightly and wept hysterically despite many people gathered around and tried to console him.

A loud horn was heard, indicating a train was approaching the station.

Suddenly, before the police could do anything, Tara Singh pushed his daughter back and jumped in front of the train, ending his hopeless life instantly. Now his body was shattered into pieces, just like his hopes – by the girl whom once he gave shelter, love and life.

Shaheen is now on the same platform where she stood 3 decades  ago. This is the place where she lost father forever.

The tragic death of Tara Singh stands out among many other episodes that happened during partition of India and Pakistan. The history had witnessed one of the biggest manslaughters of time, causing loss of about a million lives.

The wounds of those affected, during the partition, never healed. 

British colonists had built the Lahore Railway Station, perhaps not anticipating the pivotal role it had played in the history of subcontinent, be it Anglo-Afghan War or Indo- Pak partition, if not in the personal life of Shaheen.

It is no wrong to say that the elegance of this grand station still reigns – no matter what it has been subjected to witness in the history.

“….Margaret Thatcher, leader of Britain's Conservative Party, has won the general election to become the country's first female prime minister….” The BBC news was loud enough to wake up Shaheen from thoughts, amidst the noise of a busy railway station.

She turned around and walked towards ticket counter where someone would wait with placard that reads “Shaheen Singh”.

“Hello”

“Ms. Shaheen? I was about to check your name in the passenger list.”

“Yea… sorry….I was actually stuck in the crowd…by the way…are you Mr. Ranbeer Singh from Gurudwara?” asked him as she hurriedly took a paper from vanity bag. It was a letter from the head of Gurudwara, saying Mr. Ranbeer Sing would be at the railway station. Shaheen had sought support from Gurudwara to arrange the boarding and travel for her. The soul of Tara Singh rests in peace, at this Gurudwara. Thousands of Sikhs turned up at the funeral.

To commence my mission to locate Rubeena, my mother, there is no better place than Gurudwara – in all terms, she thought. The motive is to know the truth directly from Rubeena, not reconciliation. It was the truth behind the betrayed love that I always wanted to know. Why? After all, she did this to my father and chose to live happily ever after. However, there were no trails available which could lead to the family of Rubeena.

She looked onto Ranbeer’s face though no response came out as he started moving, to the giant arch – the main entrance of Lahore Railway station. Often, she struggled to reach his pace, colliding with people and apologizing.

The pillars on either sides of the tracks seemed like cadets lined up for guard of honor, trumpeting the beauty of colonial architecture. It was crowned with a gigantic roof which provided shade to trains and passengers alike. The entrance was, obviously, much more crowded and noisy with street sellers and passengers.

Presence of military vehicles outside, armed with heavy weapons, was a reminder of 1965 war with India. Lahore bled more than any other city in Pakistan. The war resulted in high number of causalities.

The price this nation has been paying for its freedom always remained unjustifiable.

This time, it was the military rule that shackled the life in the country. Dictatorship was never meant to be fair, no matter how far one goes on to claim otherwise. Broken lamp posts with a backdrop of burnt buildings depicted a brutal past of Lahore, a past that suspended the future of nation. However, people seemed less bothered about who leads them. May be, the pretend to be so!

People gathered near open eateries on streets, fruit shops and other places –engaged in selling, bargaining and buying. A large number of beggars, many of them handicapped women, contributed well enough for the noise pollution. At times, military personnel were heard shouting at public, perhaps in an attempt to reiterate their presence!

A little far from the entrance, an old VW Beatle car waited for Shaheen and Ranbeer Singh. Not many civil vehicles were around, other than military trucks and jeeps. So the faded blue color the car was easily distinguishable from far. Following Ranbeer , she reached near the car. Driver opened the doors for them. Ranbeer Singh, tall with firm physique, helped her to put the bag and then sat inside the car.

“Thank You”.

As they seated in, she looked around to capture a quick glimpse of the town, before they move ahead.

“Ranbeer, how far is Gurudwara from here?”

“It’s about 37 miles, located in Chuni Mandi chowk”. Response was polite but firm.

May be I should refrain from asking too many questions, she murmured.

Gradually, that old VW Beatle started to gain momentum, towards approaching the main road.

“Would you like to have any refreshment on the way, madam?”. Wow, he sounds softer now.

“Well …that would be really appreciated, if we could get some snacks”. I feel hungry.

“There is a Dhaba (open eatery) after 3 miles on the highway, we will have breakfast there”. He uttered to driver.

It will take at least two hours to reach the Gurudwara. Looking at the trees and structures that move past the car window, Shaheen felt her eyelids so heavy. I can’t take a nap till I reach the shrine, thought loudly. She leaned forward and wiped face with a towel. The car slowly stopped at an open eatery along the highway. Ranbeer came out to the rear window.

“What would you like to have other than tea? Puri, Channa or Aloo Paratha” He asked.

“Aloo Paratha…please, can I come along?”. The surrounding seems to be tempting.

“yea, Sure”. He hesitantly nodded and opened the door for me.

Not much crowd was seen at the Dhaba. I chose to sit on a bench kept aside and had my breakfast. I have to admit that the food was spicy and refreshing which actually awakened me from sleepy state. I didn’t get the chance to take out my wallet as Ranbeer made the payment and walked back to the car. Why is he in so hurry? I was puzzled. Looked like he is leader and I am a follower.

Shaheen looked in the watch. It’s 12’o clock. The sun was getting closer, slowly warming up the atmosphere. As they moved ahead, some people were seen offering midday prayer on the roadside. Soldiers also were seen busy in praying. It reminded her of Grand Mosque in Istanbul where people spread out to roads, for prayers.

Failed to resist the wind and rhythmic jerk of the car, Shaheen surrendered and fell asleep.