The two orphans It was a very hot afternoon of July in Lahore. The intense heat of the day had forced the people to seek shelter in their hide-outs. Even the hardy birds of prey like eagles and vultures had descended from the vastness of the burning sky and were resting on the branches of the lofty trees growing all over the Race Course Park. A lot of birds were bathing in the cool water of the little stream flowing along the margin of the raised earthen walking track. The tall birch, cassia fistula and other soft-wood trees growing on either side of the track were echoing with the chirping of different birds. Stray gusts of wind were racing across the grassy plots. The cricket and polo grounds located at the heart of the park were desolate. The small mounds of earth projecting from the earth on the margin of the nearby lake did not seem a natural part of the whole scenery, but they added to its beauty. From a distance they looked like a swelling on the bosom of the earth. The small stream and the rippling waves of water in the nearby lake were the only cooling sights to the eyes on this hot day. Suddenly, a man trudging along the track came into view. He was a remarkable middle-aged man of about fifty. His broad shining forehead was without the trace of wrinkles. His brownish eyes, fair complexion and attractive features showed he must have had a very charismatic personality in his youth. A man getting on years starts throwing the symptoms of the fast approaching old age; his body starts drooping, the hairs on his temples turn grey and he starts moving like the lazy cattle returning home in the evening. But the erect, smart body and measured gait of the man on the track sharply contrasted with his middle age. His enviable physique seemed mocking the effect of his advancing years. Obviously, he would have been a good sportsman in his youth. He was walking vigorously. His clothes were drenched in the sweat his body was pouring forth. Occasionally, he wiped his forehead to keep the salty drops of sweat from stinging his eyes. It was quite strange that this seemingly cheerful person was lost in his thoughts with visible signs of frustration on his attractive face. Sometimes he grumbled something angrily and started walking briskly. Sometimes, he slowed down. But the spell of his abstractions was unbroken. He looked like fighting against something within himself. It seemed as if he were struggling with himself to beguile the internal turmoil by the external agitation of his body. After taking a few rounds of the park, the man came towards the lake and sat on the marble bench studded in the ground under a dense tree. After sitting, he realized the depth of his physical fatigue. For a while he looked at the sights around him with his blank eyes, and then rested his head on the rough bark of the tree trunk and closed his eyes. With his eyes closed there seemed no life on his face. He seemed in a trance with his mind roving elsewhere. He was enjoying this continuous trance when, suddenly, the throbbing sound of pigeons’ fluttering wings broke his spell and he, abruptly, opened his eyes. A flock of wild grey pigeons had alighted upon the grass a short distance away from him. They started pecking the grains scattered around an earthen pot placed there by somebody for these birds. Seeing the wild pigeons, the man did not at all feel offended at their intrusion in his trance. He started watching the pigeons with interest. He did not move his limbs fearing the wild birds would get alarmed and fly away. He watched a number of he-pigeons moving round and round the she-pigeons with their puffed up bodies, producing amorous sounds from their throats. He smiled at their futile acrobatic flirtations as the she-pigeons were not showing any signs of interest. Rather they looked embarrassed at their aggressive amorous advances. “Birds are lucky, they do not have vanity, nor are they hypocrites like men”, the man thought smilingly. Suddenly, a white pigeon swooped down and perched among the wild pigeons. It seemed tired and scared. For some time it stared around as if trying to adjust itself to the community it had joined. Feeling secure, it started moving around leisurely, pecking the grains and courting the grey she-pigeons like his grey counterparts. “All pigeons come of the same species, yet the white pigeon looks so different from the wild grey-pigeons,” the man reflected. “It won’t ever become a natural member of the community of these wild birds,” he exclaimed. “It will always remain an alien among them just as I have been a stranger among my people,” the man groaned, recalling something painful. “ All human beings belong to the same species, live in the same societies, share the same feelings of love, hate, greed, revenge, jealousy and vanity, yet they are so different in race, caste, colour, economic position, social status and in so many other things. They maintain these distinctions deliberately. But all these marks of so called superiority and distinctions are mere a mirage which beguiles them all through their lives,” he grumbled with a sarcastic smile on his face. He was so lost in these abstractions that he could not notice a young boy approaching him. This new comer was a frail young boy of about 12. From his worn-out clothes and shabby appearance the man guessed that he was very poor. He was holding in his hand a cloth bag which had many patches. For some time he stood there looking around timidly. Then he glanced at the middle-aged man who had closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. After ensuring that nobody was watching him, the boy started to move towards the pigeons in a cat-like motion. First, the birds moved away from him, but then their natural instinct warned them of the danger and they became alert. They fixed their eyes on the boy with their wings ready to fly. The boy stopped short. He knew that the birds would fly away if he moved further. He was not close enough to catch one of them. He stood motionless like a hunting lioness stalking its prey. The man was watching the whole scene wonderingly. Suddenly, with a quick movement, the boy leaped on the pigeons. The birds were already on their guard; they flew away in a flock, fluttering their wings as if mocking the young hunter’s futile attempt. For some time the boy lay standing there, dazed and disappointed at his misadventure. In the meantime, a group of naughty boys happened to pass that way. A few of them teased the boy by parodying his hunting stance and went away to the lake to enjoy the ride of the motorboats. The boy seemed unmindful of their ridicule as if he were used to this. He just looked towards the heavens as though complaining to God for his bad luck. The man perceived that the boy was depressed. The man had been watching the whole spectacle like a mute spectator. Feeling sympathy for the young enterprising boy, called out to him: “Hey, you, come here, boy.” The boy was startled at the sudden call. He turned round and looked towards him with tears floating in his eyes. Then, he walked towards the man nervously, and said: “Yes Sir?” inquiringly. “Why were you trying to catch those wild pigeons?” The man asked. “ I, I, I wasn’t catching the wild pigeons, sir!” “But I have seen you leaping on them!” “ Sir, I was after the white pigeon.” “Why, the white pigeon? It’s intriguing.” The boy kept standing nervously without uttering a single word. The man repeated the question, this time with softer voice, to encourage the boy. He seemed interested in knowing the boy’s secret which he was trying to conceal. Hesitatingly, the boy said, “Sir, actually, I catch the stray white pigeons that fly into this park. They are too hungry and tired after their long flights. On seeing the flock of wild pigeons down here, they swoop down to join the company of their species. They rest for sometime, peck the grains scattered here and there, and then fly away in search of their unknown destination. Some of them join the flock of these wild birds and start living with them permanently. I find not much difficulty in catching such white pigeons whenever I encounter one luckily. But, sir! It is a wild goose chase to try to catch the wild grey pigeons. They are simply uncatchables.” The man was amazed at the young boy’s cleverness. “Poverty teaches orphans the commercial prudence for their survival, but the birds and animals inherit it instinctively,” he reflected. Why was he getting so involved in the boy, he did not know. He just wanted to engage the boy for some time more. So he laughed, as if teasing the boy, and said: “I see, you’re fond of white pigeons! Catching and keeping white pigeons as pets must be your hobby.” “No, sir! I hate keeping birds in caged prisons. Actually, I sell them for another purpose, for money, I mean.” “Oh! I get your secret now. You’re a professional hunter then.” . “No, sir! I am sorry you have got it wrong once more.” “O.k. let me know what more a young professional hunter has up his sleeves then.” The boy lowered his face and, in a very low voice, he started narrating the circumstances that had forced him into this profession: “Actually, sir! I am an orphan. My father was killed in a bomb blast five years ago. He was the sole bread-earner of my family. Everything changed for the worse after his death. Our economic condition started worsening with every day passing. My sister and I were quite young then. My mother had to work in a number of houses to earn money to provide for us. One day, she came home much depressed and kept crying for hours. After this, she vowed never to go to anybody’s house for work. She started sewing people’s clothes at home. Years of assiduous labour told upon her health. She fell seriously ill. We had nothing for her treatment. One day she vomited blood. The doctor diagnosed that she was suffering from tuberculosis. Since then she has been confined to bed. My elder sister, who is a student of class 10th, now teaches kids at home. She also sews people’s clothes under the supervision of my diseased mother. I have given up my studies. I do odd jobs to earn money for my family. Sometimes when I find no work, I come to this park with my cloth bag. Here, I either catch the white pigeons or steal the baby parrots from their holes in the lofty trees when the watchmen are not around. Sometimes, I steal away the flowers and seeds of rare plants and sell them for money. But, today, the watchmen are very vigilant and the white pigeon has escaped from me. I have nothing to sell and take money home today.” The man was stunned. He had not anticipatedsuch a tragedy behind such an innocent act. He became depressed and felt a strange attachment with the boy. For a moment his own childhood flashed before his eyes. He remembered how he, too, had stolen things in his childhood. “Identity of emotions sometimes brings strangers closer together and binds them in unpredictable relations. And, the bonds of adversity are stronger than the bonds of prosperity,” he murmured. The man could not notice the boy turning his face the other way. His frail body was shaking. The man perceived that he was crying. “What makes you so disturbed, my son? Why are you crying? Listen, God Almighty never lets down those children who have nobody in this world to care for them. You won’t go home without money. I am your white pigeon, I am your baby parrot today.” Saying this, the man took out two notes of one hundred rupees each from his wallet and handed in to him affectionately. The boy looked towards the man with incredulous eyes. He was dazed but happy at this unexpected “Manna.” Impulsively, he pushed his right hand into the side pocket of his faded jeans and let it stay there, as if he would lose the money if he withdrew it. Then, hesitatingly but innocently, the boy said, “Dear sir! Nobody gives a penny to anyone in this world without his own interest. May I know why have you given me this handsome amount for nothing?” From the bitterness of his words the man understood that the boy had grown mature far beyond his years. “You are like my son. Please don’t mistrust me. I am helping you in return for one favour, if you don’t mind. What favour? What can I do for your, sir? The boy asked impatiently. “Just sit down and listen to me?” For some time the man remained silent as if recalling to something very remote. The shine of his eyes had suddenly dimmed. He heaved a deep sigh and, abruptly, said to the boy: “You know, my younger sister and I were orphans like you.” The boy looked to the man in amazement, and then asked innocently, “Had your father died when you were a kid?” “No!” The man moaned, as if something painful had pricked his body. However, he continued, “I was an orphan in the life of my father. The boy looked puzzled at this unusual comment. “I know what you are thinking. You are thinking how I was an orphan in the life of my father. My son! Life and relations are so mysterious, so unpredictable and so changeful that no words can define them precisely. I was an orphan in the sense that my father was “living dead” for me. I mean, he was perpetually missing from my childhood as your father is from your life after his death. When I was a boy I used to look wistfully the fathers showering their affection on their children. How intensely I yearned for being caressed by my father in that way! But wishes of orphans never come true. Something somewhere remains missing in their lives even when they grow up. I am on the threshold of my old age, yet the child in me still has the thirst for that missed affection; I have never been able to beguile the child in me; I have never been able to grow out of that child.” “Where was your father then? The boy asked inquisitively. “In the same city. He was a typical police officer, very strict and aggressive, temperamentally. He divorced my mother on a minor family dispute and left us for ever.” “Very strange, sir. I have seen on the Geographic Channel that even the ferocious beasts like bears, lions and wolves love their babies so dearly.” “Yes, but the male and female beasts behave differently with their babies,” the man said with a bitter smile on his face “Oh! How tragic! So you were brought up by your mother like me?” “Yes, till we were infants. A young and beautiful widow cannot retain her widowhood for long in our society, especially when she has no financial resources to provide for her two children. Circumstances forced her to marry a second time. Our step-father was an engineer. My mother had to go with him when he was posted abroad. Thus, we were stranded at an age when a child needs most the love and care of his parents. “What happened to you after that? Who looked after you and your sister?” the boy asked sadly. What the man was narrating was so upsetting to the boy. He felt a strange sympathy for the old man. “ My sister was sent to live at an aunt’s and I at one of my maternal uncles’. We were made to serve their families like servants. Our innocence was exploited mercilessly. We saw the real faces of our relatives very closely. We grew older prematurely,” the man cried in extreme anguish. “You, too, are an orphan, my son, because your father is dead. But, at least, you have the consolation of your mother and sister living under the same roof and sharing each others’ pleasures and sorrows. But there was no relief in store for us,” the man cried again in extreme anguish. In this depressed condition he asked the boy: Do you still consider yourself to be the most miserable in the world. Don’t you see now that you are luckier than many other orphans in this world?” The boy was breathless and shocked at what he had just listened to. This tragedy was too much for his little brain. “I…I…,yes, yes, no doubt, I feel myself so,” he stammered. After a pause, the man resumed his story, “Won’t you like to know who sustained me in the adverse circumstances of my childhood? How I survived in that helpless condition?” Without waiting for the boy’s reply, he continued his narrative: “I spent many years in very miserable conditions. I used to go for a solitary walk to brood over the cause of my miseries. I remained depressed for hours together. The angry boy in me revolted against my miserable plight. A looming urge of vengeance oppressed me unbearably. I became reclusive and found pleasure in my loneliness. It was during one of such reclusive meditations that an intuitive thought whispered in my mind: ‘Hold the torch of knowledge; it will show you the way to your destination; use it as a sword to fight against the odds of your life.’ Thanks to this inspiration, I determined to devote my whole life to seeking knowledge and making my mark in the world. With this, I felt an uncanny spiritual power emerge from my soul. It is this power which sustained me in the despairing moments of my life. I seemed to have developed a sort of personal mysticism. It helped me draw strength from my weaknesses, endurance from my wounds, courage from my fears and optimism from my failings. “Oh, I was right in my guess that you must be a learned teacher,” “No, a teaching student still.” “This is your humility, sir.” “Yes, but humility is not the loss of true pride,” the man said philosophically. The scholar in the man now seemed in full flow. “But sir, you have missed telling how you completed your studies in such abject circumstances?” the boy asked eagerly. The man’s story had fully evoked his interest now. “I started my studies in very shabby circumstances. I had no books to read from, no fee to pay for, no teacher to guide to.” “How did you study then?” “I used to study quite late at night when my cousins went to sleep leaving their books on their study table.” ”You mean, you didn’t sleep at night?” “I used to sleep only when the books were not spare. I remember one of my cousins once thrashed me for consulting his books without his permission. I felt like thrashing him back.” “Did you?” “No, I couldn’t. I lived in his house. I just couldn’t do so. I restrained myself though I was burning with anguish at my helplessness. I cannot recount how many times in my childhood I was insulted and humiliated on petty matters like this. But, on each such occasion, my personal mysticism came to my rescue. The following famous couplet of the great mystic poet, Allama Muhammad Iqbal flashed across my mind and gave me strength enough to smile through my tears: “Don’t feel scared of the fierce opposing winds, They blow just to help you fly higher.” “All my childhood, I continued receiving such inspirations at very critical moments of my life. And, they kept me from wallowing in the valley of despair.” “Do all orphans receive such inspirations, sir? “Every orphan child has his own inspiration if he believes in it.” Having opened his bosom to the boy, the man looked relieved. His eyes had regained their lustre. For sometime both of them kept silent. Then, suddenly, the boy blurted out, “Dear sir, I see now why you’ve told me the tragic story of your life. I assure you, sir, another orphan has found his personal mysticism, his inspiration, his intuition. I’ll tread the path you have traversed. Whatever the circumstances, I’ll seek knowledge. I’ll hold the torch of education and carve out my own destiny. The man was amazed at seeing the boy’s eyes sparkling with the light of determination. He did not, in any way, look like a frustrated boy. Abruptly, the boy stood up, plunged his hand into his pocket, took out the two crumpled notes and handed them back to the man. “Thanks for your kind favour, dear sir! I don’t need these now. You’ve given me an inexhaustible treasure already.” Saying this, he moved to go away. Suddenly he stopped short, turned round and said, “And dear sir! one more thing. I assure you I’ll never catch the white pigeons; nor will I ever steal the baby parrots or flowers in future.” After the boy had disappeared, the man looked around leisurely. With no signs of frustration on his face now he looked all the more beautiful. The shadows of the trees around him were lengthening. The swallows were flying over the lake, occasionally skimming the tiny ripples of the lake. The sight of the setting sun had depressed him all his life, but today he was pleased looking at the twilight on the western horizon, thinking that the sun will be rising somewhere in the world. With quick steps, he hastened to the main gate of the park. He had crawled in a frustrated man, but he was walking out with a queer smile on his face. WAHEED AHMED CHAUDHARY
Posted on: Tue, 22 Jul 2014 18:49:58 +0000
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