by minhaj khan(hes the member of the month) ^___^ It was Jummah, I remember, a few hours before the prayer, when Abbu received a call from Shaani, weeping My father is gone. My father is dead! I was right beside when I saw his face turning pale instantly and his lower lip dropping. The moment Abbu told me about Deenbaaz uncles death, my stomach fell and my throat soaked. My mind didnt focus on Deenbaaz uncle at that moment, but Ahmed. All I cared about was Ahmed. The one with whom I had learnt to recite the Quran with fluency back in the Madarsa, the one whom I played cricket with and in the nights when there used to be no electric power, we sat in the face of the blooming moon; chatting, joking, exchanging high fives and laughing our hearts out. Ahmed, was Shaanis brother, who had just turned to an orphan. Deenbaaz uncle; father of the three prettiest little girls in our apartments. Laiba, Ayeena and Shaani, and the only young little man in the house, my best friend, Ahmed. Muhammad Ahmed. And he was left alone. Deenbaaz uncle left them to be desolated. It wasnt fate that had snatched a father from his beautiful son and daughters but it was Deenbaaz himself. He let himself be snatched from them and killed their childish unintentional smiles, once and for all. He jumped from the rooftop that day, from the fifth floor, to voice of the Muazzin; the cry of ALLAH-HU-AKBAR. Some rumours were stated: Deenbaaz had something to do very much related to the twin towers. As it was an incident that happened just a week after when the citizens of New York had seen the faces of devils in the smoke evolving from the falling towers. Still it was a rumour. No one knew what actually caused this suicide. It was a mystery. I ran down to see where Deenbaaz uncles body had fell and when I reached the spot, I felt my legs shaking as this sight was a sight one never wishes to see. It was unimaginable. On the damaged road, Uncles broken skull was slightly lifted by a pointy rock. The upper part of his forehead was burst, out of which his brain was coming, accompanied with a pinkish pulp. His eye had popped out, with a vein connecting his eye to somewhere inside where the eye was once used to be. I was little and that was what all I had seen in a glance, as someone cupped my eyes with his hands. With the screen closed, all I could think of again, was Ahmed. How will he bear the sight? How bruised will his heart be? To see his father lying between a mob, bleeding to death. A mob containing men scented with Itar, with ironed Kurtaas, whereas his father lies there with a burst head and his blood mixing with the mud. Dead. I could find Ahmed no where around which had me totally confused whether to feel relieved for him as he didnt see this dreadful lying body of his father that moment, or to feel pity as he didnt see his father taking his very last breaths. That night, Ahmed, Laiba, Aeena and Shaani, everyone stayed in our home. It was silence with which we all were manifested. Aeena being verily little and the youngest, didnt have the slightest clue of what had happened. Why was she here in the night this late? She didnt saw her father lying on the road, dead with a grin. She was waiting for Deenbaaz uncle to come and take them, just like he would always come whenever she with her sisters came to our home to watch cartoons. But it was very late today. She was waiting for him to come and hug her, pick her up and rock her in his arms. But this wasnt going to happen. Not tonight. Never from this day on. It was the worst night, for me and for Ahmed as well, that somehow passed. I woke up from a dreamless sleep. Laiba gone. Aeena gone. Shaani too. But I didnt care. Wheres Ahmed? All I wanted was to see him again, to talk to him and to console him for his loss. Abbu said they have left Karachi. What am I going to do then? I thought. Wholl be there to play video games with me? Play Mario? What am I going to do when Ill not be able to pronounce the words right, in the Quran? Wholl play cricket with me now? Wholl bowl to me? and what am I going to do when theres no light? Am I going to be on the rooftop all lone with that big pale scary moon? Yes. The answer was yes. The answer was no one. I havent forgotten you, even today after these fourteen years Ahmed, and this moon is my witness. This notebook, this pen and this shaky handwriting is my witness. The spots of tears on this page are my witness. The soul of your father wandering and lurking somewhere here on this roof is my witness Ahmed. Where we used to sit, I sit alone here now. And I miss you Ahmed. God is my witness. I miss you.
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 12:26:13 +0000
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