Aakhirat

Shuruat

मोहब्बत के भी अपने कैसे खेल हैं,
बदनाम भी इसने उसे ही किया
जिसने इसके ज़ख्म हंसते हूये सहे है।

It was a time of 1940s, when the entire nation was fighting the British for freedom and then grappling with its own people over partition, on the outskirts of northern India, there was a small town where people were lost into their own world and its snowy beauty.

This town was renowned for its peaceful snowy mountains, creating a magical movie-like atmosphere. The houses there, built with a vintage charm, added to the picturesque scenery.

Among these houses, one belonged to a highly respected figure in the town. The two ladies who lived there were known for their down-to-earth nature and were respected by everyone.

"Hassu, aaj duty kitne baje hai aapki?" an old lady asked while waiting for her food at the kitchen table.

A young lady, wearing an apron, flipped an omelet in the frying pan while taking out bread from the toaster. She replied, "Bass Ammi, breakfast ke baad ja hi rahe hain. Kya hua, aapko kuch kaam tha?"

She removed her apron and placed everything on the small dining table near the window, which had a beautiful view of the mountains.

"Haseena! Hamne kitni baar kaha hai hame yeh hara bhara salad nahi pasand!" Mrs. Malik said grumpily.

Haseena, accustomed to her mother's tantrums, ignored the grumpiness and continued eating her food. Mrs. Malik, having no other choice, finished her food and took her medicines.

"Ammi, hari sabji nahi hai wo sirf.. Aapki sehat sahi rakhne ki wajah bhi hai. Please hame aap yu naraz nahi achhe lagte..", Haseena said while wearing her white coat and another winter black coat over her simple blue salwar suit fixing her hairs over it.

"Jante hai, ab aap hamari Ammi mat baniye. Aur shamko jaldi aaiyega. Kuch jaruri mehman aane wale hai", Ammi replied.

"Ji Mrs Noorjahan Malik.. Aa jayenge..", Haseena gave a soft peck on her mother's forehead and left towards her car.

The car in itself was proof of her refined taste. It was the Union W24 Wanderer, one of the best vehicles of the 90s, owned by only a few in the entire nation. The fact that it wasn't her own but her father's car—Martyr Aman Malik, an ex-army chief who sacrificed his life for the nation—added to its significance.

After a fifteen-minute journey, Haseena reached her destination. She took off her coat and stepped out of the car, entering the building named after her late father: Aman Charitable Care. She greeted everyone with a smile as they wished her good morning.

The hospital Haseena owned was renowned for being the best care facility in town, a beacon of hope and healing. The modern architecture contrasted with the vintage charm of the town yet blended seamlessly, reflecting both progress and tradition. Haseena walked through the pristine white hallways, the faint but reassuring scent of antiseptic in the air.

The walls were adorned with motivational quotes and colorful artwork, creating a warm and inviting environment. Patients and staff bustled about, forming a lively yet organized atmosphere. In the waiting area, a large statue of her father stood, engraved with a tribute to his bravery on a black, shining marble base. Families sat on comfortable chairs, and children played in a dedicated area filled with toys and books.

Haseena stopped by the statue, saluted her father, lit incense sticks before him, and walked toward the reception desk, where a young nurse greeted her. "Good morning, Dr. Malik. We have a full schedule today."