peer e Kamil in english full book

chapter 5

The next few months spent in the US were the most trying days of
Salar's life. Earlier too he had been to the US and Europe on holiday with
his family; but the way Sikandar had packed him off now not only infuriated
Salar but also created many problems for him. His friends who had
completed A levels with him were enrolled and studying in various
universities across the US. Likewise, his cousins and other relatives, and
even his own siblings, were in different cities there. He wasn't all that
attached to his family nor was he homesick, but the sudden forced move
left him restless and miserable.
His cousin, Kamran, would be away at college all day and would be busy
with his assignments when he got home. Salar, on the other hand, was
cooped up in the apartment, either watching movies or flipping television
channels. When he tired of this, he would simply roam around town to
entertain himself. During those days in New York, Salar had thoroughly
explored the environs where Kamran lived. In the city, there was not a night
club, discotheque, pub, bar, theatre, cinema, museum or art gallery that
Salar had not been to.
His academic record was such that all three Ivy League universities he
had applied to for admission had issued acceptance letters without even
waiting for his BBA results. These universities were those where none of
his relatives were enrolled, nor any other friend, and Salar had deliberately
applied to them to be away from constant scrutiny. There was no one he
knew there who would be sending back reports to Sikandar Usman whose
other children had not been given admission to an Ivy League institution.
Sikandar Usman should have been proud of Salar's achievement;
instead he and his wife were more apprehensive about being unable to tag
Salar, who had opted to join Yale. In fact, none of Sikandar Usman's
friends or relatives were in New Haven.
Salar's accademic record also earned him a merit scholarship at the
university. Unlike his brothers, who had taken lodging at hostels, Salar
insisted on living in an apartment. Sikandar was not in favor of this move,
but the scholarship left Salar with enough funds to rent an apartment. As
for his educational expenses, Sikandar had already transferred a
handsome amount to Salar's account. Although his youngest son was also
availing of a scholarship, yet Sikandar obliged Salar's demands. It seemed
that he was destined to do for Salar all that he had not done for anyone
else, and that Salar was destined to try his father and test his patience in
every way possible. If the other children went east, Salar would go westwhatever the others did, he would do the opposite, and adamantly. And
Sikandar Usman could do nothing except work himself up into a state.
Before Salar left for New Haven, Sikandar and Tayyaba flew over from
Pakistan especially to spend time with him. For days, they counseled him,
and reasoned with him: he heard them out, but did not pay any attention.
He had become used to these sermons and advice and now all counseling
was like water off a duck's back, as far as he was concerned. As for
Sikandar and Tyaba, they were not only very worried but actually feared for
Salar as they flew for Pakistan.
Salar had selected Finance as his major for MBA. Shortly after joining
classes at Yale, his extraordinary abilities began to be noticed. No doubt
that the institutions he had attended in Pakistan were the topmost in
academic terms, but the education offered there was a piece of cake for
him. At Yale, however, the competition was tough; the presence of the
cream of bright students was a challenge. But there too, Salar made his
presence felt.
He was exceptionally gifted intellectually, but his attitude also contributed
to his profile. The typical Asian warmth and friendliness were noticeably
absent, as were courtesy and affability, in his personality. He was not
overawed by the environment, as Asian students tend to be by American or
European universities. He had studied in the best institutions since
childhood and had no complexes about his background. He had been
taught mostly by foreign teachers, and he knew that their knowledge was
not unlimited. If Yale had given him a scholarship, it was not doing him a
special favor. The other Ivy League universities he had applied to would
also have offered him a scholarship - and even if that did not happen, his
parents could afford to send him to the best institution of his choice.
Besides, despite his family background and social status, Salar had a bitter
side to his withdrawn nature, and he made no effort to put on an affable
front to please people. The image was completed by his intimidating IQ
level.
He managed to draw the attention of his colleagues and professors in
the first few weeks. This was nothing new--he had been doing this since his
early years in school. He did not waste time indulging in pointless
arguments with his teachers, but his questions were such that the teachers
were often at a loss for an immediate response. If the answer was
unsatisfactory, he would not argue, but accept it quietly without voicing his opinion.
He debated only with those professors from whom he knew he could learn
something, or else those whose knowledge was neither traditional nor academic. Salar did not find studies difficult at Yale, nor did he spend all his time
with his books. Though it was not as easy as before, but he did find time to
pursue his interests.
Nor was he a victim of homesickness and did not mope and yearn for
Pakistan all the time. He made no special effort to search for Pakistanis in
the community there, and neither did he miss the home culture and
activities. But, as time passed, he got to interact with a number of
Pakistanis present there. He also had membership to various societies,
clubs and associations in the university.
After class, he would often spend, rather squander, time aimlessly,
especially on the weekends. His life was divided, it seemed, between clubs,
discotheques, cinema, and theatre. He missed no new film, play, concert or
instrumental performance, and he had all the details about every new
restaurant--big or small, pricey or cheap.
And in the midst of all this activity was the adventure which had been the
cause of his being in the US now. Salar did not attempt to find out how, or
when, or from whom Sikandar had learnt about the secret marriage; but he
made some guesses as to how it had happened. He did not suspect his
friend Hasan or the maid Nasira. It must have been Imama herself who
revealed all the detail-which was why she did not contact Salar again. It
must be after speaking to Imama that Salar rummaged through Salar's
room and found the nikah papers.
But when did all this happen? This question bothered Salar as he was
unable to find a logical answer to it.
Thinking back on this chain of events also evoked a feeling of regret:
‗Why did I help her? When she contacted me, I should have called up
Waseem, or his parents, or my own parents and informed them about it.
Or, I should have told them about Jalal, or else, not listened to her at all,
nor married her, nor helped her run away from home.'
At times, Salar felt he had let himself be used by her, like a helpless
child--why this obsequious surrender, this obedience, he wondered,
especially when there was no bond between them, nor was he obliged to
help her.
More than an adventure, this whole business seemed to be sheer
foolhardiness. Like a psychiatrist, he tried to psychoanalyze his attitude
towards Imama.
‗With the passage of time, she'll be out of my system, completely. And
even if she isn't, what difference will it make,' he consoled himself.
----------------------
As the days passed, Salar's circle of friends widened and among them
was a boy named Saad. He was from Karachi and, like Salar, he came
from an affluent family; but unlike Salar, Saad's family was quite religious.
This was Salar's perception. Saad had a fantastic sense of humor and was
also very handsome. A friend in New Haven had introduced them and Saad
was the first to extend the hand of friendship. Salar, however, was reluctant
initially, as he felt they had little in common.
Saad was enrolled in the M.Phil. programme and was also working his
way through university. His appearance-sporting a luxuriant beard-
reflected his emotional attachment to his faith. He was also very
knowledgeable about religion. For the first time in his life, Salar had
befriended someone who was inclined towards religion.
Saad prayed regularly and would also exhort others to do likewise. He
had membership in several clubs and organizations, where he was quite
active. Unlike Salar, Saad had no relatives in the US except for a distant
uncle who lived in another state. Maybe, it was to dispel his solitude that he
was so social. Saad was the youngest among his siblings; perhaps it was
the special affection for the youngest that persuaded his parents to send
him abroad for higher education. Otherwise, he too would have joined the
family business after graduation, as his brothers had done.
Saad also lived in a rented apartment, but not alone--he shared it with
four others. There were two Arabs, a Bangladeshi and a Pakistani, besides
himself. They were all students.
Saad became quite friendly with Salar soon after their first encounter.
When Salar's friend Jeff told Saad about Salar's academic achievements,
he couldn't help but be impressed. Looking at Saad, especially at his
bearded face, Salar was always reminded of Jalal. There seemed to be
striking resemblance between them. Like his other friends, Saad would also
be at Salar's over the weekend.
‗You're a Muslim, but you don't have clue about religion,' he once told
Salar.
‗And you're too religious,' retorted Salar.
‗What do you mean?'
‗The way you pray five times a day and keep talking about Islam--it's
overdoing it, you know.' Salar was very candid. ‗Don't you get tired of
praying all the time?'
‗It's mandatory. Allah commands us to worship Him, to remember Him,'
Saad said emphatically. Salar yawned lazily. ‗You should pray too; after all,
you're a Muslim.' ‗I know, I know. Does my not praying make me a nonMuslim?' Salar's tone was sarcastic.
‗A Muslim only in name - is that the way you want to be?'
‗Saad, please don't get into this senseless argument. I know you're into
religion, but I'm not. So it is better we respect each other's views and
feelings instead of forcing them down each other's throats. I'm not asking
you to give up namaz, so don't insist on my praying.' Salar spoke so bluntly
that he silenced Saad.
A few days later Saad visited Salar at his apartment. Salar went to the
kitchen to get something for him. Saad followed and casually opened the
fridge as they were conversing. He happened to see a burger that Salar
had picked up the night before from a fast food outlet, and took it out.
‗Put it back--you can't have that,' Salar reacted.
‗Why not?' Saad was going to put it in the microwave.
‗Because it has pork in it,' said Salar quite casually.
Saad stopped in his tracks. ‗Don't be funny.'
‗What's so funny?' Salar said, surprised, as Saad almost flung the plate
on the counter.
‗You eat pork?'
‗I don't eat pork. I eat this burger as I like it,' he replied, lighting the
burner.
‗Do you know it's forbidden--haram?'
‗Yes.'
‗And yet you eat it?'
‗Don't start off with your preaching. I eat not only pork but all kinds of
meat, he replied,' in a devil-may-care tone.
‗I can't believe it.'
‗Well--what's so unbelievable about it? It's something to be eaten,' said
Salar as he took the milk bottle from the fridge.
Saad was incensed. ‗Everything is not meant to be eaten. OK, so you're
not very religious, but you are a Muslim and Muslims know that pork is
forbidden for Muslims.'
Salar listened quietly as he went about his work
‗Don't make anything for me--I won't have it,' Saad told him as he left the
kitchen.
‗Why? What happened?' Salar looked at Saad with some surprise, as he
was washing his hands vigorously.
Saad did not reply, but continued to wash his hands as he recited the
kalima. Salar, teeth clenched angrily, gave him a piercing look.
‗I cannot eat anything kept in your fridge. In fact, I cannot eat out of your
plates if you eat pork and God knows what else. Let's go out somewherefor a bite.'
‗That's very insulting.' Salar was really annoyed.
‗No - there's nothing insulting. It's just that I do not want to eat haram
stuff, and you are not used to being careful about such matters,' Saad said
very calmly.
‗I didn't try to make you eat pork. I know you don't eat it so I told you not
to have that burger. But you have some sort of phobia, it seems-you're
reacting as if I keep pet pigs in my apartment and live with them.'
‗Come, let's go out.' Saad tried to pacify him.
‗If we eat out, I'm not going to foot the bill--you will,' said Salar.
‗Fine, I'll pay. No problem.' Saad was somewhat relieved.
‗And next time you visit me, bring your own food.' Salar was piqued.
‗Will do,' replied Saad.
-------------------------
That weekend he was by the lake where many people like him were
strolling around or sitting on the benches by the shore. Mindlessly, he
looked around as he took a bite of ice cream. His attention was caught by a
three-year-old kicking and chasing a football. The child's mother, in hijab ,
stood there watching him fondly. Salar, without realizing it, was staring at
her. The boy was moving towards Salar, following the ball which landed at
Salar's feet. Salar stopped it with his foot, but held it there. The boy came
running up and stopped short: Salar didn't let go of the ball-he looked at
the boy's mother, expecting her to come up. She did, somewhat puzzled by
Salar's reaction.
‗Let go of the football.' She spoke in a polite but firm tone. Salar gave the
ball a strong kick, sending it flying into the distance. He then looked at her
very calmly. Her face had an angry blush; she said something under her
breath and turned round, following her son who had run after the ball. Salar
didn't hear what she said, but it couldn't have been very complimentary.
Salar was not very proud of his behavior but he soon realized the reason
behind it-the girl looked very much like Imama. She was tall and slim,
wearing a long black coat and a black hijab. Her build, her pale complexion
and dark eyes were just like Imama's. Imama did not wear a hijab though-
she would swathe herself in a voluminous chadar. Looking at this girl, he
was reminded of Imama and in an involuntary way, by disregarding her he
was not doing her bidding and it made him feel good-but she wasn't
Imama.
‗What's the matter with me? To be doing this...' he thought. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it and putting it to his lips he fixed his gaze on
that girl once again. He was oblivious to everything else but her.
-----------------------
That night he thought about Imama for a long time-about her and Jalal.
He as convinced that they were married by now because, on getting the
divorce papers from Sikandar. Even though Salar knew that despite his
persuading him, Jalal was not willing to marry Imama, nevertheless, he
thought that once Imama turned up at his threshold, Jalal would not be able
to refuse her. She would have coaxed and cajoled him into it.
Imama was really beautiful: Jalal was no match for her. Her family was
among the richest and most powerful families in the country. It would have
to be a fool who despite his status, like Jalal, would reject such a profitable
proposition. Or perhaps, he really was in love with her. Whatever it was,
Salar was certain that they had got married and were in hiding somewhere,
away from Hashim Mubeen's clutches-or perhaps, he had managed to
track them down.
‗I really should find out about her,' he thought, but the very next minute,
he was chiding himself. ‗For God's sake Salar-what the hell! What
difference does it make if her father has reached her or not?'
But his sense of curiosity did not abate and he wondered why he had
made no effort to find out if Imama's whereabouts had been discovered by
her father.
about 6 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
‗I'm Venus Edward,' said the girl, extending her hand. She approached
him as he was taking a book from the library shelf.
‗Salar Sikandar,' he replied, shaking hands with her.
I know-you don't need to introduce yourself,' she replied warmly.
Salar didn't say that she didn't need to introduce herself: he knew all of
his fifty classmates by name and by face. Moreover, he could recount a
brief bio-data of each one of them without making a mistake. He could have
stunned Venus by telling her that she was from New Jersey where she had
worked in a beverage company for two years, and that she had a degree in
marketing. She was at Yale for a second degree and she was at least five
to six years older than Salar. Though he looked older because of his height
and physique, but in reality he was the youngest in the class, and he was
the only one who was studying for his MBA degree without having any work
experience. All the others had some years of job experience, but divulging all this to Venus at this point was tantamount to raising her expectations.
‗If I should invite you for a cup of coffee?' asked Venus.
‗Then I would accept your invitation,' he replied.
She laughed. ‗Then let's go.' Salar shrugged and replacing the book,
followed her out.
They sat in the cafeteria and talked for nearly half an hour. That was the
beginning of his acquaintance with Venus. Developing a relationship with
any girl was no problem for Salar-he had been doing this very smoothly
and this time it was made easier by Venus' making the first move.
Just after three or four meetings, he had invited Venus to spend the night
at his flat and she readily agreed. They spent much time together
wandering about after class and returned to his apartment in the late hours.
Salar was in the kitchen fixing drinks for them; Venus was casually
inspecting the apartment. Then she came and stood by the counter.
‗I'd thought that since you live alone, the place would be a mess. I must
say, you've kept it very well. Is this the norm or have you tidied up the place
especially for me?'
Salar placed her glass before her and replied, ‗This is how I live, in
orderly style.' He took a sip and putting down his glass moved up to her.
She smiled at him as he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her
close. Then he froze as he caught sight of a pearl swinging on a gold chain
round her neck. She always wore this but he had not seen it before as she
was always clad in high-necked warm clothes because of the cold weather.
That day she wore a deep-necked dress and a long coat which she took off
inside the flat.
Salar's expression changed as that pearl jolted him back to another
pearl, around someone else's neck, somewhere far in the past. To hands
that were performing the ablutions and to fingers that moved from wrists to
elbows...over the face, from eyes to the forehead and from the forehead to
fingers sliding over the dark hair under the chadar.
The chain around Imama's neck was short so that the pearl on it rested
in the hollow of her throat; had the chain been longer, he wouldn't have
been able to see the pearl. That night she was wearing a close-necked
qameez and a cardigan too but a chance look at that pearl seemed to have
paralyzed him for a moment.
And what a time to remember her. He tried to avoid looking at the
pearl-he did not want to spoil his evening with Venus. He tried to smile
back at her as she said, ‗I find your eyes so attractive.'
‗Your eyes are repulsive.'
A voice seemed to whip him; the smile vanished from his face. Pulling away his arms from around Venus, he moved back a few steps and picked
up his glass from the counter. Venus was taken aback.
‗What happened?' She asked, putting a hand on his shoulder in concern.
Salar did not reply; he just swallowed his drink in one gulp. Venus tried
to fathom his silence as she looked on anxiously. It took just a few
moments to kill his interest in Venus: he didn't know why her presence was
suddenly so annoying. He had been dancing with her for the last two hours
at a night club and was having a good time, and now, in a few minutes...
Salar tried to shake it off and moved towards the kitchen sink to wash his
glass. Venus brought him the other glass. She stood there, arms folded
across her chest, watching him as he washed the glasses. Her looking on
was bothering Salar.
‗I...I'm not feeling too good,' he said to her as he put the glasses on the
shelf. Venus was somewhat shocked-in other words, he was asking her to
leave. Her expression changed: Salar's attitude was insulting. She stared
at him coldly, then picking up her handbag and coat, she stormed out
slamming the door behind her. Salar sank on to the sofa, holding his head.
There was no similarity whatsoever between Venus and Imama; even
the pearls they wore around their necks were different. Yet the sight of that
pearl swinging from the chain around Venus' neck revived the memory of
Imama with a sharp pang. Why? Why now? Why ever? He was agitated by
the thought. It had ruined an enjoyable evening. Suddenly, he picked up
the crystal vase on the coffee table and, with all his might, hurled it against
the wall.
After the weekend, he happened to run into Venus again, but his attitude
was cold and brusque. This was the only way to nip their relationship in the
bud. He began to be irritated and put off by any female/woman who
reminded him of Imama in any way and Venus had joined the list. She had
been hoping he would apologise for his behaviour and invite her again, but
she was disappointed and badly hurt. This was her first affair at Yale.
-------------------
During the next few months, he was terribly busy with his studies-so
busy that he had no time to remember Imama or to try and find out what
had happened to her. And this situation might have continued if he had not
run into Jalal Ansar by chance.
Over the weekend, he had gone to Boston, where his uncle lived, to
attend a cousin's wedding there. That evening, Salar went out with his
cousin to a restaurant for dinner. His cousin had stepped out after placingthe order and Salar was waiting to be served. Suddenly someone called
out to him.
‗Hello?' Salar turned around. ‗Aren't you Salar?' the man asked. It was
Jalal Ansar. For a minute, Salar couldn't place him. He looked different: he
had shaved off his beard.
Salar stood up to shake hands with him, and the adventure of a year ago
repeated itself in his memory. After the perfunctory greetings, Salar invited
Jalal to join them for dinner.
‗No, thank you-I'm in a bit of a rush. I came over to say hello when I
caught sight of you,' said Jalal, glancing at his watch. ‗How's Imama?' Jalal
asked by way of conversation.
Salar thought he had not heard him correctly. ‗Sorry?' he asked
apologetically. Jalal repeated the question.
‗I was asking about Imama-how is she?'
Salar looked at him, unblinking. Why was Jalal asking him about Imama?
‗I don't know; you ought to know about her,' Salar replied, shrugging his
shoulders quizzically.
‗Why me?' Jalal was surprised.
‗Because she's your wife.'
‗My wife?' A jolt went through Jalal. ‗What are you saying? How can she
be my wife when I had refused to marry her? You know that very well
because you were the one, who came to talk to me about this a year ago,'
he reminded Salar. ‗In fact, I had asked you to marry her yourself.'
Salar looked at him uncertainly.
‗I approached you thinking that you may have married her,' Jalal
explained.
‗So you didn't marry her?' Salar queried.
‗No... I had already spoken to you. How was that possible when I had
clearly refused? I came to know that she had left home and gone away,
and I supposed she was with you. That's why I came up when I saw you.'
‗I have no idea where she is. I've been here for the last seven or eight
months,' Salar replied.
‗And I've been here last month,' Jalal told him.
‗After meeting me, did she meet you or try to contact you?' Salar was
perturbed now.
‗No.'
‗How can that be...that she should go to Lahore and not try to reach
you?' Salar found it unbelievable.
‗What would she have achieved by contacting me?'She left home for your sake. You should have gone to her.'
‗No, she didn't run away from home for me. You know that very well. I
had told her very clearly that I could not marry her, so please don't say that
she did it for me.' Jalal's tone had changed. ‗The whole affair was
discussed with you.'
‗You mean to say that she really did not approach you again?'
‗Why would I lie to you? And if she was with me, then why would I ask
you about her? Any way, I'm getting late,' Jalal said abruptly.
‗Can I have your contact number?' asked Salar.
‗No. I don't think that you and I have any need to keep in touch.' Jalal's
response was blunt and candid. He turned around and left.
Confused, Salar kept staring at Jalal as he walked away. It was
unbelievable that she did not meet Jalal again. ‗Why? Did she really believe
me that Jalal had married someone else?' Salar remembered lying to her;
but how could she have trusted Salar's word when she herself had said
that she did not believe him? His mind was in turmoil. He pulled up a chair
and sat down again.
‗If she did not go to Jalal, then where did she go? Was there some other
man in her life about whom she had kept it secret from me? But, no-she
would have told me to contact the other guy. Even if she had not met Jalal
immediately, she should have gone to him after she got the nikah papers
from Sikandar and got to know about her divorce rights.' Salar wasn't sure
why he had spoken to her about Jalal's make-believe wedding. Perhaps he
wanted to make her anxious or to see what she'd do next, or maybe it was
because he was fed up with her constant requests to go talk to Jalal.
Whatever it was, Salar was sure that Imama would go to Jalal for help. But
now he discovered that, contrary to his expectations, that was not what she
did.
The waiter served their order. Salar's cousin had also returned and they
ate while they made small talk. But even as he was eating and speaking,
Salar's mind was lost in thought about Imama and Jalal. Her memory had
come alive after many months.
‗Could she have gone back home?' The thought struck Salar; his mind
seemed to be stuck in this groove, ‗I'm sure she has...I talk to Papa and
ask him-he would certainly know.'
Sikandar Usman was also in town for the family wedding. Late at night,
when Salar found his father alone, he approached him.
‗Papa, has Imama returned home?' he asked straightaway.
The unexpected question left Sikandar speechless for a while.
‗Why do you want to know?' he asked sharply.Just like that.'
‗There's no need to think about her or wonder about her fate. It's better
that you should concentrate on your studies.'
‗Please answer my question!'
‗Why? What have you got to do with her?' Sikandar's temper flared.
‗I met her boyfriend today-the one she wanted to marry.'
‗So?'
‗So why didn't they get married? He said that Imama never came to see
him. I had expected that's where she'd go when she went to Lahore.'
Sikandar interrupted him. ‗Whether she went to meet him or not, whether
they got married or not-it's none of your business. You do not need to get
involved in this affair!'
‗Yes, I agree it's none of my business but I want to know if she came to
you. How did you get the divorce documents to her? I mean, through whom
were they sent to her?'
‗Who told you that she'd contacted me?'
Salar was surprised by his father's question. ‗I estimated that.'
‗She did not contact me at all and if she had, I would have informed
Hashim Mubeen about it.'
Salar kept looking at his father. ‗I searched through your room and that's
where I found the nikah papers,' Sikandar disclosed.
‗When you made me come here, you said you'd send the divorce papers
to Imama.'
‗Yes, but that was in the situation of her getting in touch with me-and
she didn't. Why are you so sure that she contacted me?' It was Sikandar's
turn to query.
Salar was quiet for a few moments. Then he asked, ‗Didn't the police find
out anything about her?'
‗No; if the police had discovered anything, she would have been home
by now. They are still searching for her,' Sikandar answered him.
‗This is certainly decided, Salar, that you will not get into another drama
about Imama. You should not wrack your brain about where she is or how
she is, because you have nothing to do with her. As soon as the police
trace her, I'll hand over those papers to Hashim Mubeen so that you're free
of this hassle.'
‗Papa, did she really never call for me?' Salar asked, not really paying
attention to Sikandar's earlier remarks.
‗Did she ever call you?'
‗She called just once, and then I came away here. Maybe, she called again and you're not telling me about it.'
‗She did not. If she'd called I would have sorted out many issues
regarding your marriage. I would have completed the divorce proceedings
on your behalf.'
‗BTW how would you do that?' Salar appeared very calm.
‗I had taken your signature on a blank paper when you were leaving. I
have had the divorce papers prepared,' Sikandar declared smugly.
‗Fake document. I didn't know you were getting my signature to file for
divorce.'
‗Do you want to start this mess all over again?' Sikandar flared up.
‗I'm not saying that I want to have a relationship with her. What I'm telling
you is that you cannot sever this relationship on my behalf. This concerns
me and I alone will deal with it.'
‗You should be grateful that you're living here safe and secure. The
family that you'd taken on is so powerful that they would pursue you to the
grave. It's entirely possible that they're keeping a watch on you here as
well, waiting for you to feel confident enough to contact Imama so that they
can bury you both alive.'
‗You're making a futile attempt to frighten me. First, I'm not ready to
accept that they have me under observation out here and that too after
such a long time. The other thing is that I am not in touch with Imama as I
really have no clue of her whereabouts, so there's no question of any
contact.'
‗Then why are you so conscious of her welfare? Let her be wherever and
how ever she may be.' Sikandar was somewhat relieved.
‗Please check my cell phone bills. She has my cell phone; she may be
using it to make calls.'
‗She's not using your cell phone. It's permanently switched off. The few
calls she did make were to her college friends, and the police has already
questioned them. In Lahore, Imama went to a friend's place but that girl
was away in Peshawar and Imama left her friend's house before her return.
The police were unable to trace where she went.'
Salar watched his father with a piercing gaze, then said, ‗Hasan told you
all about me and her?'
Sikandar had no answer to this. Only Hasan knew about Imama's having
Salar's cell phone. Sikandar could not claim this discovery as a result of
searching Salar's room. talking to his father, Salar suspected Hasan of
having spilled the beans because Sikandar Usman knew minute details of
this entire affair that were only in Salar's or Hasan's knowledge-there was
no third person involved. Since Salar had not divulged anything to his father, undoubtedly it was Hasan who had apprised him of all that had
taken place.
‗What difference does it make, whether it was Hasan or whoever? It was
not like I wouldn't have come to know-it was foolish on my part to have
shrugged off Hashim Mubeen's accusations and to have believed you
instead.'
Salar sat quietly, without a word, as Sikandar spoke, but his expression
mirrored his displeasure and anger.
‗Now that I have pulled you out of this unpleasant situation, you should
not do anything that will...'
Sikandar's tone was gentler, but before he could even complete a
sentence, Salar suddenly got up and left the room.
-----------------------
The conversation with his father swirled round Salar's mind all night. For
the first time, he felt a sense of remorse, unhappiness-he should have
complied with Imama's request and divorced her at the outset. She would
have gone to Jalal, married him and settled down. Despite the aversion he
felt towards Imama, he had to admit he was at fault.
‗She didn't contact me again. She didn't go to court to file for divorce.
Her family hasn't yet been able to locate her. She didn't go to Jalal Ansar
either-so where ever did she disappear? Could it be that she'd met with a
mishap?'
He pondered, deeply and seriously, about her; for the first time he
thought about Imama without a hint of irritation or annoyance.
‗It can't be that she's living quietly somewhere as my wife, although she
loathes me. Why has she made no effort to get in touch with anyone?'
Worrying thoughts kept surfacing. It had been more than a year since the
marriage: had she really met with an accident? He kept mulling over what
could possibly have happened to her, but after some time, his thoughts
were back on their usual track.
‗Well...what can I do if something untoward has happened? She left
home at her own risk-and anyone can be involved in such a situation. So
why am I flogging myself when I have no further connection with her? Papa
was right that I need not be concerned, especially about a girl who's
ungrateful to the point of arrogance-she looks down on others and
probably deserved what she got.'
Salar tried to shake her out of his mind. The repentant sobriety he had
briefly experienced vanished: he wasn't particularly sorry now about such a trivial matter. He relaxed and closed his eyes-Imama was nowhere in his
thoughts.
---------------------
‗Have you ever been to Vandame?' asked Mike as he left the university
with Salar.
‗Once.'
‗How's it?'
‗Not bad.'
‗We should go there on a weekend,' suggested Mike.
‗Why?'
‗My girl friend's very interested in that place-she goes there often.'
‗Then you should go with her,' remarked Salar.
‗It'll be more fun if we all go,' replied Mike.
‗Who's all?' asked Danish, joining in the conversation.
‗All of our friends-you, me, Salar, Sethi and Saad,' Mike explained.
‗Drop Saad-he'll freak out at the mention of nightclubs or deliver a long
sermon,' Salar interrupted.
‗Fine; then it's just us,' confirmed Danish.
‗Let's invite Sandra too.' Salar suggested his girl friend's name.
So they went to Vandame on a Saturday night and enjoyed themselves
thoroughly. The next morning Salar slept late. He was fixing his lunch when
Saad called.
‗Have you just woken up?' he asked, hearing Salar's groggy voice. ‗Must
have stayed up till all hours, I suppose.'
‗Yes-we'd gone out.' Salar deliberately avoided the word ‗nightclub'.
‗We meaning you and Sandra?'
‗No, the whole group,' Salar said.
‗The whole group? And you ditched me?' Saad was hurt and annoyed.
‗We never thought of you.' Salar's plain talk really hit Saad.
‗You're a creep, Salar, a very cheap guy...was Danish there too?'
‗All of us, my dear, all...' Salar's tone was complacent, mocking.
‗Why was I left behind?' Saad's annoyance increased.
‗Because children aren't taken to such places...you're not mature
enough,' teased Salar.
‗I'll break your bones, you...! Then you'll know.'
‗I'm not joking, yaar-we didn't ask you because you wouldn't have gone
there anyway,' Salar clarified.Why? Were you going to hell that I'd refuse?'
‗Well, you would have called it hell. We went to a night club-would you
have come along?'
‗Why not?'
Salar was taken aback by this response. ‗You'd have come?'
‗Of course!' Saad affirmed.
‗And what would you do there? You don't drink, you don't dance-so
what would you do? Lecture us on our folly?'
‗Not quite. So, I don't drink or dance, but it would have been a nice
outing. I'd have enjoyed it.'
‗Doesn't Islam forbid such activities-going to such places?' Salar's tone
was acerbic.
After a brief moment of silence, Saad replied, ‗I wouldn't be doing
anything wrong, just enjoying the change of scene.'
Okay, we'll include you the next time we plan something. Had I known
last night I'd have called you. We really had a good time.'
‗Anyway...what's your programme today?' Saad was somewhat pacified.
They chatted a while, then rang off.
about 6 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
‗What are your plans this weekend?' Saad asked Salar. They were in the
campus cafeteria.
‗I'm going to New York with Sandra.'
‗Why?'
‗Her brother's getting married; she's invited me.'
‗When do you return?' Saad asked.
‗Sunday night.'
‗Then let me have the keys to your apartment-I'll spend the weekend
there. I have to work on some assignments, and all four of my flat-mates
will be home this weekend. I can't get any work done,' Saad elaborated.
‗Fine-you can stay there,' shrugged Salar.
Salar planned to leave with Sandra on Friday night. It was by chance
that some work held her back and they had to postpone their departure till
the next morning. Sandra was living as a paying guest so Salar had no
choice but to go home for the night. He had given one of his keys to Saad
and carried the other with him.
He got home after 11 p.m. and let himself in using his own key as he
didn't want to disturb Saad's studies. The lounge was empty but the lights
were on. Salar felt uneasy-he wanted to get to his bedroom, but stopped
at the door. Sounds of conversation and laughter came from the other side-Saad had female company.
Salar froze in his tracks. Saad was the only one in their group who, they
believed, had no relationship with the opposite sex. This was not expected
of someone as religious as he was. Salar turned back, uncertainly. He
caught sight of a bottle and glasses on the living room table; used plates
and cutlery lay on the kitchen counter.
Salar left the apartment without a minute's pause, as quietly as he had
entered. He could not believe what he had heard and seen-Saad with a
woman. It was incredible. A man who did not touch forbidden meat or
alcohol, who prayed five times a day, and who preached Islam all the
time-that he should do such a thing! The bottle and glasses indicated
they'd been drinking: eating and drinking in the very home that Saad
considered unclean.
Salar smiled wryly at the thought that someone out to prove himself a
pious, practicing Muslim should turn out to be such a fraud. Here was Saad
laying claim to being the only true Muslim in all of the USA and the other
real Muslim was that girl Imama who went around wearing a tent-like
chadar, but had no qualms about running away from home for ‗love'. Salar
was disgusted with these so-called ‗true' believers and the extent of their
lies and hypocrisy.
Salar grumbled to himself as he drove the car out of the parking lot. It
was too late to go to Sandra's so he decided to go to Danish's. Danish was
surprised to see him. Salar pretended he was bored on his own and so he
had come to spend the night at Danish's place. Danish was satisfied with
the explanation.
Saad had left when Salar got back on Sunday night, as planned. There
was no evidence or indication of a woman's presence; the wine bottle had
disappeared. Salar surveyed his apartment with a sardonic smile:
everything was in place as he had left it. He then called up Saad. After a
casual exchange of pleasantries, he said, ‗So did your studies go well? All
assignments completed?'
‗Thanks, friend, I got to focus on my studies the last two days. The
assignments are almost done too. How was your trip?' Saad asked.
‗Very good...'
‗How long did it take you? No problem with driving at night I hope?' Saad
said perfunctorily.
‗No we didn't travel at night.'
‗Meaning?'
‗Meaning that we didn't leave on Friday night but on Saturday morning
instead,' Salar explained.Did you stay the night at Sandra's?'
‗No, at Danish's.'
‗You may as well have come home.'
‗I did.' Salar remarked as a matter of fact. There was complete silence at
the other end. Salar laughed to himself: Saad must be shaken to hear this.
‗You came...wh..when?' he stammered.
‗Around 11:00 pm. You were busy with some girl and I didn't think it
proper to disturb you. So I left.'
Salar could not have guessed Saad's state of shock-he was
speechless. He never expected Salar to discover his activities and expose
him this way.
‗Incidentally, you've never introduced me to your girl friend,' Salar added.
He imagined Saad struggling to breathe.
‗Just one of those things,' Saad murmured. ‗I'll introduce you. But don't
mention this to anyone,' he added quickly.
‗Why would I? You needn't worry.' Salar could understand Saad's mental
and emotional state. He felt a little sorry for him too. Saad cut short their
conversation. Salar had a fairly good idea of his embarrassment.
After this incident, Salar thought that Saad would not flaunt his faith, his
religiosity and preaching-at least, not before him, but he was surprised to
note that Saad hadn't changed a whit. He continued to talk about religion
with a passion, vigorously exhort people to follow Islamic precepts and to
pray, and to check them on unIslamic practices. For hours on end Saad
would talk about his love for Allah and Islam, and would support his views
with quotes from the Quran or hadith and even become misty-eyed when
doing so.
Apart from his own group, there were others too who were much
impressed by Saad and his personality-they envied him for his love of
God, an exemplary Muslim despite the passion of youth and the rush of life.
Without a doubt, Saad knew how to speak and influence people-except
Salar on whom Saad's preaching had no effect whatsoever. Salar was not
convinced that Saad's bearded Islamic appearance was a mark of his faith,
nor by his soft-spoken style or his respect and courtesy for others.
Salar's repulsion for religious people began with Imama; Jalal took this
negative feeling further and Saad stretched it to the limit. Salar believed
that all such apparently religious persons took hypocrisy to its height-in
the garb of an outwardly religious appearance they were given more to
immorality than those who did not profess piety. Coincidentally, these three
people that he had come across confirmed his belief. Imama Hashim, a
purdah-observing girl had ditched her fiancé for another man and undercover of night, ran away from home. Jalal Ansar, who sported a pious mien,
professed his love of Prophet (pbuh) in his melodious naats, had an affair
with a girl and dumped/rejected her, who cleverly compartmentalized the
worldly and the spiritual for his own convenience. And Saad Zafar: Salar's
opinion of him was further lowered by another incident.
Saad came over to Salar's one day when the latter was busy at his
computer, working on an assignment. They got talking and then Salar had
to step out for some groceries from a neighborhood store. Saad stayed
back. It took Salar about half an hour to get home. When he returned, he
found Saad busy chatting online. They talked for a while before Saad went
away. Salar had lunch and then went online; as he was doing so, he
checked the history that Saad had been accessing-there he found those
websites and pages that Saad had opened up. They were all pornographic.
Salar would not have been surprised nor objected if he himself or any of his
other friends indulged in such viewing, but to find Saad visiting such sites
was a shock. Saad fell in Salar's opinion.
---------------------
‗Then what are your plans? Are you coming back to Pakistan?' Sikandar
was speaking to Salar; he informed his son that he was going to Australia
for a few weeks with Tayyba to attend a family wedding there.
‗What would I do in Pakistan if you both are not going to be there?' Salar
said forlornly.
‗That's not on-meet your brother and sister. Anita misses you a lot,'
replied Sikandar.
‗Papa, I'm OK here; I'll spend my holidays here. There's no point in
returning to Pakistan.'
‗Then come along with us to Australia. Moiz is coming too.'
‗I'm not crazy enough to just tag along with you to Australia,' Salar said
wearily. ‗Besides, there's hardly any understanding between Moiz and
myself that you should tell me about his company.'
‗Well, I won't compel you-you can stay there if you want to, but look
after yourself. And Salar, you should not do anything that's wrong,'
Sikandar warned him. Salar knew very well what his father meant by this
allusion to ‗anything wrong', but he was so used to it because Sikandar
always said this at the end of every conversation. Salar would have been
surprised if he didn't say so.
Salar cancelled his booking after speaking to Sikandar. Then he lay on
his bed and staring at the ceiling, began to think about what to do when the university closed down for the vacations.
‗I should go skiing somewhere or...go to another state,' he thought.
‗Fine, I'll go to a travel agent tomorrow, after class and we'll work it out from
there,' he decided.
The next day he finalized a skiing programme with a friend. He then
informed Sikandar of his plan.
A day before the holidays began, Salar went to an Indian restaurant for
dinner, and then after spending some time there, he went to a pub nearby
where he had a few pegs of whisky. Around ten, he headed home. A
sudden wave of nausea overcame him. He pulled the car to the side and
stepped out. For a while he paced up and down on the patch of grass
alongside the road. The cool breeze and the nip in the air seemed to help
him feel better, but once again he had another bout of nausea,
accompanied by pain in his chest and stomach.
He didn't know whether it was the food or the whisky that was
responsible for this misery. His head was spinning and as he bent over, he
suddenly threw up. He was still doubled over; even though his stomach had
emptied out, he felt no better. When he tried to straighten up, his legs were
weak and wobbly. He tried to turn back towards his car, but his head was in
a daze and his sight was blurred as he tried to focus on his car. He made a
futile attempt to move a few steps, but he was too weak and fell to the
ground. He tried to get up but he was sinking into the dark.
Before he lost consciousness, he could hear someone shake him;
someone was talking to him a loud voice-it seemed there was more than
one person.
Salar tried to shake his head but he couldn't even move it. He tried to
open his eyes, but they would not respond. He slipped away into complete
darkness.
---------------------
about 6 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
He had spent two days in the hospital. A couple, passing by the road
where he had collapsed, saw him fall and brought him to the hospital.
According to the doctors, Salar was the victim of food poisoning. He
regained consciousness a few hours after being admitted, but despite
wanting to return home, Salar was too weak to move. The next evening he
felt better, but the doctor advised him to spend another night at the
hospital. Salar got home on Sunday afternoon and the first thing he did was to call up the tour operator and cancel the skiing trip. He had planned to
leave on Monday morning and to try once more to get Sandra to go with
him. When he cancelled his plans, he didn't call up Sandra or any other of
his friends.
Salar had a light sandwich and a cup of coffee for lunch; then he took a
tranquilizer and went to sleep. The next day he woke up at eleven; he had
a severe headache. He felt his forehead and his body burning with fever.
‗Oh, come on!' he was quite exasperated. After spending two days being
ill, he wasn't planning to spend the next two days likewise-but that's how it
was going to be, he estimated.
He dragged himself out of bed, and without even washing up, headed for
the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Then he began to check the answer
service on his phone for missed and recorded calls. There were a few from
Saad who had been trying to speak to Salar before leaving for Pakistan,
and was quite annoyed at Salar's disappearing without a word.
There were calls from Sandra who believed that Salar had gone off
skiing without meeting her; Sikandar and Kamran also called, thinking that
Salar had gone off without a word. There were some calls from other
friends and classmates who were leaving for home. They all asked Salar to
call back-and he would have done so had he not been laid low. He could
have called Saad, Sikandar and Kamran in Pakistan, but was in no mood to
do so.
Salar finished his coffee with a couple of slices of bread; then he took his
medicines and went and lay down again. He thought he'd be rested enough
by the evening to bring down the fever.
His estimate proved to be totally wrong. When he awoke from the druginduced sleep that evening, his body was burning with fever. His mouth and
tongue were parched and his throat was dry and sore. His head and his
entire body were racked with pain. Perhaps it was the pain that broke his
sleep.
He lay prone, his hands gripping his forehead-he tried to ease the pain
by massaging his temples with his thumbs, but to no avail. He gave up and
just lay still, his face buried in his pillow. Salar was not aware of when he
fell asleep again, trying to endure the pain that gripped his being. When he
awoke again, the room was in complete darkness. It was night and not just
his room, but the entire apartment was in the dark. He was in greater
distress than before. He made a futile attempt to get up from his bed, but
his body seemed to have no energy and he lay down. Once again, he felt
himself slipping into a state between slumber and unconsciousness. He could hear himself groaning but he could not stop himself from the act.
Despite the central heating, he was shivering uncontrollably-the blanket
couldn't warm him nor was he able to get into warmer clothes. Once more,
he felt the pain cut through his chest and stomach.
Salar's tortured cries intensified as waves of nausea washed over him.
He tried to get up and go to the bathroom, but was too weak to move. He
struggled and sat up but before he could get off the bed, he retched
violently and threw up whatever he had had in the past few hours. Even in
this semi-conscious condition he was aware of the filth on his clothes and
blanket, but he found himself almost paralyzed, groaning and mumbling in
a daze, senseless.
How long this state lasted he did not know, but he did recall that at one
point he felt he was dying, and for the first time the thought of death
terrified him. He wanted to somehow reach the phone, to call someone, but
he was unable to move-the soaring fever had pinned him down.
Eventually his fever subsided and, far into the night, he emerged from
his near-comatose condition. He opened his eyes to the dark in the room-
his body wasn't burning and the chill had left him, but the pain in his head
and body lingered, albeit to a lesser degree. For a while he lay staring at
the ceiling, then he searched for the switch and turned on the bedside
lamp. The light-after the long spell of dark-blinded him, forcing his eyes
shut. He felt his eyelids with his fingers: his eyes were swollen and they
hurt. With an effort, he kept his eyes open and looked around the room,
trying to remember what had befallen him. Short bursts of memory revived
the events.
Salar was sickened at his state. Still sitting on his bed, he unbuttoned his
shirt and flung it off. With feeble tottering steps, he got off the bed and
pulling away the sheet and blanket, threw them on the floor. Still
staggering, he went into the bathroom. He was shocked when he caught
sight of himself in the mirror-his eyes were sunken in, dark shadows
encircling them, his face was pale and his lips were dry and peeling.
Anyone looking at him would believe he had been suffering from a long
illness.
‗Have I grown such stubble in just twenty-four hours?' he thought, as he
ran his fingers over his face.
‗I didn't look half as bad in the hospital after that food poisoning episode
as in this one day's fever,' he mumbled incredulously as he scrutinized his
appearance in the mirror. Filling the tub with warm water, he stepped in. he was surprised why, in spite of the fever, he had not immediately changed
out of those filthy clothes, instead of just lying there. Having bathed, he went into the kitchen-he was ravenously hungry. He
made some noodles for himself. ‗I must go to the doctor tomorrow for a
complete check-up,' he decided as he ate. He felt light and better after the
shower, but his whole being felt drained and weak.
He had switched on the TV while eating and flicked channels to find
something suitable: there was a talk show going on. Salar stopped eating-
spoon poised in mid-air, he stared at the TV in distraction and picked up
the remote to change channels. Now he was looking carefully at the
programs on each channel and the confusion on his face was growing.
‗What's this?'
He remembered that it was Friday night when he had been taken ill and
had collapsed on the road, and had been taken to the hospital. Saturday
was spent there, and he had returned to his apartment on Sunday. After
going to sleep on Sunday afternoon, he had awakened the next morning at
eleven; that night he had fever which must have lasted till Tuesday, and it
must be Tuesday night now. But the television channels told a different
story-it was Saturday night and the next day would be Sunday.
Salar glanced at his watch, lying on the living room table and his mouth
fell open in amazement. He put down the bowl of noodles; he couldn't
believe his eyes when he saw the date on his watch.
‗Does this mean that I've been ill for five days? Out of my senses for five
whole days? How can that be? How is it possible?' he muttered. ‗Five days
is a long time-how come I did not even notice the passage of time? How
could I just lie there, senseless, for five days?'
He stumbled towards his telephone to check the answering service-
there were no calls.
‗Papa didn't even call me...and neither did Saad ....what's the matter
with them? Didn't they miss me?' Salar was shocked to find there were no
messages for him. He sat silently by the phone for a long time.
‗How can it be that Papa did not even think of me? None of my friends
thought of me-how could they just abandon me?' He realized for the first
time that the thought made his hands tremble; it wasn't weakness or
debility, but then what was it that had shaken him so? He sat down on the
sofa and tried to finish the noodles, but they were no longer appetizing. He
felt as if he was chewing in pieces of soft rubber-he couldn't eat any
more. He was in a strange state of uncertainty-had he really spent five
days alone and that neither he nor anyone else had known what had
befallen him?
He went into the bathroom again. His face was not as haggard after
taking a shower, but the dark circles around his eyes and his overgrown stubble were still there. He stood there, staring at his reflection and
touching the shadows under his eyes as though he didn't really believe
what he saw. Suddenly, his hirsute face was bothering him. He took out the
shaving kit and prepared to shave; he realized then that his hands were still
trembling and, in close sequence, he managed to nick his face in three
places. He washed his face and patted it dry, trying to stanch the thin trickle
of blood that had appeared. Vacantly, he kept staring at his image. The cut
bled again-dark blood oozing out-and unblinking, he watched the tiny
drops roll down his face. ‗What's next to ecstasy?'
‗Pain.' A cold, low voice spoke. He stood rooted to the ground.
‗What's next to pain?'
‗Nothingness.' He remembered each word.
‗Nothingness,' he mumbled, looking at himself in the mirror. The
movement made the drops of blood roll down his face.
‗And what comes after nothingness?'
‗Hell.' Salar retched again, all of a sudden, and doubled over the wash
basin. The food he had finished eating a few minutes ago, was ejected
once again. He turned on the tap to clear away the mess. He remembered
what he had asked her next and what her reply had been.
‗You're unable to make any sense of anything right now-and you won't
be able to, either. There'll come a time when everything will be clear to you
and you'll understand it all. In every life, there's a time when everything
becomes clear-when there's no more mystery. I am passing through that
stage,' she had said, ‗but that stage will come upon you at some future
point. Then remember to check if it doesn't amuse you.'
Salar retched again. He felt his eyes streaming.
‗In life, at sometime or another we come to a point where all relationships
cease-where there is only us and Allah. There are no parents, brother or
sister, or any friend. Then we realise that there is no earth under us nor is
there sky above, but only Allah who is supporting us in this emptiness.
Then we realise our worth - it is not more than a grain of sand or the leaf of
a plant. Then we realise our existence is only confined to our being. Our
demise makes not a whit of difference to the world around us, nor to the
scheme of things.'
Salar was feeling an unusual pain in his chest. He licked the water
flowing down his face and he retched again.
His thoughts continued. ‗We come to our senses; we understand our
utter insignificance.'
He was trying to rid the voice from his mind. He wondered why he
remembered her now. He splashed water on his face, wiped it, opened the bottle of after-shave
and applied it to the wounds on his cheek. For the first time, he felt the
pain.
Coming out of the bathroom, he realized that his hands were trembling
even now.
‗I must go to the doctor.' He clenched his fists. ‗I need help. I must get
myself checked up.'
He did not know this feeling of wild fear. He was suffocating. He felt as
though someone was slowly squeezing the life out of him.
‗Is it possible that my people would forget me, forget me this way.......'
He took out clean clothes from his wardrobe and started to put them on.
He wanted to get to the doctor fast. Suddenly, the apartment became a
frightening place.
That night, on returning home, he had been awake almost the whole
night. He was in a strange state: he could not accept that he had been
forgotten. He had always been well looked after by his parents.
Considering the way he was, Sikandar Usman and Tayyba had handled
him cautiously. They always worried for him, but now he felt that for the last
few days he was completely out of everyone's lives-his parents, brothers
and sister, friends. If, as a result of his illness, he had died in his apartment,
probably no one would have known. Maybe till his corpse had begun to rot,
and in this weather how much time would that take?
That night, he checked the phone's answering service every hour. In a
state of disbelief, he spent all of the next week waiting for someone to call,
but no one called.
‗Have they all forgotten me?'
He panicked. After waiting a whole week, like a fool, for someone to call,
he himself tried contacting his folks.
He wanted to tell them what had happened to him and what he had been
through.
He wanted to share his woes with them. But, for the first time, he felt as
though nobody was really interested in him. Everybody had details of their
own activities.
Sikandar and Tayyaba kept telling him of their holiday in Australia and
how much they were enjoying it. He heard them absentmindedly.
‗Are you enjoying your holidays?' After a long conversation, Tyyaba
enquired about him.
‗Me? Yes, very....' He could utter only just these three words. He did not
really know what to tell Tyyaba, what to disclose to her.
Speaking to every one that he called, he faced this situation for the first
time: he realized that they were primarily interested in their own lives.
Maybe, if he had told them what he had been through, they would have
expressed shock, and maybe they would have got worried. But this would
happen after he had told them. What place did he have in their lives? Was
anyone interested to know what had occurred?
Perhaps then he pondered for the first time that if his life were to end
why would it affect anyone else. What change would it bring to the world?
What would his family feel? Nothing... nothing, except grief for a few days.
As for the rest of the world, it would not be affected even momentarily.
If Salar Sikandar were to vanish would it make any difference to
anybody? He tried to banish such dark thoughts, but the despair and his
state of mind overcame him. ‗What's come over me? Of what consequence
is it if people were to forget me temporarily? Several times I have myself
lost contact with a lot of people. Then, why bother if this has happened with
me.'
‗But why did this happen to me? And if I had really not regained
consciousness......If my fever had not subsided, if the pain in my chest and
stomach not abated......'
He tried to rid his mind of these troubling thoughts, but could not. He was
more in fear than in pain. ‗Maybe, I'm becoming too sensitive, otherwise
why should I let mere temporary unconsciousness get to me so.' He fretted.
‗At least now I've recovered, but why am I thinking of death? After all,
I've fallen ill before also. Tried to commit suicide without cause, but now,
why am I being assailed by these fears?' His agony increased.
‗Nor do I remember the misery of the fever. It was, perhaps, only a
dream or somewhat like a coma. I can't recall more.' He tried to smile.
‗What is bothering me? What disease? Or is it the realization that nobody
needed me, nobody thought of me, not even my loved ones, my own
family, my friends......'
*****************************