ETCHED IN FORBEARANCE (A MINI SERIES)

EPISODE 03: "KNIGHT AND NEW YORK"

We drove home quietly. Elif cried half the way and then her tears dissolved into sleep. When we arrived home, Hira picked up Elif and carried her to her room. I was still reeling from what had transpired earlier. I twisted the ice tray and picked up a bunch of ice cubes in my hand leaving the rest to liquefy, resembling my soul.

Elif was sound asleep in her cot; her bottom lip was swollen. She had hurt herself a lot of times before and each time I got all fret up. But this time it was different, now I was her father. My pretty angel, daddy has come to save you. I was going to put ice on her lips when Hira came barging from the bathroom. "Don't touch my child. You are nothing to her. You can never be her father; do you understand me? Get this into your thick skull. You have married me and made me your wife. Aren't you satisfied with this insolent relation? Now you are after my daughter too. She is Shoaib's daughter; it's his flesh and blood that runs in her body. You can give her all the love you have but still she will remain Shoaib's and mine spawn. Don't you ever dare call her your daughter! Do you get me?"

The ice cubes in my bare hand were not hurting me as bad as her words. Was this the right person in front of me? Where is that sweet little wife of mine? What was happening? Am I in the right world? This has to be a misunderstanding or maybe I was dreaming. Without saying anything I marched off to pick up the phone that was ringing loudly or was it? I couldn't count on my senses. I picked up the phone, I could hear my sister crying on the other end. I tried to decipher my situation. Confused as yet I caught her saying that my father is not alive anymore. He is dead. "I will be there as soon as possible" I heard myself saying. In a state of bewilderment I moved toward the room to pack the bags. "We were going to America."

I am holding onto something that used to be there, hoping it will come back, knowing it won't. They say never to have regrets, but with all the mistakes I have made; it's hard not to. I am the writer of my life and I wrote with a pen whose mistakes can't be erased. Lying crippled in a dark alley somewhere in the outskirts of Bronx, the cold wind irritated my bloody nostrils as I inhaled my very last breath. As the stabbing pain in my right leg was getting numb; I could sense it was my time to go, my whole life flashed in front of my eyes. I could see my mother feeding me biryani with her own hand, the time my father brought me the brand new BMX, the night my elder sister Sarah slipped me quietly inside the house because I was past my curfew. The day I bought Safa the designer dress she was eyeing in the shopping mall. The time Shoaib and I had spent in the dorm together. The snowy day when I saw Hira eating gola ganda in white suit and red shawl. The black day when she tied the knot with Shoaib. The cursed day when I had to lower his body to the grave. The blessed evening when Elif came to the world. The moment she called me Abu and the worse hour when my life shattered into tiny little brittle smithereens. My mistakes grew up into gigantic monsters staring at me with their red eyes. I was guilty, I was corrupt. I was lying crippled in a dark alley somewhere in the outskirts of Bronx.

The night we landed at New York, the whole JFK was covered in snow. There was no taxi available because of the weather and it was almost midnight so we had to settle for a limousine. The driver looked like a Russian mob leader. He had a broad chest and stiff hands that could knockout an opponent in a single punch. His bald head shined from the street light above him and the irony was that his goatee was jet black that shined with the same potential as his smooth cranium. He drove us to Sarah's home to Schuylerville Bronx, he lent a hand in unloading the luggage and I handed him the fare with some extra bucks. The door opened as I stepped on the porch; they were waiting for me and I was welcomed with open arms, it felt like I never went away. My mother sobbed on my shoulder and I had never thought our roles would reverse. She was always the one to wipe my tears. Safa had already taken Elif to the room and Sarah was making Hira feel at home. Can you imagine how a tragedy bonds a broken family, how a catastrophe can glue up a damaged clan. That is a human trait, when we go through a misfortune we need our love ones there by our side; even the heftiest of conflicts are destroyed by the emotion called love.