Jahaan-Ara

Chapter 11- Midnight Sparks

Why, you have saved my life!—

snatched me from a horrible and excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers! At least shake hands.' He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in both his own. 'You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but you: it is different;—I feel your benefits no burden, Jane.'He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,but his voice was checked. 

-Jane Eyre

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The Muzaffarabad Road back to Neelam Valley was rocky one. The rickety old bus stopped twice compounding Jahaan-Aara's apprehension. The driver jumped out to check the steam oozing from the engine. He ordered the passengers to rest at local tea shops for a break. Jahaan-aara took the chance to pray at the local mosques during the four hour journey.

When she returned to the mountains of Neelam Valley, a smile spread across her face, a contrast from the first time she arrived. At that time, fear filled her of her journey ahead. Then the taxi driver stopped her near the woods, she was terrified of what lurked around.

This time, Jahaan-Aara told the taxi driver to stop in the local bazzar. She paid him the fare yearning to walk through the lush green vegetation, drink from the clean cold spring water and listen to the laughter of children splashing in the river.

Lifting her bag, she began the scenic journey back to Thornager Haveli, this time anticipation permeated her bones. In the distance, the wind carried Baba Ji's flute. The nostalgic notes called to her like a spell drawing her back to its master. The sun was high noon, a light breeze blew her abbaya as she climbed the steep hills.

Above her a group of bids cawed over her settling in the tall pine trees. She continued to ascend the valley, now rushing, digging her heels into the grass holding onto her bag tight eager to meet Baba ji.

There, sitting on the boulder in his long baggy green shirt, tanned by the sun, was Baba Ji. "Asslamalikum Baba Ji." She greeted and lowered her head.

He replied and pat her head greeting her. Jahaan-Aara sat on the ground beside him and listened to the peaceful notes of his flute. She closed her eyes listening to the music surrounding her, the nature, the life, the love of being back in Neelam Valley.

"What is wrong my child? You seem occupied." Baba Ji licked his dry lips. He lifted his leather flask and offered it to Jahaan-Aara who was quick to refuse. He took a sip of the fresh stream water moistening his lips. His smile was warm and she felt comfortable to talk to him.

"I feel lost Baba Ji. " She looked at the goats crossing the stream with their owner behind them. "I feel like I'm blowing with the wind. I've lost my peace and my grounding. There is a cacophony of noise clouding my mind."

Baba ji patted her head once again. "Beta, you see that puddle." He pointed towards the stream. "It is clear, but few days later it will littered with leaves, debris, maybe rubbish that the children throw. That puddle represents our hearts. We are born with clear hearts devoid of any impurity. As we move on in life, our heart collects debris from broken relationships, envy, hate, jealousy and it spoils our heart and turns it black."