Destiny - مقدر

16 - The Gates of Death - موت کے دروازے

"I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens." - Woody Allen

We walked in complete silence to my old home in Kashmir. I hadn't quite gotten over the news I had just heard. Afreen didn't deserve this, she really didn't deserve this. It almost made me angry. No one should be sold away to a stranger as if they are worth nothing. She was worth more than they knew and they should've seen that. I hadn't known Afreen's parents but I would have expected them to be nice people. Children turn out the way they do because of their upbringing. And Afreen was one of the nicest people that I'd ever met.

My bottom lip was still quivering but my insides warmed up with the thought of embracing my mother again. Being able to hug her, to hear her soothing voice, to feel her warm breath on my cheek, her kisses on my forehead. I was so excited I almost forgot about Afreen entirely, but I could never do that. Not entirely. The pain of her unfortunate demise still lingered in my every thought. Tragic thoughts of her suffering and feeling pain. I shook them out, feeling trapped in a cage of guilt. I wasn't there for her. I should've been there for her. I may have been lucky enough to escape the marriage that was destined for me, but she wasn't. Why was I the lucky one?

"You excited to see your mum?"
I looked up, half in a trance at Sarafina, who was staring concernedly at me on my right, whilst Daniyal was on my left. "I'm worried. What if she's not there? How will Abbu react when he sees me? He'll be furious..." I whispered. Daniyal put a hand on my shoulder and smiled, "We're here, aren't we? We'll protect you."
I smiled, gratefully, "Thanks." 
I found some comfort in knowing that two friends were here with me. I found no comfort in knowing that I hadn't seen my parents in a year after the incident. Would they really just welcome me in with open arms? Now that I thought about it, it sounded ridiculous. My father would murder me...or worse, he'd murder my mother.

I was born half a mile from this street in a little run down house with a slate roof; not that that tells you much. All the houses down there were like that. It's the kind of street that you knew held the less fortunate. It would embarrass me to walk there after school. I remember, I used to walk around to a richer area of Kashmir, till I lost all my friends, then I would walk back home alone. All I needed now was a melting kulfi and a rag doll made out of old socks and I'd be eleven again. This old atmosphere really made me tap into my younger self.

The swing that hung from an old Chinar tree next to the market was exactly the same, just way more beaten up. On closer inspection the paint that remained was the exact same shade I recall and the tarmac was even more broken up by weeds that just wouldn't quit. I kick at the heads of weed with the bottom of my sandal. I think that's what we all were, us kids that would swing on there for hours on end, "weeds that just wouldn't quit." We would annoy all of the locals, but we never did stop. That was our childhood, and we planned on enjoying it. You only get one childhood, mess it up, and that's a whole childhood wasted.

I walked down the street, suffering major deja vu as I looked upon familiar things. Things such as houses, trees and the odd lamp post here and there. Fairly simple, yet incredibly important in it's own special way. I received some awful glares and strange looks. People recognised me, it had only been a year after all. How much really changes after a year? There were looks of sympathy, looks of disgust. No one seemed particularly happy to see me, that was for sure. I wouldn't say I was fairly surprised. I was surprised, however, at how no one was running to tell my father.

"Here!" I stopped and stared at it, marvelling at every brick and wooden plank. So much had changed, but it seemed full of life. That was a good sign, surely. The tin roof wasn't orange with rust like I'd assumed it would be. Instead it was shiny and clean, the window that lead to Ammi and Abbu's room leaning wide open, the blue curtain flapping wildly with the wind. There were unfamiliar clothes hanging on the line outside. They'd been shopping for new clothes, it seemed. There were both male and female clothes hanging. That reassured me. Apart from those small details, the whole house looked relatively similar. Everything about it seemed to reassure me further, the pail full of water sitting outside, the light switched on that shone through the window.