A B A N D O N E D Once there was a family. An ordinary, happy family. A family that had hopes and aspirations and felt... Once there was a family. An ordinary, happy family. A family that had hopes and aspirations and felt special in its own way, in a way a family should feel. Naseema and Rehman had a son and a daughter. The elder one, a boy, named Rizwan, and a younger girl, Kulsooma. The family was enjoying some beautiful days of its life. Rizwan was in class 7th and Kulsooma was still in the kindergarten. Rehman had his own shop next to the house and he was earning well, and his wide was satisfied with his work. He always used to fulfill every demand of his blooming buds and also his love of life, Naseema. Naseema felt blessed to have a doting husband and loving children. Everything was going their way. They had enrolled Rizwan in a private school, and he was a brilliant boy. Both Naseema and Rehman had a dream to see Rizwan grow up to be a doctor, he too wanted to become a doctor. And Kulsooma! She was too young, but her parents knew that she would make her own name one day too; she was the star of the family who brought a smile through her playful antics. The family was ordinary, yet special. Everyone had a good impression of them in the village. One night, one ordinary night, when they had finished their dinner, together as usual, Rizwan left for his room and began to study. Kulsooma was crying on the other side. Naseema took her little daughter in her lap and began to sing lullabies for her. As Kulsooma listened to her mother’s melodious voice, she fell asleep. By 11pm, they had all slept; Naseema, Rehman and their angelic daughter in one big room, and Rizwan in his own room, with walls covered with posters including of doctors in white robes, a map of the world where his own country seemed to not exist, and one that said ‘Think Positive’. And then, there was a loud knock on the door. A rude knock. The wall clock showed 4.04 am. One night, one ordinary night, when they had finished their dinner, together as usual, Rizwan left for his room and began to study. Kulsooma was crying on the other side. Naseema took her little daughter in her lap and began to sing lullabies for her. As Kulsooma listened to her mother’s melodious voice, she slept. By 11pm, they all were asleep; Naseema, Rehman and their angelic daughter in one big room, and Rizwan in his own room, filled with various posters including of doctors in white robes, a map of the world where his own country seemed to not exist, and one that said “Think Positive”. There was a loud knock on the door. A rude knock. The wall clock showed 4.04 am. Naseema, whose sleep was lighter than Rehman’s, got up worried. Who could that be at this time of the night? She did not want Rehman to be disturbed since he had had a tiring day at work. She went to the door and opened it. Maybe it was a neighbour with some urgent problem? There were no neighbours when she opened the door. “Where is the man of the house?” the policemen on the door shouted. She felt fear growing inside her. Before she could answer, Rehman had come out. “What is the matter?” he asked. “We are searching for a terrorist and we are informed he is hidden in this area,” said an angry policeman. Naseema and Rehman were still puzzled as to why they were being disturbed. Theirs was an ordinary family. “Come out immediately. Come out and help us find that son of a b****,” shouted another policeman, a fury on his face. Rehman did not want his wife to feel afraid or the neighbours to gather outside in this hour. He was ready to go. On the contrary, Naseema was not allowing him to go; she did not trust the police. One of the armed men however assured her, “Do not worry. Your husband will be back soon.” They left, along with Rehman. Naseema could not control her tears and maintain her composure. She went to Rizwan’s room and the boy with his sleepy eyes said, “What happened, ammi?” Naseema told him the entire tale. The young son began to console her. She turned silent, waiting for her husband, praying. Ya Allah! Keep him safe. Send him back. The dawn broke. The sun came out. But Rehman didn’t come. Naseema was crying and while she thought something was wrong, she kept hoping he would be fine, maybe she was just too afraid. Rizwan and Kulsooma waited for their mother to come home that day. Rizwan had earned some money that day at the stall and he had brought some biscuits and vegetables. With the help of his tiny sister – who suddenly seemed to be growing up too soon and never cried, as if to not put burden on her close ones – he had cleaned the house; only to wait some more The family that was joyful just a day before was in dejection today. Life was suddenly playing games. Rizwan didn’t attend the school that day. Both the mother and her son were crying. Kulsooma had no concept of why her mother and brother were crying but she cried with them too. For her, Abbu had gone to the shop and would soon get her candies as he always did when he returned in the evening. How could she have known that the return of her father, the gift of candies, wasn’t necessarily a constant in life. How would she know she was in Kashmir, where many fathers and brothers were disappearing, never to be found again. Running around officers and police stations was of no help as the policemen refused to acknowledge that there was an operation in the area on the evening Rehman was taken away. They laughed at her request for an FIR for a missing person. Maybe her husband had abandoned her, run away, or maybe he was a militant himself, they told her. Life after this was a blur for Naseema. She lost her sanity. No one visited them, let alone console them. Not even their close ones. “Laugh and the world laughs with you,” they say, “weep, and you weep alone.” Naseema kept waiting for her husband. But he never returned. Everything changed for the family. Without Rehman, and with Naseema in trauma and uncertainty over her disappeared husband, the dreams they had seen for their children shattered. It was as if life had been snuffed out from their family. Rizwan went to school but he was not allowed to join because he didn’t have the money to pay the tuition fee. He came back and told his mother why he came so early. Her mother cried, “Oh God, why are you doing this to us? What had we done? Please, I beg you, return our Rehman to us.” God did not seem to hear her words. Rehman was not returned. Naseema was wailing but no one was there to listen to her wails. Her heart bled and her soul cried at the pain and agony she was going through. She lost her love, love that was always there, in her bad and good times, love that gave her all the happiness, that gave her everything. But suddenly, everything they had had been snatched from them. “Where should we go? Who will give us money? Who will give us food? Who will pay Rizwan’s tuition fee? Who will console Kulsooma? Who will laugh with us again? What of all those dreams?” Alas! No one was there to answer her questions. No god, no police, no government, no neighbours, no politicians, no society. No one. Yes, abandoned! Rizwan gave up his school and began to work in a roadside food stall to support his family without telling his mother that he was working. Naseema, who lived in a permanent cloud of misery, uncertainty and shock, did not ask him either. She would go about the household chores, but she was no longer there. One day, not many days after Rehman had vanished, Naseema was walking on the road aimlessly, and was hit by a bus. She died immediately. Rizwan and Kulsooma waited for their mother to come home that day. Rizwan had earned some money that day at the stall and he had brought some biscuits and vegetables. With the help of his tiny sister – who suddenly seemed to be growing up too soon and never cried, as if to not put burden on her close ones – he had cleaned the house; only to wait some more. They later found out that Naseema was no more; she had died on the spot. For Rizwan though that wasn’t true. For, he knew his mother had died long before, the day Rehman had disappeared. Rizwan and Kulsooma survive, still; their mother gone forever. Their father, disappeared. This is the story of an ordinary family. In Kashmir. Malik Abid is a writer from Trehgam, Kupwara
Posted on: Sat, 06 Jul 2013 13:26:34 +0000
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