Content

Imprint

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author and the publisher.

International Standard Book Number

ISBN 13:

978-1678639334

ASIN 10:

1678639338

Amazon, the amazon logo is the trademarks of Kindle Publications and its affiliates

Seattle

Washington, USA

Dedication

To friends who kept aflame the divine mischievous spark in me.

Preface

Heartbreaks, failures and other disappointing facets of life can be demolishing as well as evolving experiences. They push some into the dark somber abysses of agony and take air out of their sails, and elevate some to a degree, where they find true meaning of life and joy in self-love. We all go through numerous undesirable episodes in our lives at some point. By the dint of experiences of same sort, I turned to writing, for it manifested as a source of pleasure and catharsis for me. The only reason this book is named ‘Ecstasy’ is because writing and poetry are my outlets of happiness and my treasure trove of ecstasy. What you are holding in your hand is the collection of my initial works. I shall conclude my message with fingers crossed that I shall live up to the expectations of the readers.

Suleman Nasir

Dera Ismail Khan,

Pakistan.

Poems

Poems

1. Love Came Down and Rescued Me

Speak, I, the protagonist of my story,

Speak, I, the antagonist of my story,

Stand, I, on the stage of life,

about to chronicle, the tale of my life,

Ask, I, for naught, but ears of my audience,

heed and you receive the gems of percipience,

Opened, I, my eyes in the lap of a fairy,

mother was her name, as I came to savvy,

Prospered, I, in the shade of an angel’s wings,

father was his name, as I came to fathom,

Stepped, I, in my prime, and trouble ushered in,

slipped out of my mind, the purpose of my being,

Altered, I, into a deserter,

wandering, puzzled, in the wilderness of ignorance,

Transitioned, I, into a prisoner,

chained within the walls of desires,

Resembled, I, a prince in exile,

banished from the throne of virtue,

Mired, was I, in the quagmire of sins,

the more I stirred, in depth I plunged,

Fell, I, on my knees, tired,

my chest, hollow of peace, empty of hope,

Then,

Witnessed, I, which I did not envisage,

received, I, a gift undeserved,

Revived, I, in the pouring rain of His lenience,

harkened, I, to the author of all existence,

Said He, “What is it that has deluded you from your generous maker?

verily, it is in my remembrance, do hearts gain peace”,

Blind was I that all this time,

His light hovered, which I did not see,

Thus, praise be to Lord, and praise be to His love,

that poured down, and rescued me.

2. The Lamenting Sky

Why is it that birds are chirping in bliss?

Why is it, that withering trees are rejuvenated green with jubilance?

Why is it, that soil has incurred a felicitous scent?

Why is it that bleak mists have dissolved?

Why is it, that every earthborn is dancing with glee?

O lamenting sky!

What joy, has your pouring tears invoked upon God’s green earth?

Why is it, that solely I, harbor empathy for you?

For you and I, share the same grief of longing,

You, O sky, yearn for sun’s glow, and I, for my lover’s face.

3. A Hymn for the Earth

What song of praise should I sing for you?

Nominated were you, as Adam’s home,

What homage should I pay to your nurturing feats?

You slake flora’s thirst, roots when pierced in your chest,

What eulogy should I write for your vigilance?

How beautifully you harbor, precious aqua below your dermis,

How could I oppugn your motherly instincts?

Alike a mother, you nourish your progenies with your blood,

How could I negate your fatherly affection?

You peck my feet, when ambled on your belly,

How could I gloss over your loyalty?

You embrace breathless cadavers of your demised children,

Why should I not wail upon your ill-fate, O bleeding earth?

Ruination you received, for your meek generosity.

4. A Tale of Forbidden Love

Hark and behold, the poignant tale of an Angel,

Lost she, her heart to the Prince of Darkness,

There she Spoke:

“O you, who reigns on the throne of shadows,

Within your rayless soul, let me be sheathed,

Enrobe me with your black feathery wings,

Fill me with chaos, and rive my halo,

Let be fused,

the son of darkness,

with the daughter of light.”

Said, the demon:

“Have you seen as one?

the dark of the night and light of the day?

The longer you dance with me,

The longer you lurk in hell,

Let not your skin, be grazed with mine,

will scorch you to ashes, the flames of my sins.”

5. Two Bodies, One Soul

Breathes not a bond, so blessed and pure,

As dwells between a man, and his wife,

It is not solely union of two bodies, but fusion of two souls,

Fore-ordained by the maker, on heaven’s scrolls,

Engendered are both, from the same cloth,

Unendurable for them, is to stay apart,

Thus devised God, the marriage of two sexes,

To shoulder in unison, tribulations that loom,

For you, O man, she is your blue-eyed Queen,

For you, O woman, he is your noble king,

Thus, reign in pride, in the kingdom of your abode

For you, O man, she is your moon,

For you, o woman, he is your sky,

Thus, brace one another, with tenderness and love,

For you, O man, she is your soil,

For you, O woman, he is your seed,

Thus, with intimacy, conceive the fruits of your joy,

For you, O man, she is your fire,

For you, o woman, he is your furnace,

Thus, blend in one another, and set afire, the flame of love

For you, O man, she is your flower,

For you, O woman, he is your scent,

Thus, render each other whole, with warmth of your embrace

For you, O man, she is your sword,

For you,O woman, he is your shield,

Thus, slay the monsters of sorrow, with slashes of loyalty,

For you, O man, she is your ladybird,

For you, O woman, he is your firefly,

Thus, shepherd one another, in dark of the night,

For you, O man, she is your nightingale,

For you, O woman, he is your lark,

Thus, soothe one another, with songs of joy,

Let not the fiber of your matrimony, be torn apart,

Let not from your hands the sparrow of happiness, depart,

Let not hatred vanquish your love,

Or else with rage, will tremble, the throne of God.

6. Longer May I Reign

Longer may I reign,

In the vast intricate kingdom of your heart,

Longer may my head remain adorned,

With the crown of your unconditional love,

Longer may I stay imprisoned,

In the deep valleys of your eyes,

Longer may I be kept safe,

In the stronghold of your arms,

Longer may my loneliness be eclipsed,

By the soothing chants poured forth by your blushing lips.

7. Her

The abysmal ocean of her eyes,

rimmed with darkness,

drown me in cold blood,

Her gleaming cheeks,

that shame the stars,

with their lightness,

Her lustrous hair,

that veil her angelic face,

like a dark night encircling a burnished moon,

Her rosy lips,

that turn flowers green

with envy,

Her melodic voice,

that falls on my ears,

like a mynah’s chant,

Her sparkling smile,

like a string of pearls,

stunts the flaring sun,

Her lurking aroma,

that scents alike blooming lilies,

Her slender contour,

manifests like a glassed sculpture,

Her fair velvety skin,

tinges scarlet by a gentle graze,

Her fiery ire,

plunges me to the crypts of despair,

Her solicitude,

resurrects me in the womb of joy,

glowing tears,

trickle from her eyes

like cascading pearls,

Her graceful tread,

paints her a goddess,

ambling on heaven’s vault.

8. Mirror of My Soul

O you, who droops nobly,

mirror is your name,

I question not your verity,

for you unveiled, the likeness of a vile architect:

an Architect of his own destruction,

For you reflected the portrait of a man,

who wavered not, from treading on the trails of Lucifer,

For you limned the sketch of an assassin,

who strangled to death, the song in himself,

For you unmasked, the rebel,

who rendered naught, but deceit,

O my wise mirror,

I question not your sagacity,

for you evolved me,

from the whisper of a boy, to the shout of a man

For you entrenched in me,

That God lives not, but in the breast of each one he devised,

O valorous mirror,

I kneel in gratitude before you,

for you freed me from the fetters of mine arrogance,

and taught me, that I am naught,

but a puppet of clay,

foredoomed to be mixed in it again,

O heralding mirror,

I question not your prophecy,

you Admonished:

Death shall always be on my heels,

And O Suleman,

You shall be lost in the mists of time,

Nothing of your name,

But, your saintly feats will remain.

9. A Confession

Dearly Beloved!

My love for you,

is on the rise,

A fire burning,

in my eyes,

A love so deep,

deeper than the abysses,

A love so high,

Higher than the skies,

A love so chaste and pure,

As untouched snow,

You, beloved,

course through my veins,

Keeping me wide awake,

So you too, pour the rain of love,

Render me anew,

Let’s get lost,

You in me,

and I, in you.

10. I Am My Home

When castles of my hopes fell apart,

shattered to splinters,

the dreams of my heart,

My eyes, awaited a hero,

a salvager, to lock sword,

with my hapless fate,

wait grew infinite,

My door hankered a knock,

no one came,

and grains of hope,

escaped my hand,

A light beamed in my chest,

and illuminated my way,

armed my hand,

with daggers honed to slay,

It dawned upon me that all this time,

I craved a savior,

and was blind to the one

that resided within,

I am the hero,

I yearned for all along,

I am the sanctuary,

I searched for all along,

I am not lost,

and I am not alone,

For I have myself,

and I am my home.

11. A Pilgrim's Song

I am a pilgrim,

this earth is my holy shrine,

To serve every soul,

is my worship,

To draw smile on every visage,

is my hallowed duty,

To wipe tears off every eye,

is my sacred ritual,

To preach love,

is my revered journey.

12. Leila

Lying on his deathbed,

sands of time slipped from his hands,

Tears flowing from his eyes,

said he, to Leila, with parting sighs,

“O my Dukhtar Jan, whom I despised all along,

I loved my sons, and resented you all life long,

Yet, here you are, and they have deserted me,

Let alone hell, my guilt is enough to punish me,

Your words of kindness are razors to my heart,

Halt this tenderness, for I deserve it not.”

Said Leila,

“You are my father, the earthly author of my blood,

You a whole flower, and I, your trivial bud,

With your blessings, in heavens will I dwell,

Without them, I am destined for hell,

You fed me, clothed me, and kept the wolf away from door,

What is it Baba, that I could wish more?

O Lord! Let not my father be dead,

endow him life, take me instead.”

Lo, the vagaries of fate,

her prayers knocked the heaven’s gate

Angels emerged, one dark as night and the other as bright as day,

One, to bless him with life, one to take her away.

13. The Thought of You

I think of you, when the sky sheds morning light,

I think of you, when it attires the cloak of night,

I think of you, when the sky showers its tears,

I think of you, when it smiles with its rainbow,

I think of you, with every breath I draw,

I think of you, with every blink of my eye,

I think of you, when the goddess of happiness smiles upon me,

I think of you, when the demons of sorrow rage upon me,

For my heart with you, a sacred temple,

Without you, a mere ruin.

14. To Be A Human

You are a human, if you descry the good in others,

You are a human, if you are colorblind to their darkness,

You are a human, if you are deaf to the words aimed at reviling others,

You are a human, if you do not scar others with the sharp words forged by your tongue,

You are a human, if your hands are incapable of battering others,

You are a human, if your heart vomits malign intentions fed to it,

You are a human, if your religion is humanity.

Short Stories

Short Stories

1. A Burnt Valley

As Abida looked herself in the mirror, a ghastly face stared back at her; she failed to recognize her own face.

Abida always deemed herself blessed, for the face Lord had given her. Poring over the lovely characteristics of her face in the mirror always left her heart brimming with blended feelings of bliss, gratitude and minor shreds of proud.

But, today was unlike any other day, the gorgeous Abida, which always transpired in the mirror, was nowhere to be seen, instead, there was Abida, with a monstrous scarred face. Her face resembled a beautiful valley, brought to dust by a brutal wildfire. This was what acid had done to her face, leaving her doomed to live with this burnt and disfigured face, for the rest of her days.

. . . . . . . .

It was a hot summer day of July, sun above was radiating fire; Abida was unable to contain her temper, for her taxi driver was late than the time ordained.

“Where that stupid has gone to, if I stood here for a few more minutes, I shall be Bar-B Queued under this hot sun” Abida said furiously.

“For God’s sake Abida, Be patient. It has only been 15 minutes. Don’t be so theatrical”, said Sajida, her younger sister.

Wrinkles appeared on Abida’s forehead, showing her frustration.

“Look at that shameless womanizer, ogling at me, like he has never set eyes upon a girl before” Abida’s anger rose to high heaven.

“Shut Up Abida, don’t look over there, mind your own beeswax” Sajida admonished her.

It was Kamal, standing at a feet’s distance from them, his eyes stuck with laser-like focus on Abida. He had been doing it for past several weeks. It had become his day to day routine to wait for Abida outside her campus, and when she manifests, to take deep glances at her. He garnered all the courage he could, and began treading towards her.

“He is coming over here, don’t you utter a single word Abida, just stick your eyes to the ground” Said Sajida, in single breath.

Kamal was at an arm’s length from them. “Can I talk to you, in seclusion?” Kamal addressed Abida.

“Say what you have to say, here” Replied Abida with a shrill voice.

“Umm…I….I…have…..” kamal’s voice failed to support him.

“What is it?” Abida’s temper was rising by leaps and bounds.

“I….I…Love…you…and….I……………want to….marry..you…I have been…following you for weeks…..and all I think about is ….you…I don’t even know your name….but you have stolen….my heart…and..I”

Before Kamal could finish his confession, Abida cut him mid-sentence.

“What? Hahahahaha...” Abida burst into sarcastic laughter.

She continued “Love? Have you even taken a glance at your face in the mirror? What made you think I’d accept proposal from a street-loiterer like yourself, don’t you ever dare to show me your face again, or else you will regret it for the rest of your life”.

“But…I…believe me…I really” Kamal’s voice broke.

“Shut up! Do you want me to call security? Is that what you want me to do?” shouted Abida.

People standing nearby began to notice the commotion.

“Let’s go, Abida, stop it. Let’s go” Sajida pulled her arm, as she saw her taxi approaching. Kamal was quivering with a brew of anger and embarrassment.

. . . . . . . .

Abida woke up at the crack of dawn, and started to get ready for the university. She put on her favorite blue dress, gifted to her by her mother, on her birthday; she put on her abaya, covered her head with Hijab-letting a few rebellious locks of hair rest on her forehead-and left. Little did she know, what fate had in stores for her.

As Abida left campus after her classes came to an end, her eyes started to search for Kamal, and her heart praying for him not being there. She did not want to confront him.

He was standing across the road. As he saw Abida cross the threshold of gate, he leapt towards her like a famished cheetah does at a gazelle.

“I told you not to follow me, why can you not get it into your thick head?” Abida turned red with anger boiling inside her.

“I love you with all my heart, and if you didn’t accept my proposal, I shall end my life right in front of you, with this deadly poison” he said, bringing a bottle out of his bag.

“You can die, crash or burn, for all I care, but if you ever crossed my path again, I will kill you myself” said Abida with sheer indifference.

As Abida turned towards the road, Kamal uncorked the bottle and threw the liquid contained within, on Abida’s face. It was Sulphuric Acid. As it came in contact with Abida’s skin, it made a hissing sound like coupling of water with boiling oil. Abida screamed at the top of her lungs. She toppled on the ground and fainted, for the pain of acid feeding on her skin was unendurable for her to bear. Kamal had run away, before the people surrounding Abida’s unconscious body could capture him.

2. A Star-Crossed Love

“Love was meant to be our savior, a mean to escape from harsh reality and an elixir to put an end to all our sufferings. Love is innocent, yet so brutal; it waters the flower of life and eventually plucks it mercilessly. In the desert of life -blazing with agonies, heartaches and pains- we seek solace in cool oasis of love, but it never materializes in its true essence, and why would it? Isn’t it the very nature of a mirage? We take stabs at quenching the unquenchable thirst of our desires and longings with salty water of love, but it further aggravates our cravings, in lieu of alleviating them. The sands of time slip from our hands and in the end, it is unveiled upon us, that the flame of love, which we worshipped alike a moth, was naught but a mesmerizing illusion”.

Fatimah contemplated, lying on the cold mud, drenched in her own blood, waiting for the angel of death to liberate her soul from her beautiful cage of flesh. Blood was gushing from the side of her forehead, like water from a fountain, where the axe had left its mark. In dark of the night, her blue eyes shone like a Neelum stone. A gun roared and a tall/thin boy thumped on the ground, right in front of her. She knew too well the contours of his face; a face with pointy nose, dark brown eyes and thin lips, and a head topped with curly hair. His name was inked on the scroll of her heart: Shahryar. His lifeless body lay right ahead of her; his still eyes anchored at her deep blue eyes.

. . . . . . . .

Ghulam Hussein Khuhro along with his wife Samina lived in a village, in vicinity of upper Kohistan. Farming was bequeathed to Ghulam Hussein by his ancestors. He labored in the fields throughout the year, and earned enough to fill bellies of his wife and his daughter Fatimah.

Fatimah was conceived in Samina’s womb after six years of marriage; her birth brought joy and felicity in their dull and monotonous lives. Everything Ghulam Hussein earned, he lavishly spent on Fatimah; he always brought new clothes, confectionaries and toys for his blue-eyed daughter. Ghulam Hussein decided to go against the grain by educating his daughter, as much as he could. As Fatimah turned five, he enrolled her in a local primary school. Owing to her lack of interest in studies, she could only make it to matriculation, after which, she thought it appropriate to remain home and help her mother with day to day chores.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and years; Fatimah had evolved into a young and ravishing girl of sixteen. Her parents marveled at her beauty. Her blue enchanting eyes were a wonder to behold. Every other day, Samina had to apologize to women who darkened their door, asking for Fatimah’s hand in marriage for their sons. But Ghulam Hussein and Samina did not want to have Fatimah married off so soon.

. . . . . . . .

“But Ammi Jan, I don’t want to go there, that place is not less than hell for me. I would die of boredom there”, Said Shahryar.

“Shut up Shahryar, I am disconcerted by your finicky behavior about everything. What kind of a man are you that you’ll let your mother travel alone” Rihana Begum feigned anger.

“But Ammi Jan, I………..”, Shahryar tried to retort but Rihana Begum cut him off.

“No ifs and no buts. It’s your cousin’s wedding for God’s sake, don’t be so much of an introvert. What your aunt will think if she noticed your absence there? It would be undoubtedly an unkind gesture. It is only a matter of two weeks.” said Rihana Begum.

“Hmm, alright Ammi Jan, I’ll get the tickets by noon”, Shahryar relented. Arguing anymore appeared fruitless to him.

Rihana Begum lived with her son Shahryar in Karachi. She was reduced to a widow, when her husband succumbed his life to a heart attack. Being the only bread winner of family, she had to teach in a government school; she did not leave any stone unturned in catering to Shahryar’s needs and rendering him on his own feet. Because of his profound disposition, Shahryar opted law as his career.

Rihana’s sister Kulsoom lived in a hamlet near Upper Kohistan. Kulsoom’s daughter : Yasmin’s wedding was looming near, thought of which exhilarated Rihana Begum, for it had been seven years, since she had seen and embraced her sister kulsoom, her nieces and nephews.

. . . . . . . .

Fatimah was sitting motionless, watching patterns of henna being sketched on her white palms. She couldn’t leash her excitement, after all, it was Yasmin’s wedding. Yasmin and Fatimah harbored such a strong bond of friendship, that if it were to be illustrated, one would run short of words; Yasmin filled the void in Fatimah’s life, an abysmal void she had always felt because of not having any siblings. Yasmin was donned in yellow finery, with her shy gaze pinned on the floor. Thought of Yasmin’s departure sent a shiver down Fatimah’s spine; even, imagining life without Yasmin was inconceivable for her. She could not bridle the flow of tears from her eyes.

. . . . . . . .

“Who is he?” Fatimah wondered, “Incessantly staring at me without a blink?”

Fatimah too didn’t want to avert her gaze from him. He was ordinary, yet, appeared so extraordinary. She wanted to be consumed in his large dark eyes. What honorable noun does he bear? She was desperate to know.

“Shahryar!” asked Kulsoom, “Should I serve dinner for you?”

“No Khala Jan, thank you, I am not famished” replied Shahryar, shifting his gaze from Fatimah to his aunt Kulsoom.

Shahryar; his name began to echo in Fatimah’s ears, and was inscribed on her heart. In that moment, everything else evaded her mind, only thing that remained, was his name: Shahryar.

. . . . . . . . .

Shahryar had never had these feelings for anyone. Since the moment he laid his eyes upon Fatimah, everything else that surrounded him, appeared dull and colorless. His longing for Fatimah was burgeoning by leaps and bounds. The goddess of love had smiled upon him.

He wanted to confess these bizarre feelings to her, but he was quite aware that in midst of all these people, talking to Fatimah was not executable.

Shahryar spent a week on pins and needles, dying to talk to Fatima; waiting anymore had become something more than his heart could stand. After mustering all the courage he possessed, he wrote something on the paper and assigned his little cousin Haseena to dispatch that piece of paper to Fatimah, secretly.

As Fatimah procured that scrap of paper, she began to unwrap it, impatiently; she felt like all those ten years of schooling were for this moment, to decipher this fragment of paper, which read in Urdu:

“Meet me near the stream, tonight”.

Her heart skipped a beat.

. . . . . . . .

“I waited for so long. I had given hope of your arrival” said Shahryar.

Fatimah remained silent. Her shyness had put fetters on her lips.

“Never have I ever set eyes upon such a gorgeous girl like you. Your eyes have wounded me and made me your slave” Shahryar said, without a pause.

Fatimah blushed. Her mouth became dry out of nervousness. She felt like a fever had hit her. She had never had these feelings of immense elation; her heart pounding in her chest. After lingering for a few moments, she returned home, for she did not want to alarm anyone.

They started turning up daily for their rendezvous at the same place, and bartered vows of love with each other.

It was Shahryar’s last day at his aunt’s house. Fatimah and Shahryar trysted at their ordained place with a heavy heart.

“I don’t know how I will live, when you’re gone. Life would never be the same again” Fatimah spoke under her breath.

“Splitting from you is an ordeal worse than death for me. Before I could ask for your hand in marriage, I wanted to ask for your approval in person. Would you want it to happen?” Shahryar asked, with traces of desperation in his voice.

A shy smile was all Fatimah could give. A smile, that betrayed all of her feelings before Shahryar. Her shyness dwarfed the air of melancholy surrounding them

“Say something, since the moment you have come here, you have hardly said anything” Said Shahryar.

“I don’t know what to say.” Fatimah replied.

She heard rustling in nearby bushes.

Before Shahryar could say anything, an offbeat shrill voice struck Fatimah’s ears.

“You Slut!” Said the man standing in the front, followed by two other.

It was Ishaq Khuhro, her step-uncle. He was holding a rifle. One out of two other men was holding an axe and other one was unarmed. One of Ishaq’s men had spotted them; he alarmed Ishaq and ushered him here, where a love, as pure as untouched snow, as artless and innocent as a child’s heart, was sprouting between two souls.

“You have besmirched and dishonored the name of Khuhro family. You are an unvirtuous woman, and you are well conversant with the repercussions of your uncouth deed. You would die here with this son of a bitch. He is an adulterer, just as you are”. Ishaq shouted furiously.

“Uncle please, I beg of you, we are innocent. We did not commit any sin. I swear by Allah, I did not stain my virtue” Fatimah Fell in Ishaq’s feet and grabbed them.

“Please Uncle, he did not even touch me, let him………….” Before Fatimah could finish her sentence, man standing behind Ishaq swung his axe and struck Fatimah’s head with immense puissance, she thudded on the ground and after lingering in excruciating pain for a few moments, she breathed her last.

Ishaq pointed the muzzle of his gun towards Shahryar and shot abruptly; Bullet tunneling through his head silenced him for eternity.

There, laid two star-crossed bodies side by side, soiled and dishonored, butchered in the vile and dubious name of Honor.

3. In The Name of Love

“Please Shahid, don’t make me do this; I can’t do this, it’s a grave sin. If my parents came to know about this they would murder me, please do not force me into this” Amina said imploringly.

Shahid held Amina’s hand.

“Amina! You know I love you, right? I shall marry you one day; it is just an expression of love, it won’t do us any harm. I promise I will keep it between us, No one will know about this.”

Shahid attempted to persuade her.

“But Shahid, you know it is inappropriate, how you can expect me to indulge my……myself in an immoral deed of this sort?”

Amina struggled to complete her sentence sentence.

“I know you don’t love me. All this time you had said that you trust me, but you were lying, if you had trusted me you would have stopped me. I have loved you with all my heart and soul, and this is the reward I get in return.”

Shahid pretended anger.

“You know I love you, and trust you with all the fibers of my being, but I don’t want to soil this relation we have, I just want to keep it impeccable and pure”

Amina said, pressing her hand on shahid’s.

“It is fine. You can leave. I have errands to run; you too should better be going.”

Shahid said, turning his face to other side.

Amina could read exasperation on his face. She loved him beyond words could yield the matter; she was head over heels for him. Just like earth, which perpetually revolves around sun, Shahid was the Center of her thoughts. Whenever Amina imagined of her future, it was Shahid’s face, which always manifested as her husband. She never negated Shahid for anything, out of her affection for him. History repeated itself and she relented before his luscious demand.

“Shahid” said Amina in a grim voice.

“What?” replied He.

“You can do anything you want with me, I will not stop you, but promise me one thing, that you will always love me like this, never will you ever dent my trust and the faith I have in you.”

Amina was on the verge of crying.

“You are aware, that I love you with all my heart. You are the sky to my earth, the light to my darkness; you are the sole rose in the garden of my life”.

Shahid uttered in one breath, holding Amina’s hand.

“Hmm, I know, Shahid” Amina muttered.

A wicked smile drew on Shahid’s visage. Whatever he wanted all along, was soon going to transpire. Regardless of the poignant fact that Amina’s innocence was going to be demolished, he indulged in the festivals of flesh. The invisible Angel perching on his left shoulder began to write something.

“You see, that wasn’t a big deal. Was It?” Shahid said, buttoning his shirt.

Amina remained quiet, lying motionless. Her eyes anchored at a painting dangling on the wall which had Allah’s name on it. The thought of her Lord watching her all along stabbed her heart like a sharp dagger. Her own body started to disgust her; tears started to trickle from her eyes.

“I should better get home, before dusk descends” mumbled Amina

. . . . . . . .

“The number you are trying to reach is not answering, please try again later” Same frustrating robotic voice struck Amina’s ears for the seventh time.

Shahid was not answering. Amina put her phone on the side table and made a failed attempt to sleep. Sleep was at far cry from her. She showered twice but she could not rid herself from the pangs of disgust; she felt her body smeared with a flagrant sin.

Amina’s phone notified for a text and she leapt towards it impatiently. Shahid’s name was on top of the screen. She didn’t waste a second to open her inbox; the message read:

“Do you remember, when I proposed you for the first time, you had harshly rejected it and insulted me. I have not forgotten that. In that moment, I made a resolve to make you repay for the embarrassment I had faced. Stupid girl, did you really think I shall fall in love with an arrogant and pompous fool like you? The sweet revenge I wanted to exact all along has been delivered.”

“Do not deign to contact me again, I have your pictures that you would not want to be uploaded on the internet, would you? It was an unforgettable time I had with you, but the play is over. Goodbye.” Another text message read.

Shahid’s texts dropped a bombshell on Amina. She was caught unaware. Her fragile heart sunk under the burden of unbearable sorrow. The serpent she had held so dear had bitten her eventually; Poison of his words pervaded throughout her. An incurable poison for which, she did not have an antidote.

. . . . . . . .

“For God’s Sake Amina, open up the door, what is wrong with you” Amina’s Mother uttered loudly after knocking the door so many times that she had lost count of. A grave silence welcomed her every single time.

“Move aside, Khadija. Let me break the lock” said Amina’s father.

He kicked and hit the door with a crowbar. After a hitting spree, the door smashed open.

Startling sight that awaited her, made Khadija’s flesh creep. She uttered a hoarse cry and stopped dead in her tracks.

Amina’s lifeless body was lying on the bed, with her left arm dangling to one side. Her face had turned pale; blood was leaving her body through her cut wrist, where a razor blade had forged a deep gulf. She had left this burdensome world, hours ago, leaving behind only an empty vessel, for her parents to mourn at.

4. A Beauty Unseen

“Many congratulations, elder brother. From this day forth Ambareen is our daughter.” said Rafique and jubilantly hugged his brother.

“Indeed, dear brother, Indeed.” said Shafique, seized between the arms of his younger brother.

Scent of Gulab Jamuns, Jalebis, and other sweets wafted in the spacious lounge. Everyone was to be seen swapping sweets with each other out of joy. A few eyes welled up with tears of contentment, but there was smile on every pair of lips. It was a blissful and never to be forgotten day for both brothers.

. . . . . . . .

“I am very happy today, Aqila. No matter how many times I thank Allah, it will not suffice. Ambareen certainly is born under a lucky star to have been engaged to a courteous, well-educated, and a well-settled lad like Toufeeq. I always cherished the thought of being his uncle. Now, knowing that I am going to be his father-in-law, I can hardly put my feet on the ground.” Shafique said all in one breath.

"Hmmm” Aqila immersed in some deep thought uttered in reply.

“What is it, Aqila? What has stolen your attention?” Shafique inquired with concern.

“I am happy for Ambareen too, but what worries me is the thought of Anushe. She is our eldest child and we haven’t found a suitor for her yet. Other girls of her age have been married off and have borne children. Finding out that her younger sister will get married first will be a hard pill for her to swallow.” Aqila replied with a worried face.

Anushe holding a cup of tea for her father, was about to knock; hearing her parents having a talk about her interrupted her from doing so. She began to eavesdrop.

“Those women who had visited last month to see Anushe have not showed up again, and I am not surprised. Nowadays, everyone drools over the girls with light-hued, fair complexion; sometimes I wonder, Anushe not only has a dark tone but also a blackened fate. If this continued, she will remain a celibate forever.” Aqila said continuously. An air of regret appeared for a moment on her face, realizing that she had said too much.

“Aqila!” Shafique shouted ferociously and continued, “How can you allow such ignoble words to fall from your lips. She is your daughter, your flesh and blood.”

“What did I say wrong? I cannot bear the prying eyes and the taunting questions of the people anymore. It is always the same question; why isn’t Anushe married yet? What am I to say?” Aqila’s voice began to distort out of emotions.

Her mother’s words began to pierce Anushe’s heart like needles. She closed her eyes but failed to leash the tears that somehow managed to escape from beneath her closed eyelids.

. . . . . . . .

Anushe and Ambareen were the only begotten children of Malik Shafique. Malik Shafique had a clerical job and resided with his wife and two daughters in a rented house in Lahore. Anushe, a first born child, and Ambareen, the second born were poles apart from each other. They were at odds not only in looks but also in their way of behaving and ways of looking at things. Ambareen had been conferred with exceptional beauty. Her Fair, illuminated complexion and gorgeously sculpted face had always made her a cynosure of everyone’s attention. Anushe, on the other hand, did not possess any features to contribute to her exterior beauty. Aware of her plain and unattractive looks, she always remained encumbered under the weights of inferiority complex and lack of confidence. All her life she remained in the company of only one person: her own self. She always coveted the stunning looks of her sister, and being endowed with such beauty for once was her pipedream. She always wondered that how her life had been if she were as beautiful as Ambareen; she craved for attention that always fell in the lap of her younger sister, but shunned her. But she never let her wish morph into jealousy, for she loved Ambareen more than anything; even more than her own life.

After graduating from the University, she joined a Kindergarten school. It was more than a vocation for her. It was an edifice of consolation. Being ensnared between giggling and playful children invariably whisked her away to a new world; a world of peace and happiness.

. . . . . . . .

Ambareen had hardly given her graduation exam when her uncle and aunt came knocking on her door to ask for her hand in marriage for their son Toufeeq, Ambareen’s first cousin, who had recently been hired as a junior manager in a private bank. Shafique and Aqila had no tangible reasons to not consider Toufeeq, for he fulfilled the criteria of being a prolific son-in-law from every aspect. After Ambareen’s affirmation, the proposal was accepted in a flash.

Since then, Daydreaming about Toufeeq had become Ambareen’s favorite hobbyhorse.

“Where do you think Toufeeq will take me for honeymoon?” Ambareen Asked for Anushe’s opinion with an excited smile, “I would prefer Nathia Gali or the valleys of Naran and Kaghan. I always wanted to go there.” She continued.

“Cross the bridge while you are at it, my child. You are asking me as if Toufeeq has exchanged with me his views regarding his honeymoon.” Anushe replied, while being bent on the sewing machine.

Anushe’s center of attention at the moment was Nida, her 4 year old student. Her birthday was just around the corner. She was busy sewing the seams of her frock that she had been working on for a week. It was her birthday present. This was the sort of love Anushe had harbored for her students. She zealously spent every moment with them, celebrated their birthdays, and when one of them was to fall ill, she would plunge into a state of agitation. Her students saw her as their ‘ma’am Anushe’; to her, they were her own body and soul.

. . . . . . . .

Ambareen’s wedding was just a month away. Anushe had been brooding over taking a month’s leave from the school to assist her mother with the work that had piled up.

She slowly knocked the door to Abrar’s office.

Abrar Siddique was the founder of ‘Little Angels Kindergarten School’. His 3 year old son Zain was in the care of Anushe. Abrar was a widower; Zain’s mother had passed away knuckling under the labor pains.

Abrar immediately accepted Anushe’s request.

As she was about to get up from the chair, she heard her name being called.

“Anushe!” said Abrar.

It was quite out of the ordinary. Abrar had never called her by her name. As she laid her eyes on Abrar’s face, he manifested as an entirely different person. Abrar had always maintained a veil of seriousness and solemnity on his face. This Abrar sitting before her had a tender and sensitive bearing on display.

“I wanted to let something off my chest for quite some time but I couldn’t muster up the courage” said Abrar.

Anushe was at loss for words. She continued listening without uttering a word.

“Since Zain’s mother has passed away, I never felt the need to remarry. I have remained confident that I shall foster Zain on my own. But when…..I……I…..don’t know……I…don’t know how to….say this but…” Abrar, who had been staring Anushe in the eyes shifted his gaze on the table. Sweat began to ooze on his brow.

“I have had feelings for you for quite some time but I never thought it appropriate to bring them to light. All I wanted to say is that I want to ask your parents for your hand in marriage, if you don’t have any reservations with me being already married. I couldn’t help but notice how Zain gets along with you, and how you treat him as your own child; this has emboldened me to take this step.”

Anushe’s heart began to race in her chest. She felt like she was hallucinating. It all appeared unreal and dreamed up. All her life she had been a quarry to pangs of inferiority owing to her plain-looking face. She made herself believe that anyone in his right mind will not be attracted to her. Despite all the tenderness, kindliness, she exuded, she had always been judged on the premise of her looks. Abrar, like a skillful artisan, saw a diamond in the rough. What a fortuitous stroke of fate to have brought this unexpected day, she contemplated.

As she gathered her senses, she heard Abrar saying:

“If you decline my proposal, I, with all my heart, will understand it. It is your right. You will always remain a venerable workmate for me. I just intended to know your stance on this, thus I unbosomed my fondness that I have for you.”

Anushe was feeling butterflies in her stomach. She had mixed feelings of contentment, mirth, and uneasiness. She wasn’t blackened fated after all, as her mother deemed her to be. It was for the first time in that moment she felt fortunate, just like the meaning of her name.

. . . . . . . .

She was walking briskly. She wanted to get home as soon as possible to share with her mother the wondrous event that had unfolded that day. She had borrowed some time from Abrar to think about his proposal. Upon entering the street, a passing ambulance caught her attention for a few brief seconds, but then she retreated back to rewinding Abrar’s words in her mind.

As she crossed the threshold of her home, her mother leapt towards Anushe.

“Something…something happened to…..Ambareen…..she….she...was………..standing in the kitchen….and….and then……she thudded on…the ground..and..and…she…..she…fainted.” Aqila completed her sentence bit by bit with a hoarse voice. She was on the tremble.

“Calm down, mother. Get a hold of yourself.” Anushe tried to console her mother.

Abrar was banished from Anushe’s thoughts. All she could think of then was Ambareen; her younger sister. The sole object of her affection.

. . . . . . . .

“Though inconspicuous, she has been suffering from dilated cardiomyopathy for quite some time. It has damaged her left ventricle to a point of no return. I fear that it may lead to heart failure in the near future.” Shafique stood numb listening to Dr. Adeel Shehzad, a prodigious doctor worth his salt.

“The only option left for her is heart transplant. But the impeding factor is her rare AB-ive blood group. Time is of the essence. If we didn’t find a donor within the course of three days, chances of her survival may plummet.” Dr. Adeel Continued.

Anushe listened to the doctor while looking at Ambareen through the door window. The apple of her eye; her gorgeous face concealed behind the oxygen mask, trying hard to cling to dear life

. . . . . . . . .

One and a half day had passed, but no donor could be found. Shafique had arranged the cost required for the surgery; he withdrew all his savings from the bank, sold Aqila’s Golden bangles, and that stack of jewelry too that Aqila had been hoarding for Anushe; it started to appear pointless.

Aqila was sitting on the prayer mat spread by Ambareen’s bedside on the cold floor of the hospital room counting prayers on her prayer beads. Anushe had left early in the morning for school to gift Nida with her frock; it was her birthday. She had left with the intention of returning within an hour; three hours had elapsed and she hadn’t returned yet.

The phone rang, bringing Shafique back to reality, who had been engulfed in his thoughts staring at Ambareen. The words falling on Shafique’s ears curdled his blood. He rushed towards the emergency room in a frenzy of panic. His world had been turned topsy-turvy in under two days.

. . . . . . . .

Arsalan was perpetually looking at his wrist watch; he was two hours late for his Engineering project management’s lecture. Arsalan’s attendance in present semester had been less than 70% and missing another class was unaffordable for him. He put all his force on the accelerator and the car headed at blistering speed.

As Arsalan rerouted eyes from his wrist watch back to the road, a young girl lost in her thoughts emerged out of the blue, crossing the road. Arsalan put all his weight on the brake pedal, the vehicle screeched but didn’t halt and hit the girl tossing her two or three feet away. Her vision went blurry and she felt unconscious

. . . . . . . . .

After the accident, the girl was brought to a nearest hospital forthwith and admitted to infirmary. In the time of doctors tending to her, she succumbed to excessive bleeding and fatal blow on the head, and expired. She had lost a lot of blood and the sufficient amount of blood could not be transfused to her owing to lack of its timely availability, for the type of blood coursing through her veins was a rare one: AB-ive.

After the blood was wiped off her face, looking at her ran a shiver down Dr. Adeel’s spine. He stood appalled at the whims of fate.

. . . . . . . . .

Surgery had been completed successfully. Ambareen’s body had accepted the new heart. The doctors told shafique that Ambareen will be put on immunosuppressive medications for the rest of her life, so that her immune system doesn’t reject the new heart at any point.

Aqila was sitting by Ambareen’s bedside, holding her hand. Tears were flowing from her eyes in an unbridled manner; she was crying silently, yet with a pain that was breaking her heart into innumerous pieces.

Shafique left the room and began to amble in the hall. He had to pay his gratitude to someone for bringing his beloved daughter back from the cusp of death. He stopped near a room. It was the hospital’s morgue.

. . . . . . . . .

As Shafique slowly pulled the white sheet off the corpse’s face, he descried a familiar face; a face with known features, but with a beauty not witnessed before. It was the face of a girl who always wanted to live in the beauteous skin of her sibling, now her heart was beating inside her beloved sister’s chest. Her wish had been granted, after all, she was Anushe, ‘The fortunate one’.

5. Black Magic

Returning to his hometown, Shahzaib had harly stepped out of the bus, when his eyes clapped on a middle-aged man seated on a bench in the waiting area. A little girl of about eight years or less was lying asleep in his lap. His face appeared familiar to Shahzaib; he did not mistake recognizing him, as he was Ghafoor, Shahzaib’s next-door neighbor. Without a minute’s delay, Shahzaib walked towards him, and after customary greetings asked making an allusion towards the girl:

“What has happened to Rafia, Uncle?”

Being a newly-minted medical student, it didn’t take Shahzaib long to find out that her pale face is symptomatic of some ailment.

“Shahzaib Beta! She had been feeling under the weather for more than a month. Her mother took her to a maulana sahib in a nearby village; it is by his virtue we have found out that she has been inflicted with some sort of black magic. So, I am taking her to Multan to a well-known exorcist.” Ghafoor replied looking at his daughter, who was anguishly moving in her sleep, as if having a bad dream.

Shahzaib struggled to bottle up his anger, listening to Ghafoor.

“For God’s sake, Uncle, you are an intellectually aware person; consult a doctor. Why are you hell-bent on dragging this poor soul from pillar to post?” Shahzaib earnestly implored Ghafoor.

Shahzaib’s words vexed Ghafoor.

“The generation of today has strayed so far from the religion; to them doctors are more exalted than our elders, just because they have crammed a few books.” Ghafoor angrily replied.

Shazaib’s words had invoked Ghafoor’s religious sentiments. Without contending anymore, Shahzaib bid him adieu and left for home.

. . . . . . . . .

The morning sun was slowly laving the plants in the garden. Shahzaib was ambling on the dew-ridden grass when a staggering voice emanating from the mosque’s loudspeaker stole all the colors of the beauteous morning.

It said:

“Malik Javed Ghafoor’s daughter has died last night. Her funeral prayer will be offered at 7:00 PM in the evening.”

Since then, a question in Shahzaib’s mind is in search of its answer that who was it that strangled innocent and helpless Rafia to death? Her literate by name only father, our groundless beliefs, or was it really black magic?

Imprint

Publication Date: 01-14-2020

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