In Her Eyes

Chapter II

The end of the first great war saw the British Empire stronger than ever. To commemorate its victory over its foes and in memory of all those from India that had fallen fighting a war they didn't start, fighting for an empire they didn't support, and fighting against an enemy they didn't know, the British ordered a 42 meters tall monument to be erected in the middle of the city of Delhi that they had sacked almost a century ago. It was whispered for quite a while during the war that the British were seriously contemplating on rewarding the subcontinent after the war for its all its sacrifices, sweat, and blood it had shattered for the Empire. It turned out, in the end, to be another trick of the gora that they had cunningly utilised to gather the support of the Indian regiments in its fight against the German and the Ottomans. Such was the level of the deceit that the Indian regiments felt that they promised never to take part in any of the many militaristic affairs of the British Empire ever again.

In Lyallpur, however, little had changed. The emptiness and the solitude of the dusty town had prevailed in its own sense and so had the Keamari's butcher shop to everyone's surprise. Shahmir celebrated his tenth amidst the grand celebrations of victory of the British Empire that lasted for three months throughout the Empire. The celebrations brought in much-needed business for Dost Mohammad as the last two years of the war had dried up almost all the demand for small meat. At one point Dost Mohammad had even thought of shutting down the family business and opening up vegetable and fruit stall for vegetables and fruit were the only edibles a common man could any longer afford, but the idea was shunned by his blinded father who protested that all Dost Mohammad had to do was wait out the war. Dost Mohammad conceded to his father's wishes, but as a consequence, the Keamaris were forced to save up every single paisa that they could. During this time, Shahmir, now grown, found a job at a local bookstore under the care of an old man by the name of Gul Pir and continued working there long after the war was over. The bookstore hardly had any customers for most of the books it had were written in English and on top top that, most of them were first editions. Because of an increased amount of books being lent out and never returned, Gul Pir had made it policy that no non-White would be allowed to rent out any books unless they deposited a certain amount which was two-third of the actual price of the book. Because of this, the few of those who frequented the bookstore stopped coming in and soon afterwards, the bookstore seemed as deserted to Shahmir as their butcher shop. At this point Shahmir had learned how to read and write in English, but wasn't as good as he would've liked to. He would spend most of his days going through books with pictures in them until Gul Pir found him.

"You are in a house of words and you choose to look at pictures?"

After that Gul Pir barred him from touching any book with pictures in it and instead started him on children's book that Shahmir conquered within some weeks. Perceiving the incredible speed at which Shahmir was going through them, he moved him from children's books to fiction which were rather easy reads and then to stories written by some greats and then to ultimate classics. Gul Pir also gave him the task of writing down any new words he would come across and then to look up their meanings in the dangerously thick encyclopaedias that he had sorted out by the alphabets in a bookshelf that was rarely ever touched or dusted. Gul Pir was especially happy that at least someone from the local kin was interested in the words and stories of those long departed. It wouldn't be wrong to say that Gul Pir saw fragments of somewhat his own self in Shahmir. Though age had brought old wisdom to his colourless eyes, bent his back into a permanent hook, and taken from his knees the strength that they once boasted, he too was once just a child and all he wanted to do was read through the infinite pages that had life written all over them. Gul Pir was merely fifteen when his father passed away in a freak accident that saw him take responsibility of his mother who only years ago had been sentenced to bedrest for a back injury that had no cure nor no rest. Gul Pir later found work in an ice factory where he would labor fifteen hours every day to make enough to feed his three younger sisters. He never stopped reading, though, and even in the most terrible of times when he could see no light at the end of it, had no shred of hope left in his heart, and no will to live any longer, he always found peace in the coffee-strained pages that told tales of strangers, men, and beasts who did things he could've done in another lifetime if life was any kinder. In the pages he found the satisfaction that his own life failed to provide and would often tell his heart before he would drift to a dreamless sleep on an empty stomach that the strangers, men, and beasts have taken the adventures on his behalf.