Play of Fate

Chapter 27

یہ خدا کا ظلم ہے یا رحمت کہ
سانس اٹکی اسکی ہوئ ہیں،
جان نکلی میری جارہی ہے-

By author
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Awareness can sometimes be a curse. When you become aware of the all of the why's, the reasons behind the actions. And when it happens, we don't remain much sure about the identity of the victim.

Ironically somehow, we all are victims and offenders. Humans play so many roles in the stories of the lives of the other people. They could be unkown and known. Our role could active or it may be passive. Maybe a villian to one and a hero to another.

The funniest things is sometimes these roles are played consciously but other times, they aren't even in our awareness.

My breath got stuck in my throat. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath to ease my oxygen deprived lungs. When I opened my eyes again, wet tears moved down my cheeks, falling swiftly.

I didn't want to hear at first but somehow now that I did so. My heart didn't feel like a stone anymore. What made me reach out even I wasn't aware of it. It was just a sudden thought that I didn't hear his side of story. Now the story was there in front of my very eyes. I didn't know what to do it. The line between hate and love, forgiveness and to not forgive. They all blurred, making my heart to be in two pieces both apart.

His every word, every breath was radiating his pain. The chest that was being clutched by his hand, and that trembling body with that heart wrenching daastaan. If this wasn't prove of his suffering then what was?

In my own pain. I neglected that it couldn't be only me that was suffering. I added more and more pain to his suffering with my words and my attitude. Forgetting my own values that were taught to me. Hurting to ease your own pain can never bring you peace.

How could someone hide this much pain without even shredding a tear for this long?

"Ap q ro rahi hain. (Why are you crying?)"

His palms held my face with thumbs wiping away the tears underneath the eyes.

"Na roya kare mere liye, main is qabil nahi. (Don't cry for me. I am not deserving of it.)"

Tilted lips whispering those words. How could he even smile? I could admit that I didn't want to see him tilt his lips for this particular smile. It didn't look good on him.

He placed his head on mine, nose aligned, eye closed, breathing the same air. More tears spilled and then spilled. Joining each other.

Mine spilled on my helplessness and hopelessness. Helpless because when I decided to hear him. I knew that there would be something that would lower my rigidness.

Hopeless because it did and still it feels like it wasn't enough.

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My hands raised for prayer after burning the wisp of the cotton. I have already placed the chaddar on the grave of Bibi Pak Daman. I have been burning this diya every Thursday, doing what I promised. Giving food to every person that worked here or took the sanctuary in this darbar.

All of my prayers were same, only for this child that I have been nurturing, to be healthy, to remain stead feet on right path.

Today my prayer wanted my heart to become soft and forgiving like it was, sometimes ago. I wanted the blackness to be washed away. I wanted the courage to forgive and and forget for the better future.