When Silver Met Gold

Chapter 27 - Call Me Ghazi

Every word has consequences. Every silence, too. – Jean Paul Sartre

The month of Muharram had started; it was the seventh of Muharram. I did not know much about the month only that Muslims mourned in this month for the grandchildren of Muhammad Peace be upon him. Everyone wore black color these days and did not do any sort of happy stuff like picnics and weddings. They respected the sacred month.

Asmat was sad as she told me stories about how the Grandchildren, of Muhammad, were deprived of water, food, and killed eventually on the tenth of Muharram.

For the entire month of Muharram and the other month, Safar, I was going to the Madrassah for the majalis that were organized there. My eyes stung with tears and my heart shattered for Hussein's suffering and death.

His sacrifice was a symbol of sacrifice in the struggle for right against wrong, and justice and truth against injustice and falsehood. He sacrificed his family and himself to save the religion from Falsehood and Munafiq, Hypocrite people.

People cooked various foods and dishes and shared them. Everywhere I went I was given boxes filled with delicious foods and bottles full of water or drinks. Even, in our house, Mami made the chef make something super luscious and she sent to relatives and friends every day. People did it in the love of Imam Hussein.

And I, loved Pakistan and its people.

*******

After the month of Muharram, my university classes were starting in the coming week. The Madrassah semester exams were starting from next week too. I was stressed and lazy. There were books all around me on the bed. I was sitting between them, staring at the wall, thinking about the only possible person I could.

Aaliyan's plaster was gone and a physician came every day to check upon him. He made Aaliyan do certain exercises. The bigger bandage on his head was replaced with two smaller bandages above his right eyebrow.

I felt heartache whenever I saw his face. Unlike before, he always seemed thinking a great deal. His face was decorated with gloom and his smile missed the charm and energy he used to have. But, all these things as much as hurting me, couldn't make me sympathize with him. He deserved that, he deceived.

Things were fine. We, Aaliyan and I, didn't acknowledge each other at all but in those moments when we were in the same room or even worse on the same table. I felt like a noose was being tied around my neck. I felt depressed, lonely. As if I didn't matter to anyone. My eyes got wet in those moments, that I hid by blinking too much or walking away.

Today was that moment.

I walked into the study room with a notebook and a pen in my hand. I had been stuck in an IT program. I had I handled very well when the same question appeared in my exams but I wanted to ask Uncle if I gave the right answer.

I stopped when I saw Aaliyan. I took a sharp breath. He was sitting on the couch with his laptop and a mug. He had eyeglasses on, I had never seen him with eyeglasses and god did he not look dashing. 

Uncle, as usual, was in his chair with a huge Urdu book in his hands. He loved reading Urdu Philosophers, and history. I was turning away but Uncle's voice stopped me.

"Musca, kahan ja rahi ho?" he asked where was I going.

I huffed and smiled at him, "I had a question but it's alright if you're busy."

"Who said I am busy?" he put his book on the table. "What is your question?"

"There's an IT program's coding I am stuck on, you know I hate IT." I strolled to his chair, giving him my notebook. I was in a constant struggle to keep my breathing and my heartbeat steady.