Bitter Sweet | ✓ (rewriting)

01 • wafat | وفات

"Meri jaan, Rashid Uncle wouldn't be happy seeing you in such a condition." Reem murmured softly as she stroked Fidah's hair.

"It doesn't matter now, does it Reem? Unki khushi ke baare mein khayal karne ka kya fayda, jab wo khud hi nahi rahe." Fidah found herself muttering back meekly.

(What is the point of thinking about his happiness when he himself is not there anymore?)

"Fidah, Meri pyaari si jaan. If there is anything that Uncle has taught you then it is that maut se buzdil darte hai, aur unki Fidah Jaan darpok to bilkul nahi hai."

(Only the cowardly are scared of death. And his Fidah is no coward.)

Fidah's face froze the instant Reem uttered those words. It was true that her whole life her Baba had taught her only one thing. Death was a gift and it was only a matter of time before this gift was due on each person's existence. Her Baba liked to call it 'khuda ka karishma', because according to him God only grant's death to his most beloved. And if we don't accept it wholeheartedly then we are nashukris because we are unhappy with God's gift.

Late Rashid Mahmoud indeed served for the nation and the fauji blood ran in his veins along with the unbreakable courage he carried like a valour, but he was also a god fearing man. Especially after his wife passed away. Fidah clearly still remembered an incident that took place when her Baba had come to pick her up from her Dado's place after his redeployment homecoming.

(Flashback)

___

An eight year old Fidah tumbled inside her paternal house, ready to indulge her Dado in her thousand complaints. Her face had specks of dust on them as her soft hazel eyes brimmed with unshed tears and the flawlessly ironed white uniform her Dado had dressed her in the morning was untucked and dirty as if someone had rolled it in the rubble. Her two pigtails were now arrayed as her bright blue backpack hung from one shoulder.

In sheer anger, little Fidah had thrown it on the sofa unaware of the man who was being an audience to all this. Finally when Fidah had taken notice of the man standing there in the corner beside Dado's ancient basket collection arms folded, keenly observing her, she ran towards him clinging to his leg. Her complaints were all forgotten.

"Baba!" Fidah chirped as Rashid Mahmoud picked his daughter up in his arms after months of seperation.

"Iddie Jaana" The man chuckled, swinging the last piece of his wife that was left with him in his arms.

"What has got you so riled up, Jaana?"

Fidah shook her head, refusing to let petty things affect her happiness that had come with her Baba.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat." Said Rashid Mahmoud, sighing as he put his daughter down rubbing away at the dust on her face.

"Khurram Chacha ke pineapple pastries?" Fidah questioned, her eyes lighting up with new found happiness.

"Khurram Chacha ke pineapple pastries." Her father smiled affirmatively as he grabbed her hand walking down the street.

People greeted her father and Fidah couldn't help but beam with pride. It wasn't everyday her father visited. As they neared the main street where the crowd got thicker, Fidah tightened her tiny arm around his.

Long before they could reach Khurram Chacha's patisserie the smell hit them ahead of the sweet indulgent display. Freshly baked bread, Sweet Yeast, Smell of warm butter. Fidah was already shaking with delirium as they walked inside the oldest shop on the block.