-1940-
I chewed on the long sugar cane as the bullock cart, which was being driven by my father's worker, passed through the fields of the plant that I was relishing.
The warm Amritsar light touched my skin, a feeling of joy and happiness without any reason filled my heart, as the cart moved slowly.
Everyone in Punjab owned land, atleast everyone in Amritsar owned it. It was our birthright. Being engaged in some sort of agricultural practice was something every Punjabi had to do in his lifetime. But my father's occupation wasn't successful like the people around him.
My grandfather was a self made man. My father'd once told me that he used to help him in the fields. Numerous workers, greatest agricultural implements, he had everything in his life.
But when he died and passed on the land to my father, after dividing them to all of the other siblings that my father had, all that we had was a mediocre sized land, and a petty amount in our hands to keep the business running...
Father wished that atleast one among his three children must know farming. Although, at heart, he was not very satisfied at me getting my hands dirtied in the fields, he allowed me to join him. And there were added reasons as my younger brother, who must actually help my father, loathes farming ; and that there weren't much workers left now to work.
I kneeled down on the platform where all the canes were stacked and looked at the end of the path, to see a middle- aged man, smiling, wearing his bright orange turban with pride.. my father, Amandeep Singh.
The cart stopped right in front of him, and I got down on to the land, the soft, wet mud soothing my feet, after a hard day's work.
"Look at you!.." My father exclaimed, chuckling, looking at my tired face.
"You've become so tanned, your mother would be so happy to see you this way..." He said, the smile not leaving his face.
"Let's get going, we have to be there by lunch, you know her, right.." I giggled as he spoke.
The only person me and my father feared was my mother. Not because she was intimidating, it was only because she was always a bit too emotional, and it could effect all of us, even it wouldn't involve us.
.........
"Harpreet!" My mother exclaimed, as she saw me entering my tiny house.
I already knew what she was going to say.
"When will you learn to be a girl? Don't you know that you have to wash your hands and feet before entering the house?" She scolded, as father entered the house behind me, trying to run away from his angry wife, trying to stay away from her sight.
"You're the one who's spoiling her, don't you know she's old enough to get married? She seventeen, she has completed her education... she is more qualified than most of the girls in the neighbourhood!"
"Mother!.." I said in a put-out tone.
"I'm not spoiling her, Kirran... she has to know farming.." My father defended himself.
My mother went back to the kitchen mumbling something, while I smiled at my father, and he returned it back.
I went behind my mother to the kitchen, a place that I didn't tread on that much.
"Oh let it rain today! My daughter has finally entered the kitchen!" She sarcastically said, looking at the roof of the kitchen, with cracks on it.
I nodded, not bothering to reply anything to her words. I took a bite of the tomatoes that she were chopping, for which I got a smack on my knuckles with a spoon.
"When will you learn cooking, Harpreet? You have to get married soon!" She said.
"Mother, I think Father wouldn't even dream of getting me married, at least now." I said, quite seriously.
"Leh! Didn't your loving father tell you about the proposal?" She spoke, moving her hands as she said those words.
"What proposal?"
"The Maliks? The family that father always talks about.." She said.
"Father!" I yelled from the kitchen, rushing to see my father, who was sitting on the wooden chair in our living room, looking at a few photographs.
"Father... why?" I said. The Maliks? I haven't seen the people before. The only time I have heard about them was when father told his childhood stories, where his friend was Yaser Malik. The way that he told how close they were, I realised that they lived like brothers throughout their childhood.
But that didn't mean that I could wed someone of a different faith, just in the name of friendship.
"I know what you're thinking, Harpreet...." He calmly spoke.
"You know that Yaser and I were and are great friends, though he is in Lahore with his family. It was our wish that one day we would have you and his son Zain, get married. It was a wish that I had forgotten about. He had sent me a letter saying that he, his wife and two younger daughters are coming to see you, this evening... I hope you understand..."
"But father-"
"Please Harpreet, I know that it is something no one has ever done before, but I know Yaser very well, he will treat you like his daughters."
"But what about the boy?" I asked.
"Oh, Zain? He is twenty-three, and he is now serving for the army of the British Raj! Here, this is you and him when you were little..." He handed me a small photograph. I guessed the little toddler was me, and there was a boy in a loose white kurta, who looked like he was six or seven years old, smiling and looking at me.
"I have already seen him?" I asked, quite in shock, as I had no recollections of seeing him, not even in the blur of my memories.
"You have, but you were too little, then.. Yaser had shifted to Lahore soon after Waliyha was born, as they couldn't handle the poverty they were going through. But now Yaser can stand on his feet, as Zain earns quite a lot from his service... Doniya, his eldest daughter, got married last year to a zamindar ... everything's going well for him now..."
"What about the other daughter?" I asked, as I remembered father mentioning about them.
"Little Safaa will be coming to meet you, I haven't met her, as she was born in Lahore..."
"So why isn't Zain coming?" I asked.
"Oh! Too many questions already?.." He chuckled, as I smiled feeling my cheeks turning warmer.
"Well, Zain works in Karachi now,"
"Karachi!?" I asked, quite shocked, to which he nodded.
Karachi. A city of dreams. Modern buildings, different people. A place that only existed in my dreams.
"Now go get ready it is three now, they will be arriving by six.." Father said.
_____
Hey! I know not everyone's happy at this moment. Zayn has left the band, I know it's hard to realise. I just woke up and read the news, and I was totally... I dunno ... my body just shut down.
I tried telling myself that it might just be rumour like it always happens.. but it's over... I know 1D is not over and we have to stay strong, but Zayn not being there is just, too hard to digest.
But all the sad things aside... here is my new fan fic that I have been planning for so long to write, and don't forget, this is also a historical fiction! It's a story during India's independence and partition... so please understand.
And I know a lot of Pakistanis as well as Indians read my works, and I don't intend to favour any nationality in this book. This book is about when Pakistan and India were one under the final years of British Raj.
So help me make this book a success, and I request that no one reminds me of the fact that Zayn has left the band in the comments. I am already stressed right now.
Here's a trailer I have made on the side in the multimedia section ... enjoy :*
Till then
xoxo
sweetdreams199