T H E gentle October breeze moved through the mammoth sized bedroom. The large windows that overlooked the lush greenery of the garden were pulled open. The crisp black curtains pulled apart for the moonlight to light up the room. A large Californa king sized bed occupied most of the room, at the foot of which was an ottoman. A door to the left of the bed led into the en-suite while the one next to it was for the closet. The room was situated on the ground floor. So not only did it over look the neatly kept lawn but also led one into it directly.
As the night began to proceed, the moon came higher on the sky. As it reached the centre of the midnight sky, an enchanting light was reflected on the glimmering surface of the pool. To preserve such a moment, nothing moved. No cricket chirped and no car drove by. For the first time in a decade it seemed as if all the residents of DHA had left. Leaving only their large homes to occupy land.
When the outside world became dark, his heart began to pump fast. It was suffocating. The deadly silence reminded him of how he felt. Empty. Hollow. Alone. And unfeeling. His fears gripped him from inside out. Even in the cool night he began to sweat profusely. When all became too much for his gentle heart to bear he wanted to shout at the sky. Scream. Make a noise. Anything to stop the unending stillness that surrounded him on all four sides. However, even in that moment of loneliness he was forced to remember something that had been in-graved in his mind since probably his birth.
"Ladkay rotay nahi hain" [Boys do not cry].
Mustafa entered his large bathroom. He supported himself with much effort and splashed his face with ice cold water. His face raised itself and he caught a sight of his hazel eyes red. His beard becoming wet by the second due to water running down it. His soft black hair messy thanks to all the pulling he had done.
Exiting the room, he threw his tie on to the large bed. Dragging himself to the windows, he began to stare at the stare at the starless sky. The black blanket that wrapped the large canvas made him feel weak in the knees.
Mustafa after having stared his fill at the dark entered his room. He pressed the intercom and ordered
"Rizwan bhai kamray mein ana zara,"
[Rizwan brother, could you come in my room]his tone was that of authority. But deep down only he knew how ashamed he felt. Rizwan had been serving his family since his early teens. Now he helped Mustafa out at night when he came back from his work.
Rizwan was a man in his mid twenties. With his golden hair and grey eyes, he had a huge list of women waiting to marry him. But the man deemed his loyalty to the Kamal's more important than anything in the whole universe. Hence why he had nominated himself to serve the young Mustafa for the rest of his life.
On entering the room, Rizwan worked mechanically. He took out his cotton pajamas and helped Mustafa change into them. After which he used his entire body weight to push Mustafa on his bed, who like a drunk body was of no help to support his own mass. Tucking him in, Rizwan pulled the curtains close. Everyone knew how much Mustafa hated the morning sun.
To him mornings were everything he was not. Happy. Hopeful. Optimistic. That long night Mustafa lay still in bed. No matter how much he tried sleep had as if run away. No where to be see. So all night he heard the soft, regular ticking of his bedside clock. The sound proving to be his sole companion at the moment.
It was at dusk. Mustafa could barely keep his eyes open. His muscles were fatigued thanks to the ten hour work shift and then the laying still in bed without a single wink of sleep. He heard it. The call to prayer. Fajar Adhan [call to prayer for the first prayer]. The first "Allah hu Akabr" [Allah is Great], did something to his soul. He did not know what it was. He tried to ignore the call of the muezzin [man who gives the call to prayer]. His justification to his denial to pray being how tired he was. As Mustafa listened to the melodious voice of the Imam [muslim equivalent of a church father] he could not help but wish to be one of those that were regular with their prayers. Alas the devil won once again that day as Mustafa let the call of his Allah fall into background noise as he finally fell asleep.
I N T H E M O R N I N G
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It was around nine am. Rizwan emerged into the bedroom.
"Mustafa bhai uth jain,"
[Mustafa brother wake up] he shook the shoulders of the man he had grown up with.
"Umhm," Mustafa's reply came out muffled.
"Jaldi karein warna baaji khud ajain gi,"
[Hurry up or madam will come herself] Rizwan threatened him with his mother.
Mustafa woke up immediately. He was sure as hell scared of that woman. His chachi [father's younger brother's wife] had been the one to raise him. His parents had passed away when he was in third grade. Since then he had moved in with his aunt and uncle. But he loved them as if they were his real parents.
"Bhai aaj kia pehnay gai?"
[Brother what will you wear today?] Rizwan questioned.
"Kuch kaala hi nikal lo,"
[Take out anything black] came the reply from his boss cum brother.
"Marzi hai,"
[Its upto you] Rizwan replied a bit sarcastically.
The man only had black in his wardrobe so obviously he would take out something black.
Rizwan picked Mustafa up and led him to the shower. Sitting him on the large floating bench in his larger than necessary shower, Rizwan let him give himself a bath while he helped with his lower body. Mustafa dressed up in a black formal suit and blow dried his hair.
"Toothbrush kar keh aajain. Nashtha ban gaya hai".
[Come after brushing your teeth. Breakfast is ready] Rizwan reminded the young man and exited.
Not before tying his shoelaces. Mustafa Kamal was born to a textile mill owner based in Lahore. He was an only child when his parents passed away. Then Mustafa was forced to move into his father's younger brother's home. Who took him in with open arms all due to the fact that Mustafa was a rich orphan.
Yet Mustafa's parents were smart. They knew about their greedy relatives so they made sure that the business would be run by his father's most trusted man until he turned of age. And so now at the age of twenty-eight he had been running his father's work for five years. No matter what, he could not forgot the people who brought him up. So the first thing he did was shift his uncle and aunt into his 4 kanal [unit of measurement] home in DHA phase 5 from their small 10 marla [unit of measurement] home in Gulshan-e-Ravi.
Mustafa entered the classy dinning room. His aunt and uncle with their son Shahrukh and daughter Rumaisa had already began their breakfast.
"Good morning," Mustafa wished his family.
In return he got whispered answers that did not even make it to his ears. Ignoring them, he felt a pang in his heart. Such behaviour made him feel as if he was not important enough.
Before he could ponder for long, Rizwan came and sat beside him. Rizwan was the son of his parents butler. Mustafa and him were like two peas in a pod. So he had been raised alongside him and on moving to his uncle's place never got out of touch. Once he took over the mills, he had invited Rizwan to be his assistant.
So Rizwan moved into his home and would accompany him all day long. Rizwan served Mustafa some pancakes and drizzled honey on top before serving himself a crisp paratha [bread]. The man had always claimed that nothing could beat good old desi nastha [local breakfast dishes].
After breakfast, they exited the house and Mustafa was helped by the driver and his best friend into the posh Mercedes. Inside the car, their driver had played some early nineties music.
Inside the luxurious car, a heavenly scent wafted throughout.
"Jamal bhai aaja kiya lain hai?"
[Jamal brother what have you brought today?] Rizwan could not stop himself from interrogating the man that was his dad's age.
"Beta aaj Aloo matar laya hun,"
[Child I have brought potato and peas today] he replied with a smile as he made eye contact through the view finder. The rest of the drive to the office on
MM Alam road was relatively silent.
Once they had approached the lavish building that was their head quarters, Rizwan and Jamal stepped out first. Opening the boot of the car, they pulled out a new wheel chair.
"Mustafa bhai aap ki nai wheel chair aagayi hai,"
[Mustafa brother your new wheel chair is here] Rizwan informed him before helping him get seated into it.
"Hmmm its more comfortable than the previous ones". Mustafa replied with a smile. He was ready to face the day.
Mustafa was a billionaire. A billionaire with a mark on himself. It was the paralysis of his lower half. Something that had been credited as incurable. Only weekly muscle therapy helped from complete muscle degeneration.
But was his disability really reason
enough for him to not find love? The entire world thought so. The young man was lonely. He was angry at Allah. But even then his Rab [Lord] hadn't planned the best of the best for him.
For His believers may forget Him. But He who loves His believers seventy times more than a mother can never leave them abandoned.
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