A girl named Almas

Edited and Formatted by:

Maliha Zafar

Daastan PVT LTD 

House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040 

www.daastan.com 

www.meraqissa.com 

Text copyright © Zeeshan Ahmed

        Book cover art copyright © Anya Akhtar 

The moral rights of the writer and illustrator have been asserted 

All rights reserved 

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or distributed in any manner  whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of  brief quotations in a book review. 

ISBN 978-969-696-612-8

Printed and bound in Pakistan by Pixel Printing Solutions

Acknowledgements

"Don't let the sun go down without saying thank you to someone, and without admitting to yourself that absolutely no one gets this far alone."

- Stephen King, University of Maine Commencement Address (2005)

When I first wrote this story, I was a very different person, with a very different life, and a very different take on certain things. There's a lot that I have retained, a lot I have learned and unlearned; and a lot I have kept safe from those times, and this story is one of those things. This story stands as a reminder of how far I have come, and how there's still so much left to explore.

This story is dedicated to a certain panda (FP), and the rest of my chosen family.

This story is also dedicated to a certain Karishma, who, like a Kabir's doha, anchored me during the most tumultuous of times. Who continues to believe in me, like Tulsidas believed in his Ramcharitmanas.

Thank you to Anya Akhtar (Instagram: themughalempress), who made the cover art, and Maham Zafar (Instagram: myintrovertedbubble), who made the cover layout, and infused colors into it. 

Thank you Ommer, and Daastan, for helping this story prosper. 

Lastly, thank you Maliha for helping with the edits; it had been a while since I revisited this story.

A Girl Named Almas

“Patta patta, boota boota, haal hamara jaane hai, Jaane na jaane, gul hi na jaane, baagh toh saara jaane hai.” 

Only the flower’s unaware, rest of the garden knows My state, each and every bud that in the garden knows

- Mir Taqi Mir 

For years Almas had wondered what the world outside was like. It’s not as if she hadn’t seen it, but only in little pieces. You know, selected places, going there, but not there. 

Yes, just like that. There’s always been a mystery there… was the world the way she had imagined it to be? Or was it…different? Of course, a lot of it would be different. But how much, that she had always wondered. She sat on her bed, her hair untied and oiled, thinking about the places that she might never see. But…she hoped that she would see at least some of them. 

Her room was considered the strangest, among all the other rooms in the bara-ghar (the big house). She loved reading, and her room was filled with books. You could find books on her bed, under it, on the table, on her cupboard, and almost everywhere. 

She had been reading for a long time now. Initially it was difficult for her, as she couldn’t concentrate much, because of her work, or constant teasing by the other girls, but then she learned to ignore, and make herself immune to all the mockery. She matured as well, and started learning to balance her work with her life. 

Life…such a wonderful thing, she often thought. Being at this single place, and unable to go to far-off places was something that had been bothering Almas. Earlier she used to think this feeling would pass, but then it kept growing.  Have you ever noticed how there are things you would keep hoping would come to pass, but they never do. You stay that way, and at times never truly realize that all that is in fact, a part of you now. She, however, had realized this was something that her heart desired, and heart wants what it wants… What makes a person whole, and what makes the same person incomplete? 

These are the questions that the greatest minds have tried to decipher. Can someone become what they desire, and nothing else? Are we not a collection of different needs, wants and desires, and nothing else? This is something that Almas always wondered. 

She admitted that she has been too preoccupied to ponder all that, but she really wanted to. She wanted to see how people reacted, how they expressed love for each other. How they hated, and how they promised, and at times betrayed the people they swore their allegiance to. She had read a lot about all those things in the books she had read, but she also wanted to see it firsthand. Is that too much to ask for? She wondered what it would feel like to sit by the sea, and try to write something on the wet sand, using a stick, or her own hands and feet. She wondered what it would be like to lie under a winter sun, in a vast green field, and just be there, oblivious to everything else. She wondered how it would feel to meet a person, a stranger, and talk. Just talk, and listen, and nothing else. 

The knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She asked who it was, and a familiar, annoying voice answered. It was Qaiser. She hated her. She stood up and unlocked the door. Qaiser pushed it open and rushed into the room. She had a long, shiny braid, dark eyes and thin lips. Her almost-pointed chin seemed sharp enough to leave an impression. She stood there for a moment, and then said “Oye, pagal! Were you sleeping or what? Your hair…uffff! Tel se bharay hue hain! Tauba! Go wash your hair! And clean your room, Almas! And clean yourself too. Amma-ji has called you downstairs. Wants to talk to you.”