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The Only Sun
Khadija Tul Kubra
Daastan Publishing
First Published in Pakistan by Daastan PVT LTD
House # A-41, Madni Street, Lala Rukh, Wah Cantt, Punjab 47040
Text copyrights © Khadija Tul Kubra
Book Design copyright © Anum Ameer
Edited by: Mariam Rizvi
The moral rights of the writer, illustrator and editor 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 978-969-696-719-4
This novel is dedicated to all those suns, irrespective of whether they reside in Pakistan or overseas. The Pakistani soil craves their warmth to flourish.
PREFACE
My dearest sun!
I wrote this sitting under the sun somewhere in Pakistan – the land of lost suns who went overseas and never returned. They sold their possessions and took risks for their longing families, but in the end, they found out that the only place in this world which welcomes them regardless is …Pakistan.
Nobody denies the fact that Pakistan has countless challenges. However, no problem has ever been solved by abandoning the country. We still have a bunch of dedicated young leaders among us who are putting their futures at stake for the betterment of our nation.
I am fortunate to have met and worked with some of those gems. Every day, when I pick up my pen to write, I want to talk about those suns out there who wake up every day with an impossible dream in their eyes, who are shunned by society for being too crazy, who are forced to abandon the land. Yet they don’t.
If you are one of those gems. I feel your pain. I know how much it hurts. I want to tell you that you are not alone. You are a sun of this soil. There are 100 others like you. Every ounce of soul that you burn every day to nurture this land will not go futile.
Together, we will shine so bright that all the negativities of this land will go away. You are not the only sun. You are THE SUN of this land. May your light enlighten other souls.
Your loving Moon,
Khadija Tul Kubra
Acknowledgments
I am very thankful to Dastaan's CEO, Syed Ommer Amer, for mentoring me on creative writing. I also pay tribute to Mariam Rizvi, who provided invaluable editing services. She is the Sun who glorified my work through her skills.
I am also grateful to Ms. Wardah Noor, who provided step-by-step support and resources which enabled me to turn this dream of book publishing into a reality.
Lastly, I am thankful to my parents, whose endless support and motivation helped me write.
MESSAGES
(DONORS & WELL WISHERS)
The Only Sun is a testament to the resilience of Khadija Tul Kubra, who came from a village where parents do not send their daughters to school. Her efforts paved way for other girls to pursue their dreams and achieve them.
I first met Khadija in February 2021 when she joined our digital literacy program. One day, she showed me some stories she had penned. I saw a writer within her. So, I enrolled her in creative writing courses. However, she astounded me by writing and publishing a novel so soon.
This book is an interesting read because it connects the reader to the problems faced by people in the disadvantaged areas of Pakistan. People living in metropolitan cities often turn a blind eye to the issues faced by people residing in remote areas of the country. The suns who go overseas and sustain themselves should not forget to pay it forward.
A shout out to the suns overseas whose selfless contribution and willingness to give back to their own country has strengthened initiatives like KhudKaar and empowered Khadija’s to pursue their dreams.
Ms. Wardah Noor
Founder
KhudKaar
KHUDKAAR DONORS
Khadija has made me believe that with willpower anything is possible.
Maham Nadeem
***
Going public with your work can be extremely daunting. But resilience is what brought you here. And resilience is what will take you forward.
Muhammad Bilal
***
Just knowing that a Khudkaar student is writing a novel brings nothing but joy. It goes to show how access to skills-based workshops can inspire young women of Layyah to achieve what they once aspired to.
Faiza Shibli
Resting among the trees of heaven, I am hoping that you are keeping your love for stories alive. Your story ended fast, but it ended loud. I am grateful for the life He gave you and the blessings you lived with.
All of us have our share of kindness and suffering in the universe’s greater share. But what matters is not what the universe gives us but how we return it. And you, my dear, exchanged your misery with kindness and hope. You traded well, my only sunshine!
Do you know there is this place filled with books, dreams, passion, and persistence - they call it Khudkaar House, and in it, they have built a library in your name. One of their students named Khadija wrote a book sitting in that library which was built by your Wardah Aapi and her fellows in your remembrance.
I hope the struggle of this nation’s youth for peace, justice, and prosperity lives on, and we end up in a place where we share joy, chai, and stories!
With a heart filled with your love, memory, and remembrance.
Yours Sunshine,
Ayesha Aapi
P.S. Muhammad Umar Rathore was a four-year-old boy who was brutally murdered on 21st Dec’19 by a group of four men in Islamabad. The murderers are facing trial in Model Court Islamabad and Umar’s family is seeking justice.
Umar Shaheed Library in Khudkaar was built in his remembrance.
CONTENTS
Evil for the Sake of Betterment
Stranger Couldn’t be a Partner
Zulaikhan Encountered Her Past
‘How to Live on my Golden Land?’
1
Adviser in the house
The green part of a small flag is half-visible, engraved in the soil of the yard. Last night, they celebrated the fifty-sixth independence of their country as the whole nation was enjoying the event in the manner of religious practice. Zareena had also brought small flags to decorate her house at the request of her son.
“Where is my golden land?” Mubashir asked.
“My son, it is hidden in your heart. You only need to find it.”
He replied, “Ok, I am going to find it.” Zareena laughed.
She bent down on the char pai, and taking out the mirror, combed, and applied fragrance powder that she had brought thirty minutes ago, preparing her son for school. Mubashir ran to the gate as soon as he was ready as his friends were waiting for him to go to school in a group form.
After Mubashir had left for school, Zareena went to the kitchen to prepare biryani for Hamid Hussain. The marks of mud on the unplaster walls were dominating the cement bricks as if an artist had crafted them with his sketching skills. She never regretted it because of their financial condition, and she had always consoled Hamid Hussain during severe deprivation days.
They have a fourteen-year old son, Mubashir Hussain and Hamid got a job in a government firm. His job was to register and report the city's upcoming welfare projects. However, his salary was not enough to provide them with an easy living, but he never complained about his job, even though people taunted him about his present job and his ability, “If you continue this unpayable job, soon it will make you more thrifty and miserable then present and we are sure you will be begging people to earn bread for your family.” Their comments had no effect on him because he was serving his land.
That night, Zareena prepared a special dish for her family. Mubashir had returned from school and he was playing in the street with his friends, in the hope that he would welcome his father at the gate when he comes back from work. But Hamid was late than his usual routine. Mubashir had went inside the house, and while doing his homework he had asked his mother ten times, “When will Abu come back from the office?”
Zareena had been worried herself but didn't show it. Hamid Hussain usually comes back from duty at 3 pm but something weird could happen with him today that restricted him from going home. Since past his arriving time, the door had been knocked three times, and each time Mubashir had ran to the door, hoping this time his Abu will be outside and he will hug him. But Mubashir was disappointed each time as Hamid didn't come.
Zareena had been analyzing his discomfort. “Sit down here, Mubashir. Your father is serving his country, we should not worry about him. You know he prefers the country over everything.” She put his head in her lap and swayed.
The office was full of staff. “Call the ambulance, it might be a heart attack,” a man shouted. “Take him to fresh air. Please don't hinder the way, take him aside.” Everyone was rushing in a state of panic. Hamid Hussain must be given first aid immediately so that his life could be saved.
At around ten pm, an ambulance stopped at their door. Its siren was turned off because others might get disturbed by it at this time of the night.
The door knocked. Zareena would have possibly run, but, she did not know Mubashir had not slept. He ran in front of his mother to welcome his father and hurriedly opened the door. Two men were standing, the tension on their faces evident. Mubashir's gaze followed to the row of five to six people standing behind. They were carrying something on their shoulders wrapped in white. One of the men put his hand on Mubashir's head showing sympathy; he was uncle Akram, his father's friend, and colleague.
“Who are they, uncle? Where is Abu?” Mubashir asked looking from one face to another.
“Here is your father,” he said, and the men went inside the house placing the dead body in the yard.
“Hamid Hussain died due to a heart attack. It was a severe attack that exhausted him in seconds before we could call the ambulance for early medication,” Akram said forcing Mubashir not to look at his father's face.
Zareena could not imagine it was her husband lying in wrapped white sheets who had happily went to the office in the morning. “He was not ill, nor was he depressed. How is this possible?” she sobbed.
“You are right, he was in a pleasant mood today. But in the afternoon, the boss gave him a file. For almost thirty minutes he remained in the office. We weren't aware of what was happening inside then. When Hamid came out, he had a file in his hand, he put it on the table and heaped his head over it. We thought he had been relaxing for some time, but when one of us called him and he didn't reply, we got nervous. I examined his nerves and he was not breathing,” Akram told all the while looking down.
“What was in the file?” Zareena asked.
“It had papers claiming that Hamid had signed illegal permission for water supply for the slum areas. It is considered corruption, and because the area is still pending for water supply.”
Zareena sighed with relief. She started applauding. The attendants there thought that she has lost her senses. She continued applauding for a long time. In reality, she was paying tribute to her brave and courageous husband who had compassion for the slum area people. He had died for something good. That's why there was no need to be sorrowful. Her husband hurdled like a gigantic wall before the corrupt people who couldn't bear the water supply for poor people. One of their neighbors made her sit down. Some women were whispering that perhaps she is happy on her husband's death.
Although Mubashir was a child crying for his father, few thoughts wandered in his mind. He tried to escape from them for some time. Would anyone have answers to his question? People continued visiting them for condolence, and pretended to be equally in grief as they were in front of Zareena. However, their grief was just for show, as they turned the next moment and whispered to others what had happened to Hamid Hussain. Many of them avoided to stay long at their house because if they did so, Zareena would probably ask for help as a widow. Her husband had died and she would seek help.
Zareena noticed their attitude, but she didn't want anything. She was interested in talking about her martyr husband. How he had sacrificed his life for the welfare of his people. They consoled her to be strong for the sake of her son when none was concerned about whether she was weak or strong. They said those words, so they would not be available for help later on.
Alone in the house yard, Zareena and her son were waiting to put their heads on someone’s shoulder and moan about their broken family.
“I am not on a quest for answers, scattering my mind. But if I don't ask, I will surely become mental. My heart is empty; it has nothing in it to find something like gold. Gold glitters, but my heart is dark inside. The mansion that was in the process has been demolished. Is it my land? Are they my people? Can I find my golden future here? How is it possible to stay a true patriot for your whole life and die like a person who has betrayed his land? Is this the reward that your land gives you?” Mubashir asked.
She raised her hand, and helped him stand up. Zareena, wearing a black dupatta, walked towards the iron stairs. Widows cannot even blink outside in this society for the duration of her iedat but she kept moving. “Come with me,” she said.
They were going up the stairs. “Ami, stop, you can't go up further. People will criticize you if they saw you on the roof,” he warned her. She stepped up without listening to him.
On the roof, she viewed the sky and said, “Who will see or not see, who reaches our doorstep to teach us the tradition, who are concerned with life or aren't; this is not our problem. If you close your eyes in front of society, they will engulf you like the cat who thinks the poor pigeon was her hunt, so she ate it. And if you make eye contact like a dog, they will call you bad, but after that, they will not be able to eat you. Be the one who saves his interest from others. Do not stop, not even if it creates your bad image before the world, but it will save you from long-term destruction. We will not fill our minds about what others think of us. But, thinking about how we have to survive in this world with self-esteem.” All the while, her eyes remained straight in the sky.
Zareena took his wrist and pulled him closer. She made him stand before her and asked, “What you can see now?”
It was very dark, with the moon hidden behind the clouds. There was quietness all around. Mubashir described what he saw.
“Observe it again and then tell me what you see,” she said.
“There is nothing special in the scene but a small house expanding on a large span of the land,” he answered after a while.
“The scene is not just a large span, it is the habitat of various people from different races. What keeps all the different people living together? Why are they living here? When this land was barren, it didn't request anyone ‘please come and live here.’ They came here for their survival. If this land hadn’t allowed them to make it their home, they would be under the sea, engraved in the mountains, or killed in some battle. Now, who is precious, the land or the people?” sShe asked.
“The land,” he answered.
“Who is the savior of this land?”
“The people who live on it.”
“You can't blame the land for reward because we inhabitants are responsible for whether we get a reward or regret from our actions. Our great reward is that we have this land. We have safe places to live; it is a shelter from unwanted storms,” said Zareena.
Dawn was at its full boost; its piercing rays were penetrating the skin as if someone is knitting sweater with a sharp needle. On the small veranda of a worn-out home, she was staring at her son,
“I don't know how you will scale the difficult mountains in life without your father. Like the sun, you must be strong and warm and create your own identity on the planet. Its fire color signifies the fear for its enemies; its rays are evident that its approach is measurable. Although it can hardly approach Neptune, its rays are the only things that can touch that planet. You will be the next sun of this land, my son.”
A wandering cat was creating noise through the empty dishes searching for meat. She had been enjoying good meals for the past few days as large meals were prepared for people coming for condolence. It grabbed her attention.
“Mubashir, wake up! You are going to school today. I can't bear your continuous absence; it will affect your studies.” Zareena said while shaking him from sleep.
Mubashir opened his eyes, rubbed them, and dangled his legs over the char pai. Last night's feelings were looking like a dream, he could remember little of them. One of the most vivid of them was that everything could change through magic. He could escape to the fairyland where everything was available in a blink of an eye just after the moment when he thought about them. He had such a dream last night, where everything was clean, and people there were walking in a crystal ball or in a bubble that burst with one touch.
“You are getting late,” she yelled from the kitchen, while mixing sugar into milk. In the street, the blackened sand was decorated with half-buried nylon shoppers, junk eatables wrappers, and unwanted papers. The sand did not look like sand anymore; it was a black shawl embroiled with every type of pearl. Mubashir was pacing over the ground putting his feet on the pure ground.
“Salam! Mubashir have a good day my son,” chacha Rafeeq called him as he used to do with Hamid Hussain. “Salam Chacha,” he waved his hand and carried on.
“Mubashir, you will be late for the interview,” Zareena said. She had been creating a hustle in the house. It was the beginning of a new era; after ten years. Twenty-five years old Mubashir had completed his studies. His dreamy world cluttered away, and he dashed towards the bathroom, showering with the steam water coming from the tap as it did when summer was at its peak. It was the blessing of the municipal committee that the citizens were using the hot, unpleasant-smelled water. Several areas in Karachi were even deprived of this blessing, and water tanks distributed clean water gallons among citizens at overpriced costs. And the distribution ceremony of water mostly became the cause of conflict. Citizens didn’t even avoid grabbing old men's collars and women's veils. Their colony was free from this tension as Hamid Hussain had facilitated his people by acquiring the authority's consent for water supply in his area. Mubashir quickly wore the blue ironed shirt from the outdated wooden almari.
“Breakfast is ready,” Zareena called. She was waiting, waving away the unwanted bees flying over the breakfast. Mubashir came and took a cup of tea. On his third sip, he placed back the cup and stood up to leave. “Can I go, Ami?” She nodded and permitted him. He wondered if Ami would now ask when will he return but she didn’t. He had his CV file in his hands. It was his capabilities that he showed in his educational career as a brilliant student. Zareena kissed his forehead and made a little prayer for her son as he was leaving.
“Mubashir!” Rafeeq chacha yelled from his shop. “Wish you the best, my son. I am sure you will get the job according to your capabilities.” Mubashir didn’t even look at him. He was nervous about his interview; the terror of rejection would flinch away from him, his determination. At the bus stop, his thoughts were perplexed. What would happen? The answer to his question was simply not to lose hope. If he gets rejected from the company, it would mean that post was not meant for him. It was not adequate for the skills he had learned over the years. It would mean that he should learn the natural rule that God is a man's well-wisher; if He takes opportunities and people away from him, it means they were not right for him. They had bad consequences that only God knew.
When the bus arrived, passengers attempted to occupy the vacant seats first. Some people were getting off, while others were pushing their way in from the exit bus door that seemed like a center of a fair in the community. The bus conductor tried to crowd more passengers in to make more fares. With the second jerk, Mubashir got in the bus. Some women had their trunks in their hands when getting off the bus. Shocked women's veils have got down in the crowd, pretending to belong to the most respectable and honorable families a few minutes ago. Half of their covered hair showed; no matter, they would quickly manage it once their feet touched the ground. One of the women looked around to confirm no one was seeing her. Mubashir was the only witness of this scene from the bus window under the passenger's elbow, sitting on the seat in the direction of that window.
The next stop was another spot of battle. Vendors, small business sellers, and people with no aim were sitting along the roadside. Along the last row, laborers waited for contractors to hire them. Unemployment ruled over the country. Their deprived faces were the best storytellers of poverty.
He stood up from the seat to give the old man place for exiting. He was now comfortable on the seat because sitting with the old man was very hard. “Thank you,” he said and exited from the bus. He managed his now-wrinkled shirt and tie which seemed not to have been washed for months. The file in his hands was half-absorbed in sweat.
“What ugly person they are. Discipline is miles away from their life, and they don't want to touch it if someone brings it to them. Because everybody is in a hurry, they want to accomplish their work by being first. And in this attempt, others could get crushed or hurt,” Mubashir thought to himself while making his way towards the office building.
He walked a few more steps and reached the appointed building where his interview was to be. He entered the air-conditioned office, and a man with a long beard and an unfriendly face asked him to wait until the boss arrived. Nervous, convulsive, and trembling from fear, he gazed at the wall portraits. “Is it my golden land where people have broken desire in their eyes?” he wondered.
Golden meant the land of availability. The land where everyone could enjoy their basic rights. Zareena had continuously been pursuing to focus her son's attention on his land and his future and remove the junk thoughts that come over him in the form of opportunities. Still, he had these thoughts, and his mind wanted to clear out all the rumors, but the situation turned out to be the opposite. After an hour of waiting for the boss, a man entered. A servant was lifting the man’s things that didn’t need a person to carry them; they could easily be put into a pocket or bag. However, this practice was necessary for that man to differentiate himself as boss. Sometimes people could bear extra expenses, but they couldn’t abandon their apparent attitude. It makes their personality fake. Despite all these pretenses, they keep thinking about what others would be commenting on their personality.
The bearded man informed the boss that some youngsters were waiting for their interview for the company’s interview call. The boss paid no attention to what he was telling him. “Maybe the interview call was just a poster for promoting the company, and they have no vacancies at all,” Mubashir wondered. Nine other young people were on the waiting list along with Mubashir. Everyone was expecting brilliance from his side, and that his selection would be on merit shown by his CV. After gazing at the portraits for another hour or two, the long-bearded man starts calling out names. Each person returned with harsh facial expressions after their interview. “Maybe the boss had such an impossible query that every gentleman couldn't solve it,” Mubashir thought.
Only one man was remaining. After whom it would be Mubashir's turn. The man was anxious, sitting on the edge of a large sofa. He hadn't propped himself against the sofa's back because uncertainty can happen anywhere and anytime. What would he do if the sofa cloth clung from his buttocks and he had to reach the boss's office within two seconds? That's why the man sat on the edge to avoid any kind of accident. After a few minutes, the man was called in. “Now it will be my turn,” Mubashir tightened his tie that didn't need the further angle to fit on.
“Mubashir, you can go in,” the man said. As he was entering, he encountered the anxious man, his face very harsh, swollen from redness. “Maybe the boss had asked that man to solve the query from his face, rather than his mind, therefore his face got injured while dealing with difficult products,” Mubashir thought. He entered the office. There were three chairs with a large table headed by one ruling chair in front of it. He felt like he was in Murree, shivering from the cold. If he stayed for thirty minutes, then certainly, his teeth would begin to chatter tatter. Mubashir formally greeted for a good expression. The boss was looking down at the files, and he didn't greet back. There was silence on both sides. After a few minutes, the boss looked up at him and said with pride, “Hmm, so Mubashir, you are willing to apply for a manager vacancy. Let's prove that you are capable of it; if you couldn't, then you may go.” Mubashir was taken aback; how could he show in one minute his capability? “Now, I understand why the man's face was red,” he thought.
“Mubashir, would you prove it or not?” The boss asked again.
Mubashir smiled, “Sir, first you should prove that you have a vacancy because my excellence needs days to explain, but your vacancy doesn't, so you can do it easily. Please do it.” He said with more confidence.
The boss got in a rage. “Mediocre, ill-mannered! Who allowed you to get in? You fuck, stout, showy evil! Who allowed you to measure the abilities of others just because you have shit job opportunities for them?”
“Abilities are not packed products that can be demonstrated at one demand. These are developed by the sacrifice of old parents who lose their eyesight with the intention that one day, their son would be able to get a good job. And that day, their sacrifice will bring fruit. You aren't measuring abilities, you are just putting salt on those sacrifices!” Mubashir yelled at him. “You don't have a vacancy, I know it. You are a rope dancer beating his drum on every spot of the city with the thought that you may get some attention!”
The boss couldn't say a word. Mubashir was telling the truth. The boss was checking who comes on his interview call and how many people will read his company posters in the city.
The noise could be heard outside. The servant wanted to come in at one moment, when the noises got much louder. But the long-beard man stopped him, “Boss hasn't called yet; he will call you when he needs you.”
Mubashir opened the door to leave and saw the servant who was at the door trying to listen in. The servant stepped in the other direction, avoiding the severe hit with the furious man. Mubashir was disappointed and worried about what he would tell his mother, who till now would have woven many dreams to accomplish from this job. In past times, poverty jolts were bearable, however, she could be happy at least today that her son would get the job. Indeed, it could be the hint of happiness for Zareena that her son had reached adolescence and was finding employment to live an independent life.
Being rundown from poverty, ordinary people try to smile over little things that may have no value to others, but they do it for mere seconds of happiness. The upper-class has many reasons to get happy if they couldn't create reasons for happiness it. They have developed an artificial system to be happy; by arranging parties, donating large amounts to charity, and showing their generosity by emptying their pockets in public places. They could buy happiness easily. It negates the notion that you can't be happy with money. Rather than regretting themselves and others for their bad condition, they establish an environment to laugh and spread smiles on others' faces even if others themselves are millionaires. And yes, money can make you happy for some moments and those moments are whole in themselves. What about poor people? How they would be happy if they don't have money to create that environment? Would they regret their fate their whole life? Would they remain unhappy every time they discuss the electricity bills and children's unplayable fees? No, they will be happy by finding the little sources of real happiness. For them that happiness will extends the next three decades. For instance, the father of eight children may get a job in the city's largest firm with a satisfactory salary, it will be a prize bond for his children, their children, and his grandchildren with the guarantee of a safe future. Ordinary people celebrate that moment their whole life until they enter the upper-class forgetting what difficulties their ancestors had to go through. This generation gap among both classes affects their minds.
Mubashir walked along the road, hoping to catch the public transport that passed by his area. The regular transport bus had passed fifteen minutes ago; if he was lucky, he could find the next bus. A huge truck-shaped bus, usually driven-by northern people in Pakistan, sirened loudly. It was decorated like a newlywed bride, visiting each spot of the house getting to know everything better. Mubashir turned to see the vehicle quivering with an elephant sound on the road. Unlike other vehicles, it had vacant seats. Its passengers seemed at peace, enjoying their own company looking at the road. He ascended into it and sat on one of the seat whose second seat was occupied by another young man.
Mubashir put his head on the seat next to his, and propped over his hands. The man observed him. The road jerks, loud horns, and summer heat did not affect him. This summer season was more intense than the previous one.
If people do not die from poverty, they certainly will expire from the heat.
After a while, the man asked if he could talk with Mubashir. Mubashir didn't reply; he didn’t even move. When the man didn't get an answer, he bent over his seat. Mubashir was dozing when someone stroked him: a mustached man with a scarf on his shoulder taking bus charges. Mubashir rummaged in his pocket and took out fifty rupees. Taking the fifty rupees, the mustached man said thirty more were required, as they are providing them out-of-time transport. Mubashir looked into his eyes and wanted to ask if he could be discounted for that thirty rupees.
“Can I say something-,”
The man on the seat next to Mubashir quickly extracted thirty rupees and gave it to the mustache man before Mubashir could complete his question.
“Thank you very much.”
“Don't say this. I must help someone who is in trouble,” the man said.
“You are right, but you can't help every time. Sometimes situations don't allow you, or the situation is higher than your position that hinders you from taking action for others,” Mubashir replied.
“I always help. If I’m not able to, I don't let them go without giving a good suggestion. By the way, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Zahid, and I am a banker in the city's bank.”
Mubashir was pleased that he had met a person related to his profession. “Nice to meet you. Mubashir from Karachi. I have also studied finance.”
“What do you do for a living?”
Mubashir hesitated. He didn't want to appear as a pitiful, jobless creature before him, “I have just completed my studies, and today was my first job interview.”
“Very nice,” Zahid said. “Are you sure they will hire you?”
“Don't know. But, I'm hopeful that they will.”
Zahid hands him his contact card, “If you don’t get that call, apply to my bank. There is a vacancy for a fresher. Hope you will be lucky enough to gain it.”
The bus stopped. “Here is my destination,” Zahid said. He grabbed his bag and got off.
Among a hundred closed-doors, a single window can show a hope of brightness. Mubashir’s courage had boosted up. He told Zareena that the job did not match his standard and that's why he would go for another one tomorrow. Zareena was an intelligent woman who could read facial expressions. She noticed Mubashir didn't talk much about the interview as he used to tell her everything; from A to Z, and Zareena would laugh at the interesting moments narrated by her son.
“You are right, it was not according to your grades, but I didn't stop you. Experiences make you able to choose the best one,” she smiled. “You should eat something and be prepared for the next interview.”
Lying on the char pai that night, he thought about his future. How many dreams have I had had before entering professional life? I thought that life would be very easy; I would achieve those dreams within one click. But, I was always wrong about achievements. You have to sacrifice many things to achieve them. You dig a well and drown in it yourself rather than a click. It isn't the place I deserve, it isn't the future my skills have needs to be wasted on it. He was beginning to see how unfit he was in his country. This experience acknowledged him now, and for the rest of the days, that it wasn't the best place for youth to live and wait for opportunities, knowing that opportunities have been banned here ages ago. If you are a follower of ‘eat, sleep, and be merry,’ this slogan can leave you here with an average living standard but if your morals are high then you should leave this place to let miracles happen in your life.
I have to find a place where miracles happen in life and opportunities knock at the door. It was well into the night and he could hear the dogs barking. He got up and went for a walk. The street was dark, nothing was visible. The dark side of the dark place, he didn't like this place, or its people. If he were a millionaire, he wouldn't look back at this place even if a huge amount was offered to him in return. Three drug addicts were sitting over the colony garbage, crying from pain or smelling a white powder. They didn't know whether it was day or night. They didn’t care about the barking dogs or the darkness in which they were floating. Mubashir was analyzing what they were doing here. He had no concern for them. The poor, ignorant men knew nothing; they were wasting their life to be lulled into drugs. Mubashir loathed people who wasted their lives. People who think someone else will change their life, but it doesn't happen without willpower and inner determination. Mubashir was deep in his thoughts, and had no idea that someone could come up behind him. He felt incredibly afraid when someone held him from his back. Another drug addict started singing a classical song by the legend Mehdi Hassan. Mubashir threw that drug addict on the ground.
“Are you mad?” he yelled.
“No, I am a scholar. Country's greatest scholar who was being ignored everywhere,” the drug addict replied.
“Scholar,” Mubashir snickered. “All of you are black sheep for our country's integrity. If you have even a little bit of sense, then abandon these drugs and come to the real life, doing positive actions for your future.”
“I did it years ago, but it was useless. And I don't do work over and over again that can't bring fruit at the end.”
“Disappointed?” Mubashir inquired.
“Hopeless, dead-hearted.”
“Then, Mr. Scholar, what is your education?”
“Doctor of philosophy, but they say that my qualification has no use in this country. I was left jobless, while fifteen members of my family were dependent on me. But, now the good thing is that they cut off their hopes associated with me as I become a drug addict. I beg whole day long and get enough till the evening to buy drugs at night. This is my life now.” The man had been rubbing his neck; maybe he was in pain and immediately wanted to take the drugs. But he was excited that someone was talking to him.
“Wouldn't you apply for other opportunities?” Mubashir asked.
“Opportunities,” he guffaws. “What does this term mean?”
“It….,” Mubashir was about to reply, but the man continued.
“Opportunities mean that everyone needs talented people. If you are rejected from one place, then soon you will find the best one which will match your skills. But, I roamed ten years continuously being rejected from everywhere, and now I am here.”
“Patience is the best answer to difficulties, it gives you what you can't imagine from the greatest one, God,” Mubashir advised him.
He was now sure that every condition had a reason behind it. Man who changes the conditions of progress, is called a courageous man who gained what he dreamt. But, if the same person is changed by the condition, he is considered a sluggish, ill-fated deprived person, who shouldn’t live with a successful person in society. People hardly talk with him and consult him over matter is another thing that is far from his reach. In a place, where merely you are affected from that bad condition, when people suicide who are dependent on you, when many eyes seek answer from you, there patience can't exist. It is a dark place for youth to grow. They are blind from their destination, and they don't know what their future brings for them because of uncertainties. If a firm finds more intelligent people, he fires the previous one without giving them training to gain the same experience. That's how the first one is left unemployed, for the next ten years finding job opportunities until their life would end.
Mubashir said, “But good opportunities can be built if you have determination. I will show you this.”
“Okay, show me. On that day, I will agree with you that all of us were at the wrong way.” The man walked back toward the other drug addicts. He withdrew a white paper and began smelling it. Mubashir looked at him for a while, then he returned home.
I have to go to sleep now, if I want to appear fresh in the interview tomorrow. What would be my future if I couldn't prove what I challenged with that drug addict?
The next day he woke up without alarm and before Zareena had called him. He took off his clothes and got into the shower. Luckily, the water was cold and he enjoyed it. Unlike yesterday, it didn't burn his body. He had realized a few things, when he had confronted rejection on the previous day. He was making efforts to achieve what he wanted and it was worth seeing. Perhaps it was because of rejection or the challenge he took before that drug addict.
Zareena could imagine the change in her son, he was growing up with every passing moment. He took his file and opened the door. The street was in full hustle. Students were lifting ten kilo bags over their backs were walking like a tired donkey, who would fall after taking three steps ahead. Their faces were pale brown and looked more like iron deficient patients than young students. Mubashir saw them, and wondered that the new generation has responsibilities too, just like old people. They remain active all day, going to schools and tuition centers in an attempt to gain as good as they can. It would be morbid for them and their parents that they had no future at all. Therefore, they must abandon their routine, messy activities and would have to take self-initiative from now. But, success needs step-by-step processes. If they act upon his advice, they will have to face greater risks. The risks of a low family economy, societal standards of educating children, and the promise that their children would get jobs after completing education. The idea of a job after education is inevitable in this society, therefore they will have to continue this activity at least for the next fifteen years. Maybe these students are on the right track, he thought.
He passed by them discreetly, not touching the sides of their bags to disturb their somnambulating. Rafeeq chacha greeted him. He had shoes in his hands, mending their soles. Almost all the people in the colony were poor, therefore they had to wear the same shoes for months or even years. They encountered the winter's intensity and summer heat in the same shoes without regrets. If asked how they pass intense winter days without socks, they would certainly smile, and say that they are enjoying the weather, even though their feet would be colder than ice. Undoubtedly, they don't have the money to replace leather sandals from joggers. For this reason, they pretend that they don't wear joggers or socks because the central hindrance pin of the sandals, and second they feel suffocation making them obese from heavy woolen clothes and shoes.
Rafeeq chacha, would be the best choice for mending their shoes. Everyone benefitted from his near-free and discounted services. Some gave fifty rupees, some asked a discount on half of the charge, and those having empty pockets would ask Rafeeq chacha to write down their expenses and at the end of the year they will pay off the debt. But for years nothing would happen for them to return the old man's debt. Some of them repaid their account. Rafeeq chacha himself didn't ever tried to make them remember that they are his debtors.
“What a terrible life Rafeeq chacha is living in. Would he be satisfied with what he is getting off from this land? Its inhabitants are very cruel in that they never take pain to pay off this old man's money.” Mubashir thought.
Though Rafeeq was a cobbler, solemnity had revealed from him. He endured his work passionately when he spiked nails in leather shoes that looked like preparing an operational kit for the country's safety. Mubashir saw him, but he didn't reply to his greeting, because he was running late.
Through local transport, he reached the bank address mentioned on the card, the man in the truck had given him yesterday. The mirrored gate was protected with iron-crossed barriers, square-shaped collectively hundred in range. Mubashir showed the card to the guard at the door. The guard looked at his face closely and then let him go into the building.
He was in the first section where the accountants were busy with the calculation. A woman was typing something hurriedly. Mubashir didn’t find Zahid till now. He took slow steps looking around, trying to find him. He looked at the corner cabin and continued his gaze to the next wall, but Zahid wasn’t there. Probably he was a liar.
He turned to look at the back cabins row, and suddenly Zahid saw him in the center of the large room among many visitors. “Mubashir!” he waved his hand as Mubashir turned around and spotted him. Mubashir paced towards him. Zahid greeted him heartily and Mubashir could feel his sincerity himself.
“I thought you didn't remember my name,” Mubashir said.
“And I told you that I don’t leave anyone helpless, if I could give people the best for them. I think you forgot?” he smiled.
Zahid then took out the phone, “Hmm, two cups of tea, please.” Putting the phone down, he turned to Mubashir, preparing him for the interview.
“The manager is in his room. There is a vacancy in our office. I hope you will nail it. If you act confidently and your CV and skills are approved, the manager will hire you, I am sure about it. He is a good man.”
Indeed he was nervous, but it was a day he had always dreamed of. After having tea with Zahid, he went to the manager's office for the interview. He was dressed well: the charming blue color that caught everyone's attention, straight combed hair with gel so he might look more active than his ability.
As he saw the manager with the black and white patches on his face, insecurity, lack of confidence, and worries greeted him. The manager smiled and asked him to have a seat. A noble generous man, maybe his generosity would detect my abilities. But, then, some people show good manners while in reality, they are hunters, some show cruelty but are saviors. Which one would he be hunter or savior?
The manager asked for his CV. He examined it and raised his eyebrows in admiration, saying “Hmm…hmm,” to no one in particular.
“Your qualification is associated with the job, but there is a need for experience,” the manager said putting down the CV.
Ah, another rejection. His stamina was not under control. Still, the manager hadn’t said no. A battle between accepted and rejected fought in his mind.
“But, everyone gains experience when he has been given the first chance. You can join from now. Zahid will guide you in your work.” The manager pushed back the CV. Mubaahir was pleased as he took the file, “Thank you, sir.”
Mubashir left the manager’s room and found Zahid had been curiously waiting for him. Mubashir's glowing face told everything that had happened when Zahid looked at him. Before Mubashir could reach him, Zahid received a phone call. He replaced the phone, and Mubashir hugged him.
“Here is your cabin, boss. The manager has ordered me to guide you on how we work here,” Zahid pointed towards the table on the side.
Mubashir had come for an interview and on leaving, he was part of the bank. Soon, my unbalanced life will gain its real taste. He could talk about his interests and profession at gatherings. He could prove to that drug addict that there are professional opportunities. If his temptation didn't make him fed up with this job, he would do every best thing to illuminate it. Definitely, his temptation was because of this land, its constrained people to get more and more in a short time. He wanted to become as successful as he could to avoid dying like his father. He wanted to work for prosperity. Vanity, prosperity, and an enthusiastic life made him realize to work as quickly as he could.
It would be a great day for Ami because her son has finally become an independent man. It was not just Mubashir's vanity, but it was Zareena's wishes that she had buried with her husband's death. However, nothing would be changed of Hamid Hussain’s two hundred rupees salary if he was still living. Besides, Hamid Hussain believed in common people’s welfare, prioritizing their interest over his. Since then, Mubashir had longed for things he had never seen in his life. When wishes become desires, then not only the mind but also the soul tempts to get them no matter how much it costs. Now, it became requisite to discipline his life in the way to achieve those things. Knowledge, skills, desires, and intentions help get near to your goal. However, all of these are useless, until you discipline your life according to the requirements of that goal. What does a successful person needs along with knowledge, skills, and desires? First, he would discipline his life that has long-lasting effect on success on how to earn it quickly on daily basis. Making money should be his priority.
He was in the bathroom near the water tap, filling his palm. With water flowing down, he splashed on his face, the water cascading down over his cheeks up to his chin. Thank you, Zahid, for your help. My desire’s kingdom and my solemnity would have been ruined if I had told Ami about another failure. She might think that her son is a triple loser. This opportunity would never bring a lot hence it is a straw for a drowning man in the crowded world. He was pleased that a small window had opened for him because once you enter, the new gates of opportunities start opening from small windows. He was imagining all the good things to happen in the coming days.
Zareena called, “Mubashir, I am waiting for you, beta.” He came out of the bathroom, his face was blooming. He had already told her about his job. She could feel his happiness. “Mubashir? Always keep in mind that you are not serving just a bank, you are serving the nation. We are debtors of this land; individual activities make a nation and a country. It can magnify the nation or demolish its integrity. Collective individuals are a nation and they should prioritize its interest and the interest of its people. This is the only way through which we can return its blessings. Always work as an individual who serves his nation. If you are false, it means you have rotten seven other people associated with you. Serve like a servant and live like a cruel king for its enemies,” She explained him to be a patriot. Although, he did not get what she was saying.
He was only thinking about money and increasing it. He had been working there for many days. The office environment was likable and he had made friendly relations with other colleagues. In the early job months, he demonstrated gratitude to God for everything he was being blessed with. The concept of ‘more’ was still stuck in his mind. Being a cabin neighbor and his benefactor, he shared every tiniest thing with Zahid.
Staying alone in his cabin entirely absorbed in his thoughts, one day, Zahid asked the reason behind his disappointment. “Is this the salary problem that is grabbing your attention, or any other reason that you are not doing work more actively as you did in your early days?”
“My conscience has been inquiring since my childhood about some questions that I used to suppress. Those questions were sometimes suppressed by their answers and sometimes I did them forcefully, but I couldn't be satisfied from inside through this enforcement.”
“What are those questions? You can tell me, I will always give you the right suggestion.”
Mubashir assumed that he would definitely give him the right advice just like he had on the bus and after which he had got a job here. Although his guidance helped him out of the dark, but every time one’s advice cannot be enough, and some matters need pondering over them in-depth.
Mubashir leaned into the back of his chair. Rolling the pen between his second and third fingers, he answered Zahid, “This land is not perfect for my abilities. There are not enough opportunities here to grow as a businessman. I am in search of the land of opportunities, the golden land. Ami has been brain washing me since I was a child that this is my golden land, but she is wrong. This couldn't be my golden land where I can grow. I respected this land, its inhabitants, its traditions and customs, undoubtedly I found it empty. It has no future for its young generation and has been losing its shape because of the toxic nylon wrappers that that do not allow small seeds to grow. I would be prowling aimlessly if you hadn’t helped me. I was abandoned on this barren land that had nothing to give me. I am fighting with myself, where should I go? Where will my future be secured? This is the reason for my lack of interest.”
“Hmmm, the matter is quite serious but the good thing is that there is nothing that I don't have an opinion on. Keep calm! Each problem has a solution in itself; you just need to find where the solution is hidden.”
Zahid thought over the topic. A few seconds later, he exclaimed, “I found the solution to your problems! You want quick success. You aim to get the opportunity as quickly as you knock the door of opportunity. You want to escape the constrained ill-fated people of this land. Man! There is a land that fits your demand.” Zahid patted him lightly on the shoulder.
“Which land? How did you explore that? And how will I get there?” Mubashir asked the questions in one breath. He was curious; he wanted to snatch words before Zahid could utter them.
“Move towards the west. Your golden land is in England; go there and make your future brighter than you ever desired for it,” Zahid said.
It was a weird suggestion to leave the country, whereas it was equivalent to the terms that Mubashir had described him. England's economy is extremely better than Pakistan's and their social system is free for everyone. They are more sociable and cultural in the world's eye. It was the right place for Mubashir.
There was complete silence in the room. Both of them thought about whether Mubashir should accept it and whether Zahid should have given this opinion. Uncertain situation.
“But how?” Mubashir asked.
“Look, everyone in this world is investing in themselves. They are working with the thought that one day they will be paid back with more profit. The same condition is with you. First, you should invest in yourself enough to get that land. Once you reach there and get an excellent opportunity that you never had before, all your efforts will bear fruit. In other words, you will have to prowl for money. Besides, you can't do anything. You can say that you are bound to obey your ill-fate if you don't have money to change it,” Zahid said. “My salary hardly bears the monthly expenses and I don’t have any other sources to seek help from,” Mubashir said disappointed.
Zahid calmly said, “As I explained earlier, try to explore a solution.”
Nothing had occurred in Mubashir's mind. What he could do to earn money except for his job.
“I have no such person or opportunity who is willing to invest in me,” Mubashir said.
“But I know such a person who can and who is willing to help you,” Zahid said. “He is Shakir alias Shaka and he will help you.”
“Why would he help an unknown person who he didn't even meet? Is he a charitable or a landlord who has no successor to transfer his property and now distribute his wealth among people?” Mubashir inquired astonishingly.
Zahid guffawed, “No, no. As I said, investing in yourself, means working for others. You will work for Shakir and he will give you money for the completion of your task.”
“Okay; so what is his business?”
“Mubashir, I can't explain it. You will soon know about it. Office time had ended.” Zahid glanced at the watch showing 4 o'clock. “We should leave now or we will miss the bus.” Zahid said gathering some important work files and his laptop.
When they reached the bus stand, Zahid asked an old man “Excuse me! Did the 4:30 bus pass?”
“No, it is getting late from its usual time,” the old man replied.
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