Tahira Khan
Sometimes all we need is a cup of tea to withdraw all our worries which don’t only evaporate our ego but dilute our soul as well. For him, a cup of tea is the only way to get happiness and make everything better. He was hemmed in by his own self-created walls even after the completion of his task (materialist ones) necessary to continue the journey of life. In this slightly strange world, he endured storms and all the many vicissitudes of seasons in order to at least complete his building tasks or aim of life. But life loses his meaning when the building stops. May be his soul was facing contradiction between happiness and search.
Within no time, a waiter was there for him with a cup of tea but he was deeply engrossed in his thoughts about the race of life. It was a sort of certain queer time or occasion where a philosophy of life becomes a strange mixed affair and future becomes less promising and serene. The persistent and urgent questions become like small animals of dark words who like to stay in shadows.
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Waiter standing before him managed to break the flow of his continuous thoughts by saying salam. He was so very attractive, with eyes that revealed a soul full of answers and enlightenment. He really finds it hard meeting and engaging with new people but there was something very spiritual between him and a waiter which he felt with intensity.
Waiter somehow tackled situation by providing him menu which he placed aside on the table deliberately. He wanted to weigh his words and delve deeply in his soul which was navigating through troubled waters. He told him about his solitude (which people notoriously called loneliness), his ambitions which included climbing trees, trending plants and last but not the least, to commune with God. Fellow sitting before him was quick in responding and making guesstimates. This time he was right by uttering the following words:
“You wanted to commune with God but you don’t want to be alone. Stay loyal ,at least, towards yourself.”
Waiter spoke on his impulse which he regretted but it was too late to correct his mistake.
For some time now, he was the resident of one of the most beautiful village of North Waziristan -Darpakhel -with which his long lasting and enviable tale of memorable life is associated. Festivals, ceremonies, folk songs, attan (traditional dance), dhole and dum (drummer), poems of youth bravery and love, and childhood games being played specially in the spring season all were his only way of cherishing life along with other fellows who- despite taking these customs and traditions for granted made them a part of their honor and integrity.
But then a faceless enemy entered their heaven having a mask of friendship. Being a friend he didn’t only used the place for his vested political interests but also burnt their homes into ashes. The life which was once possessing dreams, aims, love and hope has now became a hell of uncertainty where human life can barely breathe or open eyes.
That particular enemy was unique in his character specially integrity which, if compromised, resulted in considerable loss of life because of the perplexed and incomprehensible relation with country’s security and defense. Long and short of the story is that, what a stalwartly foreign invaders (Lord Curzon) were reluctant to do, local ones did with considerable ease under the fold of being their close allies. They didn’t only steamroll the every corner of natives’ motherland but also their lives without any shame or hesitation.
Now, when the friend-cum-enemy has decided to leave the region, the fate of people is still torn between the requisite desires of two neighbors (Pakistan and Afghanistan) for whom peace is the other name of humanitarian intervention. For inhabitants, life is like a forbidden flower which they could neither live nor leave.
With groveling and wandering eyes, he thought of a cup of tea- placed before him- far better than him because the latter one was having no soul which could point out the hidden scars and darkness, especially when it is nauseatingly miserable beyond repair.
Writer is a Student of BS Honors Political Science, Punjab University, Lahore
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