The story of a boy whose father was murdered cold-bloodedly.
It is made clear to all of you that my aim of writing this piece of true story, of my beloved father, is not to gain any kind of sympathy or unwanted attention for myself, but I have a question to all of you, does this society has delivered us in any constructive way or in future, will it?
Almost 21 years have passed since my late father left us and this long period of 21 years kept knocking imperceptibly on the door of my immature intellect and understanding with each passing moment.
On July 19, 2002, in the blink of an eye, the smoothness of the lines of our family’s hands was so eternally disrupted that the whole world seemed to dissolve. No one could know that the weak bond of an insignificant friendship could prove to be a noose for many significant bonds.
During the construction stages of our dearest home back in 2001 A.D., my father befriended three individuals from whom he purchased tiles for home. The friendship went smooth for almost a year. On Friday, 2002, my father received a call from those friends to drop them to a remote site, for an event, in his car. These individuals, whom my father had befriended, were actually invited by their own acquaintances beforehand. In fact, these three friends and friends before them, who belonged to the Punjabi tribes of Laghari and Waraich, were victims of mutual quarrels over the matter of a “girl”. My father being the outsider did not know about that quarrelsome matter and my father did not have any kind of connection with them (Laghari and Waraich) because my father spent most of his bachelor and married life in Saudi Arabia.
When my father along his friends reached the specified destination, the swords were already within sight. They took the weapons and began to surround the four of them, shamefully. (There must have been talks between all of them) — Well, after the incident of killing these three, my father was told that if he could run away, his most valuable assets will be forgiven (means his life).
Now, my father’s chance to escape from the incident was similar to the heart-rending roar of a lion, which roars at its prey in such a way that it becomes impossible for the victim to take any further step. Well, my father must have been running in such a way that he would stumble and fall again and again; he must repeatedly have been saying a hundred words, with a sight of cry for life on his innocent face; he must have been looking back again and again and he must have been crying too saying, “Oh my everything… nothing now!”
Imagine that!
The dormant intellect of those two wretches demonstrated their evil.
The shot went out three times one after the other.
Ah!
On the land where Prophet’s (P.B.U.H.) companion Omer’s (R.A) baton held sway was killed an innocent person who could not prove his innocence!
A wife waiting for her husband’s sweet words at home; an elderly mother sitting on a bed waiting to kiss her son; the only sister waiting to hug and lovingly scold her little brother; desperate daughters waiting to sit in the father’s kind lap; an only son waiting for toys and a suit hanging on the door to be wore on the Friday prayer!
The wait has gotten old!
Would his wife not have felt the wail of her beloved’s tears in the fragrant drops of dew falling on the moonlit night? Has his wife not washed her decorated hands forever? Didn’t his mother surrender her existence to God on the parting of her beloved son? Could his only sister not have waited for the requests of her little one? Wouldn’t his daughters have felt the lack of someone to who would keep his hand on their heads and guard their dignity? Would his son not have felt an unnecessary burden on his shoulders? Wouldn’t that suit be rotten?
Why not!
Where did the then and now lords of power and wisdom, lords of law and justice go? Of course, somewhere they have been selling themselves and playing religious cards and making asses out of the people!
The commission of a crime, the judgment of the court and the ruler of the time… all together could not turn themselves away from a currency note and thus the reality of a man ruling over evil and vice versa is irrevocably proved.
Here the worth of the “Ashraf-ul-Makhluqat” is like rubbish that is trampled underfoot and thrown on the ground by the rulers who are sold at the prices of rubbish.
In fact, it is a rusty society and people too!
