The Memorial in White Marble

The sun it shines upon you;
your marbled face, your still eyes.
You smile upon us; beautiful
calm, young and lovely your face
and you smile a happy smile.

The darkness fell in the empty alley.
You slept in peace, you dreamt
a dream of love and beauty.
A noise it sounded, loud and that light;
a light so bright, oh the fire and smoke.

And they built you, your marbled face;
the dream still in your eyes, and that smile,
the smile so happy, that lasted only a while
before the life like marble doll replaced
the life in you, O unfortunate innocence.

THE PALADIN'S MOTHER

It was Meera, Nafeeza’s neighbour’s daughter who had first told her about it the next day. ‘Nafeezumma, did you hear about the bombing and firing? Its all over the news, come home and see it on TV. There has been a terror attack in Delhi.’ Nafeeza hurried over to Meera’s house. There it was, the horrific images playing back to back on the TV. Images of blood splattered across the ground, clothes, shoes and baggage drenched in blood strewn across, relatives of the victims huddles up, their faces grief stricken, many of them crying, some too shocked to react. Fire and smoke were emanating from the building nearby. Nafeeza watched in horror as journalists and reporters frantically tried to brief the viewers on what had happened. ‘How can people do this Nafeezumma? How can people be so cruel? Look at that small kid crying! Why does this happen?’ Meera looked at her old and wise neighbour who always had answers for her. But Nafeeza could not say anything. Indeed, why would anyone want to do all this? She knew the pain of having lost a child. And now, probably two. Why?  She had no answer. Quietly cursing the evil times, she left from the place.

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'Ameena, could you come here for a moment?’ Nafeeza called out to her daughter.

‘What happened umma?’ Ameena asked irritably. She was obviously annoyed at having been summoned when she was busy at whatever it was that she was doing.

‘Could you get me a glass of water child? I had a bad dream today’.

‘How many times have I asked you not to sleep during the day? You worry so much and you keep thinking about bad things, then why wouldn’t you have bad dreams? Hold on I’ll get you water’. 

‘I saw Afzal’, Nafeeza whispered.  

Ameena gave her the glass of water and pretended not to listen.

‘I saw Afzal in my dream Ameena. He... he doesn’t look well’. Nafeeza accepted the glass with trembling hands. She shivered slightly. She looked at Ameena for some response but Ameena remained passive. She appeared to not have listened to anything her mother had said. 

‘I’m talking to you Ameena. Can’t you hear me?  I’m telling you that your brother is not well and you choose not to listen? How can you not care?’

‘Umma! He’s been gone for 7 years now!! Seven years! We have no idea where he is, no letter, and no calls! If he were still alive, surely he would’ve tried to contact us by now! I’m tired of telling this to you umma. Please get this into your head once and for all.’

‘Afzal would never have spoken to me like that. He was not a good student but he was a good kid, my Afzal. He’d never have let you speak to me like that’, wept Nafeeza.

Ameena looked apologetic now. She sat next to her old mother, ‘umma, I didn’t mean to be rude or hurt you. You are worrying yourself for a lost cause. We’ve been trying to tell you for two years now. Haven’t we searched enough umma? See how weak you have become worrying yourself? Where is that old strong umma of mine? You’re not one to live a lie. All I’m saying is once you accept the truth you might be able to handle it better than being hopeful and worrying yourself. I love you umma.’

‘I have hope Ameena. That is why I’m still talking to you. I will never lose hope Ameena. Nothing and no one can survive without hope. Your brother is out there somewhere and I know he isn’t well now. I’m a mother, I’d know.’

Ameena shook her head. She has known her mother for 19 years. She was not one to give up so soon. And all along when the rest of the family was convinced that Afzal was no more in this world, Nafeeza never listened. She would always accuse them of not caring enough. That, had Ameena’s father still been alive, he would’ve found out about Afzal’s whereabouts. Nafeeza believed that her son was trapped somewhere with no means of escape and no way to reach them. And she fiercely believed in it.

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Nafeeza was old and weak and arthritis had rendered her unable to walk without a limp. If it wasn't for her tremendous will power, she would've been crippled by now. But she wasn't someone to give up so soon. It has been years since her husband died and she had looked after her children all by herself. Her first son had died of a hole in his heart when he was only one. Now she had two daughters a son. The eldest daughter was married to a man and lived in Dubai. The youngest daughter, Ameena, had finished studying and was at home. Her uncles were searching for a suitable groom for her, which wasn't very difficult. Ameena was a beautiful girl, much like her mother and had many suitors. As for her son, Afzal, Nafeeza had no idea where he was. 

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Three blasts-gun fires without ceasing-3 terrorists killed-2 still inside the building. Nafeeza was still trying to grasp the magnitude of the event the next morning when her brother ushered her into her room. ‘Did you see the news paper Nafee?’ 

‘No iqqa, I saw the news at Meera’s place yesterday…’ 

‘They are looking for an Afzal’, her brother cut her short. Nafeeza stopped abruptly. Her eyes shot at her brother, first with shock and then disbelief. She struggled for a minute to come up with the right words and then slowly said, ‘My Afzal would never be part of such an execrable deed. That is not how I raised him.’ 

‘Oh Nafee, we don’t know where he has been for the past 7 years. How do you know this is not our Afzal? I’m sure people are talking now Nafee. Everyone knows we don’t know where Afzal is. What do we tell them?’ her brother snapped.

‘Tell them the truth iqqa; that we don’t know where Afzal is. But the Afzal they are looking for is not my Afzal. I know for sure.’

‘Ha! Your Afzal was never good for anything. I don’t think I have any doubts. He is not good for anything else. He was insecure and ashamed of himself. He sounds like someone who would do something like this’

Nafeeza tried hard not to scream. ‘You thought he was dead. You all thought he was dead and gone. How can you be sure it is him now? You never appreciated the kid when he was here. Stop blaming him for everything. He is not with us now; leave him alone at least now! Let him be, please iqqa. I know my Afzal will not do such a heinous thing. He will not. He surely will think of his umma. He may have been an under achiever but he was a good boy’, fought back Nafeeza. ‘Leave me be iqqa. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You can tell the whole world whatever you want to. But I know it isn’t true. My Afzal is a good boy’, she said storming out of the place.

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There was not a single day that Nafeeza did not worry about Afzal and his well being; even before he had gone missing. As a child, he had been bad at academics while both his sisters where outstanding students. When his father was alive, he would always compare him to his sisters and mock him for being beaten by two girls. He was a subdued child, who preferred staying at home than going out to play. The neighbourhood children laughed at him for being a milksop. But in spite of all the jeering and sneering, Afzal preferred to stay at home, lost in his world of books and poems or talking to his mother. Nafeeza had a natural soft corner for this child of hers. She believed he was timid and was artistic, but artistic men were never recognized in their own time. She believed her son was special and had the makings of a great man, but her husband used to laugh at her when she told him so. ‘Haha! Afzal? No no Nafeeza, don’t fool yourself. He is a shy boy, not fully grown. He cannot survive on his own. Look at him; he prefers sleeping on your lap to getting dirty in the mud. He is a boy Nafeeza, a boy! How can a boy be so?’ he used to say. His father did love him, but never believed he had any special qualities. Nafeeza often suspected that her husband was ashamed of his only living son and that pained her. She loved Afzal more than her other children for he was always with her and seemed to love her more than he loved anyone else. She loved him more than anyone else because he was mocked at by the others, and she didn’t want him to feel neglected. Afzal was her everything. Yes she loved her daughters, but Afzal was special.

And yet, seven years back when one of his uncles had slapped him for not being able to get a job, he had left her without a word. Initially she had thought he had gone to the lodge nearby and that he’d return the next day. But he never did. She waited for days, weeks and months, hoping for a letter or call from her son but none came. The rest of the family tried to search everywhere, or so they said, but Afzal was nowhere to be found. They had no hopes anymore, not after these 7 years that a boy so attached to his mother could stay away for so long. They were assured that Afzal was dead. But Nafeeza didn’t believe that. Something told her he was alive, and now she worried for something told her he was in danger now. 

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She was not going to believe her brother. What did he know? He never knew her son like she did. He would never do such a thing. So many murders? Surely he wouldn’t. He believed in the goodness of deeds. He was an artistic kid who loved the beauty of nature and its creatures. He could never kill someone. He was a timid and quiet boy, not a rebel. He wouldn’t bomb buildings and shoot at people. He wouldn’t even hold a gun in his hand. Why did he have to? He would think of her, his sisters and all those people who loved him and cared for him. But then, did he know how much they cared? Had she not shown enough care, given him enough love? Didn’t he know how it felt to lose someone you love? He had heard from Nafeeza; about how much she grieved his brother’s death. He would never kill anyone. No he wouldn’t. She was sure of that.

But the fact remained that he had been missing for seven years. Nafeeza knew nothing about his whereabouts or what he did for a living. What if??

NO! She dared not think about that. She might have had as well thought him to be dead. Dead and gone than be associated with such God forbidden evil deeds. She was confused and old and very weak. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Even if the entire world thought he was a terrorist, she wouldn’t believe them. She couldn’t believe things had come to this, her son, her only son, being termed a murderer. 

Even if it was him, it wasn’t his fault. He was a neglected child. No one had accepted him for what he was. That would’ve been the reason he was misled into everything. People would understand that, wouldn’t they? They’d forgive him. He was Nafeeza’s son, everyone loved Nafeeza. She was a nice loving woman and her son had made a mistake, that’s all. But to kill so many people? Was that a mistake? Should she report him to the police? But her only son! What if he was indeed dead? She would be torturing him even in his death. What was she to do?

And she cried, like she had never cried before. She cried for her Afzal, for her deceased husband, for her first son. She cried for everyone she had lost. She cried as the entire nation mourned the deaths of many innocent victims. She cried, hoping that would wash away her son’s sins. She didn’t want to believe it was her Afzal, but iqqa had been so sure of the accusation. What if it was indeed her boy? She cried for long and then slowly drifted off to sleep.

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‘Umma!! Umma wake up. Its Afzal, Afzal is on TV. They are showing Afzal!’ Ameena’s high pitched screech woke up Nafeeza from her deep sleep. She had been dreaming of a happy family of four kids and a mother and father. 

‘Umma come to Meera’s house. There is something you have to see. Afzal… he is not dead. His photo is on TV. You were right Umma… he was in danger... He… he is in Delhi…’ she tried to mange before running off to Meera’s place again. 

Nafeeza sat still on her bed. Afzal’s photo was on TV. Her iqqa had been right. Her Afzal, her sweet child was a criminal?? Nafeeza felt numb. She had given birth to a criminal? He didn’t deserve to live then. But he was her son. Her favourite child, how could she will him to die? She was torn between morality and motherly love. She sat there, her eyes moist but too dazed to cry. And then she heard another yell, ‘Nafeezumma!’ She slowly raised her weak body from the bed and walked towards her neighbour’s house. What was there to see? Her son being branded as the most wanted man of the nation? What was left in it to see? She aimlessly walked towards the house. And there she saw him, his photo on the TV. She did not hear anyone around her as she looked at the face she had loved so much. She looked into the eyes that had given her hope and sunshine. And she slumped into a chair nearby.

‘Umma Afzal iqqa is a hero!!’ screamed Ameena. Nafeeza was suddenly shaken out of her trance. ‘What?’ she asked, perplexed. ‘Umma look at the caption! Local boy saves hostages. He helped the army! He is in the hospital but doctors say he will live. Umma, Afzal iqqa is a hero! The country is so proud of him!’

Nafeeza couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her son, her only son was a hero. She had been right all along. She had believed he was alive. She had believed he was not at fault. Her chest swelled with pride. It wouldn’t be long before she talked to her son again. He will come to her, as a man who has achieved something and he will get a hero’s welcome. All was well. She thought about her husband and brother, and a little smile spread across her wrinkled face. She hugged Ameena and Meera and cried. 

‘Why are you crying now Nafeezumma? Isn’t he fine? Aren’t you proud?’

‘Yes sweetheart, I’m proud. I’m very proud. I’m very happy. God is kind. I’m very happy’.

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Agnostic, Are We To Be?

Where are you? We ask; has the time gone

for you to undo what has gone wrong?

Good times, blessed ways, those days no more exist;

why did you pay no heed to our calls for a tryst?

Where were you when time was not right?

When the sound of your name made people fight.

Pleas it went up in smoke and as water

Our belief in you, not once did it falter.

Prayers we made to call upon you.

Attempts were plenty, results why few?

Why did you turn a deaf ear, a blind eye?

Was enough not said; not enough did we try?

Where were you when children cried?

When our faith was being tested and tried?

Why did you let evil reign supreme

in a world with people who did believe

in you and your prowess and your deeds

of love and miracle? Why weren’t we freed

from the deplorable darkness of their sins?

Now buried deep down, our faith, it shins.

Unanswered our questions, uncertain our creed;

Unwilling we bend to their unreasonable need.

Unfathomed our trust, unearthed our fears;

Unhappy us in our worlds ugly contours.

We waited to hear your voice for days,

But your silence it loomed and so it remains.

Are we to stop hoping for the good?

Are we to stop believing in you?

Are we to accept the evil of the times?

Are we to succumb to the gross of crimes?

Or is there a day that you’ll come for us

believers amidst the cruel, dirt and dust?

Is there a day as our forefathers dreamed?

At your hands will our fates be redeemed?

Will there be a day when our words shall be stowed

away, for a new sun rise, with our faith in you, restored?

photo courtesy: nick catling, jkburtram

Victims of an inferno maze

The flowers in the vase were still ruby red;
the leaves and thorns still undead.
A beautiful thing it may have seemed,
if it weren’t for the silence ahead.

Paintings on the wall did, some story, say
of old country sides, cows, fields and plenty hay.
A beautiful thing it may have seemed,
had someone cared to see and stay.

A lovely evening festooned the sky.
Hues unknown streaked up high.
A beautiful thing it may have seemed,
but they, beneath, couldn’t see why.

Busy at plenty them puppets were.
Sad faces, tears and pristine black fur.
A dreadful thing it is, for them.
The loss of someone as pure as her.

She was, but ten, such a young soul!
Still, was death right? Even for one old?
A dreadful thing it is, for them.
Them, standing out in the night so cold.

A fire, a blast, few seconds does it last.
It rips and kills and leaves all aghast.
A dreadful thing it is for them,
who live in the shadows the dead cast.

They, who cried, did they not know?
Who killed her, and what be they sow?
A dreadful thing it is, for them
In a cruel world, how do children grow?

But to do a thing, would they dare?
To stop all terror, did they care?
A dreadful thing it is, for them,
Yet what do they do but to stand and stare.

We cry, we mourn, we grieve, we pain.
We do, not a thing and all is in vain.
A dreadful thing it may have seemed.
But who gave a thought? Who was left so sane?

she.... in blue....

She rises again
as the moonlight glows blue.
Her cry is music,
played for a love that won't come back.
Beautiful her face; fragile her heart.
Broken, it lies in her grave.
Grieving for lost love,
but it wont come back...
Lost for ages in silent solitude.
Her tears frozen in the cold of the night.
Her soul plays the symphony of sorrow,
calling out to lost love but it wont come back...

TEARS DON'T CEASE TO FALL

Why do thy cry, o, ill-fated one?
In your dreams, your thoughts, you must’ve pondered.
Thou love was the country’s warrior son,
So into her arms he has wandered.

Why do thy cry, o mother of the brave?
You gave birth to the suffering soil’s son.
His life, to you, was a dream come true.
But dreams are short, reality has begun.

Why do thy mourn, his lovely neighbours?
Thou tears won’t take him forth
or back to you, for when he was called,
good bye were his last words and he gave no oath.

Why do thy mourn, people of his country?
He was no one to you, no one you have lost.
He was but another soldier, merely a name
of the many who die at your cost.

Why do thy weep, now that they are gone?
Melancholy moods and memories remain.
They came like the sunshine into your lives
and as you look on, left like the rain.

Why do thy weep, for what are these tears?
Are they mementos of that broken heart?
Are they shed for the lives yet to be lost?
Or memoirs of lives being torn apart?

Today you cry for the one who sleeps, while,
yesterday he cried for the one who slept.
And tomorrow you will cry for one
among you, until to cry, none will be left.

Why, why weep now when the next moment
you’ll hear a gunshot, never to cease?
And yet another face, another life, another tear
will be lost in this ridiculous war for peace.

You cry now, as though you were helpless.
But the truth narrates- you are to blame.
You shouted and screamed for more metal;
the soldiers fought while you played your game.

And now you cry and mourn over their loss
as under the soil’s blanket, safely they sleep.
Safe they are, from the wrath to befall you
as the war for peace continues and still, you weep.