Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Where does a love story generally start? It starts in the eyes but still people say “Love is blind!” funny isn’t it? Now this is another love story that started in the eyes and succeeded, not just in love but in something that even biggies couldn’t achieve for years together. They did not marry till the end, did not live together but made their love live long in the memories of people. Now what is that Big Thing that this love achieved? I know as I am the one cooking this story. The rest of you need to wait for a few more words running down the screen. I am taking the help of Mr.Raju to narrate the story to you in his voice.

I was never like this before. Now I am waiting for the sun to move towards the west, my watch to show me 4:30 pm. Being a resident of Wabah village I had always loved to watch the ‘lowering of flags’ ceremony at the Wagah border (“Berlin wall of Asia”) right from my childhood. But slowly my preferences started changing and I started going there just for her, Saira Beghum. She was also a resident of Wagah village and she was the grand daughter of my grandmother’s best friend. We knew each other from the age of 3 but speaking to eachother was the biggest problem, we never got a chance to speak.
My grandma used to go to the ceremony just to meet her best friend and I used to accompany her right from my childhood. Ususal practice would be, standing in the right extreme and waving hands at her best friend, standing at the left extreme. We would exchange smiles and return home. Since our grand mothers did this, me and Saira did the same. After the age of 22, both the grandmothers never got a chance to speak at all, but why? There was a BIG BORDER BETWEEN. They were neighbours and best friends till wabah village was divided into two after independence. The Eastern Wagah remained a part of India and Western Wagah joined the Pakistan terrain. My family wanted to stay back in Bharath and they went to Pakistan. The grandma’s were never interested in the partition of Hindustan and also their own seperation. After 1959 when this ceremony was introduced they started coming to the border just to know eachother’s wellbeing.
Now back to my love. Saira and I just looked at each other every evening standing on the land of different countries. I can say I grew up seeing her smile and long distant “Hi”s. I really did not know how all this turned into love but it did, one day.I wanted to communicate to her somehow, but I did not know how just looking at her would help me do that. I went there well dressed and somehow wanted to make her understand that I was in love with her that very day. I stood there with my grandma and she came stood with her’s. When the two grannies were busy looking at the ceremony I slowly looked at her, to my surprise she was staring at me. I pointed out the India flag with my right index finger and Pakistan flag with my left index finger. She continued to stare at me. I slowly brought both the fingers close, one inclining on the other. She smiled but I was not sure what she understood by that. I was waiting for her reply to know what she had understood. She did not react till the doors of the countried were just about to be closed. But a few seconds before the doors were closed she gestured something. What I understood was “The door between the two countries might be closed but my heart is always open for you.” When she gestured it and took her hands near her heart I almost died out of happiness, thousand soulders marched around my head instead of angels, and millions of flags of both countries flew inside my tummy instead of butterflies. I am sorry I couldn’t help it for I was grown up in this parade environment. I ran back home and waited for the next 4:30pm. My days started longing for the 30 minutes of looking at each other. We used to talk so much without words. Our eyes communicated more powerfully than one’s tongue could. I longed to hear her voice; I longed to hold her hands. One final day I got a chance for all that.
I had got the permit to enter Pakistan one day finally. I ran to her house and got the blessings of her grandma. She was there hiding behing the doors of the only room of her house. Her grandma had to go out somewhere and we were left alone. That is when she spoke the first time to me. She said “Raju I love you and wish to marry you.”
“Saira! I love you too. But how and when can we get married, this is what is bothering me the most right now.”
“Can we get married right now? I don’t want to live the whole life with you. Even a day would suffice. I can live the rest of my life with those memories.”
I said “But I ll have to leave to India in next 4 hours.”
She brought a yellow rope from somewhere inside the room and asked me to stand in the direction of Mecca. “This rope was preserved by my grandma in memories of your’s. Now tie this “Hindu” rope standing in the direction of Mecca with both our grandma’s blessings.”, she said.I did not take a second more. Maybe we had not spoken before but we had loved eachother for years together. I tied the rope and kissed her on her forehead. She hugged me tight and said something that stunned me. She said “I want to be the mother of your kid.” And I granted her wish.
Her grandma arrived and saw the rope on her. She was first shocked but later she accepted our marriage and blessed us. She also gave me a lot of letters to pass on to my grandma. I bid goodbye and left the place. They accompanied me till the border and stood there. I just walked a few steps and looked back. It was just few steps but she went miles away from me. Now I was in the land of India and she, Pakistan. She cried and so did i. I ran back home to tell my grandma and my parents the happy news. They did not take it easy first but later they accepted my marriage.
Now my days started at 4:30pm and winded up right at 5. I did not even bother if the world existed the other times. Three months passed by just looking at her and signalling. Her gestures were the cutest poems for me. Her eye ball moved in a rhythmic way that sang a song within my heart. She gestured saying she was pregnant and my mind started hunting for an Indo-pak name. “Maybe we can name it Berlin” I said. Berlin wall is the strong reason behind everything that happened so why not!
Then started the problem, the two countries were talking about the war. The war started in the 8th month of my baby’s growth inside my darling’s womb. I wasn’t able to see her. I forgot to tell you about my profession as I was carried away by the memories of my love. I was an army man. I joined the Inidan army after my marriage. I had to go to the field this time. I went to the war field and hid myself behind a bush. As I was a junior I was asked to guard a less used border area with a team. From the farthest I could see, I saw a woman, very familiar walking fast towards India. I later realized it was Saira. None of them noticed and I did. I ran to her and people from the other side shot me on my forehead. She came very close to me and fell on the ground very near me. That is when both the teams in that area came running to see the woman just because she was 9 months pregnant. They were not sure which country she belonged to. But she was shouting in agony of my death and my child’s birth. I was holding my life to see my child at least once. The army guys of both the country helped her in delivering the child. She was almost facing death along with me. They said it was a boy baby. I smiled and looked at her. She was in tears. She strained hard and said
“Nobody knows the nationality of this child. His mother is a Pakistan muslim and father is a Indian Hindu. He was born in the Indo-Pak border. If you Indians considering him a Pakistani, want to shoot him go ahead shoot. And if you pakistanis consider him an Indian and want to shoot him, go ahead shoot. But let our son be the last person to lose his life in this Indo-Pak war. We were all sons of the same motherland few years back. We were all neighbours, friends, relatives and countrymen and now we shoot eachother. I beg you all to stop this. “
She held both the country’s commandos hands together and placed our child on it. She proudly died and made me feel proud to have loved her. I might die now with a lot of questions running into my mind “will this stop the war” “will this make the border peaceful” but I was happy and proud that MY WIFE took a step, the minimum she could, for the peace of our countries. Now let me die.

May be this is not enough for the good relationship between India and Pakistan but their few steps defenitely made their death a proud one. “India-Pakistan was once Hindustan”

NOTE: If you enjoyed reading this then im definitely successful
and if you did not , im still successful in making u read a mokka story ;) :)
now all of u don comment about the note ;) :P i thought this story was fun no usual mokkais so wanted to add them here in the note :P 

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