In the time of intuitions, thoughts prevail over the matter of being while finality rests with one and only divine power. Jazla was a girl of streets of violence. She was the girl who dreamed to be the bride of a rich man.

“It is almost end of grain and no omelet could be made as a vehicle of soldiers who were on their ‘peace-round’ last day crushed the only hen we had, which egg would be quite enough for us.” Little Jazla was sleeping; whereas her mother Mariyam was thinking, sitting before the stove in the room. “Our daytime thoughts become our midnight dreams and our midnight dreams become our day time experiences.” She thought.

Jazla woke up suddenly and looked around. A small, feeble candle was lightening its surroundings and was about to end. Mariyam, two weeks ago brought a few small candles on her birthday. She also brought two pastries which she joined together and it became a handsome cake. Jazla was fond of celebrating her birthday and used to remind her mother a week before the birthday. Her father, Siraj Ahmed used to bring gifts for jazla. This birthday celebration was different as Siraj was not with them. Both Jazla and Mariyam were missing him and were shedding tears while recollecting the beautiful memories. She took jazla into her arms. It was a birthday celebration under the shadow of tears. Our smiles do not always contain happiness and joyous moments while we smile and laugh in the moments of happiness.

Jazla was looking at the candle consistently. The “tik-tik” of wall clock was louder than the scale which she used to hit on the floor while doing her homework. “I will go to the supermarket tomorrow to buy some bread and boiled potatoes to make our meal possible.” She thought. Her hen was crushed by the soldiers when they were on their peace-round. Jazla had a narrow escape and could only hear a laughter when she fell down. Her mother ran towards and took her inside and loved her to wipe out her tears. She had a bad experience last day.

In the streets of violence, love comes from the heavens but is snatched by the brutal forces of human hands. The streets of violence are the markets of cruelty where there is all day dealing with cries, smiles in cries and uncertain knockings with uncertain consequences. These are the places where there is a departure of arrivals and the arrival of departures. She slept under the shadow of thoughts.

“Jazi! Wake up… wake up my princess… look I have made a better breakfast this morning.” Mariyam called Jazla. She woke up and got ready for breakfast. “Mama!… what have you taken at breakfast?” Jazla asked her mother. “I made two breads and ate one when you were sleeping.” She replied with a smile. Jazla knew that grain was not enough for two breads and could make only one which she was eating that moment. She could not eat more. Her eyes were wet with tears. Mariyam took her into her arms and Jazla felt a terrible comfort that moment.
Our lies are sacred when they bring a special love that we already know to have but it gives a terrible comfort to our souls. Our tears are sacred when they spread a feeling of love. Sacred tears create oneness.

Her school was closed because of the war and everybody was limited to home these days. Siraj Ahmed was a hard working man and used to work in a workshop far from his home. He was a loving person and life had some meaning for him. He was always ready to help others, even if he himself was in trouble. One day he was coming back to home when he came across a fatal incident. He was shot dead two miles away from his hometown. Jazla was ten years old when Siraj Ahmed died. She used to raise hands in prayers when she saw her father praying to God. Jazla used to repeat the words of her father, “My Lord! The creator of universe! Save us from war, save our lives from brutal forces, save our children from their cruelties.” At that time she only knew about war but she was not aware of losing her father.

Today, after eight long years Jazla was getting ready for her engagement with a young feudal lord. “Our feudal lords are good enough to live in peace while the poor suffer from the horrible realities of brutality.” She thought. Mariyam often used to think that Jazla dreamed of getting married to a rich person. She also used to tell her stories about kings and queens to make her happy under the shadow of tears. When Mariyam was breathing her last, she asked Jazla to remember her whenever she would go to parties and in the joyous moments as she had also been a dreamer of these moments which her daughter was going to have.

Sitting in the groom’s vehicle Jazla murmured with tearful eyes “Mama, I would never forget you, you are the one who gave me love. I hate the moment when I could not go out to buy medicine, for you forbade me to go outside as my life was in danger”. One had to go when two were in danger.

Jazla met the young feudal lord in a wedding ceremony where she went with a lady who took care of her after her mother’s departure to heaven. Young feudal lord went against his family norms and married Jazla, daughter of Siraj Ahmed. Our love comes from those ways we never have expected. She never expected these moments rather she dreamed to be the bride of a rich man.

The vehicle moved and went on a new way, a new journey…

Our life consists of many phases, one after another. Life is not a bed of roses at all, rather it is a garden of thorns. People say, ‘where there are flowers, there are thorns’ yet life contains such phases where there are only thorns and where there bloom flowers.

Adeel Bin Javaid For Beyond Sanity Publishing


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