The Dwellers Post Issue No 3

Dwellers of Land by Frozen Flames

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Dwellers of Land       
    The time like a wave is meant to furnish life with rises and falls. The days and nights go casually, Each day arrives indifferently for us, but who knows how much the Earth has done for its enactment. For each day to become a night, the earthworks. Shining stars look beautiful indeed, but who cares for the days when they burnt themselves, nobody knows how much have they worked to be able to be seen by everyone in the universe. I heard it all right, time is all the luck, maturity ages and success yields itself with time...
     The life of people 70 years from ago was surely no similar to ours, but who can deny that the emotions and pains were distinguished. Similarly, goes, the story of dwellers of land. My words would love to express the story of a boy in between the hands of innocence and violence. The one entangled in between the wrath of people and communities.
     A boy, in a small village in Pakistan, knew life as a beautiful chaos. His parents, a happy couple, had two boys that counted all their wealth. Bestowed by God, their world was a complete one. Very less of money and no trace of comfort, but they represented with grace their togetherness... The joint family had ensured the security of being each other's hold. Dipped into the waters of naivete, the boy lived amidst the people of minds. Where there was no heart- and mind, the only ruler.
      Conspiring minds that lived inside their own house made it to destruction. Playing games, became her, fun thing to demolish the sails of their ship. Every day a new blunder happened in the name of the boy's mother, and she was the only one who faced turbulence. Because nobody knew that behind all this, was a hidden face who wanted his mother to be thrown out. And it happened so, she was expelled out of the house. His parents were divided, and from two beautiful creatures of love, was snatched the lap of maidenhood.
     They had a father and grandparents to love, but each day along with love, they induced in them hatred for their mother. Propelling into their mind, that she was a wicked woman who wanted to kill the members of the family somehow...
     Crude thoughts took their word as gospel, from hating her to ignoring her, the corrupt won... But nobody could stop them from crying in the corners, murmuring the name of her while tears traveled down their soft cheeks, which the mother used to kiss. Had their mother seen their trembling lips calling her name, she would have killed everyone around to be with them forever. Those small frostbitten fingers holding their mother's veil, and crying for hours hiding their face inside it showed the remaining face cruelty. Even the fragrance of their mother had so much more love than anyone, her laughter was not a forgotten one. She tried to meet them very casually, hiding from the world, she brought for them things to eat. She would give them all of the love in a few hours she was graced with. God knows how many tears were created those days.

     But, even the time goes well at times with bad people, they succeeded in separating them from her... The children were taken by the wit of hatred induced in them. They were afraid of being killed by the one who gave them life. Only this lame belief made them lame forever, still lamenting over their fears.... Succeeded the demons, to flaunt the wrath of drought. The children no more remembered, what, to be
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caressed by a mother was. Left were few traces of love that I see even now in wrinkles which are created on the face of that elderly man when he talks about her.
      The woe never ends. If it does, believe the new one is being created somewhere. Because to every bad, there is an even worse... Few more days of bulldozing speared, when everybody, in the hands of violence suffered. When people, took in their hands weapons to kill each life in the name of religion. The Hindus wound Muslims & the Muslims slaughtered Hindus. There flew the red in streets. In the taps of life, flew blood and not water. Each face which was born to show the expressions of beautiful life, now telecasted the imprints of violence.
     1947 a year of separation of humanity from people, an era of a creation of devastation in the name of a religious domain. People were compelled to leave their homes and wander to some new land of strangers. The two boys too left all their treasures there. They were supposed to bury all their precious things in their soil and take only needed ones. Perhaps, someday when they grew up they would again be able to redirect to it. But who knew all they wanted was their mother again. What the young boys had in mind was not whether they'd survive in this chaos or not but whether they would see their mother again or not.
      And, talking about her would be stupidity, because without all of them she preferred death. The boys were not even allowed to see her last. Stabbed by their owns, they lost their last love. Afraid of demonic caretakers, they even could not speak... Their heart cried, "Murderers, please let us go!" The words on their tongue remained buried forever... They cried and cried, to be seen by none. Gave herself to heavens. 
And the boys now wait for her return.

      Out from the small vents of the window of the train, they peeked out, and all they could see was blood all over. In the wait of half an hour, were killed almost 100 people in front of them. As the train moved with each creaking sound the wheels produced were breaking the hearts of innocence.
     I am told this story won't go big because it's not some romantic one, but each time I see the drooping wrinkles and the dripping eyes of an old man which speak of destruction under a crown of cruelty, I am forced to write for him. In his talks are the days of love and pain. In his eyes lies hope, he believes Lahore is still waiting for him, or maybe his mother would come in front of him someday, and he will be able to beg forgiveness from her. Indeed he waits for life after death...
      ...Tender feet walked on lands of blood. The way their days and nights conspired to play with them a game of thorns was totally not philanthropic!!
     They got new ways, new lands here and a new mother too. At times, who saved meals for them and never preferred them but yes, they got someone in the name of a mother, to be saved from the pity of the world, to be not called an orphan ever. They had one who loved them a bit, not more than her own children but yes she did!!! Seeing her adoring her own children made their eyes fill up with traces of pain... but the two brothers would hug each other tightly as somewhere their mother was in them too... They were her part of course......