Kashmala
The armed conflict between the rebellious groups and the army had brought life in the valley of Swat to a standstill. Over the past few months, the fighting had been escalating and had now reached a point where normal life was impossible to live. Every single day passed with a bomb blasting here and there, in the mosque, outside the girls' school, the market place, anywhere, killing scores and injuring and disabling many more. Every single day there was shelling by the army which, ever now and then, hit a civilian house, killing and maiming many innocents.
A roundabout which used to be called Nishaat chowk was now called Khoni (bloody) chowk. Every day when the inhabitants of the city visited the roundabout, hanging from an electrical post, by the heels was the dead body of a local, with the neck slashed, often head cut off and pinned to the post beside the feet. The person killed would usually be known, as the people who ran this murder ring, had an FM channel through which they announced the name of the next person to be executed.
Many people had already left the city for safer places. The first ones to leave were those who had enough money to buy comparable houses and to afford a comparable lifestyle elsewhere. They had escaped as soon as the first shots had been fired. Many others were forced to follow later. However, some people still stayed behind. Of course, these were the ones whom nature has not blessed with many choices in life: the poor. Although their life was in tremendous peril, these poor families could still not think of leaving the place since they did not just have anywhere to go.
Then one day when the government decided they would carryout a sweeping operation, they ordered the people to evacuate the city. Again the poor were left with no choice but to leave their homes for nowhere. A mass exodus started and it was a heart rending scene indeed.
It was complete chaos. People had not planned they would would leave their houses. They did not know how to move. Lucky were those taxi and Rickshaw drivers who, although they were very poor as well, yet had the luxury of not having to go on foot.
Salam Din's was one such family which had been struck by this calamity. He was a retired clerk who now ran a small grocery shop to take care of his family of four including himself, his wife and two daughters. His wife, Bano bibi, was a woman in her late thirties. The two daughters, Kashmala and Gulalai were 17 and 13 year old. The family was not too poor to do well for themselves; yet, they were rather unprepared for such a change of luck.
to be continued
to be continued
Time, they say, is the best healer. In time even the deepest scars heal. Kashmala, Gulalai and their mother were somewhat out of the shock after a few weeks and appeared to be living like the other victims of the conflict who lived beside them.
After living in the school building for a couple of months, one day, they were told they had to shift to an IDP camp. The camp was located in Jalozai, a small village near Mardan, one of the main cities of the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province.
This camp was much better a place to live than the school building. A huge swath of previously unoccupied land was converted to a makeshift village by hundreds of very small tents place immediately one after the other in long rows. Each family was allotted one tent. There was one make shift rest room per every 8 tents. Food was served three times a day at designated places which would be crowded much beyond capacity during the distribution.
All the families were given blankets, a few clothes, water containers and other items of daily living. Many workers of local and international NGOs frequented the place. One NGO working to help these victims acquire skills for earning a living hired Kashmala for a small stipend. She had to teach young kids how to read and write. In return she would get 4000 rupees per month, and after a few months, the prospect of being hired permanently once she is 18 and can be legally allowed to work full time.
The forlorn family was very happy. 4000 was not a meagre amount for them. Kashmala’s mother thought she would be able to educate her second child if she had the money. She had initially thought she would work at someone’s house to allow for her kids’ education, and had yet not dropped the idea altogether but was somehow relieved for the time being.
Kashmala had not completed her school yet. Still she was able to do the job so well that she was able to teach most of the students in her class reading and writing. Her most important skill, public speaking, had, however, yet not been seen until, one day, when she was interviewed by a foreign TV channel, and she spoke of her story in very effective words. The people who were interviewing her were amazed at how a young girl from such an undeserved area could speak so well--- and that too not in her mother tongue but in English. They immediately wondered if she could work for them. The area was obviously a place where no one was willing to work and having a local reporter, however untrained, was still good for them. Kashmala was really thrilled by the idea but her mother said no. She was strongly convinced that appearing on the TV was only for women with a bad character.
After a few months, the NGO decided to give Kashmala a permanent job. Although her mother was still convinced that it was far too good to be true, Kashmala was offered a handsome amount of 35000 per month, in addition to free accommodation and food. Every night when her mother would wake up for prayers, she would pray for the honour of Kashmala. She was very happy about her daughter’s switching fortunes: she was nevertheless apprehensive.
Kashamala and her family had to move to Islamabad for the new job. This was the first time the family was to travel in such a new car. While travelling, Gulalai, Kashmala and their mother suddenly became very sad, and tears started oozing down their cheeks. It was most likely they all recalled Salam Din. They did not say anything to each other but cried silently. The driver got a bit confused, and looked at the tissue paper, but refrained from offering it, lest it should sound too intimate for a driver.
When they reached Islamabad, the driver asked Kashmala if he would take him to their residence or the main office. He addressed her by bibi jee. Kashmala had never been called bibi jee. She was so confused by this new name that she was unable to answer properly. She said, “where ever you want?” The driver, without realizing her meekness, felt the improper response was because of the fact that he should not have asked the question in the first place went on to saying, “sorry bibi jee, I know it is evening and the office would be close, but sometimes some sahibs (officers) still visit the office before being dropped at their house.” Kashmala did not say anything, she just said ok.
I dont understand, if u dont like a thread , please their is a feature in human body "IGNORE"...use it, as NO ONE INVITED/BEGGED YOU TO COMMENT....
n if u really like to gain points, u can always make a TROLL POST , very common feature here.
These mushy stories have been reality for many people. But then you are from India, and I cant expect you to understand everything. If you can not sympathize with someone, at least do not make fun of them.
Warning!
Mind your language!Do not create topics or posts that criticise, bully or insult other Qatar Living members, and do not flame (e.g. provoke other Qatar Living member into arguments) or impersonate other people.
Moderator
Reply:
My dear moderator,
This was the original comment. PQ, do you really think you exist for me? you must be imbecile!"
The translation of this into simple English would be this.
"Are you crazy? Why would I even care about you"
The person called me MS office, although my name was Segmund. I just answered him, that someone who can not respect me should not expect me to even care about them (unless they are crazy). I did not abuse, provoke or impersonate anyone.
Anyways, if you think I did something of the sort, I am sorry and I will try not to repeat.
Thanks.
why cant the mods create a group for story writing nd put these mushy stories there.
After a day-long walking on foot, all the people in the household were dead tired and thus went to sleep rather quickly. They had had some crumbs of bread for dinner. Whilst they were asleep, several masked gunmen approached the place. They shouted, "wake up people". Salam Din woke up instantly followed by the other people. The men, all heavily armed, searched Salam Din's body. They found on him nothing but a few hundred rupees and two ID cards. One of the ID cards was to become the reason of his cruel death.
"So you work for the government, haan?"
"Yes, I am a clerk. I earn halal living for my family."
"Oh you munafiq, you earn halal from a haram government. Soon we will take you to your fate."
The women started crying loudly. One man pointed the gun at them and warned them he would silence their voices with his gun if they kept shouting. Then one of the men, a burly man with a large head and short stature, got close to Salam Din, and by stretching one of his legs behind him, he instantly pushed him down, knocking him on the ground. The family looked on. Another burly man, with a sharp butcher knife came forward. The first man sat on Salam Din's chest, beckoning to the second one to run his knife along his neck. Salam Din, even though his mouth was dry, cried, "Oh, God where, where, where are YOU?" At that precise moment, the ground jolted. The quake was small, yet big enough to let the two men get bewildered, stand up and get scared. Soon again, the man tried to knock Salam Din again on the ground, this time, he just stumbled without falling flat. He felt so helpless. He thought at least he could fight for his life if his wife and daughters were not with him. He felt so helpless because he could not even talk to his family for one last time.
When there is no escape,
Bare hands grip the sharp blade of a sword.
Salam Din picked up a stone and hit one of the men in the head, making him fall to the ground. Within second, from behind, another man shot him in the head, then multiple times in the back, and then the burly man beheaded him, all this happening before the very eyes of his family. Curiously, the men did not say anything to the women and left.
What a misery of woes. All night the devastated family kept wailing without being heard by anyone. In the morning, a Rickshaw (small vehicle with three tires) appeared and in it there were about four people. When they saw what had happened, they stopped by. The two women in the Rickshaw cried along with the bereaved family. The two men took the dead body, wrapped it in a blanket and carried it away in the Rickshaw for burial.
In the afternoon, when the two men came they came in a small pick-up.
Salam Din's family was also loaded onto the pickup along with the two other women and they came to a town where, for the time being, it was safe. They stayed in a small school building where scores of other internally displaced people were already being housed. Salam Din's wife and daughters kept crying. Some other women tried to console them by telling them how they had just recently lost their lives and how it was a test from God.
waiting for the next so long.....:(
waiting ...... for next
Salam Din was too perturbed on this day of doom to think straight. He did not know how to pack his things and how to leave the city. There was no guarantee that they would find a car or even an animal cart to move out of the city. The family could not afford taking a lot of things. They just got a few bags with some clothes and two blankets. Salam Din's wife also took along with her her jewellery, of course not because she wanted to wear it, but because she wanted it to be safe, and to be handy when the family needed to sell it for money.
When they came out of their house, they found all the streets packed with people who had all set out to start evacuation of the city. All of them looked so nervous and worried. Every person, male or female, young or old was carrying something in their hands. Everyone tried to take from their homes what they could.
After reaching the nearby bus-stand, Salam Din's family found out that getting a ride was impossible. They had to walk on foot. The problem was that just a few kilometers from the city, on the way, there were no buildings and the area had only thick forestation. But Salam Din was happy that since there would be so many other people, probably the jungle wont be so dangerous for them anyways.
While they were walking they found many families who had already occupied make-shift shelters, small tents made of blankets, plastic sheets and stuff. These families had already been too tired to walk any further and had rather earlier called it a day. Salam Din's family found one shelter on the way. It was a waiting room for passengers which had never been used. The room had only three walls and a shelf about one and a half feet above the floor along all three walls serving as a bench. The family decided to stay there for the night.
short story..... waiting for the next part.....impatiently..... ;-)
this sounds like a beginning of a nice short story, keep up the good work Segmund!
for peace everywhere !!
Thanks MS Office. Please do not continue