July 14, 2007

Mr Ahmed stepped slowly into his living room and slumped heavily in his old, comfortable chair. His grizzled hair, bowed shoulders and wrinkled face gave him the appearance of decrepitude and an experienced man who had dealt with the diverse difficulties of life.

Today his face bore signs of utter misery and sorrow; he was in one of his melancholic moods. Sana and Hamza came hopping into the room and on seeing their grandfather sitting alone both the children rushed towards him and settled near him on the floor. “Hey grandpa, why are you sitting here all alone and why are you looking so sad?” asked young Sana perplexed.

“Like you are so naïve, don’t try to act innocent Sana! You know grandpa is sad about what happened yesterday.” Replied Hamza who was always infuriated by his younger sister’s questions which he thought were mostly irrelevant.

“Oh yes! Now I remember.” exclaimed innocent Sana.

The day before had indeed been a very horrible day. The entire city had been seriously terrified and virtually paralysed by the violence on the streets. Not only many fatal injuries had taken place but the violence had also claimed the precious lives of many citizens. Shops and houses in different areas had been set ablaze. Like others, Mr Ahmed and his family members’ faces had also blanched with terror and they had palpitated with horror at seeing the sight of appalling situation in Karachi as exposed by diverse television channels.

“Please grandpa, don’t worry everything is going to be alright,” said Hamza hopefully. Tears started rolling down Mr Ahmed’s pale cheeks.

“If only these people knew how we got this invaluable country, how many sacrifices we had to make and how many hardships and sufferings we had to go through to achieve this land…” sobbed Mr Ahmed desperately.

“People disobey the laws of their own dear country. It’s just a big tomfoolery. If Quaid-i-Azam was here, he surely would have condemned it,” said Hamza dejectedly.

Mr Ahmed leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes tightly. Thinking about Pakistan, the land of pure, he could vividly remember tall, chivalrous Jinnah along with his trusty comrades struggling hard to obtain a piece of land for the Muslims of the sub-continent where they could live peacefully as one united country following the Islamic rules and regulations.

Mr Ahmed opened his eyes. Gazing through the enormous, transparent glass of the window, he glanced at the ruddy beds of roses, the lush green grass sodden with fresh morning dew, the velvety blue sky and the bright, gleaming sun and then turned his attention toward his amiable grandchildren.

“Children you must promise one thing. Promise me that when you grow up, you would become true Muslims and would strive hard for the betterment of this beautiful country,” said Mr Ahmed hopefully.

“Yeah grandpa, you can count on us!” replied both the children eagerly.

“You know what, I am quite sure that one day both of you would make me happy and proud.” Answered Mr Ahmed contentedly, whose face no longer showed signs of agony and pain. And both the children’s faces, on hearing their grandfather’s remarks about them, glowed with glee.