The Tale of SAHABABAD

Pg. 2

The following morning, I opened my eyes in Islamabad in a grumpy mood only to acknowledge the visit of my monthly guest. The spots of blood had irritated me, making me let out an animalistic groan as I completed my morning routine while struggling with crams. I was nervous, it was an understatement and the period had made me feel all the more self-conscious of my timidness.

I feel brawny and endure a high level of mood swings due to the constant tussle of hormones during the menstrual cycle. At an occasion or two, the mood swings had landed me in trouble and had earned me a bitter scolding from mother to behave recklessly, but that day; I was determined to live every moment of my stay to the fullest.

It isn't daily that you make visits to Pakistan, Yudhu. Don't let anything destroy your peace. Just be the way you are. Don't forget about freedom (Yipeeeeeeeeeeeee). I am so thrilled! I will VC you in the eve. Have a great trip and don't forget about the Arabs ;) The text of my sister-in-law had read when I had told her about the unpleasant call of Mother Nature. The wink at the end had brought a happy smile on my face. Talking to her has never failed to brighten my mood up.

I was curious to know the trends, to understand the difference and to learn about the culture of the people I've heard about half of my life. It was all very thrilling for me to visit places whose mention I've only heard in news and articles. I felt a sense of vanity up-to my core. Reason? Not known.

The early call of Azan had awoken my landlord who knocked at my door to hand in a packet of milk while mumbling an honoured Asalaam-e-walekum, perhaps even she felt the equal kick of titillation by attending a stranger from India in her house. My accommodation was arranged by the Department of foreign literacy and student exchange programme which was a small one-bedroom apartment barely three kilometres away from the university campus. On my request, they had arranged an amply equipped kitchen with no-grocery of its own but I was relaxed that at least I had a kitchen.

The snacks that my mother had packed were my breakfast of the morning and multiple mornings following after, it's in the morning when I feel particularly lazy when an act of moving my muscles feels as burdensome as lifting a mountain on my head. I took breakfast with a cup of lukewarm milk comprises of the flavour of turmeric and saffron as I simultaneously penned down my to-do list while surfing for the places I could visit and a grocery store near me.

It was the first time that my eyes had seen him. It wasn't real or in-person, but a virtual image on my iPad. Oh yes! It has started long ago before he or I could know it. Our meeting was an actual conspiracy of the sequence of events arranged by fate. Maybe, it was indeed the universe works. Today while sitting in his library and penning down the whole journey, my eyes still can't forget the image of him smirking at the camera, his face, his perfectly trimmed beard and his dark eyes arrayed with a layer of kohl or Surma that brings chills down my spine, but crystal clearly; I do remember his handsome face.

It was a news article on the Google homepage, capturing the space of my news feed of daily updates. His handsome face was the subject matter of my interest that I had touched on the link to read further confirming the rumour of his arrival in Pakistan to attend an upcoming wedding of the daughter of some minister in the following month. His face...

I know it's all very strange that I was seduced by my captor's charm (however short or virtual it was) but I won't lie, especially to myself that I used to hate him since the start because I did not. If I'd be honest; I had found him unimaginably handsome. His charm was enough to capture space in my brain for a couple of subsequent weeks where I had stalked him on the internet and cracked jokes with Bhabhi about screwing around with him. However shameful, I might feel right now but it's the truth and it is another truth as well that the thought of meeting him, standing up to him and becoming his wife had never crossed my brain during that interval. The short-term fun and fantasy over his virtual images on i********: were never meant to turn into something serious, a part of my life or so I had thought.

I remembered searching for his journey, background and updates on Google for almost a week. I had drooled over his car collection, had awed at the mighty lions as his pets and was star struck when found the story of the denial for a stay in a hotel for being so handsome somewhat true, but it was a façade that every girl in the world goes through. Celebrity crushes never meant to turn reality—then how come I become so unlucky?

Stumbling over his biographies, I had gone through an article claiming his involvement with the local mafia. Another website had alleged him as its founder and leader. The mafia was claimed to exists under the name 'Azazela' that was assumed to have connections throughout Pakistan, Yemen, Oman and a huge part of Saudi Arabia. As per the allegations of the article, the Azazela was involved in matters concerning Human-trafficking, drug dealing and arms and aviation. Another article had established its connection with gangs involved in world terrorism. It had a picture to verify its claims where Iblis was spotted shaking hands with the leader of a popular gang of Iran. It had an aeroplane in the background enumerating a sealed deal between both the parties in an exchange of women.

I had seen Abner and Suri in the picture too. However, it was a blurred image but now I am assured that they were there and I couldn't be wrong. So far, it just has been a night in the palace and I haven't seen any evidence supporting the claims, but the conduct of the people, especially the one of accused has been stating otherwise.

The place is full of mysteries so are the people. I have seen fear, grief and vulnerability in the eyes of many, even with Fatima something seems off but the picture is vague and reserved, leaving me with nothing to form a theory so far.

Back then, I hadn't found myself so concerned about the Sahababad and its mysteries. I was content with my life, living my dreams and enjoying my stay in Pakistan. It was my first day of the college and I remember feeling itchy with anxiety at the thought of introducing myself to the foreign people who were going to be the part of my upcoming three months. Therefore, accustomed as I was with this ritual; I felt a different feeling, nausea similar to the one a toddler might have felt on his first visit to the school—amidst the strangers. The sense of something unknown often makes people extra-conscious—and so I had felt. I had put extra efforts on my appearance to feel more acceptable. I had invested half an hour to curl my naturally straight brown hairs with artificial blonde highlights to give it a bounce, applied more make-up than usual and that's how by the time the sun hovered over the horizon of the city, I had completed half of my enrolling formalities and had a couple of introductory conversations with the administrative body as well who had welcomed me with cheerful smiles.

I was made the centre of attention for the whole day as I had loafed around in the corridors while wearing aqua blue formal wear, red lipstick and three-inch high stilettos. The air around was chirping like a cuckoo in springs and I felt productive as if I had discovered another dimension of personal mastery. I felt excited and exhilarated as much that the frequent crams down my abdomen were neglected completely. My core concentration was stolen by the tiniest details, the students and their activities in the surroundings. I was extra cautious so much so I didn't miss the details.

The dean of the Quaid-e-Azam University, Mr Khasif Mohammad was the man who had introduced me to the department of cultural literacy while professor of architectural-archaeology, Mrs Sahana Ali Khan had introduced me to the class. The students welcomed me with a round of applause, a dozen questions about India and my journey till Pakistan. Females were more open for the FAQs rounds while the group of the boys had chatted among themselves. I didn't mind their lack of attention. On anything, it had made me feel home all the more.

If I were in India; the same would have happened even with the females. It's usual. The self-talk had consoled my thumping heart.

Mrs Khan had introduced me to a group of frontbenchers, typically all girls. A student among them, Ms Sara Nayab Ghori, the head of the student council and a girl in her early twenties, was entrusted with the post of my guide during my visits and she had further introduced me to a couple of her friends personally that had earned me a few offers for the supper at their homes with their families. Later on, her group of friends became mine during the whole stay that had made the journey all the more memorable. I had politely kept on procrastinating the offers to visit their homes while setting up a few spots they had mentioned to the priority visits in which the girls had willingly accompanied. Their presence had helped in multiple ways. I saw the things in a different dimension and learnt the histories with conversations.

Sara was a sweet-tempered, soft-spoken and drop-dead kind of gorgeous woman. The aura around her was friendly and I felt inclined to be her friend, not a mere acquaintance. She showed me around the universities, helped me settle the currency issues (Her father was personnel of the nationalised bank) and during the second week of my stay; I had met her family.

The conduct of the citizens wasn't the kind of one I had imagined, a conclusion I had made while surfing the internet and the display by the media that had hampered my considered intellect. It was contradictory to their presence around that had made me feel warm and welcoming so were the approach of the students in the council and the one in the class. I was their 'special guest', as they had mentioned, and they felt it obligatory to make me feel home and comfortable. Each day ended with pleasant memories added on-to the empty-suitcase I had brought with me, the people in my contact list increased with each passing day and such that a month had ended enhancing my knowledge over the basic culture of Pakistan, past changes, the vivid images of their prominent festivals and with loads of happy memories with the new friends.

In all this chaos the coming future was long forgotten. what remained in the brain was a mere knowledge that similar duration had to be spent on the land of Sahababad, his land of Sahababad. 

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Another one! I just can't stop writing. It's all in the head that has been begging to be pinned down and I just can't help it.  I should probably be studying, but here I am with another update. 

Anyways enjoy the chapter while I prepare for my exams. Hopefully writing it shall be as easy as writing about Iblis and Yodhya. 

ASR