Lost In Pakistan

Azam and Fathima were a happily married couple who lived in the beautiful city of Mumbai. Fathima was a Pakistani, whereas Azam was an Indian. Because of the intimate connection between the two families, nothing interfered on their way to marriage. They had an eight-year-old daughter, Ayesha. 

On a bright Sunday morning, Azam sat on a balcony chair reading an English newspaper. His eye's vision penetrated through his spectacle to grasp the words peppered all over the page. The mild morning sunlight poured out its energy over his skin as if trying to investigate his body cells. His daughter's voice passed through the room, cut through the window into his ears. She looked ecstatic, beholding the mickey mouse chase sequence projected from the television. Fathima climbed up the stairs to reach the balcony. She quietly snuggled down in a seat opposite her husband. A hidden thought in her mind plotted to come out as words. 

She held out her hand in front, "Coffee"

Azam acknowledged her presence with a smile and began slurping coffee. Unbidden, wind God swept the city at once with his coveted force. Some leaves separated from the tree and found their new home on the balcony. Fathima picked a green leaf that lay beside her feet. "Can we go to Pakistan for a few days?"

Fathima was a silent woman who hardly spoke. Azam had divine respect for his wife. He knew she had been pondering over her desire for quite some time, but he had been remiss owing to his busy work schedules. He didn't want to disappoint her this time. "We shall go tomorrow," he said.

A controlled smile emerged from her face, depicting the excitement to meet her parents. Azam and his daughter preserved a special bond that was beyond just the father-daughter relationship. Ayesha's facial muscles bounced in joy as she learned she will go out with her parents after a long time. The trio had a peaceful sleep that night. 

On a sunny Monday afternoon, they dragged their bags into the car and reached the airport on time. The Mumbai airport was buzzing with activities. The trio leaped into the flight and the plane ascended deep into the sky amidst the circulating mists. They got immersed in their own world, so the silence didn't seem uncomfortable rather was blissful. Ayesha peered through the window, investigating the relationship between clouds and the sky. Fathima didn't care about the pleasant atmosphere around as her mind was brimmed with her parent's thoughts. Azam had a magazine in his hand that had enough interesting elements to grab his attention.

Time passed was of no concern as the plane descended upon the grounds of Pakistan. Passengers squeezed out of the plane and were greeted with an ominous wind that launched a covert attack on people. The heavy wind made their movement difficult. Azam craned his neck up at the sky obfuscated by the clouds. They dragged themselves out of the Multan airport. What they had never imagined was conspiring to unfold. As they strode on the pavement to catch a taxi, a bullet whizzed up in the mid-air.

Three jeeps stormed onto the main road; armed terrorists with masks covering their faces leaped out of the vehicle and began shooting at their will. One bullet pierced through the heart of Fathima, rendering her lifeless. Azam stood in disbelief, looking at his wife's body as it fell thud on the ground. No one had expected the sudden turn of events. Azam and his daughter knelt beside Fathima, trying to wake her up, but to no avail. One terrorist grabbed Ayesha into his hands and started running. Azam widened his eyes and screamed, "Stop, you man-eater." Before he could chase, he received a bump on his head from behind. All he could sense was the inexorable throbbing in his head before he fell and blacked out. With tears ceaselessly propelling out of Ayesha's eyes, she looked hapless at her parents as the distance between them increased before they disappeared out of sight.

The moment Azam regained his consciousness, the plethora of thoughts poured over just like water gushing through gates. He quickly scrambled back to his feet, sweeping his gaze around. What happened to my daughter? Is she alive? Is she being tortured? Are they going to kill her? Why did I come to Pakistan? A barrage of unanswered questions pounced over his mind, exhausting it to the core. Time appeared precious now as a terrorist abducted his daughter. Azam rushed to the police station to lodge a written complaint.

"They kidnapped my daughter," he said.

"Who?" police asked.

"Terrorists."

"We can't do anything. If you want to save your daughter, go alone and fight in the streets."

"Aren't you a police officer? How can you hide from your duty?"

"Kick him out."

A constable held his collar and pushed him out without remorse. Their asperity only made matters worse as he realized he will have to fight alone for his beloved daughter. Amid unexpected events, he had forgotten about Fathima's parents. Eventually, he realized they were the only ones who could lend him a helping hand. He waved at a taxi and jumped into the rear end of it. He pestered the driver to go as fast as possible. Once he reached the driveway to the door, he scurried along and knocked on the door.

Fathima's father Asif, who was waiting for his daughter, looked perturbed at the door. Azam continued to hammer the door.

"Who is that?" he asked with dread forming in his gut.

"I am your son-in-law, Azam."

Asif heaved a sigh of relief, and with full excitement, opened the door. Soon, his excitement level dwindled, as there was no sign of his daughter and grandchild. Azam looked fazed, with sweat beads scrubbing his body.

"What happened Azam? You look disturbed. Where is my daughter?"

Fathima's mother appeared behind Asif. "Where is Fathima, son-in-law?"

Azam transported the shocking news to Fathima's parents, who looked stunned with words collapsing in their throats.

"My gut feeling says Ayesha is still alive. We have to save her. I am coming from the police station and those morons refused to accept the complaint," he smashed his fist across the wall. "As you know about this city very well, I think you can use your contacts here to speed up the search."

"We will do everything from our end," a tearful Asif said.

"Fathima…" Fathima's mother slumped on a sofa, embracing her daughter's portrait.

Ayesha screamed, "Please take me back to my father."

Armed terrorists paid no heed to her request, as they were engrossed in their business of killing people. "No one can control us," they asserted. The terrorist who had grabbed Ayesha pushed her in a heap of mud before jumping into the jeep and waving her goodbye. Out of nowhere, he directed a gun at her and let loose a bullet, but in nick time she moved to the side, allowing the bullet to find a place in the heap of mud. Her uncontrollable heartbeats finally came under control as the three jeeps perished out of sight. She got a reprieve from the merciless terrorists, who were unintelligible to her.

She did not know the place she was in. She was lost in an unfamiliar territory that brimmed with brutality. Will she be able to survive here? Will she somehow find her father or is she going to succumb to the conspiracies interweaved by the perilous city?

The dusk took the city of Multan over. Lightning struck to glow the city for a fleeting moment. The collision of clouds unleashed the stored energy as rain. Falling raindrops bounced off Ayesha's body before streaming into the drain. The little girl stood alone, drenched in rain with no clear direction to move ahead. "Dad…" she squealed. The cold temperature had already begun showing its extreme effects. Ayesha shuddered with cold and ran towards the gigantic banyan tree that was taking a joyful bathe; overhanging branches occasionally nudged her to further her fear. Raindrops mixed with her tears carried her feelings down to a place that would never understand the pain encompassed in her. Physical coupled with mental exhaustion overwhelmed her to sleep. 

In the early morning, Ayesha slowly opened her eyes, only to hear the growls made by her stomach. She realized she was hungry. She begged for food but no one listened to her leave alone attending to her needs. Someone flung a used food packet into the nearby Trash Can. The little girl had no choice but to heed the warning signs of her tummy. She ran towards the Can, bent her body, but the food packet in the Trash Can was too deep to reach out. Inadvertently, she fell into the Can and the lid closed. Her father appeared near the Can, unaware of his daughter's whereabouts. His eyes darted around the place, even at the closed Can. Ayesha was fading inside, unable to take in the stench emanating from the trash food. Her nose had a miserable time as the contaminated food assaulted it inside. Azam moved away from the Trash Can. A cleaner opened the lid of the trash can and suddenly yanked behind, glancing at a girl inside. She stuck out her hand, helping the little girl to come out. 

"What the hell were you doing there?" she asked in surprise.

"I want my father," Ayesha replied.

"I am not paid well to live a life here. Do you think I will waste time locating your father in this big city?" she handed the girl a food packet and walked off.

Fathima's parents did everything possible to find Ayesha, but they had been extremely unlucky. The moment they learned about their daughter's arrival, they brimmed with vitality, but their joy ceased the moment they heard about their daughter's death and the missing of their grandchild. They grew more despondent, bereft of hope. Azam had been looking out for his daughter day and night. Multan city bus stop was buzzing with the crowd. He slumped on a nearby chair with his head sank to his hands. Coincidentally, his daughter was also at the same bus stop. She had occupied the chair on the opposite platform, devouring the food from the packet she had in her hand. She glanced at her father; she ran towards him with sheer joy. A bus stopped in front of her when she was about to move to the other platform located opposite her. Plenty of people rushed to the spot and squeezed into the bus. She looked lost in the middle of people. By the time the bus propelled forward, Azam had already left the place. Destiny was not ready to get them together.

"Dad, dad…" she cried her heart out.

Ayesha borrowed a pen and a paper from a pedestrian and wrote an emotional letter.

My Dear Father,

I erupted in joy the moment I learned of traveling to Pakistan, but never expected such twists and turns on our journey. I don't know what happened to my mother. Is she still there with you? I am missing her. I don't know why the wicked masked man separated me from you. Someone hit you from behind like a coward. I am scared without you, Dad. Every minute is chalking out deception to haunt me. I am in an unknown place with no familiar faces. I don't know what to do without you, Dad. No one is providing me with food. I feel like I will starve to death. I believe you are looking for me. Please come to this open ground. There is a banner here that states " Save the country from terrorists" I pray to God for this letter to reach you as soon as possible. Please save me from this loneliness.

I remember the days we shared the laughter

I felt peace in your sacred shelter

This place is a land of suffocation

Without you, I can't even function

The perilous wind is shuddering my body

Rain is working in cahoots with the wind to break my body

No one wipes my tears if I cry

You are not there with me, why?

I am filling the buckets with tears

Without you, my only company is fears

Why God made me suffer?

All I asked for is your shelter

I may die without you

The only one who can save me is you

My home is you, my home is you, my home is only you!

Your cute little daughter,

Ayesha

A couple of days passed. The weary face of Azam just couldn't endure the absence of his daughter. He waved at a man who was walking opposite to him.

"Have you seen my daughter?" he fished out a photo from his pocket and showed him.

"I don't know, but a girl died over there," he motioned at an open ground. "She left a note as well."

With an onslaught of negative thoughts tearing him apart, Azam took a deep breath. He prayed to God to save his daughter from trouble. Taking reluctant steps towards the covered, dead body, he gasped for breath before picking up the letter. The moment he gazed at the handwriting, his heart jumped to his mouth, threatening to come out. It was none other than his daughter's letter. He couldn't control his emotions as tears poured out of his eyes. By the time he finished reading the letter, he had completely drenched it in his painful tears. The agony was exploding as he let out a shriek. Someone prodded his shoulder behind. The corner of his vision spotted a girl. He quickly turned behind, only to cry more, not with pain but in ecstasy. Ayesha was still alive; she looked at her beloved father weeping. Tears dropped from the corner of her eyes as they cuddled in relief. Father-daughter's mixed-up emotions made the hug a special one.