Spring In My Heart

The cold wind blasted at Abdul's cottage. At the old battered, wooden doors and windows with a greater speed. Little Abdul sat huddled up in a corner of his bed softly singing to

 himself. It was bone achingly chilly from past two months, Abdul was by now tired of sitting at home. He would go out on sunny days to play a little in the snow, but his mother did not allow him for more than two hours. He missed school badly.

They were natives of Chaklu, a village in Baramulla. The family had this beautiful ancestral house, built by Abdul's great grandfather. Though it looked now little old and battered, thanks to the continuous tensions in valley, that his fathers carpet business was running lean. Abdul's father Ertugul Rehman was a man of hope. Abdul had never seen his father defeated, even when their shop had fallen prey to an attack and ambush between police and radicals. Still he had pull through such bad time with patience and sheer hardwork. 

Little Abdul got up and went to his father, he was sitting on his warm bed spread on the floor while smoking a hookah. There was no electricity. Abdul called out his father, Abba may I sit?" Abdul's father looked up, his eyes crinkled in a pleasant smile. He kept down the hookah and stretched his hands to embrace Abdul. "Come child come sit beside me.". Abdul quickly went near him and sat, " Abba I am tired of this storm, won't it never stop, why do we want winter Abba I am so bored nowadays. Nothing to do." Carried on Abdul. Abdul's Abba took a deep drag from the rumbling hookah and quietened Abdul. " Have some patience child, how many complaints and what impatience, dear fellow. Let me tell you something important. This storm, snow, long winters is what kashmir is made up of. When it will snow such, such will be the blooms, Abdul's father made a gesture with his hand showing large flowers. He continued, "The saffron shall grow and the maple's shall turn red. People shall buy more blankets and carpets from our shop when the nights turn colder.". 

Ertugul stood up and called Abdul, " come little man I will show you what you should do while at home. " Ertugul took Abdul to the attic with the lantern in his hand. He entered in and started looking for a box. He found the wooden box and opened it with some difficulty. It contained the treasure, which he had completely hoped for. Abdul peeped in and gave an excited squeal. The box was full of coloured pebbles. Beautiful dry leaves, splendid feathers of some birds, silken twines, old faded kites, paint brushes and old painting canvases, books and most importantly a book of spring poetry by the famous Kashmiri poet Khurshid Ali. Abdul was so excited, he was touching, feeling each and every pebble and painted pine cone. 

Ertugul was watching his son happily. Abdul looked at his father and asked," Abba this all belongs to you?" Ertugul nodded his head. " He picked up the box and started going down, "Abdul this is our spring that me, my elder brother and cousins collected, to play with and remain hopeful that this too shall pass and the season of hope, love and festivities shall arrive. So dear boy, this was my Abba's idea to keep us busy and always positive, so this time when spring shall arrive, you should