2. Bereft Aarti
My eyes stick to a photo frame sometimes whenever I dream of my house, which is unfortunately now bereft of us. It should be still there, perhaps, in our bedroom. It is so strange that even at this stage of my life I still remember every moment, every memory linked with that house. We got it snapped when she had finally accepted to marry me and there was a kind of celebration all around the country. The TOIs, The HTs and many others had headlined in its first page ‘Finally Aarti says yes’. But there were also some orthodox people who had protested against our wedding. That was a tough time for both of us. Whenever I see that picture moments freeze down, time slows its flow and past memories surround me all around. Then tears, before I realize, huh! …eyes go wet, twinkling with tears and filled with emotions. We had snapped it in Saharabad, the place where it all began and all ended.
“Sorry we could not save your wife” this was exactly what they (the doctors) told me when I reached the hospital after I was informed by one of my friend that the hospital she works in has been attacked by the mob. Then they moved on leaving me desperate, helpless, and all alone in the hospital. My dear friends we all love someone in our life and that ‘someone’ too loves us more than anyone in life, does. That ‘someone’, who was always before our eyes when we needed them but we never saw them, thanked them. How pathetic! Sometimes we never respect what we have in present and sacrifice it for future. However, when they are gone, we realize their importance and unfortunately, it is often too late to recover the loss. Aarti was the same ‘lost thing’ for me now.
Sometimes in life, there is someone, whose company is indispensable and in no way we are ready to accept his or her absence ever. They are important. They are life. Moreover, we want to thank them but often may be out of shyness or because of the wait for that ‘right time’ to come, we never say it. And at the time when the person is gone, we realize that the ‘right time’ was always there and we just had to pick up one single day and utter out our feelings for them. I too wanted to say this simple word of ‘thanks’ to Aarti, my wife. I just wanted to say thank you, thank you for everything, for every moment she filled in with joy and contentment. Thank you for being there in every those single moment when I was alone, empty and broken.
Back in hospital, Zeeshan, a very close friend of mine read the situation, noticed his role, and took the charge.
“Doctor it is very tough time for my friend right now. I request you to leave him alone. I will be looking after the legal procedures further. It would be very kind of you if you discharge the dead body as soon as possible,” said Zeeshan taking care of everything.
The humble doctor could understand our feelings. Perhaps they always do. The doctor assured him saying, “Sure sir, we understand your situation. Please take care of Mr Faizan. It is very hard time for him. He surely needs you.”
‘Hard time’ that is what he said. Huh! Actually, it was not just the hard time for me but a time full of emptiness, questions, and disgust. I was not just depressed, but broken. I was confused about how would I lead rest of my life without Aarti. I was helpless. I did not know how to live without Aarti. It had been about 40 years now and she had become a habit. I just could not figure it out who would prepare my speeches. With whom will I discuss my planning? Who will take care of me, my life? I just did not know. I had no answers.
Zeeshan helped me move out of the hospital. I was moving slow and random like a thick piece of object. My face had turned pale, eyes red with tears and hairs disorganized. Neither could I listen nor could I see anything, may be because I didn’t care to. Zeeshan just pulled me somewhere out of the hospital. As we moved out of the hospital, we were surrounded by a flood of media and public supporters. Though police was there for my security but they could resist only the people, not their questions.
“Sir, your own wife died in the riot what do you have to say?”
“She was a public hero. What actions will you take against the people involved in the riot?”
Zeeshan came in between and he asked me not to listen or answer them and just move with him to his home. But I did not want to leave like this and consequently I pulled my hand back and said to him, “No, I want to stay…stay with her. Zeeshan just let me go. Just let me go brother.”
Zeeshan denied and said, “You look tired and weak. Come let’s go home and have something to eat.” But I refused saying, “I have to tell her something. She is going away from me. I have very less time my friend. Let me go.”
I pulled his hand away from my hand and rushed to the ICU where my wife was lying cold and low. I was running as faster as I could, trying to save all the last moments with her. As I walked in the room, I saw her dead body lying like a piece of object- silent and motionless. A sort of feeling travelled down my heart. I could feel her, her presence. It appeared as if she is sleeping normally, as usual she used to. And at any moment, she would be awake and ask me “How was your day?” I went to her, sat down, and held her hand. Looking at her face, I moved my fingers on her hairs. A tinge of emotions moved down my throat …a raw nerve was touched and I could not help myself sobbing. Zeeshan was looking everything from outside but he did not interfere. Perhaps he too was weeping, behind the walls. He was listening me talking to her. Yes, I was talking to her. Perhaps people with high common sense will call me mad but believe me if you have really loved someone you will understand. I was an atheist but she always wanted me to pray to God. And that day I did. I did make a small prayer for her. And I could not waste a moment disclosing this to her that I am no more an atheist as she wanted and I do prayers now for me and for everyone.
“I …prayed him … I swear I did. You believe me, don’t you? I requested him (the almighty) to give me my life back because that belongs to me…even for just a single day or for a single moment. Heaven can wait…” I said in a melancholic voice. “But look what he did? He did not listen to me. He never listens to me. Neither did you. Aarti you cannot leave me here alone. I don’t know where are my medicines. I can’t find my handkerchief. I forget to take my watch. I don’t eat dinners. And I can’t sleep at nights. Everything’s just messed up without you. So just wake up please. Come back. Come back in my life. I can’t live without you…”
Tears? Yes, tears came in my eyes. But even that did not awake her. She remained muted and did not reply. A woman who used to turn restless over my one single minor cough was silent that day. Silent forever. This was not acceptable. No! And the Gods would have to answer for her condition. He was equally responsible. He was equally the faulty.
“I never prayed to you but she did, always. You owe her devotion and that trust in you. She cannot listen to me. So please send my last message for her. Just tell her ‘Thank you’. Thank you for being there at all the time I needed her. Tell her that she was not just a good wife but also a good friend, and perhaps my soul. Tell her that I feel myself graceful for every support of her. Tell her that how much I loved her. Tell her…please… ” I said sobbing and spent the whole night with her trying to live those last moments, every single moment left with Aarti, my Aarti.
Next morning some noise of arguments woke me up. When I stepped out, I found some ministers of my cabinet arguing over any issue.
“She was a Hindu. So her funeral must be performed according to the Hindu traditions otherwise Hindus will not like this and may protest against us.”
“No, no, since she married to a Muslim so she becomes a Muslim and her body should be buried down otherwise Muslims may not like this and protest.”
The debate slowly turned serious. I was standing behind them and felt disgusted with their behaviour. Eventually it became important to interfere in between.
“She was a Hindu and her funerals will be performed in complete accordance to the Hindus tradition. No more discussions on this issue please”, I interrupted angrily in between.
Mr Ashraf Khan, our party leader, was also present nearby. Cunning and selfish in behaviour, he came close to me and said, “I know its difficult time for you. But just look at yourself. You look tired and weak.” He ordered one of his men to get me a glass of juice. He then held my hand, acted of being sad and said, “It looks as if it’s been only couple of days passed when I saw you both as newly married couple.(He takes a long breath) I miss her too. However, these are things of past and you will have to prevail this bad time, at least for her. We have elections in this week and people want to hear you. They too are sad. They mourn for you. This is the time to take advantage of the sentiments of these people. You just prepare your speech well and leave the rest on me.”
“I will not be able to speak in public right now and I apologize for that. I am sorry,” I said cutting him in between rudely. His tongue instantly was twisted and he muted for a while. “Only thing that I am worried about right now is my wife’s funeral, that’s it. Please excuse me I gotta go,” I said rudely and left.
Zeeshan was present nearby. Ashraf khan knew only he was the one whom I would listen. Therefore, he went to him and said, “Console him. He is crucial for our victory in election. You are his friend… he will listen to you. Go now.” Though Zeeshan knew, it was not the right time to do that but he could do nothing but follow the orders. Therefore, he replied positively to Ashraf Khan and left.
Late that dayr, the cremation was done with proper rites & rituals. I kissed Aarti for the last time and lit her body on fire. I watched the flames growing gradually. And as they grew, I could see the past memories surrounding me and literally taking Aarti from me away and away with the flames.