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Martyr of the Mother Nation

After a restless sleep she gave up. The sun rays crept through the curtain. She stood up; eyes still shut and tried to find her slippers with the help of her feet. The clock showed 5:30 and she thought of going for the fajr prayer. Since her childhood she was made to pray five times a day. Even now with her busy schedule she always used to find time to thanks Al-mighty for His blessing and love.

The water was cold at first and a shivery feeling went through her body. Instantly she remembered what her nana use to say “God loves the prayers of youth”. The desire of being dear and near to the Creator of the world is a trait that ran in her family.  “ALLAH-O-AKBAR” and she raised her hands in the greatness of ALLAH. Her eyes were filled with water and throughout the prayer a string of tears crawled down her cheeks. It felt like a deep chunk of heart was missing.

Their father was a teacher with modest and patriotic belief and their mother was a simple house wife with old and vintage philosophy. No one in their family tree belonged to defence force. She was strongest one in the family, stronger than her young brother and when she joined the army his father was swollen with pride. She was followed by her brother and soon the family had their progeny serving for the nation.

But today she moaned because of a sacrifice, like one of her hand was slashed away. The pain and the ache she had came flooding out like lava that was obstructed from a billion years deep inside the core of her heart. They were trained to stay put and emotionless. But in front of Supreme Being she lost all her confidence and wept, like a baby from whom her favorite toy has been taken away.

On the dinner table the breakfast was arranged properly. 10 years ago she would have made the breakfast and arranged the table herself but after being deployed to Malakand division her brother and she, along with their parents were living in a fully restored house with servants and care takers. Her mother was not used to be taken care of and hated her house being under some strangers but her father soothed her by telling her that its time that she should relax and let her children take the charge. Behind all her anger was joy of watching her kids being accomplished and merrily she left the world one day while sleeping. Her father couldn’t pull off after the tragedy and after a year he too passed away leaving his children orphan.

Her brother was the only family she had and when he left for the anti-terrorist field operations the home turned into a house.

Where there is happiness eventually the shadows of darkness would take its place. The wind turned its track and their country was undertaken by vicious and evil spirits.

Her thoughts were disturbed by honking of a car and suddenly she was back to reality. In a rush she stood up, taking a sip of cold tea and dashed to the main door. Sher khan stood straight holding the door of the car opened for her and she slipped inside.

Enormous black gates unbolted and a white elegant building emerged in front of her eyes. She was mesmerized by the architecture of the building from the very first day when her eyes met the structure. The immense building belonged to the secret defence agency of Pakistan.

The white corridor looked novel to her, as she never had put a step there ever. Everyone that crossed her was looking at her astounded. “What is it?”  She thought. Hastily she went to her office.

All her questions were answered when she walked to her desk. The newspaper had a front page photo of her brother. The headlined read “Martyr of the mother nation” and paper fell on the floor right out of her hands. So that is why everyone was looking at her. They all were amazed at her bravery and strength. That’s the reason she was feeling so low and she cried. That was the explanation to her sleepless night. The smell of fresh earth, soft music of national anthem playing, solid footsteps of the soldiers marching and discharge of the 21 arsenals facing the gray sky, all the memories of yesterday came flooding back. A wooden coffin covered with the green and white flag was being held up high on the shoulders, they lowered him down in the open grave and she went down on her knees as if they had turned into jelly. All of a sudden the brightly lit room was shrinking and deprived of oxygen to breathe. Cold and bitter feelings ran inside her and she had this void of being alienated in a world full of strangers.

Unexpectedly her legs carried her out of the office. In a minute she had crossed the corridor where her fellows stood watching her in bewilderment. Her car was right where it should be and she opened the car with her spare keys and drove madly out of the building, all she knew was to get out from these unpredictable emotions she was having.

It was raining heavily, puddle splashed mud all over her shoes when she climbed out of her car. She couldn’t remember how she got there. But these graves looked friendly to her. Even though it was chilly outside but the warmth of her being near to her family made everything worth it.

It took only a day and she went exposed, nothing was there for her in this globe. She cried her heart out in front of her mother’s grave, and the trees bent their heads in her sorrow. All that was left in this world was her country and her Creator.

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Farah Khalid is a story writer based in Karachi. Her areas of interest are social and moral issues and inspirational stories.

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اس ویب سائٹ کا مواد بول پلاٹون کی آفیشل رائے کی عکاسی نہیں کرتا. مضامین میں ظاہر معلومات اور خیالات کی ذمہ داری مکمل طور پر اس کے مصنف کی ہے