When I was a kid my mother used to tell me the stories of Motherland. I always wondered what this motherland was that my mother always talked about. Years later, I realized that I was born in a country which was not the country of my ancestors and the stories that I have been hearing about the motherland since childhood is my real country, a place where my parents were born, where they spent their childhood. My mother keeps on telling me the stories of that place and I have always wondered why she had so much love for that place and why she could not go back there.
I grew older, living a wonderful life. I had friends belonging to different religions and I never felt any difference between them and myself. Time went on and I got married; years later I was blessed with a beautiful baby boy. My parents had grown old and my mother still kept on telling the stories about the motherland to her grand child and he would listen with interest like I did as a kid.
Years went on and one day my mother passed away. It was the day when I felt I had lost everything. I was very much attached to my mother and her death changed my life. Her whole life she had wished to go back to her country but her wish could not be fulfilled. She meant a lot to me and my life was incomplete without her.
One day, I went to my mother's room and looked at her belongings. I saw a book placed inside her drawer. The title of the book was "My Home, My Heaven" which was written by my belated mother. I started reading the book in which she had written all about my country. She had sketched it beautifully. The last line brought tears into my eyes:
"For the last forty years I have been living in this unknown place of this world and I dearly miss my place, the sands that scented like a rose, the morning azaan of the rooster, its snowy cliffs clad in thick clouds and the beautiful lush green fields. I have always wished to go back to my own place but it does not look like to be happening. I wish I were buried in my homeland, my heaven."
One day I decided to go to my motherland and see what was so special about it. I packed my belongings and was about to leave when my son called me and said, "Father, should I come with you?" I looked back at him and something strange happened, the look on his face forced me not to leave my home, not to go to my mother's homeland but then forced myself to say to my son, "No, I'll be back soon" and left home.
It was a long flight and then I landed in the country called Pakistan, my motherland. I left the airport and came outside, a special feeling I felt as I landed in this country. This was the first time ever I visited Pakistan. I had heard about some of my relatives in Pakistan so I knew their names well and their faces in the photographs, they were coming to receive me from the airport. As I came out of the terminal I saw a huge mob standing outside the airport to greet their relatives coming from abroad. I moved further and I saw a huge gathering waving to me from some distance, I didn't recognize anyone of them. Most of them ran towards me with excitement, I got confused at that moment, they came closer greeted me and the only thing I understood well was "Welcome home Ji, Welcome home."
I was introduced by each member of the family and then we moved towards our native village. On my way home, I sat with one of my uncles who was close friend of my father and my father used to tell me his stories. He also mentioned of the same stories to me. Everything was looking interesting to me and I was enjoying being here, in my own country.
After a journey of two hours we reached our village. Another surprise for me was that the whole village was there to greet me, this really made me nervous. I was shaking hands with different people, all were new faces to me and the language they were speaking was totally different from the language my parents spoke at home. After a lengthy session of greetings from villagers I was taken to a house and here I was greeted with the ladies section of the village. This part was totally annoying, the mob almost attacked me some were burqa clad while others had veiled faces, some came close to me, greeted me, kissed me, and treated me like I were a baby boy. My cheeks got red and it was like I would faint in a moment.
With these few minutes of hard time passed, I was shown a chair to be seated. When I gained my conscience I realized that my chair was placed in the center of the gathering and everyone was staring at me like I was an alien from another planet. This experience was one of its kind I ever had and I loved this place. Things were quite different here, people were close to each other, they loved each other and gave the impression of one family. Despite some of annoying things I faced, I liked this place.
Days went on and I became part of these people. I used to talk to my family everyday, my son would aske me when I were coming back and sometimes he would ask if he could also come and join me.
Days turned into months and I felt that my relatives were now getting bored of me. Their attitude had changed and I started feeling myself a burden upon them. A few days later I decided to move to the city where my grandfather had built a house. No one lived over there, I talked to my relatives and bid them good bye and came to the city. A young boy from the village accompanied me, a charming and educated guy who really entertained me. He told me all about the village life and city life and said he understood why at times I felt annoyed and confused during my stay in the village.
That evening we reached the house that was built by my grandfather. It was quite a piece of architecture. I took some rest and woke up the next morning. The boy had arranged breakfast from outside and morning newspaper for me to read. I took the breakfast and started reading the newspaper. I had nothing to do that day and I read the complete paper but when I completed reading the paper, a few of things made me confused about Pakistan. The paper I read was full of news about terrorism, corruption, civil war, unemployment, poverty and street crimes.
A few minutes later I turned on the television and on the news channel similar news were being aired as I had read in the paper. This whole situation made me worried. In the meanwhile the boy returned, on my asking he told that he had done Masters and since last year he had been unable to find a suitable job. He said that if you didn't have the reference, you won't get the job, no matter how intelligent or talented you were. I suggested he should move abroad and not waste his talent here, to which he replied that corruption was part of every society and he wouldn't leave his country.
I was unable to argue further. In the evening we went outside to see the beautiful city Lahore. Visiting Lahore was good experience for me. I did some shopping and we enjoyed a good food in the restaurant. On our way back to home we were confronted by two young boys who were on the bike with their faces covered. They demanded everything we had; my phone, my wallet and my expensive watch were all gone.
"Street crimes are common here, you will soon get used to it", said the boy. The same night we were sitting in the lounge watching TV. I asked the boy that there was no peace in this country, there was political unstability, corruption, unemployment, street crimes, violence yet why the people in this country were living happily. The boy smiled, "You are new here but all this happen in all the parts of the world, it's basically how you react to these situations. Some see the violence happening around and close their eyes and believe nothing is happening, others see the violence and become part of it yet others see the violence, stand against it and try to counter it while there are few others who see the violence get afraid of it and leave the country but leaving the country is never a solution. This is my home if it is burning its my duty to putt of the fire or else die trying." He paused for a moment, "The society is corrupt but I believe that our next generation would be different, they would be honest and loyal to this country."
I was in the void, unable to say a thing. Days went on, my wife and my son were getting worried. They also decided to come to Pakistan, I tried to stop them but my wife would not listen to anything I said.
It was a beautiful sunny day and I was strolling around the Mall. Suddenly there was a huge blast in a nearby building, its impact so severe that I had landed three feet away. I rushed to the place of the blast as did others. It was some government building which had been razed to the ground. Ambulances were approaching I could hear them from far off, people were trying to locate any injured victims. Just then, another blast went off somewhere near me. When i gained senses I found myself in the middle of the road, badly wounded. The whole place was completely messed. There was blood and death everywhere. People were screaming with pain I tried to move but could not. I had lost both of my legs and felt it hard to breathe. I felt like dying so I put my head down on the road and thought of all those events that had recently happened in my life. I loved my mother but today I was only wondering why my mother had lied to me, she lied to me my whole life, she lied in everything. All my childhood I heard the stories of the beautiful place like heaven but nothing good happened to me in this country which my mother called her heaven, was this the same heaven that my mother always talked about? I was wondered why she had an ultimate wish to come back to this God forsaken place. I do not if it was pain from the wounds, or the thought of dying that made me cry. I realized that my family was also coming here, I put my hand in my pocket to take out my phone to call my wife and stop her but it was gone. Someone had picked my pocket when I lost senses.
As I lay on an unattended stretcher in a hospital I wondered about the boy content with life in this country despite all this bloodshed. "They have got used to it," I told myself. Just when I had a few breaths left, my mother's face appeared before my eyes and I thought that in a way my mother's wish would be fulfilled. I would be buried under the Pakistani soil.
CID
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