FICTION

As the sun cast its brilliant light upon the house, it buzzed with activity, resembling a bustling hen coop. Not only the youngsters but the elders also contributed to the lively atmosphere. Relatives and friends joined to partake in moments of joy. The guests’ arrival continued until the dusk fall. Despite the absence of a wedding or a returning pilgrim, the house exuded a festive ambiance akin to a fair. Amidst the joyous celebrations, the pang of separation lingered underneath. Qasim ambled along gleefully like a groom, for he had a granted visa to Germany and an air ticket in his hand. His mother, however, tasted the bitterness of parting like swallow-wort milk.

While reminiscing his childhood days and discussing future plans with his friends in the living room, Qasim was reminded of the palmist who had predicted his journey abroad.

“Qasim, do you recall the palmist who read your fortune?” inquired his friend Javed.

“Indeed, buddy. How could I forget him? He assertively proclaimed my future journey abroad after examining my palm lines,” Qasim replied, chuckling. “But, I struggle still to grasp his foresight that my homeland would cast me out,” Qasim recounted the palmist’s astonishing prophecy to those gathered around him.

“If this land ever suits you, you’ll end up selling boiled chickpeas,” his neighbor Heera quipped, whose shop often remained empty. His words brought smiles to everyone’s faces.

“Not palmist’s every prediction holds true,” Javed interjected, seeking to reassure his friend.

Just then, a group of children burst in, surrounding Qasim with outstretched hands, demanding money. With his visa approved, many assumed he was wealthy. Uncles and aunts also entered the living room, showering Qasim with affectionate gestures. Some aunts displayed their love by kissing his forehead.

“Oh, Qasim! Promise you won’t forget us once you’re in Germany,” pleaded an aunt from a distant village, patting his shoulder gently.

“Aunt, blood ties don’t fade away. I’ll always remain connected,” Qasim replied with a smile. Envious of his apparent luck, his friends harbored dreams of their own, imagining themselves dancing in Berlin’s pubs before Qasim who was happy to see his dancing silhouette in the eyes of his friends. His friends eagerly sought promises of visas from him once he reached Germany. Dreams filled the house, mingled with jealousy and hidden execrations for his deportation.

The once crops discussions in the house were replaced by soothing talks of German currency. When German girls were mentioned, Qasim’s siblings cautioned him against falling for their beauty. Sisters always find fairies for their brothers. As the night wore on, the ache of impending separation weighed heavy on friends and relatives. Sisters, who had been elated in the morning, now wept bitterly, drawing attention of others. Eventually, with heavy hearts, Qasim’s friends bid him good night, though guests lingered, unwilling to retire. Finally, Qasim’s mother insisted on sleep, her tender words acting as a lullaby. Reluctantly, Qasim retired for the night, while his mother remained awake, consumed by worry.

When Qasim’s father passed away, the family’s agricultural land was divided among the legal heirs. Qasim and his mother chose to sell their portions, although his brothers initially hesitated to part with the ancestral property. However, upon learning of Qasim’s plans to pursue a German visa, they readily agreed. Before Qasim, a boy hailing from the Arain caste, became the first from his village to venture to Germany, he now owns a grand three-story house in the village that elicits envy of onlookers. The allure of working in Germany has captivated the dreams of every young villager, including Qasim’s brothers, who yearn for such prosperity, and his sisters, who fantasize about imported dowry items.

Before dawn, Qasim rose to prepare him for his journey, as two rented cars waited at their doorstep. After a quick bath and change of clothes, Qasim was joined by his friends Javed and Asghar. His elder brother Feroze got edgy of the women’s prolonged makeup and preparations, urging them to hasten as they had little time. Despite the flurry of activity, Qasim’s mother beamed with pride at her son’s accomplishments, though her joyfulness turned to sorrow upon realizing the void his absence would leave in their home. Tearfully, she bid him farewell, embracing him tightly and planting a kiss on his forehead before he embarked on his journey, carrying the Himalayan expectations and dreams of his family.

As they set off for Lahore airport, the tired yet hopeful group marveled at the unfamiliar sights, excited for what lay ahead. Qasim was wearing white shalwar qameez and black waist coat. For Qasim, the airport symbolized an entrance to a magical world beyond, and he eagerly anticipated crossing its threshold. However, bidding farewell to the loved ones proved emotional, and Qasim struggled to hold his tears, fearing they might perceive his emotions as weakness. The airport, once a place of excitement, now seemed somber and melancholic, its scent lingering in their memories as they parted ways. The airport officials were looking like the angels, guarding the gates of heaven and hell.

Qasim boarded the plane, his heart heavy with longing for home, yet resigned to the journey ahead. Whoever sells his land has no way back to tread.

As the plane took off, Qasim’s heart raced with improbability, his thoughts drifting to the familiar streets, fields, and gatherings of his village. Memories flashed before his eyes, including that of Bashir Barber, who returned from Saudi Arabia disillusioned, finding solace in the simplicity of village life. Despite his doubts and longing for home, Qasim pressed on, knowing that the path he had chosen offered no retreat. With a heavy heart, he left behind his cherished village, venturing into the unknown, his spirit burdened yet hopeful for the opportunities that lay ahead.

“Once you’re seated in the plane, all your worries will disappear,” Khalid, Qasim’s friend residing in Germany, assured him. However, Qasim knew that the thoughts of his village wouldn’t be left behind at the airport — thoughts don’t require a visa. He realized they would only dissipate once he arrived in Germany. Moreover, Qasim harbored apprehensions about his first flight. As the plane ascended in the sky, he felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation, like a lover leaving his beloved to face an unknown battle. The clash between his fear of the unfamiliar and his reminiscence of the village finally ceased upon landing in Germany.

When Qasim stepped out of the airport, Khalid greeted him. He hugged him tightly as though he was embracing his homeland. They spent the night in Berlin with Yunis — a former classmate from Zamindar College in Gujrat — who had also migrated to Germany. Over conversations filled with tales of beer, beautiful girls, and the allure of German currency and law, they lamented the scarcity of such amenities in their homeland. They unanimously approved that the absence of these things has made their beloved country a kind of hell. For Qasim, Germany was a captivating new world, offering endless possibilities.

The next morning, Qasim and Khalid journeyed to Ulm City, where the Danube River bridged Europe with the magical realms of Asia. Here, Qasim began building the palaces of his dreams, while Khalid accommodated him in his flat shared with five others. Initially settling for a job as a dishwasher in a nearby restaurant, Qasim felt discontent. However, absence of familiar faces from his village alleviated his concerns, allowing him to adjust without any apprehension of contempt.

Despite the initial challenges, including six months of dishwashing that left his hands rough but his spirit clear, Qasim persevered. Eventually, he secured an employment at a brewery and obtained a driver’s license, later transitioning to driving taxis across different cities. Half of his earnings went to support his brothers, while he saved the rest. Though tempted to return home during difficult times, Qasim found himself tethered by the decision to sell his land. Meanwhile, his family back home took solace in the money he sent, and rumors of his success spread throughout the village.

Qasim’s achievements continued to grow as he and Khalid ventured into the restaurant business, which flourished with divine providence, according to some. Qasim was earning enough and the money flowed to his village. His scattered thoughts were now converging on his village. When Feroze started construction of bungalow in the village, people gossiped and put questions.

“What does Qasim do in Germany?” Ashraf Numberdar asked Feroze.

“By the grace of God, he has established his own hotel. Money has become his mistress.” Feroze told Ashraf Numberdar to surprise him. Feroze also told him in the course of conversation that Qasim also sells whisky of all big brands. This news spread throughout the village like jungle’s fire. People blow up their distress by publicly speaking: The money is for the world, one should live piously to get a place in heaven. Will Qasim raise a bungalow through earning from whisky? What is the value of such cursed sustenance? The people of the village washed their rundown spite and adorned it again on their faces. This spite showed its head like a viper when Feroze started purchasing land. The newly purchased land was mutated in the names of three brothers.

When Qasim was a college student, he used to return his village through theroad of satellite town, where the villa of Brigadier Iftikhar was the most conspicuous building. “I’ll also build my house here.” Qasim told his friends and they just laughed away. Now when he earned enough, his dream triggered off. He told it his brothers and they were excited.

Next day Feroze visited a property dealer who showed a vacant plot of one kanal just four houses away from the villa of Brigadier Iftikhar. People used to drop rubbish in that plot. While standing in front of the plot, Feroze dreamed about a two storey house and spontaneously ‘Masha Allah’ whistled through his lips. He decided then and there to inscribe ‘Masha Allah’ on the facade of this dream house. Feroze returned home after inquiring about the price of the plot. At night he disclosed the site and its price to Qasim on the telephone. “Big Brother! You just finalize everything, I’ll send you the money after one month,” Qasim told his brother enthusiastically. When dreams come true, vanity also finds stairs to reach an altitude where everything below seems abominable.

However, as their wealth hiked so did Feroze’s sense of superiority, leading to disdainful dealing towards others. With Qasim’s financial support, Feroze purchased the plot of land near their dream villa, and together they constructed a two-story house, proudly adorned with the inscription “Masha Allah”.

It had been over seven years since Qasim arrived in Germany. Time — as it often does — passed swiftly, carrying the family through various phases. Qasim eventually obtained German citizenship.

“Son, please come home once and let me see your face. Life is unpredictable, and we have been blessed with plenty. You’ve left no desires unfulfilled,” his mother pleaded with him repeatedly, urging his return. She also encouraged his brothers to arrange his marriage, as time seemed to be slipping away. Feroze, however, nearly forgot that Qasim would ever return to live among them until his wife persuaded him to reach out. Who wouldn’t want to see his dream palace? Qasim mused, devising a plan to visit his homeland.

As Qasim settled into his seat in the plane, long relegated memories to the recesses of his mind about the village and its people flooded back. Upon landing at Lahore airport, Feroze eagerly awaited him. Qasim emerged with three suitcases filled with gifts for relatives, appearing like a foreigner with fair skin, short hair, and trendy attire. A gold watch adorned his wrist, while a locket hung from his neck, and black Ray-Ban sunglasses shielded his eyes.

After hugging Feroze, they embarked on their journey into the city. Both longed for the taste of local delicacies after seven years abroad, and their first stop was Khan Baba Restaurant in Chauburji. Savoring mutton cooked in desi ghee (ghee extracted from the milk skim or yogurt) with lassi, Qasim transported back to his youth in Punjab.

“How does it feel to be back in Punjab after all these years?” Feroze inquired as they rested in the car. “The taste of the food is as familiar as ever, but Lahore has changed significantly. The streets are bustling with vehicles and noise,” Qasim replied, noting the busy roads upon crossing the Ravi River Bridge.

As they passed billboards advertising new housing societies along GT Road, Qasim was taken aback. “Are they demolishing the old city?” he asked Feroze incredulously. “It’s the latest business trend. Factories are being abandoned in favor of developing housing societies,” Feroze explained.

Observing the grand entrances of these societies, Qasim couldn’t shake the feeling that they resembled prisons, with billboards serving as enticing distractions. Thoughts of his village friends filled him with remorse for not remaining in touch with them to keep his promise.

Arriving in the village, Qasim was greeted with joy by his mother and the all the family members. Though reminiscent of the day his visa was granted, the bitter taste of separation was absent this time. Exhausted, Qasim retired for a much-needed rest, awakening to find his friends eagerly waiting in the living room.

Cuddling his friends, Qasim found solace in their familiar presence, momentarily forgetting the pain of their separation. However, Javed’s ironic remarks about the passage of time wounded his ego, reminding him of the friendships he neglected during his period in Germany. With the coming of good days he became oblivion of his close friends. This is what wealth snatches. Qasim silently stood and went inside the home. He came back holding a small bag in his hand. He gave Javed a new mobile phone and gifted others — watches and perfumes. The chasm created through distance of seven years bridged with small token of love. Javed was indignant only a moment ago, but now he was happily holding mobile phone in his hands.

After distributing gifts as tokens of love, Qasim deferred sharing his German adventures for another time, leaving his friends eager for more. Though his friends bid him farewell happily, tensions arose among relatives regarding the perceived uneven distribution of gifts. Qasim entrusted his mother and Feroze to tackle with the situation, disengaging himself from the conflict.

Secret discussions regarding Qasim’s marriage quickly escalated into a Cold War between brothers. While Feroze favored his sister-in-law Alia as a potential life partner for Qasim, the younger brother was eager to arrange a match with his sister-in-law. Ultimately, the decision was left to Qasim’s mother, who favored Alia for her education and beauty.

Within two months, Qasim was married, and his sisters also left home to start their married lives. Although Qasim was required to return to Germany soon, but he spent a month in the village before relocating to Gujranwala’s Brigadier Iftikhar Road. Alia and her sister settled into the new home, content in each other’s company. Qasim was so happy during the last six months that he almost forgot Germany.

However, Khalid’s phone call abruptly halted Qasim’s cheerful days in Pakistan, reminding him of the responsibilities awaiting him in Germany.

He sought counsel from his mother and brother, both advised him to focus on his business affairs. Upon their suggestion, Qasim promptly made the decision to return to Germany. This difficult choice was bolstered by the belief that Alia would be well cared for in the company of her elder sister. Gathering his resolve before Alia’s tearful gaze, he bid farewell and departed for Germany. Throughout the flight, memories of Alia filled his mind, and the pain of parting weighed heavily upon him.

Upon his return to Germany, Qasim threw himself into his work, as if attempting to compress a decade’s worth of efforts into a single year. He diligently sent money to Feroze each month and encouraged him to venture into the scrap business. Although Feroze faced setbacks in the beginning due to his lack of experience, but eventually he gained insight into the trade and began to turn a profit. Recognizing the value in seemingly worthless materials, Feroze capitalized on the rifts within families to acquire valuable scrap.

Ordinarily, Feroze purchased the old crusted metals at a cheap price and the profit was beyond his imagination.  Very soon, Feroze understood that nothing is dross. The collision of crumbled relations corrodes the running machines. Only a skilled scrap merchant knows the value of immobile components of factories owned by the rich. Feroze became that scrap dealer who profited from the split of relations and blood relations were highly lucrative.  The profits were piling up day by day. One day his clerk Naseer informed him on the telephone that Shaukat Butt wants to meet him.

“Who is Shaukat Butt?”

“He is the eldest son of a famous textile mill owner.”

“Why does he want to meet me?” Feroze asked his clerk in a bewildered tone.

“If the factory owner starts searching for a scrap merchant then there is something critical to behold,” Naseer expressed his mind after hypothesizing. Feroze, who is the son of a farmer, became very irritated at being addressed as a scrap dealer. He wanted to shout a profanity for Naseer but he suppressed his feelings.

What to call a scrap dealer if not a scrap dealer?

“Set a meeting with him in the evening at Trust Plaza office,” Feroze told this to his clerk and abruptly turned off the phone.

Sun was dimming his light. Feroze was waiting in his office. Shaukat turned left from GT ROAD and parked his Toyota Camry in front of the plaza. Naseer hurriedly went outside to welcome him and then led him to the office. Shaukat started the story of his father’s death and the subsequent family dispute over the factory ownership.

Feroze understood everything before the story ended. He had dealt with such people in the past. The father of Shaukat was very hard-working and he established the industrial estate from scratch. His sons were not aware of the hard life of their father and so they never needed to put steps in their father’s shoes. They were sillier than sloths. Those who are born in the pleasant luxury of velvet need not to work. When the father died and his eyes closed, the factory also closed instantly. The sons hired their lawyers and ran towards courts. Whoever found anything valuable approached the market to sell it.

Shaukat was in possession of the factory and he started selling machinery to the scrap dealers. Feroze was already transformed into a vulture that happily preyed on the meat-eating predators. He hated whatever was in the moving state. He was always in search of scrap. He wanted to sell everything as scrap. He nearly thought to crush the whole world to see it as scrap. Shaukat agreed to provide access to the factory and the next day he went to the factory to dismantle it. He was not less than Shirin’s Farhad who took over the job of shattering a big mountain.

Feroze called Qasim to send money as the deal was beyond his capacity to handle. Feroze sold the scrap of the factory to a businessman of Karachi as industrial parts, at a very high price. After this, Feroze was always yearning to find a family whose members fell apart and the relations soured. He despised to see the people with smiles on their faces. The glad people were useless to him. Where love thrives, nothing is scrap. The belly of Feroze made a big curve below the thorax. The belly traveled more than the heart. The swinging mass of the neck under the big mouth looked like the mass of a vulture. Feroze collected huge meat and land in his profession of scrap. Although he was without wants, the spring of lust sprouted from his inside. He purchased plots in his wife’s name.

Feroze’s wife cared for Alia with devotion, ensuring her comfort and well-being during her pregnancy period. The first child was a boy and Qasim regularly called to inquire after his health. Qasim was very happy but this happiness eclipsed when Alia told him about the cancerous liver of mother. He decided to return to look after his mother. However, tragedy struck when Qasim’s mother passed away before his return. The news of her death, compounded by the distance between them, intensified Qasim’s grief.

Distance is the multiplier of pain in times of distress. Khalid arranged for his swift return to Pakistan. While sitting in the plane he saw outside the window and the outer world looked him a void. When he landed at Lahore airport, the time spent on document verification was heart wrenching for him. He wanted to cry and shout: Let me go, my mother’s dead body is waiting for me.

Once outside the airport, he wished to reach his village in a blink of an eye. He took a cab and as soon as reached home, the barrage of his tears flooded. The women, who were sitting around her deceased mother’s cot, started sobbing in a loud voice on seeing the glimpse of Qasim. Qasim hugged his brothers and sisters and hiccupped while crying. Before night the mother was put in grave and the house transformed into a void, cloaked under unrequited misery. Qasim felt that the last uniting string was broken.

In the wake of his mother’s death, Qasim decided to settle down in Pakistan permanently, much to Feroze’s dismay. Feroze, accustomed to the profits derived from their business ventures, was wary of Qasim’s intentions and feared the prospect of being held accountable. As tensions simmered between them, the third brother revealed Feroze’s clandestine land acquisitions, further straining their relationship.

As Qasim and Feroze sat together one day, the tension between them palpable, Qasim broached the topic of their business. Feroze kept quiet, interpreting the inquiry as a sign of impending split-up and settlement of accounts. He was unwilling to confront the inevitable dissolution of their partnership.

“You’ve built a thriving business in Germany. Who would consider it wise to dismantle it just to live here?” Feroze ventured to advise Qasim in family gathering. Homo sapiens love the blood of their own species for sacrifice. Its taste is unique to relish. It was forbidden only to save the posterity. Though Alia found Feroze’s advice deeply offensive, she resolved to remain composed. For her, the lonely nights were unbearable, and wealth offered no solace for it. She couldn’t help but compared herself to her elder sister, who lived a happy life with her husband and children. Reluctant to disappoint herself by sending Qasim back to Germany, she prolonged his stay with misplaced excuses, subtly suggesting him to start a business in his hometown.

Upon his elder brother’s response, Qasim grew solemn, causing concern for Alia. For years, Qasim had pondered the happier times with his family; his hard work transformed them into a wealthy household. Yet, amidst their new found prosperity, no one considered Qasim’s desires; they flowed like water, indifferent to its tributaries. Eventually, the simmering tensions reached a breaking point, breaking their once-close bond. If love is distilled out of blood, it coalesces into dried pulp. Feroze was willing to divide the agricultural land purchased with funds from Germany but adamantly refused to share the Gujranwala house and plots, insisting Qasim to take back his investment. With communication between the brothers severed, their wives — who were sisters — distanced themselves from each other, fortifying against any future conflicts.

Feeling betrayed, Qasim withdrew — a familiar response to feeling slighted since childhood. He relocated to Wapda Town with his wife and son, renting a house in an attempt to wait for Feroze to reconcile and bring him home back. However, as the days passed without Feroze’s arrival, Qasim’s optimism dwindled.

One day, when he was out in the market, he met his friend Javed, who noticed the despair in his eyes and he offered him his support. Grateful for Javed’s compassion, Qasim shared his plight, feeling a glimmer of hope in Javed’s promise to help resolve the situation. Instantly the prophecy of the palmist flashed in the mind of Javed that when the land of one’s own country does not suit, the real brothers are estranged from him. “Be ready tonight, we‘ll visit a lawyer. He’ll let you cruise out of this fuss,” Javed tried to comfort Qasim. In the evening they went to see Daud Barlas advocate at his house.

Together, they sought the assistance of Advocate Barlas, who assured them of a swift resolution through legal means. The lawyer spoke like a Saint who manages for the surrender of beloved through an amulet. When Qasim returned home his wife saw shining happiness on his face after many days. Bloating with hope, Qasim narrated the whole episode to his wife. Alia was happy that her husband was living with her. She felt protection in his presence.

“Now you see, brother Feroze will come to conciliate and take us home,” Qasim said this to his wife with great pride, puffing cigarette.  The smoke danced before his eyes.

However, as the civil suit progressed, it became apparent that the court proceedings would be protracted and uncertain. Javed went to advocate Barlas and asked him to do something speedily. He replied to Javed, “A civil suit is like a formidable snake toy. If the adversary is frightened then it is useful otherwise it has no sting”. The words of the lawyer were sufficient to show the actual affairs to Javed.

The travail of Qasim continued to inflate. He regularly visited court on each hearing with the expectation that the matter will be decided soon.  The case lingered on and on to eclipse Jarndyce and Jarndyce. The court proceedings were a mirage of a galloping horse no matter if it was an unmoving donkey in summer sunlight. Qasim passed these traumatic days like counting the beads of rosary. After a year of waiting for a resolution, Qasim grew disillusioned, considering a compromise with Feroze. He mustered the courage to visit Feroze’s home, confronting the painful memories associated with their fractured relationship. One day he went to the house of his brother.

This house was once the temple of his dreams. While standing there, his thought drifted to his college days and the laughter of his friends echoed into his ears. This laughter, now metamorphosed into grief, was the same that his college friends laughed on hearing his dreams of making home on that road. Qasim rang the bell with shivering hand. His sister in law opened the gate and was astounded to see him. She was perplexed whether to let him inside or to give and excuse. Finally she decided to let him inside. He followed his sister in law like a faithful child. He was fearful of the sneers of Feroze. She led him to the drawing room where he sat on a sofa. She went to the kitchen to make tea for him. When she returned, she informed Qasim that Feroze was about to return from bazar.

“Feroze is very unhappy that his younger brother has disgraced him in courts,” she spoke to Qasim, who already fixed his eyes on the carpet under his feet. Qasim felt a surge of guilt in his mind and suddenly found himself in the deluge of self-loathing. He blamed Javed for leading him in courts to destroy the dignity of family.

When Feroze returned, he saw Qasim sitting in the drawing room. His eyes were not willing to believe this immaculate exhibition of humility. Qasim came here with the resolve that he would accept what his elder brother compensated him.

On the other hand, Feroze was not willing to concede anything to Qasim, but on the order of court. Both the brothers met like strangers. Qasim kept waiting Feroze to break the heavy silence that had prevailed in the atmosphere of the drawing room.

At last, Feroze asked him the purpose of the visit. “Give me whatever you want to give. I have no claim to satisfy,” Qasim addressed his brother in a low voice. He left the solution laid on the whims of his elder brother. He believed that the elder brother won’t commit any injustice to him. He heard that a blood relative throws away the corpse in the shade even though he himself kills.

When Qasim returned home, he told the story to his wife. Alia was infuriated to hear this. She wasn’t ignorant of the ravenous nature of her sister and brother in law.

“An ignonimous can’t be trusted to decide a matter in which his own interest is involved,” Alia tried to convince Qasim but he remained quiet like a desert. A voice resounded in his heart that the big brother can’t be unjust. Within one week, Feroze called Qasim who saw with disbelief in his baggage whatever Feroze put in it. He didn’t see the money but the collapse of steely ties through rust of lust. He kept watching it and resultantly his fall was obvious. He returned home with a pile, on his shoulders, of demolished relations. He decided to stitch his torn life. The only suitable option left was to return Germany.

Alia was also not willing to live at a place where kinship was meaningless before wealth. He applied for the passports of Alia and his son, and then for visas of his family. While waiting for visas, every day was agonizing. Within months visas were granted and he sold his belongings to a dealer of old articles. Next morning he took Alia and son with him and reached Lahore airport. That day he was neither wearing black Ray ban glasses nor gold chain. After entering the airport, he looked behind but there was no one outside, waiting for him. He left nothing behind except a small patch of land which he purchased along with his brothers.

When Qasim was sitting on his seat in the plane, the palmist again spoke in his ears: This country will deprive you of her lap. He was like a vessel of clay abandoned for the sake of glittering metal. He saw the earth of his country for the last time when plane left the land. Gazing out the window one last time, he closed his eyes and envisioned the Danube River flowing through his tears.

….

(Self-translation from PUNJABI)

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