The night was dark and it had started raining heavily when Akram heard the warcries in the distance. They were faint, but prominent. He turned around and looked for Wahab, his 4 year old son. He could see that he was occupied, making a castle of cards. The warcries became louder. He could hear the sound of steel hitting steel. All he could imagine was that it was the sound of swords hitting iron poles. He knew they were close and that they were furious, monsterous and merciless. His heart started pounding wildly just as Wahab came and stood near him and pulled his father's kurta. Akram looked down.
Wahab asked, "Abbu, what's that sound?".
Mustering all the courage that he could and managing a faint smile, Akram replied, "Just some naughty kids who ate too much sweets and are not able to sleep."
"That's bad! Teacher will probably make chickens out them when they yawn in the class and then they'll know."
Akram couldn't help but smile. This time without a conscious effort. He bent down, patted Wahab on the cheeks lightly and said, "How about you getting into bed now or do you want to join them tomorrow?" He lifted him. "Let's tuck you in", he said taking him to the bed. While pulling the sheet over him, Akram asked Wahab just like every night, "Now what do the best kids do when Abbu goes out of the room?".
Wahab replied in a well rehearsed, matter-of-fact tone, "Not open the eyes for anyone but the sun or Abbu."
This was a routine.
"That's like my boy", Akram said as he kissed Wahab on the forehead. Then he brought his right hand in a fist near the right side of his face and made a magician-like gesture moving his palm slowly across his face. That was their sign. A sign that Wahab knew was meant for him to close his eyes and sleep. "Be strong, my boy", he whispered more to himself than to Wahab, "May allah keep you safe". His gaze now shifted to right cornor of the room from where the water was seeping in from the floor through a small hole. The hole had always been there and was usually plugged with an iron block and a piece of cloth wrapped on one of its end. The same plug was missing and hence allowing the water to trickle in steadily. The rain, he knew, wouldn't stop till morning and the floor of the room would be flooded by then. Most of all, he didn't want Wahab to sleep in the common area of the house because the shouts would frighten him. He remebered Wahab had been playing with that plug outside the house when Akram was preparing dinner. But going out of the house was not possible. The roads had become a slaughter house with those butchers going mad and slaughtering anything and everything they could lay their eyes on. But the sounds had gone faint again. Maybe they had passed.
He closed the door behind him after walking out of Wahab's room. He rested his forehead on the door and leaned on it, helplessly. His heartbeat was running in overdrive. He went to the kitchen and looked for a knife, found it and held it as tightly as his quivering hand could permit, headed towards the door of the house and opened the door slowly while peeping through it. When he saw that the road was clear, he stepped slowly out of the house and started looking for the plug.
Wahab asked, "Abbu, what's that sound?".
Mustering all the courage that he could and managing a faint smile, Akram replied, "Just some naughty kids who ate too much sweets and are not able to sleep."
"That's bad! Teacher will probably make chickens out them when they yawn in the class and then they'll know."
Akram couldn't help but smile. This time without a conscious effort. He bent down, patted Wahab on the cheeks lightly and said, "How about you getting into bed now or do you want to join them tomorrow?" He lifted him. "Let's tuck you in", he said taking him to the bed. While pulling the sheet over him, Akram asked Wahab just like every night, "Now what do the best kids do when Abbu goes out of the room?".
Wahab replied in a well rehearsed, matter-of-fact tone, "Not open the eyes for anyone but the sun or Abbu."
This was a routine.
"That's like my boy", Akram said as he kissed Wahab on the forehead. Then he brought his right hand in a fist near the right side of his face and made a magician-like gesture moving his palm slowly across his face. That was their sign. A sign that Wahab knew was meant for him to close his eyes and sleep. "Be strong, my boy", he whispered more to himself than to Wahab, "May allah keep you safe". His gaze now shifted to right cornor of the room from where the water was seeping in from the floor through a small hole. The hole had always been there and was usually plugged with an iron block and a piece of cloth wrapped on one of its end. The same plug was missing and hence allowing the water to trickle in steadily. The rain, he knew, wouldn't stop till morning and the floor of the room would be flooded by then. Most of all, he didn't want Wahab to sleep in the common area of the house because the shouts would frighten him. He remebered Wahab had been playing with that plug outside the house when Akram was preparing dinner. But going out of the house was not possible. The roads had become a slaughter house with those butchers going mad and slaughtering anything and everything they could lay their eyes on. But the sounds had gone faint again. Maybe they had passed.
He closed the door behind him after walking out of Wahab's room. He rested his forehead on the door and leaned on it, helplessly. His heartbeat was running in overdrive. He went to the kitchen and looked for a knife, found it and held it as tightly as his quivering hand could permit, headed towards the door of the house and opened the door slowly while peeping through it. When he saw that the road was clear, he stepped slowly out of the house and started looking for the plug.
....... To Be Continued
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