Ye kar gachi khatam? ( When will it end)
Jaana, be mangaye khudayas( My beloved son, I’ll ask God for it)
Ya khudaya, ya khudaya
Oh God , oh God
Tala Boaz soen
Please listen to us
Wen goav yuta kaal
It has been long now
Me ha chu basaan be maria
I think I am going to die now
Karsa wen sahal, boach ha leg
Please solve it , as we are hungry
Ya khudaya ya khudaya
Oh God , oh God
Be karia sajde
I’ll bow in front of you.
They sat together , cuddling when they had finished singing. It was another random family . The boy for who the mother tried to sing was seven years old. Knaive, unknown-known and happy. He had everything. What does a child want? Few pages of a used copy to play with paper boats , his father , mother and few kinds ( German) to physical play with. Omair , had wanted the same. I knew him because he was my neighbour. He was a little brother to me. Last night he was wearing his Ben ten watch , gifted to him by a shopkeeper . He was so glee . He came in and greeted,
*Asalam allaikum didi*
I said *Wailaikum salam Omair, kaisa hai*?
He said *me theek , Dekho meri nayi gadhi. Ben Ten hai*
I said “awww” and he left for his own imaginations and plight.
We waved them good bye at ten in the night , he was already half asleep or was dramatizing his super works as Ben Ten . Something happened. Terrible. I shouted. Hit against my wall. I cried raised my hands to Upar wallah. What had my ears sccunbed to? What did I just got to know. Omair shot? What. Where how? With what? I was in illusion.
I called them . His family. Phone rang. None answered. I grew anxious. What might have happened to them? Wasn’t omair showing me his new watch? I cried so much. It was at noon when the phone rained. I said
The voice :- Omair , is no more. He died.
Telephone kept saying something, till my mother put it back in the same order. Shook me to see was I at least alive? I said How?
She refused to answer. I shouted ,said how? She said, they had gone to market in the morning , somebody shot pellets into him.
I was Adam and eve from Paradise lost book 9. Fallen, disgraced, ashamed. My brother was killed. He was laid to death. My heart raged against myself. I felt so unhygienic of myself. I hated Ben ten from then.
Light came again, times flied. I am in my Master’s class finding ways to the corridors. People over here are so happy so smiling. They ask me what’s your story? I reply , Millions and trillions of Omairs. Can you find me an end?