3


Mauji( mother)

Ye kar gachi khatam? ( When will it end)

Jaana, be mangaye khudayas( My beloved son, I’ll ask God for it)

*Both sing*

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

*both sobbing*

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 

“Hello”.

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?

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Author: Takbeer Salati

I've never been a millionaire but I just know I’d be darling at it .

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