It was getting late now. The first uneventful hour since the morning catastrophe felt unnatural. How could it rain fire and rocks the whole morning and now the sky was no longer red nor was the ground shaking like a leaf? How could the disastrous debacle just end? Leaving everything in ruins? Everything shattered? Even her life? She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her features now distorted by an array of tears. Beside her was a pile of wreckage, under which had been buried her parent and her hopes. She sniffed as she got up and tried to move away the massive stones, her house in pieces. Her attempts were futile, she knew but she still pushed and pulled those bricks with her tiny hands. It was unusually silent, the only sound that could be heard was her soft sobs. After trying her best she sat down again, beside the only half wall that was standing. The morning had been so beautiful. Her mother had cooked her an egg with toast and her brother had teased her about her pigtails. Her father had turned off the television solemnly after watching the terrifying news and had pulled her into his lap, kissing her forehead, advising her to pray for the nation. If she had known that all that was going to vanish in a few hours, she would have hugged her father for a few more minutes. But she hadn’t known. How could she know?
The morning was gone. So was her pious mother, her only brother and her loving father. She couldn’t have any breakfast prepared by her anymore. She couldn’t cry because his brother was being nasty. She couldn’t play in her father’s lap.
In the movies, people often watch a sunset color the sky a beautiful red. Tonight the sky was also red. But it wasn’t painted by the sun. It was actually tinted with the blood of thousands of Palestinians who had been martyred mercilessly.
The air of her town no longer carried the faint fragrance of newly blossomed lavender. Instead, it was laden with the metallic smell of war and death. The earth wasn’t lavish with the evergreens and the willows. The land was now barren, smeared with the blood of the innocents and the fall of humanity. She had no idea for how long she sat there, silently weeping, praying. The only thing she knew was that she had no one left and no one was coming and the sky had turned maroon and the wind hurt her eyes and there was no roof above her.
When someone finally touched her shoulder, she startled. It was a boy. A young boy the age of her brothers. She squinted, trying to see him clearly in the dark. His hair was a mess and his face was filthy just like hers. His trousers were torn from below the knee and his white shirt was stained with a scarlet hue. Blood. His condition was similar to hers. The only contrast was the lingering faint smile on his face. He offered his hand. She hesitated for only a moment then she clutched his finger just like she used to hold his brothers. He walked ahead. She silently followed.
The once happy homes were now stack of cement. The once lovely gardens perished in fire. The once perfect families were erased as though they never existed. They walked through the fallen city, tall building collapsed in a heap, mounds of dead bodies, debris everywhere. They walked through the jumble, through the craters and cracks adorning the roads, through a mound of mud she recognized was once her school. A limp hand was visible through under one of the slumped walls. She shuddered. It was someone’s brother. Or maybe someone’s parent. She thought if their little girl was buried beside them. Wasn’t she lucky? At least she wouldn’t have to live without her family.
They walked and walked and walked until they saw light. Light coming from a house. Light coming from many houses. A small town of survivors. They walked on and they began to see people, their own people who had survived. Women were filling their pots with water from the well. A few children her age were playing with a goat. The goat had survived. Her family didn’t.
They walked on and soon she could hear the prayer being called in one of the half-collapsed Mosques nearby. The dawn had come. She watched as the boy and many other men entered the mosque. She stood outside the whole time watching them offering the prayer. And then she thought if the fire was really gone? Were all the spirits tarnished? And when they began to pray to Allah, she sat down too. She raised her hands with them and asked The Almighty for just one thing.
A savior. A rescuer. A sprightly vessel. A sapphire in the city of scarlet.
This story won the 2023 Qissa Competition hosted by National University of Modern Languages (NUML). It was really an honor for me to win an All Pakistan Event.
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