The Reluctant Rebellion

Hearts seldom notice sounds when they are broken. The momentary hitches in the road, the smoky-cooked smell of beef, the dusty view, everything perishes when one is depressed.

Feeling the sudden bumps in the road simply push on her back in a subtle form of annoyance, Mona stared out at the open meadows and felt a lonesome tear trickle down her left cheek.

Around her, there were parched souls, loud families and proud riders enjoying the chaos of travelling in a cheap train. These are elated person, joyful souls who were custom to the stained pain of enjoying a peasant’s life. Mona wasn’t. She had newly run away from the rich horrors to be able to deal with poor happiness.

She belonged to a family of modernized trafficker-people who had earned the power to easily steal, sell and gain a name. No words speaking against the Haroon family were ever spared. The secret of her family’s elitism had slowly been revealed, and Mona had run away.

The steely sound of punches, the lack of remorse…it resounded in her ears.

They won’t spare her.

She had been brave enough to rebel yet knew that the consequences of her resonating consciousness would weigh upon her shoulders, could cost her traumatic scars. Her mother had a hard hand and an impulsive temper. Rebellion in her family always echoed to trigger impulsive tempers.

“Is everything alright?” A hand now shook her shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed the person pressed beside her in this stuff and dusty train. It was a young woman with a baby in her arms.

Quickly wiping her tears, Mona quickly showed her pearl whites to fool the audience.

“Just homesick,” she explained, baking her hurting into a convenient form of truth.

“Me too,” the lady acknowledged, shoulders slumping with relief of finding relatable emotions. “This is the first time I am travelling out of the country to meet my husband. He works in the army, and my daughter has been missing him so much.” She smiled at me, caressing the pinkly sweet baby in her arms. The baby was on the verge of turning into a toddler.

“How old is she?” Mona spoke to divert herself. Before them, two teenagers were sleeping during the ruckus. Everyone else was crowding the halls of the train.

“Almost 1 year old.” There was pride, adoration heard.

“Her name?” Fond curiosity blossomed.

“Sarah. What is yours?” The lady shifted around to face Mona. The atmosphere had shifted from strangers travelling to warm women wishing to bond. Mona felt like this was a much-needed feel of normality.

“Mona…”

“I am Feriha,” She introduced, cradling the baby closer. The occasionally nudges from behind her did make her wobble her words, yet Mona could feel the warmth.

Tucking on her sleeves, Mona gave her the formal nod and looked away momentarily to search for a topic. She needed to keep away from the melancholy of being a brave rebel. Doubt was always the side-effect of having a voice.

“So where are you from?” Feriha moved into a relaxed, conversation stance, easing the need to fill the empty air.

Her question had been so simple, yet there was no longer an identity left to proudly declare. Mona’s association had been a heartbreak, a disappointment. Her emotions drowned into a feeling of hurt again.  

“I am from the inner city.” Mona looked away, staring at her fingers.  

A place where rich criminals hid their sins, that was her home.  She wanted to add.

“Khuwera Hills?”

“Close enough.” She meekly nodded, moving her eyes to the sleeping baby. She lowly chuckled at how cutely the mama bear had wrapped the baby in the blanket. Her mother used to do the same with her when she was little. The thought broke her again.

Refusing kind hands for right feels is a test.

“Oh, that is great. I belong to Lehar, and this cutie-” Feriha squeezed the sleeping baby, punishing it for being so adorable, and beamed; “She is from Islamabad.”

The information snapped Mona’s vague absentness, and she quickly looked by the warm traveller.

“What do you mean?”

The misery that suddenly covered Feriha’s features was alarming. The twins let out a loud snore just to add more fume to the suspense, and Mona pushed her feet under her seat while pressing her hands on the leather covering, her attention focused on Feriha.

Feriha momentarily closed her eyes and sighed, looking solely down at her precious gift…her fingers caressing the cheeks. “She was sold.” The train jolted for a second. “My husband’s friend works with the police. After intense raiding at some human traffickers’ grounds, a lot of children were retrieved. All of the children were reunited with their parents…except our Sarah. Her mother was a single mom and had to give away her baby to pay some debts to some human traffickers. However, the deep depression of losing motherhood then led her to lose her sanity. Khawar and I immediately adopted Sarah. She was too precious, too pure and innocent to be given away. We fell in love with our baby immediately.” Love seeped in.

Mona breathed in to ignore the paleness of her mind, as she worked to conjure up a response. The momentary relief of having Feriha, distracted in the memories of the past while eyeing her baby in a forlorn manner, was necessary.

Human Trafficking

She leaned back against the train seat to calm herself.

The raw intensity of Feriha’s words, the realization that human brutality deep clutches and feasted on such purity squeezed her. Her family, their damage was so huge. Tender beings were easily sold, crushed and scarred to fill their pride, pockets and boast their control. This disgust had to be rebelled against.

The anguish of going against her family was replaced by the sense of necessity, confidence and pride. Tears started trickling down her cheeks again…her emotions so happy and prideful.

Feriha looked up at her and confused Mona’s tears as compassion for others, which was true.

Mona had been compassionate.

“So kind. Our baby Sarah is loved now. And it is so sweet of you to show so much compassion for her. I-sorry, I have taken this call.” She suddenly grabbed a handbag from beside her. Pulling out mobile from it, she gave Mona an apologetic look and began talking on the phone.

Cold wisps gently rushed against Mona’s face and dried her tears. Lowering her gaze to the sleeping baby for a second, she then turned her gaze to stare out the window. The view before her had turned mesmerizing bright and beautiful instead of just been a blur. It depicted her strengthening start of a new journey. Every hitch in a road now felt like a journey. The twins snoring just turned into a charming addition, as she stared out of the window with a smile on her face. The doubts had perished. Her struggles had been worth it.

Her reluctant rebellion had morphed into fierce determination.