Heaven at last

Insomnia.

 For years I had been divorced from sleep, eyes that never closed and a mind revisiting glimpses from

the past …I prayed to drift away into the land of dreams but I had sunk in this desolate reality and

unless I regain my tranquility, this state shall persist. Tossing and turning in my bed, I pulled the duvet

over me or sometimes kicked it down unintentionally waking my wife from her sleep.

But tonight would not be like my usual evenings. There was something different. In the dark

whenever I opened my eyes, I could see a soft light and the pleasant breeze enthralled me. The soft

snoring of my wife soothed the air I breathed. Although my windows had been closed shut, they

could not obstruct the zephyr, it had reached me from a land I had forgotten and it left a kiss on my

cheeks. I was going home tomorrow back into my mother's arms, back to where me and my sister grew

up together. 

When the night faded away leaving the bright morning light I felt desolate, my heart sank with

thoughts I wished would disappear; why was I yearning to return when I had been left bereft of all

that I held dear? This question had exhausted my mind which felt wretched now.

The journey was a blur; from the high mountains to the sky’s above I didn't find delight. My heart would

always sway to my land, the dense trees reminding me of the lush hills I had witnessed but this beauty

of nature pained me. In the years I had spent in london I had chosen a perfect and complete memory of

my dwelling, the sun that shone from behind the pastoral green basins you could see from my room

brought me relief, as a child I had stood in my house’s balcony staring at the patterns of the cloud

smiling at the sky. This was the same pleasure I seeked in the sky above but couldn't feel it instead a

barren feeling would settle inside. 

“Ahmed, eat something already!” my wife protested, dragging me out of my dream. 

“Ayesha please, I don’t feel hungry.” I whined, though it felt like my protests would be of no use against

her since her hazel eyes turned soft, just like my mother’s; my weakness. It was no surprise that my

mother had the way of talking things through me, an art I never understood. And years later the same

art Ayesha had learnt despite her never meeting my mother. 

On a bright afternoon while I was coming back from school, I had caught a glance of a toy car, it was a

plastic blue one. at the first sight I was inclined to buy it. pulling my mother towards the stall i hopped in

joy until Amma grasped my hand tightly pulling me back turning back at her I looked up, My mother

looked down at me, “not now ahmed, when baba returns you can go with him to buy it.” She said

politely, I refused. Stubborn as always I protested In the main street. Kneeling down to my height the

bright eyes of my mother looked upon me with the utmost affection, she smiled and brushed the brown

locks from my forehead. “ahmed I will buy you the car only if you listen to me right now.” Though her

voice was soft, and her eyes kind as ever I knew she was stern so I gave in. When we walked away from

the store I stole one last glance at the toy car, by the store stood a tall man, a weapon strapped to

his chest. The khaki colour of his uniform indicated him being an Indian soldier. robbing the poor

Khan lala. 

Looking down at my wife I saw my mother's reflection. “fine.” I groaned as she shared her sandwich

with me. My eyes kept on darting towards the view outside, it was just road ahead but the giddy feeling

in my blood had caused the hair on my arms to stand up since we neared our destination. Feeling my

eyelids drop I allowed sleep to consume me. 

“Amma, i'm hungry!” my tiny legs couldn’t reach the floor, the chair was too high and the table rose up

to my chin. Amma was making breakfast, the sizzling eggs on the pan, the sweet aroma of tea and the

parathas blessed my nostrils as my stomach grumbled. Mother laughed, “ Ahmed be patient!” she

exclaimed with a smile. I slumped my head down on the table waiting my meal. Later I gathered myself

from the table and walked over to the balcony and my eyes were blessed with a heavenly view. morning

light and the sun shining right into my eyes, fresh air which hustled through the singing trees. The smell

of parathas from each household kicked my stomach as another pang of hunger struck. Below me the

street was filled, people swarming as they ran to their destiny. In the crowd I searched for my sister,

Amna. When the morning light shone , she and baba would toddle away for a walk, or find this as an

excuse to escape into the wilderness. Amna and I were polar opposites, she was never someone who

wouldn’t abide by the rules. On the other hand I was a shy person, someone who preferred the walls of

his own house unlike the other boys my age. ‘Ahmed! Breakfast is ready!” I heard my mother call.

Breaking away from my thoughts I limped towards the table. “Amma, amna and baba aren’t back yet?” I

questioned as my mother helped me on the table, “ they will be back soon” she had said. I nodded and

took a bite of my breakfast. Our little breakfast was interrupted when someone knocked on my door. It

was Amir bhai, our neighbour. His eyes indicated fear and surprise, “Amir? what brings u here at this

time?” my mother smiled. from the table I could sense the fear in his aura as he stammered, his eyes

darting towards the floor. I brought myself down from the table, “what is it amir bhai?” I asked in a

concerned tone. Tears welled up in his eyes, his cheeks burned red “your baba, Mushtaq uncle has been

shot.” 

I awoke and took in my surroundings. “We’re here” I whispered with my quivering lips looking towards

my wife, she was looking towards the passengers walking out the bus. Some had started to cry and the

others looked grim with their eyes focused on the ground. I was fine, not shaking or teary eyed until it

was our turn to leave the bus. Ayesha looked up to me, her eyes worried, as she read my face. Her small

fingers intertwined with mine, assuring that she was here even if the others weren’t.

My breathing became ragged, my heart picked up its pace as I stepped out my feet touching my home

land. Despite all these years the aroma of my land had remained, despite the guns that pelted and the

agonizing cries the charm of my land remained. Families were torn here, children were orphaned. But

today it felt like Eid, as families rejoiced and cried. Many people were greeted with their relatives but

where were my people? God had already decided their fate.

“It's beautiful Ahmed” Ayesha said, she had always wanted to visit Kashmir. She was thrilled while I was

petrified, My heart was in my throat, as I looked around for Indian police at each turning corner I

searched for my fears. But there were none. Tears forced their way out of my eyes. There was no

malice in this land anymore. The overwhelming sensation of freedom brought me to my knees. We

were free at last.

the war had turned us down but we had rebuilt ourselves. Walking on the side way with one bag in my

hand, and the other clasping onto my wife I felt like a child. It was the same street me and Amma would

walk through whilst returning from school. My bag in one hand and the other clasping my mother’s

hand. But 7 years later, I was back, but this time my mother wasn’t, I had left her in school.

From afar I spotted my favorite shop, Khan lala’s toys. A smile crept up my face, as I and hobbled

towards the shop. It felt like childhood again “khan lala!?” I shouted, approaching the tiny shop. Khan

lala was a middle aged man, whose wife and son had been brutally killed by the Indian army. My eyes

filled with excitement when I saw the same plastic cars, arranged properly on the shelf. Someone

shuffled. The air seemed to knock me out, as I grew with excitement to finally meet someone from my

past. 

An old man looked at me. My smile suddenly dropped realizing it was not khan lala, “You need

something?” the old man smiled. I forced one too, “No thank u..but didn’t khan lala work in this shop?” I

asked looking down. The old man sighed, his eyes drooping. “khan lala was martyred in the last battle.

he fought with great bravery and courage”. My heart sank as I took in the news. The one person I had

hoped to see was also gone. I nodded, as words got caught in my throat. The first loss since my arrival

was like a hard slap. Ayesha came from behind, “What is it?” she asked. 

“khan lala’s shop Ayesha, he’s gone..” I said and she tilted her head on my arm, understanding the pain I

felt. We walked further, in. From behind us I heard a woman shout, turning around I saw her on the

floor, kneeling down as she cried profusely, choking. “is she ok?” I asked my wife. “wait i'll go ask.”

Ayesha said as she hurried along the tracks, towards the bunch of women. I watched intently at them, as

Ayesha conversed with the lady holding the crying women in her arms. A minute passed when Ayesha

came back her eyes watered and cheeks blush red. Concerned my hand reached out to her, “her brother

was martyred” 

Everybody has their own tales to tell. Tales of glory. Tales of loss. At a place like this when after years

people returned to find the happiness they had buried in its soil, regretting their decision to leave and

every lip saying, “I wish I were dead”. We turned a few corners, the sun wavering down as the evening

light slowly faded into the late hours. 

“Ahmed how much more?” My wife grew impatient as the dark shadows grew with the street lamps. “Just

wait, Ayesha we’re almost there.” I muttered calmly giving a light squeeze to her hand. But it was

shameful of me to deliberately turn corners unwilling to return to the place my childhood stood bare

The house hadn’t changed a lot, I guess they renovated it. A lot of the houses were. “Oh my god it’s

huge!” Ayesha squealed in excitement. “I didn’t know you grew rich..” she teased well aware that my

house was on the second floor and we lived with three other families. I nodded my head, lips sealed shut.

My heart was thumping loudly in my chest=. My hands were sweating now, the light of my house was

shut, only the other three floors were brightly lit. We walked up the stairs. 

 With every step that I ascended, the beating of my heart grew louder. I was afraid that I would lose

consciousness. I stared at the dimly lit yellow filament lamp above me.

The first floor had cheers in it, people laughing loudly and the aroma of delicious. Until I finally reached

the second floor. My heart stopped beating, tears flooded my eyes as I saw the same white grill with a

lock on it. I covered my eyes with my hands sobbing right into them. from beside me Ayesha sniffed.

She grabbed my hands pulling them away from my eyes, whispering the soft words of support into my

ears, “Ahmed the key?” she whispered. Digging into the back of my pockets I pulled out a hair pin, The

key was lost and I had no choice but to enter in like a thief. 

Her hands were shaking, when she unlocked the door and slowly pushed it in. A dark hall presented itself

before us.. “Assalamualaikum” ayesha said loudly as if addressing someone, it was something her mother

had sternly told her about.

We walked in, the cinnamon smell of my house, the same scent I had longed for in. I had wished to smell

the same scent but it wasn't there. And in the passing years I had forgotten most of the minor details of

my land, Kashmir, but I hadn't forgotten the scent of my house. 

I opened the light, and the bulb above us flickered. I looked over at my living room the same worned

couch kept in front of our small tv, mother’s favourite vase kept at the shelf, and a duct tape wrapped

around the glass reminding me of the time Amna had broken the vase.

I walked over to the favourite place of my house, the balcony. It was the place where I collected my

thoughts, the place where me and Amna sat together sipping on our milk enjoying the light of the moon.

sometimes we would even try to make fun of the indian army. They had broken us apart. “Oh those

scallywags know nothing...just wait we will win against these pricks!” she had said. That night I lay in

my bed weeping at how weak I am and how strong my sister was. “Ahmed!'' I heard Ayesha say my name

out loud. Breaking away from my thoughts I hurried along the hall to my parents room where she stood

with my mother's half broken small cupboard opened. “Her clothes! your mom’s clothes!” she said in

excitement. I ran towards the open doors and clasped her shirts bringing them to my nostrils inhaling the

scent of mother. In a second the entire piece of clothing in my hand became wet, tears uncontrolled ones

flowed out like water released from a dam.

Walking back into the living room I relived the very last memory of my father, On the floor lay the

shrouded corpse of my father. His warm green eyes had been shut close. Amma couldn't muster the courage to look at Baba. Meanwhile Amna?. Her mind was elsewhere, she was lost. she stood there

with a solemn face, staring off. Since then, a smile never graced her face ever again. But I knew my

sister her pain turned into anger. But the anger remains until she lashes it out. When My mother had

urged me to leave Kashmir to go study abroad, I had refused as always but she had fought with me and in

years Amna talked to me. Her eyes glistening in the same spot;our balcony. she had held my hands,

“ahmed go do it for us….for baba..I'll take care of Amma here. You need to go study, then call us there. We want you to flourish!” she had said with cracked voice. I nodded and left the next week. 

But right now standing here at the balcony of my house I knew what she knew years back. She knew that India was going to go harsh on us. Despite me being away in London I received the news of death. Amna had told me to stay strong the last time we conversed until a lock down was imposed in Kashmir.. That

day my heart had felt pained, I hadn't heard their voice for three years, knowing that they were in danger,

I had kept my eyes to the screen avoiding every news I received on social media. 

Ayesha was now making tea. Until the doorbell rang. Nodding at the ayesha I advanced towards the door.

Amir bhai. 

His hair had turned grey,. His back had bent over and. immediately i found myself lurking forwards at

him. “Amir bhai..” I croaked in his shirt. 

“Ah ahmed!” he cried cheerfully patting my back. I welcomed him inside, and introduced him to Ayesha.

“I think I should welcome you here” he laughed at her.And she joined him. We settled in the living room,

“How does it feel" Amir bhai asked. 

And for the first time I knelt down at him and start crying. 

“The war you ask me?” Amir bhai said, I nodded taking a sip of my tea. “The war was something you wished you were a part of. No one was there to win; they were there to get martyred Ahmed. Your mother had passed away before the war. Amna lived alone in this house. She longed for you mostly. Said your name in prayers. But with your parents gone and you being happily settled abroad she knew her work was done. And like all the other women she had fought. And by Allah the entire Country gave its utmost

respect to her when she was martyred. she had picked the gun and stood before the Indian officer and she

shot him just like he had shot your father.” Amir bhai exclaimed. “then how was she..um…” I asked but accepting that my sister was gone killed me.

“Oh good lord! She waved the flag of Pakistan in front of the army, and the Kashmiri army had roared from behind her, that's when an Indian soldier cowardly slipped from behind and shot her in her chest.” by now we both were crying. 

“Amna had always boasted about taking revenge’ Amir bhai nodded in agreement he too was very fond

of her.

“I have the biggest regret ahmed..” Amir bhai started through sniffs.

“what amir bhai?” I croaked.

“I wish my blood had been spilled to protect the sanctity of the soil of Kashmir too.”