The Waterfall

Guide to the pronounciation of the names:

-Mohsin is Moh-sin ( Moh rhymes with Though and Sin is just pronounced in the usual way)

-Jibran is Jib-ran ( The J is as in Jug and Jib rhymes with nib. Ran rhymes with barn)

-Mehreen is Meh-reen (Meh is the same as the exclamatory 'Meh!' and reen rhymes with sheen/green)

I hope this helps!

The paddy fields now sauntered along, now whizzed past them as the car shifted gears. The breeze tousled their hair. A woman squatted on her haunches in an apple orchard, a scarf tied over her head. She was examining the apples she had picked for signs of damage while her son stomped on the bruised apples that were scattered under the trees, holding a thick branch like a sword in his left hand.

"Don't do that! Don't disrespect food!" she shouted in a shrill village accent.

Another stomp and a giggle.

"Cut it out or I'll beat you, I swear!"

The child immediately stopped and ran off, slapping the trunks of the apple trees with the branch.

Jibran laughed, craning his neck back to look at the kid as the car went past them.

"What?" Mohsin swerved as he asked.

"That kid was funny. The way he slapped those trees!"

Mohsin answered with an empty grin. Jibran was ruffled.

"What's up with you?"

"Why? What do you mean?"

"You've put on a grim face. Doesn't feel like you are too stoked about this outing."

"Two guys out on a hike on a familiar trail, Jibran. What's there to be stoked about?!"

"Oh come on! Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"Who?"

"Seriously, you're gonna play this game with me?"

Mohsin sighed.

"Yea, well, we did. No big deal. She'll cool down in a few days."

"It took more than time for her to cool down the last time." The hint of mockery was subtle. Mohsin shot a dirty look at Jibran.

"Just saying, man! Lookin out for my bro!" Jibran winked, sniggering.

Mohsin hit the accelerator.

The mountain was more like a hill. But it connected to a higher peak beyond which it went on to connect with the rest of the unending Himalayas. Just a couple of miles off, out on the road leading to it, there was a small market from which you could spot the shrine that sat in the lap of that face of the mountain. From the other face, not visible from the road, a waterfall gushed out- a belch from a giant stone belly. It was early in summer; the Sindh ran through the veins of the mountains in all its ferocity as the snow melted. And fresh water called out to the connoisseurs of nature.

Jibran sat in the car, waiting for Mohsin who was in the market shopping for eatables.

The theme score of 'Game of Thrones' suddenly filled the car. Mohsin's phone was buzzing. It was her. The name 'Witch' flashed on the phone. Mohsin called her a witch. She had bewitched him, he said.

Jibran snorted. "What balderdash!"

The phone stopped ringing. Jibran looked at the phone, then picked it up. She would call again. And again. He pressed the power button and the lockscreen flashed at him. A hand. Her hand; wearing the pure silver ring with the fake emerald that Mohsin had bought for her when he was in Ladakh on a road trip with the boys three months ago.

Jibran stared at that hand till his eyes hurt and then flung the phone onto Mohsin's seat.

Mohsin came back with packets of biscuits, chips and cans of juice.

"I'd got some energy bars from home. You did not need to load up on this rubbish."

"Oh well, you'll see. Any food is a miracle when you're hungry." Mohsin flashed a smile at him.

They had planned to leave the car in the makeshift parking area on the other end of the market and then to trek up to the shrine and further on and finally descend from the other face to meet the waterfall.

Mohsin locked the car as they adjusted their small backpacks.

"She had called while you were in the market."

"Can you just say her name? It isn't a spell that will kill you!"

"Mehreen had called," Jibran said in a flat voice.

It wasn't a spell. It was a spark that ignited him. He said the name and he could smell her perfume. His jaws tightened. He hated this. Hated liking her so much- that girl who had his friend's heart.

"What's wrong?" Mohsin asked, his brows knotted. "You look like you're constipated."

"Nothing. My face is like this."

"Flush this face, then!"

They chortled.

They say men can sniff such things on other men. The heck they can! Here he was- miserable for her for months, wishing they would break up. And Mohsin had no idea.

"Keep my phone, will you? I don't want to take her calls for sometime."

Mohsin handed the phone to Jibran. Reluctantly, Jibran pocketed it.

They began the climb. The shrine was built to preserve the memory of a Sufi saint who had spent his life praying at that spot. The din of the hawkers from the market mingled with the shouts of beggars who had spread themselves out on the road to the shrine.

"Should've taken the trail instead of the road to the shrine." Jibran muttered.

"They have sealed the road off from it."

"Oh..."

The phone had rung thrice since they had started the trek. Jibran felt it coming to life in his pocket like a second heart, and each time, his own heart pounded and whirled.

They stepped inside the gates of the shrine. Paying obeisance to it before a trek was a custom. The local people believed that ignoring this custom could prove fatal for trekkers. Inside, the air was tranquil, suffused with attar and the slight smell of rosewater. Now this was a spell! Crossing a threshold into a different world with a different aura! Just outside the gates, life rushed past. Here, it held its breath for a moment.

They left the shrine after sitting for some minutes, drinking holy water and getting a handful of sacred sweetmeats.

More phonecalls. More whirling.

The trail became lonelier and steeper with ascent. The sounds of the shrine faded. The phone had been silent for an hour and the signal was now snappy. Soon it would be gone. Pebbles of all sizes mingled with sparse grass and slipped under their feet. The path now curved along the side of the mountain, straighter. They sat down two times to drink water and eat an energy bar. The other face of the hill was hidden from the glare of the afternoon sun. Majestic oak and pine trees sprang up around them.

Mehreen swam in and out of Jibran's thoughts, colouring them, her perfume smeared over them. Bile rose in his throat and then adrenaline rushed in. He felt faint.

"Are you okay, Jibran?"

Mohsin was walking at the front and had turned to see Jibran placing a hand on his chest.

"I'm okay. I'm okay."

The shade was pleasant, the air cool. They could hear the sound of the waterfall. It became louder as they neared it.The trail was now a little rough; mossy stones dotted the path and their feet found careful footing in the gaps between the stones. A few trees blocked the end of the trail and when they turned to the left, the waterfall jutted out, plunging into the river beneath, specks of water frolicking in the sun! The sight was like life!

They sat on the moss covered stones to catch their breath. Mohsin sipped water, his bag now at his feet. Then he got up, took off his shirt and turned towards the waterfall.

"What the heck are you doing?" Jibran asked, alarmed.

"Not committing suicide over a relationship! Relax man! Take my pic. You have my phone. Hashtag waterfallbath waterfallvibes," Mohsin imitated a feminine voice.

"Pah! You don't know how to swim! Let alone in this!"

"Instagram doesn't know that. Now do it. L-E-T me just G-E-T U-P H-E-R-E," he huffed as he squeaked the words, climbing onto a big, round mossy boulder.

Not only was he not a swimmer, he was scared of water. "And this right here," thought Jibran "is his worst fear. This swishing, running water!"

"Should I give a pose?"

Jibran had forgotten he had to take a photo.

"Oh yea! Right! Sorry, just a second."

Then, something nudged his heart. It took a nanosecond for the thought to form. It snaked up to his heart, uninvited and cunning.

"Push him into the water. You will be with her then."

"She said she thought you were cute. Maybe if he isn't around....."

Jibran started to sweat.

"Hey?!" Mohsin shot a puzzled look at him.

"Yea yea."

Mohsin turned his back to Jibran.

"Take one of those pictures of me with my back to you and the hand kinda stretched out. You got it? Hold my hand and zoom out at a wide angle."

Jibran held the rugged, tanned hand. His other hand held the camera. Mohsin stood on slimy stones near the plunge of the waterfall. Suddenly, Jibran pushed the hand he held. Mohsin flailed, turned around and as he fell to the back, he grabbed Jibran's collar with one hand and tried to tug at his arm with the other. His eyes were wide with horror.

A jolt rushed through Jibran's body and he jumped up.

Mohsin stood near the window of the car, squinting at him.

"Sorry it took so much time. I met this man my father knows and he held me back for sometime."

"Did someone call?" He added, glancing at his phone on Jibran's lap.

"Uhhhh.....yea......" Jibran spoke through a haze.

"Mehreen?"

"Yea," Jibran felt his throat dry up. Mohsin threw the packets of chips and biscuits on the backseat.

"Well," he said, geting into the car, "I need some time to myself. Switch that thing off and keep it with you."

Jibran gulped.

They were in the shrine. Jibran felt a wave washing over him. The sound of the waterfall that was miles away was rushing through his ears. As they got up, he staggered.

"Oh!" Mohsin rushed to him.

"What's up? You okay?"

"No," he said abruptly. "Listen. Let's go home. I don't think I can hike today. Please let's just go back."

"Are you sure?" Mohsin looked at him, his face betraying annoyance. After a little more insistence, he caved.

Two hours later they were back in the smoke and din of the city.

"Feel better?" Mohsin asked. He looked concerned.

Jibran felt a jab of guilt.

"Loads," he lied.

The phone rang again.

Jibran could hear the shrill shouts from the other end even as his friend stealthily tried to lower the in-call volume.

He looked out of the window. The Polo ground stretched out in front of him, deserted.

"Well, that did it. It's over," Mohsin said simply, hanging up the phone.

Jibran caught a hint of emotion at the end of the sentence. He asked no questions. They drove on in silence. He felt loads better. And this time, it was not a lie.