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   November 04, 2014

Detail

 


The soothing tone of her voice flooded my eyes

BY: SHABANA WALI

That was the time when spring was hovering over my valley capturing the greenly carpeted land in the grip of its beauty. I came out to enjoy the scenery of the sunset after a long endeavor of fighting with the misery of winter. Suddenly, I heard a soothing tone of trembling voice requesting the Almighty Allah from behind the standing wheat, dancing with the rhythm of the singing aromatic wind of the dusk. I approached slowly and saw a mother, tears coursing down her wrinkled cheeks and hands busy with wiping the flood of tears. I did not bear the plight through which the mother was passing, so I stepped forward without thinking anything. I tried to ask her about the reason which had turned her crimson lips pale and glittering eyes darkened. “The spring of my life has turned into autumn and the only flower of my garden is disrobed before it blossoms.”She coarse each word to pass through her tremulous lips. Without knowing anything I clenched her weak hands and tried to commiserate for her pain. “I know he has broken from within inside but trying to veil his melancholy spirit by the apparent vacant smile, I am responsible for ruining his life, I am the one who showed him the way to walk on, though I knew that the path is made only for the fortunate ones born in families where there aren’t any dark mists of poverty flying over their roofs. I never imagined about the yolk of responsibilities which would be put on the innocent shoulders of my son. I made him to dream for flying in the spacious sky knowing that he was born to crawl on the ground.” I tried to show cordiality still without knowing the real truth. She continued the series of blaming herself. “The seed of his aim became dormant forever which was still to be germinated; the aesthetic mind of him is to be locked into the unconscious mind of him once again. I wished him to continue his excursion by holding the torch of education in his hand, so that he could not trudge whenever there comes any tribulation, but he has been bestowed with the somber picture of his life drawn by the sleeping fate of a poor person.”

After a long period of struggle I succeeded exploring the truth which left a wave of shock throughout my body. Her son, who was known of his brilliance in the academic field as well as in co-curricular activities, was pushed into the world of labors far away from the zenith of fame in which he used to be during his school life. No one ever thought of the sparkling star to prefer the spade instead of the pen, the labor’s life instead of an officer’s one and the dark future instead of the bright one. Because he belongs to a very poor family whose thoughts do not go beyond the fear of their empty stomachs. Unaware of the reality he may have planned much more in order to build up his future by the bricks of his capabilities but circumstances dragged him away from the valley of dreams yet to be act upon. He was tended to say goodbye to college before tasting its joy by the miserable conditions. Shall we consider his dream a strange visitor who came in the evening and left in the morning, or shall we suppose his aim a dream that came in his sleep and departed when he awoke.

The mist of plight wandering over our country will never be drifted away till the wave of poverty seeps into our lives. The murdered fate of Pakistan does not seem to be vivified by any rich man indulged between his ambitions and submissions. The hard and steep ways of prosperity need someone special to walk on them who have tasted the potion of tribulations in his life. Because poverty can turn a person into a flaming torch for change and revolution without which mankind would come to standstill... We are waiting hopefully for the day to come.



 

 

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