The Spirit of PatriotismA Story by Adelia AlighieriThis I wrote inspired by Pakistan's 64th Independence day to be celebrated tomorrow, August 14th. I've returned to the Cafe after a really long time, hoping for a warm welcome as always :)August 13th 1967. 9:20 pm.
10 year old Abdullah was busy decorating his street in the middle of Mori Darwaza along with other children. They had ripped pages from their notebooks, painted them green and drawn a crescent and a star in the middle with white chalk. Khala Bilqees made them a sticky paste mixing some water and aataa, using which they glued their flags together to the strings. Asghar and Shakeel climbed up every roof in the street, fastening the strings from house to house. All children paused from their work to look at the two eldest with awe every time they did this.
Akbar Baba sat there on the porch of his house with the huqqa’s pipe in his mouth. He watched the children as they gleefully prepared for the big day tomorrow. 20 years ago, he had lost his family on this day of rejoice. Looking at the cloudy sky, he hoped it wouldn’t rain tonight.
‘Babu ji, can we go up to your roof to put up the big flag?’ Saeeda led the crowd of children, carrying a bamboo stick with a green parcham on top, asking for his permission. Akbar Baba took another puff and scratched his beard. He smiled at the children of all ages, looking back at him with eagerness and fright in their eyes. Then he nodded. A cheer went through the crowd; the kids practically hugged each other. A moment later, a riot broke out between them to decide who was to carry the load of the large flag to the roof top. Saeeda tried to stop them. ‘Array, be patient! Let Babu ji decide it!’
Akbar Baba always made the important decisions of the street. This event was no less. He looked at every individual, searching for the chosen one. His eyes settled on the only small boy whose attention was diverted towards the hundreds of jhandiyaan that canopied above, smiling as the wind stirred them.
‘Abdullah!’ he chanted. ‘Carry the flag upstairs!’ Abdullah, distracted, looked at him vacantly. Then a grin lighted his face and he ran towards Saeeda, grabbing the stick and dashing past Akbar Baba, into his house. The cheering crowd of children followed him inside.
They all put up the flag on the highest point they could, after multiple efforts. When done, they all stood there for a long time, staring at their hard work. ‘Allahu Akbar!’ Shakeel broke the silence. ‘Allahu Akbar!’ Everyone repeated and applause broke out when suddenly thunder startled everyone. ‘Not today!’ Akbar Baba groaned. ‘Allah khair!
Saeeda reached over to grab her brother’s shoulders, drawing him closer. ‘Aapa, is it going to rain? It will wet the flags.’ Abdullah looked at her. Saeeda looked devastated. ‘Pray that it doesn’t. Allah will listen to you. He listens to children.’ As told, the little boy raised his hands, closed his eyes for a moment and murmured to himself.
‘We should put it down now, rather then letting it fall to ground if the storm comes. Remember Abba told us its sheer shame to disrespect your country. I won’t let that flag fall down. It holds our pride, Shakeel.’ Abdullah heard Asghar.
The paper flags had begun to wet. Saeeda started to cry. Abdullah glanced at her and looked at the strings. All of a sudden, the winds shredded away a string, causing it to fall down. Without looking around, young Abdullah dived ahead to grab it, trying to save his pride. Before his feet touched a support, he fell from Akbar Baba’s roof, into the street. Amidst Saeeda’s screams and the boys dashing downstairs, Akbar Baba limped towards Abdullah with all his might. He lay on his stomach, a pool of blood next to his head. Akbar Baba turned him over to check his heart. ‘He’s breathing! Call the elders, take him to the hospital! Bhaag Saeeda, jaa!’ he yelled. Then he looked at his clenched fist. He reached over to open it, revealing a drenched, crumpled paper flag.
August 13th, 2011. 10:45 am.
He silently watched the children of his school preparing for the Independence Day celebrations from the window of his office. He was impressed by their devotion. He was glad that one of the things that hadn’t changed even after all of these years of independence was the spirit of patriotism. 53 year old Abdullah was the principal of this school. He had been teaching children Pakistan Studies and Urdu for 30 years, enlightening their lives with the knowledge of their nation, its culture and language. He was a mentor to every one of them. He knew why he could hold his head high with prestige today. His God had rewarded his destiny to compensate the respect he had shown for his land years ago. © 2011 Adelia AlighieriAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on August 13, 2011 Last Updated on August 14, 2011 Tags: Pakistan, Patriotism, Independence, August 14 Author
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