p.p1 chaos. It is the desolation of that love

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Wednesday. August 14, 1948. 

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Dear Diary,
Every minute passes like an entire day and every day passes like a year. Fear and insecurity grip me tight in their vicious claws. Even on trying hard, snivels do not stop. The void that has been created in my heart seems never to fill up. Everything feels achromatic and life seems to have come to a halt. The noons have become hotter and the nights have grown colder. It becomes hard to breathe even in the greenest sanctuaries. Nothing seems to have life in it anymore. 

It is the emptiness of this one person that creates this chaos. It is the desolation of that love that turns the brightest of colours, dull and dark. It is the blankness of that company that has lighted a shadow upon my life. Everything was like a paradise before I was detached from that bond. The bond of unconditional love and trust. 

I still cannot forget that caring look in her eyes. I cannot forget her exuberant smile. I remember how she looked out for me like her own blood, even though I wasn’t. Why does this happen? Why only the souls that love each other more than themselves are coerced to part? Why only they face this mishap? Maybe we were wrong. How did we have the audacity to care for each other even after being well aware of the fact that we do not hail from the same patronymic and do not share the same blood? How could we love each other after knowing that our cultures are not the same? But I raise this question to the people who ruthlessly had us separated, don’t we hail from a common human culture? Aren’t our teachings of life and death the same? Is our understating of the supreme not similar? Is our flesh and blood made of different components that we act as if we are from different terra stratas? 

Paki Staan.

Friday. August 16, 1948.

Dear Diary, 

I remember that day when I was being hauled away from her. I can still hear those screams loud and clear in my mind. I still see her face. It reflected the extreme agony she was facing seeing me being pulled away. I see her eyes, they were red-rimmed with pain and anguish. Tears flowed like the racing Jhelum, seeming never to thwart. I can still see her in my mind, grappling and brawling against the arms of her kin, who were putting in their everything to hold her back. I still see her fight  for me.

Man fabricated many weapons, but the most malign and vicious of them all were caste and religion. They slowly and subtly poison people’s minds and then drive them into killing and wrecking each other to gain the title of superiority and prime. Man did not, to all intents and purposes, create these weapons. He just put a wrong interpretation to their actual insinuations. This misunderstanding, unfortunately, became the genesis to all the chaos and tribulations in the world. 

I remember that day, when these men came and pulled me away from her. I was returning home after playing in the park and I overheard Baba talking with some people headed by a man named ‘Jin Nah’. They threatened to murder the complete Staan family if I was not surrendered to them. I did not know what was happening. Baba stood there helpless. All he could do was, plead for me on his knees. These men did not understand the meaning of mercy and love. They stood their word and came for me to the house. I ran to Hindu and explained everything I had overheard. She did not know what to do. She looked around and concealed me under the couch. The complete family was under a fright. The ruthless men barged in the house and screamed on the top of their lungs, screams that were warning for me to come out or else the family would be unremittingly massacred. Then I heard her shout, shout in pain. Fear gripped me tight. I peeped outside and saw men with blades saunter around with heavy footsteps. I heard another shriek and instinctively paced to the hostage place. Before I could reach her, an arm caught hold of me and heaved me away from her. The men holding her at the tip of his knife threw her away and came behind me. She did not let me go. She ran towards me and tried to release me from the grip of those satanic men. They effortlessly shoved her aside. She tried again but was stopped by the blade. Baba came running and pulled her back. I saw her weep and shriek as I was being taken away from her. Taken to a place where I would be draped in green and white with a crescent moon.

Paki Staan.

Saturday. August 17, 1948.

Dear Diary, 

If love leads to this tragedy, then I don’t want love. If it hurts so hard, then I don’t want it. 
We may be miles away from each other, but our hearts still remain close. When will man understand the meaning of love? Man does not understand that all humans belong to the same religion, and that is the religion of love. This love has sustained peace and trust on this planet but now this religion falls and with it collapses the peace. The separation of Hindu and Paki marks the beginning of the doom. This separation is the start to the end. Millions were killed and billions will come next, if this religion of love does not sustain. God created man to experience love. He let them free to understand it truly, but man has enraged God by breaking his faith. God is merciful, which is why man still exists. If this breaking of bonds continues then that day is not far when only water will remain on this our planet. 

Paki Staan.


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