The snow pattered gently on the rooftop and inside the
rickety house, a fire crackled with occasional spurts and hisses. Huzaifa stoked the fire with a twig every now
and then but her beady eyes rested on the door in the hope of his arrival. Her
porcelain like skin, sharp aquiline nose and piercing brown eyes were mostly
masked by the veil but through the little gaps of the cloth, it was evident
that she was a woman of striking beauty.
He was always unpredictable. He turned up when she least
expected it, when she was least prepared. Each time, there was a change in
him, in his persona as well as in physique. With each passing visit which had
no pattern or predictable timing, there was an increase in the creases on his
otherwise flawless face. The uncertainty of their future manifested itself in
the form of a perpetually worried and wistful look. His beard lay untamed but
it nevertheless gave a rugged appeal to the lanky man from the mountains.
They grew up together in a remote village in the snow clad
mountains of Kashmir, forgotten by the rest of the country, hidden from the
vagaries of Time. In their childhood, the snow clad valley was their
playground; the trees and mountains were testimony to the years they had spent
chasing each other amidst the wild flowers, nettled brambles, mountain goats
and gentle peaks. No one knew the clandestine friendship that blossomed between
Huzaifa and Aamir better than the pine trees which had sheltered them on many a
winter nights.The streams and brooks knew their stories, the birds of the
valley sang in harmony for the two youngsters as they grew up in the midst of
uncertainty and volatility.
The youngest daughter of a local grocer, Huzaifa was a
bright girl and had studied in the local girls school until it was shut down
after an attack by the militants. Since then, she had immersed herself in all
the books she could procure from her brothers. Although her parents had always
encouraged her to study, allowing her to do so in another city was out of
question. Yet, the desire to learn, to acquire knowledge and see more of the
world outside was alive within her. If anybody understood her yearning and
aspirations, it was Aamir, which was ironical, considering how he never cared
about education himself.
Aamir, on the other hand, had had a rough and wild
upbringing, living the summer months on the mountains as a tour guide and
decamping to the valley during the winter months to work on the orchards as a
farm hand. His mother had died during the birth of his younger brother and his
father was an alcoholic; ill-tempered and seldom sober. Aamir was the main
bread earner for the family and education was never an option in his world. Yet, throughout the years, he listened with rapt attention when Huzaifa shared
her knowledge with him, be it the history of India’s Independence, the
geography of Himalayas or even the stories of Akbar and Birbal. Perhaps he too had an innate thirst for knowledge or perhaps it was the lilting melody of her voice and her animated expressions as she described what she had read that made him listen to her without batting an eyelid. Every afternoon,
they met by the stream under the shade of the deodar, where she enlightened him
about happenings around the world which she grasped by surreptitiously scanning
the day’s newspaper while he processed them and pondered over the consequences.
Over the years, Huzaifa blossomed from the bright eyed
school girl to a tall young woman known for her quiet demeanor and
intelligence while Aamir transformed from the unkempt and untamed boy into a
mysterious young man, known for his disarmingly good looks but with an aura of
danger around him. Although there was a charm in him, his eyes couldn't mask
the secrets that he withheld. The bleak winters that followed year after year had instilled a melancholic air to his countenance and he often spoke of the vagaries of living in a land in perpetually in turmoil and terror. His eyes often betrayed his loyalties and glinted the anger he suppressed within himself. Abandoned by his family, forsaken by society and existing on a meagre income, the sole oasis in his barren desert was Huzaifa. Rumors were rife in the town that he mingled
with shady characters, his whereabouts were unknown for days together and when
he arrived unannounced at her doorstep, it set tongues wagging in the neighborhood.
Over the gentle patter of the snow, a single sharp knock
echoed through the room. Her invalid mother was asleep in the adjacent room while her father was at the store. Huzaifa froze for a moment and rushed towards the
door. It was always the same, the single sharp knock; nothing more, nothing
less. She struggled to contain her excitement; it was over a month since his
last visit. His last visit had left her in a state of turmoil after he had
questioned what was to become of them in the future. The parting embrace left
her in no doubt that there was to be an answer and that too, very soon.
The door creaked noisily as she slid the latch to welcome
her beloved one but she found herself pulled into the arms of a stranger. Three
men dragged her out of the house and within moments she was sneaked into a car
waiting at their doorstep. She was paralyzed with fear and her squeaks of
terror were muffled by a cloth to gag her. The car revved up and winded down
the lane and rushed through the silent streets before anybody could detect
anything amiss. Through the mountain path, the car trudged along for what
seemed like hours until they reached their destination.
Huzaifa stumbled out of the car and was led into an old
bungalow. In the distance she could see that the building was guarded by
numerous men armed with rifles and the desire to use them. Her pleas for an
explanation were met by murderous glares by the men and she resigned herself to
the worst. Her worst fears had come true, her suspicions were being confirmed
and she knew that she must face the inevitable.
They walked through a dimly lit corridor until they
approached an ornately decorated oak wood door guarded by an armed man. The men
exchanged significant looks and slowly led her through the door. What she saw
next was a heart wrenching sight and she blinked back the tears clouding her
vision and choking her voice. Aamir lay
on the ground, weak, emaciated and bare-chested revealing angry red whiplashes
over his skin. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was bruised and blistered and
he was in pain; he twitched and withered every now and then in agony.
Their eyes met. In the dank and dilapidated room realization dawned upon her as she continued to look vacantly into his eyes that sent out a plea for help. The answer to the questions that had nagged at the back of her mind was now crystal clear. The rumors that she had once dismissed with conviction were true beyond doubt.She looked questioningly, he bowed his head
apologetically. She gave a minuscule nod in agreement and he shed a silent tear
out of regret for the impending doom that awaited them. Her eyes searched into
the depths of his; seeking his loyalty and he assured her through those unsaid
words that he owed her his life.
The men began to speak, in angry voices, often shouting over
each other to be heard. They accused him of betrayal and there was a price to
pay for it. He had claimed to join their radical group, in support of a select
group of militants and had been included in the inner fold of the sect until he
developed cold feet and deserted them. And for his actions, there was a price
to pay. They had discovered that Huzaifa was the one person closest to his heart and knew that she
was the way to avenge the treachery. It
was either his death or her suffering. The answer was obvious; neither saw the purpose in life without the other.
As a last savage act of cruelty, they handed her a mirror
and she lifted her veil. He grimaced and looked away to hide the tears that
burned through his cheeks and she smiled sadly at her reflection for the last
time. She tried to imprint the memory of her face before the acid scalded the porcelain
skin that he had thought would be eternal. She whimpered in pain and the men
walked away since the deed was done. She
writhed in agony while he embraced her through his calloused and blistered hands; they were finally united, in pain.
