The Green and White Day

The Green and White Day

BY: Ubaid

It was early morning in the small village when the air already carried the festive rhythm of Pakistan’s Independence Day.
Little Asmara was busy helping her uncle Adeel, who was pasting green and white paper flags together. Each time the glue in the bowl ran low, she quickly refilled it without being asked. Her tiny hands worked fast, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Her younger sister, Noor Fatima, was still too small to be of much help. Instead, she was sitting outside in the muddy street, happily splashing her hands in the dirty water, her clothes covered in dust and clay. When their mother saw her through the window, she rushed out, scolding lovingly, and took her inside for a bath.

After cleaning her up, she dressed Noor in a white frock decorated with little green moons and stars. Noor smiled brightly and went to sit beside her grandfather, watching the television where patriotic songs were already playing.

Soon, everyone finished hanging the little flags and paper garlands. Father Sarwar and Uncle Amjad called out from the next room,
“Children! Come inside now. The sun is getting hot and the parade is about to start on TV. After that, everyone will take a bath and put on your white and green clothes. Don’t forget the stickers!”

All the children hurried in and sat cross-legged on the rug, eyes glued to the screen. When the parade ended, Arslan, the eldest, turned to his father and said in a loud, proud voice,
“Abu, when I grow up, I’ll join the Pakistan Army!”

“Of course, my son!” his father smiled warmly. “Why not? Your uncles are serving as officers. You just study hard — I’ll make sure you get into a good college in the city. Our village doesn’t have the facilities you’ll need.”

Hearing this, Arslan’s grandfather’s heart swelled with pride. His grandson’s dream filled the room with joy.

After bathing, everyone wore clean white shalwar kameez and small green caps with crescent flags on them. Hasan, one of the cousins, handed everyone bright stickers. For weeks he had been saving money to buy them — secretly selling one egg a day from their chickens to the local shopkeeper.

Their family had been struggling since they built a new house and paid for an older brother’s wedding. Yet Hasan’s quiet sacrifice touched everyone. His aunt, Tasawar, hugged him tightly. Hasan’s face glowed with happiness; he had never felt so proud.

“Abu!” Adeel suddenly said. “Can you please take us to the city today? The schools are closed, and since the lockdown has eased, we really want to go out. Please take us to Safari Park and maybe to see the Minar-e-Pakistan!”

Grandfather chuckled. “Sarwar, let the children go. They’ve worked hard decorating. They deserve a little fun.”

He pulled two hundred rupees from his pocket and handed them to his son. Sarwar smiled, unable to say no.

“Hurray! Long live Abu!” Adeel and Arslan shouted in joy.

Soon, the whole family squeezed into their rickshaw, waving flags in the air. The roads were alive — streets covered with green and white, children waving flags, and patriotic songs echoing from every corner.

Their mother, Anayat Bibi, had given them matching green masks. “Don’t forget to wear these,” she reminded. “They’re not only beautiful but important too.”

Sarwar’s rickshaw sped down the road, humming along with the songs that Adeel had turned up to full volume. Tauseef and Zimran sat on top of the rickshaw, waving flags high in the wind, while little Asmara, Noor, Hasan, and Ahad sat inside, giggling all the way.

At the park, the children noticed that although the decorations were beautiful, the crowd was small. Security guards stood at the gate, ensuring everyone had masks and used sanitizer. They weren’t allowing crowds to form — safety first, even on Independence Day.

After a short while, the children were gently guided out of the park. On the way out, they spotted a man selling colorful ice cones.

“Abu, please! We want ice cones!” they all shouted together. Sarwar couldn’t resist their eager faces.

They enjoyed the sweet, icy treats, and soon Adeel declared, “Now something salty! Let’s have samosas and pakoras!” Everyone cheered in agreement.

By the end of their feast, Sarwar’s pocket felt a lot lighter. Smiling helplessly, he began cleaning the rickshaw with Tauseef’s help. Hasan and Zimran counted everyone carefully as they climbed back in, making sure no one was left behind.

On the ride home, a sudden bump sent the rickshaw flying over a pothole, and all the children screamed in fright — then burst out laughing. Arslan quickly comforted little Noor and Asmara, who looked worried about their messy clothes.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “No one will scold you today. It’s Independence Day — we’re supposed to enjoy!”

When they finally reached home safely, their grandmother welcomed them with a warm smile.
“So, did you all enjoy the day?” she asked.

“Yes, Tayi Ami, very much!” Hasan replied cheerfully.

As the evening prayer echoed through the village, everyone washed up, prayed, and sat for dinner. Aunt Tasawar had made sweet semolina halwa, and its aroma filled the room. After eating, the children headed straight to their grandfather’s room — their favorite part of every night.

He was sitting on his cot, smoking his hookah, with Uncle Amjad and Qari Abbas chatting beside him. The boys waited patiently until the guests left.

“Dada Ji,” Adeel whispered, “now can you tell us a story?”

Grandfather smiled. “I thought you’d be too tired tonight.”

Arslan grinned, “We are tired, Dada Ji — but we can’t sleep without a story.”

The old man laughed softly. “All right then, my little stars,” he said, adjusting his shawl. “For my brave and bright children — I’ll tell a story worth remembering.”

And as the night settled outside, the house glowed with the warmth of family, faith, and the colors of freedom.